Two days after, he was at work colouring it; and the hours flew by like minutes, as he laid the mellow, melting tints on with infinite care and delicacy. Labor ipse voluptas. Mrs. Gaunt heard Leonard had called on her in person. She was pleased at that, and it encouraged her to carry out her whole design. Accordingly, one afternoon when she knew Leonard would be at vespers, she sent on a loaded pony-cart, and followed it on horseback. Then it was all hurry scurry with Betty and her, to get their dark deeds done before their victim's return. These good creatures set the mirror opposite the flowery window, and so made the room a very bower. They fixed a magnificent crucifix of ivory and gold over the mantelpiece, and they took away his hassock of rashes and substituted a prie-dieu of rich crimson velvet. All that remained was to put their blue cover, with its golden cross, on the table. To do this, however, they had to remove the priest's papers and things: they were covered with a baize cloth. Mrs. Gaunt felt them under it. "But perhaps he will be angry if we move his papers," said she. "Not he," said Betty. "He has no secrets from God or man." "Well, _I_ won't take it on me," said Mrs. Gaunt, merrily. "I leave that to you." And she turned her back and settled the mirror, officiously, leaving all the other responsibilities to Betty. The sturdy widow laughed at her scruples, and whipped off the clot without ceremony. But soon her laugh stopped mighty short, and she uttered an exclamation. "What is the matter?" said Mrs. Gaunt, turning her head sharply round. "A wench's glove, as I'm a living sinner," groaned Betty. A poor little glove lay on the table; and both women eyed it like basilisks a moment. Then Betty pounced on it and examined it with the fierce keenness of her sex in such conjunctures, searching for a name or a clue. Owing to this rapidity, Mrs. Gaunt, who stood at some distance, had not time to observe the button on the glove, or she would have recognized her own property. "He have had a hussy with him unbeknown," said Betty, "and she have left her glove. 'Tis easy to get in by the window and out again. Only let me catch her. I'll tear her eyes out, and give him my mind. I'll have no young hussies creeping in an' out where I be." Thus spoke the simple woman, venting her coarse domestic jealousy. The gentlewoman said nothing, but a strange feeling traversed her heart for the first time in her life. It was a little chill, it was a little ache, it was a little sense of sickness; none of these violent, yet all distinct. And all about what? After this curious, novel spasm at the heart, she began to be ashamed of herself for having had such a feeling. Betty held her out the glove: and then she recognized it, and turned as red as fire. "You know whose 'tis?" said Betty, keenly.