Naomi went on, woman-like, with her questioning, heedless of the reception which they might meet with from an irritated man.
“Why were you both away at prayers and breakfast-time?” she asked next.
“We had too much to do,” Ambrose gruffly replied, “and we were too far from the house.”
“Very odd,” said Naomi. “This has never happened before since I have been at the farm.”
“Well, live and learn. It has happened now.”
The tone in which he spoke would have warned any man to let him alone. But warnings which speak by implication only are thrown away on women. The woman, having still something in her mind to say, said it.
“Have you seen anything of John Jago this morning?”
The smoldering ill-temper of Ambrose burst suddenly—why, it was impossible to guess—into a flame. “How many more questions am I to answer?” he broke out violently. “Are you the parson putting me through my catechism? I have seen nothing of John Jago, and I have got my work to go on with. Will that do for you?”
He turned with an oath, and followed his brother into the wood. Naomi’s bright eyes looked up at me, flashing with indignation.
“What does he mean, Mr. Lefrank, by speaking to me in that way? Rude brute! How dare he do it?” She paused; her voice, look and manner suddenly changed. “This has never happened before, sir. Has anything gone wrong? I declare, I shouldn’t know Ambrose again, he is so changed. Say, how does it strike you?”