“But bethink you, Joseph, the child suspects not the possibility of his having fallen.”
“Gadswounds, sir, did your daughter give the fellow a thought she must be anxious. A week yesterday since the battle, and no word from him. I dare swear, Gregory, there's little in that to warrant his mistress singing.”
“Cynthia is young—a child. She reasons not as you and I, nor seeks to account for his absence.”
“Troubles not to account for it,” Joseph amended.
“Be that as it may,” returned Gregory irritably, “I would I knew.”
“That which we do not know we may sometimes infer. I infer him to be dead, and there's the end of it.”
“What if he should not be?”
“Then, my good fool, he would be here.”
“It is unlike you, Joseph, to argue so loosely. What if he should be a prisoner?”
“Why, then, the plantations will do that which the battle hath left undone. So that, dead or captive, you see it is all one.”