finer: and there were rings that flashed and glowed on her thin fingers. It was not Old Twentypercent; it was a stately little gentlewoman that stood before him. “How did you happen to come, sir?”—she spoke with coldness. “I came on an errand, and I was just at the door when the curtain flew up and the cat jumped across the table.” 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.” “Is that so?” Amos murmured, politely. “Well, it’s the first time I have had that pleasure with a lady.” He was conscious that he was pleasing her, and that she was smiling about her, for all the world (he said to himself) as if she were exchanging glances with some one. A new idea came to him, and he looked at her compassionately while he ate his cake, breaking off bits and eating it delicately, exactly as she ate.