“Yes, of course I am coming in. I have a great deal to say to you—much more than can be said in the open street.”
Tabitha ushered him into the little parlour; so neat, so cool and dainty a bower, albeit the whole of its contents would scarcely have realized ten pounds at an auction. She offered him her most luxurious easy-chair—a large Madeira chair, with pale chintz cushions and artistic draping; and then, when he had seated himself, she stood before him like a prisoner at the bar, and with unmistakable guilt disturbing the broad placidity of her countenance.
“Tabby, there is my offering from the Indies. May it keep you warm when you run out upon your mysterious errands on autumn evenings, as you used to do in my mother’s time. Sit down, pray; I have lots to say to you.”
Tabitha received the comfortable gift with rapturous thanks. That Captain Martin should have thought of her, so far away, with his head full of fighting, and with death looking him in the face! It was too much, and the tears rolled down her honest cheeks as she thanked him.
“And now, Tabitha, I want a candid answer to a straight question. Why did you leave my wife last January?”
“That’s easily explained, sir. I’m getting old, and I was tired of service. Mrs. Disney was very well able to spare me. Perhaps she didn’t set the same value on me as you did. Young people like young faces about them.”
“All that I can understand; but it didn’t exonerate you from your duty to me. You promised me to take care of my young wife.”
“I did my best, Captain Martin, as long as I could give satisfaction,” faltered Tabitha, growing very pale under this reproof.
“Had you any misunderstanding with Mrs. Disney? Did she find fault with you?”
“Oh no, sir. Mrs. Disney is not one to find fault. She’s too easy, if anything. No one could be sweeter than she was to me. God knows, if she had been my own daughter I could not have loved her better than I did.”