About an hour after her husband had left her, Hetty Vincent awoke. She
rubbed her eyes, sat up in bed, and after a moment's reflection began to
dress. She was downstairs, bustling about as usual, just as the
eight-day clock struck seven. Hetty attended to the household work
itself, but there was a maid to help her with the dairy, to milk the
cows, and undertake the heavy part of the work. The girl's name was
Susan. Hetty and she went into the dairy as usual now and began to
perform their morning duties.
There were several cows kept on the farm, and the Vincents largely lived
on the dairy produce. Their milk and butter and cream were famous in the
district. The great pails of foaming milk were now being brought in by
Susan and the man Dan, and the different pans quickly filled.
The morning's milk being set, Hetty began to skim the pans which were
ready from the previous night. As she did so she put the cream at once
into the churn, and Susan prepared to make the butter.
"Hold a bit, ma'am," she said suddenly, "we never scalded out this churn
properly, and the last butter had a queer taste, don't you remember?"
"Of course I do," said Hetty, "how provoking; all that cream is wasted
then."
"I don't think so," answered Susan. "If we pour it out at once it won't
get the taste. Please hold that basin for me, ma'am, and I'll empty the
cream that is in the churn straight into it."
Hetty did so.
Susan set the churn down again on the floor.
"If you'll give me that stuff in the bottle, ma'am," she said, "which
you keep in the cupboard, I'll mix some of it with boiling water and
wash out the churn, and it'll be as sweet as a nut immediately."
"The water is already boiling in the copper," said Hetty.
The girl went off to fill a large jug with some, and Hetty unlocked the
cupboard from which she had taken the bottle of laudanum the night
before. The chemical preparation required for sweetening the churn
should have stood close to the laudanum bottle. It was not there, and
Susan, who was anxious to begin her work, fetched a stepladder and
mounting it began to search through the contents of the cupboard.
"I can't find the bottle," she cried, "but lor! ma'am, what is this
black stuff? It looks sum'mat like treacle."
"No, it is not; let it alone," said Hetty in alarm.
"I don't want to touch it, I'm sure," replied Susan. "It's got a good
big 'poison' marked on it, and I'm awful frightened of that sort o'
thing."
"It's toothache cure," said Hetty. "Ef you swallowed a good lot of it it
'ud kill you, but it's a splendid thing to put on cotton-wool and stuff
into your tooth if it aches badly. Just you step down from the ladder,
and I'll have a look for the bottle we want, Susan."
The bottle was nowhere to be found in the cupboard but was presently
discovered in another corner of the dairy; the morning's work then went
on without a hitch.
At his accustomed hour Vincent came in to breakfast. He looked moody and
depressed. As he ate he glanced many times at Hetty, but did not
vouchsafe a single word to her.
She was in the mood to be agreeable to him and she put on her most
fascinating airs for his benefit. Once as she passed his chair she laid
her small hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder. The man longed
indescribably to seize the little hand and press its owner to his hungry
heart, but he restrained himself. Mrs. Everett's words were ringing in
his ear: "Your wife holds a secret."
Hetty presently sat down opposite to him. The sunshine was now streaming
full into the cheerful farm kitchen, and some of its rays fell across
her face. What a lovely face it was; pale, it is true, and somewhat
worn, but what pathetic eyes, so dark so velvety; what a dear rosebud
mouth, what an arch and yet sad expression!
"She beats every other woman holler," muttered the man to himself. "It's
my belief that ef it worn't for that secret she'd love me. Yes, it must
be true, she holds a secret, and it's a-killing of her. She ain't what
she wor when we married. I'll get that secret out o' her; but not for no
thousand pounds, 'andy as it 'ud be."
"Hetty," he said suddenly.
"What in the world is the matter with you, George? You look so moody,"
said Hetty.
"Well, now, I may as well return the compliment," he replied, "so do
you."
"Oh, I'm all right," she answered, with a pert toss of her head. "Maybe,
George," she continued, "you're bilious; you ate summat that disagreed
wi' you last night."
"Yes, I did," he replied fiercely. "I swallered a powerful lot o'
jealousy, and it's bad food and hard to digest."
"Jealousy?" she answered, bridling, and her cheeks growing a deep rose.
"Now what should make you jealous?"
"You make me jealous, my girl," he answered.
"I! what in the world did I do?"
