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diff --git a/old/4274-8.txt b/old/4274-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 41e3301..0000000 --- a/old/4274-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,29239 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Wives and Daughters, by Elizabeth Cleghorn -Gaskell, Illustrated by George du Maurier - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: Wives and Daughters - An Every-Day Story - - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - - -Release Date: December 26, 2001 [eBook #4274] -Most recently updated: November 4, 2011 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WIVES AND DAUGHTERS*** - - -E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondo -and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D. - - - -Editorial note: - - _Wives and Daughters_ was first published serially in the - _Cornhill Magazine_ from August, 1864, to January, 1866. - Elizabeth Gaskell died suddenly in November, 1865. She had - completed all but the last chapter, and in that sense the - book, which many consider her masterpiece, is unfinished. - The editor of the _Cornhill Magazine_, Frederick Greenwood, - appended his comments about Mrs. Gaskell's intentions for - the conclusion and about Mrs. Gaskell as a person. Those - comments are included at the end of this e-book. _Wives - and Daughters_ was first published in book form in 1866 by - Smith, Elder. - - Both the _Cornhill_ serial and the Smith, Elder first - edition had eighteen full-page illustrations by George - du Maurier, and those are included in this e-book. The - _Cornhill_ edition also had small illustrations at the - beginning of seventeen chapters, and those too are - included. The illustrations can be seen by viewing the - HTML version of this file. See - 4274-h.htm or 4274-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4274/4274-h/4274-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4274/4274-h.zip) - - - - - -WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. - -An Every-Day Story. - -by - -Mrs. Gaskell - -With Illustrations by George du Maurier - - -[Illustration: Molly's New Bonnet. (frontispiece)] - - - - -CONTENTS. - - I. THE DAWN OF A GALA DAY. - II. A NOVICE AMONGST THE GREAT FOLK. - III. MOLLY GIBSON'S CHILDHOOD. - IV. MR. GIBSON'S NEIGHBOURS. - V. CALF-LOVE. - VI. A VISIT TO THE HAMLEYS. - VII. FORESHADOWS OF LOVE PERILS. - VIII. DRIFTING INTO DANGER. - IX. THE WIDOWER AND THE WIDOW. - X. A CRISIS. - XI. MAKING FRIENDSHIP. - XII. PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING. - XIII. MOLLY GIBSON'S NEW FRIENDS. - XIV. MOLLY FINDS HERSELF PATRONIZED. - XV. THE NEW MAMMA. - XVI. THE BRIDE AT HOME. - XVII. TROUBLE AT HAMLEY HALL. - XVIII. MR. OSBORNE'S SECRET. - XIX. CYNTHIA'S ARRIVAL. - XX. MRS. GIBSON'S VISITORS. - XXI. THE HALF-SISTERS. - XXII. THE OLD SQUIRE'S TROUBLES. - XXIII. OSBORNE HAMLEY REVIEWS HIS POSITION. - XXIV. MRS. GIBSON'S LITTLE DINNER. - XXV. HOLLINGFORD IN A BUSTLE. - XXVI. A CHARITY BALL. - XXVII. FATHER AND SONS. - XXVIII. RIVALRY. - XXIX. BUSH-FIGHTING. - XXX. OLD WAYS AND NEW WAYS. - XXXI. A PASSIVE COQUETTE. - XXXII. COMING EVENTS. - XXXIII. BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS. - XXXIV. A LOVER'S MISTAKE. - XXXV. THE MOTHER'S MANOEUVRE. - XXXVI. DOMESTIC DIPLOMACY. - XXXVII. A FLUKE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. - XXXVIII. MR. KIRKPATRICK, Q.C. - XXXIX. SECRET THOUGHTS OOZE OUT. - XL. MOLLY GIBSON BREATHES FREELY. - XLI. GATHERING CLOUDS. - XLII. THE STORM BURSTS. - XLIII. CYNTHIA'S CONFESSION. - XLIV. MOLLY GIBSON TO THE RESCUE. - XLV. CONFIDENCES. - XLVI. HOLLINGFORD GOSSIPS. - XLVII. SCANDAL AND ITS VICTIMS. - XLVIII. AN INNOCENT CULPRIT. - XLIX. MOLLY GIBSON FINDS A CHAMPION. - L. CYNTHIA AT BAY. - LI. "TROUBLES NEVER COME ALONE." - LII. SQUIRE HAMLEY'S SORROW. - LIII. UNLOOKED-FOR ARRIVALS. - LIV. MOLLY GIBSON'S WORTH IS DISCOVERED. - LV. AN ABSENT LOVER RETURNS. - LVI. "OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, AND ON WITH THE NEW." - LVII. BRIDAL VISITS AND ADIEUX. - LVIII. REVIVING HOPES AND BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS. - LIX. MOLLY GIBSON AT HAMLEY HALL. - LX. ROGER HAMLEY'S CONFESSION. - CONCLUDING REMARKS. [By the Editor of _The - Cornhill Magazine_.] - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - MOLLY'S NEW BONNET. FRONTISPIECE. - A LOVE LETTER. CHAPTER V. - VÆ VICTIS! CHAPTER VIII. - THE NEW MAMMA. CHAPTER XI. - UNWELCOME ATTENTIONS. CHAPTER XIV. - SHAKSPEARE AND THE MUSICAL GLASSES. CHAPTER XVI. - FIRST IMPRESSIONS. CHAPTER XIX. - ROGER IS INTRODUCED AND ENSLAVED. CHAPTER XXI. - "TU T'EN REPENTIRAS, COLIN." CHAPTER XXIV. - "WHY, OSBORNE, IS IT YOU?" CHAPTER XXIX. - THE BURNING OF THE GORSE. CHAPTER XXX. - THE LAST TURNING. CHAPTER XXXIV. - "OH! IT IS NO WONDER!" CHAPTER XXXIV. - "I TRUST THIS WILL NEVER OCCUR AGAIN, CYNTHIA!" CHAPTER XXXVII. - THERE STOOD MR. PRESTON AND CYNTHIA. CHAPTER XLII. - LADY HARRIET ASKS ONE OR TWO QUESTIONS. CHAPTER XLIX. - "MAMAN, MAMAN!" CHAPTER LIII. - "CYNTHIA'S LAST LOVER." CHAPTER LVI. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE DAWN OF A GALA DAY. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -To begin with the old rigmarole of childhood. In a country there was -a shire, and in that shire there was a town, and in that town there -was a house, and in that house there was a room, and in that room -there was a bed, and in that bed there lay a little girl; wide awake -and longing to get up, but not daring to do so for fear of the unseen -power in the next room--a certain Betty, whose slumbers must not -be disturbed until six o'clock struck, when she wakened of herself -"as sure as clockwork," and left the household very little peace -afterwards. It was a June morning, and early as it was, the room was -full of sunny warmth and light. - -On the drawers opposite to the little white dimity bed in which Molly -Gibson lay, was a primitive kind of bonnet-stand on which was hung a -bonnet, carefully covered over from any chance of dust with a large -cotton handkerchief, of so heavy and serviceable a texture that if -the thing underneath it had been a flimsy fabric of gauze and lace -and flowers, it would have been altogether "scomfished" (again to -quote from Betty's vocabulary). But the bonnet was made of solid -straw, and its only trimming was a plain white ribbon put over the -crown, and forming the strings. Still, there was a neat little -quilling inside, every plait of which Molly knew, for had she not -made it herself the evening before, with infinite pains? and was -there not a little blue bow in this quilling, the very first bit of -such finery Molly had ever had the prospect of wearing? - -Six o'clock now! the pleasant, brisk ringing of the church bells told -that; calling every one to their daily work, as they had done for -hundreds of years. Up jumped Molly, and ran with her bare little feet -across the room, and lifted off the handkerchief and saw once again -the bonnet; the pledge of the gay bright day to come. Then to the -window, and after some tugging she opened the casement, and let in -the sweet morning air. The dew was already off the flowers in the -garden below, but still rising from the long hay-grass in the meadows -directly beyond. At one side lay the little town of Hollingford, -into a street of which Mr. Gibson's front door opened; and delicate -columns, and little puffs of smoke were already beginning to rise -from many a cottage chimney where some housewife was already up, and -preparing breakfast for the bread-winner of the family. - -Molly Gibson saw all this, but all she thought about it was, "Oh! it -will be a fine day! I was afraid it never, never would come; or that, -if it ever came, it would be a rainy day!" Five-and-forty years ago, -children's pleasures in a country town were very simple, and Molly -had lived for twelve long years without the occurrence of any event -so great as that which was now impending. Poor child! it is true -that she had lost her mother, which was a jar to the whole tenour of -her life; but that was hardly an event in the sense referred to; and -besides, she had been too young to be conscious of it at the time. -The pleasure she was looking forward to to-day was her first share in -a kind of annual festival in Hollingford. - -The little straggling town faded away into country on one side close -to the entrance-lodge of a great park, where lived my Lord and Lady -Cumnor: "the earl" and "the countess," as they were always called by -the inhabitants of the town; where a very pretty amount of feudal -feeling still lingered, and showed itself in a number of simple ways, -droll enough to look back upon, but serious matters of importance -at the time. It was before the passing of the Reform Bill, but a -good deal of liberal talk took place occasionally between two or -three of the more enlightened freeholders living in Hollingford; -and there was a great Tory family in the county who, from time to -time, came forward and contested the election with the rival Whig -family of Cumnor. One would have thought that the above-mentioned -liberal-talking inhabitants would have, at least, admitted the -possibility of their voting for the Hely-Harrison, and thus trying to -vindicate their independence. But no such thing. "The earl" was lord -of the manor, and owner of much of the land on which Hollingford was -built; he and his household were fed, and doctored, and, to a certain -measure, clothed by the good people of the town; their fathers' -grandfathers had always voted for the eldest son of Cumnor Towers, -and following in the ancestral track, every man-jack in the place -gave his vote to the liege lord, totally irrespective of such -chimeras as political opinion. - -This was no unusual instance of the influence of the great -land-owners over humbler neighbours in those days before railways, -and it was well for a place where the powerful family, who thus -overshadowed it, were of so respectable a character as the Cumnors. -They expected to be submitted to, and obeyed; the simple worship of -the townspeople was accepted by the earl and countess as a right; and -they would have stood still in amazement, and with a horrid memory -of the French sansculottes who were the bugbears of their youth, had -any inhabitant of Hollingford ventured to set his will or opinions -in opposition to those of the earl. But, yielded all that obeisance, -they did a good deal for the town, and were generally condescending, -and often thoughtful and kind in their treatment of their vassals. -Lord Cumnor was a forbearing landlord; putting his steward a little -on one side sometimes, and taking the reins into his own hands now -and then, much to the annoyance of the agent, who was, in fact, too -rich and independent to care greatly for preserving a post where his -decisions might any day be overturned by my lord's taking a fancy -to go "pottering" (as the agent irreverently expressed it in the -sanctuary of his own home), which, being interpreted, meant that -occasionally the earl asked his own questions of his own tenants, -and used his own eyes and ears in the management of the smaller -details of his property. But his tenants liked my lord all the better -for this habit of his. Lord Cumnor had certainly a little time for -gossip, which he contrived to combine with the failing of personal -intervention between the old land-steward and the tenantry. But, -then, the countess made up by her unapproachable dignity for this -weakness of the earl's. Once a year she was condescending. She and -the ladies, her daughters, had set up a school; not a school after -the manner of schools now-a-days, where far better intellectual -teaching is given to the boys and girls of labourers and work-people -than often falls to the lot of their betters in worldly estate; but -a school of the kind we should call "industrial," where girls are -taught to sew beautifully, to be capital housemaids, and pretty fair -cooks, and, above all, to dress neatly in a kind of charity uniform -devised by the ladies of Cumnor Towers;--white caps, white tippets, -check aprons, blue gowns, and ready curtseys, and "please, ma'ams," -being _de rigueur_. - -Now, as the countess was absent from the Towers for a considerable -part of the year, she was glad to enlist the sympathy of the -Hollingford ladies in this school, with a view to obtaining their aid -as visitors during the many months that she and her daughters were -away. And the various unoccupied gentlewomen of the town responded to -the call of their liege lady, and gave her their service as required; -and along with it, a great deal of whispered and fussy admiration. -"How good of the countess! So like the dear countess--always thinking -of others!" and so on; while it was always supposed that no strangers -had seen Hollingford properly, unless they had been taken to the -countess's school, and been duly impressed by the neat little pupils, -and the still neater needlework there to be inspected. In return, -there was a day of honour set apart every summer, when with much -gracious and stately hospitality, Lady Cumnor and her daughters -received all the school visitors at the Towers, the great family -mansion standing in aristocratic seclusion in the centre of the large -park, of which one of the lodges was close to the little town. The -order of this annual festivity was this. About ten o'clock one of the -Towers' carriages rolled through the lodge, and drove to different -houses, wherein dwelt a woman to be honoured; picking them up by ones -or twos, till the loaded carriage drove back again through the ready -portals, bowled along the smooth tree-shaded road, and deposited its -covey of smartly-dressed ladies on the great flight of steps leading -to the ponderous doors of Cumnor Towers. Back again to the town; -another picking up of womankind in their best clothes, and another -return, and so on till the whole party were assembled either in the -house or in the really beautiful gardens. After the proper amount of -exhibition on the one part, and admiration on the other, had been -done, there was a collation for the visitors, and some more display -and admiration of the treasures inside the house. Towards four -o'clock, coffee was brought round; and this was a signal of the -approaching carriage that was to take them back to their own homes; -whither they returned with the happy consciousness of a well-spent -day, but with some fatigue at the long-continued exertion of behaving -their best, and talking on stilts for so many hours. Nor were -Lady Cumnor and her daughters free from something of the same -self-approbation, and something, too, of the same fatigue; the -fatigue that always follows on conscious efforts to behave as will -best please the society you are in. - -For the first time in her life, Molly Gibson was to be included among -the guests at the Towers. She was much too young to be a visitor at -the school, so it was not on that account that she was to go; but it -had so happened that one day when Lord Cumnor was on a "pottering" -expedition, he had met Mr. Gibson, _the_ doctor of the neighbourhood, -coming out of the farm-house my lord was entering; and having some -small question to ask the surgeon (Lord Cumnor seldom passed any -one of his acquaintance without asking a question of some sort--not -always attending to the answer; it was his mode of conversation), he -accompanied Mr. Gibson to the out-building, to a ring in the wall of -which the surgeon's horse was fastened. Molly was there too, sitting -square and quiet on her rough little pony, waiting for her father. -Her grave eyes opened large and wide at the close neighbourhood and -evident advance of "the earl;" for to her little imagination the -grey-haired, red-faced, somewhat clumsy man, was a cross between an -arch-angel and a king. - -"Your daughter, eh, Gibson?--nice little girl, how old? Pony wants -grooming though," patting it as he talked. "What's your name, -my dear? He's sadly behindhand with his rent, as I was saying, -but if he's really ill, I must see after Sheepshanks, who is a -hardish man of business. What's his complaint? You'll come to our -school-scrimmage on Thursday, little girl--what's-your-name? Mind you -send her, or bring her, Gibson; and just give a word to your groom, -for I'm sure that pony wasn't singed last year, now, was he? Don't -forget Thursday, little girl--what's-your-name?--it's a promise -between us, is it not?" And off the earl trotted, attracted by the -sight of the farmer's eldest son on the other side of the yard. - -Mr. Gibson mounted, and he and Molly rode off. They did not speak -for some time. Then she said, "May I go, papa?" in rather an anxious -little tone of voice. - -"Where, my dear?" said he, wakening up out of his own professional -thoughts. - -"To the Towers--on Thursday, you know. That gentleman" (she was shy -of calling him by his title), "asked me." - -"Would you like it, my dear? It has always seemed to me rather a -tiresome piece of gaiety--rather a tiring day, I mean--beginning so -early--and the heat, and all that." - -"Oh, papa!" said Molly, reproachfully. - -"You'd like to go then, would you?" - -"Yes; if I may!--He asked me, you know. Don't you think I may?--he -asked me twice over." - -"Well! we'll see--yes! I think we can manage it, if you wish it so -much, Molly." - -Then they were silent again. By-and-by, Molly said,-- - -"Please, papa--I do wish to go,--but I don't care about it." - -"That's rather a puzzling speech. But I suppose you mean you don't -care to go, if it will be any trouble to get you there. I can easily -manage it, however, so you may consider it settled. You'll want a -white frock, remember; you'd better tell Betty you're going, and -she'll see after making you tidy." - -Now, there were two or three things to be done by Mr. Gibson, before -he could feel quite comfortable about Molly's going to the festival -at the Towers, and each of them involved a little trouble on his -part. But he was very willing to gratify his little girl; so the -next day he rode over to the Towers, ostensibly to visit some sick -housemaid, but, in reality, to throw himself in my lady's way, and -get her to ratify Lord Cumnor's invitation to Molly. He chose his -time, with a little natural diplomacy; which, indeed, he had often -to exercise in his intercourse with the great family. He rode into -the stable-yard about twelve o'clock, a little before luncheon-time, -and yet after the worry of opening the post-bag and discussing its -contents was over. After he had put up his horse, he went in by the -back-way to the house; the "House" on this side, the "Towers" at the -front. He saw his patient, gave his directions to the housekeeper, -and then went out, with a rare wild-flower in his hand, to find one -of the ladies Tranmere in the garden, where, according to his hope -and calculation, he came upon Lady Cumnor too,--now talking to her -daughter about the contents of an open letter which she held in her -hand, now directing a gardener about certain bedding-out plants. - -"I was calling to see Nanny, and I took the opportunity of bringing -Lady Agnes the plant I was telling her about as growing on Cumnor -Moss." - -"Thank you, so much, Mr. Gibson. Mamma, look! this is the _Drosera -rotundifolia_ I have been wanting so long." - -"Ah! yes; very pretty I daresay, only I am no botanist. Nanny is -better, I hope? We can't have any one laid up next week, for the -house will be quite full of people,--and here are the Danbys waiting -to offer themselves as well. One comes down for a fortnight of quiet, -at Whitsuntide, and leaves half one's establishment in town, and as -soon as people know of our being here, we get letters without end, -longing for a breath of country air, or saying how lovely the Towers -must look in spring; and I must own, Lord Cumnor is a great deal to -blame for it all, for as soon as ever we are down here, he rides -about to all the neighbours, and invites them to come over and spend -a few days." - -"We shall go back to town on Friday the 18th," said Lady Agnes, in a -consolatory tone. - -"Ah, yes! as soon as we have got over the school visitors' affair. -But it is a week to that happy day." - -"By the way!" said Mr. Gibson, availing himself of the good opening -thus presented, "I met my lord at the Cross-trees Farm yesterday, and -he was kind enough to ask my little daughter, who was with me, to be -one of the party here on Thursday; it would give the lassie great -pleasure, I believe." He paused for Lady Cumnor to speak. - -"Oh, well! if my lord asked her, I suppose she must come, but I wish -he was not so amazingly hospitable! Not but what the little girl will -be quite welcome; only, you see, he met a younger Miss Browning the -other day, of whose existence I had never heard." - -"She visits at the school, mamma," said Lady Agnes. - -"Well, perhaps she does; I never said she did not. I knew there was -one visitor of the name of Browning; I never knew there were two, -but, of course, as soon as Lord Cumnor heard there was another, he -must needs ask her; so the carriage will have to go backwards and -forwards four times now to fetch them all. So your daughter can come -quite easily, Mr. Gibson, and I shall be very glad to see her for -your sake. She can sit bodkin with the Brownings, I suppose? You'll -arrange it all with them; and mind you get Nanny well up to her work -next week." - -Just as Mr. Gibson was going away, Lady Cumnor called after him, "Oh! -by-the-by, Clare is here; you remember Clare, don't you? She was a -patient of yours, long ago." - -"Clare," he repeated, in a bewildered tone. - -"Don't you recollect her? Miss Clare, our old governess," said Lady -Agnes. "About twelve or fourteen years ago, before Lady Cuxhaven was -married." - -"Oh, yes!" said he. "Miss Clare, who had the scarlet fever here; a -very pretty delicate girl. But I thought she was married!" - -"Yes!" said Lady Cumnor. "She was a silly little thing, and did -not know when she was well off; we were all very fond of her, I'm -sure. She went and married a poor curate, and became a stupid Mrs. -Kirkpatrick; but we always kept on calling her 'Clare.' And now -he's dead, and left her a widow, and she is staying here; and we -are racking our brains to find out some way of helping her to a -livelihood without parting her from her child. She's somewhere about -the grounds, if you like to renew your acquaintance with her." - -"Thank you, my lady. I'm afraid I cannot stop to-day. I have a long -round to go; I've stayed here too long as it is, I'm afraid." - -Long as his ride had been that day, he called on the Miss Brownings -in the evening, to arrange about Molly's accompanying them to the -Towers. They were tall handsome women, past their first youth, and -inclined to be extremely complaisant to the widowed doctor. - -"Eh dear! Mr. Gibson, but we shall be delighted to have her with us. -You should never have thought of asking us such a thing," said Miss -Browning the elder. - -"I'm sure I'm hardly sleeping at nights for thinking of it," said -Miss Phoebe. "You know I've never been there before. Sister has -many a time; but somehow, though my name has been down on the -visitors' list these three years, the countess has never named me in -her note; and you know I could not push myself into notice, and go to -such a grand place without being asked; how could I?" - -"I told Phoebe last year," said her sister, "that I was sure it was -only inadvertence, as one may call it, on the part of the countess, -and that her ladyship would be as hurt as any one when she didn't -see Phoebe among the school visitors; but Phoebe has got a delicate -mind, you see, Mr. Gibson, and all I could say she wouldn't go, but -stopped here at home; and it spoilt all my pleasure all that day, -I do assure you, to think of Phoebe's face, as I saw it over the -window-blinds, as I rode away; her eyes were full of tears, if you'll -believe me." - -"I had a good cry after you was gone, Dorothy," said Miss Phoebe; -"but for all that, I think I was right in stopping away from where -I was not asked. Don't you, Mr. Gibson?" - -"Certainly," said he. "And you see you are going this year; and last -year it rained." - -"Yes! I remember! I set myself to tidy my drawers, to string myself -up, as it were; and I was so taken up with what I was about that -I was quite startled when I heard the rain beating against the -window-panes. 'Goodness me!' said I to myself, 'whatever will become -of sister's white satin shoes, if she has to walk about on soppy -grass after such rain as this?' for, you see, I thought a deal about -her having a pair of smart shoes; and this year she has gone and got -me a white satin pair just as smart as hers, for a surprise." - -"Molly will know she's to put on her best clothes," said Miss -Browning. "We could perhaps lend her a few beads, or artificials, if -she wants them." - -"Molly must go in a clean white frock," said Mr. Gibson, rather -hastily; for he did not admire the Miss Brownings' taste in dress, -and was unwilling to have his child decked up according to their -fancy; he esteemed his old servant Betty's as the more correct, -because the more simple. Miss Browning had just a shade of annoyance -in her tone as she drew herself up, and said, "Oh! very well. It's -quite right, I'm sure." But Miss Phoebe said, "Molly will look very -nice in whatever she puts on, that's certain." - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -A NOVICE AMONGST THE GREAT FOLK. - - -At ten o'clock on the eventful Thursday the Towers' carriage began -its work. Molly was ready long before it made its first appearance, -although it had been settled that she and the Miss Brownings were not -to go until the last, or fourth, time of its coming. Her face had -been soaped, scrubbed, and shone brilliantly clean; her frills, her -frock, her ribbons were all snow-white. She had on a black mode cloak -that had been her mother's; it was trimmed round with rich lace, and -looked quaint and old-fashioned on the child. For the first time in -her life she wore kid gloves; hitherto she had only had cotton ones. -Her gloves were far too large for the little dimpled fingers, but as -Betty had told her they were to last her for years, it was all very -well. She trembled many a time, and almost turned faint once with the -long expectation of the morning. Betty might say what she liked about -a watched pot never boiling; Molly never ceased to watch the approach -through the winding street, and after two hours the carriage came -for her at last. She had to sit very forward to avoid crushing the -Miss Brownings' new dresses; and yet not too forward, for fear of -incommoding fat Mrs. Goodenough and her niece, who occupied the -front seat of the carriage; so that altogether the fact of sitting -down at all was rather doubtful, and to add to her discomfort, Molly -felt herself to be very conspicuously placed in the centre of the -carriage, a mark for all the observation of Hollingford. It was far -too much of a gala day for the work of the little town to go forward -with its usual regularity. Maid-servants gazed out of upper windows; -shopkeepers' wives stood on the door-steps; cottagers ran out, with -babies in their arms; and little children, too young to know how -to behave respectfully at the sight of an earl's carriage, huzzaed -merrily as it bowled along. The woman at the lodge held the gate -open, and dropped a low curtsey to the liveries. And now they were -in the Park; and now they were in sight of the Towers, and silence -fell upon the carriage-full of ladies, only broken by one faint -remark from Mrs. Goodenough's niece, a stranger to the town, as they -drew up before the double semicircle flight of steps which led to the -door of the mansion. - -"They call that a perron, I believe, don't they?" she asked. But -the only answer she obtained was a simultaneous "hush." It was very -awful, as Molly thought, and she half wished herself at home again. -But she lost all consciousness of herself by-and-by when the party -strolled out into the beautiful grounds, the like of which she -had never even imagined. Green velvet lawns, bathed in sunshine, -stretched away on every side into the finely wooded park; if there -were divisions and ha-has between the soft sunny sweeps of grass, and -the dark gloom of the forest-trees beyond, Molly did not see them; -and the melting away of exquisite cultivation into the wilderness -had an inexplicable charm to her. Near the house there were walls -and fences; but they were covered with climbing roses, and rare -honeysuckles and other creepers just bursting into bloom. There were -flower-beds, too, scarlet, crimson, blue, orange; masses of blossom -lying on the greensward. Molly held Miss Browning's hand very tight -as they loitered about in company with several other ladies, and -marshalled by a daughter of the Towers, who seemed half amused at the -voluble admiration showered down upon every possible thing and place. -Molly said nothing, as became her age and position, but every now and -then she relieved her full heart by drawing a deep breath, almost -like a sigh. Presently they came to the long glittering range of -greenhouses and hothouses, and an attendant gardener was there to -admit the party. Molly did not care for this half so much as for -the flowers in the open air; but Lady Agnes had a more scientific -taste, she expatiated on the rarity of this plant, and the mode of -cultivation required by that, till Molly began to feel very tired, -and then very faint. She was too shy to speak for some time; but at -length, afraid of making a greater sensation if she began to cry, or -if she fell against the stands of precious flowers, she caught at -Miss Browning's hand, and gasped out-- - -"May I go back, out into the garden? I can't breathe here!" - -"Oh, yes, to be sure, love. I daresay it's hard understanding for -you, love; but it's very fine and instructive, and a deal of Latin in -it too." - -She turned hastily round not to lose another word of Lady Agnes' -lecture on orchids, and Molly turned back and passed out of the -heated atmosphere. She felt better in the fresh air; and unobserved, -and at liberty, went from one lovely spot to another, now in the open -park, now in some shut-in flower-garden, where the song of the birds, -and the drip of the central fountain, were the only sounds, and the -tree-tops made an enclosing circle in the blue June sky; she went -along without more thought as to her whereabouts than a butterfly -has, as it skims from flower to flower, till at length she grew -very weary, and wished to return to the house, but did not know -how, and felt afraid of encountering all the strangers who would be -there, unprotected by either of the Miss Brownings. The hot sun told -upon her head, and it began to ache. She saw a great wide-spreading -cedar-tree upon a burst of lawn towards which she was advancing, and -the black repose beneath its branches lured her thither. There was -a rustic seat in the shadow, and weary Molly sate down there, and -presently fell asleep. - -She was startled from her slumbers after a time, and jumped to her -feet. Two ladies were standing by her, talking about her. They were -perfect strangers to her, and with a vague conviction that she had -done something wrong, and also because she was worn-out with hunger, -fatigue, and the morning's excitement, she began to cry. - -"Poor little woman! She has lost herself; she belongs to some of the -people from Hollingford, I have no doubt," said the oldest-looking of -the two ladies; she who appeared to be about forty, though she did -not really number more than thirty years. She was plain-featured, and -had rather a severe expression on her face; her dress was as rich as -any morning dress could be; her voice deep and unmodulated,--what in -a lower rank of life would have been called gruff; but that was not a -word to apply to Lady Cuxhaven, the eldest daughter of the earl and -countess. The other lady looked much younger, but she was in fact -some years the elder; at first sight Molly thought she was the most -beautiful person she had ever seen, and she was certainly a very -lovely woman. Her voice, too, was soft and plaintive, as she replied -to Lady Cuxhaven,-- - -"Poor little darling! she is overcome by the heat, I have no -doubt--such a heavy straw bonnet, too. Let me untie it for you, my -dear." - -Molly now found voice to say--"I am Molly Gibson, please. I came here -with Miss Brownings;" for her great fear was that she should be taken -for an unauthorized intruder. - -"Miss Brownings?" said Lady Cuxhaven to her companion, as if -inquiringly. - -"I think they were the two tall large young women that Lady Agnes was -talking about." - -"Oh, I daresay. I saw she had a number of people in tow;" then -looking again at Molly, she said, "Have you had anything to eat, -child, since you came? You look a very white little thing; or is it -the heat?" - -"I have had nothing to eat," said Molly, rather piteously; for, -indeed, before she fell asleep she had been very hungry. - -The two ladies spoke to each other in a low voice; then the elder -said in a voice of authority, which, indeed, she had always used in -speaking to the other, "Sit still here, my dear; we are going to the -house, and Clare shall bring you something to eat before you try to -walk back; it must be a quarter of a mile at least." So they went -away, and Molly sat upright, waiting for the promised messenger. She -did not know who Clare might be, and she did not care much for food -now; but she felt as if she could not walk without some help. At -length she saw the pretty lady coming back, followed by a footman -with a small tray. - -"Look how kind Lady Cuxhaven is," said she who was called Clare. "She -chose you out this little lunch herself; and now you must try and eat -it, and you'll be quite right when you've had some food, darling--You -need not stop, Edwards; I will bring the tray back with me." - -There was some bread, and some cold chicken, and some jelly, and -a glass of wine, and a bottle of sparkling water, and a bunch of -grapes. Molly put out her trembling little hand for the water; but -she was too faint to hold it. Clare put it to her mouth, and she took -a long draught and was refreshed. But she could not eat; she tried, -but she could not; her headache was too bad. Clare looked bewildered. -"Take some grapes, they will be the best for you; you must try and -eat something, or I don't know how I shall get you to the house." - -"My head aches so," said Molly, lifting her heavy eyes wistfully. - -"Oh, dear, how tiresome!" said Clare, still in her sweet gentle -voice, not at all as if she was angry, only expressing an obvious -truth. Molly felt very guilty and very unhappy. Clare went on, with a -shade of asperity in her tone: "You see, I don't know what to do with -you here if you don't eat enough to enable you to walk home. And I've -been out for these three hours trapesing about the grounds till I'm -as tired as can be, and missed my lunch and all." Then, as if a new -idea had struck her, she said,--"You lie back in that seat for a few -minutes, and try to eat the bunch of grapes, and I'll wait for you, -and just be eating a mouthful meanwhile. You are sure you don't want -this chicken?" - -Molly did as she was bid, and leant back, picking languidly at the -grapes, and watching the good appetite with which the lady ate up the -chicken and jelly, and drank the glass of wine. She was so pretty and -so graceful in her deep mourning, that even her hurry in eating, as -if she was afraid of some one coming to surprise her in the act, did -not keep her little observer from admiring her in all she did. - -"And now, darling, are you ready to go?" said she, when she had eaten -up everything on the tray. "Oh, come; you have nearly finished your -grapes; that's a good girl. Now, if you will come with me to the -side entrance, I will take you up to my own room, and you shall lie -down on the bed for an hour or two; and if you have a good nap your -headache will be quite gone." - -So they set off, Clare carrying the empty tray, rather to Molly's -shame; but the child had enough work to drag herself along, and was -afraid of offering to do anything more. The "side entrance" was -a flight of steps leading up from a private flower-garden into a -private matted hall, or ante-room, out of which many doors opened, -and in which were deposited the light garden-tools and the bows and -arrows of the young ladies of the house. Lady Cuxhaven must have seen -their approach, for she met them in this hall as soon as they came -in. - -"How is she now?" she asked; then glancing at the plates and glasses, -she added, "Come, I think there can't be much amiss! You're a good -old Clare, but you should have let one of the men fetch that tray in; -life in such weather as this is trouble enough of itself." - -Molly could not help wishing that her pretty companion would have -told Lady Cuxhaven that she herself had helped to finish up the -ample luncheon; but no such idea seemed to come into her mind. She -only said,--"Poor dear! she is not quite the thing yet; has got a -headache, she says. I am going to put her down on my bed, to see if -she can get a little sleep." - -Molly saw Lady Cuxhaven say something in a half-laughing manner -to "Clare," as she passed her; and the child could not keep from -tormenting herself by fancying that the words spoken sounded -wonderfully like "Over-eaten herself, I suspect." However, she felt -too poorly to worry herself long; the little white bed in the cool -and pretty room had too many attractions for her aching head. The -muslin curtains flapped softly from time to time in the scented air -that came through the open windows. Clare covered her up with a light -shawl, and darkened the room. As she was going away Molly roused -herself to say, "Please, ma'am, don't let them go away without me. -Please ask somebody to waken me if I go to sleep. I am to go back -with Miss Brownings." - -"Don't trouble yourself about it, dear; I'll take care," said Clare, -turning round at the door, and kissing her hand to little anxious -Molly. And then she went away, and thought no more about it. -The carriages came round at half-past four, hurried a little by -Lady Cumnor, who had suddenly become tired of the business of -entertaining, and annoyed at the repetition of indiscriminating -admiration. - -"Why not have both carriages out, mamma, and get rid of them all at -once?" said Lady Cuxhaven. "This going by instalments is the most -tiresome thing that could be imagined." So at last there had been a -great hurry and an unmethodical way of packing off every one at once. -Miss Browning had gone in the chariot (or "chawyot," as Lady Cumnor -called it;--it rhymed to her daughter, Lady Hawyot--or Harriet, -as the name was spelt in the _Peerage_), and Miss Phoebe had been -speeded along with several other guests, away in a great roomy family -conveyance, of the kind which we should now call an "omnibus." Each -thought that Molly Gibson was with the other, and the truth was, that -she lay fast asleep on Mrs. Kirkpatrick's bed--Mrs. Kirkpatrick _née_ -Clare. - -The housemaids came in to arrange the room. Their talking aroused -Molly, who sat up on the bed, and tried to push back the hair from -her hot forehead, and to remember where she was. She dropped down on -her feet by the side of the bed, to the astonishment of the women, -and said,--"Please, how soon are we going away?" - -"Bless us and save us! who'd ha' thought of any one being in the bed? -Are you one of the Hollingford ladies, my dear? They are all gone -this hour or more!" - -"Oh, dear, what shall I do? That lady they call Clare promised to -waken me in time. Papa will so wonder where I am, and I don't know -what Betty will say." - -The child began to cry, and the housemaids looked at each other -in some dismay and much sympathy. Just then, they heard Mrs. -Kirkpatrick's step along the passages, approaching. She was singing -some little Italian air in a low musical voice, coming to her bedroom -to dress for dinner. One housemaid said to the other, with a knowing -look, "Best leave it to her;" and they passed on to their work in the -other rooms. - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick opened the door, and stood aghast at the sight of -Molly. - -"Why, I quite forgot you!" she said at length. "Nay, don't cry; -you'll make yourself not fit to be seen. Of course I must take the -consequences of your over-sleeping yourself, and if I can't manage to -get you back to Hollingford to-night, you shall sleep with me, and -we'll do our best to send you home to-morrow morning." - -"But papa!" sobbed out Molly. "He always wants me to make tea for -him; and I have no night-things." - -"Well, don't go and make a piece of work about what can't be helped -now. I'll lend you night-things, and your papa must do without your -making tea for him to-night. And another time don't over-sleep -yourself in a strange house; you may not always find yourself among -such hospitable people as they are here. Why now, if you don't cry -and make a figure of yourself, I'll ask if you may come in to dessert -with Master Smythe and the little ladies. You shall go into the -nursery, and have some tea with them; and then you must come back -here and brush your hair and make yourself tidy. I think it is a very -fine thing for you to be stopping in such a grand house as this; many -a little girl would like nothing better." - -During this speech she was arranging her toilette for dinner--taking -off her black morning gown; putting on her dressing-gown; shaking her -long soft auburn hair over her shoulders, and glancing about the room -in search of various articles of her dress,--a running flow of easy -talk came babbling out all the time. - -"I have a little girl of my own, dear! I don't know what she would -not give to be staying here at Lord Cumnor's with me; but, instead -of that, she has to spend her holidays at school; and yet you are -looking as miserable as can be at the thought of stopping for -just one night. I really have been as busy as can be with those -tiresome--those good ladies, I mean, from Hollingford--and one can't -think of everything at a time." - -Molly--only child as she was--had stopped her tears at the mention -of that little girl of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's, and now she ventured to -say,-- - -"Are you married, ma'am; I thought she called you Clare?" - -In high good-humour Mrs. Kirkpatrick made reply:--"I don't look as -if I was married, do I? Every one is surprised. And yet I have been -a widow for seven months now: and not a grey hair on my head, though -Lady Cuxhaven, who is younger than I, has ever so many." - -"Why do they call you 'Clare?'" continued Molly, finding her so -affable and communicative. - -"Because I lived with them when I was Miss Clare. It is a pretty -name, isn't it? I married a Mr. Kirkpatrick; he was only a curate, -poor fellow; but he was of a very good family, and if three of his -relations had died without children I should have been a baronet's -wife. But Providence did not see fit to permit it; and we must always -resign ourselves to what is decreed. Two of his cousins married, and -had large families; and poor dear Kirkpatrick died, leaving me a -widow." - -"You have a little girl?" asked Molly. - -"Yes: darling Cynthia! I wish you could see her; she is my only -comfort now. If I have time I will show you her picture when we come -up to bed; but I must go now. It does not do to keep Lady Cumnor -waiting a moment, and she asked me to be down early, to help with -some of the people in the house. Now I shall ring this bell, and when -the housemaid comes, ask her to take you into the nursery, and to -tell Lady Cuxhaven's nurse who you are. And then you'll have tea with -the little ladies, and come in with them to dessert. There! I'm sorry -you've over-slept yourself, and are left here; but give me a kiss, -and don't cry--you really are rather a pretty child, though you've -not got Cynthia's colouring! Oh, Nanny, would you be so very kind as -to take this young lady--(what's your name, my dear? Gibson?),--Miss -Gibson, to Mrs. Dyson, in the nursery, and ask her to allow her to -drink tea with the young ladies there; and to send her in with them -to dessert. I'll explain it all to my lady." - -Nanny's face brightened out of its gloom when she heard the name -Gibson; and, having ascertained from Molly that she was "the -doctor's" child, she showed more willingness to comply with Mrs. -Kirkpatrick's request than was usual with her. - -Molly was an obliging girl, and fond of children; so, as long as she -was in the nursery, she got on pretty well, being obedient to the -wishes of the supreme power, and even very useful to Mrs. Dyson, by -playing at tricks, and thus keeping a little one quiet while its -brothers and sisters were being arrayed in gay attire,--lace and -muslin, and velvet, and brilliant broad ribbons. - -"Now, miss," said Mrs. Dyson, when her own especial charge were all -ready, "what can I do for you? You have not got another frock here, -have you?" No, indeed, she had not; nor if she had had one, could it -have been of a smarter nature than her present thick white dimity. -So she could only wash her face and hands, and submit to the nurse's -brushing and perfuming her hair. She thought she would rather have -stayed in the park all night long, and slept under the beautiful -quiet cedar, than have to undergo the unknown ordeal of "going -down to dessert," which was evidently regarded both by children and -nurses as the event of the day. At length there was a summons from -a footman, and Mrs. Dyson, in a rustling silk gown, marshalled her -convoy, and set sail for the dining-room door. - -There was a large party of gentlemen and ladies sitting round the -decked table, in the brilliantly lighted room. Each dainty little -child ran up to its mother, or aunt, or particular friend; but Molly -had no one to go to. - -"Who is that tall girl in the thick white frock? Not one of the -children of the house, I think?" - -The lady addressed put up her glass, gazed at Molly, and dropped it -in an instant. "A French girl, I should imagine. I know Lady Cuxhaven -was inquiring for one to bring up with her little girls, that they -might get a good accent early. Poor little woman, she looks wild -and strange!" And the speaker, who sate next to Lord Cumnor, made a -little sign to Molly to come to her; Molly crept up to her as to the -first shelter; but when the lady began talking to her in French, she -blushed violently, and said in a very low voice,-- - -"I don't understand French. I'm only Molly Gibson, ma'am." - -"Molly Gibson!" said the lady, out loud; as if that was not much of -an explanation. - -Lord Cumnor caught the words and the tone. - -"Oh, ho!" said he. "Are you the little girl who has been sleeping in -my bed?" - -He imitated the deep voice of the fabulous bear, who asks this -question of the little child in the story; but Molly had never read -the "Three Bears," and fancied that his anger was real; she trembled -a little, and drew nearer to the kind lady who had beckoned her as -to a refuge. Lord Cumnor was very fond of getting hold of what he -fancied was a joke, and working his idea threadbare; so all the time -the ladies were in the room he kept on his running fire at Molly, -alluding to the Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Sleepers, and any other -famous sleeper that came into his head. He had no idea of the misery -his jokes were to the sensitive girl, who already thought herself -a miserable sinner, for having slept on, when she ought to have -been awake. If Molly had been in the habit of putting two and two -together, she might have found an excuse for herself, by remembering -that Mrs. Kirkpatrick had promised faithfully to awaken her in time; -but all the girl thought of was, how little they wanted her in this -grand house; how she must seem like a careless intruder who had no -business there. Once or twice she wondered where her father was, and -whether he was missing her; but the thought of the familiar happiness -of home brought such a choking in her throat, that she felt she must -not give way to it, for fear of bursting out crying; and she had -instinct enough to feel that, as she was left at the Towers, the less -trouble she gave, the more she kept herself out of observation, the -better. - -She followed the ladies out of the dining-room, almost hoping that -no one would see her. But that was impossible, and she immediately -became the subject of conversation between the awful Lady Cumnor and -her kind neighbour at dinner. - -"Do you know, I thought this young lady was French when I first saw -her? she has got the black hair and eyelashes, and grey eyes, and -colourless complexion which one meets with in some parts of France, -and I know Lady Cuxhaven was trying to find a well-educated girl who -would be a pleasant companion to her children." - -"No!" said Lady Cumnor, looking very stern, as Molly thought. "She -is the daughter of our medical man at Hollingford; she came with -the school visitors this morning, and she was overcome by the heat -and fell asleep in Clare's room, and somehow managed to over-sleep -herself, and did not waken up till all the carriages were gone. We -will send her home to-morrow morning, but for to-night she must stay -here, and Clare is kind enough to say she may sleep with her." - -There was an implied blame running through this speech, that Molly -felt like needle-points all over her. Lady Cuxhaven came up at this -moment. Her tone was as deep, her manner of speaking as abrupt and -authoritative, as her mother's, but Molly felt the kinder nature -underneath. - -"How are you now, my dear? You look better than you did under the -cedar-tree. So you're to stop here to-night? Clare, don't you think -we could find some of those books of engravings that would interest -Miss Gibson." - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick came gliding up to the place where Molly stood; and -began petting her with pretty words and actions, while Lady Cuxhaven -turned over heavy volumes in search of one that might interest the -girl. - -"Poor darling! I saw you come into the dining-room, looking so shy; -and I wanted you to come near me, but I could not make a sign to you, -because Lord Cuxhaven was speaking to me at the time, telling me -about his travels. Ah, here is a nice book--_Lodge's Portraits_; now -I'll sit by you and tell you who they all are, and all about them. -Don't trouble yourself any more, dear Lady Cuxhaven; I'll take charge -of her; pray leave her to me!" - -Molly grew hotter and hotter as these last words met her ear. If -they would only leave her alone, and not labour at being kind to -her; would "not trouble themselves" about her! These words of Mrs. -Kirkpatrick's seemed to quench the gratitude she was feeling to Lady -Cuxhaven for looking for something to amuse her. But, of course, it -was a trouble, and she ought never to have been there. - -By-and-by, Mrs. Kirkpatrick was called away to accompany Lady Agnes' -song; and then Molly really had a few minutes' enjoyment. She could -look round the room, unobserved, and, sure, never was any place out -of a king's house so grand and magnificent. Large mirrors, velvet -curtains, pictures in their gilded frames, a multitude of dazzling -lights decorated the vast saloon, and the floor was studded with -groups of ladies and gentlemen, all dressed in gorgeous attire. -Suddenly Molly bethought her of the children whom she had accompanied -into the dining-room, and to whose ranks she had appeared to -belong,--where were they? Gone to bed an hour before, at some quiet -signal from their mother. Molly wondered if she might go, too--if -she could ever find her way back to the haven of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's -bedroom. But she was at some distance from the door; a long way from -Mrs. Kirkpatrick, to whom she felt herself to belong more than to any -one else. Far, too, from Lady Cuxhaven, and the terrible Lady Cumnor, -and her jocose and good-natured lord. So Molly sate on, turning over -pictures which she did not see; her heart growing heavier and heavier -in the desolation of all this grandeur. Presently a footman entered -the room, and after a moment's looking about him, he went up to Mrs. -Kirkpatrick, where she sate at the piano, the centre of the musical -portion of the company, ready to accompany any singer, and smiling -pleasantly as she willingly acceded to all requests. She came now -towards Molly, in her corner, and said to her,-- - -"Do you know, darling, your papa has come for you, and brought your -pony for you to ride home; so I shall lose my little bedfellow, for -I suppose you must go?" - -Go! was there a question of it in Molly's mind, as she stood up -quivering, sparkling, almost crying out loud. She was brought to her -senses, though, by Mrs. Kirkpatrick's next words. - -"You must go and wish Lady Cumnor good-night, you know, my dear, and -thank her ladyship for her kindness to you. She is there, near that -statue, talking to Mr. Courtenay." - -Yes! she was there--forty feet away--a hundred miles away! All that -blank space had to be crossed; and then a speech to be made! - -"Must I go?" asked Molly, in the most pitiful and pleading voice -possible. - -"Yes; make haste about it; there is nothing so formidable in it, is -there?" replied Mrs. Kirkpatrick, in a sharper voice than before, -aware that they were wanting her at the piano, and anxious to get the -business in hand done as soon as possible. - -Molly stood still for a minute, then, looking up, she said, softly,-- - -"Would you mind coming with me, please?" - -"No! not I!" said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, seeing that her compliance was -likely to be the most speedy way of getting through the affair; so -she took Molly's hand, and, on the way, in passing the group at the -piano, she said, smiling, in her pretty genteel manner,-- - -"Our little friend here is shy and modest, and wants me to accompany -her to Lady Cumnor to wish good-night; her father has come for her, -and she is going away." - -Molly did not know how it was afterwards, but she pulled her hand out -of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's on hearing these words, and going a step or -two in advance came up to Lady Cumnor, grand in purple velvet, and -dropping a curtsey, almost after the fashion of the school-children, -she said,-- - -"My lady, papa is come, and I am going away; and, my lady, I wish -you good-night, and thank you for your kindness. Your ladyship's -kindness, I mean," she said, correcting herself as she remembered -Miss Browning's particular instructions as to the etiquette to be -observed to earls and countesses, and their honourable progeny, as -they were given that morning on the road to the Towers. - -She got out of the saloon somehow; she believed afterwards, on -thinking about it, that she had never bidden good-by to Lady -Cuxhaven, or Mrs. Kirkpatrick, or "all the rest of them," as she -irreverently styled them in her thoughts. - -Mr. Gibson was in the housekeeper's room, when Molly ran in, rather -to the stately Mrs. Brown's discomfiture. She threw her arms round -her father's neck. "Oh, papa, papa, papa! I am so glad you have -come;" and then she burst out crying, stroking his face almost -hysterically as if to make sure he was there. - -"Why, what a noodle you are, Molly! Did you think I was going to give -up my little girl to live at the Towers all the rest of her life? You -make as much work about my coming for you, as if you thought I had. -Make haste, now, and get on your bonnet. Mrs. Brown, may I ask you -for a shawl, or a plaid, or a wrap of some kind to pin about her for -a petticoat?" - -He did not mention that he had come home from a long round not half -an hour before, a round from which he had returned dinnerless and -hungry; but, on finding that Molly had not come back from the Towers, -he had ridden his tired horse round by Miss Brownings', and found -them in self-reproachful, helpless dismay. He would not wait to -listen to their tearful apologies; he galloped home, had a fresh -horse and Molly's pony saddled, and though Betty called after him -with a riding-skirt for the child, when he was not ten yards from his -own stable-door, he refused to turn back for it, but went off, as -Dick the stableman said, "muttering to himself awful." - -Mrs. Brown had her bottle of wine out, and her plate of cake, before -Molly came back from her long expedition to Mrs. Kirkpatrick's room, -"pretty nigh on to a quarter of a mile off," as the housekeeper -informed the impatient father, as he waited for his child to come -down arrayed in her morning's finery with the gloss of newness worn -off. Mr. Gibson was a favourite in all the Towers' household, as -family doctors generally are; bringing hopes of relief at times -of anxiety and distress; and Mrs. Brown, who was subject to gout, -especially delighted in petting him whenever he would allow her. She -even went out into the stable-yard to pin Molly up in the shawl, as -she sate upon the rough-coated pony, and hazarded the somewhat safe -conjecture,-- - -"I daresay she'll be happier at home, Mr. Gibson," as they rode away. - -Once out into the park Molly struck her pony, and urged him on as -hard as he would go. Mr. Gibson called out at last: - -"Molly! we're coming to the rabbit-holes; it's not safe to go at such -a pace. Stop." And as she drew rein he rode up alongside of her. - -"We're getting into the shadow of the trees, and it's not safe riding -fast here." - -"Oh! papa, I never was so glad in all my life. I felt like a lighted -candle when they're putting the extinguisher on it." - -"Did you? How d'ye know what the candle feels?" - -"Oh, I don't know, but I did." And again, after a pause she -said,--"Oh, I am so glad to be here! It is so pleasant riding here in -the open, free, fresh air, crushing out such a good smell from the -dewy grass. Papa! are you there? I can't see you." - -He rode close up alongside of her: he was not sure but what she might -be afraid of riding in the dark shadows, so he laid his hand upon -hers. - -"Oh! I am so glad to feel you," squeezing his hand hard. "Papa, I -should like to get a chain like Ponto's, just as long as your longest -round, and then I could fasten us two to each end of it, and when I -wanted you I could pull, and if you didn't want to come, you could -pull back again; but I should know you knew I wanted you, and we -could never lose each other." - -"I'm rather lost in that plan of yours; the details, as you state -them, are a little puzzling; but if I make them out rightly, I am to -go about the country, like the donkeys on the common, with a clog -fastened to my hind leg." - -"I don't mind your calling me a clog, if only we were fastened -together." - -"But I do mind you calling me a donkey," he replied. - -"I never did. At least I didn't mean to. But it is such a comfort to -know that I may be as rude as I like." - -"Is that what you've learnt from the grand company you've been -keeping to-day? I expected to find you so polite and ceremonious, -that I read a few chapters of _Sir Charles Grandison_, in order to -bring myself up to concert pitch." - -"Oh, I do hope I shall never be a lord or a lady." - -"Well, to comfort you, I'll tell you this: I'm sure you'll never be a -lord; and I think the chances are a thousand to one against your ever -being the other, in the sense in which you mean." - -"I should lose myself every time I had to fetch my bonnet, or else -get tired of long passages and great staircases long before I could -go out walking." - -"But you'd have your lady's-maid, you know." - -"Do you know, papa, I think lady's-maids are worse than ladies. I -should not mind being a housekeeper so much." - -"No! the jam-cupboards and dessert would lie very conveniently to -one's hand," replied her father, meditatively. "But Mrs. Brown tells -me that the thought of the dinners often keeps her from sleeping; -there's that anxiety to be taken into consideration. Still, in every -condition of life, there are heavy cares and responsibilities." - -"Well! I suppose so," said Molly, gravely. "I know Betty says I wear -her life out with the green stains I get in my frocks from sitting in -the cherry-tree." - -"And Miss Browning said she had fretted herself into a headache with -thinking how they had left you behind. I'm afraid you'll be as bad as -a bill of fare to them to-night. How did it all happen, goosey?" - -"Oh, I went by myself to see the gardens; they are so beautiful! and -I lost myself, and sat down to rest under a great tree; and Lady -Cuxhaven and that Mrs. Kirkpatrick came; and Mrs. Kirkpatrick brought -me some lunch, and then put me to sleep on her bed,--and I thought -she would waken me in time, and she didn't; and so they'd all gone -away; and when they planned for me to stop till to-morrow, I didn't -like saying how very, very much I wanted to go home,--but I kept -thinking how you would wonder where I was." - -"Then it was rather a dismal day of pleasure, goosey, eh?" - -"Not in the morning. I shall never forget the morning in that garden. -But I was never so unhappy in all my life, as I have been all this -long afternoon." - -Mr. Gibson thought it his duty to ride round by the Towers, and pay -a visit of apology and thanks to the family, before they left for -London. He found them all on the wing, and no one was sufficiently -at liberty to listen to his grateful civilities but Mrs. Kirkpatrick, -who, although she was to accompany Lady Cuxhaven, and pay a visit -to her former pupil, made leisure enough to receive Mr. Gibson, on -behalf of the family; and assured him of her faithful remembrance of -his great professional attention to her in former days in the most -winning manner. