and there is bound to be summat wrong wi' Aske or wi' his way of managing her."
The night was dark and close, and Jonathan was unusually sad, for it is the best natures that are most easily subjugated by moral miasmas. He had been full of love and hope, and suddenly a supposition of evil and sorrow had put its hand upon him. He could not close his eyes or pass it by. It had taken its place upon his hearth-stone, and he was compelled to listen to it He was in the atmosphere of an ill-conditioned temper, of a soul determined to quarrel with existence, and he was worried by an uncertainty which doubled his anxieties. For though he was angry with Eleanor, he was yet inclined to believe that her rebellion was, in some way or other, entirely Aske's fault. "It isn't fair," he muttered, "to badger a lass into such a way! I think little of a man that can't give up a bit to his wife."
When he reached his park gates, Ben Holden was slowly walking about in front of them. He came up to the gig as Jonathan tightened the reins, and said, "Thou's earlier than might he."
"What ever art thou here for? Is owt wrong at t' mill?"
