"Oh, I'm sure he did not intend to deceive me. He must have married me by mistake."
"Married by mistake! That's a new way of marrying. Ha, ha!" laughed Miss Fithian, scornfully.
"I am willing," continued Mrs. Plowden, unheeding the old maid's taunting laugh, "to wait for his explanation before condemning him, if he would only come back and make it; but I fear he may never do so. Even now I tremble to think that he may be behind prison bars."
"If so," replied Mrs. Wildfen, "he at least is well fed and warm, no doubt, while my poor Steve is wandering over the frozen roads, in the snow, houseless, hungry—and on Christmas, of all days in the year."
"What a wretched quarrel, when there should be 'peace on earth, good-will to men'!" commented Mrs. Honey. "I could find it in my heart to forgive William, if only for the sake of the season."
None of the ladies felt "up" to going to church, so they passed the time, until luncheon was served, speculating upon what had become of the gentlemen, and how they were faring. When they returned to the library, and were talking there, the Indian-like ear of Mrs. Rutherford caught unwonted sounds in the dining-room, and she quickly glided into the hall-way to learn the cause of the violent clattering of dishes, scuffling of feet, and masculine coughing she heard. Darting into the dining-room, she surprised Sam (was the artful Sam surprised?) in the act of clearing the remains of the luncheon from the table and packing them into a large market-basket.
"Why, Sam!" she demanded, "what does this mean?"
"Fo' de Lawd, missus, I dassent tell," he replied, affecting great confusion.
"You must. I insist upon it. Where are you going with that basket of food?"
"Well, missus, ef I must 'fess, I 'fess. I gwine take it to mars'r. I'se on'y a pore ole nigger, but I can't let de gemmen starve, specially young mars'r."