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -MOLLY GIBSON'S CHILDHOOD. - - -Sixteen years before this time, all Hollingford had been disturbed -to its foundations by the intelligence that Mr. Hall, the skilful -doctor, who had attended them all their days, was going to take -a partner. It was no use reasoning to them on the subject; so Mr. -Browning the vicar, Mr. Sheepshanks (Lord Cumnor's agent), and Mr. -Hall himself, the masculine reasoners of the little society, left -off the attempt, feeling that the _Che sarà sarà_ would prove more -silencing to the murmurs than many arguments. Mr. Hall had told his -faithful patients that, even with the strongest spectacles, his -sight was not to be depended upon; and they might have found out for -themselves that his hearing was very defective, although, on this -point, he obstinately adhered to his own opinion, and was frequently -heard to regret the carelessness of people's communication nowadays, -"like writing on blotting-paper, all the words running into each -other," he would say. And more than once Mr. Hall had had attacks -of a suspicious nature,--"rheumatism" he used to call them, but he -prescribed for himself as if they had been gout--which had prevented -his immediate attention to imperative summonses. But, blind and deaf, -and rheumatic as he might be, he was still Mr. Hall the doctor who -could heal all their ailments--unless they died meanwhile--and he had -no right to speak of growing old, and taking a partner. - -He went very steadily to work all the same; advertising in medical -journals, reading testimonials, sifting character and qualifications; -and just when the elderly maiden ladies of Hollingford thought that -they had convinced their contemporary that he was as young as ever, -he startled them by bringing his new partner, Mr. Gibson, to call -upon them, and began "slyly," as these ladies said, to introduce him -into practice. And "who was this Mr. Gibson?" they asked, and echo -might answer the question, if she liked, for no one else did. No -one ever in all his life knew anything more of his antecedents than -the Hollingford people might have found out the first day they saw -him: that he was tall, grave, rather handsome than otherwise; thin -enough to be called "a very genteel figure," in those days, before -muscular Christianity had come into vogue; speaking with a slight -Scotch accent; and, as one good lady observed, "so very trite in -his conversation," by which she meant sarcastic. As to his birth, -parentage, and education,--the favourite conjecture of Hollingford -society was, that he was the illegitimate son of a Scotch duke, by -a Frenchwoman; and the grounds for this conjecture were these:--He -spoke with a Scotch accent; therefore, he must be Scotch. He had -a very genteel appearance, an elegant figure, and was apt--so his -ill-wishers said--to give himself airs; therefore, his father must -have been some person of quality; and, that granted, nothing was -easier than to run this supposition up all the notes of the scale of -the peerage,--baronet, baron, viscount, earl, marquis, duke. Higher -they dared not go, though one old lady, acquainted with English -history, hazarded the remark, that "she believed that one or two -of the Stuarts--hem--had not always been,--ahem--quite correct in -their--conduct; and she fancied such--ahem--things ran in families." -But, in popular opinion, Mr. Gibson's father always remained a duke; -nothing more. - -Then his mother must have been a Frenchwoman, because his hair was -so black; and he was so sallow; and because he had been in Paris. -All this might be true, or might not; nobody ever knew, or found out -anything more about him than what Mr. Hall told them, namely, that -his professional qualifications were as high as his moral character, -and that both were far above the average, as Mr. Hall had taken pains -to ascertain before introducing him to his patients. The popularity -of this world is as transient as its glory, as Mr. Hall found out -before the first year of his partnership was over. He had plenty of -leisure left to him now to nurse his gout and cherish his eyesight. -The younger doctor had carried the day; nearly every one sent for -Mr. Gibson. Even at the great houses--even at the Towers, that -greatest of all, where Mr. Hall had introduced his new partner with -fear and trembling, with untold anxiety as to his behaviour, and -the impression he might make on my lord the Earl, and my lady the -Countess, Mr. Gibson was received at the end of a twelvemonth with as -much welcome respect for his professional skill as Mr. Hall himself -had ever been. Nay--and this was a little too much for even the kind -old doctor's good temper--Mr. Gibson had even been invited once to -dinner at the Towers, to dine with the great Sir Astley, the head of -the profession! To be sure, Mr. Hall had been asked as well; but he -was laid up just then with his gout (since he had had a partner the -rheumatism had been allowed to develope itself), and he had not been -able to go. Poor Mr. Hall never quite got over this mortification; -after it he allowed himself to become dim of sight and hard of -hearing, and kept pretty closely to the house during the two winters -that remained of his life. He sent for an orphan grand-niece to keep -him company in his old age; he, the woman-contemning old bachelor, -became thankful for the cheerful presence of the pretty, bonny Mary -Pearson, who was good and sensible, and nothing more. She formed -a close friendship with the daughters of the vicar, Mr. Browning, -and Mr. Gibson found time to become very intimate with all three. -Hollingford speculated much on which young lady would become Mrs. -Gibson, and was rather sorry when the talk about possibilities, and -the gossip about probabilities, with regard to the handsome young -surgeon's marriage, ended in the most natural manner in the world, by -his marrying his predecessor's niece. The two Miss Brownings showed -no signs of going into a consumption on the occasion, although -their looks and manners were carefully watched. On the contrary, -they were rather boisterously merry at the wedding, and poor Mrs. -Gibson it was that died of consumption, four or five years after her -marriage--three years after the death of her great-uncle, and when -her only child, Molly, was just three years old. - -Mr. Gibson did not speak much about the grief at the loss of his -wife, which it was supposed that he felt. Indeed, he avoided all -demonstrations of sympathy, and got up hastily and left the room -when Miss Phoebe Browning first saw him after his loss, and burst -into an uncontrollable flood of tears, which threatened to end in -hysterics. Miss Browning declared she never could forgive him for his -hard-heartedness on that occasion; but a fortnight afterwards she -came to very high words with old Mrs. Goodenough, for gasping out her -doubts whether Mr. Gibson was a man of deep feeling; judging by the -narrowness of his crape hat-band, which ought to have covered his -hat, whereas there was at least three inches of beaver to be seen. -And, in spite of it all, Miss Browning and Miss Phoebe considered -themselves as Mr. Gibson's most intimate friends, in right of their -regard for his dead wife, and would fain have taken a quasi-motherly -interest in his little girl, had she not been guarded by a watchful -dragon in the shape of Betty, her nurse, who was jealous of any -interference between her and her charge; and especially resentful and -disagreeable towards all those ladies who, by suitable age, rank, or -propinquity, she thought capable of "casting sheep's eyes at master." - -Several years before the opening of this story, Mr. Gibson's position -seemed settled for life, both socially and professionally. He was -a widower, and likely to remain so; his domestic affections were -centred on little Molly, but even to her, in their most private -moments, he did not give way to much expression of his feelings; -his most caressing appellation for her was "Goosey," and he took a -pleasure in bewildering her infant mind with his badinage. He had -rather a contempt for demonstrative people, arising from his medical -insight into the consequences to health of uncontrolled feeling. He -deceived himself into believing that still his reason was lord of -all, because he had never fallen into the habit of expression on any -other than purely intellectual subjects. Molly, however, had her own -intuitions to guide her. Though her papa laughed at her, quizzed her, -joked at her, in a way which the Miss Brownings called "really cruel" -to each other when they were quite alone, Molly took her little -griefs and pleasures, and poured them into her papa's ears, sooner -even than into Betty's, that kind-hearted termagant. The child grew -to understand her father well, and the two had the most delightful -intercourse together--half banter, half seriousness, but altogether -confidential friendship. Mr. Gibson kept three servants; Betty, a -cook, and a girl who was supposed to be housemaid, but who was under -both the elder two, and had a pretty life of it in consequence. -Three servants would not have been required if it had not been Mr. -Gibson's habit, as it had been Mr. Hall's before him, to take two -"pupils" as they were called in the genteel language of Hollingford, -"apprentices" as they were in fact--being bound by indentures, and -paying a handsome premium to learn their business. They lived in the -house, and occupied an uncomfortable, ambiguous, or, as Miss Browning -called it with some truth, "amphibious" position. They had their -meals with Mr. Gibson and Molly, and were felt to be terribly in the -way; Mr. Gibson not being a man who could make conversation, and -hating the duty of talking under restraint. Yet something within him -made him wince, as if his duties were not rightly performed, when, -as the cloth was drawn, the two awkward lads rose up with joyful -alacrity, gave him a nod, which was to be interpreted as a bow, -knocked against each other in their endeavours to get out of the -dining-room quickly; and then might be heard dashing along a passage -which led to the surgery, choking with half-suppressed laughter. Yet -the annoyance he felt at this dull sense of imperfectly fulfilled -duties only made his sarcasms on their inefficiency, or stupidity, or -ill manners, more bitter than before. - -Beyond direct professional instruction, he did not know what to do -with the succession of pairs of young men, whose mission seemed to -be, to be plagued by their master consciously, and to plague him -unconsciously. Once or twice Mr. Gibson had declined taking a fresh -pupil, in the hopes of shaking himself free from the incubus, but his -reputation as a clever surgeon had spread so rapidly that his fees -which he had thought prohibitory, were willingly paid, in order that -the young man might make a start in life, with the prestige of having -been a pupil of Gibson of Hollingford. But as Molly grew to be a -little girl instead of a child, when she was about eight years old, -her father perceived the awkwardness of her having her breakfasts -and dinners so often alone with the pupils, without his uncertain -presence. To do away with this evil, more than for the actual -instruction she could give, he engaged a respectable woman, the -daughter of a shopkeeper in the town, who had left a destitute -family, to come every morning before breakfast, and to stay with -Molly till he came home at night; or, if he was detained, until the -child's bed-time. - -"Now, Miss Eyre," said he, summing up his instructions the day before -she entered upon her office, "remember this: you are to make good tea -for the young men, and see that they have their meals comfortably, -and--you are five-and-thirty, I think you said?--try and make them -talk,--rationally, I am afraid is beyond your or anybody's power; but -make them talk without stammering or giggling. Don't teach Molly too -much: she must sew, and read, and write, and do her sums; but I want -to keep her a child, and if I find more learning desirable for her, -I'll see about giving it to her myself. After all, I'm not sure that -reading or writing is necessary. Many a good woman gets married -with only a cross instead of her name; it's rather a diluting -of mother-wit, to my fancy; but, however, we must yield to the -prejudices of society, Miss Eyre, and so you may teach the child to -read." - -Miss Eyre listened in silence, perplexed but determined to be -obedient to the directions of the doctor, whose kindness she and -her family had good cause to know. She made strong tea; she helped -the young men liberally in Mr. Gibson's absence, as well as in his -presence, and she found the way to unloosen their tongues, whenever -their master was away, by talking to them on trivial subjects in her -pleasant homely way. She taught Molly to read and write, but tried -honestly to keep her back in every other branch of education. It was -only by fighting and struggling hard, that bit by bit Molly persuaded -her father to let her have French and drawing lessons. He was always -afraid of her becoming too much educated, though he need not have -been alarmed; the masters who visited such small country towns as -Hollingford forty years ago, were no such great proficients in their -arts. Once a week she joined a dancing class in the assembly-room -at the principal inn in the town: the "George;" and, being daunted -by her father in every intellectual attempt, she read every book -that came in her way, almost with as much delight as if it had been -forbidden. For his station in life, Mr. Gibson had an unusually -good library; the medical portion of it was inaccessible to Molly, -being kept in the surgery, but every other book she had either read, -or tried to read. Her summer place of study was that seat in the -cherry-tree, where she got the green stains on her frock, that have -already been mentioned as likely to wear Betty's life out. In spite -of this "hidden worm i' th' bud," Betty was to all appearance strong, -alert, and flourishing. She was the one crook in Miss Eyre's lot, -who was otherwise so happy in having met with a suitable well-paid -employment just when she needed it most. But Betty, though agreeing -in theory with her master when he told her of the necessity of having -a governess for his little daughter, was vehemently opposed to any -division of her authority and influence over the child who had been -her charge, her plague, and her delight ever since Mrs. Gibson's -death. She took up her position as censor of all Miss Eyre's sayings -and doings from the very first, and did not for a moment condescend -to conceal her disapprobation. In her heart she could not help -respecting the patience and painstaking of the good lady,--for -a "lady" Miss Eyre was in the best sense of the word, though in -Hollingford she only took rank as a shopkeeper's daughter. Yet Betty -buzzed about her with the teasing pertinacity of a gnat, always ready -to find fault, if not to bite. Miss Eyre's only defence came from the -quarter whence it might least have been expected--from her pupil; on -whose fancied behalf, as an oppressed little personage, Betty always -based her attacks. But very early in the day Molly perceived their -injustice, and soon afterwards she began to respect Miss Eyre for her -silent endurance of what evidently gave her far more pain than Betty -imagined. Mr. Gibson had been a friend in need to her family, so Miss -Eyre restrained her complaints, sooner than annoy him. And she had -her reward. Betty would offer Molly all sorts of small temptations to -neglect Miss Eyre's wishes; Molly steadily resisted, and plodded away -at her task of sewing or her difficult sum. Betty made cumbrous jokes -at Miss Eyre's expense; Molly looked up with the utmost gravity, as -if requesting the explanation of an unintelligible speech; and there -is nothing so quenching to a wag as to be asked to translate his -jest into plain matter-of-fact English, and to show wherein the -point lies. Occasionally Betty lost her temper entirely, and spoke -impertinently to Miss Eyre; but when this had been done in Molly's -presence, the girl flew out into such a violent passion of words -in defence of her silent trembling governess, that even Betty -herself was daunted, though she chose to take the child's anger as -a good joke, and tried to persuade Miss Eyre herself to join in her -amusement. - -"Bless the child! one 'ud think I was a hungry pussy-cat, and she -a hen-sparrow, with her wings all fluttering, and her little eyes -aflame, and her beak ready to peck me just because I happened to -look near her nest. Nay, child! if thou lik'st to be stifled in a -nasty close room, learning things as is of no earthly good when they -is learnt, instead o' riding on Job Donkin's hay-cart, it's thy -look-out, not mine. She's a little vixen, isn't she?" smiling at -Miss Eyre, as she finished her speech. But the poor governess saw no -humour in the affair; the comparison of Molly to a hen-sparrow was -lost upon her. She was sensitive and conscientious, and knew, from -home experience, the evils of an ungovernable temper. So she began to -reprove Molly for giving way to her passion, and the child thought -it hard to be blamed for what she considered her just anger against -Betty. But, after all, these were the small grievances of a very -happy childhood. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MR. GIBSON'S NEIGHBOURS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Molly grew up among these quiet people in calm monotony of life, -without any greater event than that which has been recorded--the -being left behind at the Towers--until she was nearly seventeen. She -had become a visitor at the school, but she had never gone again to -the annual festival at the great house; it was easy to find some -excuse for keeping away, and the recollection of that day was not -a pleasant one on the whole, though she often thought how much she -should like to see the gardens again. - -Lady Agnes was married; there was only Lady Harriet remaining at -home; Lord Hollingford, the eldest son, had lost his wife, and was -a good deal more at the Towers since he had become a widower. He -was a tall ungainly man, considered to be as proud as his mother, -the countess; but, in fact, he was only shy, and slow at making -commonplace speeches. He did not know what to say to people whose -daily habits and interests were not the same as his; he would have -been very thankful for a handbook of small-talk, and would have -learnt off his sentences with good-humoured diligence. He often -envied the fluency of his garrulous father, who delighted in talking -to everybody, and was perfectly unconscious of the incoherence of his -conversation. But, owing to his constitutional reserve and shyness, -Lord Hollingford was not a popular man although his kindness of -heart was very great, his simplicity of character extreme, and his -scientific acquirements considerable enough to entitle him to much -reputation in the European republic of learned men. In this respect -Hollingford was proud of him. The inhabitants knew that the great, -grave, clumsy heir to its fealty was highly esteemed for his wisdom; -and that he had made one or two discoveries, though in what direction -they were not quite sure. But it was safe to point him out to -strangers visiting the little town, as "That's Lord Hollingford--the -famous Lord Hollingford, you know; you must have heard of him, he is -so scientific." If the strangers knew his name, they also knew his -claims to fame; if they did not, ten to one but they would make as -if they did, and so conceal not only their own ignorance, but that -of their companions, as to the exact nature of the sources of his -reputation. - -He was left a widower with two or three boys. They were at a public -school; so that their companionship could make the house in which -he had passed his married life but little of a home to him, and he -consequently spent much of his time at the Towers; where his mother -was proud of him, and his father very fond, but ever so little afraid -of him. His friends were always welcomed by Lord and Lady Cumnor; the -former, indeed, was in the habit of welcoming everybody everywhere; -but it was a proof of Lady Cumnor's real affection for her -distinguished son, that she allowed him to ask what she called "all -sorts of people" to the Towers. "All sorts of people" meant really -those who were distinguished for science and learning, without regard -to rank: and it must be confessed, without much regard to polished -manners likewise. - -Mr. Hall, Mr. Gibson's predecessor, had always been received with -friendly condescension by my lady, who had found him established as -the family medical man, when first she came to the Towers on her -marriage; but she never thought of interfering with his custom of -taking his meals, if he needed refreshment, in the housekeeper's -room, not _with_ the housekeeper, _bien entendu_. The comfortable, -clever, stout, and red-faced doctor would very much have preferred -this, even if he had had the choice given him (which he never had) of -taking his "snack," as he called it, with my lord and my lady, in the -grand dining-room. Of course, if some great surgical gun (like Sir -Astley) was brought down from London to bear on the family's health, -it was due to him, as well as to the local medical attendant, to ask -Mr. Hall to dinner, in a formal and ceremonious manner, on which -occasions Mr. Hall buried his chin in voluminous folds of white -muslin, put on his black knee-breeches, with bunches of ribbon at -the sides, his silk stockings and buckled shoes, and otherwise made -himself excessively uncomfortable in his attire, and went forth in -state in a post-chaise from the "George," consoling himself in the -private corner of his heart for the discomfort he was enduring with -the idea of how well it would sound the next day in the ears of the -squires whom he was in the habit of attending: "Yesterday at dinner -the earl said," or "the countess remarked," or "I was surprised to -hear when I was dining at the Towers yesterday." But somehow things -had changed since Mr. Gibson had become "the doctor" _par excellence_ -at Hollingford. Miss Brownings thought that it was because he had -such an elegant figure, and "such a distinguished manner;" Mrs. -Goodenough, "because of his aristocratic connections"--"the son of a -Scotch duke, my dear, never mind on which side of the blanket." But -the fact was certain; although he might frequently ask Mrs. Brown -to give him something to eat in the housekeeper's room--he had no -time for all the fuss and ceremony of luncheon with my lady--he was -always welcome to the grandest circle of visitors in the house. He -might lunch with a duke any day that he chose; given that a duke was -forthcoming at the Towers. His accent was Scotch, not provincial. He -had not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones; and leanness goes -a great way to gentility. His complexion was sallow, and his hair -black; in those days, the decade after the conclusion of the great -continental war, to be sallow and black-a-vised was of itself a -distinction; he was not jovial (as my lord remarked with a sigh, but -it was my lady who endorsed the invitations), sparing of his words, -intelligent, and slightly sarcastic. Therefore he was perfectly -presentable. - -His Scotch blood (for that he was of Scottish descent there could be -no manner of doubt) gave him just the kind of thistly dignity which -made every one feel that they must treat him with respect; so on that -head he was assured. The grandeur of being an invited guest to dinner -at the Towers from time to time, gave him but little pleasure for -many years, but it was a form to be gone through in the way of his -profession, without any idea of social gratification. - -But when Lord Hollingford returned to make the Towers his home, -affairs were altered. Mr. Gibson really heard and learnt things that -interested him seriously, and that gave fresh flavour to his reading. -From time to time he met the leaders of the scientific world; -odd-looking, simple-hearted men, very much in earnest about their -own particular subjects, and not having much to say on any other. Mr. -Gibson found himself capable of appreciating such persons, and also -perceived that they valued his appreciation, as it was honestly -and intelligently given. Indeed, by-and-by, he began to send -contributions of his own to the more scientific of the medical -journals, and thus partly in receiving, partly in giving out -information and accurate thought, a new zest was added to his life. -There was not much intercourse between Lord Hollingford and himself; -the one was too silent and shy, the other too busy, to seek each -other's society with the perseverance required to do away with the -social distinction of rank that prevented their frequent meetings. -But each was thoroughly pleased to come into contact with the other. -Each could rely on the other's respect and sympathy with a security -unknown to many who call themselves friends; and this was a source -of happiness to both; to Mr. Gibson the most so, of course; for -his range of intelligent and cultivated society was the smaller. -Indeed, there was no one equal to himself among the men with whom he -associated, and this he had felt as a depressing influence, although -he never recognized the cause of his depression. There was Mr. -Ashton, the vicar, who had succeeded Mr. Browning, a thoroughly good -and kind-hearted man, but one without an original thought in him; -whose habitual courtesy and indolent mind led him to agree to every -opinion, not palpably heterodox, and to utter platitudes in the most -gentlemanly manner. Mr. Gibson had once or twice amused himself, by -leading the vicar on in his agreeable admissions of arguments "as -perfectly convincing," and of statements as "curious but undoubted," -till he had planted the poor clergyman in a bog of heretical -bewilderment. But then Mr. Ashton's pain and suffering at suddenly -finding out into what a theological predicament he had been brought, -his real self-reproach at his previous admissions, were so great -that Mr. Gibson lost all sense of fun, and hastened back to the -Thirty-nine Articles with all the good-will in life, as the only -means of soothing the vicar's conscience. On any other subject, -except that of orthodoxy, Mr. Gibson could lead him any lengths; but -then his ignorance on most of them prevented bland acquiescence from -arriving at any results which could startle him. He had some private -fortune, and was not married, and lived the life of an indolent and -refined bachelor; but though he himself was no very active visitor -among his poorer parishioners, he was always willing to relieve their -wants in the most liberal, and, considering his habits, occasionally -in the most self-denying manner, whenever Mr. Gibson, or any one -else, made them clearly known to him. "Use my purse as freely as if -it was your own, Gibson," he was wont to say. "I'm such a bad one at -going about and making talk to poor folk--I daresay I don't do enough -in that way--but I am most willing to give you anything for any one -you may consider in want." - -"Thank you; I come upon you pretty often, I believe, and make very -little scruple about it; but if you'll allow me to suggest, it is, -that you shouldn't try to make talk when you go into the cottages; -but just talk." - -"I don't see the difference," said the vicar, a little querulously; -"but I daresay there is a difference, and I have no doubt what you -say is quite true. I shouldn't make talk, but talk; and as both are -equally difficult to me, you must let me purchase the privilege of -silence by this ten-pound note." - -"Thank you. It's not so satisfactory to me; and, I should think, not -to yourself. But probably the Joneses and Greens will prefer it." - -Mr. Ashton would look with plaintive inquiry into Mr. Gibson's face -after some such speech, as if asking if a sarcasm was intended. On -the whole, they went on in the most amicable way; only beyond the -gregarious feeling common to most men, they had very little actual -pleasure in each other's society. Perhaps the man of all others -to whom Mr. Gibson took the most kindly--at least, until Lord -Hollingford came into the neighbourhood--was a certain Squire Hamley. -He and his ancestors had been called squire as long back as local -tradition extended. But there was many a greater land-owner in the -county, for Squire Hamley's estate was not more than eight hundred -acres or so. But his family had been in possession of it long before -the Earls of Cumnor had been heard of; before the Hely-Harrisons -had bought Coldstone Park; no one in Hollingford knew the time when -the Hamleys had not lived at Hamley. "Ever since the Heptarchy," -said the vicar. "Nay," said Miss Browning, "I have heard that there -were Hamleys of Hamley before the Romans." The vicar was preparing -a polite assent, when Mrs. Goodenough came in with a still more -startling assertion. "I have always heerd," said she, with all the -slow authority of an oldest inhabitant, "that there was Hamleys of -Hamley afore the time of the pagans." Mr. Ashton could only bow, and -say, "Possibly, very possibly, madam." But he said it in so courteous -a manner that Mrs. Goodenough looked round in a gratified way, as -much as to say, "The Church confirms my words; who now will dare -dispute them?" At any rate, the Hamleys were a very old family, if -not aborigines. They had not increased their estate for centuries; -they had held their own, if even with an effort, and had not sold -a rood of it for the last hundred years or so. But they were not -an adventurous race. They never traded, or speculated, or tried -agricultural improvements of any kind. They had no capital in any -bank; nor what perhaps would have been more in character, hoards of -gold in any stocking. Their mode of life was simple, and more like -that of yeomen than squires. Indeed Squire Hamley, by continuing the -primitive manners and customs of his forefathers, the squires of the -eighteenth century, did live more as a yeoman, when such a class -existed, than as a squire of this generation. There was a dignity in -this quiet conservatism that gained him an immense amount of respect -both from high and low; and he might have visited at every house -in the county had he so chosen. But he was very indifferent to the -charms of society; and perhaps this was owing to the fact that the -squire, Roger Hamley, who at present lived and reigned at Hamley, -had not received so good an education as he ought to have done. -His father, Squire Stephen, had been plucked at Oxford, and, with -stubborn pride, he had refused to go up again. Nay, more! he had -sworn a great oath, as men did in those days, that none of his -children to come should ever know either university by becoming a -member of it. He had only one child, the present Squire, and he was -brought up according to his father's word; he was sent to a petty -provincial school, where he saw much that he hated, and then turned -loose upon the estate as its heir. Such a bringing up did not do him -all the harm that might have been anticipated. He was imperfectly -educated, and ignorant on many points; but he was aware of his -deficiency, and regretted it in theory. He was awkward and ungainly -in society, and so kept out of it as much as possible; and he was -obstinate, violent-tempered, and dictatorial in his own immediate -circle. On the other side, he was generous, and true as steel; the -very soul of honour, in fact. He had so much natural shrewdness, that -his conversation was always worth listening to, although he was apt -to start by assuming entirely false premises, which he considered -as incontrovertible as if they had been mathematically proved; but, -given the correctness of his premises, nobody could bring more -natural wit and sense to bear upon the arguments based upon them. - -He had married a delicate fine London lady; it was one of those -perplexing marriages of which one cannot understand the reasons. Yet -they were very happy, though possibly Mrs. Hamley would not have sunk -into the condition of a chronic invalid, if her husband had cared a -little more for her various tastes, or allowed her the companionship -of those who did. After his marriage he was wont to say he had got -all that was worth having out of the crowd of houses they called -London. It was a compliment to his wife which he repeated until the -year of her death; it charmed her at first, it pleased her up to the -last time of her hearing it; but, for all that, she used sometimes -to wish that he would recognize the fact that there might still be -something worth hearing and seeing in the great city. But he never -went there again, and though he did not prohibit her going, yet he -showed so little sympathy with her when she came back full of what -she had done on her visit that she ceased caring to go. Not but what -he was kind and willing in giving his consent, and in furnishing her -amply with money. "There, there, my little woman, take that! Dress -yourself up as fine as any on 'em, and buy what you like, for the -credit of Hamley of Hamley; and go to the park and the play, and show -off with the best on 'em. I shall be glad to see thee back again, I -know; but have thy fling while thou'rt about it." Then when she came -back it was, "Well, well, it has pleased thee, I suppose, so that's -all right. But the very talking about it tires me, I know, and I -can't think how you have stood it all. Come out and see how pretty -the flowers are looking in the south garden. I've made them sow all -the seeds you like; and I went over to Hollingford nursery to buy the -cuttings of the plants you admired last year. A breath of fresh air -will clear my brain after listening to all this talk about the whirl -of London, which is like to have turned me giddy." - -Mrs. Hamley was a great reader, and had considerable literary taste. -She was gentle and sentimental; tender and good. She gave up her -visits to London; she gave up her sociable pleasure in the company -of her fellows in education and position. Her husband, owing to the -deficiencies of his early years, disliked associating with those -to whom he ought to have been an equal; he was too proud to mingle -with his inferiors. He loved his wife all the more dearly for her -sacrifices for him; but, deprived of all her strong interests, she -sank into ill-health; nothing definite; only she never was well. -Perhaps if she had had a daughter it would have been better for her: -but her two children were boys, and their father, anxious to give -them the advantages of which he himself had suffered the deprivation, -sent the lads very early to a preparatory school. They were to go -on to Rugby and Cambridge; the idea of Oxford was hereditarily -distasteful in the Hamley family. Osborne, the eldest--so called -after his mother's maiden name--was full of taste, and had some -talent. His appearance had all the grace and refinement of his -mother's. He was sweet-tempered and affectionate, almost as -demonstrative as a girl. He did well at school, carrying away many -prizes; and was, in a word, the pride and delight of both father and -mother; the confidential friend of the latter, in default of any -other. Roger was two years younger than Osborne; clumsy and heavily -built, like his father; his face was square, and the expression -grave, and rather immobile. He was good, but dull, his schoolmasters -said. He won no prizes, but brought home a favourable report of his -conduct. When he caressed his mother, she used laughingly to allude -to the fable of the lap-dog and the donkey; so thereafter he left -off all personal demonstration of affection. It was a great question -as to whether he was to follow his brother to college after he -left Rugby. Mrs. Hamley thought it would be rather a throwing -away of money, as he was so little likely to distinguish himself -in intellectual pursuits; anything practical--such as a civil -engineer--would be more the kind of life for him. She thought that -it would be too mortifying for him to go to the same college and -university as his brother, who was sure to distinguish himself--and, -to be repeatedly plucked, to come away wooden-spoon at last. But his -father persevered doggedly, as was his wont, in his intention of -giving both his sons the same education; they should both have the -advantages of which he had been deprived. If Roger did not do well at -Cambridge it would be his own fault. If his father did not send him -thither, some day or other he might be regretting the omission, as -the Squire had done himself for many a year. So Roger followed his -brother Osborne to Trinity, and Mrs. Hamley was again left alone, -after the year of indecision as to Roger's destination, which had -been brought on by her urgency. She had not been able for many years -to walk beyond her garden; the greater part of her life was spent on -a sofa, wheeled to the window in summer, to the fireside in winter. -The room which she inhabited was large and pleasant; four tall -windows looked out upon a lawn dotted over with flower-beds, and -melting away into a small wood, in the centre of which there was a -pond, filled with water-lilies. About this unseen pond in the deep -shade Mrs. Hamley had written many a pretty four-versed poem since -she lay on her sofa, alternately reading and composing verse. She had -a small table by her side on which there were the newest works of -poetry and fiction; a pencil and blotting-book, with loose sheets -of blank paper; a vase of flowers always of her husband's gathering; -winter and summer, she had a sweet fresh nosegay every day. Her maid -brought her a draught of medicine every three hours, with a glass of -clear water and a biscuit; her husband came to her as often as his -love for the open air and his labours out-of-doors permitted; but -the event of her day, when her boys were absent, was Mr. Gibson's -frequent professional visits. - -He knew there was real secret harm going on all this time that people -spoke of her as a merely fanciful invalid; and that one or two -accused him of humouring her fancies. But he only smiled at such -accusations. He felt that his visits were a real pleasure and -lightening of her growing and indescribable discomfort; he knew that -Squire Hamley would have been only too glad if he had come every day; -and he was conscious that by careful watching of her symptoms he -might mitigate her bodily pain. Besides all these reasons, he took -great pleasure in the Squire's society. Mr. Gibson enjoyed the -other's unreasonableness; his quaintness; his strong conservatism -in religion, politics, and morals. Mrs. Hamley tried sometimes to -apologize for, or to soften away, opinions which she fancied were -offensive to the doctor, or contradictions which she thought too -abrupt; but at such times her husband would lay his great hand almost -caressingly on Mr. Gibson's shoulder, and soothe his wife's anxiety, -by saying, "Let us alone, little woman. We understand each other, -don't we, doctor? Why, bless your life, he gives me better than he -gets many a time; only, you see, he sugars it over, and says a sharp -thing, and pretends it's all civility and humility; but I can tell -when he's giving me a pill." - -One of Mrs. Hamley's often-expressed wishes had been, that Molly -might come and pay her a visit. Mr. Gibson always refused this -request of hers, though he could hardly have given his reasons for -these refusals. He did not want to lose the companionship of his -child, in fact; but he put it to himself in quite a different way. -He thought her lessons and her regular course of employment would be -interrupted. The life in Mrs. Hamley's heated and scented room would -not be good for the girl; Osborne and Roger Hamley would be at home, -and he did not wish Molly to be thrown too exclusively upon them for -young society; or they would not be at home, and it would be rather -dull and depressing for his girl to be all the day long with a -nervous invalid. - -But at length the day came when Mr. Gibson rode over, and volunteered -a visit from Molly; an offer which Mrs. Hamley received with the -"open arms of her heart," as she expressed it; and of which the -duration was unspecified. - -The cause for the change in Mr. Gibson's wishes just referred to -was as follows:--It has been mentioned that he took pupils, rather -against his inclination, it is true; but there they were, a Mr. Wynne -and Mr. Coxe, "the young gentlemen," as they were called in the -household; "Mr. Gibson's young gentlemen," as they were termed in the -town. Mr. Wynne was the elder, the more experienced one, who could -occasionally take his master's place, and who gained experience by -visiting the poor, and the "chronic cases." Mr. Gibson used to talk -over his practice with Mr. Wynne, and try and elicit his opinions in -the vain hope that, some day or another, Mr. Wynne might start an -original thought. The young man was cautious and slow; he would never -do any harm by his rashness, but at the same time he would always be -a little behind his day. Still Mr. Gibson remembered that he had had -far worse "young gentlemen" to deal with; and was content with, if -not thankful for, such an elder pupil as Mr. Wynne. Mr. Coxe was a -boy of nineteen or so, with brilliant red hair, and a tolerably red -face, of both of which he was very conscious and much ashamed. He was -the son of an Indian officer, an old acquaintance of Mr. Gibson's. -Major Coxe was at some unpronounceable station in the Punjaub, at the -present time; but the year before he had been in England, and had -repeatedly expressed his great satisfaction at having placed his only -child as a pupil to his old friend, and had in fact almost charged -Mr. Gibson with the guardianship as well as the instruction of his -boy, giving him many injunctions which he thought were special in -this case; but which Mr. Gibson with a touch of annoyance assured the -major were always attended to in every case, with every pupil. But -when the poor major ventured to beg that his boy might be considered -as one of the family, and that he might spend his evenings in the -drawing-room instead of the surgery, Mr. Gibson turned upon him with -a direct refusal. - -"He must live like the others. I can't have the pestle and mortar -carried into the drawing-room, and the place smelling of aloes." - -"Must my boy make pills himself, then?" asked the major, ruefully. - -"To be sure. The youngest apprentice always does. It's not hard -work. He'll have the comfort of thinking he won't have to swallow -them himself. And he'll have the run of the pomfret cakes, and the -conserve of hips, and on Sundays he shall have a taste of tamarinds -to reward him for his weekly labour at pill-making." - -Major Coxe was not quite sure whether Mr. Gibson was not laughing -at him in his sleeve; but things were so far arranged, and the real -advantages were so great, that he thought it was best to take no -notice, but even to submit to the indignity of pill-making. He was -consoled for all these rubs by Mr. Gibson's manner at last when the -supreme moment of final parting arrived. The doctor did not say much; -but there was something of real sympathy in his manner that spoke -straight to the father's heart, and an implied "you have trusted me -with your boy, and I have accepted the trust in full," in each of the -few last words. - -Mr. Gibson knew his business and human nature too well to distinguish -young Coxe by any overt marks of favouritism; but he could not help -showing the lad occasionally that he regarded him with especial -interest as the son of a friend. Besides this claim upon his regard, -there was something about the young man himself that pleased Mr. -Gibson. He was rash and impulsive, apt to speak, hitting the nail on -the head sometimes with unconscious cleverness, at other times making -gross and startling blunders. Mr. Gibson used to tell him that his -motto would always be "kill or cure," and to this Mr. Coxe once made -answer that he thought it was the best motto a doctor could have; for -if he could not cure the patient, it was surely best to get him out -of his misery quietly, and at once. Mr. Wynne looked up in surprise, -and observed that he should be afraid that such putting out of misery -might be looked upon as homicide by some people. Mr. Gibson said -in a dry tone, that for his part he should not mind the imputation -of homicide, but that it would not do to make away with profitable -patients in so speedy a manner; and that he thought that as long as -they were willing and able to pay two-and-sixpence for the doctor's -visit, it was his duty to keep them alive; of course, when they -became paupers the case was different. Mr. Wynne pondered over this -speech; Mr. Coxe only laughed. At last Mr. Wynne said,-- - -"But you go every morning, sir, before breakfast to see old Nancy -Grant, and you've ordered her this medicine, sir, which is about the -most costly in Corbyn's bill?" - -"Have you not found out how difficult it is for men to live up to -their precepts? You've a great deal to learn yet, Mr. Wynne!" said -Mr. Gibson, leaving the surgery as he spoke. - -"I never can make the governor out," said Mr. Wynne, in a tone of -utter despair. "What are you laughing at, Coxey?" - -"Oh! I'm thinking how blest you are in having parents who have -instilled moral principles into your youthful bosom. You'd go and be -poisoning all the paupers off, if you hadn't been told that murder -was a crime by your mother; you'd be thinking you were doing as you -were bid, and quote old Gibson's words when you came to be tried. -'Please, my lord judge, they were not able to pay for my visits, and -so I followed the rules of the profession as taught me by Mr. Gibson, -the great surgeon at Hollingford, and poisoned the paupers.'" - -"I can't bear that scoffing way of his." - -"And I like it. If it wasn't for the governor's fun, and the -tamarinds, and something else that I know of, I would run off to -India. I hate stifling rooms, and sick people, and the smell of -drugs, and the stink of pills on my hands;--faugh!" - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CALF-LOVE. - - -One day, for some reason or other, Mr. Gibson came home unexpectedly. -He was crossing the hall, having come in by the garden-door--the -garden communicated with the stable-yard, where he had left his -horse--when the kitchen door opened, and the girl who was underling -in the establishment, came quickly into the hall with a note in her -hand, and made as if she was taking it upstairs; but on seeing her -master she gave a little start, and turned back as if to hide herself -in the kitchen. If she had not made this movement, so conscious of -guilt, Mr. Gibson, who was anything but suspicious, would never have -taken any notice of her. As it was, he stepped quickly forwards, -opened the kitchen door, and called out "Bethia" so sharply that she -could not delay coming forwards. - -"Give me that note," he said. She hesitated a little. - -"It's for Miss Molly," she stammered out. - -"Give it to me!" he repeated more quickly than before. She looked as -if she would cry; but still she kept the note tight held behind her -back. - -"He said as I was to give it into her own hands; and I promised as I -would, faithful." - -"Cook, go and find Miss Molly. Tell her to come here at once." - -He fixed Bethia with his eyes. It was of no use trying to escape: she -might have thrown it into the fire, but she had not presence of mind -enough. She stood immovable, only her eyes looked any way rather than -encounter her master's steady gaze. "Molly, my dear!" - -"Papa! I did not know you were at home," said innocent, wondering -Molly. - -"Bethia, keep your word. Here is Miss Molly; give her the note." - -"Indeed, miss, I couldn't help it!" - -Molly took the note, but before she could open it, her father -said,--"That's all, my dear; you needn't read it. Give it to me. Tell -those who sent you, Bethia, that all letters for Miss Molly must pass -through my hands. Now be off with you, goosey, and go back to where -you came from." - - -[Illustration: A LOVE LETTER.] - - -"Papa, I shall make you tell me who my correspondent is." - -"We'll see about that, by-and-by." - -She went a little reluctantly, with ungratified curiosity, upstairs -to Miss Eyre, who was still her daily companion, if not her -governess. He turned into the empty dining-room, shut the door, -broke the seal of the note, and began to read it. It was a flaming -love-letter from Mr. Coxe; who professed himself unable to go on -seeing her day after day without speaking to her of the passion she -had inspired--an "eternal passion," he called it; on reading which -Mr. Gibson laughed a little. Would she not look kindly at him? would -she not think of him whose only thought was of her? and so on, with a -very proper admixture of violent compliments to her beauty. She was -fair, not pale; her eyes were loadstars, her dimples marks of Cupid's -finger, &c. - -Mr. Gibson finished reading it; and began to think about it in his -own mind. "Who would have thought the lad had been so poetical? but, -to be sure, there's a 'Shakspeare' in the surgery library: I'll take -it away and put 'Johnson's Dictionary' instead. One comfort is the -conviction of her perfect innocence--ignorance, I should rather -say--for it's easy to see it's the first 'confession of his love,' as -he calls it. But it's an awful worry--to begin with lovers so early. -Why, she's only just seventeen,--not seventeen, indeed, till July; -not for six weeks yet. Sixteen and three-quarters! Why, she's quite -a baby. To be sure--poor Jeanie was not so old, and how I did love -her!" (Mrs. Gibson's name was Mary, so he must have been referring to -some one else.) Then his thoughts wandered back to other days, though -he still held the open note in his hand. By-and-by his eyes fell upon -it again, and his mind came back to bear upon the present time. "I'll -not be hard upon him. I'll give him a hint; he's quite sharp enough -to take it. Poor laddie! if I send him away, which would be the -wisest course, I do believe he's got no home to go to." - -After a little more consideration in the same strain, Mr. Gibson went -and sat down at the writing-table and wrote the following formula:-- - - _Master Coxe._ - -("That 'master' will touch him to the quick," said Mr. Gibson to -himself as he wrote the word.) - - - Rx. Verecundiæ i oz. - Fidelitatis Domesticæ i oz. - Reticentiæ gr. iij. - M. Capiat hanc dosim ter die in aquâ purâ. - - R. GIBSON, _Ch._ - - -Mr. Gibson smiled a little sadly as he re-read his words. "Poor -Jeanie," he said aloud. And then he chose out an envelope, enclosed -the fervid love-letter, and the above prescription; sealed it with -his own sharply-cut seal-ring, R. G., in old English letters, and -then paused over the address. - -"He'll not like _Master Coxe_ outside; no need to put him to -unnecessary shame." So the direction on the envelope was-- - - _Edward Coxe, Esq._ - -Then Mr. Gibson applied himself to the professional business which -had brought him home so opportunely and unexpectedly, and afterwards -he went back through the garden to the stables; and just as he had -mounted his horse, he said to the stable-man,--"Oh! by the way, -here's a letter for Mr. Coxe. Don't send it through the women; take -it round yourself to the surgery-door, and do it at once." - -The slight smile upon his face, as he rode out of the gates, died -away as soon as he found himself in the solitude of the lanes. He -slackened his speed, and began to think. It was very awkward, he -considered, to have a motherless girl growing up into womanhood in -the same house with two young men, even if she only met them at -meal-times; and all the intercourse they had with each other was -merely the utterance of such words as, "May I help you to potatoes?" -or, as Mr. Wynne would persevere in saying, "May I assist you to -potatoes?"