“Ye-e-s,” and she reluctantly uttered the word; “but, O Stephen! I don’t want to wait.”
“It isn’t necessary. You sha’n’t wait,” vociferated the sergeant, roaming about the room.
Mrs. Hardy was just about to lose her composure, and throw herself miserably into a chair; but at his words a puzzled, almost fearful, expression came over her face, and in tremulous haste she hurried to the pantry, and busied herself in preparing the extra meal that he had demanded.
“His grandfather died in a lunatic asylum,” she murmured, as her shaking hand dropped tea instead of coffee into the coffee-pot. “Is it possible that his mind is getting affected? He sha’n’t be worried into it, anyway,” she went on, bravely dashing aside a tear; and her fingers fairly flew, as she cut slices of cold meat and buttered some rolls. “He shall have what he wants.”
In a very few minutes the sergeant was bidden to seat himself before his second breakfast. “Now call the boy,” he exclaimed, “as you always do before we get seated.”
“My dear husband, let us not refer to him,” said Mrs. Hardy very slowly and soothingly; “don’t you know he is not here?”
“Let’s go through the form, anyway,” said the sergeant, smiting the table until the dishes rattled. “Let’s go through with it for the sake of old times and the times that are to come;” and leaping up he took her hand in his, and jogged merrily down the hall.
“I’ll go with you, Stephen,” said his wife, with quiet yet increasing uneasiness; “but don’t hurry, there’s plenty of time.”
“Yes, there’s plenty of time,” whispered her husband, and to her further anxiety he became mysterious and subdued; “hush, now, if he was here we might wake him;” and he tiptoed cautiously into the room.