Then she burst forth again:—
"She was named the Virgin Dove,
With a lading, all of love.
And she signalled, that for Venus (Venice) she was bound.
But a pilot who could steer.
She required, for sore her fear,
Lest without one she should chance to run aground."
"Be silent, you croaking raven," shouted the Broom-Squire. "If you think to mock me, you are wrong. I know well enough what I am about. As for that painting chap, he is gone—gone to Guildford."
"How do you know that?"
"Because the landlady said as much."
"What—to you?"
"Yes, to me."
Mrs. Rocliffe laughed mockingly.
"Oh, Bideabout," she said, "did not that open your eyes? What did Sanna Verstage mean when she asked you to allow your wife to go to the inn! What did she mean but this?" she mimicked the mistress, "'Please, Master Bideabout, may Matabel come to me for a day or two—that naughty boy of mine is away now. So don't be frightened. I know very well that if he were at the Ship you might hesitate to send Matabel there.'" Then in her own tones Sarah Rocliffe said. "That is the meaning of it. But I don't believe that he is gone."
"Sanna Verstage don't tell lies."