--a form of speech which grated daily more and more upon -Mr. Gibson's ears. Yet Mr. Coxe, the offender in this affair which -had just occurred, had to remain for three years more as a pupil in -Mr. Gibson's family. He should be the very last of the race. Still -there were three years to be got over; and if this stupid passionate -calf-love of his lasted, what was to be done? Sooner or later Molly -would become aware of it. The contingencies of the affair were so -excessively disagreeable to contemplate, that Mr. Gibson determined -to dismiss the subject from his mind by a good strong effort. He -put his horse to a gallop, and found that the violent shaking over -the lanes--paved as they were with round stones, which had been -dislocated by the wear and tear of a hundred years--was the very best -thing for the spirits, if not for the bones. He made a long round -that afternoon, and came back to his home imagining that the worst -was over, and that Mr. Coxe would have taken the hint conveyed in -the prescription. All that would be needed was to find a safe place -for the unfortunate Bethia, who had displayed such a daring aptitude -for intrigue. But Mr. Gibson reckoned without his host. It was the -habit of the young men to come in to tea with the family in the -dining-room, to swallow two cups, munch their bread or toast, and -then disappear. This night Mr. Gibson watched their countenances -furtively from under his long eye-lashes, while he tried against his -wont to keep up a dégagé manner, and a brisk conversation on general -subjects. He saw that Mr. Wynne was on the point of breaking out -into laughter, and that red-haired, red-faced Mr. Coxe was redder -and fiercer than ever, while his whole aspect and ways betrayed -indignation and anger. - -"He will have it, will he?" thought Mr. Gibson to himself; and he -girded up his loins for the battle. He did not follow Molly and Miss -Eyre into the drawing-room as he usually did. He remained where he -was, pretending to read the newspaper, while Bethia, her face swelled -up with crying, and with an aggrieved and offended aspect, removed -the tea-things. Not five minutes after the room was cleared, came -the expected tap at the door. "May I speak to you, sir?" said the -invisible Mr. Coxe, from outside. - -"To be sure. Come in, Mr. Coxe. I was rather wanting to talk to you -about that bill of Corbyn's. Pray sit down." - -"It is about nothing of that kind, sir, that I wanted--that I -wished--No, thank you--I would rather not sit down." He, accordingly, -stood in offended dignity. "It is about that letter, sir--that letter -with the insulting prescription, sir." - -"Insulting prescription! I am surprised at such a word being applied -to any prescription of mine--though, to be sure, patients are -sometimes offended at being told the nature of their illnesses; and, -I daresay, they may take offence at the medicines which their cases -require." - -"I did not ask you to prescribe for me." - -"Oh, ho! Then you were the Master Coxe who sent the note through -Bethia! Let me tell you it has cost her her place, and was a very -silly letter into the bargain." - -"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir, to intercept it, and to -open it, and to read words never addressed to you, sir." - -"No!" said Mr. Gibson, with a slight twinkle in his eye and a curl on -his lips, not unnoticed by the indignant Mr. Coxe. "I believe I was -once considered tolerably good-looking, and I daresay I was as great -a coxcomb as any one at twenty; but I don't think that even then I -should quite have believed that all those pretty compliments were -addressed to myself." - -"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir," repeated Mr. Coxe, -stammering over his words--he was going on to say something more, -when Mr. Gibson broke in,-- - -"And let me tell you, young man," replied Mr. Gibson, with a sudden -sternness in his voice, "that what you have done is only excusable -in consideration of your youth and extreme ignorance of what are -considered the laws of domestic honour. I receive you into my house -as a member of my family--you induce one of my servants--corrupting -her with a bribe, I have no doubt--" - -"Indeed, sir! I never gave her a penny." - -"Then you ought to have done. You should always pay those who do your -dirty work." - -"Just now, sir, you called it corrupting with a bribe," muttered Mr. -Coxe. - -Mr. Gibson took no notice of this speech, but went on--"Inducing one -of my servants to risk her place, without offering her the slightest -equivalent, by begging her to convey a letter clandestinely to my -daughter--a mere child." - -"Miss Gibson, sir, is nearly seventeen! I heard you say so only the -other day," said Mr. Coxe, aged twenty. Again Mr. Gibson ignored the -remark. - -"A letter which you were unwilling to have seen by her father, who -had tacitly trusted to your honour, by receiving you as an inmate of -his house. Your father's son--I know Major Coxe well--ought to have -come to me, and have said out openly, 'Mr. Gibson, I love--or I fancy -that I love--your daughter; I do not think it right to conceal this -from you, although unable to earn a penny; and with no prospect of an -unassisted livelihood, even for myself, for several years, I shall -not say a word about my feelings--or fancied feelings--to the very -young lady herself.' That is what your father's son ought to have -said; if, indeed, a couple of grains of reticent silence wouldn't -have been better still." - -"And if I had said it, sir--perhaps I ought to have said it," said -Mr. Coxe, in a hurry of anxiety, "what would have been your answer? -Would you have sanctioned my passion, sir?" - -"I would have said, most probably--I will not be certain of my exact -words in a suppositional case--that you were a young fool, but not -a dishonourable young fool, and I should have told you not to let -your thoughts run upon a calf-love until you had magnified it into -a passion. And I daresay, to make up for the mortification I should -have given you, I might have prescribed your joining the Hollingford -Cricket Club, and set you at liberty as often as I could on the -Saturday afternoons. As it is, I must write to your father's agent in -London, and ask him to remove you out of my household, repaying the -premium, of course, which will enable you to start afresh in some -other doctor's surgery." - -"It will so grieve my father," said Mr. Coxe, startled into dismay, -if not repentance. - -"I see no other course open. It will give Major Coxe some trouble -(I shall take care that he is at no extra expense), but what I think -will grieve him the most is the betrayal of confidence; for I trusted -you, Edward, like a son of my own!" There was something in Mr. -Gibson's voice when he spoke seriously, especially when he referred -to any feeling of his own--he who so rarely betrayed what was passing -in his heart--that was irresistible to most people: the change from -joking and sarcasm to tender gravity. - -Mr. Coxe hung his head a little, and meditated. - -"I do love Miss Gibson," said he, at length. "Who could help it?" - -"Mr. Wynne, I hope!" said Mr. Gibson. - -"His heart is pre-engaged," replied Mr. Coxe. "Mine was free as air -till I saw her." - -"Would it tend to cure your--well! passion, we'll say--if she wore -blue spectacles at meal-times? I observe you dwell much on the beauty -of her eyes." - -"You are ridiculing my feelings, Mr. Gibson. Do you forget that you -yourself were young once?" - -"Poor Jeanie" rose before Mr. Gibson's eyes; and he felt a little -rebuked. - -"Come, Mr. Coxe, let us see if we can't make a bargain," said he, -after a minute or so of silence. "You have done a really wrong thing, -and I hope you are convinced of it in your heart, or that you will -be when the heat of this discussion is over, and you come to think a -little about it. But I won't lose all respect for your father's son. -If you will give me your word that, as long as you remain a member of -my family--pupil, apprentice, what you will--you won't again try to -disclose your passion--you see I am careful to take your view of what -I should call a mere fancy--by word or writing, looks or acts, in any -manner whatever, to my daughter, or to talk about your feelings to -any one else, you shall remain here. If you cannot give me your word, -I must follow out the course I named, and write to your father's -agent." - -Mr. Coxe stood irresolute. - -"Mr. Wynne knows all I feel for Miss Gibson, sir. He and I have no -secrets from each other." - -"Well, I suppose he must represent the reeds. You know the story of -King Midas's barber, who found out that his royal master had the ears -of an ass beneath his hyacinthine curls. So the barber, in default -of a Mr. Wynne, went to the reeds that grew on the shores of a -neighbouring lake, and whispered to them, 'King Midas has the ears of -an ass.' But he repeated it so often that the reeds learnt the words, -and kept on saying them all day long, till at last the secret was no -secret at all. If you keep on telling your tale to Mr. Wynne, are you -sure he won't repeat it in his turn?" - -"If I pledge my word as a gentleman, sir, I pledge it for Mr. Wynne -as well." - -"I suppose I must run the risk. But remember how soon a young girl's -name may be breathed upon, and sullied. Molly has no mother, and for -that very reason she ought to move among you all, as unharmed as Una -herself." - -"Mr. Gibson, if you wish it, I'll swear it on the Bible," cried the -excitable young man. - -"Nonsense. As if your word, if it's worth anything, wasn't enough! -We'll shake hands upon it, if you like." - -Mr. Coxe came forward eagerly, and almost squeezed Mr. Gibson's ring -into his finger. - -As he was leaving the room, he said, a little uneasily, "May I give -Bethia a crown-piece?" - -"No, indeed! Leave Bethia to me. I hope you won't say another word to -her while she's here. I shall see that she gets a respectable place -when she goes away." - -Then Mr. Gibson rang for his horse, and went out on the last visits -of the day. He used to reckon that he rode the world around in the -course of the year. There were not many surgeons in the county who -had so wide a range of practice as he; he went to lonely cottages on -the borders of great commons; to farm-houses at the end of narrow -country lanes that led to nowhere else, and were overshadowed by the -elms and beeches overhead. He attended all the gentry within a circle -of fifteen miles round Hollingford; and was the appointed doctor to -the still greater families who went up to London every February--as -the fashion then was--and returned to their acres in the early weeks -of July. He was, of necessity, a great deal from home, and on this -soft and pleasant summer evening he felt the absence as a great evil. -He was startled at discovering that his little one was growing fast -into a woman, and already the passive object of some of the strong -interests that affect a woman's life; and he--her mother as well as -her father--so much away that he could not guard her as he would -have wished. The end of his cogitations was that ride to Hamley the -next morning, when he proposed to allow his daughter to accept Mrs. -Hamley's last invitation--an invitation that had been declined at the -time. - -"You may quote against me the proverb, 'He that will not when he -may, when he will he shall have nay.' And I shall have no reason to -complain," he had said. - -But Mrs. Hamley was only too much charmed with the prospect of having -a young girl for a visitor; one whom it would not be a trouble to -entertain; who might be sent out to ramble in the gardens, or told -to read when the invalid was too much fatigued for conversation; and -yet one whose youth and freshness would bring a charm, like a waft -of sweet summer air, into her lonely shut-up life. Nothing could be -pleasanter, and so Molly's visit to Hamley was easily settled. - -"I only wish Osborne and Roger had been at home," said Mrs. Hamley, -in her low soft voice. "She may find it dull, being with old people, -like the squire and me, from morning till night. When can she come? -the darling--I am beginning to love her already!" - -Mr. Gibson was very glad in his heart that the young men of the house -were out of the way; he did not want his little Molly to be passing -from Scylla to Charybdis; and, as he afterwards scoffed at himself -for thinking, he had got an idea that all young men were wolves in -chase of his one ewe-lamb. - -"She knows nothing of the pleasure in store for her," he replied; -"and I'm sure I don't know what feminine preparations she may think -necessary, or how long they may take. You'll remember she is a little -ignoramus, and has had no ... training in etiquette; our ways at -home are rather rough for a girl, I'm afraid. But I know I could not -send her into a kinder atmosphere than this." - -When the Squire heard from his wife of Mr. Gibson's proposal, he was -as much pleased as she at the prospect of their youthful visitor; -for he was a man of a hearty hospitality, when his pride did not -interfere with its gratification; and he was delighted to think of -his sick wife's having such an agreeable companion in her hours of -loneliness. After a while he said,--"It's as well the lads are at -Cambridge; we might have been having a love-affair if they had been -at home." - -"Well--and if we had?" asked his more romantic wife. - -"It wouldn't have done," said the Squire, decidedly. "Osborne -will have had a first-rate education--as good as any man in the -county--he'll have this property, and he's a Hamley of Hamley; not a -family in the shire is as old as we are, or settled on their ground -so well. Osborne may marry where he likes. If Lord Hollingford had a -daughter, Osborne would have been as good a match as she could have -required. It would never do for him to fall in love with Gibson's -daughter--I shouldn't allow it. So it's as well he's out of the way." - -"Well! perhaps Osborne had better look higher." - -"Perhaps! I say he must." The Squire brought his hand down with a -thump on the table, near him, which made his wife's heart beat hard -for some minutes. "And as for Roger," he continued, unconscious of -the flutter he had put her into, "he'll have to make his own way, -and earn his own bread; and, I'm afraid, he's not getting on very -brilliantly at Cambridge. He mustn't think of falling in love for -these ten years." - -"Unless he marries a fortune," said Mrs. Hamley, more by way of -concealing her palpitation than anything else; for she was unworldly -and romantic to a fault. - -"No son of mine shall ever marry a wife who is richer than himself -with my good will," said the Squire again, with emphasis, but without -a thump. - -"I don't say but what if Roger is gaining five hundred a year by -the time he's thirty, he shall not choose a wife with ten thousand -pounds down; but I do say, if a boy of mine, with only two hundred a -year--which is all Roger will have from us, and that not for a long -time--goes and marries a woman with fifty thousand to her portion, -I'll disown him--it would be just disgusting." - -"Not if they loved each other, and their whole happiness depended -upon their marrying each other," put in Mrs. Hamley, mildly. - -"Pooh! away with love! Nay, my dear, we loved each other so dearly -we should never have been happy with any one else; but that's a -different thing. People aren't like what they were when we were -young. All the love nowadays is just silly fancy, and sentimental -romance, as far as I can see." - -Mr. Gibson thought that he had settled everything about Molly's going -to Hamley before he spoke to her about it, which he did not do, until -the morning of the day on which Mrs. Hamley expected her. Then he -said,--"By the way, Molly! you're to go to Hamley this afternoon; -Mrs. Hamley wants you to go to her for a week or two, and it suits me -capitally that you should accept her invitation just now." - -"Go to Hamley! This afternoon! Papa, you've got some odd reason at -the back of your head--some mystery, or something. Please, tell me -what it is. Go to Hamley for a week or two! Why, I never was from -home before this without you in all my life." - -"Perhaps not. I don't think you ever walked before you put your feet -to the ground. Everything must have a beginning." - -"It has something to do with that letter that was directed to me, but -that you took out of my hands before I could even see the writing of -the direction." She fixed her grey eyes on her father's face, as if -she meant to pluck out his secret. - -He only smiled and said,--"You're a witch, goosey!" - -"Then it had! But if it was a note from Mrs. Hamley, why might I -not see it? I have been wondering if you had some plan in your head -ever since that day.--Thursday, wasn't it? You've gone about in a -kind of thoughtful, perplexed way, just like a conspirator. Tell me, -papa"--coming up to him, and putting on a beseeching manner--"why -mightn't I see that note? and why am I to go to Hamley all on a -sudden?" - -"Don't you like to go? Would you rather not?" If she had said that -she did not want to go he would have been rather pleased than -otherwise, although it would have put him into a great perplexity; -but he was beginning to dread the parting from her even for so short -a time. However, she replied directly,-- - -"I don't know--I daresay I shall like it when I have thought a little -more about it. Just now I'm so startled by the suddenness of the -affair, I haven't considered whether I shall like it or not. I shan't -like going away from you, I know. Why am I to go, papa?" - -"There are three old ladies sitting somewhere, and thinking about -you just at this very minute; one has a distaff in her hands, and is -spinning a thread; she has come to a knot in it, and is puzzled what -to do with it. Her sister has a great pair of scissors in her hands, -and wants--as she always does, when any difficulty arises in the -smoothness of the thread--to cut it off short; but the third, who has -the most head of the three, plans how to undo the knot; and she it is -who has decided that you are to go to Hamley. The others are quite -convinced by her arguments; so, as the Fates have decreed that this -visit is to be paid, there is nothing left for you and me but to -submit." - -"That's all nonsense, papa, and you're only making me more curious to -find out this hidden reason." - -Mr. Gibson changed his tone, and spoke gravely now. "There is a -reason, Molly, and one which I do not wish to give. When I tell you -this much, I expect you to be an honourable girl, and to try and not -even conjecture what the reason may be,--much less endeavour to put -little discoveries together till very likely you may find out what I -want to conceal." - -"Papa, I won't even think about your reason again. But then I shall -have to plague you with another question. I've had no new gown this -year, and I've outgrown all my last summer frocks. I've only three -that I can wear at all. Betty was saying only yesterday that I ought -to have some more." - -"That'll do that you have got on, won't it? It's a very pretty -colour." - -"Yes; but, papa" (holding it out as if she was going to dance), "it's -made of woollen, and so hot and heavy; and every day it will be -getting warmer." - -"I wish girls could dress like boys," said Mr. Gibson, with a little -impatience. "How is a man to know when his daughter wants clothes? -and how is he to rig her out when he finds it out, just when she -needs them most and hasn't got them?" - -"Ah, that's the question!" said Molly, in some despair. - -"Can't you go to Miss Rose's? Doesn't she keep ready-made frocks for -girls of your age?" - -"Miss Rose! I never had anything from her in my life," replied Molly, -in some surprise; for Miss Rose was the great dressmaker and milliner -of the little town, and hitherto Betty had made the girl's frocks. - -"Well, but it seems people consider you as a young woman now, and -so I suppose you must run up milliners' bills like the rest of your -kind. Not that you're to get anything anywhere that you can't pay for -down in ready money. Here's a ten-pound note; go to Miss Rose's, or -Miss anybody's, and get what you want at once. The Hamley carriage -is to come for you at two, and anything that isn't quite ready, can -easily be sent by their cart on Saturday, when some of their people -always come to market. Nay, don't thank me! I don't want to have the -money spent, and I don't want you to go and leave me: I shall miss -you, I know; it's only hard necessity that drives me to send you -a-visiting, and to throw away ten pounds on your clothes. There, go -away; you're a plague, and I mean to leave off loving you as fast as -I can." - -"Papa!" holding up her finger as in warning, "you're getting -mysterious again; and though my honourableness is very strong, I -won't promise that it shall not yield to my curiosity if you go on -hinting at untold secrets." - -"Go away and spend your ten pounds. What did I give it you for but to -keep you quiet?" - -Miss Rose's ready-made resources and Molly's taste combined, did not -arrive at a very great success. She bought a lilac print, because -it would wash, and would be cool and pleasant for the mornings; and -this Betty could make at home before Saturday. And for high-days and -holidays--by which was understood afternoons and Sundays--Miss Rose -persuaded her to order a gay-coloured flimsy plaid silk, which she -assured her was quite the latest fashion in London, and which Molly -thought would please her father's Scotch blood. But when he saw the -scrap which she had brought home as a pattern, he cried out that the -plaid belonged to no clan in existence, and that Molly ought to have -known this by instinct. It was too late to change it, however, for -Miss Rose had promised to cut the dress out as soon as Molly left her -shop. - -Mr. Gibson had hung about the town all the morning instead of going -away on his usual distant rides. He passed his daughter once or twice -in the street, but he did not cross over when he was on the opposite -side--only gave her a look or a nod, and went on his way, scolding -himself for his weakness in feeling so much pain at the thought of -her absence for a fortnight or so. - -"And, after all," thought he, "I'm only where I was when she comes -back; at least, if that foolish fellow goes on with his imaginating -fancy. She'll have to come back some time, and if he chooses to -imagine himself constant, there's still the devil to pay." Presently -he began to hum the air out of the "Beggar's Opera"-- - - I wonder any man alive - Should ever rear a daughter. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -A VISIT TO THE HAMLEYS. - - -Of course the news of Miss Gibson's approaching departure had spread -through the household before the one o'clock dinner-time came; and -Mr. Coxe's dismal countenance was a source of much inward irritation -to Mr. Gibson, who kept giving the youth sharp glances of savage -reproof for his melancholy face, and want of appetite; which he -trotted out, with a good deal of sad ostentation; all of which was -lost upon Molly, who was too full of her own personal concerns to -have any thought or observation to spare from them, excepting once or -twice when she thought of the many days that must pass over before -she should again sit down to dinner with her father. - -When she named this to him after the meal was over, and they were -sitting together in the drawing-room, waiting for the sound of the -wheels of the Hamley carriage, he laughed, and said,-- - -"I'm coming over to-morrow to see Mrs. Hamley; and I daresay I shall -dine at their lunch; so you won't have to wait long before you've the -treat of seeing the wild beast feed." - -Then they heard the approaching carriage. - -"Oh, papa," said Molly, catching at his hand, "I do so wish I wasn't -going, now that the time is come." - -"Nonsense; don't let us have any sentiment. Have you got your keys? -that's more to the purpose." - -Yes; she had got her keys, and her purse; and her little box was -put up on the seat by the coachman; and her father handed her in; -the door was shut, and she drove away in solitary grandeur, looking -back and kissing her hand to her father, who stood at the gate, in -spite of his dislike of sentiment, as long as the carriage could -be seen. Then he turned into the surgery, and found Mr. Coxe had -had his watching too, and had, indeed, remained at the window -gazing, moonstruck, at the empty road, up which the young lady had -disappeared. Mr. Gibson startled him from his reverie by a sharp, -almost venomous, speech about some small neglect of duty a day or two -before. That night Mr. Gibson insisted on passing by the bedside of a -poor girl whose parents were worn-out by many wakeful anxious nights -succeeding to hard-working days. - -Molly cried a little, but checked her tears as soon as she remembered -how annoyed her father would have been at the sight of them. It -was very pleasant driving quickly along in the luxurious carriage, -through the pretty green lanes, with dog-roses and honeysuckles so -plentiful and rathe in the hedges, that she once or twice was tempted -to ask the coachman to stop till she had gathered a nosegay. She -began to dread the end of her little journey of seven miles; the only -drawback to which was, that her silk was not a true clan-tartan, and -a little uncertainty as to Miss Rose's punctuality. At length they -came to a village; straggling cottages lined the road, an old church -stood on a kind of green, with the public-house close by it; there -was a great tree, with a bench all round the trunk, midway between -the church gates and the little inn. The wooden stocks were close to -the gates. Molly had long passed the limit of her rides, but she knew -this must be the village of Hamley, and that they must be very near -to the hall. - -They swung in at the gates of the park in a few minutes, and drove up -through meadow-grass, ripening for hay,--it was no grand aristocratic -deer-park this--to the old red-brick hall; not three hundred yards -from the high-road. There had been no footman sent with the carriage, -but a respectable servant stood at the door, even before they drew -up, ready to receive the expected visitor, and take her into the -drawing-room where his mistress lay awaiting her. - -Mrs. Hamley rose from her sofa to give Molly a gentle welcome; she -kept the girl's hand in hers after she had finished speaking, looking -into her face, as if studying it, and unconscious of the faint blush -she called up on the otherwise colourless cheeks. - -"I think we shall be great friends," said she, at length. "I like -your face, and I am always guided by first impressions. Give me a -kiss, my dear." - -It was far easier to be active than passive during this process of -"swearing eternal friendship," and Molly willingly kissed the sweet -pale face held up to her. - -"I meant to have gone and fetched you myself; but the heat oppresses -me, and I did not feel up to the exertion. I hope you had a pleasant -drive?" - -"Very," said Molly, with shy conciseness. - -"And now I will take you to your room; I have had you put close to -me; I thought you would like it better, even though it was a smaller -room than the other." - -She rose languidly, and wrapping her light shawl round her yet -elegant figure, led the way upstairs. Molly's bedroom opened -out of Mrs. Hamley's private sitting-room; on the other side of -which was her own bedroom. She showed Molly this easy means of -communication, and then, telling her visitor she would await her in -the sitting-room, she closed the door, and Molly was left at leisure -to make acquaintance with her surroundings. - -First of all, she went to the window to see what was to be seen. -A flower-garden right below; a meadow of ripe grass just beyond, -changing colour in long sweeps, as the soft wind blew over it; great -old forest-trees a little on one side; and, beyond them again, to be -seen only by standing very close to the side of the window-sill, or -by putting her head out, if the window was open, the silver shimmer -of a mere, about a quarter of a mile off. On the opposite side to the -trees and the mere, the look-out was bounded by the old walls and -high-peaked roofs of the extensive farm-buildings. The deliciousness -of the early summer silence was only broken by the song of the birds, -and the nearer hum of bees. Listening to these sounds, which enhanced -the exquisite sense of stillness, and puzzling out objects obscured -by distance or shadow, Molly forgot herself, and was suddenly -startled into a sense of the present by a sound of voices in the -next room--some servant or other speaking to Mrs. Hamley. Molly -hurried to unpack her box, and arrange her few clothes in the -pretty old-fashioned chest of drawers, which was to serve her -as dressing-table as well. All the furniture in the room was as -old-fashioned and as well-preserved as it could be. The chintz -curtains were Indian calico of the last century--the colours almost -washed out, but the stuff itself exquisitely clean. There was a -little strip of bedside carpeting, but the wooden flooring, thus -liberally displayed, was of finely-grained oak, so firmly joined, -plank to plank, that no grain of dust could make its way into the -interstices. There were none of the luxuries of modern days; no -writing-table, or sofa, or pier-glass. In one corner of the walls was -a bracket, holding an Indian jar filled with pot-pourri; and that and -the climbing honeysuckle outside the open window scented the room -more exquisitely than any toilette perfumes. Molly laid out her white -gown (of last year's date and size) upon the bed, ready for the (to -her new) operation of dressing for dinner, and having arranged her -hair and dress, and taken out her company worsted-work, she opened -the door softly, and saw Mrs. Hamley lying on the sofa. - -"Shall we stay up here, my dear? I think it is pleasanter than -down below; and then I shall not have to come upstairs again at -dressing-time." - -"I shall like it very much," replied Molly. - -"Ah! you've got your sewing, like a good girl," said Mrs. Hamley. -"Now, I don't sew much. I live alone a great deal. You see, both -my boys are at Cambridge, and the squire is out of doors all day -long--so I have almost forgotten how to sew. I read a great deal. Do -you like reading?" - -"It depends upon the kind of book," said Molly. "I'm afraid I don't -like 'steady reading,' as papa calls it." - -"But you like poetry!" said Mrs. Hamley, almost interrupting Molly. -"I was sure you did, from your face. Have you read this last poem of -Mrs. Hemans? Shall I read it aloud to you?" - -So she began. Molly was not so much absorbed in listening but that -she could glance round the room. The character of the furniture was -much the same as in her own. Old-fashioned, of handsome material, -and faultlessly clean, the age and the foreign appearance of it gave -an aspect of comfort and picturesqueness to the whole apartment. On -the walls there hung some crayon sketches--portraits. She thought -she could make out that one of them was a likeness of Mrs. Hamley, -in her beautiful youth. And then she became interested in the poem, -and dropped her work, and listened in a manner that was after Mrs. -Hamley's own heart. When the reading of the poem was ended, Mrs. -Hamley replied to some of Molly's words of admiration, by saying: - -"Ah! I think I must read you some of Osborne's poetry some day; under -seal of secrecy, remember; but I really fancy they are almost as good -as Mrs. Hemans'." - -To be nearly as good as Mrs. Hemans' was saying as much to the young -ladies of that day, as saying that poetry is nearly as good as -Tennyson's would be in this. Molly looked up with eager interest. - -"Mr. Osborne Hamley? Does your son write poetry?" - -"Yes. I really think I may say he is a poet. He is a very brilliant, -clever young man, and he quite hopes to get a fellowship at Trinity. -He says he is sure to be high up among the wranglers, and that -he expects to get one of the Chancellor's medals. That is his -likeness--the one hanging against the wall behind you." - -Molly turned round, and saw one of the crayon sketches--representing -two boys, in the most youthful kind of jackets and trousers, and -falling collars. The elder was sitting down, reading intently. -The younger was standing by him, and evidently trying to call the -attention of the reader off to some object out of doors--out of -the window of the very room in which they were sitting, as Molly -discovered when she began to recognize the articles of furniture -faintly indicated in the picture. - -"I like their faces!" said Molly. "I suppose it is so long ago now, -that I may speak of their likenesses to you as if they were somebody -else; may not I?" - -"Certainly," said Mrs. Hamley, as soon as she understood what Molly -meant. "Tell me just what you think of them, my dear; it will amuse -me to compare your impressions with what they really are." - -"Oh! but I did not mean to guess at their characters. I could not do -it; and it would be impertinent, if I could. I can only speak about -their faces as I see them in the picture." - -"Well! tell me what you think of them!" - -"The eldest--the reading boy--is very beautiful; but I can't quite -make out his face yet, because his head is down, and I can't see the -eyes. That is the Mr. Osborne Hamley who writes poetry." - -"Yes. He is not quite so handsome now; but he was a beautiful boy. -Roger was never to be compared with him." - -"No; he is not handsome. And yet I like his face. I can see his eyes. -They are grave and solemn-looking; but all the rest of his face is -rather merry than otherwise. It looks too steady and sober, too good -a face, to go tempting his brother to leave his lesson." - -"Ah! but it was not a lesson. I remember the painter, Mr. Green, once -saw Osborne reading some poetry, while Roger was trying to persuade -him to come out and have a ride in the hay-cart--that was the -'motive' of the picture, to speak artistically. Roger is not much of -a reader; at least, he doesn't care for poetry, and books of romance, -or sentiment. He is so fond of natural history; and that takes him, -like the squire, a great deal out of doors; and when he is in, he is -always reading scientific books that bear upon his pursuits. He is a -good, steady fellow, though, and gives us great satisfaction, but he -is not likely to have such a brilliant career as Osborne." - -Molly tried to find out in the picture the characteristics of the -two boys, as they were now explained to her by their mother; and in -questions and answers about the various drawings hung round the room -the time passed away until the dressing-bell rang for the six o'clock -dinner. - -Molly was rather dismayed by the offers of the maid whom Mrs. Hamley -had sent to assist her. "I am afraid they expect me to be very -smart," she kept thinking to herself. "If they do, they'll be -disappointed; that's all. But I wish my plaid silk gown had been -ready." - -She looked at herself in the glass with some anxiety, for the first -time in her life. She saw a slight, lean figure, promising to be -tall; a complexion browner than cream-coloured, although in a year or -two it might have that tint; plentiful curly black hair, tied up in a -bunch behind with a rose-coloured ribbon; long, almond-shaped, soft -gray eyes, shaded both above and below by curling black eyelashes. - -"I don't think I am pretty," thought Molly, as she turned away from -the glass; "and yet I'm not sure." She would have been sure, if, -instead of inspecting herself with such solemnity, she had smiled her -own sweet merry smile, and called out the gleam of her teeth, and the -charm of her dimples. - -She found her way downstairs into the drawing-room in good time; -she could look about her, and learn how to feel at home in her -new quarters. The room was forty-feet long or so, fitted up with -yellow satin at some distant period; high spindle-legged chairs and -pembroke-tables abounded. The carpet was of the same date as the -curtains, and was thread-bare in many places; and in others was -covered with drugget. Stands of plants, great jars of flowers, -old Indian china and cabinets gave the room the pleasant aspect -it certainly had. And to add to it, there were five high, long -windows on one side of the room, all opening to the prettiest -bit of flower-garden in the grounds--or what was considered as -such--brilliant-coloured, geometrically-shaped beds, converging -to a sun-dial in the midst. The Squire came in abruptly, and in -his morning dress; he stood at the door, as if surprised at the -white-robed stranger in possession of his hearth. Then, suddenly -remembering himself, but not before Molly had begun to feel very hot, -he said-- - -"Why, God bless my soul, I'd quite forgotten you; you're Miss Gibson, -Gibson's daughter, aren't you? Come to pay us a visit? I'm sure I'm -very glad to see you, my dear." - -By this time, they had met in the middle of the room, and he was -shaking Molly's hand with vehement friendliness, intended to make up -for his not knowing her at first. - -"I must go and dress, though," said he, looking at his soiled -gaiters. "Madam likes it. It's one of her fine London ways, and she's -broken me into it at last. Very good plan, though, and quite right -to make oneself fit for ladies' society. Does your father dress for -dinner, Miss Gibson?" He did not stay to wait for her answer, but -hastened away to perform his toilette. - -They dined at a small table in a great large room. There were so few -articles of furniture in it, and the apartment itself was so vast, -that Molly longed for the snugness of the home dining-room; nay, -it is to be feared that, before the stately dinner at Hamley Hall -came to an end, she even regretted the crowded chairs and tables, -the hurry of eating, the quick unformal manner in which everybody -seemed to finish their meal as fast as possible, and to return to the -work they had left. She tried to think that at six o'clock all the -business of the day was ended, and that people might linger if they -chose. She measured the distance from the sideboard to the table with -her eye, and made allowances for the men who had to carry things -backwards and forwards; but, all the same, this dinner appeared to -her a wearisome business, prolonged because the Squire liked it, for -Mrs. Hamley seemed tired out. She ate even less than Molly, and sent -for fan and smelling-bottle to amuse herself with, until at length -the table-cloth was cleared away, and the dessert was put upon a -mahogany table, polished like a looking-glass. - -The Squire had hitherto been too busy to talk, except about the -immediate concerns of the table, and one or two of the greatest -breaks to the usual monotony of his days; a monotony in which he -delighted, but which sometimes became oppressive to his wife. Now, -however, peeling his orange, he turned to Molly-- - -"To-morrow you'll have to do this for me, Miss Gibson." - -"Shall I? I'll do it to-day, if you like, sir." - -"No; to-day I shall treat you as a visitor, with all proper ceremony. -To-morrow I shall send you errands, and call you by your Christian -name." - -"I shall like that," said Molly. - -"I was wanting to call you something less formal than Miss Gibson," -said Mrs. Hamley. - -"My name is Molly. It is an old-fashioned name, and I was christened -Mary. But papa likes Molly." - -"That's right. Keep to the good old fashions, my dear." - -"Well, I must say I think Mary is prettier than Molly, and quite as -old a name, too," said Mrs. Hamley. - -"I think it was," said Molly, lowering her voice, and dropping her -eyes, "because mamma was Mary, and I was called Molly while she -lived." - -"Ah, poor thing," said the squire, not perceiving his wife's signs -to change the subject, "I remember how sorry every one was when she -died; no one thought she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour, -till all at once she popped off, as one may say." - -"It must have been a terrible blow to your father," said Mrs. Hamley, -seeing that Molly did not know what to answer. - -"Ay, ay. It came so sudden, so soon after they were married." - -"I thought it was nearly four years," said Molly. - -"And four years is soon--is a short time to a couple who look to -spending their lifetime together. Every one thought Gibson would have -married again." - -"Hush," said Mrs. Hamley, seeing in Molly's eyes and change of colour -how completely this was a new idea to her. But the squire was not so -easily stopped. - -"Well--I'd perhaps better not have said it, but it's the truth; they -did. He's not likely to marry now, so one may say it out. Why, your -father is past forty, isn't he?" - -"Forty-three. I don't believe he ever thought of marrying again," -said Molly, recurring to the idea, as one does to that of danger -which has passed by, without one's being aware of it. - -"No! I don't believe he did, my dear. He looks to me just like a man -who would be constant to the memory of his wife. You must not mind -what the squire says." - -"Ah! you'd better go away, if you're going to teach Miss Gibson such -treason as that against the master of the house." - -Molly went into the drawing-room with Mrs. Hamley, but her thoughts -did not change with the room. She could not help dwelling on the -danger which she fancied she had escaped, and was astonished at -her own stupidity at never having imagined such a possibility as -her father's second marriage. She felt that she was answering Mrs. -Hamley's remarks in a very unsatisfactory manner. - -"There is papa, with the Squire!" she suddenly exclaimed. There they -were coming across the flower-garden from the stable-yard, her father -switching his boots with his riding whip, in order to make them -presentable in Mrs. Hamley's drawing-room. He looked so exactly like -his usual self, his home-self, that the seeing him in the flesh was -the most efficacious way of dispelling the phantom fears of a second -wedding, which were beginning to harass his daughter's mind; and the -pleasant conviction that he could not rest till he had come over -to see how she was going on in her new home, stole into her heart, -although he spoke but little to her, and that little was all in a -joking tone. After he had gone away, the Squire undertook to teach -her cribbage, and she was happy enough now to give him all her -attention. He kept on prattling while they played; sometimes in -relation to the cards; at others telling her of small occurrences -which he thought might interest her. - -"So you don't know my boys, even by sight. I should have thought you -would have done, for they're fond enough of riding into Hollingford; -and I know Roger has often enough been to borrow books from your -father. Roger is a scientific sort of a fellow. Osborne is clever, -like his mother. I shouldn't wonder if he published a book some day. -You're not counting right, Miss Gibson. Why, I could cheat you as -easily as possible." And so on, till the butler came in with a solemn -look, placed a large prayer-book before his master, who huddled the -cards away in a hurry, as if caught in an incongruous employment; and -then the maids and men trooped in to prayers--the windows were still -open, and the sounds of the solitary corncrake, and the owl hooting -in the trees, mingled with the words spoken. Then to bed; and so -ended the day. - -Molly looked out of her chamber window--leaning on the sill, and -snuffing up the night odours of the honeysuckle. The soft velvet -darkness hid everything that was at any distance from her; although -she was as conscious of their presence as if she had seen them. - -"I think I shall be very happy here," was in Molly's thoughts, as she -turned away at length, and began to prepare for bed. Before long the -Squire's words, relating to her father's second marriage, came across -her, and spoilt the sweet peace of her final thoughts. "Who could he -have married?" she asked herself. "Miss Eyre? Miss Browning? Miss -Phoebe? Miss Goodenough?" One by one, each of these was rejected -for sufficient reasons. Yet the unsatisfied question rankled in her -mind, and darted out of ambush to disturb her dreams. - -Mrs. Hamley did not come down to breakfast; and Molly found out -with a little dismay, that the Squire and she were to have it by -themselves. On this first morning he put aside his newspapers--one -an old established Tory journal, with all the local and county -news, which was the most interesting to him; the other the _Morning -Chronicle_, which he called his dose of bitters, and which called out -many a strong expression and tolerably pungent oath. To-day, however, -he was "on his manners," as he afterwards explained to Molly; and he -plunged about, trying to find ground for a conversation. He could -talk of his wife and his sons, his estate, and his mode of farming; -his tenants, and the mismanagement of the last county election. -Molly's interests were her father, Miss Eyre, her garden and pony; -in a fainter degree Miss Brownings, the Cumnor Charity School, and -the new gown that was to come from Miss Rose's; into the midst of -which the one great question, "Who was it that people thought it was -possible papa might marry?" kept popping up into her mouth, like a -troublesome Jack-in-the-box. For the present, however, the lid was -snapped down upon the intruder as often as he showed his head between -her teeth. They were very polite to each other during the meal; and -it was not a little tiresome to both. When it was ended the Squire -withdrew into his study to read the untasted newspapers. It was -the custom to call the room in which Squire Hamley kept his coats, -boots, and gaiters, his different sticks and favourite spud, his -gun and fishing-rods, "the study." There was a bureau in it, and a -three-cornered arm-chair, but no books were visible. The greater part -of them were kept in a large, musty-smelling room, in an unfrequented -part of the house; so unfrequented that the housemaid often neglected -to open the window-shutters, which looked into a part of the grounds -over-grown with the luxuriant growth of shrubs. Indeed, it was a -tradition in the servants' hall that, in the late squire's time--he -who had been plucked at college--the library windows had been boarded -up to avoid paying the window-tax. And when the "young gentlemen" -were at home the housemaid, without a single direction to that -effect, was regular in her charge of this room; opened the windows -and lighted fires daily, and dusted the handsomely-bound volumes, -which were really a very fair collection of the standard literature -in the middle of the last century. All the books that had been -purchased since that time were held in small book-cases between -each two of the drawing-room windows, and in Mrs. Hamley's own -sitting-room upstairs. Those in the drawing-room were quite enough to -employ Molly; indeed, she was so deep in one of Sir Walter Scott's -novels that she jumped as if she had been shot, when an hour or so -after breakfast the Squire came to the gravel-path outside one of the -windows, and called to ask her if she would like to come out of doors -and go about the garden and home-fields with him. - -"It must be a little dull for you, my girl, all by yourself, with -nothing but books to look at, in the mornings here; but you see, -madam has a fancy for being quiet in the mornings: she told your -father about it, and so did I, but I felt sorry for you all the same, -when I saw you sitting on the ground all alone in the drawing-room." - -Molly had been in the very middle of the _Bride of Lammermoor_, and -would gladly have stayed in-doors to finish it, but she felt the -squire's kindness all the same. They went in and out of old-fashioned -greenhouses, over trim lawns, the Squire unlocked the great walled -kitchen-garden, and went about giving directions to gardeners; and -all the time Molly followed him like a little dog, her mind quite -full of "Ravenswood" and "Lucy Ashton." Presently, every place near -the house had been inspected and regulated, and the Squire was more -at liberty to give his attention to his companion, as they passed -through the little wood that separated the gardens from the adjoining -fields. Molly, too, plucked away her thoughts from the seventeenth -century; and, somehow or other, that one question, which had so -haunted her before, came out of her lips before she was aware--a -literal impromptu,-- - -"Who did people think papa would marry? That time--long ago--soon -after mamma died?" - -She dropped her voice very soft and low, as she spoke the last words. -The Squire turned round upon her, and looked at her face, he knew not -why. It was very grave, a little pale, but her steady eyes almost -commanded some kind of answer. - -"Whew," said he, whistling to gain time; not that he had anything -definite to say, for no one had ever had any reason to join Mr. -Gibson's name with any known lady: it was only a loose conjecture -that had been hazarded on the probabilities--a young widower, with a -little girl. - -"I never heard of any one--his name was never coupled with any -lady's--'twas only in the nature of things that he should marry -again; he may do it yet, for aught I know, and I don't think it would -be a bad move either. I told him so, the last time but one he was -here." - -"And what did he say?" asked breathless Molly. - -"Oh: he only smiled and said nothing. You shouldn't take up words so -seriously, my dear. Very likely he may never think of marrying again, -and if he did, it would be a very good thing both for him and for -you!" - -Molly muttered something, as if to herself, but the Squire might have -heard it if he had chosen. As it was, he wisely turned the current of -the conversation. - -"Look at that!" he said, as they suddenly came upon the mere, or -large pond. There was a small island in the middle of the glassy -water, on which grew tall trees, dark Scotch firs in the centre, -silvery shimmering willows close to the water's edge. "We must get -you punted over there, some of these days. I'm not fond of using the -boat at this time of the year, because the young birds are still in -the nests among the reeds and water-plants; but we'll go. There are -coots and grebes." - -"Oh, look, there's a swan!" - -"Yes; there are two pair of them here. And in those trees there's -both a rookery and a heronry; the herons ought to be here by now, for -they're off to the sea in August, but I've not seen one yet. Stay! -isn't that one--that fellow on a stone, with his long neck bent down, -looking into the water?" - -"Yes! I think so. I have never seen a heron, only pictures of them." - -"They and the rooks are always at war, which doesn't do for such near -neighbours. If both herons leave the nest they are building, the -rooks come and tear it to pieces; and once Roger showed me a long -straggling fellow of a heron, with a flight of rooks after him, with -no friendly purpose in their minds, I'll be bound. Roger knows a deal -of natural history, and finds out queer things sometimes. He'd have -been off a dozen times during this walk of ours, if he'd been here: -his eyes are always wandering about, and see twenty things where I -only see one. Why! I've known him bolt into a copse because he saw -something fifteen yards off--some plant, maybe, which he'd tell me -was very rare, though I should say I'd seen its marrow at every turn -in the woods; and, if we came upon such a thing as this," touching -a delicate film of a cobweb upon a leaf with his stick, as he spoke, -"why, he could tell you what insect or spider made it, and if it -lived in rotten fir-wood, or in a cranny of good sound timber, or -deep down in the ground, or up in the sky, or anywhere. It's a pity -they don't take honours in Natural History at Cambridge. Roger would -be safe enough if they did." - -"Mr. Osborne Hamley is very clever, is he not?" Molly asked, timidly. - -"Oh, yes. Osborne's a bit of a genius. His mother looks for great -things from Osborne. I'm rather proud of him myself. He'll get a -Trinity fellowship, if they play him fair. As I was saying at the -magistrates' meeting yesterday, 'I've got a son who will make a noise -at Cambridge, or I'm very much mistaken.' Now, isn't it a queer quip -of Nature," continued the squire, turning his honest face towards -Molly, as if he was going to impart a new idea to her, "that I, a -Hamley of Hamley, straight in descent from nobody knows where--the -Heptarchy, they say--What's the date of the Heptarchy?" - -"I don't know," said Molly, startled at being thus appealed to. - -"Well! it was some time before King Alfred, because he was the -King of all England, you know; but, as I was saying, here am I, of -as good and as old a descent as any man in England, and I doubt -if a stranger, to look at me, would take me for a gentleman, with -my red face, great hands and feet, and thick figure, fourteen -stone, and never less than twelve even when I was a young man; and -there's Osborne, who takes after his mother, who couldn't tell her -great-grandfather from Adam, bless her; and Osborne has a girl's -delicate face, and a slight make, and hands and feet as small as a -lady's. He takes after madam's side, who, as I said, can't tell who -was her grandfather. Now, Roger is like me, a Hamley of Hamley, and -no one who sees him in the street will ever think that red-brown, -big-boned, clumsy chap is of gentle blood. Yet all those Cumnor -people, you make such ado of in Hollingford, are mere muck of -yesterday. I was talking to madam the other day about Osborne's -marrying a daughter of Lord Hollingford's--that's to say, if he had -a daughter--he's only got boys, as it happens; but I'm not sure if -I should consent to it. I really am not sure; for you see Osborne -will have had a first-rate education, and his family dates from the -Heptarchy, while I should be glad to know where the Cumnor folk were -in the time of Queen Anne?" He walked on, pondering the question of -whether he could have given his consent to this impossible marriage; -and after some time, and when Molly had quite forgotten the subject -to which he alluded, he broke out with--"No! I'm sure I should have -looked higher. So, perhaps, it's as well my Lord Hollingford has only -boys." - -After a while, he thanked Molly for her companionship, with -old-fashioned courtesy; and told her that he thought, by this time, -madam would be up and dressed, and glad to have her young visitor -with her. He pointed out the deep purple house, with its stone -facings, as it was seen at some distance between the trees, and -watched her protectingly on her way along the field-paths. - -"That's a nice girl of Gibson's," quoth he to himself. "But what a -tight hold the wench got of the notion of his marrying again! One had -need be on one's guard as to what one says before her. To think of -her never having thought of the chance of a stepmother. To be sure, a -stepmother to a girl is a different thing to a second wife to a man!" - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -FORESHADOWS OF LOVE PERILS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -If Squire Hamley had been unable to tell Molly who had ever been -thought of as her father's second wife, fate was all this time -preparing an answer of a pretty positive kind to her wondering -curiosity. But fate is a cunning hussy, and builds up her plans as -imperceptibly as a bird builds her nest; and with much the same kind -of unconsidered trifles. The first "trifle" of an event was the -disturbance which Jenny (Mr. Gibson's cook) chose to make at Bethia's -being dismissed. Bethia was a distant relation and protégée of -Jenny's, and she chose to say it was Mr. Coxe the tempter who ought -to have "been sent packing," not Bethia the tempted, the victim. In -this view there was quite enough plausibility to make Mr. Gibson -feel that he had been rather unjust. He had, however, taken care to -provide Bethia with another situation, to the full as good as that -which she held in his family. Jenny, nevertheless, chose to give -warning; and though Mr. Gibson knew full well from former experience -that her warnings were words, not deeds, he hated the discomfort, the -uncertainty,--the entire disagreeableness of meeting a woman at any -time in his house, who wore a grievance and an injury upon her face -as legibly as Jenny took care to do. - -Down into the middle of this small domestic trouble came another, and -one of greater consequence. Miss Eyre had gone with her old mother, -and her orphan nephews and nieces, to the sea-side, during Molly's -absence, which was only intended at first to last for a fortnight. -After about ten days of this time had elapsed, Mr. Gibson received a -beautifully written, beautifully worded, admirably folded, and most -neatly sealed letter from Miss Eyre. Her eldest nephew had fallen ill -of scarlet fever, and there was every probability that the younger -children would be attacked by the same complaint. It was distressing -enough for poor Miss Eyre--this additional expense, this anxiety--the -long detention from home which the illness involved. But she said -not a word of any inconvenience to herself; she only apologized with -humble sincerity for her inability to return at the appointed time -to her charge in Mr. Gibson's family; meekly adding, that perhaps it -was as well, for Molly had never had the scarlet fever, and even if -Miss Eyre had been able to leave the orphan children to return to her -employments, it might not have been a safe or a prudent step. - -"To be sure not," said Mr. Gibson, tearing the letter in two, and -throwing it into the hearth, where he soon saw it burnt to ashes. "I -wish I'd a five-pound house and not a woman within ten miles of me. I -might have some peace then." Apparently, he forgot Mr. Coxe's powers -of making mischief; but indeed he might have traced that evil back -to the unconscious Molly. The martyr-cook's entrance to take away -the breakfast things, which she announced by a heavy sigh, roused Mr. -Gibson from thought to action. - -"Molly must stay a little longer at Hamley," he resolved. "They've -often asked for her, and now they'll have enough of her, I think. But -I can't have her back here just yet; and so the best I can do for her -is to leave her where she is. Mrs. Hamley seems very fond of her, and -the child is looking happy, and stronger in health. I'll ride round -by Hamley to-day at any rate, and see how the land lies." - -He found Mrs. Hamley lying on a sofa placed under the shadow of the -great cedar-tree on the lawn. Molly was flitting about her, gardening -away under her directions; tying up the long sea-green stalks of -bright budded carnations, snipping off dead roses. - -"Oh! here's papa!" she cried out, joyfully, as he rode up to the -white paling which separated the trim lawn and trimmer flower-garden -from the rough park-like ground in front of the house. - -"Come in--come here--through the drawing-room window," said Mrs. -Hamley, raising herself on her elbow. "We've got a rose-tree to show -you that Molly has budded all by herself. We are both so proud of -it." - -So Mr. Gibson rode round to the stables, left his horse there, and -made his way through the house to the open-air summer-parlour under -the cedar-tree, where there were chairs, table, books, and tangled -work. Somehow, he rather disliked asking for Molly to prolong her -visit; so he determined to swallow his bitter first, and then take -the pleasure of the delicious day, the sweet repose, the murmurous, -scented air. Molly stood by him, her hand on his shoulder. He sate -opposite to Mrs. Hamley. - -"I've come here to-day to ask a favour," he began. - -"Granted before you name it. Am not I a bold woman?" - -He smiled and bowed, but went straight on with his speech. - -"Miss Eyre, who has been Molly's governess, I suppose I must call -her--for many years, writes to-day to say that one of the little -nephews she took with her to Newport while Molly was staying here, -has caught the scarlet fever." - -"I guess your request. I make it before you do. I beg for dear little -Molly to stay on here. Of course Miss Eyre can't come back to you; -and of course Molly must stay here!" - -"Thank you; thank you very much. That was my request." - -Molly's hand stole down to his, and nestled in that firm compact -grasp. - -"Papa!--Mrs. Hamley!--I know you'll both understand me--but mayn't I -go home? I am very happy here; but--oh papa! I think I should like to -be at home with you best." - -An uncomfortable suspicion flashed across his mind. He pulled her -round, and looked straight and piercingly into her innocent face. Her -colour came at his unwonted scrutiny, but her sweet eyes were filled -with wonder, rather than with any feeling which he dreaded to find. -For an instant he had doubted whether young red-headed Mr. Coxe's -love might not have called out a response in his daughter's breast; -but he was quite clear now. - -"Molly, you're rude to begin with. I don't know how you're to make -your peace with Mrs. Hamley, I'm sure. And in the next place, do -you think you're wiser than I am; or that I don't want you at home, -if all other things were conformable? Stay where you are, and be -thankful." - -Molly knew him well enough to be certain that the prolongation of her -visit at Hamley was quite a decided affair in his mind; and then she -was smitten with a sense of ingratitude. She left her father, and -went to Mrs. Hamley, and bent over her and kissed her; but she did -not speak. Mrs. Hamley took hold of her hand, and made room on the -sofa for her. - -"I was going to have asked for a longer visit the next time you came, -Mr. Gibson. We are such happy friends, are not we, Molly? and now, -that this good little nephew of Miss Eyre's--" - -"I wish he was whipped," said Mr. Gibson. - -"--has given us such a capital reason, I shall keep Molly for a real -long visitation. You must come over and see us very often. There's a -room here for you always, you know; and I don't see why you should -not start on your rounds from Hamley every morning, just as well as -from Hollingford." - -"Thank you. If you hadn't been so kind to my little girl, I might be -tempted to say something rude in answer to your last speech." - -"Pray say it. You won't be easy till you have given it out, I know." - -"Mrs. Hamley has found out from whom I get my rudeness," said Molly, -triumphantly. "It's an hereditary quality." - -"I was going to say that proposal of yours that I should sleep at -Hamley was just like a woman's idea--all kindness, and no common -sense. How in the world would my patients find me out, seven miles -from my accustomed place? They'd be sure to send for some other -doctor, and I should be ruined in a month." - -"Couldn't they send on here? A messenger costs very little." - -"Fancy old Goody Henbury struggling up to my surgery, groaning at -every step, and then being told to just step on seven miles farther! -Or take the other end of society:--I don't think my Lady Cumnor's -smart groom would thank me for having to ride on to Hamley every time -his mistress wants me." - -"Well, well, I submit. I am a woman. Molly, thou art a woman! Go and -order some strawberries and cream for this father of yours. Such -humble offices fall within the province of women. Strawberries and -cream are all kindness and no common sense, for they'll give him a -horrid fit of indigestion." - -"Please speak for yourself, Mrs. Hamley," said Molly, merrily. -"I ate--oh, such a great basketful yesterday, and the squire went -himself to the dairy and brought out a great bowl of cream, when he -found me at my busy work. And I'm as well as ever I was, to-day, and -never had a touch of indigestion near me." - -"She's a good girl," said her father, when she had danced out of -hearing. The words were not quite an inquiry, he was so certain of -his answer. There was a mixture of tenderness and trust in his eyes, -as he awaited the reply, which came in a moment. - -"She's a darling. I cannot tell you how fond the Squire and I are of -her; both of us. I am so delighted to think she isn't to go away for -a long time. The first thing I thought of this morning when I wakened -up, was that she would soon have to return to you, unless I could -persuade you into leaving her with me a little longer. And now she -must stay--oh, two months at least." - -It was quite true that the Squire had become very fond of Molly. The -charm of having a young girl dancing and singing inarticulate ditties -about the house and garden, was indescribable in its novelty to him. -And then Molly was so willing and so wise; ready both to talk and to -listen at the right times. Mrs. Hamley was quite right in speaking -of her husband's fondness for Molly. But either she herself chose a -wrong time for telling him of the prolongation of the girl's visit, -or one of the fits of temper to which he was liable, but which he -generally strove to check in the presence of his wife, was upon him; -at any rate, he received the news in anything but a gracious frame of -mind. - -"Stay longer! Did Gibson ask for it?" - -"Yes! I don't see what else is to become of her; Miss Eyre away and -all. It's a very awkward position for a motherless girl like her to -be at the head of a household with two young men in it." - -"That's Gibson's look-out; he should have thought of it before taking -pupils, or apprentices, or whatever he calls them." - -"My dear Squire! why, I thought you'd be as glad as I was--as I am to -keep Molly. I asked her to stay for an indefinite time; two months at -least." - -"And to be in the house with Osborne! Roger, too, will be at home." - -By the cloud in the Squire's eyes, Mrs. Hamley read his mind. - -"Oh, she's not at all the sort of girl young men of their age would -take to. We like her because we see what she really is; but lads of -one or two and twenty want all the accessories of a young woman." - -"Want what?" growled the Squire. - -"Such things as becoming dress, style of manner. They would not at -their age even see that she is pretty; their ideas of beauty would -include colour." - -"I suppose all that's very clever; but I don't understand it. All I -know is, that it's a very dangerous thing to shut two young men of -one and three and twenty up in a country-house like this with a girl -of seventeen--choose what her gowns may be like, or her hair, or her -eyes. And I told you particularly I didn't want Osborne, or either of -them, indeed, to be falling in love with her. I'm very much annoyed." - -Mrs. Hamley's face fell; she became a little pale. - -"Shall we make arrangements for their stopping away while she is -here; staying up at Cambridge, or reading with some one? going abroad -for a month or two?" - -"No; you've been reckoning this ever so long on their coming home. -I've seen the marks of the weeks on your almanack. I'd sooner speak -to Gibson, and tell him he must take his daughter away, for it's not -convenient to us--" - -"My dear Roger! I beg you will do no such thing. It will be so -unkind; it will give the lie to all I said yesterday. Don't, please, -do that. For my sake, don't speak to Mr. Gibson!" - -"Well, well, don't put yourself in a flutter," for he was afraid of -her becoming hysterical; "I'll speak to Osborne when he comes home, -and tell him how much I should dislike anything of the kind." - -"And Roger is always far too full of his natural history and -comparative anatomy, and messes of that sort, to be thinking of -falling in love with Venus herself. He has not the sentiment and -imagination of Osborne." - -"Ah, you don't know; you never can be sure about a young man! But -with Roger it wouldn't so much signify. He would know he couldn't -marry for years to come." - -All that afternoon the Squire tried to steer clear of Molly, to whom -he felt himself to have been an inhospitable traitor. But she was so -perfectly unconscious of his shyness of her, and so merry and sweet -in her behaviour as a welcome guest, never distrusting him for a -moment, however gruff he might be, that by the next morning she had -completely won him round, and they were quite on the old terms again. -At breakfast this very morning, a letter was passed from the Squire -to his wife, and back again, without a word as to its contents; but-- - -"Fortunate!" - -"Yes! very!" - -Little did Molly apply these expressions to the piece of news Mrs. -Hamley told her in the course of the day; namely, that her son -Osborne had received an invitation to stay with a friend in the -neighbourhood of Cambridge, and perhaps to make a tour on the -Continent with him subsequently; and that, consequently, he would not -accompany his brother when Roger came home. - -Molly was very sympathetic. - -"Oh, dear! I am so sorry!" - -Mrs. Hamley was thankful her husband was not present, Molly spoke the -words so heartily. - -"You have been thinking so long of his coming home. I am afraid it is -a great disappointment." - -Mrs. Hamley smiled--relieved. - -"Yes! it is a disappointment certainly, but we must think of -Osborne's pleasure. And with his poetical mind, he will write us such -delightful travelling letters. Poor fellow! he must be going into the -examination to-day! Both his father and I feel sure, though, that he -will be a high wrangler. Only--I should like to have seen him, my own -dear boy. But it is best as it is." - -Molly was a little puzzled by this speech, but soon put it out of her -head. It was a disappointment to her, too, that she should not see -this beautiful, brilliant young man, his mother's hero. From time to -time her maiden fancy had dwelt upon what he would be like; how the -lovely boy of the picture in Mrs. Hamley's dressing-room would have -changed in the ten years that had elapsed since the likeness was -taken; if he would read poetry aloud; if he would even read his own -poetry. However, in the never-ending feminine business of the day, -she soon forgot her own disappointment; it only came back to her on -first wakening the next morning, as a vague something that was not -quite so pleasant as she had anticipated, and then was banished as a -subject of regret. Her days at Hamley were well filled up with the -small duties that would have belonged to a daughter of the house had -there been one. She made breakfast for the lonely squire, and would -willingly have carried up madam's, but that daily piece of work -belonged to the squire, and was jealously guarded by him. She read -the smaller print of the newspapers aloud to him, city articles, -money and corn markets included. She strolled about the gardens with -him, gathering fresh flowers, meanwhile, to deck the drawing-room -against Mrs. Hamley should come down. She was her companion when she -took her drives in the close carriage; they read poetry and mild -literature together in Mrs. Hamley's sitting-room upstairs. She was -quite clever at cribbage now, and could beat the squire if she took -pains. Besides these things, there were her own independent ways of -employing herself. She used to try to practise an hour daily on -the old grand piano in the solitary drawing-room, because she had -promised Miss Eyre she would do so. And she had found her way into -the library, and used to undo the heavy bars of the shutters if the -housemaid had forgotten this duty, and mount the ladder, sitting on -the steps, for an hour at a time, deep in some book of the old -English classics. The summer days were very short to this happy girl -of seventeen. