'He has found his mistress,' said one man, nudging his fellow.
'Ay, and is following her lead like a lamb,' replied the man who had been nudged.
'Who leads today will drive to-morrow,' said a third.
'Is he going to marry her?' asked the first.
The man addressed shrugged his shoulders and said, 'No money. Drownlands is not such a fool as that.'
None of this was heard by Zita, who did not relax her hold, nor turn to look at those who were left in the road. The master suffered her to conduct him towards the house without making remonstrance.
When Zita was beyond earshot, she looked over her shoulder, and said to Drownlands, 'I call that mean.'
She walked on, then halted, changed her hand on the bridle, and, gazing about, said, 'You could free yourself of him in no other fashion, so you swear his life away. But you have to reckon with me before it comes to that. I will go into court and swear against you. What I shall swear to will be the truth; your oath will bind you to lies.'
'I refuse to strive with you in words,' retorted Drownlands. 'A woman is always victor with such weapons.'
'What? you prefer flails?—those are your weapons,' exclaimed Zita, clenching her fist and holding her arm extended before her. 'I know well why you are set against Mark Runham. You think that he is something in some way to me, and that I am much to him. It is because of this that you pursue him. It is because of me that you twist the rope round his throat. But you are wrong altogether. I will not say that Mark is nothing to me. He was kind to me once; kind when my heart was tender, because my father was just buried. But I am nothing to Mark. He mocks at me. He sneers and laughs at the Cheap Jack girl. He does not love me; and, moreover, he is bound to another.'
'Nay, it is his affair, and he has not given me leave to tell his secrets. But you may guess.'
'I cannot guess,' he said, after a long pause.
'Well,' said Zita, 'father's word was true, that in such matters men are blind. We girls see—and I ought to see, for Mark has not played me fair. He did let me think he fancied me; but I think so no more. He has made me angry with him, and I am angry with him still. But there is a step beyond which I will not go. If I could punish him I would—but not with the rope or Botany Bay. You know that he came into your house in a friendly mind, and with kind intent. You know that he was not in league with that topsy-turvy general public. I shall hate and despise you, as I thought I could hate and despise no man, if you swear falsely against him.'