"You talked to Squire--you wor mad to see 'im. Het, you've got a secret,
and you may as well out wi' it."
The imminence of the danger made Hetty quite cool and almost brave. She
uttered a light laugh, and bent forward to help herself to some more
butter.
"You must be crazy to have thoughts o' that sort, George," she said.
"Ain't I been your wife for five years, and isn't it likely that ef I
had a secret you'd have discovered it, sharp feller as you are? No, I
was pleased to see Squire. I was always fond o' 'im; and I ain't got no
secret except the pain in my side."
She turned very pale as she uttered the last words and pressed her hand
to the neighborhood of her heart.
Vincent was at once all tenderness and concern.
"I'm a brute to worry yer, my little gell," he said. "Secret or no
secret, you're all I 'as got. It's jest this way, Het, ef you'd love me
a bit, I wouldn't mind ef you had fifty secrets, but it's the feelin'
that you don't love me, mad as I be about you, that drives me stark,
staring wild at times."
"I'll try hard to love you ef you wish it, George," she said.
He left his seat and came toward her. The next moment he had folded her
in his arms. She shivered under his embrace, but submitted.
"Now that's better," he said. "Tryin' means succeeding 'cording to my
way o' thinking of it. But you don't look a bit well, Het; you change
color too often--red one minute, white the next--you mustn't do no sort
o' work this morning. You jest put your feet up this minute on the
settle and I'll fetch that novel you're so took up with. You like
readin', don't yer, lass?"
"At times I do," said Hetty, "but I ain't in the mood to read to-day,
and there's a heap to be done."
"You're not to do it; Susan will manage."
"George, she can't; she's got the dairy."
"Dan shall manage the dairy. He's worth two Susans, and Susan can attend
to the housework. Now you lie still where I've put you and read your
novel. I'll be in to dinner at twelve o'clock, as usual, and ef you
don't look more spry by then I'll go and fetch Dr. Martin, that I will."
"I wouldn't see him for the world," said Hetty in alarm. "Well, I'll
stay quiet ef you wish me to."
The rest of the morning passed quickly. Until her husband was quite out
of sight Hetty remained on the settle in the cosy kitchen; then she went
up to her room, and taking a hat out of the cupboard began to pull it
about and to re-arrange the trimming. She put it on once or twice to see
if it became her. It was a pretty hat, made of white straw with a broad
low brim. It was trimmed simply with a broad band of colored ribbon. On
Hetty's charming head it had a rustic effect, and suited her particular
form of beauty.
"It don't matter what I wear," she murmured to herself. "'Taint looks
I'm a-thinking of now, but I may as well look my best when I go to him.
Once he thought me pretty. That awful evening down by the brook when I
gathered the forget-me-nots--I saw his thought in his eyes then--he
thought well of me then. Maybe he will again this evening. Anyhow I'll
wear the hat."
At dinner time Hetty once more resumed the role of an invalid, and
Vincent was charmed to find her reclining on the settle and pretending
to read the yellow-backed novel.
"Here's a brace of young pigeons," he said; "I shot 'em an hour ago. You
shall have 'em cooked up tasty for supper. You want fattening and
coaxing a bit. Ah, dinner ready; just what I like, corned beef and
cabbage. I am hungry and no mistake."
Susan had now left the house to return to her ordinary duties, and the
husband and wife were alone. Hetty declared herself much better; in
fact, quite well. She drew her chair close to Vincent, and talked to him
while he ate.
"Now I call this real cosy," he said. "Ef you try a bit harder you'll
soon do the real thing, Het; you'll love me for myself."
"Seems like it," answered Hetty. "George, you don't mind my going down
to see aunt this afternoon, do you?"
She brought out her words coolly, but Vincent's suspicions were
instantly aroused.
"Turn round and look at me," he said.
She did so bravely.
"You don't go outside the farm to-day, and that's flat," he said. "We
won't argufy on that point any more; you stop at 'ome to-day. Ef you're
a good girl and try to please me I'll harness the horse to the gig this
evening, and take yer for a bit of a drive."
"I'd like that," answered Hetty submissively. She bent down as she spoke
to pick up a piece of bread. She knew perfectly well that Vincent would
not allow her to keep her appointment with Squire. But that appointment
must be kept; if in no other way, by guile.
Hetty thought and thought. She was too excited to do little more than
pick her food, and Vincent showered attentions and affectionate words
upon her. At last he rose from his seat.