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -DRIFTING INTO DANGER. - - -On Thursday, the quiet country household was stirred through all -its fibres with the thought of Roger's coming home. Mrs. Hamley had -not seemed quite so well, or quite in such good spirits for two or -three days before; and the squire himself had appeared to be put out -without any visible cause. They had not chosen to tell Molly that -Osborne's name had only appeared very low down in the mathematical -tripos. So all that their visitor knew was that something was out of -tune, and she hoped that Roger's coming home would set it to rights, -for it was beyond the power of her small cares and wiles. - -On Thursday, the housemaid apologized to her for some slight -negligence in her bedroom, by saying she had been busy scouring -Mr. Roger's rooms. "Not but what they were as clean as could be -beforehand; but mistress would always have the young gentlemen's -rooms cleaned afresh before they came home. If it had been Mr. -Osborne, the whole house would have had to be done; but, to be sure, -he was the eldest son, so it was but likely." Molly was amused at -this testimony to the rights of heirship; but somehow she herself had -fallen into the family manner of thinking that nothing was too great -or too good for "the eldest son." In his father's eyes, Osborne was -the representative of the ancient house of Hamley of Hamley, the -future owner of the land which had been theirs for a thousand years. -His mother clung to him because they two were cast in the same -mould, both physically and mentally--because he bore her maiden name. -She had indoctrinated Molly with her faith, and, in spite of her -amusement at the housemaid's speech, the girl visitor would have -been as anxious as any one to show her feudal loyalty to the heir, -if indeed it had been he that was coming. After luncheon, Mrs. Hamley -went to rest, in preparation for Roger's return; and Molly also -retired to her own room, feeling that it would be better for her to -remain there until dinner-time, and so to leave the father and mother -to receive their boy in privacy. She took a book of MS. poems with -her; they were all of Osborne Hamley's composition; and his mother -had read some of them aloud to her young visitor more than once. -Molly had asked permission to copy one or two of those which were -her greatest favourites; and this quiet summer afternoon she took -this copying for her employment, sitting at the pleasant open window, -and losing herself in dreamy out-looks into the gardens and woods, -quivering in the noon-tide heat. The house was so still, in its -silence it might have been the "moated grange;" the booming buzz of -the blue flies, in the great staircase window, seemed the loudest -noise in-doors. And there was scarcely a sound out-of-doors but the -humming of bees, in the flower-beds below the window. Distant voices -from the far-away fields where they were making hay--the scent of -which came in sudden wafts distinct from that of the nearer roses -and honeysuckles--these merry piping voices just made Molly feel the -depth of the present silence. She had left off copying, her hand -weary with the unusual exertion of so much writing, and she was -lazily trying to learn one or two of the poems off by heart. - - I asked of the wind, but answer made it none, - Save its accustomed sad and solitary moan-- - -she kept saying to herself, losing her sense of whatever meaning the -words had ever had, in the repetition which had become mechanical. -Suddenly there was the snap of a shutting gate; wheels crackling on -the dry gravel, horses' feet on the drive; a loud cheerful voice -in the house, coming up through the open windows, the hall, the -passages, the staircase, with unwonted fulness and roundness of tone. -The entrance-hall downstairs was paved with diamonds of black and -white marble; the low wide staircase that went in short flights -around the hall, till you could look down upon the marble floor from -the top story of the house, was uncarpeted--uncovered. The Squire -was too proud of his beautifully-joined oaken flooring to cover this -stair-case up unnecessarily; not to say a word of the usual state of -want of ready money to expend upon the decorations of his house. So, -through the undraperied hollow square of the hall and staircase every -sound ascended clear and distinct; and Molly heard the Squire's glad -"Hallo! here he is," and madam's softer, more plaintive voice; and -then the loud, full, strange tone, which she knew must be Roger's. -Then there was an opening and shutting of doors, and only a distant -buzz of talking. Molly began again-- - - I asked of the wind, but answer made it none. - -And this time she had nearly finished learning the poem, when she -heard Mrs. Hamley come hastily into her sitting-room that adjoined -Molly's bedroom, and burst out into an irrepressible half-hysterical -fit of sobbing. Molly was too young to have any complication of -motives which should prevent her going at once to try and give what -comfort she could. In an instant she was kneeling at Mrs. Hamley's -feet, holding the poor lady's hands, kissing them, murmuring soft -words; which, all unmeaning as they were of aught but sympathy with -the untold grief, did Mrs. Hamley good. She checked herself, smiling -sadly at Molly through the midst of her thick-coming sobs. - -"It's only Osborne," said she, at last. "Roger has been telling us -about him." - -"What about him?" asked Molly, eagerly. - -"I knew on Monday; we had a letter--he said he had not done so well -as we had hoped--as he had hoped himself, poor fellow! He said he had -just passed, but was only low down among the _junior optimes_, and -not where he had expected, and had led us to expect. But the Squire -has never been at college, and does not understand college terms, and -he has been asking Roger all about it, and Roger has been telling -him, and it has made him so angry. But the squire hates college -slang;--he has never been there, you know; and he thought poor -Osborne was taking it too lightly, and he has been asking Roger about -it, and Roger--" - -There was a fresh fit of the sobbing crying. Molly burst out,--"I -don't think Mr. Roger should have told; he had no need to begin so -soon about his brother's failure. Why, he hasn't been in the house an -hour!" - -"Hush, hush, love!" said Mrs. Hamley. "Roger is so good. You don't -understand. The squire would begin and ask questions before Roger had -tasted food--as soon as ever we had got into the dining-room. And all -he said--to me, at any rate--was that Osborne was nervous, and that -if he could only have gone in for the Chancellor's medals, he would -have carried all before him. But Roger said that after failing like -this, he is not very likely to get a fellowship, which the Squire had -placed his hopes on. Osborne himself seemed so sure of it, that the -squire can't understand it, and is seriously angry, and growing more -so the more he talks about it. He has kept it in two or three days, -and that never suits him. He is always better when he is angry about -a thing at once, and doesn't let it smoulder in his mind. Poor, poor -Osborne! I did wish he had been coming straight home, instead of -going to these friends of his; I thought I could have comforted him. -But now I'm glad, for it will be better to let his father's anger -cool first." - -So talking out what was in her heart, Mrs. Hamley became more -composed; and at length she dismissed Molly to dress for dinner, with -a kiss, saying,-- - -"You're a real blessing to mothers, child! You give one such pleasant -sympathy, both in one's gladness and in one's sorrow; in one's -pride (for I was so proud last week, so confident), and in one's -disappointment. And now your being a fourth at dinner will keep -us off that sore subject; there are times when a stranger in the -household is a wonderful help." - -Molly thought over all that she had heard, as she was dressing -and putting on the terrible, over-smart plaid gown in honour of -the new arrival. Her unconscious fealty to Osborne was not in the -least shaken by his having come to grief at Cambridge. Only she was -indignant--with or without reason--against Roger, who seemed to have -brought the reality of bad news as an offering of first-fruits on his -return home. - -She went down into the drawing-room with anything but a welcome to -him in her heart. He was standing by his mother; the Squire had not -yet made his appearance. Molly thought that the two were hand in hand -when she first opened the door, but she could not be quite sure. Mrs. -Hamley came a little forwards to meet her, and introduced her in so -fondly intimate a way to her son, that Molly, innocent and simple, -knowing nothing but Hollingford manners, which were anything but -formal, half put out her hand to shake hands with one of whom she had -heard so much--the son of such kind friends. She could only hope he -had not seen the movement, for he made no attempt to respond to it; -only bowed. - -He was a tall powerfully-made young man, giving the impression -of strength more than elegance. His face was rather square, -ruddy-coloured (as his father had said), hair and eyes brown--the -latter rather deep-set beneath his thick eyebrows; and he had a trick -of wrinkling up his eyelids when he wanted particularly to observe -anything, which made his eyes look even smaller still at such times. -He had a large mouth, with excessively mobile lips; and another trick -of his was, that when he was amused at anything, he resisted the -impulse to laugh, by a droll manner of twitching and puckering up -his mouth, till at length the sense of humour had its way, and -his features relaxed, and he broke into a broad sunny smile; his -beautiful teeth--his only beautiful feature--breaking out with a -white gleam upon the red-brown countenance. These two tricks of -his--of crumpling up the eyelids, so as to concentrate the power -of sight, which made him look stern and thoughtful; and the odd -twitching of the lips that was preliminary to a smile, which made -him look intensely merry--gave the varying expressions of his face -a greater range "from grave to gay, from lively to severe," than is -common with most men. To Molly, who was not finely discriminative -in her glances at the stranger this first night, he simply appeared -"heavy-looking, clumsy," and "a person she was sure she should never -get on with." He certainly did not seem to care much what impression -he made upon his mother's visitor. He was at that age when young men -admire a formed beauty more than a face with any amount of future -capability of loveliness, and when they are morbidly conscious of the -difficulty of finding subjects of conversation in talking to girls -in a state of feminine hobbledehoyhood. Besides, his thoughts were -full of other subjects, which he did not intend to allow to ooze out -in words, yet he wanted to prevent any of that heavy silence which -he feared might be impending--with an angry and displeased father, -and a timorous and distressed mother. He only looked upon Molly as -a badly-dressed, and rather awkward girl, with black hair and an -intelligent face, who might help him in the task he had set himself -of keeping up a bright general conversation during the rest of the -evening; might help him--if she would, but she would not. She thought -him unfeeling in his talkativeness; his constant flow of words upon -indifferent subjects was a wonder and a repulsion to her. How could -he go on so cheerfully while his mother sat there, scarcely eating -anything, and doing her best, with ill-success, to swallow down the -tears that would keep rising to her eyes; when his father's heavy -brow was deeply clouded, and he evidently cared nothing--at first at -least--for all the chatter his son poured forth? Had Mr. Roger Hamley -no sympathy in him? She would show that she had some, at any rate. So -she quite declined the part, which he had hoped she would have taken, -of respondent, and possible questioner; and his work became more -and more like that of a man walking in a quagmire. Once the Squire -roused himself to speak to the butler; he felt the need of outward -stimulus--of a better vintage than usual. - -"Bring up a bottle of the Burgundy with the yellow seal." - -He spoke low; he had no spirit to speak in his usual voice. The -butler answered in the same tone. Molly sitting near them, and silent -herself, heard what they said. - -"If you please, sir, there are not above six bottles of that seal -left; and it is Mr. Osborne's favourite wine." - -The Squire turned round with a growl in his voice. - -"Bring up a bottle of the Burgundy with the yellow seal, as I said." - -The butler went away wondering. "Mr. Osborne's" likes and dislikes -had been the law of the house in general until now. If he had liked -any particular food or drink, any seat or place, any special degree -of warmth or coolness, his wishes were to be attended to; for he -was the heir, and he was delicate, and he was the clever one of -the family. All the out-of-doors men would have said the same. -Mr. Osborne wished a tree cut down, or kept standing, or had -such-and-such a fancy about the game, or desired something unusual -about the horses; and they had all to attend to it as if it were -law. But to-day the Burgundy with the yellow seal was to be brought; -and it was brought. Molly testified with quiet vehemence of action; -she never took wine, so she need not have been afraid of the man's -pouring it into her glass; but as an open mark of fealty to the -absent Osborne, however little it might be understood, she placed the -palm of her small brown hand over the top of the glass, and held it -there, till the wine had gone round, and Roger and his father were in -full enjoyment of it. - -After dinner, too, the gentlemen lingered long over their dessert, -and Molly heard them laughing; and then she saw them loitering -about in the twilight out-of-doors; Roger hatless, his hands in his -pockets, lounging by his father's side, who was now able to talk in -his usual loud and cheerful way, forgetting Osborne. _Væ victis!_ - - -[Illustration: VÆ VICTIS!] - - -And so in mute opposition on Molly's side, in polite indifference, -scarcely verging upon kindliness on his, Roger and she steered -clear of each other. He had many occupations in which he needed no -companionship, even if she had been qualified to give it. The worst -was, that she found he was in the habit of occupying the library, -her favourite retreat, in the mornings before Mrs. Hamley came down. -She opened the half-closed door a day or two after his return home, -and found him busy among books and papers, with which the large -leather-covered table was strewn; and she softly withdrew before he -could turn his head and see her, so as to distinguish her from one -of the housemaids. He rode out every day, sometimes with his father -about the outlying fields, sometimes far away for a good gallop. -Molly would have enjoyed accompanying him on these occasions, for -she was very fond of riding; and there had been some talk of sending -for her habit and grey pony when first she came to Hamley; only the -Squire, after some consideration, had said he so rarely did more -than go slowly from one field to another, where his labourers were -at work, that he feared she would find such slow work--ten minutes -riding through heavy land, twenty minutes sitting still on horseback, -listening to the directions he should have to give to his men--rather -dull. Now, when if she had had her pony here she might have ridden -out with Roger, without giving him any trouble--she would have taken -care of that--nobody seemed to think of renewing the proposal. - -Altogether it was pleasanter before he came home. - -Her father rode over pretty frequently; sometimes there were long -unaccountable absences, it was true; when his daughter began to -fidget after him, and to wonder what had become of him. But when -he made his appearance he had always good reasons to give; and the -right she felt that she had to his familiar household tenderness; -the power she possessed of fully understanding the exact value of -both his words and his silence, made these glimpses of intercourse -with him inexpressibly charming. Latterly her burden had always been, -"When may I come home, papa?" It was not that she was unhappy, or -uncomfortable; she was passionately fond of Mrs. Hamley, she was a -favourite of the Squire's, and could not as yet fully understand -why some people were so much afraid of him; and as for Roger, if he -did not add to her pleasure, he scarcely took away from it. But she -wanted to be at home once more. The reason why she could not tell; -but this she knew full well. Mr. Gibson reasoned with her till -she was weary of being completely convinced that it was right and -necessary for her to stay where she was. And then with an effort she -stopped the cry upon her tongue, for she saw that its repetition -harassed her father. - -During this absence of hers Mr. Gibson was drifting into matrimony. -He was partly aware of whither he was going; and partly it was -like the soft floating movement of a dream. He was more passive -than active in the affair; though, if his reason had not fully -approved of the step he was tending to--if he had not believed that -a second marriage was the very best way of cutting the Gordian knot -of domestic difficulties, he could have made an effort without any -great trouble, and extricated himself without pain from the mesh -of circumstances. It happened in this manner:--Lady Cumnor having -married her two eldest daughters, found her labours as a chaperone to -Lady Harriet, the youngest, considerably lightened by co-operation; -and, at length, she had leisure to be an invalid. She was, however, -too energetic to allow herself this indulgence constantly; only she -permitted herself to break down occasionally after a long course of -dinners, late hours, and London atmosphere: and then, leaving Lady -Harriet with either Lady Cuxhaven or Lady Agnes Manners, she betook -herself to the comparative quiet of the Towers, where she found -occupation in doing her benevolence, which was sadly neglected in -the hurly-burly of London. This particular summer she had broken -down earlier than usual, and longed for the repose of the country. -She believed that her state of health, too, was more serious than -previously; but she did not say a word of this to her husband or -daughters; reserving her confidence for Mr. Gibson's ears. She -did not wish to take Lady Harriet away from the gaieties of town -which she was thoroughly enjoying, by any complaint of hers, which -might, after all, be ill-founded; and yet she did not quite like -being without a companion in the three weeks or a month that might -intervene before her family would join her at the Towers, especially -as the annual festivity to the school visitors was impending; and -both the school and the visit of the ladies connected with it, had -rather lost the zest of novelty. - -"Thursday the 19th, Harriet," said Lady Cumnor, meditatively; "what -do you say to coming down to the Towers on the 18th, and helping me -over that long day. You could stay in the country till Monday, and -have a few days' rest and good air; you would return a great deal -fresher to the remainder of your gaieties. Your father would bring -you down, I know: indeed, he is coming naturally." - -"Oh, mamma!" said Lady Harriet, the youngest daughter of the -house--the prettiest, the most indulged; "I cannot go; there's the -water-party up to Maidenhead on the 20th, I should be so sorry to -miss it: and Mrs. Duncan's ball, and Grisi's concert; please, don't -want me. Besides, I should do no good. I can't make provincial -small-talk; I'm not up in the local politics of Hollingford. I should -be making mischief, I know I should." - -"Very well, my dear," said Lady Cumnor, sighing, "I had forgotten the -Maidenhead water-party, or I would not have asked you." - -"What a pity it isn't the Eton holidays, so that you could have had -Hollingford's boys to help you to do the honours, mamma. They are -such affable little prigs. It was the greatest fun to watch them last -year at Sir Edward's, doing the honours of their grandfather's house -to much such a collection of humble admirers as you get together at -the Towers. I shall never forget seeing Edgar gravely squiring about -an old lady in a portentous black bonnet, and giving her information -in the correctest grammar possible." - -"Well, I like those lads," said Lady Cuxhaven; "they are on the way -to become true gentlemen. But, mamma, why shouldn't you have Clare to -stay with you? You like her, and she is just the person to save you -the troubles of hospitality to the Hollingford people, and we should -all be so much more comfortable if we knew you had her with you." - -"Yes, Clare would do very well," said Lady Cumnor; "but isn't it her -school-time or something? We must not interfere with her school so -as to injure her, for I am afraid she is not doing too well as it is; -and she has been so very unlucky ever since she left us--first her -husband died, and then she lost Lady Davies' situation, and then Mrs. -Maude's, and now Mr. Preston told your father it was all she could -do to pay her way in Ashcombe, though Lord Cumnor lets her have the -house rent-free." - -"I can't think how it is," said Lady Harriet. "She's not very wise, -certainly; but she is so useful and agreeable, and has such pleasant -manners, I should have thought any one who wasn't particular about -education would have been charmed to keep her as a governess." - -"What do you mean by not being particular about education? Most -people who keep governesses for their children are supposed to be -particular," said Lady Cuxhaven. - -"Well, they think themselves so, I've no doubt; but I call you -particular, Mary, and I don't think mamma was; but she thought -herself so, I'm sure." - -"I can't think what you mean, Harriet," said Lady Cumnor, a good deal -annoyed at this speech of her clever, heedless, youngest daughter. - -"Oh dear, mamma, you did everything you could think of for us; but -you see you'd ever so many other engrossing interests, and Mary -hardly ever allows her love for her husband to interfere with her -all-absorbing care for the children. You gave us the best of masters -in every department, and Clare to dragonize and keep us up to -our preparation for them, as well as ever she could; but then you -know, or rather you didn't know, some of the masters admired our -very pretty governess, and there was a kind of respectable veiled -flirtation going on, which never came to anything, to be sure; and -then you were often so overwhelmed with your business as a great -lady--fashionable and benevolent, and all that sort of thing--that -you used to call Clare away from us at the most critical times of -our lessons, to write your notes, or add up your accounts, and the -consequence is, that I'm about the most ill-informed girl in London. -Only Mary was so capitally trained by good awkward Miss Benson, that -she is always full to overflowing with accurate knowledge, and her -glory is reflected upon me." - -"Do you think what Harriet says is true, Mary?" asked Lady Cumnor, -rather anxiously. - -"I was so little with Clare in the school-room. I used to read French -with her; she had a beautiful accent, I remember. Both Agnes and -Harriet were very fond of her. I used to be jealous for Miss Benson's -sake, and perhaps--" Lady Cuxhaven paused a minute--"that made me -fancy that she had a way of flattering and indulging them--not quite -conscientious, I used to think. But girls are severe judges, and -certainly she had had an anxious enough lifetime. I am always so glad -when we can have her, and give her a little pleasure. The only thing -that makes me uneasy now is the way in which she seems to send her -daughter away from her so much; we never can persuade her to bring -Cynthia with her when she comes to see us." - -"Now that I call ill-natured," said Lady Harriet; "here is a poor -dear woman trying to earn her livelihood, first as a governess, and -what could she do with her daughter then, but send her to school? and -after that, when Clare is asked to go visiting, and is too modest -to bring her girl with her--besides all the expense of the journey, -and the rigging out--Mary finds fault with her for her modesty and -economy." - -"Well, after all, we are not discussing Clare and her affairs, but -trying to plan for mamma's comfort. I don't see that she can do -better than ask Mrs. Kirkpatrick to come to the Towers--as soon as -her holidays begin, I mean." - -"Here is her last letter," said Lady Cumnor, who had been searching -for it in her escritoire, while her daughters were talking. Holding -her glasses before her eyes, she began to read, "'My wonted -misfortunes appear to have followed me to Ashcombe'--um, um, um; -that's not it--'Mr. Preston is most kind in sending me fruit and -flowers from the Manor-house, according to dear Lord Cumnor's kind -injunction.' Oh, here it is! 'The vacation begins on the 11th, -according to the usual custom of schools in Ashcombe; and I must -then try and obtain some change of air and scene, in order to fit -myself for the resumption of my duties on the 10th of August.' You -see, girls, she would be at liberty, if she has not made any other -arrangement for spending her holidays. To-day is the 15th." - -"I'll write to her at once, mamma," Lady Harriet said. "Clare and I -are always great friends; I was her confidant in her loves with poor -Mr. Kirkpatrick, and we've kept up our intimacy ever since. I know of -three offers she had besides." - -"I sincerely hope Miss Bowes is not telling her love-affairs to Grace -or Lily. Why, Harriet, you could not have been older than Grace when -Clare was married!" said Lady Cuxhaven, in maternal alarm. - -"No; but I was well versed in the tender passion, thanks to novels. -Now I daresay you don't admit novels into your school-room, Mary; so -your daughters wouldn't be able to administer discreet sympathy to -their governess in case she was the heroine of a love-affair." - -"My dear Harriet, don't let me hear you talking of love in that way; -it is not pretty. Love is a serious thing." - -"My dear mamma, your exhortations are just eighteen years too late. -I've talked all the freshness off love, and that's the reason I'm -tired of the subject." - -This last speech referred to a recent refusal of Lady Harriet's, -which had displeased Lady Cumnor, and rather annoyed my lord; as -they, the parents, could see no objection to the gentleman in -question. Lady Cuxhaven did not want to have the subject brought up, -so she hastened to say,-- - -"Do ask the poor little daughter to come with her mother to the -Towers; why, she must be seventeen or more; she would really be a -companion to you, mamma, if her mother was unable to come." - -"I was not ten when Clare married, and I'm nearly nine-and-twenty," -added Lady Harriet. - -"Don't speak of it, Harriet; at any rate you are but eight-and-twenty -now, and you look a great deal younger. There is no need to be always -bringing up your age on every possible occasion." - -"There was need of it now, though. I wanted to make out how old -Cynthia Kirkpatrick was. I think she can't be far from eighteen." - -"She is at school at Boulogne, I know; and so I don't think she can -be as old as that. Clare says something about her in this letter: -'Under these circumstances' (the ill-success of her school), 'I -cannot think myself justified in allowing myself the pleasure of -having darling Cynthia at home for the holidays; especially as the -period when the vacation in French schools commences differs from -that common in England; and it might occasion some confusion in my -arrangements if darling Cynthia were to come to Ashcombe, and occupy -my time and thoughts so immediately before the commencement of my -scholastic duties as the 8th of August, on which day her vacation -begins, which is but two days before my holidays end.' So, you see, -Clare would be quite at liberty to come to me, and I daresay it would -be a very nice change for her." - -"And Hollingford is busy seeing after his new laboratory at the -Towers, and is constantly backwards and forwards. And Agnes wants to -go there for change of air, as soon as she is strong enough after -her confinement. And even my own dear insatiable 'me' will have had -enough of gaiety in two or three weeks, if this hot weather lasts." - -"I think I may be able to come down for a few days too, if you will -let me, mamma; and I'll bring Grace, who is looking rather pale and -weedy; growing too fast, I'm afraid. So I hope you won't be dull." - -"My dear," said Lady Cumnor, drawing herself up, "I should be ashamed -of feeling dull with my resources; my duties to others and to -myself!" - -So the plan in its present shape was told to Lord Cumnor, who highly -approved of it; as he always did of every project of his wife's. Lady -Cumnor's character was perhaps a little too ponderous for him in -reality, but he was always full of admiration for all her words and -deeds, and used to boast of her wisdom, her benevolence, her power -and dignity, in her absence, as if by this means he could buttress up -his own more feeble nature. - -"Very good--very good, indeed! Clare to join you at the Towers! -Capital! I couldn't have planned it better myself! I shall go down -with you on Wednesday in time for the jollification on Thursday. I -always enjoy that day; they are such nice, friendly people, those -good Hollingford ladies. Then I'll have a day with Sheepshanks, and -perhaps I may ride over to Ashcombe and see Preston--Brown Jess can -do it in a day, eighteen miles--to be sure! But there's back again to -the Towers!--how much is twice eighteen--thirty?" - -"Thirty-six," said Lady Cumnor, sharply. - -"So it is; you're always right, my dear. Preston's a clever, sharp -fellow." - -"I don't like him," said my lady. - -"He takes looking after; but he's a sharp fellow. He's such a -good-looking man, too, I wonder you don't like him." - -"I never think whether a land-agent is handsome or not. They don't -belong to the class of people whose appearance I notice." - -"To be sure not. But he is a handsome fellow; and what should make -you like him is the interest he takes in Clare and her prospects. He -is constantly suggesting something that can be done to her house, and -I know he sends her fruit, and flowers, and game just as regularly as -we should ourselves if we lived at Ashcombe." - -"How old is he?" said Lady Cumnor, with a faint suspicion of motives -in her mind. - -"About twenty-seven, I think. Ah! I see what is in your ladyship's -head. No! no! he's too young for that. You must look out for some -middle-aged man, if you want to get poor Clare married; Preston won't -do." - -"I'm not a match-maker, as you might know. I never did it for my own -daughters. I'm not likely to do it for Clare," said she, leaning back -languidly. - -"Well! you might do a worse thing. I'm beginning to think she'll -never get on as a schoolmistress, though why she shouldn't, I'm sure -I don't know; for she's an uncommonly pretty woman for her age, and -her having lived in our family, and your having had her so often with -you, ought to go a good way. I say, my lady, what do you think of -Gibson? He would be just the right age--widower--lives near the -Towers?" - -"I told you just now I was no match-maker, my lord. I suppose we had -better go by the old road--the people at those inns know us?" - -And so they passed on to speaking about other things than Mrs. -Kirkpatrick and her prospects, scholastic or matrimonial. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE WIDOWER AND THE WIDOW. - - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick was only too happy to accept Lady Cumnor's -invitation. It was what she had been hoping for, but hardly daring to -expect, as she believed that the family were settled in London for -some time to come. The Towers was a pleasant and luxurious house in -which to pass her holidays; and though she was not one to make deep -plans, or to look far ahead, she was quite aware of the prestige -which her being able to say she had been staying with "dear Lady -Cumnor" at the Towers, was likely to give her and her school in -the eyes of a good many people; so she gladly prepared to join her -ladyship on the 17th. Her wardrobe did not require much arrangement; -if it had done, the poor lady would not have had much money to -appropriate to the purpose. She was very pretty and graceful; and -that goes a great way towards carrying off shabby clothes; and it was -her taste more than any depth of feeling, that had made her persevere -in wearing all the delicate tints--the violets and grays--which, with -a certain admixture of black, constitute half-mourning. This style of -becoming dress she was supposed to wear in memory of Mr. Kirkpatrick; -in reality because it was both lady-like and economical. Her -beautiful hair was of that rich auburn that hardly ever turns gray; -and partly out of consciousness of its beauty, and partly because the -washing of caps is expensive, she did not wear anything on her head; -her complexion had the vivid tints that often accompany the kind -of hair which has once been red; and the only injury her skin had -received from advancing years was that the colouring was rather more -brilliant than delicate, and varied less with every passing emotion. -She could no longer blush; and at eighteen she had been very proud -of her blushes. Her eyes were soft, large, and china-blue in colour; -they had not much expression or shadow about them, which was perhaps -owing to the flaxen colour of her eyelashes. Her figure was a little -fuller than it used to be, but her movements were as soft and sinuous -as ever. Altogether, she looked much younger than her age, which -was not far short of forty. She had a very pleasant voice, and read -aloud well and distinctly, which Lady Cumnor liked. Indeed, for some -inexplicable reason, she was a greater, more positive favourite with -Lady Cumnor than with any of the rest of the family, though they all -liked her up to a certain point, and found it agreeably useful to -have any one in the house who was so well acquainted with their ways -and habits; so ready to talk, when a little trickle of conversation -was required; so willing to listen, and to listen with tolerable -intelligence, if the subjects spoken about did not refer to serious -solid literature, or science, or politics, or social economy. About -novels and poetry, travels and gossip, personal details, or anecdotes -of any kind, she always made exactly the remarks which are expected -from an agreeable listener; and she had sense enough to confine -herself to those short expressions of wonder, admiration, and -astonishment, which may mean anything, when more recondite things -were talked about. - -It was a very pleasant change to a poor unsuccessful schoolmistress -to leave her own house, full of battered and shabby furniture (she -had taken the good-will and furniture of her predecessor at a -valuation, two or three years before), where the look-out was as -gloomy, and the surrounding as squalid, as is often the case in the -smaller streets of a country town, and to come bowling through the -Towers Park in the luxurious carriage sent to meet her; to alight, -and feel secure that the well-trained servants would see after her -bags, and umbrella, and parasol, and cloak, without her loading -herself with all these portable articles, as she had had to do -while following the wheelbarrow containing her luggage in going to -the Ashcombe coach-office that morning; to pass up the deep-piled -carpets of the broad shallow stairs into my lady's own room, cool and -deliciously fresh, even on this sultry day, and fragrant with great -bowls of freshly gathered roses of every shade of colour. There were -two or three new novels lying uncut on the table; the daily papers, -the magazines. Every chair was an easy-chair of some kind or other; -and all covered with French chintz that mimicked the real flowers in -the garden below. She was familiar with the bedroom called hers, to -which she was soon ushered by Lady Cumnor's maid. It seemed to her -far more like home than the dingy place she had left that morning; -it was so natural to her to like dainty draperies, and harmonious -colouring, and fine linen, and soft raiment. She sate down in the -arm-chair by the bed-side, and wondered over her fate something in -this fashion-- - -"One would think it was an easy enough thing to deck a looking-glass -like that with muslin and pink ribbons; and yet how hard it is to -keep it up! People don't know how hard it is till they've tried as -I have. I made my own glass just as pretty when I first went to -Ashcombe; but the muslin got dirty, and the pink ribbons faded, and -it is so difficult to earn money to renew them; and when one has got -the money one hasn't the heart to spend it all at once. One thinks -and one thinks how one can get the most good out of it; and a new -gown, or a day's pleasure, or some hot-house fruit, or some piece of -elegance that can be seen and noticed in one's drawing-room, carries -the day, and good-by to prettily decked looking-glasses. Now here, -money is like the air they breathe. No one even asks or knows how -much the washing costs, or what pink ribbon is a yard. Ah! it would -be different if they had to earn every penny as I have! They would -have to calculate, like me, how to get the most pleasure out of it. -I wonder if I am to go on all my life toiling and moiling for money? -It's not natural. Marriage is the natural thing; then the husband -has all that kind of dirty work to do, and his wife sits in the -drawing-room like a lady. I did, when poor Kirkpatrick was alive. -Heigho! it's a sad thing to be a widow." - -Then there was the contrast between the dinners which she had to -share with her scholars at Ashcombe--rounds of beef, legs of mutton, -great dishes of potatoes, and large batter-puddings, with the tiny -meal of exquisitely cooked delicacies, sent up on old Chelsea china, -that was served every day to the earl and countess and herself at -the Towers. She dreaded the end of her holidays as much as the most -home-loving of her pupils. But at this time that end was some weeks -off, so Clare shut her eyes to the future, and tried to relish the -present to its fullest extent. A disturbance to the pleasant, even -course of the summer days came in the indisposition of Lady Cumnor. -Her husband had gone back to London, and she and Mrs. Kirkpatrick had -been left to the very even tenor of life, which was according to my -lady's wish just now. In spite of her languor and fatigue, she had -gone through the day when the school visitors came to the Towers, in -full dignity, dictating clearly all that was to be done, what walks -were to be taken, what hothouses to be seen, and when the party were -to return to the "collation." She herself remained indoors, with -one or two ladies who had ventured to think that the fatigue or the -heat might be too much for them, and who had therefore declined -accompanying the ladies in charge of Mrs. Kirkpatrick, or those other -favoured few to whom Lord Cumnor was explaining the new buildings -in his farm-yard. "With the utmost condescension," as her hearers -afterwards expressed it, Lady Cumnor told them all about her married -daughters' establishments, nurseries, plans for the education of -their children, and manner of passing the day. But the exertion tired -her; and when every one had left, the probability is that she would -have gone to lie down and rest, had not her husband made an unlucky -remark in the kindness of his heart. He came up to her and put his -hand on her shoulder. - -"I'm afraid you're sadly tired, my lady?" he said. - -She braced her muscles, and drew herself up, saying coldly,-- - -"When I am tired, Lord Cumnor, I will tell you so." And her fatigue -showed itself during the rest of the evening in her sitting -particularly upright, and declining all offers of easy-chairs or -foot-stools, and refusing the insult of a suggestion that they -should all go to bed earlier. She went on in something of this -kind of manner as long as Lord Cumnor remained at the Towers. Mrs. -Kirkpatrick was quite deceived by it, and kept assuring Lord Cumnor -that she had never seen dear Lady Cumnor looking better, or so -strong. But he had an affectionate heart, if a blundering head; and -though he could give no reason for his belief, he was almost certain -his wife was not well. Yet he was too much afraid of her to send for -Mr. Gibson without her permission. His last words to Clare were-- - -"It's such a comfort to leave my lady to you; only don't you be -deluded by her ways. She'll not show she's ill till she can't help -it. Consult with Bradley" (Lady Cumnor's "own woman,"--she disliked -the new-fangledness of "lady's-maid"); "and if I were you, I'd send -and ask Gibson to call--you might make any kind of a pretence,"--and -then the idea he had had in London of the fitness of a match -between the two coming into his head just now, he could not help -adding,--"Get him to come and see you, he's a very agreeable man; -Lord Hollingford says there's no one like him in these parts: and he -might be looking at my lady while he was talking to you, and see if -he thinks her really ill. And let me know what he says about her." - -But Clare was just as great a coward about doing anything for Lady -Cumnor which she had not expressly ordered, as Lord Cumnor himself. -She knew she might fall into such disgrace if she sent for Mr. Gibson -without direct permission, that she might never be asked to stay at -the Towers again; and the life there, monotonous in its smoothness of -luxury as it might be to some, was exactly to her taste. She in her -turn tried to put upon Bradley the duty which Lord Cumnor had put -upon her. - -"Mrs. Bradley," she said one day, "are you quite comfortable about -my lady's health? Lord Cumnor fancied that she was looking worn and -ill?" - -"Indeed, Mrs. Kirkpatrick, I don't think my lady is herself. I can't -persuade myself as she is, though if you was to question me till -night I couldn't tell you why." - -"Don't you think you could make some errand to Hollingford, and see -Mr. Gibson, and ask him to come round this way some day, and make a -call on Lady Cumnor?" - -"It would be as much as my place is worth, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. Till my -lady's dying day, if Providence keeps her in her senses, she'll have -everything done her own way, or not at all. There's only Lady Harriet -that can manage her the least, and she not always." - -"Well, then--we must hope that there is nothing the matter with her; -and I daresay there is not. She says there is not, and she ought to -know best herself." - -But a day or two after this conversation took place, Lady Cumnor -startled Mrs. Kirkpatrick, by saying suddenly,--"Clare, I wish you'd -write a note to Mr. Gibson, saying I should like to see him this -afternoon. I thought he would have called of himself before now. He -ought to have done so, to pay his respects." - -Mr. Gibson had been far too busy in his profession to have time for -mere visits of ceremony, though he knew quite well he was neglecting -what was expected of him. But the district of which he may be said to -have had medical charge was full of a bad kind of low fever, which -took up all his time and thought, and often made him very thankful -that Molly was out of the way in the quiet shades of Hamley. - -His domestic "rows" had not healed over in the least, though he -was obliged to put the perplexities on one side for the time. The -last drop--the final straw, had been an impromptu visit of Lord -Hollingford's, whom he had met in the town one forenoon. They had had -a good deal to say to each other about some new scientific discovery, -with the details of which Lord Hollingford was well acquainted, -while Mr. Gibson was ignorant and deeply interested. At length Lord -Hollingford said suddenly,-- - -"Gibson, I wonder if you'd give me some lunch; I've been a good -deal about since my seven-o'clock breakfast, and am getting quite -ravenous." - -Now Mr. Gibson was only too much pleased to show hospitality to one -whom he liked and respected so much as Lord Hollingford, and he -gladly took him home with him to the early family dinner. But it was -just at the time when the cook was sulking at Bethia's dismissal--and -she chose to be unpunctual and careless. There was no successor to -Bethia as yet appointed to wait at the meals. So, though Mr. Gibson -knew well that bread-and-cheese, cold beef, or the simplest food -available, would have been welcome to the hungry lord, he could not -get either these things for luncheon, or even the family dinner, at -anything like the proper time, in spite of all his ringing, and as -much anger as he liked to show, for fear of making Lord Hollingford -uncomfortable. At last dinner was ready, but the poor host saw -the want of nicety--almost the want of cleanliness, in all its -accompaniments--dingy plate, dull-looking glass, a table-cloth that, -if not absolutely dirty, was anything but fresh in its splashed and -rumpled condition, and compared it in his own mind with the dainty -delicacy with which even a loaf of brown bread was served up at -his guest's home. He did not apologize directly, but, after dinner, -just as they were parting, he said,--"You see a man like me--a -widower--with a daughter who cannot always be at home--has not the -regulated household which would enable me to command the small -portions of time I can spend there." - -He made no allusion to the comfortless meal of which they had both -partaken, though it was full in his mind. Nor was it absent from Lord -Hollingford's as he made reply,-- - -"True, true. Yet a man like you ought to be free from any thought of -household cares. You ought to have somebody. How old is Miss Gibson?" - -"Seventeen. It's a very awkward age for a motherless girl." - -"Yes; very. I have only boys, but it must be very awkward with -a girl. Excuse me, Gibson, but we're talking like friends. Have -you never thought of marrying again? It wouldn't be like a first -marriage, of course; but if you found a sensible, agreeable woman of -thirty or so, I really think you couldn't do better than take her to -manage your home, and so save you either discomfort or worry; and, -besides, she would be able to give your daughter that kind of tender -supervision which, I fancy, all girls of that age require. It's a -delicate subject, but you'll excuse my having spoken frankly." - -Mr. Gibson had thought of this advice several times since it was -given; but it was a case of "first catch your hare." Where was the -"sensible and agreeable woman of thirty or so?" Not Miss Browning, -nor Miss Phoebe, nor Miss Goodenough. Among his country patients -there were two classes pretty distinctly marked: farmers, whose -children were unrefined and uneducated; squires, whose daughters -would, indeed, think the world was coming to a pretty pass, if they -were to marry a country surgeon. - -But the first day on which Mr. Gibson paid his visit to Lady Cumnor, -he began to think it possible that Mrs. Kirkpatrick was his "hare." -He rode away with slack rein, thinking over what he knew of her, -more than about the prescriptions he should write, or the way he was -going. He remembered her as a very pretty Miss Clare: the governess -who had the scarlet fever; that was in his wife's days, a long time -ago; he could hardly understand Mrs. Kirkpatrick's youthfulness -of appearance when he thought how long. Then he had heard of her -marriage to a curate; and the next day (or so it seemed, he could not -recollect the exact duration of the interval), of his death. He knew, -in some way, that she had been living ever since as a governess in -different families; but that she had always been a great favourite -with the family at the Towers, for whom, quite independent of their -rank, he had a true respect. A year or two ago he had heard that she -had taken the good-will of a school at Ashcombe; a small town close -to another property of Lord Cumnor's, in the same county. Ashcombe -was a larger estate than that near Hollingford, but the old -Manor-house there was not nearly so good a residence as the Towers; -so it was given up to Mr. Preston, the land-agent for the Ashcombe -property, just as Mr. Sheepshanks was for that at Hollingford. -There were a few rooms at the Manor-house reserved for the -occasional visits of the family, otherwise Mr. Preston, a handsome -young bachelor, had it all to himself. Mr. Gibson knew that Mrs. -Kirkpatrick had one child, a daughter, who must be much about the -same age as Molly. Of course she had very little, if any, property. -But he himself had lived carefully, and had a few thousands well -invested; besides which, his professional income was good, and -increasing rather than diminishing every year. By the time he had -arrived at this point in his consideration of the case, he was at the -house of the next patient on his round, and he put away all thought -of matrimony and Mrs. Kirkpatrick for the time. Once again, in the -course of the day, he remembered with a certain pleasure that Molly -had told him some little details connected with her unlucky detention -at the Towers five or six years ago, which had made him feel at the -time as if Mrs. Kirkpatrick had behaved very kindly to his little -girl. So there the matter rested for the present, as far as he was -concerned. - -Lady Cumnor was out of health; but not so ill as she had been -fancying herself during all those days when the people about her -dared not send for the doctor. It was a great relief to her to have -Mr. Gibson to decide for her what she was to do; what to eat, drink, -avoid. Such decisions _ab extra_, are sometimes a wonderful relief -to those whose habit it has been to decide, not only for themselves, -but for every one else; and occasionally the relaxation of the strain -which a character for infallible wisdom brings with it, does much to -restore health. Mrs. Kirkpatrick thought in her secret soul that she -had never found it so easy to get on with Lady Cumnor; and Bradley -and she had never done singing the praises of Mr. Gibson, "who always -managed my lady so beautifully." - -Reports were duly sent up to my lord, but he and his daughters were -strictly forbidden to come down. Lady Cumnor wished to be weak -and languid, and uncertain both in body and mind, without family -observation. It was a condition so different to anything she had -ever been in before, that she was unconsciously afraid of losing her -prestige, if she was seen in it. Sometimes she herself wrote the -daily bulletins; at other times she bade Clare do it, but she would -always see the letters. Any answers she received from her daughters -she used to read herself, occasionally imparting some of their -contents to "that good Clare." But anybody might read my lord's -letters. There was no great fear of family secrets oozing out in his -sprawling lines of affection. But once Mrs. Kirkpatrick came upon a -sentence in a letter from Lord Cumnor, which she was reading out loud -to his wife, that caught her eye before she came to it, and if she -could have skipped it and kept it for private perusal, she would -gladly have done so. My lady was too sharp for her, though. In her -opinion "Clare was a good creature, but not clever," the truth -being that she was not always quick at resources, though tolerably -unscrupulous in the use of them. - -"Read on. What are you stopping for? There is no bad news, is there, -about Agnes?--Give me the letter." - -Lady Cumnor read, half aloud,-- - -"'How are Clare and Gibson getting on? You despised my advice to help -on that affair, but I really think a little match-making would be a -very pleasant amusement now that you are shut up in the house; and I -cannot conceive any marriage more suitable.'" - -"Oh!" said Lady Cumnor, laughing, "it was awkward for you to come -upon that, Clare: I don't wonder you stopped short. You gave me a -terrible fright, though." - -"Lord Cumnor is so fond of joking," said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, a little -flurried, yet quite recognizing the truth of his last words,--"I -cannot conceive any marriage more suitable." She wondered what Lady -Cumnor thought of it. Lord Cumnor wrote as if there was really a -chance. It was not an unpleasant idea; it brought a faint smile out -upon her face, as she sat by Lady Cumnor, while the latter took her -afternoon nap. