She involuntarily caught her breath, like one relieved; then she smiled. “You mustn’t be too hard on ’Squire; he’s of a nervous temperament; I think he sees things—things outside our ken.”
Meanwhile Amos was unable not to see that there had been on the table a tumbler full of some kind of shrub, four glasses, and a decanter of wine. And there had been wine in all the glasses. But where were the drinkers? There were four or five plates on the table, and a segment of plum-cake was trodden underfoot on the floor. Before she did anything else, old Margaret carefully, almost scrupulously, gathered up the crumbs and carried them away. When she returned she carried a plate of cake and a glass of wine. This refreshment was proffered to Amos.
“It’s a domestic port,” she said, “but well recommended. I should be right glad to have you sit down and have a glass of wine with me, Mr. Sheriff.”
“Perhaps you mayn’t be so glad when you hear my errand,” said Amos.
She went white in a second, and her fingers curved inward like the fingers of the dying; she was opening and shutting her mouth without making a sound. He had seen a man hanged once, and that face had worn the same ghastly stare of expectation.
“If you knew I was come to beg off one of your debtors, for instance,” he went on; “that’s my errand, if you want to know.”
Her face changed. “It will go better after a glass of wine,” said she, again proffering the wine by a gesture—she didn’t trust her hand to pass the tray.
Amos was a little undecided as to the proper formula to be used, never having taken wine with a lady before; he felt that the usual salutations among “the boys,” such as “Here’s how!” or “Happy days!” or “Well, better luck next time!” savored of levity if not disrespect; so he grew a little red, and the best he could do was to mumble, “Here’s my respects to you, madam!” in a serious tone, with a bow.
But old Margaret smiled. “It’s a long while,” said she, “since I have taken wine with a—a gentleman outside my own kin.”