'And like a dog snarl and snap at me with poisoned fangs,' retorted Mr. Langford. 'Stand there!' He pointed to a place opposite him, so that the light from the window fell on her, and his own face was in darkness. 'Tell me the truth; what have you done to this broth?'
'If you think there's harm in it, throw it away,' said Mrs. Veale.
'No, I will not. I will send it to Okehampton and have it analysed. Do you know what that means? Examined whether there be anything in it but good juice of meat and water and toast.'
'There's mace,' said the woman; 'I put in mace to spice it, and pepper and salt.'
'Anything else? What do you keep in yellow paper, and in the china dog?'
'Mace—every cook puts mace in soup. If you don't like it throw it away, and I will make you some without.'
'Mrs. Veale, so there's nothing further in the soup?'
'Nothing.'
'You warned me that a corpse-candle was coming to the door—nay, you said you had seen it travel up the road and dance on the step, and that same night I was taken ill.'
'Well, did I bring the corpse-light? It came of itself.'