“No, miss; but if you get out the keys I could go down and fetch it from the cellar.”
“Yes, yes; of course,” said Gertrude. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, no, my dear,” cried Mrs Hampton; “we take so little, and I am sure Mr Hampton will not mind to-day.”
The old lawyer’s face was a study, and he took out his handkerchief and blew quite a blast.
“My beloved wife,” he said, “I am quite willing to forego a good many things, but my glass of sherry with my dinner, and my glass of port afterwards, are little matters which have grown so customary that—”
“Now, I’m sure, Hampton,” began the old lady.
“Yes, my love, and so am I,” he said decisively. “Gertrude, my dear, if you will give Denton the keys, I’ll go myself, and get the wine, and—Bless me, what a howl!”
The dog, which had been silent for hours, suddenly sent forth one of its long, low, mournful cries, which seemed to fill the place with the doleful sound.
Mrs Denton shook her head, and gazed inquiringly at the old lawyer, but beyond looking upon the cry as a temporary nuisance, whose effect only lasted the length of the sound, it seemed to make not the slightest impression upon him.
Gertrude led the way to the study, and, opening the glass door of the cabinet, took from the little drawer the cellar keys; everyone connected with the important parts of the house having, for many years past, had its resting-place in one of those drawers.