"If false, keep silence," said Jonas, looking up at her from where
he knelt. "If true, bid him come--to his death, that I may carry
out your wish, and rid you of him. If the spirits won't help you,
I will."

Then she shrilly cried, "Iver, come!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

A SHOT.

After Bideabout had done his business in Godalming he had returned
to the Punch-Bowl.

The news had reached his ears that a deer had been seen on the
Moor, and he knew that on the following day many guns would be out,
as every man in Thursley was a sportsman. With characteristic
cunning he resolved to forestall his fellows, go forth at night,
which he might well do when the moon was full, and secure the deer
for himself.

As he left the house, he encountered his sister.

"Where are you going off to?" she inquired. "And got a gun too."

He informed her of his intention.

"Ah! you'll give us some of the venison," said she.

"I'm not so sure of that," answered the Broom-Squire, churlishly.

"So you are going stag-hunting? That's purely," laughed she.

"Why not?"

"I should have thought you'd best a' gone after your own wife, and
brought her home."

"She is all right--at the Ship."

"I know she is at the Ship--just where she ought not to be; just
where you should not let her be."

"She'll earn a little money."

"Oh, money!" scoffed Sarah Rocliffe. "What fools men be, and set
themselves up as wiser than all the world of women. You've had
Iver Verstage here; you've invited him over to paint your Matabel;
and here he has been, admiring her, saying soft things to her, and
turnin' her head. Sometimes you've been present. Most times you've
been away. And now you've sent her to the Ship, and you are off
stag huntin'." Then with strident voice, the woman sang, and looked
maliciously at her brother.

"Oh, it blew a pleasant gale,
As a frite under sail,
Came a-bearing to the south along the strand.
With her swelling canvas spread.
But without an ounce of lead,
And a signalling, alack t she was ill-manned."

With a laugh, and a snap of her fingers in Bideabout's face, she
repeated tauntingly:--

"And a-signalling, alack I she was ill-manned."

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