"May I tell you in your ear?"
Mrs. Verstage extended an ear to her, she would have applied both to Mehetabel's mouth had that been feasible.
The young wife, with diffidence, whispered something.
A beam of satisfaction lit up the old woman's face.
"That's famous. That's just as it ort. With that and with the cookery book, Jonas'll just adore you. There's nuthin' like that for makin' a home homely."
"And you'll come to me?"
"My dear, if alive and well, without fail."
CHAPTER XXVII.
POISON.
The Broom-Squire did not recover from his wound with the rapidity that might have been expected. His blood was fevered, his head in a whirl. He could not forget what his sister had said to him relative to Mehetabel and Iver. Jealousy gnawed in his heart like a worm. That the painter should admire her for her beauty—that was nothing—who did not admire her? Had she not been an object of wonder and praise ever since she had bloomed into womanhood at the Ship? That he was envied his beautiful wife did not surprise him. He valued her because begrudged him by others.