That night at the supper-table the conversation took a peculiar turn.  Mr. Larramie was the chief speaker, and it pleased him to hold forth upon the merits of Mrs. Chester.  He said, and his wife and others of the company agreed with him, that she was a lady of peculiarly estimable character; that she was out of place; that every one who knew her well felt that she was out of place; but that she so graced her position that she almost raised it to her level.  Over and over again her friends had said to her that a lady such as she was—­still young, of a good family, well educated, who had travelled, and moved in excellent society—­should not continue to be the landlady of a country inn, but the advice of her friends had had no effect upon her.

It was not known whether it was necessary for her to continue the inn-keeping business, but the general belief was that it was not necessary.  It was supposed that she had had money when she married Godfrey Chester, and he was not a poor man.

Then came a strange revelation, which Mr. Larramie dwelt upon with considerable earnestness.  There was an idea, he said, that Mrs. Chester kept up the Holly Sprig because she thought it would be her husband’s wish that she should do so.  He had probably said something about its being a provision for her in case of his death.  At any rate, she seemed desirous to maintain the establishment exactly as he had ordered it in his life, making no change whatever, very much as if she had expected him to come back, and wished him to find everything as he had left it.

“Of course she doesn’t expect him to come back,” said Mr. Larramie, “because it must now be four years since the time of his supposed murder—­”

“Supposed!” I cried, with much more excited interest than I would have shown if I had taken proper thought before speaking.

“Well,” said Mr. Larramie, “that is a fine point.  I said ‘supposed’ because the facts of the case are not definitely known.  There can be no reasonable doubt, however, that he is dead, for even if this fact had not been conclusively proved by the police investigations, it might now be considered proved by his continued absence.  It would have been impossible for Mr. Chester alive to keep away from his wife for four years—­they were devoted to each other.  Furthermore, the exact manner of his death is not known—­although it must have been a murder—­and for these reasons I used the word ‘supposed.’  But, really, so far as human judgment can go, the whole matter is a certainty.  I have not the slightest doubt in the world that Mrs. Chester so considers it, and yet, as she does not positively know it—­as she has not the actual proofs that her husband is no longer living—­she refuses in certain ways, in certain ways only, to consider herself a widow.”

“And what ways are those?” I asked, in a voice which, I hope, exhibited no undue emotion.