She thought of the death of her almost mother Susanna Verstage, the only woman that had shown her kindness, except the dame of the school she had attended as a child. Mehetabel's heart overflowed with tender love towards the deceased, she fully, frankly forgave her the cruel blow whereby she had wounded her, and had driven her out of her house and into that of Jonas. And yet it was a deadly wrong: a wrong that could never be redressed. The wound dealt her would canker her heart away; it was of such a nature that nothing could heal it. Mehetabel was well aware of this. She could see brightness before her in one direction only. From her child alone could she derive hope and joy in the future. And yet she forgave Mrs. Verstage with a generous forgiveness which was part of her nature. She would forgive Jonas anything, everything, if he would but acknowledge his wrong, and turn to her in love. And now she found that she could think of Iver without a quickening of her pulses. In her love for her babe all other loves had been swallowed up, refined, reduced in force. She loved Iver still, but only as a friend, a brother. Her breast had room for one prevailing love only--that of her child. As she sat, slightly rocking the cradle, and with a smile dimpling her cheek, a knock sounded at the door, and at her call there entered a young man whom she had seen during the winter with Jonas. He was a gentleman, and she had been told that he had lodged at the Huts, and she knew that he had engaged the Broom-Squire to attend him, when duck-shooting, at the Fransham ponds. Mehetabel apologized for not rising as he entered, and pointed to the cradle. "My name is Markham," said the young man, "I have come to see Mr. Kink. This is his house, I believe?" "Yes, sir; but he is not at home." "Will he be long absent?" "I do not know. Will you please to take a chair?" "Thank you." The young gentleman seated himself, wiped his brow, and threw his cap on the floor. "I want some fishing. I made Mr. Kink's acquaintance, shooting, during the winter. Excuse me, are you his sister or his wife?" "His wife, sir." "You are very young." To this Mehetabel made no reply. "And uncommonly pretty," pursued Mr. Markham, looking at her with admiration. "Where the deuce did the Broom-Squire pick you up?" The young mother was annoyed--a little color formed in her cheek. "Can I give a message to Jonas?" she asked. "A message? Tell him he's a lucky dog. By heaven! I had no idea that a pearl lay at the bottom of the Punch-Bowl. And that is your baby?" "Yes, sir." Mehetabel lightly raised the sheet that covered the child's head. The stranger stooped and looked at the sleeping child, that seemed to be made uneasy by his glance, and turned moaning away. "It looks as if it were for another world--not this," said the gentleman. The flush spread over Mehetabel's brow. "Sir," she said in a fluttering voice, "You are not a doctor, are you?" "Oh, dear, no!--a barrister."