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -A CRISIS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick had been reading aloud till Lady Cumnor fell asleep, -the book rested on her knee, just kept from falling by her hold. She -was looking out of the window, not seeing the trees in the park, nor -the glimpses of the hills beyond, but thinking how pleasant it would -be to have a husband once more;--some one who would work while she -sate at her elegant ease in a prettily-furnished drawing-room; and -she was rapidly investing this imaginary breadwinner with the form -and features of the country surgeon, when there was a slight tap -at the door, and almost before she could rise, the object of her -thoughts came in. She felt herself blush, and she was not displeased -at the consciousness. She advanced to meet him, making a sign towards -her sleeping ladyship. - -"Very good," said he, in a low voice, casting a professional eye on -the slumbering figure; "can I speak to you for a minute or two in the -library?" - -"Is he going to offer?" thought she, with a sudden palpitation, and -a conviction of her willingness to accept a man whom an hour before -she had simply looked upon as one of the category of unmarried men to -whom matrimony was possible. - -He was only going to make one or two medical inquiries; she found -that out very speedily, and considered the conversation as rather -flat to her, though it might be instructive to him. She was not aware -that he finally made up his mind to propose, during the time that -she was speaking--answering his questions in many words, but he was -accustomed to winnow the chaff from the corn; and her voice was so -soft, her accent so pleasant, that it struck him as particularly -agreeable after the broad country accent he was perpetually hearing. -Then the harmonious colours of her dress, and her slow and graceful -movements, had something of the same soothing effect upon his nerves -that a cat's purring has upon some people's. He began to think -that he should be fortunate if he could win her, for his own sake. -Yesterday he had looked upon her more as a possible stepmother -for Molly; to-day he thought more of her as a wife for himself. -The remembrance of Lord Cumnor's letter gave her a very becoming -consciousness; she wished to attract, and hoped that she was -succeeding. Still they only talked of the countess's state for some -time: then a lucky shower came on. Mr. Gibson did not care a jot for -rain, but just now it gave him an excuse for lingering. - -"It's very stormy weather," said he. - -"Yes, very. My daughter writes me word, that for two days last week -the packet could not sail from Boulogne." - -"Miss Kirkpatrick is at Boulogne, is she?" - -"Yes, poor girl; she is at school there, trying to perfect herself -in the French language. But, Mr. Gibson, you must not call her Miss -Kirkpatrick. Cynthia remembers you with so much--affection, I may -say. She was your little patient when she had the measles here four -years ago, you know. Pray call her Cynthia; she would be quite hurt -at such a formal name as Miss Kirkpatrick from you." - -"Cynthia seems to me such an out-of-the-way name, only fit for -poetry, not for daily use." - -"It is mine," said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, in a plaintive tone of reproach. -"I was christened Hyacinth, and her poor father would have her called -after me. I'm sorry you don't like it." - -Mr. Gibson did not know what to say. He was not quite prepared to -plunge into the directly personal style. While he was hesitating, she -went on-- - -"Hyacinth Clare! Once upon a time I was quite proud of my pretty -name; and other people thought it pretty, too." - -"I've no doubt--" Mr. Gibson began; and then stopped. - -"Perhaps I did wrong in yielding to his wish, to have her called by -such a romantic name. It may excite prejudice against her in some -people; and, poor child! she will have enough to struggle with. A -young daughter is a great charge, Mr. Gibson, especially when there -is only one parent to look after her." - -"You are quite right," said he, recalled to the remembrance of Molly; -"though I should have thought that a girl who is so fortunate as to -have a mother could not feel the loss of her father so acutely as one -who is motherless must suffer from her deprivation." - -"You are thinking of your own daughter. It was careless of me to say -what I did. Dear child! how well I remember her sweet little face as -she lay sleeping on my bed. I suppose she is nearly grown-up now. She -must be near my Cynthia's age. How I should like to see her!" - -"I hope you will. I should like you to see her. I should like you to -love my poor little Molly,--to love her as your own--" He swallowed -down something that rose in his throat, and was nearly choking him. - -"Is he going to offer? _Is_ he?" she wondered; and she began to -tremble in the suspense before he next spoke. - -"Could you love her as your daughter? Will you try? Will you give -me the right of introducing you to her as her future mother; as my -wife?" - -There! he had done it--whether it was wise or foolish--he had done -it! but he was aware that the question as to its wisdom came into his -mind the instant that the words were said past recall. - -She hid her face in her hands. - -"Oh! Mr. Gibson," she said; and then, a little to his surprise, and a -great deal to her own, she burst into hysterical tears: it was such -a wonderful relief to feel that she need not struggle any more for a -livelihood. - -"My dear--my dearest," said he, trying to soothe her with word and -caress; but, just at the moment, uncertain what name he ought to -use. After her sobbing had abated a little, she said herself, as if -understanding his difficulty,-- - -"Call me Hyacinth--your own Hyacinth. I can't bear 'Clare,' it does -so remind me of being a governess, and those days are all past now." - -"Yes; but surely no one can have been more valued, more beloved than -you have been in this family at least." - -"Oh, yes! they have been very good. But still one has always had to -remember one's position." - -"We ought to tell Lady Cumnor," said he, thinking, perhaps, more of -the various duties which lay before him in consequence of the step he -had just taken, than of what his future bride was saying. - -"You'll tell her, won't you?" said she, looking up in his face with -beseeching eyes. "I always like other people to tell her things, and -then I can see how she takes them." - -"Certainly! I will do whatever you wish. Shall we go and see if she -is awake now?" - -"No! I think not. I had better prepare her. You will come to-morrow, -won't you? and you will tell her then." - -"Yes; that will be best. I ought to tell Molly first. She has the -right to know. I do hope you and she will love each other dearly." - -"Oh, yes! I'm sure we shall. Then you'll come to-morrow and tell Lady -Cumnor? And I'll prepare her." - -"I don't see what preparation is necessary; but you know best, my -dear. When can we arrange for you and Molly to meet?" - -Just then a servant came in, and the pair started apart. - -"Her ladyship is awake, and wishes to see Mr. Gibson." - -They both followed the man upstairs; Mrs. Kirkpatrick trying hard -to look as if nothing had happened, for she particularly wished -"to prepare" Lady Cumnor; that is to say, to give her version of Mr. -Gibson's extreme urgency, and her own coy unwillingness. - -But Lady Cumnor had observant eyes in sickness as well as in health. -She had gone to sleep with the recollection of the passage in her -husband's letter full in her mind, and, perhaps, it gave a direction -to her wakening ideas. - -"I'm glad you're not gone, Mr. Gibson. I wanted to tell you-- What's -the matter with you both? What have you been saying to Clare? I'm -sure something has happened." - -There was nothing for it, in Mr. Gibson's opinion, but to make a -clean breast of it, and tell her ladyship all. He turned round, and -took hold of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's hand, and said out straight, "I have -been asking Mrs. Kirkpatrick to be my wife, and to be a mother to my -child; and she has consented. I hardly know how to thank her enough -in words." - -"Umph! I don't see any objection. I daresay you'll be very happy. -I'm very glad of it! Here! shake hands with me, both of you." Then -laughing a little, she added, "It does not seem to me that any -exertion has been required on my part." - -Mr. Gibson looked perplexed at these words. Mrs. Kirkpatrick -reddened. - -"Did she not tell you? Oh, then, I must. It's too good a joke to be -lost, especially as everything has ended so well. When Lord Cumnor's -letter came this morning--this very morning--I gave it to Clare to -read aloud to me, and I saw she suddenly came to a full stop, where -no full stop could be, and I thought it was something about Agnes, -so I took the letter and read--stay! I'll read the sentence to you. -Where's the letter, Clare? Oh! don't trouble yourself, here it is. -'How are Clare and Gibson getting on? You despised my advice to help -on that affair, but I really think a little match-making would be a -very pleasant amusement, now that you are shut up in the house; and -I cannot conceive any marriage more suitable.' You see, you have my -lord's full approbation. But I must write, and tell him you have -managed your own affairs without any interference of mine. Now we'll -just have a little medical talk, Mr. Gibson, and then you and Clare -shall finish your tête-à-tête." - -They were neither of them quite as desirous of further conversation -together as they had been before the passage out of Lord Cumnor's -letter had been read aloud. Mr. Gibson tried not to think about it, -for he was aware that if he dwelt upon it, he might get to fancy all -sorts of things, as to the conversation which had ended in his offer. -But Lady Cumnor was imperious now, as always. - -"Come, no nonsense. I always made my girls go and have tête-à-têtes -with the men who were to be their husbands, whether they would or no: -there's a great deal to be talked over before every marriage, and you -two are certainly old enough to be above affectation. Go away with -you." - -So there was nothing for it but for them to return to the library; -Mrs. Kirkpatrick pouting a little, and Mr. Gibson feeling more like -his own cool, sarcastic self, by many degrees, than he had done when -last in that room. - -She began, half crying,-- - -"I cannot tell what poor Kirkpatrick would say if he knew what I have -done. He did so dislike the notion of second marriages, poor fellow!" - -"Let us hope that he doesn't know, then; or that, if he does, he -is wiser--I mean, that he sees how second marriages may be most -desirable and expedient in some cases." - -Altogether, this second tête-à-tête, done to command, was not so -satisfactory as the first; and Mr. Gibson was quite alive to the -necessity of proceeding on his round to see his patients before very -much time had elapsed. - -"We shall shake down into uniformity before long, I've no doubt," -said he to himself, as he rode away. "It's hardly to be expected that -our thoughts should run in the same groove all at once. Nor should I -like it," he added. "It would be very flat and stagnant to have only -an echo of one's own opinions from one's wife. Heigho! I must tell -Molly about it: dear little woman, I wonder how she'll take it? It's -done, in a great measure, for her good." And then he lost himself in -recapitulating Mrs. Kirkpatrick's good qualities, and the advantages -to be gained to his daughter from the step he had just taken. - -It was too late to go round by Hamley that afternoon. The Towers and -the Towers' round lay just in the opposite direction to Hamley. So it -was the next morning before Mr. Gibson arrived at the Hall, timing -his visit as well as he could so as to have half-an-hour's private -talk with Molly before Mrs. Hamley came down into the drawing-room. -He thought that his daughter would require sympathy after receiving -the intelligence he had to communicate; and he knew there was no one -more fit to give it than Mrs. Hamley. - -It was a brilliantly hot summer's morning; men in their shirtsleeves -were in the fields getting in the early harvest of oats; as Mr. -Gibson rode slowly along, he could see them over the tall hedge-rows, -and even hear the soothing measured sound of the fall of the long -swathes, as they were mown. The labourers seemed too hot to talk; the -dog, guarding their coats and cans, lay panting loudly on the other -side of the elm, under which Mr. Gibson stopped for an instant to -survey the scene, and gain a little delay before the interview that -he wished was well over. In another minute he had snapped at himself -for his weakness, and put spurs to his horse. He came up to the Hall -at a good sharp trot; it was earlier than the usual time of his -visits, and no one was expecting him; all the stable-men were in -the fields, but that signified little to Mr. Gibson; he walked his -horse about for five minutes or so before taking him into the stable, -and loosened his girths, examining him with perhaps unnecessary -exactitude. He went into the house by a private door, and made his -way into the drawing-room, half expecting, however, that Molly would -be in the garden. She had been there, but it was too hot and dazzling -now for her to remain out of doors, and she had come in by the open -window of the drawing-room. Oppressed with the heat, she had fallen -asleep in an easy-chair, her bonnet and open book upon her knee, one -arm hanging listlessly down. She looked very soft, and young, and -childlike; and a gush of love sprang into her father's heart as he -gazed at her. - -"Molly!" said he, gently, taking the little brown hand that was -hanging down, and holding it in his own. "Molly!" - -She opened her eyes, that for one moment had no recognition in them. -Then the light came brilliantly into them and she sprang up, and -threw her arms round his neck, exclaiming,-- - -"Oh, papa, my dear, dear papa! What made you come while I was asleep? -I lose the pleasure of watching for you." - -Mr. Gibson turned a little paler than he had been before. He still -held her hand, and drew her to a seat by him on a sofa, without -speaking. There was no need; she was chattering away. - -"I was up so early! It is so charming to be out here in the fresh -morning air. I think that made me sleepy. But isn't it a gloriously -hot day? I wonder if the Italian skies they talk about can be bluer -than that--that little bit you see just between the oaks--there!" - -She pulled her hand away, and used both it and the other to turn her -father's head, so that he should exactly see the very bit she meant. -She was rather struck by his unusual silence. - -"Have you heard from Miss Eyre, papa? How are they all? And this -fever that is about? Do you know, papa, I don't think you are looking -well? You want me at home to take care of you. How soon may I come -home?" - -"Don't I look well? That must be all your fancy, goosey. I feel -uncommonly well; and I ought to look well, for-- I have a piece of -news for you, little woman." (He felt that he was doing his business -very awkwardly, but he was determined to plunge on.) "Can you guess -it?" - -"How should I?" said she; but her tone was changed, and she was -evidently uneasy, as with the presage of an instinct. - -"Why, you see, my love," said he, again taking her hand, "that you -are in a very awkward position--a girl growing up in such a family -as mine--young men--which was a piece of confounded stupidity on my -part. And I am obliged to be away so much." - -"But there is Miss Eyre," said she, sick with the strengthening -indefinite presage of what was to come. "Dear Miss Eyre, I want -nothing but her and you." - -"Still there are times like the present when Miss Eyre cannot be with -you; her home is not with us; she has other duties. I've been in -great perplexity for some time; but at last I've taken a step which -will, I hope, make us both happier." - -"You're going to be married again," said she, helping him out, with a -quiet dry voice, and gently drawing her hand out of his. - -"Yes. To Mrs. Kirkpatrick--you remember her? They call her Clare at -the Towers. You recollect how kind she was to you that day you were -left there?" - -She did not answer. She could not tell what words to use. She -was afraid of saying anything, lest the passion of anger, -dislike, indignation--whatever it was that was boiling up in her -breast--should find vent in cries and screams, or worse, in raging -words that could never be forgotten. It was as if the piece of solid -ground on which she stood had broken from the shore, and she was -drifting out to the infinite sea alone. - -Mr. Gibson saw that her silence was unnatural, and half-guessed at -the cause of it. But he knew that she must have time to reconcile -herself to the idea, and still believed that it would be for her -eventual happiness. He had, besides, the relief of feeling that the -secret was told, the confidence made, which he had been dreading -for the last twenty-four hours. He went on recapitulating all the -advantages of the marriage; he knew them off by heart now. - -"She's a very suitable age for me. I don't know how old she is -exactly, but she must be nearly forty. I shouldn't have wished to -marry any one younger. She's highly respected by Lord and Lady Cumnor -and their family, which is of itself a character. She has very -agreeable and polished manners--of course, from the circles she has -been thrown into--and you and I, goosey, are apt to be a little -brusque, or so; we must brush up our manners now." - -No remark from her on this little bit of playfulness. He went on,-- - -"She has been accustomed to housekeeping--economical housekeeping, -too--for of late years she has had a school at Ashcombe, and has had, -of course, to arrange all things for a large family. And last, but -not least, she has a daughter--about your age, Molly--who, of course, -will come and live with us, and be a nice companion--a sister--for -you." - -Still she was silent. At length she said,-- - -"So I was sent out of the house that all this might be quietly -arranged in my absence?" - -Out of the bitterness of her heart she spoke, but she was roused -out of her assumed impassiveness by the effect produced. Her -father started up, and quickly left the room, saying something to -himself--what, she could not hear, though she ran after him, followed -him through dark stone passages, into the glare of the stable-yard, -into the stables-- - -"Oh, papa, papa--I'm not myself--I don't know what to say about this -hateful--detestable--" - -He led his horse out. She did not know if he heard her words. Just as -he mounted, he turned round upon her with a grey grim face-- - -"I think it's better for both of us, for me to go away now. We -may say things difficult to forget. We are both much agitated. By -to-morrow we shall be more composed; you will have thought it over, -and have seen that the principal--one great motive, I mean--was your -good. You may tell Mrs. Hamley--I meant to have told her myself. I -will come again to-morrow. Good-by, Molly." - -For many minutes after he had ridden away--long after the sound of -his horse's hoofs on the round stones of the paved lane, beyond the -home-meadows, had died away--Molly stood there, shading her eyes, -and looking at the empty space of air in which his form had last -appeared. Her very breath seemed suspended; only, two or three times, -after long intervals, she drew a miserable sigh, which was caught up -into a sob. She turned away at last, but could not go into the house, -could not tell Mrs. Hamley, could not forget how her father had -looked and spoken--and left her. - -She went out through a side-door--it was the way by which the -gardeners passed when they took the manure into the garden--and the -walk to which it led was concealed from sight as much as possible by -shrubs and evergreens and over-arching trees. No one would know what -became of her--and, with the ingratitude of misery, she added to -herself, no one would care. Mrs. Hamley had her own husband, her own -children, her close home interests--she was very good and kind, but -there was a bitter grief in Molly's heart, with which the stranger -could not intermeddle. She went quickly on to the bourne which she -had fixed for herself--a seat almost surrounded by the drooping -leaves of a weeping-ash--a seat on the long broad terrace walk on -the other side of the wood, that overlooked the pleasant slope of -the meadows beyond. The walk had probably been made to command this -sunny, peaceful landscape, with trees, and a church spire, two or -three red-tiled roofs of old cottages, and a purple bit of rising -ground in the distance; and at some previous date, when there might -have been a large family of Hamleys residing at the Hall, ladies -in hoops, and gentlemen in bag-wigs with swords by their sides, -might have filled up the breadth of the terrace, as they sauntered, -smiling, along. But no one ever cared to saunter there now. It was a -deserted walk. The squire or his sons might cross it in passing to a -little gate that led to the meadow beyond; but no one loitered there. -Molly almost thought that no one knew of the hidden seat under the -ash-tree but herself; for there were not more gardeners employed upon -the grounds than were necessary to keep the kitchen-gardens and such -of the ornamental part as was frequented by the family, or in sight -of the house, in good order. - -When she had once got to the seat she broke out with suppressed -passion of grief. She did not care to analyze the sources of her -tears and sobs--her father was going to be married again--her father -was angry with her; she had done very wrong--he had gone away -displeased; she had lost his love; he was going to be married--away -from her--away from his child--his little daughter--forgetting her -own dear, dear mother. So she thought in a tumultuous kind of way, -sobbing till she was wearied out, and had to gain strength by being -quiet for a time, to break forth into her passion of tears afresh. -She had cast herself on the ground--that natural throne for violent -sorrow--and leant up against the old moss-grown seat; sometimes -burying her face in her hands; sometimes clasping them together, as -if by the tight painful grasp of her fingers she could deaden mental -suffering. - -She did not see Roger Hamley returning from the meadows, nor hear the -click of the little white gate. He had been out dredging in ponds and -ditches, and had his wet sling-net, with its imprisoned treasures of -nastiness, over his shoulder. He was coming home to lunch, having -always a fine midday appetite, though he pretended to despise the -meal in theory. But he knew that his mother liked his companionship -then; she depended much upon her luncheon, and was seldom downstairs -and visible to her family much before the time. So he overcame his -theory, for the sake of his mother, and had his reward in the hearty -relish with which he kept her company in eating. - -He did not see Molly as he crossed the terrace-walk on his way -homewards. He had gone about twenty yards along the small wood-path -at right angles to the terrace, when, looking among the grass and -wild plants under the trees, he spied out one which was rare, one -which he had been long wishing to find in flower, and saw it at last, -with those bright keen eyes of his. Down went his net, skilfully -twisted so as to retain its contents, while it lay amid the herbage, -and he himself went with light and well-planted footsteps in search -of the treasure. He was so great a lover of nature that, without any -thought, but habitually, he always avoided treading unnecessarily on -any plant; who knew what long-sought growth or insect might develop -itself in that which now appeared but insignificant? - -His steps led him in the direction of the ash-tree seat, much less -screened from observation on this side than on the terrace. He -stopped; he saw a light-coloured dress on the ground--somebody -half-lying on the seat, so still just then, he wondered if the -person, whoever it was, had fallen ill or fainted. He paused to -watch. In a minute or two the sobs broke out again--the words. It was -Miss Gibson crying out in a broken voice,-- - -"Oh, papa, papa! if you would but come back!" - -For a minute or two he thought it would be kinder to leave her -fancying herself unobserved; he had even made a retrograde step or -two, on tip-toe; but then he heard the miserable sobbing again. It -was farther than his mother could walk, or else, be the sorrow what -it would, she was the natural comforter of this girl, her visitor. -However, whether it was right or wrong, delicate or obtrusive, when -he heard the sad voice talking again, in such tones of uncomforted, -lonely misery, he turned back, and went to the green tent under the -ash-tree. She started up when he came thus close to her; she tried to -check her sobs, and instinctively smoothed her wet tangled hair back -with her hands. - -He looked down upon her with grave, kind sympathy, but he did not -know exactly what to say. - -"Is it lunch-time?" said she, trying to believe that he did not see -the traces of her tears and the disturbance of her features--that he -had not seen her lying, sobbing her heart out there. - -"I don't know. I was going home to lunch. But--you must let me -say it--I couldn't go on when I saw your distress. Has anything -happened?--anything in which I can help you, I mean; for, of course, -I've no right to make the inquiry, if it is any private sorrow, in -which I can be of no use." - -She had exhausted herself so much with crying, that she felt as if -she could neither stand nor walk just yet. She sate down on the seat, -and sighed, and turned so pale, he thought she was going to faint. - -"Wait a moment," said he,--quite unnecessarily, for she could not -have stirred,--and he was off like a shot to some spring of water -that he knew of in the wood, and in a minute or two he returned with -careful steps, bringing a little in a broad green leaf, turned into -an impromptu cup. Little as it was, it did her good. - -"Thank you!" she said: "I can walk back now, in a short time. Don't -stop." - -"You must let me," said he: "my mother wouldn't like me to leave you -to come home alone, while you are so faint." - -So they remained in silence for a little while; he, breaking off and -examining one or two abnormal leaves of the ash-tree, partly from the -custom of his nature, partly to give her time to recover. - -"Papa is going to be married again," said she, at length. - -She could not have said why she told him this; an instant before she -spoke, she had no intention of doing so. He dropped the leaf he held -in his hand, turned round, and looked at her. Her poor wistful eyes -were filling with tears as they met his, with a dumb appeal for -sympathy. Her look was much more eloquent than her words. There was -a momentary pause before he replied, and then it was more because he -felt that he must say something than that he was in any doubt as to -the answer to the question he asked. - -"You are sorry for it?" - -She did not take her eyes away from his, as her quivering lips formed -the word "Yes," though her voice made no sound. He was silent again -now; looking on the ground, kicking softly at a loose pebble with his -foot. His thoughts did not come readily to the surface in the shape -of words; nor was he apt at giving comfort till he saw his way clear -to the real source from which consolation must come. At last he -spoke,--almost as if he was reasoning out the matter with himself. - -"It seems as if there might be cases where--setting the question of -love entirely on one side--it must be almost a duty to find some one -to be a substitute for the mother. . . I can believe," said he, in -a different tone of voice, and looking at Molly afresh, "that this -step may be greatly for your father's happiness--it may relieve him -from many cares, and may give him a pleasant companion." - -"He had me. You don't know what we were to each other--at least, what -he was to me," she added, humbly. - -"Still he must have thought it for the best, or he wouldn't have done -it. He may have thought it the best for your sake even more than for -his own." - -"That is what he tried to convince me of." - -Roger began kicking the pebble again. He had not got hold of the -right end of the clue. Suddenly he looked up. - -"I want to tell you of a girl I know. Her mother died when she was -about sixteen--the eldest of a large family. From that time--all -through the bloom of her youth--she gave herself up to her father, -first as his comforter, afterwards as his companion, friend, -secretary--anything you like. He was a man with a great deal of -business on hand, and often came home only to set to afresh to -preparations for the next day's work. Harriet was always there, ready -to help, to talk, or to be silent. It went on for eight or ten years -in this way; and then her father married again,--a woman not many -years older than Harriet herself. Well--they are just the happiest -set of people I know--you wouldn't have thought it likely, would -you?" - -She was listening, but she had no heart to say anything. Yet she was -interested in this little story of Harriet--a girl who had been so -much to her father, more than Molly in this early youth of hers could -have been to Mr. Gibson. "How was it?" she sighed out at last. - -"Harriet thought of her father's happiness before she thought of her -own," Roger answered, with something of severe brevity. Molly needed -the bracing. She began to cry again a little. - -"If it were for papa's happiness--" - -"He must believe that it is. Whatever you fancy, give him a chance. -He cannot have much comfort, I should think, if he sees you fretting -or pining,--you who have been so much to him, as you say. The lady -herself, too--if Harriet's stepmother had been a selfish woman, and -been always clutching after the gratification of her own wishes; but -she was not: she was as anxious for Harriet to be happy as Harriet -was for her father--and your father's future wife may be another of -the same kind, though such people are rare." - -"I don't think she is, though," murmured Molly, a waft of -recollection bringing to her mind the details of her day at the -Towers long ago. - -Roger did not want to hear Molly's reasons for this doubting speech. -He felt as if he had no right to hear more of Mr. Gibson's family -life, past, present, or to come, than was absolutely necessary for -him, in order that he might comfort and help the crying girl, whom he -had come upon so unexpectedly. And besides, he wanted to go home, and -be with his mother at lunch-time. Yet he could not leave her alone. - -"It is right to hope for the best about everybody, and not to expect -the worst. This sounds like a truism, but it has comforted me before -now, and some day you'll find it useful. One has always to try to -think more of others than of oneself, and it is best not to prejudge -people on the bad side. My sermons aren't long, are they? Have they -given you an appetite for lunch? Sermons always make me hungry, I -know." - -He appeared to be waiting for her to get up and come along with him, -as indeed he was. But he meant her to perceive that he should not -leave her; so she rose up languidly, too languid to say how much she -should prefer being left alone, if he would only go away without her. -She was very weak, and stumbled over the straggling root of a tree -that projected across the path. He, watchful though silent, saw -this stumble, and putting out his hand held her up from falling. He -still held her hand when the occasion was past; this little physical -failure impressed on his heart how young and helpless she was, and -he yearned to her, remembering the passion of sorrow in which he had -found her, and longing to be of some little tender bit of comfort to -her, before they parted--before their tête-à-tête walk was merged in -the general familiarity of the household life. Yet he did not know -what to say. - -"You will have thought me hard," he burst out at length, as they -were nearing the drawing-room windows and the garden-door. "I -never can manage to express what I feel--somehow I always fall to -philosophizing--but I am sorry for you. Yes, I am; it's beyond my -power to help you, as far as altering facts goes, but I can feel for -you, in a way which it's best not to talk about, for it can do no -good. Remember how sorry I am for you! I shall often be thinking of -you, though I daresay it's best not to talk about it again." - -She said, "I know you are sorry," under her breath, and then she -broke away, and ran indoors, and upstairs to the solitude of her own -room. He went straight to his mother, who was sitting before the -untasted luncheon, as much annoyed by the mysterious unpunctuality -of her visitor as she was capable of being with anything; for she -had heard that Mr. Gibson had been, and was gone, and she could not -discover if he had left any message for her; and her anxiety about -her own health, which some people esteemed hypochondriacal, always -made her particularly craving for the wisdom which might fall from -her doctor's lips. - -"Where have you been, Roger? Where is Molly?--Miss Gibson, I mean," -for she was careful to keep up a barrier of forms between the young -man and young woman who were thrown together in the same household. - -"I've been out dredging. (By the way, I left my net on the terrace -walk.) I found Miss Gibson sitting there, crying as if her heart -would break. Her father is going to be married again." - -"Married again! You don't say so." - -"Yes, he is; and she takes it very hardly, poor girl. Mother, I think -if you could send some one to her with a glass of wine, a cup of tea, -or something of that sort--she was very nearly fainting--" - -"I'll go to her myself, poor child," said Mrs. Hamley, rising. - -"Indeed you must not," said he, laying his hand upon her arm. "We -have kept you waiting already too long; you are looking quite pale. -Hammond can take it," he continued, ringing the bell. She sate down -again, almost stunned with surprise. - -"Whom is he going to marry?" - -"I don't know. I didn't ask, and she didn't tell me." - -"That's so like a man. Why, half the character of the affair lies in -the question of who it is that he is going to marry." - -"I daresay I ought to have asked. But somehow I'm not a good one -on such occasions. I was as sorry as could be for her, and yet I -couldn't tell what to say." - -"What did you say?" - -"I gave her the best advice in my power." - -"Advice! you ought to have comforted her. Poor little Molly!" - -"I think that if advice is good it's the best comfort." - -"That depends on what you mean by advice. Hush! here she is." - -To their surprise, Molly came in, trying hard to look as usual. She -had bathed her eyes, and arranged her hair; and was making a great -struggle to keep from crying, and to bring her voice into order. -She was unwilling to distress Mrs. Hamley by the sight of pain and -suffering. She did not know that she was following Roger's injunction -to think more of others than of herself--but so she was. Mrs. Hamley -was not sure if it was wise in her to begin on the piece of news she -had just heard from her son; but she was too full of it herself to -talk of anything else. "So I hear your father is going to be married, -my dear? May I ask whom it is to?" - -"Mrs. Kirkpatrick. I think she was governess a long time ago at the -Countess of Cumnor's. She stays with them a great deal, and they call -her Clare, and I believe they are very fond of her." Molly tried to -speak of her future stepmother in the most favourable manner she knew -how. - -"I think I've heard of her. Then she's not very young? That's as it -should be. A widow too. Has she any family?" - -"One girl, I believe. But I know so little about her!" - -Molly was very near crying again. - -"Never mind, my dear. That will all come in good time. Roger, you've -hardly eaten anything; where are you going?" - -"To fetch my dredging-net. It's full of things I don't want to lose. -Besides, I never eat much, as a general thing." The truth was partly -told, not all. He thought he had better leave the other two alone. -His mother had such sweet power of sympathy, that she would draw the -sting out of the girl's heart when she had her alone. As soon as he -was gone, Molly lifted up her poor swelled eyes, and, looking at Mrs. -Hamley, she said,--"He was so good to me. I mean to try and remember -all he said." - -"I'm glad to hear it, love; very glad. From what he told me, I was -afraid he had been giving you a little lecture. He has a good heart, -but he isn't so tender in his manner as Osborne. Roger is a little -rough sometimes." - -"Then I like roughness. It did me good. It made me feel how -badly--oh, Mrs. Hamley, I did behave so badly to papa this morning!" - -She rose up and threw herself into Mrs. Hamley's arms, and sobbed -upon her breast. Her sorrow was not now for the fact that her father -was going to be married again, but for her own ill-behaviour. - -If Roger was not tender in words, he was in deeds. Unreasonable and -possibly exaggerated as Molly's grief had appeared to him, it was -real suffering to her; and he took some pains to lighten it, in his -own way, which was characteristic enough. That evening he adjusted -his microscope, and put the treasures he had collected in his -morning's ramble on a little table; and then he asked his mother to -come and admire. Of course Molly came too, and this was what he had -intended. He tried to interest her in his pursuit, cherished her -first little morsel of curiosity, and nursed it into a very proper -desire for further information. Then he brought out books on the -subject, and translated the slightly pompous and technical language -into homely every-day speech. Molly had come down to dinner, -wondering how the long hours till bedtime would ever pass away: -hours during which she must not speak on the one thing that would -be occupying her mind to the exclusion of all others; for she was -afraid that already she had wearied Mrs. Hamley with it during their -afternoon tête-à-tête. But prayers and bedtime came long before she -expected; she had been refreshed by a new current of thought, and she -was very thankful to Roger. And now there was to-morrow to come, and -a confession of penitence to be made to her father. - -But Mr. Gibson did not want speech or words. He was not fond of -expressions of feeling at any time, and perhaps, too, he felt that -the less said the better on a subject about which it was evident that -his daughter and he were not thoroughly and impulsively in harmony. -He read her repentance in her eyes; he saw how much she had suffered; -and he had a sharp pang at his heart in consequence. And he stopped -her from speaking out her regret at her behaviour the day before, by -a "There, there, that will do. I know all you want to say. I know my -little Molly--my silly little goosey--better than she knows herself. -I've brought you an invitation. Lady Cumnor wants you to go and spend -next Thursday at the Towers!" - -"Do you wish me to go?" said she, her heart sinking. - -"I wish you and Hyacinth to become better acquainted--to learn to -love each other." - -"Hyacinth!" said Molly, entirely bewildered. - -"Yes; Hyacinth! It's the silliest name I ever heard of; but it's -hers, and I must call her by it. I can't bear Clare, which is -what my lady and all the family at the Towers call her; and 'Mrs. -Kirkpatrick' is formal and nonsensical too, as she'll change her name -so soon." - -"When, papa?" asked Molly, feeling as if she were living in a -strange, unknown world. - -"Not till after Michaelmas." And then, continuing on his own -thoughts, he added, "And the worst is, she's gone and perpetuated her -own affected name by having her daughter called after her. Cynthia! -One thinks of the moon, and the man in the moon with his bundle of -faggots. I'm thankful you're plain Molly, child." - -"How old is she--Cynthia, I mean?" - -"Ay, get accustomed to the name. I should think Cynthia Kirkpatrick -was about as old as you are. She's at school in France, picking up -airs and graces. She's to come home for the wedding, so you'll be -able to get acquainted with her then; though, I think, she's to go -back again for another half-year or so." - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -MAKING FRIENDSHIP. - - -Mr. Gibson believed that Cynthia Kirkpatrick was to return to England -to be present at her mother's wedding; but Mrs. Kirkpatrick had -no such intention. She was not what is commonly called a woman -of determination; but somehow what she disliked she avoided, and -what she liked she tried to do, or to have. So although in the -conversation, which she had already led to, as to the when and the -how she was to be married, she had listened quietly to Mr. Gibson's -proposal that Molly and Cynthia should be the two bridesmaids, still -she had felt how disagreeable it would be to her to have her young -daughter flashing out her beauty by the side of the faded bride, her -mother; and as the further arrangements for the wedding became more -definite, she saw further reasons in her own mind for Cynthia's -remaining quietly at her school at Boulogne. - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick had gone to bed that first night of her engagement -to Mr. Gibson, fully anticipating a speedy marriage. She looked to -it as a release from the thraldom of keeping school--keeping an -unprofitable school, with barely pupils enough to pay for house -rent and taxes, food, washing, and the requisite masters. She saw -no reason for ever going back to Ashcombe, except to wind up her -affairs, and to pack up her clothes. She hoped that Mr. Gibson's -ardour would be such that he would press on the marriage, and urge -her never to resume her school drudgery, but to relinquish it now and -for ever. She even made up a very pretty, very passionate speech for -him in her own mind; quite sufficiently strong to prevail upon her, -and to overthrow the scruples which she felt she ought to have, at -telling the parents of her pupils that she did not intend to resume -school, and that they must find another place of education for their -daughters, in the last week but one of the midsummer holidays. - -It was rather like a douche of cold water on Mrs. Kirkpatrick's -plans, when the next morning at breakfast Lady Cumnor began to decide -upon the arrangements and duties of the two middle-aged lovers. - -"Of course you can't give up your school all at once, Clare. The -wedding can't be before Christmas, but that will do very well. We -shall all be down at the Towers; and it will be a nice amusement for -the children to go over to Ashcombe, and see you married." - -"I think--I am afraid--I don't believe Mr. Gibson will like waiting -so long; men are so impatient under these circumstances." - -"Oh, nonsense! Lord Cumnor has recommended you to his tenants, and -I'm sure he wouldn't like them to be put to any inconvenience. Mr. -Gibson will see that in a moment. He's a man of sense, or else he -wouldn't be our family doctor. Now, what are you going to do about -your little girl? Have you fixed yet?" - -"No. Yesterday there seemed so little time, and when one is agitated -it is so difficult to think of anything. Cynthia is nearly eighteen, -old enough to go out as a governess, if he wishes it, but I don't -think he will. He is so generous and kind." - -"Well! I must give you time to settle some of your affairs to-day. -Don't waste it in sentiment, you're too old for that. Come to a clear -understanding with each other; it will be for your happiness in the -long run." - -So they did come to a clear understanding about one or two things. -To Mrs. Kirkpatrick's dismay, she found that Mr. Gibson had no more -idea than Lady Cumnor of her breaking faith with the parents of her -pupils. Though he really was at a serious loss as to what was to -become of Molly till she could be under the protection of his new -wife at her own home, and though his domestic worries teased him more -and more every day, he was too honourable to think of persuading Mrs. -Kirkpatrick to give up school a week sooner than was right for his -sake. He did not even perceive how easy the task of persuasion would -be; with all her winning wiles she could scarcely lead him to feel -impatience for the wedding to take place at Michaelmas. - -"I can hardly tell you what a comfort and relief it will be to me, -Hyacinth, when you are once my wife--the mistress of my home--poor -little Molly's mother and protector; but I wouldn't interfere with -your previous engagements for the world. It wouldn't be right." - -"Thank you, my own love. How good you are! So many men would think -only of their own wishes and interests! I'm sure the parents of -my dear pupils will admire you--will be quite surprised at your -consideration for their interests." - -"Don't tell them, then. I hate being admired. Why shouldn't you say -it is your wish to keep on your school till they've had time to look -out for another?" - -"Because it isn't," said she, daring all. "I long to be making you -happy; I want to make your home a place of rest and comfort to you; -and I do so wish to cherish your sweet Molly, as I hope to do, when -I come to be her mother. I can't take virtue to myself which doesn't -belong to me. If I have to speak for myself, I shall say, 'Good -people, find a school for your daughters by Michaelmas,--for after -that time I must go and make the happiness of others.' I can't bear -to think of your long rides in November--coming home wet at night -with no one to take care of you. Oh! if you leave it to me, I shall -advise the parents to take their daughters away from the care of one -whose heart will be absent. Though I couldn't consent to any time -before Michaelmas--that wouldn't be fair or right, and I'm sure you -wouldn't urge me--you are too good." - -"Well, if you think that they will consider we have acted uprightly -by them, let it be Michaelmas with all my heart. What does Lady -Cumnor say?" - -"Oh! I told her I was afraid you wouldn't like waiting, because of -your difficulties with your servants, and because of Molly--it would -be so desirable to enter on the new relationship with her as soon as -possible." - -"To be sure; so it would. Poor child! I'm afraid the intelligence of -my engagement has rather startled her." - -"Cynthia will feel it deeply, too," said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, unwilling -to let her daughter be behind Mr. Gibson's in sensibility and -affection. - -"We will have her over to the wedding! She and Molly shall be -bridesmaids," said Mr. Gibson, in the unguarded warmth of his heart. - -This plan did not quite suit Mrs. Kirkpatrick: but she thought it -best not to oppose it, until she had a presentable excuse to give, -and perhaps also some reason would naturally arise out of future -circumstances; so at this time she only smiled, and softly pressed -the hand she held in hers. - -It is a question whether Mrs. Kirkpatrick or Molly wished the most -for the day to be over which they were to spend together at the -Towers. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was rather weary of girls as a class. All -the trials of her life were connected with girls in some way. She was -very young when she first became a governess, and had been worsted -in her struggles with her pupils, in the first place she ever went -to. Her elegance of appearance and manner, and her accomplishments, -more than her character and acquirements, had rendered it easier -for her than for most to obtain good "situations;" and she had been -absolutely petted in some; but still she was constantly encountering -naughty or stubborn, or over-conscientious, or severe-judging, or -curious and observant girls. And again, before Cynthia was born, she -had longed for a boy, thinking it possible that if some three or -four intervening relations died, he might come to be a baronet; and -instead of a son, lo and behold it was a daughter! Nevertheless, with -all her dislike to girls in the abstract as "the plagues of her life" -(and her aversion was not diminished by the fact of her having kept -a school for "young ladies" at Ashcombe), she really meant to be as -kind as she could be to her new step-daughter, whom she remembered -principally as a black-haired, sleepy child, in whose eyes she had -read admiration of herself. Mrs. Kirkpatrick accepted Mr. Gibson -principally because she was tired of the struggle of earning her own -livelihood; but she liked him personally--nay, she even loved him in -her torpid way, and she intended to be good to his daughter, though -she felt as if it would have been easier for her to have been good to -his son. - -Molly was bracing herself up in her way too. "I will be like Harriet. -I will think of others. I won't think of myself," she kept repeating -all the way to the Towers. But there was no selfishness in wishing -that the day was come to an end, and that she did very heartily. Mrs. -Hamley sent her thither in the carriage, which was to wait and bring -her back at night. Mrs. Hamley wanted Molly to make a favourable -impression, and she sent for her to come and show herself before she -set out. - -"Don't put on your silk gown--your white muslin will look the nicest, -my dear." - -"Not my silk? it is quite new! I had it to come here." - -"Still, I think your white muslin suits you the best." "Anything but -that horrid plaid silk" was the thought in Mrs. Hamley's mind; and, -thanks to her, Molly set off for the Towers, looking a little quaint, -it is true, but thoroughly lady-like, if she was old-fashioned. Her -father was to meet her there; but he had been detained, and she had -to face Mrs. Kirkpatrick by herself, the recollection of her last -day of misery at the Towers fresh in her mind as if it had been -yesterday. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was as caressing as could be. She held -Molly's hand in hers, as they sate together in the library, after the -first salutations were over. She kept stroking it from time to time, -and purring out inarticulate sounds of loving satisfaction, as she -gazed in the blushing face. - - -[Illustration: THE NEW MAMMA.] - - -"What eyes! so like your dear father's! How we shall love each -other--shan't we, darling? For his sake!" - -"I'll try," said Molly, bravely; and then she could not finish her -sentence. - -"And you've just got the same beautiful black curling hair!" said -Mrs. Kirkpatrick, softly lifting one of Molly's curls from off her -white temple. - -"Papa's hair is growing grey," said Molly. - -"Is it? I never see it. I never shall see it. He will always be to me -the handsomest of men." - -Mr. Gibson was really a very handsome man, and Molly was pleased with -the compliment; but she could not help saying,-- - -"Still he will grow old, and his hair will grow grey. I think he will -be just as handsome, but it won't be as a young man." - -"Ah! that's just it, love. He'll always be handsome; some people -always are. And he is so fond of you, dear." Molly's colour flashed -into her face. She did not want an assurance of her own father's love -from this strange woman. She could not help being angry; all she -could do was to keep silent. "You don't know how he speaks of you; -'his little treasure,' as he calls you. I'm almost jealous -sometimes." - -Molly took her hand away, and her heart began to harden; these -speeches were so discordant to her. But she set her teeth together, -and "tried to be good." - -"We must make him so happy. I'm afraid he has had a great deal to -annoy him at home; but we will do away with all that now. You must -tell me," seeing the cloud in Molly's eyes, "what he likes and -dislikes, for of course you will know." - -Molly's face cleared a little; of course she did know. She had not -watched and loved him so long without believing that she understood -him better than any one else: though how he had come to like Mrs. -Kirkpatrick enough to wish to marry her, was an unsolved problem that -she unconsciously put aside as inexplicable. Mrs. Kirkpatrick went -on,--"All men have their fancies and antipathies, even the wisest. -I have known some gentlemen annoyed beyond measure by the merest -trifles; leaving a door open, or spilling tea in their saucers, or -a shawl crookedly put on. Why," continued she, lowering her voice, -"I know of a house to which Lord Hollingford will never be asked -again because he didn't wipe his shoes on both the mats in the hall! -Now you must tell me what your dear father dislikes most in these -fanciful ways, and I shall take care to avoid it. You must be my -little friend and helper in pleasing him. It will be such a pleasure -to me to attend to his slightest fancies. About my dress, too--what -colours does he like best? I want to do everything in my power with a -view to his approval." - -Molly was gratified by all this, and began to think that really, -after all, perhaps her father had done well for himself; and that -if she could help towards his new happiness, she ought to do it. So -she tried very conscientiously to think over Mr. Gibson's wishes and -ways; to ponder over what annoyed him the most in his household. - -"I think," said she, "papa isn't particular about many things; but I -think our not having the dinner quite punctual--quite ready for him -when he comes in, fidgets him more than anything. You see, he has -often had a long ride, and there is another long ride to come, and he -has only half-an-hour--sometimes only a quarter--to eat his dinner -in." - -"Thank you, my own love. Punctuality! Yes; it's a great thing in a -household. It's what I've had to enforce with my young ladies at -Ashcombe. No wonder poor dear Mr. Gibson has been displeased at his -dinner not being ready, and he so hard-worked!" - -"Papa doesn't care what he has, if it's only ready. He would take -bread-and-cheese, if cook would only send it in instead of dinner." - -"Bread-and-cheese! Does Mr. Gibson eat cheese?" - -"Yes; he's very fond of it," said Molly, innocently. "I've known -him eat toasted cheese when he has been too tired to fancy anything -else." - -"Oh! but, my dear, we must change all that. I shouldn't like to -think of your father eating cheese; it's such a strong-smelling, -coarse kind of thing. We must get him a cook who can toss him up an -omelette, or something elegant. Cheese is only fit for the kitchen." - -"Papa is very fond of it," persevered Molly. - -"Oh! but we will cure him of that. I couldn't bear the smell of -cheese; and I'm sure he would be sorry to annoy me." - -Molly was silent; it did not do, she found, to be too minute in -telling about her father's likes or dislikes. She had better leave -them for Mrs. Kirkpatrick to find out for herself. It was an awkward -pause; each was trying to find something agreeable to say. Molly -spoke at length. "Please! I should so like to know something about -Cynthia--your daughter." - -"Yes, call her Cynthia. It's a pretty name, isn't it? Cynthia -Kirkpatrick. Not so pretty, though, as my old name, Hyacinth Clare. -People used to say it suited me so well. I must show you an acrostic -that a gentleman--he was a lieutenant in the 53rd--made upon it. Oh! -we shall have a great deal to say to each other, I foresee!" - -"But about Cynthia?" - -"Oh, yes! about dear Cynthia. What do you want to know, my dear?" - -"Papa said she was to live with us! When will she come?" - -"Oh, was it not sweet of your kind father? I thought of nothing -else but Cynthia's going out as a governess when she had completed -her education; she has been brought up for it, and has had great -advantages. But good dear Mr. Gibson wouldn't hear of it. He said -yesterday that she must come and live with us when she left school." - -"When will she leave school?" - -"She went for two years. I don't think I must let her leave before -next summer. She teaches English as well as learning French. Next -summer she shall come home, and then shan't we be a happy little -quartette?" - -"I hope so," said Molly. "But she is to come to the wedding, isn't -she?" she went on timidly, not knowing how far Mrs. Kirkpatrick would -like the allusion to her marriage. - -"Your father has begged for her to come; but we must think about it a -little more before quite fixing it. The journey is a great expense!" - -"Is she like you? I do so want to see her." - -"She is very handsome, people say. In the bright-coloured -style,--perhaps something like what I was. But I like the dark-haired -foreign kind of beauty best--just now," touching Molly's hair, and -looking at her with an expression of sentimental remembrance. - -"Does Cynthia--is she very clever and accomplished?" asked Molly, a -little afraid lest the answer should remove Miss Kirkpatrick at too -great a distance from her. - -"She ought to be; I've paid ever so much money to have her taught by -the best masters. But you will see her before long, and I'm afraid we -must go now to Lady Cumnor. It has been very charming having you all -to myself, but I know Lady Cumnor will be expecting us now, and she -was very curious to see you,--my future daughter, as she calls you." - -Molly followed Mrs. Kirkpatrick into the morning-room, where Lady -Cumnor was sitting--a little annoyed, because, having completed her -toilette earlier than usual, Clare had not been aware by instinct -of the fact, and so had not brought Molly Gibson for inspection a -quarter of an hour before. Every small occurrence is an event in -the day of a convalescent invalid, and a little while ago Molly -would have met with patronizing appreciation, where now she had to -encounter criticism. Of Lady Cumnor's character as an individual she -knew nothing; she only knew she was going to see and be seen by a -live countess; nay, more, by "_the_ countess" of Hollingford. - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick led her into Lady Cumnor's presence by the hand, and -in presenting her, said,--"My dear little daughter, Lady Cumnor!" - -"Now, Clare, don't let me have nonsense. She is not your daughter -yet, and may never be,--I believe that one-third of the engagements -I have heard of, have never come to marriages. Miss Gibson, I am very -glad to see you, for your father's sake; when I know you better, I -hope it will be for your own." - -Molly very heartily hoped that she might never be known any better -by the stern-looking lady who sate so upright in the easy chair, -prepared for lounging, and which therefore gave all the more effect -to the stiff attitude. Lady Cumnor luckily took Molly's silence for -acquiescent humility, and went on speaking after a further little -pause of inspection. - -"Yes, yes, I like her looks, Clare. You may make something of her. -It will be a great advantage to you, my dear, to have a lady who has -trained up several young people of quality always about you just at -the time when you are growing up. I'll tell you what, Clare!"