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Updated: May 10, 2025
"John Jago, this is my young relative by marriage, Mr. Lefrank. He is not well; he has come over the ocean for rest, and change of scene. Mr. Jago is an American, Philip. I hope you have no prejudice against Americans. Make acquaintance with Mr. Jago. Sit together." He cast another dark look at his sons; and the sons again returned it.
"I see cowardly falsehood and cowardly cruelty in every line on that paper. Ambrose is innocent, and the time has come to prove it." "You forget," I said, "that we have just failed to prove it." "John Jago is alive, in hiding from us and from all who know him," she went on. "Help me, friend Lefrank, to advertise for him in the newspapers." I drew back from her in speechless distress.
John Jago was going away to Narrabee, and Silas Meadowcroft's savage temper was subdued to a sulky repose. I handed the stick back to Ambrose. He laughed as he took it from me. "You can't think how strange it feels, Mr. Lefrank, to be out without one's stick," he said. "A man gets used to his stick, sir; doesn't he? Are you ready for your breakfast?" "Not just yet.
Miss Meadowcroft looked at her father, and said, "From bad to worse, sir. What did I tell you?" Naomi instantly applied the antidote: "The boys are no doubt detained over their work, uncle." She turned to me. "You want to see the farm, Mr. Lefrank. Come and help me to find the boys." For more than an hour we visited one part of the farm after another, without discovering the missing men.
On the staircase I met Miss Meadowcroft ascending to her own room. Not a curl of her stiff gray hair was disarranged; nothing about the impenetrable woman betrayed that she had been watching through the night. "Has Mr. Jago not returned?" I asked. Miss Meadowcroft slowly shook her head, and frowned at me. "We are in the hands of Providence, Mr. Lefrank. Mr.
Ambrose looked after the crops, and Silas after the cattle. Things didn't go well, somehow, under their management. I can't tell you why. I am only sure Ambrose was not in fault. The old man got more and more dissatisfied, especially about his beasts. His pride is in his beasts. Do you like John Jago, Mr. Lefrank?" "So far, no. I don't like him." "Just my sentiments, sir.
"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 even Dumas himself could keep my attention to the story.
She pushed me furiously away from her; advanced a few steps toward her own door; stopped, and came back to me. The generous nature of the girl spoke in her next words. "I am not ungrateful to you, friend Lefrank. A woman in my place is only a woman; and, when she is shamed as I am, she feels it very bitterly. Give me your hand! God bless you!"
Good-night, friend Lefrank; and pleasant dreams." With one hand she took mine, and pressed it cordially; with the other she pushed me away without ceremony in the direction of the house. A charming girl an irresistible girl! I was nearly as bad as the boys. I declare, I almost hated John Jago, too, as we crossed each other in the shadow of the tree.
Seated apart he had kept silence throughout, attentively watching the effect of Ambrose Meadowcroft's narrative on the officers of the prison and on me. "Is this the defense?" I inquired, in a whisper. "This is the defense, Mr. Lefrank. What do you think, between ourselves?" "Between ourselves, I think the magistrate will commit them for trial." "On the charge of murder?"
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