He tried to think of her as a wronged angel, and grew angry with himself on finding the effort hard to sustain.

Moreover, he felt uneasy about the stranger.
Fate must be intending mischief, he fancied, when it led him to rescue a man who so strangely happened to bear his own name.

The fellow, too, was still at Sheba, being nursed back to strength; and Zeb didn't like it.

In spite of the day, and the merry breath of it that blew from the sea upon his right cheek, black care dogged him all the way up the long hill that led out of Porthlooe, and clung to the tail-board of his green cart as he jolted down again towards Ruan Cove.
After passing the Cove-head, Young Zeb pulled up the mare, and was taken with a fit of thoughtfulness, glancing up towards Sheba farm, and then along the high-road, as if uncertain.

The mare settled the question after a minute, by turning into the lane, and Zeb let her have her way.
"Where's Miss Ruby ?" he asked, driving into the town-place, and coming on Mary Jane, who was filling a pig's-bucket by the back door.
"Gone up to Pare Dew 'long wi' maister an' the very man I seed i' my tay-cup, a week come Friday." "H'm." "Iss, fay; an' a great long-legged stranger he was.