Neither did words appear to come at the farmer's bidding, but very decided deeds did.

He took the alarmed Mrs Jenkins by the two shoulders, literally lifted her from the ground, carried her downstairs a great deal faster than she came up, helped her along the passage much in the same way, and with something very nearly approaching a kick and an oath, turned her out of doors, and shut the door behind her with so violent a bang that it echoed through the house.
Owen ran down stairs to receive the first brunt of his passion, and to prevent his going up to his mother.

He allowed the words that came at last to have way, and then took all the fault on himself; said that he had admitted Mrs Jenkins to try to soothe his mother, and that she had done so, he thought.
'Take you care, sir, how you let that 'ooman darken my doors again, or any one belonging to her.

It'll be worse for you than for them,' said Mr Prothero, with a brow like a thunder cloud.
His wrath was interrupted by the sound of wheels, and to Owen's great relief, he saw the head of his uncle's well known grey mare through the window.

He ran out to admit him and his aunt.
'We have just seen Mrs Jenkins, Owen,' began his aunt.
'Not a word to father, aunt.' 'Very well.