At another time Demorest might have been amused at his guest's audacity, or have combated it with his old imperiousness, but he only remained looking at him in a dull sort of way as if yielding to his influence. It was part of the phenomenon that the two men seemed to have changed character since they last met, and when Ezekiel said confidentially: “I reckon you're goin' to show me what room I ken stow these duds o' mine in,” Demorest replied hurriedly, “Yes, certainly,” and taking up his guest's carpet-bag preceded him through the hall to one of the apartments.
“I'll send Manuel to you presently,” he said, putting down the bag mechanically; “the servants are not back from church, it's some saint's festival to-day.”
“And so you keep a pack of lazy idolaters to leave your house to take care of itself, whilst they worship graven images,” said Ezekiel, delighted at this opportunity to improve the occasion.
“If my memory isn't bad, Mr. Corwin,” said Demorest dryly, “when I accompanied Mr. Blandford home the night he returned from his journey, we found YOU at church, and he had to put up his horse himself.”
“But that was the Sabbath—the seventh day of the command,” retorted Ezekiel.
“And here the Sabbath doesn't consist of only ONE day to serve God in,” said Demorest, sententiously.
Ezekiel glanced under his white lashes at Demorest's thoughtful face. His fondest fears appeared to be confirmed; Demorest had evidently become a Papist. But that gentleman stopped any theological discussion by the abrupt inquiry:
“Did Mrs. Demorest say when she thought of returning?”
“She allowed she mout kem to-morrow—but—” added Ezekiel dubiously.
“But what?”