"Well, I've 'ad a hearty meal," he cried. "I'll be in again about four
o'clock; you might have a cup o' tea ready for me."
"No, I won't," said Hetty; "tea is bad for you; you're up so early, and
you're dead for sleep, and it's sleep you ought to have. You come home
about four, and I'll give you a glass o' stout."
"Stout?" said the farmer--he was particularly partial to that
beverage--"I didn't know there was any stout in the house," he
continued.
"Yes," she replied, laughing gayly, "the little cask which we didn't
open at Christmas; it's in the pantry, and you shall have a foaming
glass when you come in at four; go off now, George, and I'll have it
ready for you."
"All right," he said; "why, you're turning into a model wife; quite
anxious about me--at least, it seems like it. Well, I'll turn up for my
stout, more particular ef you'll give me a kiss along wi' it."
He went away, and Hetty watched him as he crossed the farmyard; her
cheeks were flushed, and her heart beat high. She had made up her mind.
She would drug the stout.
Vincent was neither a lazy nor a sleepy man; he worked hard from early
morning until late at night, indulging in no excesses of any kind, and
preferring tea as a rule to any other beverage; but stout, good stout,
such as Hetty had in the little cask, was his one weakness; he did like
a big draught of that.
"He shall have a sleep," said Hetty to herself. "It'll do him a power of
good. The first time I swallered a few drops of aunt's toothache cure I
slept for eight hours without moving. Lor! how bad I felt afore I went
off, and how nice and soothed when I awoke. Seemed as if I couldn't be
cross for ever so long. George shall sleep while I'm away. I'll put some
of the nice black stuff in his stout--the stuff that gives dreams--he'll
have a long rest, and I can go and return and he'll never know nothing
about it."
She made all her preparations with promptitude and cunning. First, she
opened the cask, and threw away the first glass she drew from it. She
then tasted the beverage, which turned out, as she expected it would, to
be of excellent quality. Hetty saw in imagination her husband draining
off one or two glasses. Presently she heard his step in the passage, and
ran quickly to the pantry where the stout was kept, concealing the
little bottle of laudanum in her pocket. She poured what she thought a
small but safe dose into the jug, and then filled it up with stout. Her
face was flushed, and her eyes very bright, when she appeared in the
kitchen with the jug and glass on a tray. Vincent was hot and dead
tired.
"Here you are, little woman," he cried. "Why, if you ain't a sort o'
ministering angel, I don't know who is. Well, I'm quite ready for that
ere drink o' your'n."
Hetty filled his glass to the brim. It frothed slightly, and looked, as
Vincent expressed it, prime. He raised it to his lips, drained it to the
dregs, and returned it to her. She filled it again.
"Come, come," he said, smiling, and half-winking at her, and then
casting a longing glance at the stout, "ain't two glasses o'er much."
"Not a bit of it," she answered. "You're to go to sleep, you know."
"Well, p'raps I can spare an hour, and I am a bit drowsy."
"You're to lie right down on the settle, and go off to sleep. I'll wake
you when it is time."
He drank off another glass.
"You won't run away to that aunt o' your'n while I'm drowsing?" he said.
"No," she replied. "I would not do a shabby sort of trick like that."
He took her hand in his, and a moment later had closed his eyes. Once or
twice he opened them to gaze fondly at her, but presently the great,
roughly hewn face settled down into repose. Hetty bent over him, laid
her cheek against his, and felt his forehead. He never stirred. She then
listened to his breathing, which was perfectly quiet and light.
"He's gone off like a baby. That's wonderful stuff in aunt's bottle,"
muttered Hetty. Finally, she threw a shawl of her own over him, drew
down the blind of the nearest window, and went on tiptoe out of the
kitchen.
"He'll sleep for hours. I did," she said to herself.
She put the little bottle back into its place in the dairy and moved
softly about the house. She was to meet the Squire at six. It was now
five o'clock. It would take her the best part of an hour to walk to the
Court. She went up to her room, put on her hat, and as she was leaving
the house, once again entered the kitchen. Vincent's face was pale
now--he was in a dead slumber. She heard his breathing, a little quick
and stertorous, but he was always a heavy breather, and she thought
nothing about it. She left the house smiling to herself at the clever
trick she had played on her husband. She was going to meet the Squire
now. Her heart beat with rapture.