--a -sudden thought striking her,--"you and she must become better -acquainted--you know nothing of each other at present; you are not -to be married till Christmas, and what could be better than that -she should go back with you to Ashcombe! She would be with you -constantly, and have the advantage of the companionship of your young -people, which would be a good thing for an only child! It's a capital -plan; I'm very glad I thought of it!" - -Now it would be difficult to say which of Lady Cumnor's two hearers -was the most dismayed at the idea which had taken possession of -her. Mrs. Kirkpatrick had no fancy for being encumbered with a -step-daughter before her time. If Molly came to be an inmate of her -house, farewell to many little background economies, and a still -more serious farewell to many little indulgences, that were innocent -enough in themselves, but which Mrs. Kirkpatrick's former life -had caused her to look upon as sins to be concealed: the dirty -dog's-eared delightful novel from the Ashcombe circulating library, -the leaves of which she turned over with a pair of scissors; the -lounging-chair which she had for use at her own home, straight and -upright as she sate now in Lady Cumnor's presence; the dainty morsel, -savoury and small, to which she treated herself for her own solitary -supper,--all these and many other similarly pleasant things would -have to be foregone if Molly came to be her pupil, parlour-boarder, -or visitor, as Lady Cumnor was planning. One--two things Clare was -instinctively resolved upon: to be married at Michaelmas, and not -to have Molly at Ashcombe. But she smiled as sweetly as if the plan -proposed was the most charming project in the world, while all the -time her poor brains were beating about in every bush for the reasons -or excuses of which she should make use at some future time. Molly, -however, saved her all this trouble. It was a question which of the -three was the most surprised by the words which burst out of her -lips. She did not mean to speak, but her heart was very full, and -almost before she was aware of her thought she heard herself -saying,-- - -"I don't think it would be nice at all. I mean, my lady, that I -should dislike it very much; it would be taking me away from papa -just these very few last months. I will like you," she went on, -her eyes full of tears; and, turning to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, she put -her hand into her future stepmother's with the prettiest and most -trustful action. "I will try hard to love you, and to do all I can -to make you happy; but you must not take me away from papa just this -very last bit of time that I shall have him." - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick fondled the hand thus placed in hers, and was -grateful to the girl for her outspoken opposition to Lady Cumnor's -plan. Clare was, however, exceedingly unwilling to back up Molly -by any words of her own until Lady Cumnor had spoken and given the -cue. But there was something in Molly's little speech, or in her -straightforward manner, that amused instead of irritating Lady Cumnor -in her present mood. Perhaps she was tired of the silkiness with -which she had been shut up for so many days. - -She put up her glasses, and looked at them both before speaking. Then -she said--"Upon my word, young lady! Why, Clare, you've got your work -before you! Not but what there is a good deal of truth in what she -says. It must be very disagreeable to a girl of her age to have a -stepmother coming in between her father and herself, whatever may be -the advantages to her in the long run." - -Molly almost felt as if she could make a friend of the stiff old -countess, for her clearness of sight as to the plan proposed being -a trial; but she was afraid, in her new-born desire of thinking for -others, of Mrs. Kirkpatrick being hurt. She need not have feared as -far as outward signs went, for the smile was still on that lady's -pretty rosy lips, and the soft fondling of her hand never stopped. -Lady Cumnor was more interested in Molly the more she looked at her; -and her gaze was pretty steady through her gold-rimmed eye-glasses. -She began a sort of catechism; a string of very straightforward -questions, such as any lady under the rank of countess might have -scrupled to ask, but which were not unkindly meant. - -"You are sixteen, are you not?" - -"No; I am seventeen. My birthday was three weeks ago." - -"Very much the same thing, I should think. Have you ever been to -school?" - -"No, never! Miss Eyre has taught me everything I know." - -"Umph! Miss Eyre was your governess, I suppose? I should not have -thought your father could have afforded to keep a governess. But of -course he must know his own affairs best." - -"Certainly, my lady," replied Molly, a little touchy as to any -reflections on her father's wisdom. - -"You say 'certainly!' as if it was a matter of course that every -one should know their own affairs best. You are very young, Miss -Gibson--very. You'll know better before you come to my age. And I -suppose you've been taught music, and the use of globes, and French, -and all the usual accomplishments, since you have had a governess? I -never heard of such nonsense!" she went on, lashing herself up. "An -only daughter! If there had been half-a-dozen, there might have been -some sense in it." - -Molly did not speak, but it was by a strong effort that she kept -silence. Mrs. Kirkpatrick fondled her hand more perseveringly than -ever, hoping thus to express a sufficient amount of sympathy to -prevent her from saying anything injudicious. But the caress had -become wearisome to Molly, and only irritated her nerves. She took -her hand out of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's, with a slight manifestation of -impatience. - -It was, perhaps, fortunate for the general peace that just at this -moment Mr. Gibson was announced. It is odd enough to see how the -entrance of a person of the opposite sex into an assemblage of either -men or women calms down the little discordances and the disturbance -of mood. It was the case now; at Mr. Gibson's entrance my lady took -off her glasses, and smoothed her brow; Mrs. Kirkpatrick managed -to get up a very becoming blush, and as for Molly, her face glowed -with delight, and the white teeth and pretty dimples came out like -sunlight on a landscape. - -Of course, after the first greeting, my lady had to have a private -interview with her doctor; and Molly and her future stepmother -wandered about in the gardens with their arms round each other's -waists, or hand in hand, like two babes in the wood; Mrs. Kirkpatrick -active in such endearments, Molly passive, and feeling within herself -very shy and strange; for she had that particular kind of shy modesty -which makes any one uncomfortable at receiving caresses from a person -towards whom the heart does not go forth with an impulsive welcome. - -Then came the early dinner; Lady Cumnor having hers in the quiet of -her own room, to which she was still a prisoner. Once or twice during -the meal, the idea crossed Molly's mind that her father disliked his -position as a middle-aged lover being made so evident to the men in -waiting as it was by Mrs. Kirkpatrick's affectionate speeches and -innuendos. He tried to banish every tint of pink sentimentalism from -the conversation, and to confine it to matter of fact; and when Mrs. -Kirkpatrick would persevere in referring to such things as had a -bearing on the future relationship of the parties, he insisted upon -viewing them in the most matter-of-fact way; and this continued even -after the men had left the room. An old rhyme Molly had heard Betty -use, would keep running in her head and making her uneasy,-- - - Two is company, - Three is trumpery. - -But where could she go to in that strange house? What ought she to -do? She was roused from this fit of wonder and abstraction by her -father's saying--"What do you think of this plan of Lady Cumnor's? -She says she was advising you to have Molly as a visitor at Ashcombe -until we are married." - -Mrs. Kirkpatrick's countenance fell. If only Molly would be so good -as to testify again, as she had done before Lady Cumnor! But if the -proposal was made by her father, it would come to his daughter from -a different quarter than it had done from a strange lady, be she -ever so great. Molly did not say anything; she only looked pale, and -wistful, and anxious. Mrs. Kirkpatrick had to speak for herself. - -"It would be a charming plan, only--Well! we know why we would rather -not have it, don't we, love? And we won't tell papa, for fear of -making him vain. No! I think I must leave her with you, dear Mr. -Gibson, to have you all to herself for these last few weeks. It would -be cruel to take her away." - -"But you know, my dear, I told you of the reason why it does not do -to have Molly at home just at present," said Mr. Gibson, eagerly. For -the more he knew of his future wife, the more he felt it necessary -to remember that, with all her foibles, she would be able to stand -between Molly and any such adventures as that which had occurred -lately with Mr. Coxe; so that one of the good reasons for the step he -had taken was always present to him, while it had slipped off the -smooth surface of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's mirror-like mind without leaving -any impression. She now recalled it, on seeing Mr. Gibson's anxious -face. - -But what were Molly's feelings at these last words of her father's? -She had been sent from home for some reason, kept a secret from her, -but told to this strange woman. Was there to be perfect confidence -between these two, and she to be for ever shut out? Was she, and what -concerned her--though how she did not know--to be discussed between -them for the future, and she to be kept in the dark? A bitter pang -of jealousy made her heart-sick. She might as well go to Ashcombe, -or anywhere else, now. Thinking more of others' happiness than -of her own was very fine; but did it not mean giving up her very -individuality, quenching all the warm love, the true desires, that -made her herself? Yet in this deadness lay her only comfort; or so it -seemed. Wandering in such mazes, she hardly knew how the conversation -went on; a third was indeed "trumpery," where there was entire -confidence between the two who were company, from which the other was -shut out. She was positively unhappy, and her father did not appear -to see it; he was absorbed with his new plans and his new wife that -was to be. But he did notice it; and was truly sorry for his little -girl: only he thought that there was a greater chance for the future -harmony of the household, if he did not lead Molly to define her -present feelings by putting them into words. It was his general plan -to repress emotion by not showing the sympathy he felt. Yet, when he -had to leave, he took Molly's hand in his, and held it there, in such -a different manner to that in which Mrs. Kirkpatrick had done; and -his voice softened to his child as he bade her good-by, and added the -words (most unusual to him), "God bless you, child!" - -Molly had held up all the day bravely; she had not shown anger, or -repugnance, or annoyance, or regret; but when once more by herself in -the Hamley carriage, she burst into a passion of tears, and cried her -fill till she reached the village of Hamley. Then she tried in vain -to smooth her face into smiles, and do away with the other signs of -her grief. She only hoped she could run upstairs to her own room -without notice, and bathe her eyes in cold water before she was seen. -But at the Hall-door she was caught by the squire and Roger coming in -from an after-dinner stroll in the garden, and hospitably anxious to -help her to alight. Roger saw the state of things in an instant, and -saying,-- - -"My mother has been looking for you to come back for this last hour," -he led the way to the drawing-room. But Mrs. Hamley was not there; -the Squire had stopped to speak to the coachman about one of the -horses; they two were alone. Roger said,-- - -"I'm afraid you've had a very trying day. I have thought of you -several times, for I know how awkward these new relations are." - -"Thank you," said she, her lips trembling, and on the point of crying -again. "I did try to remember what you said, and to think more of -others, but it is so difficult sometimes; you know it is, don't you?" - -"Yes," said he, gravely. He was gratified by her simple confession -of having borne his words of advice in mind, and tried to act up to -them. He was but a very young man, and he was honestly flattered; -perhaps this led him on to offer more advice, and this time it was -evidently mingled with sympathy. He did not want to draw out her -confidence, which he felt might very easily be done with such a -simple girl; but he wished to help her by giving her a few of the -principles on which he had learnt to rely. "It is difficult," he went -on, "but by-and-by you will be so much happier for it." - -"No, I shan't!" said Molly, shaking her head. "It will be very dull -when I shall have killed myself, as it were, and live only in trying -to do, and to be, as other people like. I don't see any end to it. -I might as well never have lived. And as for the happiness you speak -of, I shall never be happy again." - -There was an unconscious depth in what she said, that Roger did not -know how to answer at the moment; it was easier to address himself -to the assertion of the girl of seventeen, that she should never be -happy again. - -"Nonsense: perhaps in ten years' time you will be looking back on -this trial as a very light one--who knows?" - -"I daresay it seems foolish; perhaps all our earthly trials will -appear foolish to us after a while; perhaps they seem so now to -angels. But we are ourselves, you know, and this is _now_, not some -time to come, a long, long way off. And we are not angels, to be -comforted by seeing the ends for which everything is sent." - -She had never spoken so long a sentence to him before; and when she -had said it, though she did not take her eyes away from his, as they -stood steadily looking at each other, she blushed a little; she could -not have told why. Nor did he tell himself why a sudden pleasure came -over him as he gazed at her simple expressive face--and for a moment -lost the sense of what she was saying, in the sensation of pity for -her sad earnestness. In an instant more he was himself again. Only -it is pleasant to the wisest, most reasonable youth of one or two -and twenty to find himself looked up to as a Mentor by a girl of -seventeen. - -"I know, I understand. Yes: it is _now_ we have to do with. Don't let -us go into metaphysics." Molly opened her eyes wide at this. Had she -been talking metaphysics without knowing it? "One looks forward to -a mass of trials, which will only have to be encountered one by one, -little by little. Oh, here is my mother! she will tell you better -than I can." - -And the _tête-à-tête_ was merged in a trio. Mrs. Hamley lay down; she -had not been well all day--she had missed Molly, she said,--and now -she wanted to hear of all the adventures that had occurred to the -girl at the Towers. Molly sate on a stool close to the head of the -sofa, and Roger, though at first he took up a book and tried to read -that he might be no restraint, soon found his reading all a pretence: -it was so interesting to listen to Molly's little narrative, and, -besides, if he could give her any help in her time of need, was it -not his duty to make himself acquainted with all the circumstances of -her case? - -And so they went on during all the remaining time of Molly's stay -at Hamley. Mrs. Hamley sympathized, and liked to hear details; as -the French say, her sympathy was given _en détail_, the Squire's -_en gros_. He was very sorry for her evident grief, and almost felt -guilty, as if he had had a share in bringing it about, by the mention -he had made of the possibility of Mr. Gibson's marrying again, when -first Molly came on her visit to them. He said to his wife more than -once,-- - -"'Pon my word, now, I wish I'd never spoken those unlucky words that -first day at dinner. Do you remember how she took them up? It was -like a prophecy of what was to come, now, wasn't it? And she looked -pale from that day, and I don't think she has ever fairly enjoyed her -food since. I must take more care what I say for the future. Not but -what Gibson is doing the very best thing, both for himself and her, -that he can do. I told him so only yesterday. But I'm very sorry for -the little girl, though. I wish I'd never spoken about it, that I do! -but it was like a prophecy, wasn't it?" - -Roger tried hard to find out a reasonable and right method of -comfort, for he, too, in his way, was sorry for the girl, who bravely -struggled to be cheerful, in spite of her own private grief, for his -mother's sake. He felt as if high principle and noble precept ought -to perform an immediate work. But they do not, for there is always -the unknown quantity of individual experience and feeling, which -offer a tacit resistance, the amount incalculable by another, to all -good counsel and high decree. But the bond between the Mentor and his -Telemachus strengthened every day. He endeavoured to lead her out -of morbid thought into interest in other than personal things; and, -naturally enough, his own objects of interest came readiest to hand. -She felt that he did her good, she did not know why or how; but after -a talk with him, she always fancied that she had got the clue to -goodness and peace, whatever befell. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Meanwhile the love-affairs between the middle-aged couple were -prospering well, after a fashion; after the fashion that they liked -best, although it might probably have appeared dull and prosaic to -younger people. Lord Cumnor had come down in great glee at the news -he had heard from his wife at the Towers. He, too, seemed to think he -had taken an active part in bringing about the match by only speaking -about it. His first words on the subject to Lady Cumnor were,-- - -"I told you so. Now didn't I say what a good, suitable thing this -affair between Gibson and Clare would be! I don't know when I've been -so much pleased. You may despise the trade of match-maker, my lady, -but I am very proud of it. After this, I shall go on looking out -for suitable cases among the middle-aged people of my acquaintance. -I shan't meddle with young folks, they are so apt to be fanciful; -but I've been so successful in this, that I do think it's good -encouragement to go on." - -"Go on--with what?" asked Lady Cumnor, drily. - -"Oh, planning,--you can't deny that I planned this match." - -"I don't think you are likely to do either much good or harm by -planning," she replied, with cool, good sense. - -"It puts it into people's heads, my dear." - -"Yes, if you speak about your plans to them, of course it does. But -in this case you never spoke to either Mr. Gibson or Clare, did you?" - -All at once the recollection of how Clare had come upon the passage -in Lord Cumnor's letter flashed on his lady, but she did not say -anything about it, but left her husband to flounder about as best he -might. - -"No! I never spoke to them; of course not." - -"Then you must be strongly mesmeric, and your will acted upon theirs, -if you are to take credit for any part in the affair," continued his -pitiless wife. - -"I really can't say. It's no use looking back to what I said or -did. I'm very well satisfied with it, and that's enough, and I mean -to show them how much I'm pleased. I shall give Clare something -towards her rigging out, and they shall have a breakfast at Ashcombe -Manor-house. I'll write to Preston about it. When did you say they -were to be married?" - -"I think they'd better wait till Christmas, and I have told them so. -It would amuse the children, going over to Ashcombe for the wedding; -and if it's bad weather during the holidays I'm always afraid of -their finding it dull at the Towers. It's very different if it's a -good frost, and they can go out skating and sledging in the park. But -these last two years it has been so wet for them, poor dears!" - -"And will the other poor dears be content to wait to make a holiday -for your grandchildren? 'To make a Roman holiday.' Pope, or somebody -else, has a line of poetry like that. 'To make a Roman holiday,'"--he -repeated, pleased with his unusual aptitude at quotation. - -"It's Byron, and it's nothing to do with the subject in hand. I'm -surprised at your lordship's quoting Byron,--he was a very immoral -poet." - -"I saw him take his oaths in the House of Lords," said Lord Cumnor, -apologetically. - -"Well! the less said about him the better," said Lady Cumnor. "I have -told Clare that she had better not think of being married before -Christmas: and it won't do for her to give up her school in a hurry -either." - -But Clare did not intend to wait till Christmas; and for this once -she carried her point against the will of the countess, and without -many words, or any open opposition. She had a harder task in setting -aside Mr. Gibson's desire to have Cynthia over for the wedding, -even if she went back to her school at Boulogne directly after the -ceremony. At first she had said that it would be delightful, a -charming plan; only she feared that she must give up her own wishes -to have her child near her at such a time, on account of the expense -of the double journey. - -But Mr. Gibson, economical as he was in his habitual expenditure, -had a really generous heart. He had already shown it, in entirely -relinquishing his future wife's life-interest in the very small -property the late Mr. Kirkpatrick had left, in favour of Cynthia; -while he arranged that she should come to his home as a daughter as -soon as she left the school she was at. The life-interest was about -thirty pounds a year. Now he gave Mrs. Kirkpatrick three five-pound -notes, saying that he hoped they would do away with the objections -to Cynthia's coming over to the wedding; and at the time Mrs. -Kirkpatrick felt as if they would, and caught the reflection of his -strong wish, and fancied it was her own. If the letter could have -been written and the money sent off that day while the reflected -glow of affection lasted, Cynthia would have been bridesmaid to -her mother. But a hundred little interruptions came in the way of -letter-writing; and by the next day maternal love had diminished; -and the value affixed to the money had increased: money had been -so much needed, so hardly earned in Mrs. Kirkpatrick's life; while -the perhaps necessary separation of mother and child had lessened -the amount of affection the former had to bestow. So she persuaded -herself, afresh, that it would be unwise to disturb Cynthia at her -studies; to interrupt the fulfilment of her duties just after the -_semestre_ had begun afresh; and she wrote a letter to Madame Lefevre -so well imbued with this persuasion, that an answer which was almost -an echo of her words was returned, the sense of which being conveyed -to Mr. Gibson, who was no great French scholar, settled the vexed -question, to his moderate but unfeigned regret. But the fifteen -pounds were not returned. Indeed, not merely that sum, but a -great part of the hundred which Lord Cumnor had given her for her -trousseau, was required to pay off debts at Ashcombe; for the school -had been anything but flourishing since Mrs. Kirkpatrick had had it. -It was really very much to her credit that she preferred clearing -herself from debt to purchasing wedding finery. But it was one of the -few points to be respected in Mrs. Kirkpatrick that she had always -been careful in payment to the shops where she dealt; it was a little -sense of duty cropping out. Whatever other faults might arise from -her superficial and flimsy character, she was always uneasy till she -was out of debt. Yet she had no scruple in appropriating her future -husband's money to her own use, when it was decided that it was not -to be employed as he intended. What new articles she bought for -herself, were all such as would make a show, and an impression upon -the ladies of Hollingford. She argued with herself that linen, and -all under-clothing, would never be seen; while she knew that every -gown she had, would give rise to much discussion, and would be -counted up in the little town. - -So her stock of underclothing was very small, and scarcely any of it -new; but it was made of dainty material, and was finely mended up -by her deft fingers, many a night long after her pupils were in bed; -inwardly resolving all the time she sewed, that hereafter some one -else should do her plain-work. Indeed, many a little circumstance of -former subjection to the will of others rose up before her during -these quiet hours, as an endurance or a suffering never to occur -again. So apt are people to look forward to a different kind of life -from that to which they have been accustomed, as being free from care -and trial! She recollected how, one time during this very summer at -the Towers, after she was engaged to Mr. Gibson, when she had taken -above an hour to arrange her hair in some new mode carefully studied -from Mrs. Bradley's fashion-book--after all, when she came down, -looking her very best, as she thought, and ready for her lover, Lady -Cumnor had sent her back again to her room, just as if she had been -a little child, to do her hair over again, and not to make such a -figure of fun of herself! Another time she had been sent to change -her gown for one in her opinion far less becoming, but which suited -Lady Cumnor's taste better. These were little things; but they were -late samples of what in different shapes she had had to endure for -many years; and her liking for Mr. Gibson grew in proportion to her -sense of the evils from which he was going to serve as a means of -escape. After all, that interval of hope and plain-sewing, intermixed -though it was with tuition, was not disagreeable. Her wedding-dress -was secure. Her former pupils at the Towers were going to present her -with that; they were to dress her from head to foot on the auspicious -day. Lord Cumnor, as has been said, had given her a hundred pounds -for her trousseau, and had sent Mr. Preston a carte-blanche order for -the wedding-breakfast in the old hall in Ashcombe Manor-house. Lady -Cumnor--a little put out by the marriage not being deferred till -her grandchildren's Christmas holidays--had nevertheless given Mrs. -Kirkpatrick an excellent English-made watch and chain; more clumsy -but more serviceable than the little foreign elegance that had hung -at her side so long, and misled her so often. - -Her preparations were thus in a very considerable state of -forwardness, while Mr. Gibson had done nothing as yet towards any new -arrangement or decoration of his house for his intended bride. He -knew he ought to do something. But what? Where to begin, when so much -was out of order, and he had so little time for superintendence? -At length he came to the wise decision of asking one of the Miss -Brownings, for old friendship's sake, to take the trouble of -preparing what was immediately requisite; and resolved to leave all -the more ornamental decorations that he proposed, to the taste of his -future wife. But before making his request to the Miss Brownings, he -had to tell them of his engagement, which had hitherto been kept a -secret from the townspeople, who had set down his frequent visits -at the Towers to the score of the countess's health. He felt how he -should have laughed in his sleeve at any middle-aged widower who -came to him with a confession of the kind he had now to make to Miss -Brownings, and disliked the idea of the necessary call: but it was to -be done, so one evening he went in "promiscuous," as they called it, -and told them his story. At the end of the first chapter--that is to -say, at the end of the story of Mr. Coxe's calf-love, Miss Browning -held up her hands in surprise. - -"To think of Molly, as I have held in long-clothes, coming to have a -lover! Well, to be sure! Sister Phoebe--" (she was just coming into -the room), "here's a piece of news! Molly Gibson has got a lover! -One may almost say she's had an offer! Mr. Gibson, may not one?--and -she's but sixteen!" - -"Seventeen, sister," said Miss Phoebe, who piqued herself on -knowing all about dear Mr. Gibson's domestic affairs. "Seventeen, the -22nd of last June." - -"Well, have it your own way. Seventeen, if you like to call her so!" -said Miss Browning, impatiently. "The fact is still the same--she's -got a lover; and it seems to me she was in long-clothes only -yesterday." - -"I'm sure I hope her course of true love will run smooth," said Miss -Phoebe. - -Now Mr. Gibson came in; for his story was not half told, and he -did not want them to run away too far with the idea of Molly's -love-affair. - -"Molly knows nothing about it. I haven't even named it to any one -but you two, and to one other friend. I trounced Coxe well, and did -my best to keep his attachment--as he calls it--in bounds. But I -was sadly puzzled what to do about Molly. Miss Eyre was away, and I -couldn't leave them in the house together without any older woman." - -"Oh, Mr. Gibson! why did you not send her to us?" broke in Miss -Browning. "We would have done anything in our power for you; for your -sake, as well as her poor dear mother's." - -"Thank you. I know you would, but it wouldn't have done to have had -her in Hollingford, just at the time of Coxe's effervescence. He's -better now. His appetite has come back with double force, after the -fasting he thought it right to exhibit. He had three helpings of -black-currant dumpling yesterday." - -"I am sure you are most liberal, Mr. Gibson. Three helpings! And, I -daresay, butcher's meat in proportion?" - -"Oh! I only named it because, with such very young men, it's -generally see-saw between appetite and love, and I thought the third -helping a very good sign. But still, you know, what has happened -once, may happen again." - -"I don't know. Phoebe had an offer of marriage once--" said Miss -Browning. - -"Hush! sister. It might hurt his feelings to have it spoken about." - -"Nonsense, child! It's five-and-twenty years ago; and his eldest -daughter is married herself." - -"I own he has not been constant," pleaded Miss Phoebe, in -her tender, piping voice. "All men are not--like you, Mr. -Gibson--faithful to the memory of their first-love." - -Mr. Gibson winced. Jeannie was his first love; but her name had never -been breathed in Hollingford. His wife--good, pretty, sensible, and -beloved as she had been--was not his second; no, nor his third love. -And now he was come to make a confidence about his second marriage. - -"Well, well," said he; "at any rate, I thought I must do something to -protect Molly from such affairs while she was so young, and before I -had given my sanction. Miss Eyre's little nephew fell ill of scarlet -fever--" - -"Ah! by-the-by, how careless of me not to inquire. How is the poor -little fellow?" - -"Worse--better. It doesn't signify to what I've got to say now; the -fact was, Miss Eyre couldn't come back to my house for some time, and -I cannot leave Molly altogether at Hamley." - -"Ah! I see now, why there was that sudden visit to Hamley. Upon my -word, it's quite a romance." - -"I do like hearing of a love-affair," murmured Miss Phoebe. - -"Then if you'll let me get on with my story, you shall hear of mine," -said Mr. Gibson, quite beyond his patience with their constant -interruptions. - -"Yours!" said Miss Phoebe, faintly. - -"Bless us and save us!" said Miss Browning, with less sentiment in -her tone; "what next?" - -"My marriage, I hope," said Mr. Gibson, choosing to take her -expression of intense surprise literally. "And that's what I came to -speak to you about." - -A little hope darted up in Miss Phoebe's breast. She had often said -to her sister, in the confidence of curling-time (ladies wore curls -in those days), "that the only man who could ever bring her to think -of matrimony was Mr. Gibson; but that if he ever proposed, she -should feel bound to accept him, for poor dear Mary's sake;" never -explaining what exact style of satisfaction she imagined she should -give to her dead friend by marrying her late husband. Phoebe played -nervously with the strings of her black silk apron. Like the Caliph -in the Eastern story, a whole lifetime of possibilities passed -through her mind in an instant, of which possibilities the question -of questions was, Could she leave her sister? Attend, Phoebe, to -the present moment, and listen to what is being said before you -distress yourself with a perplexity which will never arise. - -"Of course it has been an anxious thing for me to decide who I should -ask to be the mistress of my family, the mother of my girl; but I -think I've decided rightly at last. The lady I have chosen--" - -"Tell us at once who she is, there's a good man," said -straight-forward Miss Browning. - -"Mrs. Kirkpatrick," said the bridegroom elect. - -"What! the governess at the Towers, that the countess makes so much -of?" - -"Yes; she is much valued by them--and deservedly so. She keeps a -school now at Ashcombe, and is accustomed to housekeeping. She has -brought up the young ladies at the Towers, and has a daughter of her -own, therefore it is probable she will have a kind, motherly feeling -towards Molly." - -"She's a very elegant-looking woman," said Miss Phoebe, feeling it -incumbent upon her to say something laudatory, by way of concealing -the thoughts that had just been passing through her mind. "I've seen -her in the carriage, riding backwards with the countess: a very -pretty woman, I should say." - -"Nonsense, sister," said Miss Browning. "What has her elegance or -prettiness to do with the affair? Did you ever know a widower marry -again for such trifles as those? It's always from a sense of duty of -one kind or another--isn't it, Mr. Gibson? They want a housekeeper; -or they want a mother for their children; or they think their last -wife would have liked it." - -Perhaps the thought had passed through the elder sister's mind that -Phoebe might have been chosen, for there was a sharp acrimony in -her tone; not unfamiliar to Mr. Gibson, but with which he did not -choose to cope at this present moment. - -"You must have it your own way, Miss Browning. Settle my motives for -me. I don't pretend to be quite clear about them myself. But I am -clear in wishing heartily to keep my old friends, and for them to -love my future wife for my sake. I don't know any two women in the -world, except Molly and Mrs. Kirkpatrick, I regard as much as I do -you. Besides, I want to ask you if you will let Molly come and stay -with you till after my marriage?" - -"You might have asked us before you asked Madam Hamley," said Miss -Browning, only half mollified. "We are your old friends; and we were -her mother's friends, too; though we are not county folk." - -"That's unjust," said Mr. Gibson. "And you know it is." - -"I don't know. You are always with Lord Hollingford, when you can -get at him, much more than you ever are with Mr. Goodenough, or Mr. -Smith. And you are always going over to Hamley." - -Miss Browning was not one to give in all at once. - -"I seek Lord Hollingford as I should seek such a man, whatever his -rank or position might be: usher to a school, carpenter, shoemaker, -if it were possible for them to have had a similar character of mind -developed by similar advantages. Mr. Goodenough is a very clever -attorney, with strong local interests and not a thought beyond." - -"Well, well, don't go on arguing, it always gives me a headache, as -Phoebe knows. I didn't mean what I said, that's enough, isn't it? -I'll retract anything sooner than be reasoned with. Where were we -before you began your arguments?" - -"About dear little Molly coming to pay us a visit," said Miss -Phoebe. - -"I should have asked you at first, only Coxe was so rampant with his -love. I didn't know what he might do, or how troublesome he might be -both to Molly and you. But he has cooled down now. Absence has had -a very tranquillizing effect, and I think Molly may be in the same -town with him, without any consequences beyond a few sighs every time -she's brought to his mind by meeting her. And I've got another favour -to ask of you, so you see it would never do for me to argue with you, -Miss Browning, when I ought to be a humble suppliant. Something must -be done to the house to make it all ready for the future Mrs. Gibson. -It wants painting and papering shamefully, and I should think some -new furniture, but I'm sure I don't know what. Would you be so very -kind as to look over the place, and see how far a hundred pounds -will go? The dining-room walls must be painted; we'll keep the -drawing-room paper for her choice, and I've a little spare money for -that room for her to lay out; but all the rest of the house I'll -leave to you, if you'll only be kind enough to help an old friend." - -This was a commission which exactly gratified Miss Browning's love -of power. The disposal of money involved patronage of trades people, -such as she had exercised in her father's lifetime, but had had very -little chance of showing since his death. Her usual good-humour was -quite restored by this proof of confidence in her taste and economy, -while Miss Phoebe's imagination dwelt rather on the pleasure of a -visit from Molly. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -MOLLY GIBSON'S NEW FRIENDS. - - -Time was speeding on; it was now the middle of August,--if anything -was to be done to the house, it must be done at once. Indeed, in -several ways Mr. Gibson's arrangements with Miss Browning had not -been made too soon. The squire had heard that Osborne might probably -return home for a few days before going abroad; and, though the -growing intimacy between Roger and Molly did not alarm him in the -least, yet he was possessed by a very hearty panic lest the heir -might take a fancy to the surgeon's daughter; and he was in such a -fidget for her to leave the house before Osborne came home, that his -wife lived in constant terror lest he should make it too obvious to -their visitor. - -Every young girl of seventeen or so, who is at all thoughtful, is -very apt to make a Pope out of the first person who presents to -her a new or larger system of duty than that by which she has been -unconsciously guided hitherto. Such a Pope was Roger to Molly; she -looked to his opinion, to his authority on almost every subject, yet -he had only said one or two things in a terse manner which gave them -the force of precepts--stable guides to her conduct--and had shown -the natural superiority in wisdom and knowledge which is sure to -exist between a highly educated young man of no common intelligence, -and an ignorant girl of seventeen, who yet was well capable of -appreciation. Still, although they were drawn together in this very -pleasant relationship, each was imagining some one very different for -the future owner of their whole heart--their highest and completest -love. Roger looked to find a grand woman, his equal, and his empress; -beautiful in person, serene in wisdom, ready for counsel, as was -Egeria. Molly's little wavering maiden fancy dwelt on the unseen -Osborne, who was now a troubadour, and now a knight, such as he wrote -about in one of his own poems; some one like Osborne, perhaps, rather -than Osborne himself, for she shrank from giving a personal form -and name to the hero that was to be. The squire was not unwise in -wishing her well out of the house before Osborne came home, if he was -considering her peace of mind. Yet, when she went away from the hall -he missed her constantly; it had been so pleasant to have her there -fulfilling all the pretty offices of a daughter; cheering the meals, -so often tête-à-tête betwixt him and Roger, with her innocent wise -questions, her lively interest in their talk, her merry replies to -his banter. - -And Roger missed her too. Sometimes her remarks had probed into his -mind, and excited him to the deep thought in which he delighted; at -other times he had felt himself of real help to her in her hours of -need, and in making her take an interest in books, which treated of -higher things than the continual fiction and poetry which she had -hitherto read. He felt something like an affectionate tutor suddenly -deprived of his most promising pupil; he wondered how she would go -on without him; whether she would be puzzled and disheartened by the -books he had lent her to read; how she and her stepmother would get -along together? She occupied his thoughts a good deal those first -few days after she left the hall. Mrs. Hamley regretted her more, -and longer than did the other two. She had given her the place of -a daughter in her heart; and now she missed the sweet feminine -companionship, the playful caresses, the never-ceasing attentions; -the very need of sympathy in her sorrows, that Molly had shown so -openly from time to time; all these things had extremely endeared her -to the tender-hearted Mrs. Hamley. - -Molly, too, felt the change of atmosphere keenly; and she blamed -herself for so feeling even more keenly still. But she could not -help having a sense of refinement, which had made her appreciate the -whole manner of being at the Hall. By her dear old friends the Miss -Brownings she was petted and caressed so much that she became ashamed -of noticing the coarser and louder tones in which they spoke, the -provincialism of their pronunciation, the absence of interest in -things, and their greediness of details about persons. They asked her -questions which she was puzzled enough to answer about her future -stepmother; her loyalty to her father forbidding her to reply fully -and truthfully. She was always glad when they began to make inquiries -as to every possible affair at the Hall. She had been so happy there; -she had liked them all, down to the very dogs, so thoroughly, that it -was easy work replying: she did not mind telling them everything, -even to the style of Mrs. Hamley's invalid dress; nor what wine the -squire drank at dinner. Indeed, talking about these things helped -her to recall the happiest time in her life. But one evening, as -they were all sitting together after tea in the little upstairs -drawing-room, looking into the High Street--Molly discoursing away on -the various pleasures of Hamley Hall, and just then telling of all -Roger's wisdom in natural science, and some of the curiosities he had -shown her, she was suddenly pulled up by this little speech,-- - -"You seem to have seen a great deal of Mr. Roger, Molly!" said Miss -Browning, in a way intended to convey a great deal of meaning to her -sister and none at all to Molly. But-- - - The man recovered of the bite; - The dog it was that died. - -Molly was perfectly aware of Miss Browning's emphatic tone, though at -first she was perplexed as to its cause; while Miss Phoebe was just -then too much absorbed in knitting the heel of her stocking to be -fully alive to her sister's nods and winks. - -"Yes; he was very kind to me," said Molly, slowly, pondering over -Miss Browning's manner, and unwilling to say more until she had -satisfied herself to what the question tended. - -"I daresay you will soon be going to Hamley Hall again? He's not -the eldest son, you know, Phoebe! Don't make my head ache with your -eternal 'eighteen, nineteen,' but attend to the conversation. Molly -is telling us how much she saw of Mr. Roger, and how kind he was to -her. I've always heard he was a very nice young man, my dear. Tell -us some more about him! Now, Phoebe, attend! How was he kind to you, -Molly?" - -"Oh, he told me what books to read; and one day he made me notice how -many bees I saw--" - -"Bees, child! What do you mean? Either you or he must have been -crazy!" - -"No, not at all. There are more than two hundred kinds of bees in -England, and he wanted me to notice the difference between them and -flies. Miss Browning, I can't help seeing what you fancy," said -Molly, as red as fire, "but it is very wrong; it is all a mistake. I -won't speak another word about Mr. Roger or Hamley at all, if it puts -such silly notions into your head." - -"Highty-tighty! Here's a young lady to be lecturing her elders! Silly -notions indeed! They are in your head, it seems. And let me tell you, -Molly, you are too young to let your mind be running on lovers." - -Molly had been once or twice called saucy and impertinent, and -certainly a little sauciness came out now. - -"I never said what the 'silly notion' was, Miss Browning; did I now, -Miss Phoebe? Don't you see, dear Miss Phoebe, it is all her own -interpretation, and according to her own fancy, this foolish talk -about lovers?" - -Molly was flaming with indignation; but she had appealed to the -wrong person for justice. Miss Phoebe tried to make peace after the -fashion of weak-minded people, who would cover over the unpleasant -sight of a sore, instead of trying to heal it. - -"I'm sure I don't know anything about it, my dear. It seems to me -that what Dorothy was saying was very true--very true indeed; and I -think, love, you misunderstood her; or, perhaps, she misunderstood -you; or I may be misunderstanding it altogether; so we'd better not -talk any more about it. What price did you say you were going to give -for the drugget in Mr. Gibson's dining-room, sister?" - -So Miss Browning and Molly went on till evening, each chafed and -angry with the other. They wished each other good-night, going -through the usual forms in the coolest manner possible. Molly went -up to her little bedroom, clean and neat as a bedroom could be, with -draperies of small delicate patchwork--bed-curtains, window-curtains, -and counterpane; a japanned toilette-table, full of little boxes, -with a small looking-glass affixed to it, that distorted every face -that was so unwise as to look in it. This room had been to the child -one of the most dainty and luxurious places ever seen, in comparison -with her own bare, white-dimity bedroom; and now she was sleeping in -it, as a guest, and all the quaint adornments she had once peeped at -as a great favour, as they were carefully wrapped up in cap-paper, -were set out for her use. And yet how little she had deserved this -hospitable care; how impertinent she had been; how cross she had felt -ever since! She was crying tears of penitence and youthful misery -when there came a low tap to the door. Molly opened it, and there -stood Miss Browning, in a wonderful erection of a nightcap, and -scantily attired in a coloured calico jacket over her scrimpy and -short white petticoat. - -"I was afraid you were asleep, child," said she, coming in and -shutting the door. "But I wanted to say to you we've got wrong -to-day, somehow; and I think it was perhaps my doing. It's as well -Phoebe shouldn't know, for she thinks me perfect; and when there's -only two of us, we get along better if one of us thinks the other -can do no wrong. But I rather think I was a little cross. We'll not -say any more about it, Molly; only we'll go to sleep friends,--and -friends we'll always be, child, won't we? Now give me a kiss, -and don't cry and swell your eyes up;--and put out your candle -carefully." - -"I was wrong--it was my fault," said Molly, kissing her. - -"Fiddlestick-ends! Don't contradict me! I say it was my fault, and -I won't hear another word about it." - -The next day Molly went with Miss Browning to see the changes going -on in her father's house. To her they were but dismal improvements. -The faint grey of the dining-room walls, which had harmonized well -enough with the deep crimson of the moreen curtains, and which -when well cleaned looked thinly coated rather than dirty, was now -exchanged for a pink salmon-colour of a very glowing hue; and the -new curtains were of that pale sea-green just coming into fashion. -"Very bright and pretty," Miss Browning called it; and in the first -renewing of their love Molly could not bear to contradict her. She -could only hope that the green and brown drugget would tone down the -brightness and prettiness. There was scaffolding here, scaffolding -there, and Betty scolding everywhere. - -"Come up now, and see your papa's bedroom. He's sleeping upstairs in -yours, that everything may be done up afresh in his." - -Molly could just remember, in faint clear lines of distinctness, the -being taken into this very room to bid farewell to her dying mother. -She could see the white linen, the white muslin, surrounding the -pale, wan wistful face, with the large, longing eyes, yearning for -one more touch of the little soft warm child, whom she was too feeble -to clasp in her arms, already growing numb in death. Many a time when -Molly had been in this room since that sad day, had she seen in vivid -fancy that same wan wistful face lying on the pillow, the outline -of the form beneath the clothes; and the girl had not shrunk from -such visions, but rather cherished them, as preserving to her the -remembrance of her mother's outward semblance. Her eyes were full of -tears, as she followed Miss Browning into this room to see it under -its new aspect. Nearly everything was changed--the position of the -bed and the colour of the furniture; there was a grand toilette-table -now, with a glass upon it, instead of the primitive substitute of the -top of a chest of drawers, with a mirror above upon the wall, sloping -downwards; these latter things had served her mother during her short -married life. - -"You see, we must have all in order for a lady who has passed so -much of her time in the countess's mansion," said Miss Browning, who -was now quite reconciled to the marriage, thanks to the pleasant -employment of furnishing that had devolved upon her in consequence. -"Cromer, the upholsterer, wanted to persuade me to have a sofa and a -writing-table. These men will say anything is the fashion, if they -want to sell an article. I said, 'No, no, Cromer: bedrooms are for -sleeping in, and sitting-rooms are for sitting in. Keep everything to -its right purpose, and don't try and delude me into nonsense.' Why, -my mother would have given us a fine scolding if she had ever caught -us in our bedrooms in the daytime. We kept our out-door things in -a closet downstairs; and there was a very tidy place for washing -our hands, which is as much as one wants in the daytime. Stuffing -up a bedroom with sofas and tables! I never heard of such a thing. -Besides, a hundred pounds won't last for ever. I sha'n't be able to -do anything for your room, Molly!" - -"I'm right down glad of it," said Molly. "Nearly everything in it was -what mamma had when she lived with my great-uncle. I wouldn't have -had it changed for the world; I am so fond of it." - -"Well, there's no danger of it, now the money is run out. By the way, -Molly, who's to buy you a bridesmaid's dress?" - -"I don't know," said Molly; "I suppose I am to be a bridesmaid; but -no one has spoken to me about my dress." - -"Then I shall ask your papa." - -"Please, don't. He must have to spend a great deal of money just now. -Besides, I would rather not be at the wedding, if they'll let me stay -away." - -"Nonsense, child. Why, all the town would be talking of it. You must -go, and you must be well dressed, for your father's sake." - -But Mr. Gibson had thought of Molly's dress, although he had said -nothing about it to her. He had commissioned his future wife to get -her what was requisite; and presently a very smart dressmaker came -over from the county-town to try on a dress, which was both so simple -and so elegant as at once to charm Molly. When it came home all ready -to put on, Molly had a private dressing-up for the Miss Brownings' -benefit; and she was almost startled when she looked into the glass, -and saw the improvement in her appearance. "I wonder if I'm pretty," -thought she. "I almost think I am--in this kind of dress I mean, of -course. Betty would say, 'Fine feathers make fine birds.'" - -When she went downstairs in her bridal attire, and with shy blushes -presented herself for inspection, she was greeted with a burst of -admiration. - -"Well, upon my word! I shouldn't have known you." ("Fine feathers," -thought Molly, and checked her rising vanity.) - -"You are really beautiful--isn't she, sister?" said Miss Phoebe. -"Why, my dear, if you were always dressed, you would be prettier than -your dear mamma, whom we always reckoned so very personable." - -"You're not a bit like her. You favour your father, and white always -sets off a brown complexion." - -"But isn't she beautiful?" persevered Miss Phoebe. - -"Well! and if she is, Providence made her, and not she herself. -Besides, the dressmaker must go shares. What a fine India muslin it -is! it'll have cost a pretty penny!" - -Mr. Gibson and Molly drove over to Ashcombe, the night before the -wedding, in the one yellow post-chaise that Hollingford possessed. -They were to be Mr. Preston's, or, rather, my lord's guests at the -Manor-house. The Manor-house came up to its name, and delighted Molly -at first sight. It was built of stone, had many gables and mullioned -windows, and was covered over with Virginian creeper and late-blowing -roses. Molly did not know Mr. Preston, who stood in the doorway -to greet her father. She took standing with him as a young lady -at once, and it was the first time she had met with the kind of -behaviour--half complimentary, half flirting--which some men think -it necessary to assume with every woman under five-and-twenty. Mr. -Preston was very handsome, and knew it. He was a fair man, with -light-brown hair and whiskers; grey, roving, well-shaped eyes, with -lashes darker than his hair; and a figure rendered easy and supple by -the athletic exercises in which his excellence was famous, and which -had procured him admission into much higher society than he was -otherwise entitled to enter. He was a capital cricketer; was so good -a shot, that any house desirous of reputation for its bags on the -12th or the 1st, was glad to have him for a guest. He taught young -ladies to play billiards on a wet day, or went in for the game in -serious earnest when required. He knew half the private theatrical -plays off by heart, and was invaluable in arranging impromptu -charades and tableaux. He had his own private reasons for wishing -to get up a flirtation with Molly just at this time; he had amused -himself so much with the widow when she first came to Ashcombe, that -he fancied that the sight of him, standing by her less polished, less -handsome, middle-aged husband, might be too much of a contrast to be -agreeable. Besides, he had really a strong passion for some one else; -some one who would be absent; and that passion it was necessary for -him to conceal. So that, altogether, he had resolved, even had "the -little Gibson-girl" (as he called her) been less attractive than she -was, to devote himself to her for the next sixteen hours. - -They were taken by their host into a wainscoted parlour, where a -wood fire crackled and burnt, and the crimson curtains shut out the -waning day and the outer chill. Here the table was laid for dinner; -snowy table-linen, bright silver, clear sparkling glass, wine and an -autumnal dessert on the sideboard. Yet Mr. Preston kept apologizing -to Molly for the rudeness of his bachelor home, for the smallness of -the room, the great dining-room being already appropriated by his -housekeeper, in preparation for the morrow's breakfast. And then he -rang for a servant to show Molly to her room. She was taken into a -most comfortable chamber; a wood fire on the hearth, candles lighted -on the toilette-table, dark woollen curtains surrounding a snow-white -bed, great vases of china standing here and there. - -"This is my Lady Harriet's room when her ladyship comes to the -Manor-house with my lord the earl," said the housemaid, striking -out thousands of brilliant sparks by a well-directed blow at a -smouldering log. "Shall I help you to dress, miss? I always helps her -ladyship." - -Molly, quite aware of the fact that she had but her white muslin gown -for the wedding besides that she had on, dismissed the good woman, -and was thankful to be left to herself. - -"Dinner" was it called? Why, it was nearly eight o'clock; and -preparations for bed seemed a more natural employment than dressing -at this hour of night. All the dressing she could manage was the -placing of a red damask rose or two in the band of her grey stuff -gown, there being a great nosegay of choice autumnal flowers on the -toilette-table. She did try the effect of another crimson rose in -her black hair, just above her ear; it was very pretty, but too -coquettish, and so she put it back again. The dark-oak panels and -wainscoting of the whole house seemed to glow in warm light; there -were so many fires in different rooms, in the hall, and even one on -the landing of the staircase. Mr. Preston must have heard her step, -for he met her in the hall, and led her into a small drawing-room, -with closed folding-doors on one side, opening into the larger -drawing-room, as he told her. This room into which she entered -reminded her a little of Hamley--yellow-satin upholstery of seventy -or a hundred years ago, all delicately kept and scrupulously clean; -great Indian cabinets, and china jars, emitting spicy odours; a large -blazing fire, before which her father stood in his morning dress, -grave and thoughtful, as he had been all day. - -"This room is that which Lady Harriet uses when she comes here with -her father for a day or two," said Mr. Preston. And Molly tried to -save her father by being ready to talk herself. - -"Does she often come here?" - -"Not often. But I fancy she likes being here when she does. Perhaps -she finds it an agreeable change after the more formal life she leads -at the Towers." - -"I should think it was a very pleasant house to stay at," said Molly, -remembering the look of warm comfort that pervaded it. But a little -to her dismay Mr. Preston seemed to take it as a compliment to -himself. - -"I was afraid a young lady like you might perceive all the -incongruities of a bachelor's home. I'm very much obliged to you, -Miss Gibson. In general I live pretty much in the room in which we -shall dine; and I've a sort of agent's office in which I keep books -and papers, and receive callers on business." - -Then they went in to dinner. Molly thought everything that was served -was delicious, and cooked to the point of perfection; but they -did not seem to satisfy Mr. Preston, who apologized to his guests -several times for the bad cooking of this dish, or the omission -of a particular sauce to that; always referring to bachelor's -housekeeping, bachelor's this and bachelor's that, till Molly grew -quite impatient at the word. Her father's depression, which was still -continuing and rendering him very silent, made her uneasy; yet she -wished to conceal it from Mr. Preston; and so she talked away, trying -to obviate the sort of personal bearing which their host would give -to everything. She did not know when to leave the gentlemen, but her -father made a sign to her; and she was conducted back to the yellow -drawing-room by Mr. Preston, who made many apologies for leaving -her there alone. She enjoyed herself extremely, however, feeling at -liberty to prowl about, and examine all the curiosities the room -contained. Among other things was a Louis Quinze cabinet with lovely -miniatures in enamel let into the fine woodwork. She carried a candle -to it, and was looking intently at these faces when her father and -Mr. Preston came in. Her father still looked care-worn and anxious; -he came up and patted her on the back, looked at what she was looking -at, and then went off to silence and the fire. Mr. Preston took the -candle out of her hand, and threw himself into her interests with an -air of ready gallantry. - -"That is said to be Mademoiselle de St. Quentin, a great beauty at -the French Court. This is Madame du Barri. Do you see any likeness in -Mademoiselle de St. Quentin to any one you know?" He had lowered his -voice a little as he asked this question. - -"No!" said Molly, looking at it again. "I never saw any one half so -beautiful." - -"But don't you see a likeness--in the eyes particularly?" he asked -again, with some impatience. - -Molly tried hard to find out a resemblance, and was again -unsuccessful. - -"It constantly reminds me of--of Miss Kirkpatrick." - -"Does it?" said Molly, eagerly. "Oh! I am so glad--I've never seen -her, so of course I couldn't find out the likeness. You know her, -then, do you? Please tell me all about her." - -He hesitated a moment before speaking. He smiled a little before -replying. - -"She's very beautiful; that of course is understood when I say that -this miniature does not come up to her for beauty." - -"And besides?--Go on, please." - -"What do you mean by 'besides'?" - -"Oh! I suppose she's very clever and accomplished?" - -That was not in the least what Molly wanted to ask; but it was -difficult to word the vague vastness of her unspoken inquiry. - -"She is clever naturally; she has picked up accomplishments. But she -has such a charm about her, one forgets what she herself is in the -halo that surrounds her. You ask me all this, Miss Gibson, and I -answer truthfully; or else I should not entertain one young lady with -my enthusiastic praises of another." - -"I don't see why not," said Molly. "Besides, if you wouldn't do it -in general, I think you ought to do it in my case; for you, perhaps, -don't know, but she is coming to live with us when she leaves school, -and we are very nearly the same age; so it will be almost like having -a sister." - -"She is to live with you, is she?" said Mr. Preston, to whom this -intelligence was news. "And when is she to leave school? I thought -she would surely have been at this wedding; but I was told she was -not to come. When is she to leave school?" - -"I think it is to be at Easter. You know she's at Boulogne, and it's -a long journey for her to come alone; or else papa wished for her to -be at the marriage very much indeed." - -"And her mother prevented it?--I understand." - -"No, it wasn't her mother; it was the French schoolmistress, who -didn't think it desirable." - -"It comes to pretty much the same thing. And she's to return and live -with you after Easter?" - -"I believe so. Is she a grave or a merry person?" - -"Never very grave, as far as I have seen of her. Sparkling would -be the word for her, I think. Do you ever write to her? If you do, -pray remember me to her, and tell her how we have been talking about -her--you and I." - -"I never write to her," said Molly, rather shortly. - -Tea came in; and after that they all went to bed. Molly heard her -father exclaim at the fire in his bedroom, and Mr. Preston's reply-- - -"I pique myself on my keen relish for all creature comforts, and also -on my power of doing without them, if need be. My lord's woods are -ample, and I indulge myself with a fire in my bedroom for nine months -in the year; yet I could travel in Iceland without wincing from the -cold." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -MOLLY FINDS HERSELF PATRONIZED. - - -The wedding went off much as such affairs do. Lord Cumnor and Lady -Harriet drove over from the Towers, so the hour for the ceremony -was as late as possible. Lord Cumnor came in order to officiate as -the bride's father, and was in more open glee than either bride or -bridegroom, or any one else. Lady Harriet came as a sort of amateur -bridesmaid, to "share Molly's duties," as she called it. They went -from the Manor-house in two carriages to the church in the park, Mr. -Preston and Mr. Gibson in one, and Molly, to her dismay, shut up with -Lord Cumnor and Lady Harriet in the other. Lady Harriet's gown of -white muslin had seen one or two garden-parties, and was not in the -freshest order; it had been rather a freak of the young lady's at the -last moment. She was very merry, and very much inclined to talk to -Molly, by way of finding out what sort of a little personage Clare -was to have for her future daughter. She began:-- - -"We mustn't crush this pretty muslin dress of yours. Put it over -papa's knee; he doesn't mind it in the least." - -"What, my dear, a white dress!