To-night Sarah Jane and Daniel heard the familiar voice raised as they entered the front gate, and, despite a loud summons, they stood some while under the dusk, with the scent of the garden primroses in their nostrils, before any attention was paid to them.
Then Susan appeared, and as she opened the door the full and withering blast of Hephzibah's rhetoric burst upon the air.
"Didn't hear 'e first time," said the girl. "Aunt's in one of her tantrums. A very awkward thing's happed just now. Awkward for Uncle Philip, I mean. He was in the street talking to Mr. Churchward; and unbeknownst to him, on our side the wall, not two yards off, Aunt Hepsy chanced for to be."
"Never mind all that," interrupted Sarah Jane. "Here's the butter, and my husband be come to see Jarratt. We don't want to hear none of your rows, Susie."
"You'll have to hear—you know what Aunt Hepsy be."
They went into the kitchen, and Mrs. Weekes, without saluting them, instantly turned the torrent of her speech in their direction.
Philip sat by the fire with his hands in his pockets and his wistful grey eyes roaming, rather like a wild animal caught in a trap; his son was eating at the table; Mrs. Weekes stood in the middle of the kitchen; her legs were planted somewhat apart, and her arms waved like semaphores to accentuate her speech.
"Your eyes be enough," she said. "You cast 'em to the ceiling, an' search the floor an' the fire with 'em; but you can't hide the guilt in 'em—you evil-speaking traitor! He'd have me dead—what d'you think of that, Sarah Jane? As a wife you can understand, perhaps. Every word I caught when I was in the garden—doing his work, of course, and picking the lettuces that he'd ought to have picked and washed and packed two hours afore. An' him t'other side of the wall telling to that wind-bag that teaches the children—though what he does teach 'em except to use long, silly words, I can't say. 'The sooner she's dead the better!' That was the thing my husband spoke—in a murdering voice he spoke it. And my knees curdled away under me—the Lord's my judge! I could almost hear him sharpening a knife to do it! 'The sooner she's dead the better.' That was what he said. Murder, I call it—black murder; and he'll hang in the next world for it, if he don't in this. Wished me dead! Knave—foul-minded rascal!—beastly coward to kill the wife of his bosom with a word! And now——"
The familiar gasp for which her husband waited came, and he spoke before she could resume.
"I'll only say this. I was speaking of Adam Churchward's old collie bitch—may I be stuck fast on to this settle for evermore if I wasn't; and when I said 'sooner she's dead the better,' 'twas in answer to schoolmaster's question. If I was struck dumb this instant moment, that's the truth."