"It is not that I _like_ drink, or care for it for drinking's sake;
I declare it to you, Johnny Ludlow; but I take it, and must take it,
to drown care. With that extra glass last night, I might have got to
sleep--I don't know. Were my mind at ease, I should be as sober as you
are."
"But don't you see, Roger, that unless you pull up now, while you _can_,
you may not be able to do it later."
"Oh yes, I see it all," he carelessly said. "Well, it no longer matters
much what becomes of me. There's the breakfast-bell. You can go on,
Johnny."
The rooms looked like green bowers, for we had not spared either our
pains or the holly-branches, and it would have been as happy a
Christmas-Day as it was a bright one, but for the sword that was hanging
over Roger Bevere's head. Neither he nor I could enjoy it. He declined
to go to church with us, saying he felt ill: the truth being that he
feared to meet Lizzie. Not to attend divine service on Christmas-Day was
regarded by Mr. Brandon as one of the cardinal sins. To my surprise he
did not remonstrate with Roger in words: but he looked the more.
Lady Bevere's dinner hour on Christmas-Day was four o'clock, which
gave a good long evening. Roger ate some turkey and some plum-pudding,
mechanically; his ears were listening for the dreaded sound of the
door-bell. We were about half-way through dinner, when there came a peal
that shook the house. Lady Bevere started in her chair. I fancy Roger
went nearly out of his.
"Why, who can be coming here now--with such a ring as that?" she
exclaimed.
"Perhaps it is Harriet's sister!" cried the little girl, in her sharp,
quick way. "Do you think it is, Harriet?"
"She's free enough for it," returned Harriet, in a vexed tone. "I told
her she might come yesterday, Miss Tottams, my lady permitting it, but I
did not tell her she might come to-day."
I glanced at Roger. His knife and fork shook in his hands; his face wore
the hue of the grave. I was little less agitated than he.
Another respite. It was only a parcel from the railway-station, which
had been delayed in the delivery. And the dinner went on.
And the evening went on too, as the past one went on--undisturbed.
Later, when some of us were playing at snap-dragon in the little
breakfast-room, Harriet came in to march Miss Tottams off to bed.
"Your sister did not come after all, did she, Harriet?" said Mary.
"No, Miss Mary. She's gone back to London," continued Harriet, after a
pause. "Not enough life for her, I dare say, down here."
Roger glanced round. He did not dare ask whether Harriet knew she was
gone back, or only supposed it.