--no, to be sure not. I rather like -it. Besides, going to a wedding, who minds anything? It would be -different if we were going to a funeral." - -Molly conscientiously strove to find out the meaning of this speech; -but before she had done so, Lady Harriet spoke again, going to the -point, as she always piqued herself on doing: - -"I daresay it's something of a trial to you, this second marriage of -your father's; but you'll find Clare the most amiable of women. She -always let me have my own way, and I've no doubt she'll let you have -yours." - -"I mean to try and like her," said Molly, in a low voice, striving -hard to keep down the tears that would keep rising to her eyes this -morning. "I've seen very little of her yet." - -"Why, it's the very best thing for you that could have happened, my -dear," said Lord Cumnor. "You're growing up into a young lady--and -a very pretty young lady, too, if you'll allow an old man to say -so--and who so proper as your father's wife to bring you out, and -show you off, and take you to balls, and that kind of thing? I -always said this match that is going to come off to-day was the most -suitable thing I ever knew; and it's even a better thing for you than -for the people themselves." - -"Poor child!" said Lady Harriet, who had caught a sight of Molly's -troubled face, "the thought of balls is too much for her just now; -but you'll like having Cynthia Kirkpatrick for a companion, shan't -you, dear?" - -"Very much," said Molly, cheering up a little. "Do you know her?" - -"Oh, I've seen her over and over again when she was a little girl, -and once or twice since. She's the prettiest creature that you ever -saw; and with eyes that mean mischief, if I'm not mistaken. But -Clare kept her spirit under pretty well when she was staying with -us,--afraid of her being troublesome, I fancy." - -Before Molly could shape her next question, they were at the church; -and she and Lady Harriet went into a pew near the door to wait for -the bride, in whose train they were to proceed to the altar. The earl -drove on alone to fetch her from her own house, not a quarter of a -mile distant. It was pleasant to her to be led to the hymeneal altar -by a belted earl, and pleasant to have his daughter as a volunteer -bridesmaid. Mrs. Kirkpatrick in this flush of small gratifications, -and on the brink of matrimony with a man whom she liked, and who -would be bound to support her without any exertion of her own, looked -beamingly happy and handsome. A little cloud came over her face at -the sight of Mr. Preston,--the sweet perpetuity of her smile was -rather disturbed as he followed in Mr. Gibson's wake. But his face -never changed; he bowed to her gravely, and then seemed absorbed in -the service. Ten minutes, and all was over. The bride and bridegroom -were driving together to the Manor-house, Mr. Preston was walking -thither by a short cut, and Molly was again in the carriage with my -lord, rubbing his hands and chuckling, and Lady Harriet, trying to -be kind and consolatory, when her silence would have been the best -comfort. - -Molly found out, to her dismay, that the plan was for her to return -with Lord Cumnor and Lady Harriet when they went back to the Towers -in the evening. In the meantime Lord Cumnor had business to do with -Mr. Preston, and after the happy couple had driven off on their -week's holiday tour, she was to be left alone with the formidable -Lady Harriet. When they were by themselves after all the others had -been thus disposed of, Lady Harriet sate still over the drawing-room -fire, holding a screen between it and her face, but gazing intently -at Molly for a minute or two. Molly was fully conscious of this -prolonged look, and was trying to get up her courage to return the -stare, when Lady Harriet suddenly said,-- - -"I like you;--you are a little wild creature, and I want to tame you. -Come here, and sit on this stool by me. What is your name? or what do -they call you?--as North-country people would express it." - -"Molly Gibson. My real name is Mary." - -"Molly is a nice, soft-sounding name. People in the last century -weren't afraid of homely names; now we are all so smart and fine: no -more 'Lady Bettys' now. I almost wonder they haven't re-christened -all the worsted and knitting-cotton that bears her name. Fancy Lady -Constantia's cotton, or Lady Anna-Maria's worsted." - -"I didn't know there was a Lady Betty's cotton," said Molly. - -"That proves you don't do fancy-work! You'll find Clare will set -you to it, though. She used to set me at piece after piece: knights -kneeling to ladies; impossible flowers. But I must do her the justice -to add that when I got tired of them she finished them herself. I -wonder how you'll get on together?" - -"So do I!" sighed out Molly, under her breath. - -"I used to think I managed her, till one day an uncomfortable -suspicion arose that all the time she had been managing me. Still -it's easy work to let oneself be managed; at any rate till one wakens -up to the consciousness of the process, and then it may become -amusing, if one takes it in that light." - -"I should hate to be managed," said Molly, indignantly. "I'll try and -do what she wishes for papa's sake, if she'll only tell me outright; -but I should dislike to be trapped into anything." - -"Now I," said Lady Harriet, "am too lazy to avoid traps; and I rather -like to remark the cleverness with which they're set. But then, -of course, I know that if I choose to exert myself, I can break -through the withes of green flax with which they try to bind me. Now, -perhaps, you won't be able." - -"I don't quite understand what you mean," said Molly. - -"Oh, well--never mind; I daresay it's as well for you that you -shouldn't. The moral of all I have been saying is, 'Be a good girl, -and suffer yourself to be led, and you'll find your new stepmother -the sweetest creature imaginable.' You'll get on capitally with her, -I make no doubt. How you'll get on with her daughter is another -affair; but I daresay very well. Now we'll ring for tea; for I -suppose that heavy breakfast is to stand for our lunch." - -Mr. Preston came into the room just at this time, and Molly was a -little surprised at Lady Harriet's cool manner of dismissing him, -remembering as she did how Mr. Preston had implied his intimacy with -her ladyship the evening before at dinner-time. - -"I cannot bear that sort of person," said Lady Harriet, almost before -he was out of hearing; "giving himself airs of gallantry towards -one to whom his simple respect is all his duty. I can talk to one -of my father's labourers with pleasure, while with a man like that -underbred fop I am all over thorns and nettles. What is it the Irish -call that style of creature? They've some capital word for it, I -know. What is it?" - -"I don't know--I never heard it," said Molly, a little ashamed of her -ignorance. - -"Oh! that shows you've never read Miss Edgeworth's tales;--now, -have you? If you had, you'd have recollected that there was such -a word, even if you didn't remember what it was. If you've never -read those stories, they would be just the thing to beguile your -solitude--vastly improving and moral, and yet quite sufficiently -interesting. I'll lend them to you while you're all alone." - -"I'm not alone. I'm not at home, but on a visit to Miss Brownings." - -"Then I'll bring them to you. I know the Miss Brownings; they used -to come regularly on the school-day to the Towers. Pecksy and Flapsy -I used to call them. I like the Miss Brownings; one gets enough of -respect from them at any rate; and I've always wanted to see the -kind of _ménage_ of such people. I'll bring you a whole pile of Miss -Edgeworth's stories, my dear." - -Molly sate quite silent for a minute or two; then she mustered up -courage to speak out what was in her mind. - -"Your ladyship" (the title was the firstfruits of the lesson, as -Molly took it, on paying due respect)--"your ladyship keeps speaking -of the sort of--the class of people to which I belong as if it was a -kind of strange animal you were talking about; yet you talk so openly -to me that--" - -"Well, go on--I like to hear you." - -Still silence. - -"You think me in your heart a little impertinent--now, don't you?" -said Lady Harriet, almost kindly. - -Molly held her peace for two or three moments; then she lifted her -beautiful, honest eyes to Lady Harriet's face, and said,-- - -"Yes!--a little. But I think you a great many other things." - -"We'll leave the 'other things' for the present. Don't you see, -little one, I talk after my kind, just as you talk after your kind. -It's only on the surface with both of us. Why, I daresay some of your -good Hollingford ladies talk of the poor people in a manner which -they would consider as impertinent in their turn, if they could hear -it. But I ought to be more considerate when I remember how often -my blood has boiled at the modes of speech and behaviour of one of -my aunts, mamma's sister, Lady-- No! I won't name names. Any one -who earns his livelihood by any exercise of head or hands, from -professional people and rich merchants down to labourers, she calls -'persons.' She would never in her most slip-slop talk accord them -even the conventional title of 'gentlemen;' and the way in which -she takes possession of human beings, 'my woman,' 'my people,'--but, -after all, it is only a way of speaking. I ought not to have used -it to you; but somehow I separate you from all these Hollingford -people." - -"But why?" persevered Molly. "I'm one of them." - -"Yes, you are. But--now don't reprove me again for impertinence--most -of them are so unnatural in their exaggerated respect and admiration -when they come up to the Towers, and put on so much pretence by way -of fine manners, that they only make themselves objects of ridicule. -You at least are simple and truthful, and that's why I separate you -in my own mind from them, and have talked unconsciously to you as I -would--well! now here's another piece of impertinence--as I would to -my equal--in rank, I mean; for I don't set myself up in solid things -as any better than my neighbours. Here's tea, however, come in time -to stop me from growing too humble." - -It was a very pleasant little tea in the fading September twilight. - -Just as it was ended, in came Mr. Preston again:-- - -"Lady Harriet, will you allow me the pleasure of showing you some -alterations I have made in the flower-garden--in which I have tried -to consult your taste--before it grows dark?" - - -[Illustration: UNWELCOME ATTENTIONS.] - - -"Thank you, Mr. Preston. I will ride over with papa some day, and we -will see if we approve of them." - -Mr. Preston's brow flushed. But he affected not to perceive Lady -Harriet's haughtiness, and, turning to Molly, he said,-- - -"Will not you come out, Miss Gibson, and see something of the -gardens? You haven't been out at all, I think, excepting to church." - -Molly did not like the idea of going out for a walk with only Mr. -Preston; yet she pined for a little fresh air, would have been glad -to see the gardens, and look at the Manor-house from different -aspects; and, besides this, much as she recoiled from Mr. Preston, -she felt sorry for him under the repulse he had just received. - -While she was hesitating, and slowly tending towards consent, Lady -Harriet spoke,-- - -"I cannot spare Miss Gibson. If she would like to see the place, I -will bring her over some day myself." - -When he had left the room, Lady Harriet said,--"I daresay it's my own -lazy selfishness has kept you indoors all day against your will. But, -at any rate, you are not to go out walking with that man. I've an -instinctive aversion to him; not entirely instinctive either; it has -some foundation in fact; and I desire you don't allow him ever to get -intimate with you. He's a very clever land-agent, and does his duty -by papa, and I don't choose to be taken up for libel; but remember -what I say!" - -Then the carriage came round, and after numberless last words from -the earl--who appeared to have put off every possible direction to -the moment when he stood, like an awkward Mercury, balancing himself -on the step of the carriage--they drove back to the Towers. - -"Would you rather come in and dine with us--we should send you home, -of course--or go home straight?" asked Lady Harriet of Molly. She and -her father had both been sleeping till they drew up at the bottom of -the flight of steps. - -"Tell the truth, now and evermore. Truth is generally amusing, if -it's nothing else!" - -"I would rather go back to Miss Brownings' at once, please," said -Molly, with a nightmare-like recollection of the last, the only -evening she had spent at the Towers. - -Lord Cumnor was standing on the steps, waiting to hand his daughter -out of the carriage. Lady Harriet stopped to kiss Molly on the -forehead, and to say,-- - -"I shall come some day soon, and bring you a load of Miss Edgeworth's -tales, and make further acquaintance with Pecksy and Flapsy." - -"No, don't, please," said Molly, taking hold of her, to detain her. -"You must not come--indeed you must not." - -"Why not?" - -"Because I would rather not--because I think that I ought not to have -any one coming to see me who laughs at the friends I am staying with, -and calls them names." Molly's heart beat very fast, but she meant -every word that she said. - -"My dear little woman!" said Lady Harriet, bending over her and -speaking quite gravely. "I'm very sorry to have called them -names--very, very sorry to have hurt you. If I promise you to be -respectful to them in word and in deed--and in very thought, if I -can--you'll let me then, won't you?" - -Molly hesitated. "I'd better go home at once; I shall only say wrong -things--and there's Lord Cumnor waiting all this time." - -"Let him alone; he's very well amused hearing all the news of the day -from Brown. Then I shall come--under promise?" - -So Molly drove off in solitary grandeur; and Miss Brownings' knocker -was loosened on its venerable hinges by the never-ending peal of Lord -Cumnor's footman. - -They were full of welcome, full of curiosity. All through the long -day they had been missing their bright young visitor, and three or -four times in every hour they had been wondering and settling what -everybody was doing at that exact minute. What had become of Molly -during all the afternoon, had been a great perplexity to them; and -they were very much oppressed with a sense of the great honour she -had received in being allowed to spend so many hours alone with -Lady Harriet. They were, indeed, more excited by this one fact than -by all the details of the wedding, most of which they had known -of beforehand, and talked over with much perseverance during the -day. Molly began to feel as if there was some foundation for Lady -Harriet's inclination to ridicule the worship paid by the good people -of Hollingford to their liege lord, and to wonder with what tokens -of reverence they would receive Lady Harriet if she came to pay her -promised visit. She had never thought of concealing the probability -of this call until this evening; but now she felt as if it would be -better not to speak of the chance, as she was not at all sure that -the promise would be fulfilled. - -Before Lady Harriet's call was paid, Molly received another visit. - -Roger Hamley came riding over one day with a note from his mother, -and a wasps'-nest as a present from himself. Molly heard his powerful -voice come sounding up the little staircase, as he asked if Miss -Gibson was at home from the servant-maid at the door; and she was -half amused and half annoyed as she thought how this call of his -would give colour to Miss Browning's fancies. "I would rather never -be married at all," thought she, "than marry an ugly man,--and dear -good Mr. Roger is really ugly; I don't think one could even call him -plain." Yet Miss Brownings, who did not look upon young men as if -their natural costume was a helmet and a suit of armour, thought -Mr. Roger Hamley a very personable young fellow, as he came into -the room, his face flushed with exercise, his white teeth showing -pleasantly in the courteous bow and smile he gave to all around. He -knew the Miss Brownings slightly, and talked pleasantly to them while -Molly read Mrs. Hamley's little missive of sympathy and good wishes -relating to the wedding; then he turned to her, and though Miss -Brownings listened with all their ears, they could not find out -anything remarkable either in the words he said or the tone in which -they were spoken. - -"I've brought you the wasps'-nest I promised you, Miss Gibson. There -has been no lack of such things this year; we've taken seventy-four -on my father's land alone; and one of the labourers, a poor fellow -who ekes out his wages by bee-keeping, has had a sad misfortune--the -wasps have turned the bees out of his seven hives, taken possession, -and eaten up the honey." - -"What greedy little vermin!" said Miss Browning. - -Molly saw Roger's eyes twinkle at the misapplication of the word; but -though he had a strong sense of humour, it never appeared to diminish -his respect for the people who amused him. - -"I'm sure they deserve fire and brimstone more than the poor dear -innocent bees," said Miss Phoebe. "And then it seems so ungrateful -of mankind, who are going to feast on the honey!" She sighed over the -thought, as if it was too much for her. - -While Molly finished reading her note, he explained its contents to -Miss Browning. - -"My brother and I are going with my father to an agricultural meeting -at Canonbury on Thursday, and my mother desired me to say to you how -very much obliged she should be if you would spare her Miss Gibson -for the day. She was very anxious to ask for the pleasure of your -company, too, but she really is so poorly that we persuaded her to -be content with Miss Gibson, as she wouldn't scruple leaving a young -lady to amuse herself, which she would be unwilling to do if you and -your sister were there." - -"I'm sure she's very kind; very. Nothing would have given us more -pleasure," said Miss Browning, drawing herself up in gratified -dignity. "Oh, yes, we quite understand, Mr. Roger; and we fully -recognize Mrs. Hamley's kind intention. We will take the will for the -deed, as the common people express it. I believe that there was an -intermarriage between the Brownings and the Hamleys, a generation or -two ago." - -"I daresay there was," said Roger. "My mother is very delicate, and -obliged to humour her health, which has made her keep aloof from -society." - -"Then I may go?" said Molly, sparkling with the idea of seeing her -dear Mrs. Hamley again, yet afraid of appearing too desirous of -leaving her kind old friends. - -"To be sure, my dear. Write a pretty note, and tell Mrs. Hamley how -much obliged to her we are for thinking of us." - -"I'm afraid I can't wait for a note," said Roger. "I must take a -message instead, for I have to meet my father at one o'clock, and -it's close upon it now." - -When he was gone, Molly felt so light-hearted at the thoughts of -Thursday that she could hardly attend to what the Miss Brownings were -saying. One was talking about the pretty muslin gown which Molly had -sent to the wash only that morning, and contriving how it could be -had back again in time for her to wear; and the other, Miss Phoebe, -totally inattentive to her sister's speaking for a wonder, was piping -out a separate strain of her own, and singing Roger Hamley's praises. - -"Such a fine-looking young man, and so courteous and affable. Like -the young men of our youth now, is he not, sister? And yet they all -say Mr. Osborne is the handsomest. What do you think, child?" - -"I've never seen Mr. Osborne," said Molly, blushing, and hating -herself for doing so. Why was it? She had never seen him as she said. -It was only that her fancy had dwelt on him so much. - -He was gone--all the gentlemen were gone before the carriage, which -came to fetch Molly on Thursday, reached Hamley Hall. But Molly was -almost glad, she was so much afraid of being disappointed. Besides, -she had her dear Mrs. Hamley the more to herself; the quiet sit in -the morning-room, talking poetry and romance; the midday saunter into -the garden, brilliant with autumnal flowers and glittering dew-drops -on the gossamer webs that stretched from scarlet to blue, and thence -to purple and yellow petals. As they were sitting at lunch, a strange -man's voice and step were heard in the hall; the door was opened, -and a young man came in, who could be no other than Osborne. He was -beautiful and languid-looking, almost as frail in appearance as -his mother, whom he strongly resembled. This seeming delicacy made -him appear older than he was. He was dressed to perfection, and -yet with easy carelessness. He came up to his mother, and stood by -her, holding her hand, while his eyes sought Molly, not boldly or -impertinently, but as if appraising her critically. - -"Yes! I'm back again. Bullocks, I find, are not in my line. I -only disappointed my father in not being able to appreciate their -merits, and, I'm afraid, I didn't care to learn. And the smell was -insufferable on such a hot day." - -"My dear boy, don't make apologies to me; keep them for your father. -I'm only too glad to have you back. Miss Gibson, this tall fellow is -my son Osborne, as I daresay you have guessed. Osborne--Miss Gibson. -Now, what will you have?" - -He looked round the table as he sate down. "Nothing here," said he. -"Isn't there some cold game-pie? I'll ring for that." - -Molly was trying to reconcile the ideal with the real. The ideal was -agile, yet powerful, with Greek features and an eagle-eye, capable -of enduring long fasting, and indifferent as to what he ate. The -real was almost effeminate in movement, though not in figure; he had -the Greek features, but his blue eyes had a cold, weary expression -in them. He was dainty in eating, and had anything but a Homeric -appetite. However, Molly's hero was not to eat more than Ivanhoe, -when he was Friar Tuck's guest; and, after all, with a little -alteration, she began to think Mr. Osborne Hamley might turn out a -poetical, if not a chivalrous hero. He was extremely attentive to -his mother, which pleased Molly, and, in return, Mrs. Hamley seemed -charmed with him to such a degree that Molly once or twice fancied -that mother and son would have been happier in her absence. Yet, -again, it struck on the shrewd, if simple girl, that Osborne was -mentally squinting at her in the conversation which was directed to -his mother. There were little turns and 'fioriture' of speech which -Molly could not help feeling were graceful antics of language not -common in the simple daily intercourse between mother and son. But -it was flattering rather than otherwise to perceive that a very fine -young man, who was a poet to boot, should think it worth while to -talk on the tight rope for her benefit. And before the afternoon was -ended, without there having been any direct conversation between -Osborne and Molly, she had reinstated him on his throne in her -imagination; indeed, she had almost felt herself disloyal to her dear -Mrs. Hamley when, in the first hour after her introduction, she had -questioned his claims on his mother's idolatry. His beauty came out -more and more, as he became animated in some discussion with her; and -all his attitudes, if a little studied, were graceful in the extreme. -Before Molly left, the squire and Roger returned from Canonbury. - -"Osborne here!" said the Squire, red and panting. "Why the deuce -couldn't you tell us you were coming home? I looked about for you -everywhere, just as we were going into the ordinary. I wanted to -introduce you to Grantley, and Fox, and Lord Forrest--men from the -other side of the county, whom you ought to know; and Roger there -missed above half his dinner hunting about for you; and all the time -you'd stole away, and were quietly sitting here with the women. I -wish you'd let me know the next time you make off. I've lost half my -pleasure in looking at as fine a lot of cattle as I ever saw, with -thinking you might be having one of your old attacks of faintness." - -"I should have had one, I think, if I'd stayed longer in that -atmosphere. But I'm sorry if I've caused you anxiety." - -"Well! well!" said the Squire, somewhat mollified. "And Roger, -too,--there I've been sending him here and sending him there all the -afternoon." - -"I didn't mind it, sir. I was only sorry you were so uneasy. I -thought Osborne had gone home, for I knew it wasn't much in his way," -said Roger. - -Molly intercepted a glance between the two brothers--a look of true -confidence and love, which suddenly made her like them both under the -aspect of relationship--new to her observation. - -Roger came up to her, and sat down by her. - -"Well, and how are you getting on with Huber; don't you find him very -interesting?" - -"I'm afraid," said Molly, penitently, "I haven't read much. Miss -Brownings like me to talk; and, besides, there is so much to do at -home before papa comes back; and Miss Browning doesn't like me to go -without her. I know it sounds nothing, but it does take up a great -deal of time." - -"When is your father coming back?" - -"Next Tuesday, I believe. He cannot stay long away." - -"I shall ride over and pay my respects to Mrs. Gibson," said he. "I -shall come as soon as I may. Your father has been a very kind friend -to me ever since I was a boy. And when I come, I shall expect my -pupil to have been very diligent," he concluded, smiling his kind, -pleasant smile at idle Molly. - -Then the carriage came round, and she had the long solitary drive -back to Miss Brownings'. It was dark out of doors when she got there; -but Miss Phoebe was standing on the stairs, with a lighted candle -in her hand, peering into the darkness to see Molly come in. - -"Oh, Molly! I thought you'd never come back. Such a piece of news! -Sister has gone to bed; she's had a headache--with the excitement, -I think; but she says it's new bread. Come upstairs softly, my -dear, and I'll tell you what it is! Who do you think has been -here,--drinking tea with us, too, in the most condescending manner?" - -"Lady Harriet?" said Molly, suddenly enlightened by the word -"condescending." - -"Yes. Why, how did you guess it? But, after all, her call, at any -rate in the first instance, was upon you. Oh, dear Molly! if you're -not in a hurry to go to bed, let me sit down quietly and tell you all -about it; for my heart jumps into my mouth still when I think of how -I was caught. She--that is, her ladyship--left the carriage at 'The -George,' and took to her feet to go shopping--just as you or I may -have done many a time in our lives. And sister was taking her forty -winks; and I was sitting with my gown up above my knees and my feet -on the fender, pulling out my grandmother's lace which I'd been -washing. The worst has yet to be told. I'd taken off my cap, for I -thought it was getting dusk and no one would come, and there was I in -my black silk skull-cap, when Nancy put her head in, and whispered, -'There's a lady downstairs--a real grand one, by her talk;' and in -there came my Lady Harriet, so sweet and pretty in her ways, it was -some time before I remembered I had never a cap on. Sister never -wakened; or never roused up, so to say. She says she thought it was -Nancy bringing in the tea when she heard some one moving; for her -ladyship, as soon as she saw the state of the case, came and knelt -down on the rug by me, and begged my pardon so prettily for having -followed Nancy upstairs without waiting for permission; and was so -taken by my old lace, and wanted to know how I washed it, and where -you were, and when you'd be back, and when the happy couple would be -back: till sister wakened--she's always a little bit put out, you -know, when she first wakens from her afternoon nap,--and, without -turning her head to see who it was, she said, quite sharp,--'Buzz, -buzz, buzz! When will you learn that whispering is more fidgeting -than talking out loud? I've not been able to sleep at all for the -chatter you and Nancy have been keeping up all this time.' You know -that was a little fancy of sister's, for she'd been snoring away as -naturally as could be. So I went to her, and leant over her, and said -in a low voice,-- - -"'Sister, it's her ladyship and me that has been conversing.' - -"'Ladyship here, ladyship there! have you lost your wits, Phoebe, -that you talk such nonsense--and in your skull-cap, too!' - -"By this time she was sitting up--and, looking round her, she saw -Lady Harriet, in her velvets and silks, sitting on our rug, smiling, -her bonnet off, and her pretty hair all bright with the blaze of the -fire. My word! sister was up on her feet directly; and she dropped -her curtsey, and made her excuses for sleeping, as fast as might be, -while I went off to put on my best cap, for sister might well say I -was out of my wits to go on chatting to an earl's daughter in an old -black silk skull-cap. Black silk, too! when, if I'd only known she -was coming, I might have put on my new brown silk one, lying idle in -my top drawer. And when I came back, sister was ordering tea for her -ladyship,--our tea, I mean. So I took my turn at talk, and sister -slipped out to put on her Sunday silk. But I don't think we were -quite so much at our ease with her ladyship as when I sat pulling -out my lace in my skull-cap. And she was quite struck with our tea, -and asked where we got it, for she had never tasted any like it -before; and I told her we gave only 3_s._ 4_d._ a pound for it, at -Johnson's--(sister says I ought to have told her the price of our -company-tea, which is 5_s._ a pound, only that was not what we were -drinking; for, as ill-luck would have it, we'd none of it in the -house)--and she said she would send us some of hers, all the way -from Russia or Prussia, or some out-of-the-way place, and we were to -compare and see which we liked best; and if we liked hers best, she -could get it for us at 3_s._ a pound. And she left her love for you; -and, though she was going away, you were not to forget her. Sister -thought such a message would set you up too much, and told me she -would not be chargeable for the giving it you. 'But,' I said, 'a -message is a message, and it's on Molly's own shoulders if she's set -up by it. Let us show her an example of humility, sister, though we -have been sitting cheek-by-jowl in such company.' So sister humphed, -and said she'd a headache, and went to bed. And now you may tell me -your news, my dear." - -So Molly told her small events; which, interesting as they might -have been at other times to the gossip-loving and sympathetic Miss -Phoebe, were rather pale in the stronger light reflected from the -visit of an earl's daughter. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE NEW MAMMA. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -On Tuesday afternoon Molly returned home--to the home which was -already strange, and what Warwickshire people would call "unked," -to her. New paint, new paper, new colours; grim servants dressed -in their best, and objecting to every change--from their master's -marriage to the new oilcloth in the hall, "which tripped 'em up, and -threw 'em down, and was cold to the feet, and smelt just abominable." -All these complaints Molly had to listen to, and it was not a -cheerful preparation for the reception which she already felt to be -so formidable. - -The sound of their carriage-wheels was heard at last, and Molly went -to the front door to meet them. Her father got out first, and took -her hand and held it while he helped his bride to alight. Then he -kissed her fondly, and passed her on to his wife; but her veil was so -securely (and becomingly) fastened down, that it was some time before -Mrs. Gibson could get her lips clear to greet her new daughter. Then -there was luggage to be seen about; and both the travellers were -occupied in this, while Molly stood by trembling with excitement, -unable to help, and only conscious of Betty's rather cross looks, as -heavy box after heavy box jammed up the passage. - -"Molly, my dear, show--your mamma to her room!" - -Mr. Gibson had hesitated, because the question of the name by -which Molly was to call her new relation had never occurred to him -before. The colour flashed into Molly's face. Was she to call her -"mamma?"--the name long appropriated in her mind to some one else--to -her own dead mother. The rebellious heart rose against it, but she -said nothing. She led the way upstairs, Mrs. Gibson turning round, -from time to time, with some fresh direction as to which bag or trunk -she needed most. She hardly spoke to Molly till they were both in -the newly-furnished bedroom, where a small fire had been lighted by -Molly's orders. - -"Now, my love, we can embrace each other in peace. O dear, how tired -I am!"--(after the embrace had been accomplished). "My spirits are so -easily affected with fatigue; but your dear papa has been kindness -itself. Dear! what an old-fashioned bed! And what a-- But it doesn't -signify. By-and-by we'll renovate the house--won't we, my dear? And -you'll be my little maid to-night, and help me to arrange a few -things, for I'm just worn out with the day's journey." - -"I've ordered a sort of tea-dinner to be ready for you," said Molly. -"Shall I go and tell them to send it in?" - -"I'm not sure if I can go down again to-night. It would be very -comfortable to have a little table brought in here, and sit in my -dressing-gown by this cheerful fire. But, to be sure, there's your -dear papa? I really don't think he would eat anything if I were not -there. One must not think about oneself, you know. Yes, I'll come -down in a quarter of an hour." - -But Mr. Gibson had found a note awaiting him, with an immediate -summons to an old patient, dangerously ill; and, snatching a mouthful -of food while his horse was being saddled, he had to resume at once -his old habits of attention to his profession above everything. - -As soon as Mrs. Gibson found that he was not likely to miss her -presence--he had eaten a very tolerable lunch of bread and cold meat -in solitude, so her fears about his appetite in her absence were not -well founded--she desired to have her meal upstairs in her own room; -and poor Molly, not daring to tell the servants of this whim, had to -carry up first a table, which, however small, was too heavy for her; -and afterwards all the choice portions of the meal, which she had -taken great pains to arrange on the table, as she had seen such -things done at Hamley, intermixed with fruit and flowers that had -that morning been sent in from various great houses where Mr. Gibson -was respected and valued. How pretty Molly had thought her handiwork -an hour or two before! How dreary it seemed as, at last released from -Mrs. Gibson's conversation, she sate down in solitude to cold tea and -the drumsticks of the chicken! No one to look at her preparations, -and admire her deft-handedness and taste! She had thought that her -father would be gratified by it, and then he had never seen it. She -had meant her cares as an offering of good-will to her stepmother, -who even now was ringing her bell to have the tray taken away, and -Miss Gibson summoned to her bedroom. - -Molly hastily finished her meal, and went upstairs again. - -"I feel so lonely, darling, in this strange house; do come and be -with me, and help me to unpack. I think your dear papa might have put -off his visit to Mr. Craven Smith for just this one evening." - -"Mr. Craven Smith couldn't put off his dying," said Molly, bluntly. - -"You droll girl!" said Mrs. Gibson, with a faint laugh. "But if this -Mr. Smith is dying, as you say, what's the use of your father's going -off to him in such a hurry? Does he expect any legacy, or anything of -that kind?" - -Molly bit her lips to prevent herself from saying something -disagreeable. She only answered,-- - -"I don't quite know that he is dying. The man said so; and papa can -sometimes do something to make the last struggle easier. At any rate, -it's always a comfort to the family to have him." - -"What dreary knowledge of death you have learned for a girl of your -age! Really, if I had heard all these details of your father's -profession, I doubt if I could have brought myself to have him!" - -"He doesn't make the illness or the death; he does his best against -them. I call it a very fine thing to think of what he does or tries -to do. And you will think so, too, when you see how he is watched -for, and how people welcome him!" - -"Well, don't let us talk any more of such gloomy things, to-night! I -think I shall go to bed at once, I am so tired, if you will only sit -by me till I get sleepy, darling. If you will talk to me, the sound -of your voice will soon send me off." - -Molly got a book, and read her stepmother to sleep, preferring that -to the harder task of keeping up a continual murmur of speech. - -Then she stole down and went into the dining-room, where the fire -was gone out; purposely neglected by the servants, to mark their -displeasure at their new mistress's having had her tea in her own -room. Molly managed to light it, however, before her father came -home, and collected and re-arranged some comfortable food for him. -Then she knelt down again on the hearth-rug, gazing into the fire in -a dreamy reverie, which had enough of sadness about it to cause the -tears to drop unnoticed from her eyes. But she jumped up, and shook -herself into brightness at the sound of her father's step. - -"How is Mr. Craven Smith?" said she. - -"Dead. He just recognized me. He was one of my first patients on -coming to Hollingford." - -Mr. Gibson sate down in the arm-chair made ready for him, and warmed -his hands at the fire, seeming neither to need food nor talk, as he -went over a train of recollections. Then he roused himself from his -sadness, and looking round the room, he said briskly enough,-- - -"And where's the new mamma?" - -"She was tired, and went to bed early. Oh, papa! must I call her -'mamma?'" - -"I should like it," replied he, with a slight contraction of the -brows. - -Molly was silent. She put a cup of tea near him; he stirred it, and -sipped it, and then he recurred to the subject. - -"Why shouldn't you call her 'mamma?' I'm sure she means to do the -duty of a mother to you. We all may make mistakes, and her ways may -not be quite all at once our ways; but at any rate let us start with -a family bond between us." - -What would Roger say was right?--that was the question that rose to -Molly's mind. She had always spoken of her father's new wife as Mrs. -Gibson, and had once burst out at Miss Brownings with a protestation -that she never would call her "mamma." She did not feel drawn to her -new relation by their intercourse that evening. She kept silence, -though she knew her father was expecting an answer. At last he -gave up his expectation, and turned to another subject; told about -their journey, questioned her as to the Hamleys, the Brownings, -Lady Harriet, and the afternoon they had passed together at the -Manor-house. But there was a certain hardness and constraint in his -manner, and in hers a heaviness and absence of mind. All at once she -said,-- - -"Papa, I will call her 'mamma!'" - -He took her hand, and grasped it tight; but for an instant or two he -did not speak. Then he said,-- - -"You won't be sorry for it, Molly, when you come to lie as poor -Craven Smith did to-night." - -For some time the murmurs and grumblings of the two elder servants -were confined to Molly's ears, then they spread to her father's, who, -to Molly's dismay, made summary work with them. - -"You don't like Mrs. Gibson's ringing her bell so often, don't you? -You've been spoilt, I'm afraid; but if you don't conform to my wife's -desires, you have the remedy in your own hands, you know." - -What servant ever resisted the temptation to give warning after such -a speech as that? Betty told Molly she was going to leave, in as -indifferent a manner as she could possibly assume towards the girl -whom she had tended and been about for the last sixteen years. Molly -had hitherto considered her former nurse as a fixture in the house; -she would almost as soon have thought of her father's proposing -to sever the relationship between them; and here was Betty coolly -talking over whether her next place should be in town or country. But -a great deal of this was assumed hardness. In a week or two Betty was -in floods of tears at the prospect of leaving her nursling, and would -fain have stayed and answered all the bells in the house once every -quarter of an hour. Even Mr. Gibson's masculine heart was touched by -the sorrow of the old servant, which made itself obvious to him every -time he came across her by her broken voice and her swollen eyes. - -One day he said to Molly, "I wish you'd ask your mamma if Betty might -not stay, if she made a proper apology, and all that sort of thing." - -"I don't much think it will be of any use," said Molly, in a mournful -voice. "I know she is writing, or has written, about some -under-housemaid at the Towers." - -"Well!--all I want is peace and a decent quantity of cheerfulness -when I come home. I see enough of tears at other people's houses. -After all, Betty has been with us sixteen years--a sort of service -of the antique world. But the woman may be happier elsewhere. Do as -you like about asking mamma; only if she agrees, I shall be quite -willing." - -So Molly tried her hand at making a request to that effect to Mrs. -Gibson. Her instinct told her she would be unsuccessful; but surely -favour was never refused in so soft a tone. - -"My dear girl, I should never have thought of sending an old servant -away,--one who has had the charge of you from your birth, or nearly -so. I could not have had the heart to do it. She might have stayed -for ever for me, if she had only attended to all my wishes; and I am -not unreasonable, am I? But, you see, she complained; and when your -dear papa spoke to her, she gave warning; and it is quite against -my principles ever to take an apology from a servant who has given -warning." - -"She is so sorry," pleaded Molly; "she says she will do anything you -wish, and attend to all your orders, if she may only stay." - -"But, sweet one, you seem to forget that I cannot go against my -principles, however much I may be sorry for Betty. She should not -have given way to ill-temper. As I said before, although I never -liked her, and considered her a most inefficient servant, thoroughly -spoilt by having had no mistress for so long, I should have borne -with her--at least, I think I should--as long as I could. Now I have -all but engaged Maria, who was under-housemaid at the Towers, so -don't let me hear any more of Betty's sorrow, or anybody else's -sorrow, for I'm sure, what with your dear papa's sad stories and -other things, I'm getting quite low." - -Molly was silent for a moment or two. - -"Have you quite engaged Maria?" asked she. - -"No--I said 'all but engaged.' Sometimes one would think you did not -hear things, dear Molly!" replied Mrs. Gibson, petulantly. "Maria -is living in a place where they don't give her as much wages as she -deserves. Perhaps they can't afford it, poor things! I'm always sorry -for poverty, and would never speak hardly of those who are not rich; -but I have offered her two pounds more than she gets at present, so I -think she'll leave. At any rate, if they increase her wages, I shall -increase my offer in proportion; so I think I'm sure to get her. Such -a genteel girl!--always brings in a letter on a salver!" - -"Poor Betty!" said Molly, softly. - -"Poor old soul! I hope she'll profit by the lesson, I'm sure," sighed -out Mrs. Gibson; "but it's a pity we hadn't Maria before the county -families began to call." - -Mrs. Gibson had been highly gratified by the circumstance of so many -calls "from county families." Her husband was much respected; and -many ladies from various halls, courts, and houses, who had profited -by his services towards themselves and their families, thought it -right to pay his new wife the attention of a call when they drove -into Hollingford to shop. The state of expectation into which these -calls threw Mrs. Gibson rather diminished Mr. Gibson's domestic -comfort. It was awkward to be carrying hot, savoury-smelling dishes -from the kitchen to the dining-room at the very time when high-born -ladies, with noses of aristocratic refinement, might be calling. -Still more awkward was the accident which happened in consequence -of clumsy Betty's haste to open the front door to a lofty footman's -ran-tan, which caused her to set down the basket containing the dirty -plates right in his mistress's way, as she stepped gingerly through -the comparative darkness of the hall; and then the young men, leaving -the dining-room quietly enough, but bursting with long-repressed -giggle, or no longer restraining their tendency to practical joking, -no matter who might be in the passage when they made their exit. The -remedy proposed by Mrs. Gibson for all these distressing grievances -was a late dinner. The luncheon for the young men, as she observed -to her husband, might be sent into the surgery. A few elegant cold -trifles for herself and Molly would not scent the house, and she -would always take care to have some little dainty ready for him. He -acceded, but unwillingly, for it was an innovation on the habits of -a lifetime, and he felt as if he should never be able to arrange his -rounds aright with this new-fangled notion of a six o'clock dinner. - -"Don't get any dainties for me, my dear; bread-and-cheese is the -chief of my diet, like it was that of the old woman's." - -"I know nothing of your old woman," replied his wife; "but really I -cannot allow cheese to come beyond the kitchen." - -"Then I'll eat it there," said he. "It's close to the stable-yard, -and if I come in in a hurry I can get it in a moment." - -"Really, Mr. Gibson, it is astonishing to compare your appearance and -manners with your tastes. You look such a gentleman, as dear Lady -Cumnor used to say." - -Then the cook left; also an old servant, though not so old a one as -Betty. The cook did not like the trouble of late dinners; and, being -a Methodist, she objected on religious grounds to trying any of -Mrs. Gibson's new receipts for French dishes. It was not scriptural, -she said. There was a deal of mention of food in the Bible; but it -was of sheep ready dressed, which meant mutton, and of wine, and -of bread-and-milk, and figs and raisins, of fatted calves, a good -well-browned fillet of veal, and such like; but it had always gone -against her conscience to cook swine-flesh and make raised pork-pies, -and now if she was to be set to cook heathen dishes after the fashion -of the Papists, she'd sooner give it all up together. So the cook -followed in Betty's track, and Mr. Gibson had to satisfy his healthy -English appetite on badly-made omelettes, rissoles, vol-au-vents, -croquets, and timbales; never being exactly sure what he was eating. - -He had made up his mind before his marriage to yield in trifles, -and be firm in greater things. But the differences of opinion about -trifles arose every day, and were perhaps more annoying than if they -had related to things of more consequence. Molly knew her father's -looks as well as she knew her alphabet; his wife did not; and being -an unperceptive person, except when her own interests were dependent -upon another person's humour, never found out how he was worried by -all the small daily concessions which he made to her will or her -whims. He never allowed himself to put any regret into shape, even -in his own mind; he repeatedly reminded himself of his wife's good -qualities, and comforted himself by thinking they should work -together better as time rolled on; but he was very angry at a -bachelor great-uncle of Mr. Coxe's, who, after taking no notice of -his red-headed nephew for years, suddenly sent for him, after the old -man had partially recovered from a serious attack of illness, and -appointed him his heir, on condition that his great-nephew remained -with him during the rest of his life. This had happened almost -directly after Mr. and Mrs. Gibson's return from their wedding -journey, and once or twice since that time Mr. Gibson had found -himself wondering why the deuce old Benson could not have made -up his mind sooner, and so have rid his house of the unwelcome -presence of the young lover. To do Mr. Coxe justice, in the very -last conversation he had as a pupil with Mr. Gibson he said, with -hesitating awkwardness, that perhaps the new circumstances in which -he should be placed might make some difference with regard to Mr. -Gibson's opinion on-- - -"Not at all," said Mr. Gibson, quickly. "You are both of you too -young to know your own minds; and if my daughter was silly enough to -be in love, she should never have to calculate her happiness on the -chances of an old man's death. I dare say he'll disinherit you after -all. He may do, and then you'd be worse off than ever. No! go away, -and forget all this nonsense; and when you've done, come back and see -us!" - -So Mr. Coxe went away, with an oath of unalterable faithfulness in -his heart; and Mr. Gibson had unwillingly to fulfil an old promise -made to a gentleman farmer in the neighbourhood a year or two before, -and to take the second son of Mr. Browne in young Coxe's place. He -was to be the last of the race of pupils, and as he was rather more -than a year younger than Molly, Mr. Gibson trusted that there would -be no repetition of the Coxe romance. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE BRIDE AT HOME. - - -Among the "county people" (as Mrs. Gibson termed them) who called -upon her as a bride, were the two young Mr. Hamleys. The Squire, -their father, had done his congratulations, as far as he ever -intended to do them, to Mr. Gibson himself when he came to the hall; -but Mrs. Hamley, unable to go and pay visits herself, anxious to show -attention to her kind doctor's new wife, and with perhaps a little -sympathetic curiosity as to how Molly and her stepmother got on -together, made her sons ride over to Hollingford with her cards and -apologies. They came into the newly-furnished drawing-room, looking -bright and fresh from their ride: Osborne first, as usual, perfectly -dressed for the occasion, and with the sort of fine manner which -sate so well upon him; Roger, looking like a strong-built, cheerful, -intelligent country farmer, followed in his brother's train. Mrs. -Gibson was dressed for receiving callers, and made the effect she -always intended to produce, of a very pretty woman, no longer in -first youth, but with such soft manners and such a caressing voice, -that people forgot to wonder what her real age might be. Molly was -better dressed than formerly; her stepmother saw after that. She -disliked anything old or shabby, or out of taste about her; it hurt -her eye; and she had already fidgeted Molly into a new amount of care -about the manner in which she put on her clothes, arranged her hair, -and was gloved and shod. Mrs. Gibson had tried to put her through a -course of rosemary washes and creams in order to improve her tanned -complexion; but about that Molly was either forgetful or rebellious, -and Mrs. Gibson could not well come up to the girl's bedroom every -night and see that she daubed her face and neck over with the -cosmetics so carefully provided for her. Still her appearance was -extremely improved, even to Osborne's critical eye. Roger sought -rather to discover in her looks and expression whether she was happy -or not; his mother had especially charged him to note all these -signs. - -Osborne and Mrs. Gibson made themselves agreeable to each other -according to the approved fashion when a young man calls on a -middle-aged bride. They talked of the "Shakspeare and musical -glasses" of the day, each vieing with the other in their knowledge -of London topics. Molly heard fragments of their conversation in the -pauses of silence between Roger and herself. Her hero was coming -out in quite a new character; no longer literary or poetical, or -romantic, or critical, he was now full of the last new play, the -singers at the opera. He had the advantage over Mrs. Gibson, who, in -fact, only spoke of these things from hearsay, from listening to the -talk at the Towers, while Osborne had run up from Cambridge two or -three times to hear this, or to see that wonder of the season. But -she had the advantage over him in greater boldness of invention to -eke out her facts; and besides she had more skill in the choice and -arrangement of her words, so as to make it appear as if the opinions -that were in reality quotations, were formed by herself from actual -experience or personal observation; such as, in speaking of the -mannerisms of a famous Italian singer, she would ask,-- - - -[Illustration: SHAKSPEARE AND THE MUSICAL GLASSES.] - - -"Did you observe her constant trick of heaving her shoulders and -clasping her hands together before she took a high note?"--which was -so said as to imply that Mrs. Gibson herself had noticed this trick. -Molly, who had a pretty good idea by this time of how her stepmother -had passed the last year of her life, listened with no small -bewilderment to this conversation; but at length decided that she -must misunderstand what they were saying, as she could not gather up -the missing links for the necessity of replying to Roger's questions -and remarks. Osborne was not the same Osborne he was when with his -mother at the Hall. - -Roger saw Molly glancing at his brother. - -"You think my brother looking ill?" said he, lowering his voice. - -"No--not exactly." - -"He is not well. Both my father and I are anxious about him. -That run on the Continent did him harm, instead of good; and his -disappointment at his examination has told upon him, I'm afraid." - -"I was not thinking he looked ill; only changed somehow." - -"He says he must go back to Cambridge soon. Possibly it may do him -good; and I shall be off next week. This is a farewell visit to you, -as well as one of congratulation to Mrs. Gibson." - -"Your mother will feel your both going away, won't she? But of course -young men will always have to live away from home." - -"Yes," he replied. "Still she feels it a good deal; and I'm not -satisfied about her health either. You will go out and see her -sometimes, will you? she is very fond of you." - -"If I may," said Molly, unconsciously glancing at her stepmother. She -had an uncomfortable instinct that, in spite of Mrs. Gibson's own -perpetual flow of words, she could, and did, hear everything that -fell from Molly's lips. - -"Do you want any more books?" said he. "If you do, make a list out, -and send it to my mother before I leave, next Tuesday. After I am -gone, there will be no one to go into the library and pick them out." - -As soon as they had left, Mrs. Gibson began her usual comments on the -departed visitors. - -"I do like that Osborne Hamley! What a nice fellow he is! Somehow, -I always do like eldest sons. He will have the estate, won't he? I -shall ask your dear papa to encourage him to come about the house. He -will be a very good, very pleasant acquaintance for you and Cynthia. -The other is but a loutish young fellow, to my mind; there is no -aristocratic bearing about him. I suppose he takes after his mother, -who is but a parvenue, I've heard them say at the Towers." - -Molly was spiteful enough to have great pleasure in saying,-- - -"I think I've heard her father was a Russian merchant, and imported -tallow and hemp. Mr. Osborne Hamley is extremely like her." - -"Indeed! But there's no calculating these things. Anyhow, he is the -perfect gentleman in appearance and manner. The estate is entailed, -is it not?" - -"I know nothing about it," said Molly. - -A short silence ensued. Then Mrs. Gibson said,-- - -"Do you know, I almost think I must get dear papa to give a little -dinner-party, and ask Mr. Osborne Hamley? I should like to have him -feel at home in this house. It would be something cheerful for him -after the dulness and solitude of Hamley Hall. For the old people -don't visit much, I believe?" - -"He's going back to Cambridge next week," said Molly. - -"Is he? Well, then, we'll put off our little dinner till Cynthia -comes home. I should like to have some young society for her, poor -darling, when she returns." - -"When is she coming?" said Molly, who had always a longing curiosity -for this same Cynthia's return. - -"Oh! I'm not sure; perhaps at the new year--perhaps not till Easter. -I must get this drawing-room all new furnished first; and then I mean -to fit up her room and yours just alike. They are just the same size, -only on opposite sides of the passage." - -"Are you going to new-furnish that room?" said Molly, in astonishment -at the never-ending changes. - -"Yes; and yours, too, darling; so don't be jealous." - -"Oh, please, mamma, not mine," said Molly, taking in the idea for the -first time. - -"Yes, dear! You shall have yours done as well. A little French bed, -and a new paper, and a pretty carpet, and a dressed-up toilet-table -and glass, will make it look quite a different place." - -"But I don't want it to look different. I like it as it is. Pray -don't do anything to it." - -"What nonsense, child! I never heard anything more ridiculous! -Most girls would be glad to get rid of furniture only fit for the -lumber-room." - -"It was my own mamma's before she was married," said Molly, in a -very low voice; bringing out this last plea unwillingly, but with a -certainty that it would not be resisted. - -Mrs. Gibson paused for a moment before she replied: - -"It's very much to your credit that you should have such feelings, -I'm sure. But don't you think sentiment may be carried too far? Why, -we should have no new furniture at all, and should have to put up -with worm-eaten horrors. Besides, my dear, Hollingford will seem very -dull to Cynthia, after pretty, gay France, and I want to make the -first impressions attractive. I've a notion I can settle her down -near here; and I want her to come in a good temper; for, between -ourselves, my dear, she is a little, leetle wilful. You need not -mention this to your papa." - -"But can't you do Cynthia's room, and not mine? Please let mine -alone." - -"No, indeed! I couldn't agree to that. Only think what would be said -of me by everybody; petting my own child and neglecting my husband's! -I couldn't bear it." - -"No one need know." - -"In such a tittle-tattle place as Hollingford! Really, Molly, you are -either very stupid or very obstinate, or else you don't care what -hard things may be said about me: and all for a selfish fancy of -your own! No! I owe myself the justice of acting in this matter as I -please. Every one shall know I'm not a common stepmother. Every penny -I spend on Cynthia I shall spend on you too; so it's no use talking -any more about it." - -So Molly's little white dimity bed, her old-fashioned chest of -drawers, and her other cherished relics of her mother's maiden-days, -were consigned to the lumber-room; and after a while, when Cynthia -and her great French boxes had come home, the old furniture that had -filled up the space required for the fresh importation of trunks, -disappeared likewise into the same room. - -All this time the family at the Towers had been absent; Lady Cumnor -had been ordered to Bath for the early part of the winter, and her -family were with her there. On dull rainy days, Mrs. Gibson used to -bethink her of missing "the Cumnors," for so she had taken to calling -them since her position had become more independent of theirs. It -marked a distinction between her intimacy in the family, and the -reverential manner in which the townspeople were accustomed to speak -of "the earl and the countess." Both Lady Cumnor and Lady Harriet -wrote to their "dear Clare" from time to time. The former had -generally some commissions that she wished to have executed at the -Towers, or in the town; and no one could do them so well as Clare, -who was acquainted with all the tastes and ways of the countess. -These commissions were the cause of various bills for flys and cars -from the George Inn. Mr. Gibson pointed out this consequence to -his wife; but she, in return, bade him remark that a present of -game was pretty sure to follow upon the satisfactory execution of -Lady Cumnor's wishes. Somehow, Mr. Gibson did not quite like this -consequence either; but he was silent about it, at any rate. Lady -Harriet's letters were short and amusing. She had that sort of regard -for her old governess which prompted her to write from time to time, -and to feel glad when the half-voluntary task was accomplished. So -there was no real outpouring of confidence, but enough news of the -family and gossip of the place she was in, as she thought would -make Clare feel that she was not forgotten by her former pupils, -intermixed with moderate but sincere expressions of regard. How -those letters were quoted and referred to by Mrs. Gibson in her -conversations with the Hollingford ladies! She had found out their -effect at Ashcombe; and it was not less at Hollingford. But she was -rather perplexed at kindly messages to Molly, and at inquiries as -to how the Miss Brownings liked the tea she had sent; and Molly -had first to explain, and then to narrate at full length, all the -occurrences of the afternoon at Ashcombe Manor-house, and Lady -Harriet's subsequent call upon her at Miss Brownings'. - -"What nonsense!" said Mrs. Gibson, with some annoyance. "Lady Harriet -only went to see you out of a desire of amusement. She would only -make fun of Miss Brownings, and those two will be quoting her and -talking about her, just as if she was their intimate friend." - -"I don't think she did make fun of them. She really seemed as if she -had been very kind." - -"And you suppose you know her ways better than I do who have known -her these fifteen years? I tell you she turns every one into ridicule -who does not belong to her set. Why, she used always to speak of Miss -Brownings as 'Pecksy and Flapsy.'" - -"She promised me she would not," said Molly driven to bay. - -"Promised you!