“I’ve heard about you,” said Susannah.
Catherine turned away her head. It seemed to her that her best refuge was in silence.
“There’s not much Heber hides from me,” continued the other; “it isn’t for nothing he comes back to his father’s house time and again as he do. He’s reckoned a good son, is Heber.”
The sly scorn of her laugh ran like an electric current through the kitchen.
“I mind when he parted wi’ you,” she went on. “He come back to me. I knew he’d come. ‘That’s over, my dear,’ says he, ‘an’ over for good an’ all, too. A false woman’s better found out before the ring’s on her hand.’ An’ false you are, too,” added Susannah loudly—“to Heber first and to Saunders last.”
“But here I am all the same,” rejoined Catherine, her spirit roused where another woman was concerned.
Susannah laughed again.
“Well, why not?” she cried; “no one knows better nor me why you’re here. Heber’s not one to let the paying of his debts slip out of his mind. ‘Saunders shall never have her,’ says he. ‘I’ll be even wi’ Saunders.’ And like enough he’ll be even wi’ you, too, Catherine Dennis. Are you goin’ to stop here waitin’ for him? Maybe you’ll have to wait longer than you think.”
Defiance died out of the girl’s face, and a chill went to her heart as this new and dreadful idea reached her. Through the darkness Susannah heard the catch of her breath. She rose, and coming close to Catherine, she knelt down and thrust a stick from the bundle lying in the chimney-corner between the bars. She crouched, devouring the other with her fierce look as the fire blazed up.