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?"

I still made the best of a bad case.

"Something has upset his temper," I said. "The merest trifle, Miss
Colebrook, upsets a man's temper sometimes. I speak as a man, and I
know it. Give him time, and he will make his excuses, and all will be
well again."

My presentation of the case entirely failed to re-assure my pretty
companion. We went back to the house. Dinner-time came, and the
brothers appeared. Their father spoke to them of their absence from
morning prayers with needless severity, as I thought. They resented the
reproof with needless indignation on their side, and left the room. A
sour smile of satisfaction showed itself on Miss Meadowcroft's thin
lips. She looked at her father; then raised her eyes sadly to the
ceiling, and said, "We can only pray for them, sir."

Naomi disappeared after dinner. When I saw her again, she had some news
for me.

"I have been with Ambrose," she said, "and he has begged my pardon. We
have made it up, Mr. Lefrank. Still--still--"

"Still--_what_, Miss Naomi?"

"He is not like himself, sir. He denies it; but I can't help thinking
he is hiding something from me."

The day wore on; the evening came. I returned to my French novel. But
not