As Jonas had another, she did not think it necessary for her to produce the original and call down thereby on herself a torrent of abuse. She retained it, and thus access to the poison was possible to those two individuals under one roof. CHAPTER XXVIII. A THREAT. One Sunday, the first snow had fallen in large flakes, and as there had been no wind it had covered all things pretty evenly--it had laden the trees, many of which had not as yet shed their leaves. Mehetabel had not gone to church because of this snow; and Jonas had been detained at home for the same reason, though not from church. If he had gone anywhere it would have been to look for holly trees full of berries which he might cut for the Christmas sale of evergreens. Towards noon the sun suddenly broke out and revealed a world of marvellous beauty. Every bush and tree 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.