'I heard my sister say that she saw a yellow packet of rat-poison in the china dog on the shelf in the kitchen,' said Honor nervously, 'which—I do not mean the dog—I mean the poison, which Mrs. Veale had bought at the Revel, and when I was in the passage just now I saw Mrs. Veale put the contents of this packet into the broth she was stirring on the fire, before pouring it out into the basin, in which it now is. But,' continued Honor, drawing a long breath, 'but Kate is not very accurate; she sometimes thinks she sees a thing when she has only imagined it, and she talks at random at times, just because she likes to talk.'
'It was mace,' said Mrs. Veale.
'Follow me,' ordered Taverner Langford, taking the basin between his hands, and going to the door. 'Let her go. She will follow me.'
'I've followed at your heel as a dog these fifteen years,' muttered Mrs. Veale, 'and now you know I must follow till you kick me away.'
Charles, however, would not relinquish his hold.
'Don't let her escape,' entreated Charles; 'she's a bad un, and ought to be brought to justice for falsely charging me.'
'Open the door, will you?' said Taverner roughly. 'Mrs. Veale, follow me into the harness-room'—this was the room on the other side of the passage, the room made out of the entrance hall.
Charles drew the woman through the door, and did not relax his hold till he had thrust her into the apartment where Langford wished to speak to her alone.
Taverner and she were now face to face without witnesses. The soft warm mist had changed to rain, that now pattered against the window. The room was wholly unfurnished. There was not a chair in it nor a table. Taverner had originally intended it as an office, but as he received few visitors he had come to use the parlour as reception room and office, and had made this apartment, cut from the hall, into a receptacle for lumber. A range of pegs on the wall supported old saddles and the gear of cart-horses, and branches of beanstalks, that had been hung there to dry for the preservation of seed. An unpleasant, stale odour hung about the room. The grate had not been used for many years, and was rusty; rain had brought the soot down the chimney, and, as there was no fender, had spluttered it over the floor. The window panes were dirty, and cobwebs hung in the corners of the room from the ceiling—old cobwebs thick with dust. Moths had eaten into the stuffing of the saddles, and, disturbed by the current of air from the door, fluttered about. In the corner was a heap of sacks, with nothing in them, smelling of earth and tar.
'I've served you faithful as a dog,' said Mrs. Veale. 'Faithful as a dog,' she repeated; 'watched for you, wakeful as an owl.'