It was terrible when alone to witness the rage that disfigured the countenance of Sophia Rushmere when she found herself baffled in her cold-blooded treachery. The tune was changed to curses loud and deep, and threats of vengeance against the innocent object of her jealous hatred. She rated Martha Wood in no measured terms for the defeat of her well laid plot. That individual answered her with corresponding insolence.
"How should I know what you were after with the spoons? If you had told me, I could have sworn that I saw Dorothy steal them. What's the use of making a mystery about your doings to me? I should think I knew too much about your affairs before your marriage for that."
"But you must have been very obtuse, Martha," said her mistress, softening down, "not to perceive what I had in hand."
"I should, if I had got a sight of your face. In the manner that Mr. Gilbert stood in the open doorway, I did not see that you were in the room until the blunder was out."
"Do you know what he said about it after I left?"
"No, but I saw Dorothy go up to him and take his hand, and he bent down and kissed her. I saw that through a crack in the door!"
"The shameless wretch!" cried Sophy, stamping with passion. "But for your folly, I should have had her transported. Thank God! she's gone. I have got her out of the house at last, and I'll take good care that she never comes into it again."
"She is too near at hand, I should think, Mrs. Gilbert, for your peace. If your husband is as fond of her, as I hear folks say, that he once was, it is a very easy matter for them to meet on that lonely heath, even in broad day, and no one be a whit the wiser."
The artful girl was heaping fresh fuel on the fire she had kindled in the breast of her weak employer, and when she had nearly maddened her with her base insinuations, she went away laughing at her as a consummate simpleton.