twinkled, and as the rays
melted the snow the boughs stooped and shed their burdens in shining
avalanches.

Blackbirds were hopping in the snow, and the track of hares was
distinguishable everywhere.

As the sun burst in at the little window it illumined the beautiful
face of Mehetabel and showed the delicate rose in her cheeks, and
shone in her rich dark hair, bringing out a chestnut glow not
usually visible in it.

Jonas, who had been sitting at his table working at his accounts,
looked up and saw his wife at the window contemplating the beauty
of the scene. She had her hands clasped, and her thoughts seemed
to be far away, though her eyes rested on the twinkling white world
before her.

Jonas, though ill-natured and captious, was fond of his wife, in
his low, animal fashion, and had a coarse appreciation of her
beauty. He was so far recovered from his accident that he could
sleep and eat heartily, and his blood coursed as usual through
his veins.

The very jealousy that worked in him, and his hatred of Iver, and
envy of his advantages of youth, good looks, and ease of manner,
made him eager to assert his proprietorship over his wife.

He stepped up to her, without her noticing his approach, put his
right arm round her waist and kissed her.

She started, and thrust him back. She was far away in thought,
and the action was unintentional. In very truth she had been
dreaming of Iver, and the embrace chimed in with her dream, and
the action of shrinking and repulsion was occasioned by the recoil
of her moral nature from any undue familiarity attempted by Iver.

But the Broom-Squire entirely misconceived her action. With
quivering voice and flashing eyes, he said--

"Oh, if this had been Iver, the daub-paint, you would not have
pushed me away."

Her eyebrows contracted, and a slight start did not pass unnoticed.

"I know very well," he said, "of whom you were thinking. Deny it
if you can? Your mind was with Iver Verstage."

She was silent. The blood rushed foaming through her head; but she
looked Bideabout steadily in the face.

"It is guilt which keeps you silent," he said, bitterly.

"If you are so sure that I thought of him, why did you ask?" she
replied, and now the color faded out of her face.

Jonas laughed mockingly.

"It serves me right," he said in a tone of resentment against
himself. "I always knew what women were; that they were treacherous
and untrue; and the worst of all are those who