ut, but kept his eye
on Mehetabel.

"What did he give it you for?"

"As a wedding present."

"Gold, is it?"

"Gold and notes."

"Gold and notes. Hand 'em to me. I can count fast enough."

"The sum is fifteen pounds--dear, kind, old man."

"Fifteen pounds, is it? You might ha' lost it wi' your carelessness."

"I'll not be careless now."

"Good, hand it me."

"I cannot do that, Jonas. It is mine. Father said to me I was to
keep it gainst a rainy day."

"Didn't you swear in church to endow me with all your worldly
goods?" asked the Broom-Squire.

"No, it was you who did that. I then had nothing."

"Oh, was it so? I don't remember that. If you'd had them fifteen
pounds then, and the passon had knowed about it, he'd ha' made you
swear to hand it over to me--your lord and master."

"There's nothing about that in the Prayer-book."

"Then there ort to be. Hand me the money. You was nigh on losing
the lot, and ain't fit to keep it. Fifteen pounds!"

"I cannot give it to you, Bideabout; father told me it was to be
my very own, I was not to let it go out of my hands, not even into
yours, but to husband it."

"Ain't I your husband?"

"I do not mean that, to hoard it against an evil day. There is no
saying when that may come. And I passed my word it should be so."

He growled and said, "Look here, Matabel. It'll be a bostall road
with you an' me, unless there's give on one side and take on the
other."

"Is all the give to be on my side, and the take on yours?"

"In coorse. Wot else is matrimony? The sooner you learn that the
better for peace."

He whipped the cob, and the brute moved on.

Mehetabel walked forward and outstripped the conveyance. Old Clutch
was a specially slow walker. She soon reached that point at which
moorland began, without hedge on either side. Trees had ceased to
stud the heathy surface.

Before her rose the ridge that culminated where rose the gallows,
and stood inky black against the silvery light of declining day
behind them.

To the north, in the plain gleamed some ponds.

Curlew were piping sadly.

Mehetabel was immersed in her own thoughts, glad to be by herself.
Jonas had not said much to her in the cart, yet his presence had
been irksome. She thought of the past, of her childhood along with
Iver, of the day when he ran away. How handsome he had become! What
an expression of contempt had passed over his countenance when he
looked at Bideabout, and learned that he wa