too late, that you have made a mistake, and
married the wrong man, who can never make you happy."

Mehetabel started upright, and went with heaving bosom to the
window, then drew back in surprise, for she saw the face of Mrs.
Rocliffe at the pane, her nose applied to and flattened against
the glass, and looking like a dab of putty.

She was offended at the woman's inquisitiveness, and went to the
door to inquire if she needed anything.

"Nuthin' at all," answered Sarah, with a laugh, "except to see
whether my brother was home. It's early days beginning this, I call
it."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nuthin'."

"Iver is here," said Mehetabel, controlling herself. "Will you
please to come in?"

"But Jonas is not, is he?"

"No; he has gone to Squire Mellers about a load of stable-brooms."

"I wouldn't come in on no account," said Mrs. Rocliffe. "Two's
company, three's none," and she turned and departed.

After she had shut the door Mehetabel went hastily through the
kitchen into the scullery at the back. Her face was crimson, and
she trembled in all her joints.

Iver called to her; she answered hastily that she was engaged, and
presently, after she had put bread and cake and butter on the
table, she fled to her own room upstairs, seated herself on a
chair, and hid her burning face in her apron.

The voice of her husband below afforded sensible relief to her in
her mortification. He was speaking with Iver; cursing the weather
and his bad luck. His long tramp in the rain had been to no
purpose. The Squire, to whose house he had been, was out. She
washed her face, combed and smoothed her hair, and slowly descended
the stairs.

On seeing her Jonas launched forth in complaints, and showed
himself to be in an evil temper. He must have ale, not wish-wash
tea, fit only for old women. He would not stuff himself with cake
like a school child. He must have ham fried for him at once.

He was in an irritable mood, and found fault with his wife about
trifles, or threw out sarcastic remarks that wounded, and made
Iver boil with indignation. Jonas did not seem to bear the young
artist a grudge; he was, in fact, pleased to see him, and proposed
to him to stay the evening and have a game of cards.

It was distressing to Mehetabel to be rebuked in public, but she
made no rejoinder. Jonas had seized on the opportunity to let his
visitor see that he was not tied to his wife's apron string, but
was absolute master in his own