"Jonas," said Mehetabel, recovering self-control under the resentment she felt at being misunderstood, and her action misinterpreted. "Jonas, I have done you no injury. I was weak. God in heaven knows my integrity. I have never wronged you; but I was weak, and in deadly fear." "In fear of whom?" "Of myself--my own weakness." "You weak!" he sneered. "You--strong as any woman." "I do not speak of my arms, Jonas--my heart--my spirit--" "Weak!" he scoffed. "A woman with a weak and timorous soul would not come to Thor's Stone at night. No--strong you are--in evil, in wickedness, from which no tears will withhold you. And--that fellow--that daub-paint--" Mehetabel did not speak. She was trembling. "I ask--what of him? Was not he in your thoughts when you asked the Devil to rid you of me--your husband?" "I did not ask that, Jonas." "What of him? He has not gone away. He has been with you. You knew he was not going. You wanted to be with him. Where is he--this dauber of canvas--now?" Then, through the fine gauze of condensing haze, came a call from a distance--"Matabel! Where are you?" "Oh, ho!" exclaimed the Broom-Squire. "Here he comes. By appointment you meet him here, where you least expected that I would be." "It is false, Jonas. I came here to escape." "And pray for my death?" "No, Jonas, to be rid of him." Bideabout chuckled, with a sarcastic sneer in the side of his face. "Come now," said he; "I should dearly like to witness this meeting. If true to me, as you pretend, then obey me, summon him here, and let me be present, unobserved, when you meet. If your wish be, as you say, to be rid of him, I will help you to its fulfilment." "Jonas!" "I will it. So alone can you convince me." She hesitated. She had not the power to gather her thoughts together, to judge what she should do, what under the circumstances would be best to be done. "Come now," repeated Jonas. "If you are true and honest, as you say, call him." She put her trembling hand to her head, wiped the drops from her brow, the tears from her eyes, the dew from her quivering lips. Her brain was reeling, her power of will was paralyzed. "Come, now," said Jonas once more, "answer him--here am I." Then Mehetabel cried, "Iver, here am I!" "Where are you, Mehetabel?" came the question through the silvery haze and the twinkling willow-shoots. "Answer him, by Thor's Stone," said Jonas. Again she hesitated and passed her hand over her face. "Answer him," whispered Jonas. "If you are true, do as I say. If false, be silent." "By Thor's Stone," called Mehetabel. Then all the sound heard was that of the young man brushing his way through the rushes and willow boughs.