--Lady Harriet? What do you mean?" - -"Only--she spoke of them as Pecksy and Flapsy--and when she talked of -coming to call on me at their house, I asked her not to come if she -was going to--to make fun of them." - -"Upon my word! with all my long acquaintance with Lady Harriet, I -should never have ventured on such impertinence." - -"I didn't mean it as impertinence," said Molly sturdily. "And I don't -think Lady Harriet took it as such." - -"You can't know anything about it. She can put on any kind of -manner." - -Just then Squire Hamley came in. It was his first call; and Mrs. -Gibson gave him a graceful welcome, and was quite ready to accept -his apology for its tardiness, and to assure him that she quite -understood the pressure of business on every land-owner who farmed -his own estate. But no such apology was made. He shook her hand -heartily, as a mark of congratulation on her good fortune in having -secured such a prize as his friend Gibson, but said nothing about his -long neglect of duty. Molly, who by this time knew the few strong -expressions of his countenance well, was sure that something was the -matter, and that he was very much disturbed. He hardly attended to -Mrs. Gibson's fluent opening of conversation, for she had already -determined to make a favourable impression on the father of the -handsome young man who was heir to an estate, besides his own -personal agreeableness; but he turned to Molly and, addressing her, -said--almost in a low voice, as if he was making a confidence to her -that he did not intend Mrs. Gibson to hear,-- - -"Molly, we are all wrong at home! Osborne has lost the fellowship -at Trinity he went back to try for. Then he has gone and failed -miserably in his degree, after all that he said, and that his mother -said; and I, like a fool, went and boasted about my clever son. I -can't understand it. I never expected anything extraordinary from -Roger; but Osborne--! And then it has thrown madam into one of her -bad fits of illness; and she seems to have a fancy for you, child! -Your father came to see her this morning. Poor thing, she's very -poorly, I'm afraid; and she told him how she should like to have you -about her, and he said I might fetch you. You'll come, won't you, my -dear? She's not a poor woman, such as many people think it's the only -charity to be kind to, but she's just as forlorn of woman's care as -if she was poor--worse, I daresay." - -"I'll be ready in ten minutes," said Molly, much touched by the -squire's words and manner, never thinking of asking her stepmother's -consent, now that she had heard that her father had given his. As she -rose to leave the room, Mrs. Gibson, who had only half heard what the -Squire had said, and was a little affronted at the exclusiveness of -his confidence, said,--"My dear, where are you going?" - -"Mrs. Hamley wants me, and papa says I may go," said Molly; and -almost at the same time the Squire replied,-- - -"My wife is ill, and as she's very fond of your daughter, she begged -Mr. Gibson to allow her to come to the Hall for a little while, and -he kindly said she might, and I'm come to fetch her." - -"Stop a minute, darling," said Mrs. Gibson to Molly--a slight cloud -over her countenance, in spite of her caressing word. "I am sure dear -papa quite forgot that you were to go out with me to-night, to visit -people," continued she, addressing herself to the Squire, "with whom -I am quite unacquainted--and it is very uncertain if Mr. Gibson can -return in time to accompany me--so, you see, I cannot allow Molly to -go with you." - -"I shouldn't have thought it would have signified. Brides are always -brides, I suppose; and it's their part to be timid; but I shouldn't -have thought it--in this case. And my wife sets her heart on things, -as sick people do. Well, Molly" (in a louder tone, for these -foregoing sentences were spoken _sotto voce_), "we must put it off -till to-morrow: and it's our loss, not yours," he continued, as -he saw the reluctance with which she slowly returned to her place. -"You'll be as gay as can be to-night, I daresay--" - -"No, I shall not," broke in Molly. "I never wanted to go, and now I -shall want it less than ever." - -"Hush, my dear," said Mrs. Gibson; and, addressing the Squire, she -added, "The visiting here is not all one could wish for so young a -girl--no young people, no dances, nothing of gaiety; but it is wrong -in you, Molly, to speak against such kind friends of your father's as -I understand these Cockerells are. Don't give so bad an impression of -yourself to the kind Squire." - -"Let her alone! let her alone!" quoth he. "I see what she means. -She'd rather come and be in my wife's sick-room than go out for this -visit to-night. Is there no way of getting her off?" - -"None whatever," said Mrs. Gibson. "An engagement is an engagement -with me; and I consider that she is not only engaged to Mrs. -Cockerell, but to me--bound to accompany me, in my husband's -absence." - -The Squire was put out; and when he was put out he had a trick of -placing his hands on his knees and whistling softly to himself. Molly -knew this phase of his displeasure, and only hoped he would confine -himself to this wordless expression of annoyance. It was pretty hard -work for her to keep the tears out of her eyes; and she endeavoured -to think of something else, rather than dwell on regrets and -annoyances. She heard Mrs. Gibson talking on in a sweet monotone, and -wished to attend to what she was saying, but the Squire's visible -annoyance struck sharper on her mind. At length, after a pause of -silence, he started up, and said,-- - -"Well! it's no use. Poor madam; she won't like it. She'll be -disappointed! But it's but for one evening!--but for one evening! She -may come to-morrow, mayn't she? Or will the dissipation of such an -evening as she describes, be too much for her?" - -There was a touch of savage irony in his manner which frightened Mrs. -Gibson into good behaviour. - -"She shall be ready at any time you name. I am so sorry: my foolish -shyness is in fault, I believe; but still you must acknowledge that -an engagement is an engagement." - -"Did I ever say an engagement was an elephant, madam? However, -there's no use saying any more about it, or I shall forget my -manners. I'm an old tyrant, and she--lying there in bed, poor -girl--has always given me my own way. So you'll excuse me, Mrs. -Gibson, won't you; and let Molly come along with me at ten to-morrow -morning?" - -"Certainly," said Mrs. Gibson, smiling. But when his back was turned, -she said to Molly,-- - -"Now, my dear, I must never have you exposing me to the ill-manners -of such a man again! I don't call him a squire; I call him a boor, -or a yeoman at best. You must not go on accepting or rejecting -invitations as if you were an independent young lady, Molly. Pay me -the respect of a reference to my wishes another time, if you please, -my dear!" - -"Papa had said I might go," said Molly, choking a little. - -"As I am now your mamma, your references must be to me, for the -future. But as you are to go you may as well look well dressed. I -will lend you my new shawl for this visit, if you like it, and my set -of green ribbons. I am always indulgent when proper respect is paid -to me. And in such a house as Hamley Hall, no one can tell who may be -coming and going, even if there is sickness in the family." - -"Thank you. But I don't want the shawl and the ribbons, please: there -will be nobody there except the family. There never is, I think; and -now that she is so ill"--Molly was on the point of crying at the -thought of her friend lying ill and lonely, and looking for her -arrival. Moreover, she was sadly afraid lest the Squire had gone off -with the idea that she did not want to come--that she preferred that -stupid, stupid party at the Cockerells'. Mrs. Gibson, too, was sorry; -she had an uncomfortable consciousness of having given way to temper -before a stranger, and a stranger, too, whose good opinion she had -meant to cultivate; and she was also annoyed at Molly's tearful face. - -"What can I do for you, to bring you back into good temper?" she -said. "First, you insist upon your knowing Lady Harriet better than -I do--I, who have known her for eighteen or nineteen years at least. -Then you jump at invitations without ever consulting me, or thinking -of how awkward it would be for me to go stumping into a drawing-room -all by myself; following my new name, too, which always makes me feel -uncomfortable, it is such a sad come-down after Kirkpatrick! And -then, when I offer you some of the prettiest things I have got, you -say it does not signify how you are dressed. What can I do to please -you, Molly? I, who delight in nothing more than peace in a family, to -see you sitting there with despair upon your face?" - -Molly could stand it no longer; she went upstairs to her own -room--her own smart new room, which hardly yet seemed a familiar -place; and began to cry so heartily and for so long a time, that she -stopped at length for very weariness. She thought of Mrs. Hamley -wearying for her; of the old Hall whose very quietness might become -oppressive to an ailing person; of the trust the Squire had had in -her that she would come off directly with him. And all this oppressed -her much more than the querulousness of her stepmother's words. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -TROUBLE AT HAMLEY HALL. - - -If Molly thought that peace dwelt perpetually at Hamley Hall -she was sorely mistaken. Something was out of tune in the whole -establishment; and, for a very unusual thing, the common irritation -seemed to have produced a common bond. All the servants were old in -their places, and were told by some one of the family, or gathered, -from the unheeded conversation carried on before them, everything -that affected master or mistress or either of the young gentlemen. -Any one of them could have told Molly that the grievance which lay at -the root of everything, was the amount of the bills run up by Osborne -at Cambridge, and which, now that all chance of his obtaining a -fellowship was over, came pouring down upon the Squire. But Molly, -confident of being told by Mrs. Hamley herself anything which she -wished her to hear, encouraged no confidences from any one else. - -She was struck with the change in "madam's" look as soon as she -caught sight of her in the darkened room, lying on the sofa in her -dressing-room, all dressed in white, which almost rivalled the white -wanness of her face. The Squire ushered Molly in with,-- - -"Here she is at last!" and Molly had scarcely imagined that he had so -much variety in the tones of his voice--the beginning of the sentence -was spoken in a loud congratulatory manner, while the last words -were scarcely audible. He had seen the death-like pallor on his -wife's face; not a new sight, and one which had been presented to him -gradually enough, but which was now always giving him a fresh shock. -It was a lovely tranquil winter's day; every branch and every twig -on the trees and shrubs was glittering with drops of the sun-melted -hoar-frost; a robin was perched on a holly-bush, piping cheerily; but -the blinds were down, and out of Mrs. Hamley's windows nothing of all -this was to be seen. There was even a large screen placed between -her and the wood-fire, to keep off that cheerful blaze. Mrs. Hamley -stretched out one hand to Molly, and held hers firm; with the other -she shaded her eyes. - -"She is not so well this morning," said the Squire, shaking his head. -"But never fear, my dear one; here's the doctor's daughter, nearly -as good as the doctor himself. Have you had your medicine? Your -beef-tea?" he continued, going about on heavy tiptoe and peeping into -every empty cup and glass. Then he returned to the sofa; looked at -her for a minute or two, and then softly kissed her, and told Molly -he would leave her in charge. - -As if Mrs. Hamley was afraid of Molly's remarks or questions, she -began in her turn a hasty system of interrogatories. - -"Now, dear child, tell me all; it's no breach of confidence, for I -shan't mention it again, and I shan't be here long. How does it all -go on--the new mother, the good resolutions? let me help you if I -can. I think with a girl I could have been of use--a mother does not -know boys. But tell me anything you like and will; don't be afraid of -details." - -Even with Molly's small experience of illness she saw how much of -restless fever there was in this speech; and instinct, or some -such gift, prompted her to tell a long story of many things--the -wedding-day, her visit to Miss Brownings', the new furniture, Lady -Harriet, &c., all in an easy flow of talk which was very soothing -to Mrs. Hamley, inasmuch as it gave her something to think about -beyond her own immediate sorrows. But Molly did not speak of her own -grievances, nor of the new domestic relationship. Mrs. Hamley noticed -this. - -"And you and Mrs. Gibson get on happily together?" - -"Not always," said Molly. "You know we didn't know much of each other -before we were put to live together." - -"I didn't like what the Squire told me last night. He was very -angry." - -That sore had not yet healed over; but Molly resolutely kept silence, -beating her brains to think of some other subject of conversation. - -"Ah! I see, Molly," said Mrs. Hamley; "you won't tell me your -sorrows, and yet, perhaps, I could have done you some good." - -"I don't like," said Molly, in a low voice. "I think papa wouldn't -like it. And, besides, you have helped me so much--you and Mr. -Roger Hamley. I often think of the things he said; they come in so -usefully, and are such a strength to me." - -"Ah, Roger! yes. He is to be trusted. Oh, Molly! I've a great deal -to say to you myself, only not now. I must have my medicine and try -to go to sleep. Good girl! You are stronger than I am, and can do -without sympathy." - -Molly was taken to another room; the maid who conducted her to it -told her that Mrs. Hamley had not wished her to have her nights -disturbed, as they might very probably have been if she had been in -her former sleeping-room. In the afternoon Mrs. Hamley sent for her, -and with the want of reticence common to invalids, especially to -those suffering from long and depressing maladies, she told Molly of -the family distress and disappointment. - -She made Molly sit down near her on a little stool, and, holding her -hand, and looking into her eyes to catch her spoken sympathy from -their expression quicker than she could from her words, she said,-- - -"Osborne has so disappointed us! I cannot understand it yet. And the -Squire was so terribly angry! I cannot think how all the money was -spent--advances through money-lenders, besides bills. The Squire -does not show me how angry he is now, because he's afraid of another -attack; but I know how angry he is. You see he has been spending ever -so much money in reclaiming that land at Upton Common, and is very -hard pressed himself. But it would have doubled the value of the -estate, and so we never thought anything of economies which would -benefit Osborne in the long run. And now the Squire says he must -mortgage some of the land; and you can't think how it cuts him to -the heart. He sold a great deal of timber to send the two boys to -college. Osborne--oh! what a dear, innocent boy he was: he was the -heir, you know; and he was so clever, every one said he was sure of -honours and a fellowship, and I don't know what all; and he did get -a scholarship, and then all went wrong. I don't know how. That is -the worst. Perhaps the Squire wrote too angrily, and that stopped up -confidence. But he might have told me. He would have done, I think, -Molly, if he had been here, face to face with me. But the Squire, in -his anger, told him not to show his face at home till he had paid off -the debts he had incurred out of his allowance. Out of two hundred -and fifty a year to pay off more than nine hundred, one way or -another! And not to come home till then! Perhaps Roger will have -debts too! He had but two hundred; but, then, he was not the eldest -son. The Squire has given orders that the men are to be turned off -the draining-works; and I lie awake thinking of their poor families -this wintry weather. But what shall we do? I've never been strong, -and, perhaps, I've been extravagant in my habits; and there were -family traditions as to expenditure, and the reclaiming of this land. -Oh! Molly, Osborne was such a sweet little baby, and such a loving -boy: so clever, too! You know I read you some of his poetry: now, -could a person who wrote like that do anything very wrong? And yet -I'm afraid he has." - -"Don't you know, at all, how the money has gone?" asked Molly. - -"No! not at all. That's the sting. There are tailors' bills, -and bills for book-binding and wine and pictures--those come -to four or five hundred; and though this expenditure is -extraordinary--inexplicable to such simple folk as we are--yet it -may be only the luxury of the present day. But the money for which -he will give no account,--of which, indeed, we only heard through -the Squire's London agents, who found out that certain disreputable -attorneys were making inquiries as to the entail of the estate;--oh! -Molly, worse than all--I don't know how to bring myself to tell -you--as to the age and health of the Squire, his dear father"--(she -began to sob almost hysterically; yet she would go on talking, in -spite of Molly's efforts to stop her)--"who held him in his arms, and -blessed him, even before I had kissed him; and thought always so much -of him as his heir and first-born darling. How he has loved him! How -I have loved him! I sometimes have thought of late that we've almost -done that good Roger injustice." - -"No! I'm sure you've not: only look at the way he loves you. Why, you -are his first thought: he may not speak about it, but any one may see -it. And dear, dear Mrs. Hamley," said Molly, determined to say out -all that was in her mind now that she had once got the word, "don't -you think that it would be better not to misjudge Mr. Osborne Hamley? -We don't know what he has done with the money: he is so good (is he -not?) that he may have wanted it to relieve some poor person--some -tradesman, for instance, pressed by creditors--some--" - -"You forget, dear," said Mrs. Hamley, smiling a little at the girl's -impetuous romance, but sighing the next instant, "that all the other -bills come from tradesmen, who complain piteously of being kept out -of their money." - -Molly was nonplussed for the moment; but then she said,-- - -"I daresay they imposed upon him. I'm sure I've heard stories of -young men being made regular victims of by the shopkeepers in great -towns." - -"You're a great darling, child," said Mrs. Hamley, comforted by -Molly's strong partisanship, unreasonable and ignorant though it was. - -"And, besides," continued Molly, "some one must be acting wrongly in -Osborne's--Mr. Osborne Hamley's, I mean--I can't help saying Osborne -sometimes, but, indeed, I always think of him as Mr. Osborne--" - -"Never mind, Molly, what you call him; only go on talking. It -seems to do me good to hear the hopeful side taken. The Squire has -been so hurt and displeased: strange-looking men coming into the -neighbourhood, too, questioning the tenants, and grumbling about the -last fall of timber, as if they were calculating on the Squire's -death." - -"That's just what I was going to speak about. Doesn't it show that -they are bad men? and would bad men scruple to impose upon him, and -to tell lies in his name, and to ruin him?" - -"Don't you see, you only make him out weak, instead of wicked?" - -"Yes; perhaps I do. But I don't think he is weak. You know yourself, -dear Mrs. Hamley, how very clever he really is. Besides, I would -rather he was weak than wicked. Weak people may find themselves all -at once strong in heaven, when they see things quite clearly; but I -don't think the wicked will turn themselves into virtuous people all -at once." - -"I think I've been very weak, Molly," said Mrs. Hamley, stroking -Molly's curls affectionately. "I've made such an idol of my beautiful -Osborne; and he turns out to have feet of clay, not strong enough to -stand firm on the ground. And that's the best view of his conduct, -too!" - -What with his anger against his son, and his anxiety about his wife; -the difficulty of raising the money immediately required, and his -irritation at the scarce-concealed inquiries made by strangers as to -the value of his property, the poor Squire was in a sad state. He -was angry and impatient with every one who came near him; and then -was depressed at his own violent temper and unjust words. The old -servants, who, perhaps, cheated him in many small things, were -beautifully patient under his upbraidings. They could understand -bursts of passion, and knew the cause of his variable moods as well -as he did himself. The butler, who was accustomed to argue with his -master about every fresh direction as to his work, now nudged Molly -at dinner-time to make her eat of some dish which she had just been -declining, and explained his conduct afterwards as follows:-- - -"You see, miss, me and cook had planned a dinner as would tempt -master to eat; but when you say, 'No, thank you,' when I hand you -anything, master never so much as looks at it. But if you takes a -thing, and eats with a relish, why first he waits, and then he looks, -and by-and-by he smells; and then he finds out as he's hungry, and -falls to eating as natural as a kitten takes to mewing. That's the -reason, miss, as I gave you a nudge and a wink, which no one knows -better nor me was not manners." - -Osborne's name was never mentioned during these cheerless meals. The -Squire asked Molly questions about Hollingford people, but did not -seem much to attend to her answers. He used also to ask her every day -how she thought that his wife was; but if Molly told the truth--that -every day seemed to make her weaker and weaker--he was almost savage -with the girl. He could not bear it; and he would not. Nay, once he -was on the point of dismissing Mr. Gibson because he insisted on a -consultation with Dr. Nicholls, the great physician of the county. - -"It's nonsense thinking her so ill as that--you know it's only the -delicacy she's had for years; and if you can't do her any good in -such a simple case--no pain--only weakness and nervousness--it is a -simple case, eh?--don't look in that puzzled way, man!--you'd better -give her up altogether, and I'll take her to Bath or Brighton, -or somewhere for change, for in my opinion it's only moping and -nervousness." - -But the Squire's bluff florid face was pinched with anxiety, and worn -with the effort of being deaf to the footsteps of fate as he said -these words which belied his fears. - -Mr. Gibson replied very quietly,-- - -"I shall go on coming to see her, and I know you'll not forbid my -visits. But I shall bring Dr. Nicholls with me the next time I come. -I may be mistaken in my treatment; and I wish to God he may say I am -mistaken in my apprehensions." - -"Don't tell me them! I cannot bear them!" cried the Squire. "Of -course we must all die; and she must too. But the cleverest doctor -in England shan't go about coolly meting out the life of such as her. -I daresay I shall die first. I hope I shall. But I'll knock any one -down who speaks to me of death sitting within me. And, besides, I -think all doctors are ignorant quacks, pretending to knowledge they -haven't got. Ay, you may smile at me. I don't care. Unless you can -tell me I shall die first, neither you nor your Dr. Nicholls shall -come prophesying and croaking about this house." - -Mr. Gibson went away, heavy at heart from the thought of Mrs. -Hamley's approaching death, but thinking little enough of the -Squire's speeches. He had almost forgotten them, in fact, when about -nine o'clock that evening, a groom rode in from Hamley Hall in hot -haste, with a note from the Squire. - - - DEAR GIBSON,-- - - For God's sake forgive me if I was rude to-day. She is - much worse. Come and spend the night here. Write for - Nicholls, and all the physicians you want. Write before - you start off. They may give her ease. There were - Whitworth doctors much talked of in my youth for curing - people given up by the regular doctors; can't you get one - of them? I put myself in your hands. Sometimes I think it - is the turning point, and she'll rally after this bout. I - trust all to you. - - Yours ever, - - R. HAMLEY. - - P.S.--Molly is a treasure.--God help me! - - -Of course Mr. Gibson went; for the first time since his marriage -cutting short Mrs. Gibson's querulous lamentations over her life, -as involved in that of a doctor called out at all hours of day and -night. - -He brought Mrs. Hamley through this attack; and for a day or two the -Squire's alarm and gratitude made him docile in Mr. Gibson's hands. -Then he returned to the idea of its being a crisis through which his -wife had passed; and that she was now on the way to recovery. But -the day after the consultation with Dr. Nicholls, Mr. Gibson said to -Molly,-- - -"Molly! I've written to Osborne and Roger. Do you know Osborne's -address?" - -"No, papa. He's in disgrace. I don't know if the Squire knows; and -she has been too ill to write." - -"Never mind. I'll enclose it to Roger; whatever those lads may be to -others, there's as strong brotherly love as ever I saw, between the -two. Roger will know. And, Molly, they are sure to come home as soon -as they hear my report of their mother's state. I wish you'd tell the -Squire what I've done. It's not a pleasant piece of work; and I'll -tell madam myself in my own way. I'd have told him if he'd been at -home; but you say he was obliged to go to Ashcombe on business." - -"Quite obliged. He was so sorry to miss you. But, papa, he will be so -angry! You don't know how mad he is against Osborne." - -Molly dreaded the Squire's anger when she gave him her father's -message. She had seen quite enough of the domestic relations of -the Hamley family to understand that, underneath his old-fashioned -courtesy, and the pleasant hospitality he showed to her as a guest, -there was a strong will, and a vehement passionate temper, along with -that degree of obstinacy in prejudices (or "opinions," as he would -have called them) so common to those who have, neither in youth nor -in manhood, mixed largely with their kind. She had listened, day -after day, to Mrs. Hamley's plaintive murmurs as to the deep disgrace -in which Osborne was being held by his father--the prohibition of his -coming home; and she hardly knew how to begin to tell him that the -letter summoning Osborne had already been sent off. - -Their dinners were tête-à-tête. The Squire tried to make them -pleasant to Molly, feeling deeply grateful to her for the soothing -comfort she was to his wife. He made merry speeches, which sank -away into silence, and at which they each forgot to smile. He -ordered up rare wines, which she did not care for, but tasted out of -complaisance. He noticed that one day she had eaten some brown beurré -pears as if she liked them; and as his trees had not produced many -this year, he gave directions that this particular kind should be -sought for through the neighbourhood. Molly felt that, in many ways, -he was full of good-will towards her; but it did not diminish her -dread of touching on the one sore point in the family. However, it -had to be done, and that without delay. - -The great log was placed on the after-dinner fire, the hearth swept -up, the ponderous candles snuffed, and then the door was shut and -Molly and the Squire were left to their dessert. She sat at the side -of the table in her old place. That at the head was vacant; yet, as -no orders had been given to the contrary, the plate and glasses and -napkin were always arranged as regularly and methodically as if Mrs. -Hamley would come in as usual. Indeed, sometimes, when the door -by which she used to enter was opened by any chance, Molly caught -herself looking round as if she expected to see the tall, languid -figure in the elegant draperies of rich silk and soft lace, which -Mrs. Hamley was wont to wear of an evening. - -This evening, it struck her, as a new thought of pain, that into -that room she would come no more. She had fixed to give her father's -message at this very point of time; but something in her throat -choked her, and she hardly knew how to govern her voice. The Squire -got up and went to the broad fireplace, to strike into the middle of -the great log, and split it up into blazing, sparkling pieces. His -back was towards her. Molly began, "When papa was here to-day, he -bade me tell you he had written to Mr. Roger Hamley to say that--that -he thought he had better come home; and he enclosed a letter to Mr. -Osborne Hamley to say the same thing." - -The Squire put down the poker, but he still kept his back to Molly. - -"He sent for Osborne and Roger?" he asked, at length. - -Molly answered, "Yes." - -Then there was a dead silence, which Molly thought would never end. -The Squire had placed his two hands on the high chimney-piece, and -stood leaning over the fire. - -"Roger would have been down from Cambridge on the 18th," said he. -"And he has sent for Osborne, too! Did he know,"--he continued, -turning round to Molly, with something of the fierceness she had -anticipated in voice and look. In another moment he had dropped his -voice. "It's right, quite right. I understand. It has come at length. -Come! come! Osborne has brought it on, though," with a fresh access -of anger in his tones. "She might have" (some word Molly could not -hear--she thought it sounded like "lingered") "but for that. I can't -forgive him; I cannot." - -And then he suddenly left the room. While Molly sat there still, very -sad in her sympathy with all, he put his head in again:-- - -"Go to her, my dear; I cannot--not just yet. But I will soon. Just -this bit; and after that I won't lose a moment. You're a good girl. -God bless you!" - -It is not to be supposed that Molly had remained all this time at the -Hall without interruption. Once or twice her father had brought her -a summons home. Molly thought she could perceive that he had brought -it unwillingly; in fact, it was Mrs. Gibson that had sent for her, -almost, as it were, to preserve a "right of way" through her actions. - -"You shall come back to-morrow, or the next day," her father had -said. "But mamma seems to think people will put a bad construction on -your being so much away from home so soon after our marriage." - -"Oh, papa, I'm afraid Mrs. Hamley will miss me! I do so like being -with her." - -"I don't think it is likely she will miss you as much as she would -have done a month or two ago. She sleeps so much now, that she is -scarcely conscious of the lapse of time. I'll see that you come back -here again in a day or two." - -So out of the silence and the soft melancholy of the Hall Molly -returned into the all-pervading element of chatter and gossip at -Hollingford. Mrs. Gibson received her kindly enough. Once she had a -smart new winter bonnet ready to give her as a present; but she did -not care to hear any particulars about the friends whom Molly had -just left; and her few remarks on the state of affairs at the Hall -jarred terribly on the sensitive Molly. - -"What a time she lingers! Your papa never expected she would last -half so long after that attack. It must be very wearing work to them -all; I declare you look quite another creature since you were there. -One can only wish it mayn't last, for their sakes." - -"You don't know how the Squire values every minute," said Molly. - -"Why, you say she sleeps a great deal, and doesn't talk much when -she's awake, and there's not the slightest hope for her. And yet, at -such times, people are kept on the tenter-hooks with watching and -waiting. I know it by my dear Kirkpatrick. There really were days -when I thought it never would end. But we won't talk any more of such -dismal things; you've had quite enough of them, I'm sure, and it -always makes me melancholy to hear of illness and death; and yet your -papa seems sometimes as if he could talk of nothing else. I'm going -to take you out to-night, though, and that will give you something -of a change; and I've been getting Miss Rose to trim up one of my -old gowns for you; it's too tight for me. There's some talk of -dancing,--it's at Mrs. Edwards'." - -"Oh, mamma, I cannot go!" cried Molly. "I've been so much with her; -and she may be suffering so, or even dying--and I to be dancing!" - -"Nonsense! You're no relation, so you need not feel it so much. I -wouldn't urge you, if she was likely to know about it and be hurt; -but as it is, it's all fixed that you are to go; and don't let us -have any nonsense about it. We might sit twirling our thumbs, and -repeating hymns all our lives long, if we were to do nothing else -when people were dying." - -"I cannot go," repeated Molly. And, acting upon impulse, and almost -to her own surprise, she appealed to her father, who came into the -room at this very time. He contracted his dark eyebrows, and looked -annoyed as both wife and daughter poured their different sides of the -argument into his ears. He sat down in desperation of patience. When -his turn came to pronounce a decision, he said,-- - -"I suppose I can have some lunch? I went away at six this morning, -and there's nothing in the dining-room. I have to go off again -directly." - -Molly started to the door; Mrs. Gibson made haste to ring the bell. - -"Where are you going, Molly?" said she, sharply. - -"Only to see about papa's lunch." - -"There are servants to do it; and I don't like your going into the -kitchen." - -"Come, Molly! sit down and be quiet," said her father. "One comes -home wanting peace and quietness--and food too. If I am to be -appealed to, which I beg I may not be another time, I settle that -Molly stops at home this evening. I shall come back late and tired. -See that I have something ready to eat, goosey, and then I'll dress -myself up in my best, and go and fetch you home, my dear. I wish all -these wedding festivities were well over. Ready, is it? Then I'll go -into the dining-room and gorge myself. A doctor ought to be able to -eat like a camel, or like Major Dugald Dalgetty." - -It was well for Molly that callers came in just at this time, for -Mrs. Gibson was extremely annoyed. They told her some little local -piece of news, however, which filled up her mind; and Molly found -that, if she only expressed wonder enough at the engagement they had -both heard of from the departed callers, the previous discussion as -to her accompanying her stepmother or not might be entirely passed -over. Not entirely though; for the next morning she had to listen to -a very brilliantly touched-up account of the dance and the gaiety -which she had missed; and also to be told that Mrs. Gibson had -changed her mind about giving her the gown, and thought now that -she should reserve it for Cynthia, if only it was long enough; but -Cynthia was so tall--quite overgrown, in fact. The chances seemed -equally balanced as to whether Molly might not have the gown after -all. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -MR. OSBORNE'S SECRET. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Osborne and Roger came to the Hall; Molly found Roger established -there when she returned after this absence at home. She gathered -that Osborne was coming; but very little was said about him in any -way. The Squire scarcely ever left his wife's room; he sat by her, -watching her, and now and then moaning to himself. She was so much -under the influence of opiates that she did not often rouse up; but -when she did, she almost invariably asked for Molly. On these rare -occasions, she would ask after Osborne--where he was, if he had been -told, and if he was coming? In her weakened and confused state of -intellect she seemed to have retained two strong impressions--one, -of the sympathy with which Molly had received her confidence about -Osborne; the other, of the anger which her husband entertained -against him. Before the squire she never mentioned Osborne's name; -nor did she seem at her ease in speaking about him to Roger; while, -when she was alone with Molly, she hardly spoke of any one else. -She must have had some sort of wandering idea that Roger blamed his -brother, while she remembered Molly's eager defence, which she had -thought hopelessly improbable at the time. At any rate, she made -Molly her confidante about her first-born. She sent her to ask Roger -how soon he would come, for she seemed to know perfectly well that he -was coming. - -"Tell me all Roger says. He will tell you." - -But it was several days before Molly could ask Roger any questions; -and meanwhile Mrs. Hamley's state had materially altered. At length -Molly came upon Roger sitting in the library, his head buried in his -hands. He did not hear her footstep till she was close beside him. -Then he lifted up his face, red, and stained with tears, his hair all -ruffled up and in disorder. - -"I've been wanting to see you alone," she began. "Your mother does -so want some news of your brother Osborne. She told me last week to -ask you about him, but I did not like to speak of him before your -father." - -"She has hardly ever named him to me." - -"I don't know why; for to me she used to talk of him perpetually. I -have seen so little of her this week, and I think she forgets a great -deal now. Still, if you don't mind, I should like to be able to tell -her something if she asks me again." - -He put his head again between his hands, and did not answer her for -some time. - -"What does she want to know?" said he, at last. "Does she know that -Osborne is coming soon--any day?" - -"Yes. But she wants to know where he is." - -"I can't tell you. I don't exactly know. I believe he's abroad, but -I'm not sure." - -"But you've sent papa's letter to him?" - -"I've sent it to a friend of his who will know better than I do where -he's to be found. You must know that he isn't free from creditors, -Molly. You can't have been one of the family, like a child of the -house almost, without knowing that much. For that and for other -reasons I don't exactly know where he is." - -"I will tell her so. You are sure he will come?" - -"Quite sure. But, Molly, I think my mother may live some time yet; -don't you? Dr. Nicholls said so yesterday when he was here with -your father. He said she had rallied more than he had ever expected. -You're not afraid of any change that makes you so anxious for -Osborne's coming?" - -"No. It's only for her that I asked. She did seem so to crave for -news of him. I think she dreamed of him; and then when she wakened -it was a relief to her to talk about him to me. She always seemed to -associate me with him. We used to speak so much of him when we were -together." - -"I don't know what we should any of us have done without you. You've -been like a daughter to my mother." - -"I do so love her," said Molly, softly. - -"Yes; I see. Have you ever noticed that she sometimes calls you -'Fanny?' It was the name of a little sister of ours who died. I think -she often takes you for her. It was partly that, and partly that at -such a time as this one can't stand on formalities, that made me call -you Molly. I hope you don't mind it?" - -"No; I like it. But will you tell me something more about your -brother? She really hungers for news of him." - -"She'd better ask me herself. Yet, no! I am so involved by promises -of secrecy, Molly, that I couldn't satisfy her if she once began to -question me. I believe he's in Belgium, and that he went there about -a fortnight ago, partly to avoid his creditors. You know my father -has refused to pay his debts?" - -"Yes: at least, I knew something like it." - -"I don't believe my father could raise the money all at once without -having recourse to steps which he would exceedingly recoil from. Yet -for the time it places Osborne in a very awkward position." - -"I think what vexes your father a good deal is some mystery as to how -the money was spent." - -"If my mother ever says anything about that part of the affair," said -Roger, hastily, "assure her from me that there's nothing of vice or -wrong-doing about it. I can't say more: I'm tied. But set her mind at -ease on that point." - -"I'm not sure if she remembers all her painful anxiety about this," -said Molly. "She used to speak a great deal to me about him before -you came, when your father seemed so angry. And now, whenever she -sees me she wants to talk on the old subject; but she doesn't -remember so clearly. If she were to see him, I don't believe she -would recollect why she was uneasy about him while he was absent." - -"He must be here soon. I expect him every day," said Roger, uneasily. - -"Do you think your father will be very angry with him?" asked Molly, -with as much timidity as if the squire's displeasure might be -directed against her. - -"I don't know," said Roger. "My mother's illness may alter him; but -he didn't easily forgive us formerly. I remember once--but that is -nothing to the purpose. I can't help fancying that he has put himself -under some strong restraint for my mother's sake, and that he won't -express much. But it doesn't follow that he will forget it. My father -is a man of few affections, but what he has are very strong; he feels -anything that touches him on these points deeply and permanently. -That unlucky valuing of the property! It has given my father the idea -of post-obits--" - -"What are they?" asked Molly. - -"Raising money to be paid on my father's death, which, of course, -involves calculations as to the duration of his life." - -"How shocking!" said she. - -"I'm as sure as I am of my own life that Osborne never did anything -of the kind. But my father expressed his suspicions in language -that irritated Osborne; and he doesn't speak out, and won't justify -himself even as much as he might; and, much as he loves me, I've but -little influence over him, or else he would tell my father all. Well, -we must leave it to time," he added, sighing. "My mother would have -brought us all right, if she'd been what she once was." - -He turned away, leaving Molly very sad. She knew that every member of -the family she cared for so much was in trouble, out of which she saw -no exit; and her small power of helping them was diminishing day by -day as Mrs. Hamley sank more and more under the influence of opiates -and stupefying illness. Her father had spoken to her only this very -day of the desirableness of her returning home for good. Mrs. Gibson -wanted her--for no particular reason, but for many small fragments of -reasons. Mrs. Hamley had ceased to want her much, only occasionally -appearing to remember her existence. Her position (her father -thought--the idea had not entered her head) in a family of which -the only woman was an invalid confined to bed, was becoming awkward. -But Molly had begged hard to remain two or three days longer--only -that--only till Friday. If Mrs. Hamley should want her (she argued, -with tears in her eyes), and should hear that she had left the house, -she would think her so unkind, so ungrateful! - -"My dear child, she's getting past wanting any one! The keenness of -earthly feelings is deadened." - -"Papa, that is worst of all. I cannot bear it. I won't believe it. -She may not ask for me again, and may quite forget me; but I'm sure, -to the very last, if the medicines don't stupefy her, she will look -round for the squire and her children. For poor Osborne most of all; -because he's in sorrow." - -Mr. Gibson shook his head, but said nothing in reply. In a minute or -two he asked,-- - -"I don't like to take you away while you even fancy you can be of use -or comfort to one who has been so kind to you; but, if she hasn't -wanted you before Friday, will you be convinced, will you come home -willingly?" - -"If I go then, I may see her once again, even if she hasn't asked for -me?" inquired Molly. - -"Yes, of course. You must make no noise, no step; but you may go in -and see her. I must tell you, I'm almost certain she won't ask for -you." - -"But she may, papa. I will go home on Friday, if she does not. I -think she will." - -So Molly hung about the house, trying to do all she could out of the -sick-room, for the comfort of those in it. They only came out for -meals, or for necessary business, and found little time for talking -to her, so her life was solitary enough, waiting for the call that -never came. The evening of the day on which she had had the above -conversation with Roger, Osborne arrived. He came straight into -the drawing-room, where Molly was seated on the rug, reading by -firelight, as she did not like to ring for candles merely for her -own use. Osborne came in, with a kind of hurry, which almost made -him appear as if he would trip himself up, and fall down. Molly rose. -He had not noticed her before; now he came forwards, and took hold -of both her hands, leading her into the full flickering light, and -straining his eyes to look into her face. - -"How is she? You will tell me--you must know the truth! I've -travelled day and night since I got your father's letter." - -Before she could frame her answer, he had sate down in the nearest -chair, covering his eyes with his hand. - -"She's very ill," said Molly. "That you know; but I don't think she -suffers much pain. She has wanted you sadly." - -He groaned aloud. "My father forbade me to come." - -"I know!" said Molly, anxious to prevent his self-reproach. "Your -brother was away, too. I think no one knew how ill she was--she had -been an invalid for so long." - -"You know-- Yes! she told you a great deal--she was very fond of you. -And God knows how I loved her. If I had not been forbidden to come -home, I should have told her all. Does my father know of my coming -now?" - -"Yes," said Molly; "I told him papa had sent for you." - -Just at that moment the Squire came in. He had not heard of Osborne's -arrival, and was seeking Molly to ask her to write a letter for him. - -Osborne did not stand up when his father entered. He was too much -exhausted, too much oppressed by his feelings, and also too much -estranged by his father's angry, suspicious letters. If he had come -forward with any manifestation of feeling at this moment, everything -might have been different. But he waited for his father to see him -before he uttered a word. All that the Squire said when his eye fell -upon him at last was,-- - -"You here, sir!" - -And, breaking off in the directions he was giving to Molly, he -abruptly left the room. All the time his heart was yearning after his -first-born; but mutual pride kept them asunder. Yet he went straight -to the butler, and asked of him when Mr. Osborne had arrived, and how -he had come, and if he had had any refreshment--dinner or what--since -his arrival? - -"For I think I forget everything now!" said the poor Squire, putting -his hand up to his head. "For the life of me, I can't remember -whether we've had dinner or not; these long nights, and all this -sorrow and watching, quite bewilder me." - -"Perhaps, sir, you will take some dinner with Mr. Osborne. Mrs. -Morgan is sending up his directly. You hardly sate down at -dinner-time, sir, you thought my mistress wanted something." - -"Ay! I remember now. No! I won't have any more. Give Mr. Osborne what -wine he chooses. Perhaps _he_ can eat and drink." So the Squire went -away upstairs with bitterness as well as sorrow in his heart. - -When lights were brought, Molly was struck with the change in -Osborne. He looked haggard and worn; perhaps with travelling and -anxiety. Not quite such a dainty gentleman either, as Molly had -thought him, when she had last seen him calling on her stepmother, -two months before. But she liked him better now. The tone of his -remarks pleased her more. He was simpler, and less ashamed of showing -his feelings. He asked after Roger in a warm, longing kind of way. -Roger was out: he had ridden to Ashcombe to transact some business -for the Squire. Osborne evidently wished for his return; and hung -about restlessly in the drawing-room after he had dined. - -"You're sure I mayn't see her to-night?" he asked Molly, for the -third or fourth time. - -"No, indeed. I will go up again if you like it. But Mrs. Jones, the -nurse Dr. Nicholls sent, is a very decided person. I went up while -you were at dinner, and Mrs. Hamley had just taken her drops, and was -on no account to be disturbed by seeing any one, much less by any -excitement." - -Osborne kept walking up and down the long drawing-room, half talking -to himself, half to Molly. - -"I wish Roger would come. He seems to be the only one to give me a -welcome. Does my father always live upstairs in my mother's rooms, -Miss Gibson?" - -"He has done since her last attack. I believe he reproaches himself -for not having been enough alarmed before." - -"You heard all the words he said to me; they were not much of a -welcome, were they? And my dear mother, who always--whether I was to -blame or not--I suppose Roger is sure to come home to-night?" - -"Quite sure." - -"You are staying here, are you not? Do you often see my mother, or -does this omnipotent nurse keep you out too?" - -"Mrs. Hamley hasn't asked for me for three days now, and I don't go -into her room unless she asks. I'm leaving on Friday, I believe." - -"My mother was very fond of you, I know." - -After a while he said, in a voice that had a great deal of sensitive -pain in its tone,-- - -"I suppose--do you know whether she is quite conscious--quite -herself?" - -"Not always conscious," said Molly, tenderly. "She has to take so -many opiates. But she never wanders, only forgets, and sleeps." - -"Oh, mother, mother!" said he, stopping suddenly, and hanging over -the fire, his hands on the chimney-piece. - -When Roger came home, Molly thought it time to retire. Poor girl! -it was getting to be time for her to leave this scene of distress -in which she could be of no use. She sobbed herself to sleep this -Tuesday night. Two days more, and it would be Friday; and she would -have to wrench up the roots she had shot down into this ground. The -weather was bright the next morning; and morning and sunny weather -cheer up young hearts. Molly sate in the dining-room making tea for -the gentlemen as they came down. She could not help hoping that the -Squire and Osborne might come to a better understanding before she -left; for after all, in the dissension between father and son, lay a -bitterer sting than in the illness sent by God. But though they met -at the breakfast-table, they purposely avoided addressing each other. -Perhaps the natural subject of conversation between the two, at such -a time, would have been Osborne's long journey the night before; but -he had never spoken of the place he had come from, whether north, -south, east, or west, and the Squire did not choose to allude to -anything that might bring out what his son wished to conceal. Again, -there was an unexpressed idea in both their minds that Mrs. Hamley's -present illness was much aggravated, if not entirely brought on, by -the discovery of Osborne's debts; so, many inquiries and answers on -that head were tabooed. In fact, their attempts at easy conversation -were limited to local subjects, and principally addressed to Molly -or Roger. Such intercourse was not productive of pleasure, or even -of friendly feeling, though there was a thin outward surface of -politeness and peace. Long before the day was over, Molly wished that -she had acceded to her father's proposal, and gone home with him. -No one seemed to want her. Mrs. Jones, the nurse, assured her time -after time that Mrs. Hamley had never named her name; and her small -services in the sick-room were not required since there was a regular -nurse. Osborne and Roger seemed all in all to each other; and Molly -now felt how much the short conversations she had had with Roger had -served to give her something to think about, all during the remainder -of her solitary days. Osborne was extremely polite, and even -expressed his gratitude to her for her attentions to his mother in -a very pleasant manner; but he appeared to be unwilling to show -her any of the deeper feelings of his heart, and almost ashamed of -his exhibition of emotion the night before. He spoke to her as any -agreeable young man speaks to any pleasant young lady; but Molly -almost resented this. It was only the Squire who seemed to make her -of any account. He gave her letters to write, small bills to reckon -up; and she could have kissed his hands for thankfulness. - -The last afternoon of her stay at the Hall came. Roger had gone out -on the Squire's business. Molly went into the garden, thinking over -the last summer, when Mrs. Hamley's sofa used to be placed under -the old cedar-tree on the lawn, and when the warm air seemed to be -scented with roses and sweetbriar. Now, the trees leafless, there was -no sweet odour in the keen frosty air; and looking up at the house, -there were the white sheets of blinds, shutting out the pale winter -sky from the invalid's room. Then she thought of the day her father -had brought her the news of his second marriage: the thicket was -tangled with dead weeds and rime and hoar-frost; and the beautiful -fine articulations of branches and boughs and delicate twigs were -all intertwined in leafless distinctness against the sky. Could she -ever be so passionately unhappy again? Was it goodness, or was it -numbness, that made her feel as though life was too short to be -troubled much about anything? Death seemed the only reality. She had -neither energy nor heart to walk far or briskly; and turned back -towards the house. The afternoon sun was shining brightly on the -windows; and, stirred up to unusual activity by some unknown cause, -the housemaids had opened the shutters and windows of the generally -unused library. The middle window was also a door; the white-painted -wood went halfway up. Molly turned along the little flag-paved path -that led past the library windows to the gate in the white railings -at the front of the house, and went in at the opened door. She had -had leave given to choose out any books she wished to read, and to -take them home with her; and it was just the sort of half-dawdling -employment suited to her taste this afternoon. She mounted on the -ladder to get to a particular shelf high up in a dark corner of the -room; and finding there some volume that looked interesting, she sat -down on the step to read part of it. There she sat, in her bonnet and -cloak, when Osborne suddenly came in. He did not see her at first; -indeed, he seemed in such a hurry that he probably might not have -noticed her at all, if she had not spoken. - -"Am I in your way? I only came here for a minute to look for some -books." She came down the steps as she spoke, still holding the book -in her hand. - -"Not at all. It is I who am disturbing you. I must just write a -letter for the post, and then I shall be gone. Is not this open door -too cold for you?" - -"Oh, no. It is so fresh and pleasant." - -She began to read again, sitting on the lowest step of the ladder; -he to write at the large old-fashioned writing-table close to the -window. There was a minute or two of profound silence, in which the -rapid scratching of Osborne's pen upon the paper was the only sound. -Then came a click of the gate, and Roger stood at the open door. His -face was towards Osborne, sitting in the light; his back to Molly, -crouched up in her corner. He held out a letter, and said in hoarse -breathlessness-- - -"Here's a letter from your wife, Osborne. I went past the post-office -and thought--" - -Osborne stood up, angry dismay upon his face:-- - -"Roger! what have you done! Don't you see her?" - -Roger looked round, and Molly stood up in her corner, red, trembling, -miserable, as though she were a guilty person. Roger entered the -room. All three seemed to be equally dismayed. Molly was the first to -speak; she came forward and said-- - -"I am so sorry! I didn't wish to hear it, but I couldn't help it. You -will trust me, won't you?" and turning to Roger she said to him with -tears in her eyes--"Please say you know I shall not tell." - -"We can't help it," said Osborne, gloomily. "Only Roger, who knew -of what importance it was, ought to have looked round him before -speaking." - -"So I should," said Roger. "I'm more vexed with myself than you can -conceive. Not but what I'm as sure of you as of myself," continued -he, turning to Molly. - -"Yes; but," said Osborne, "you see how many chances there are -that even the best-meaning persons may let out what it is of such -consequence to me to keep secret." - -"I know you think it so," said Roger. - -"Well, don't let us begin that old discussion again--at any rate, -before a third person." - -Molly had had hard work all this time to keep from crying. Now that -she was alluded to as the third person before whom conversation was -to be restrained, she said-- - -"I'm going away. Perhaps I ought not to have been here. I'm very -sorry--very. But I'll try and forget what I've heard." - -"You can't do that," said Osborne, still ungraciously. "But will you -promise me never to speak about it to any one--not even to me, or to -Roger? Will you try to act and speak as if you had never heard it? -I'm sure, from what Roger has told me about you, that if you give me -this promise I may rely upon it." - -"Yes; I will promise," said Molly, putting out her hand as a kind of -pledge. Osborne took it, but rather as if the action was superfluous. -She added, "I think I should have done so, even without a promise. -But it is, perhaps, better to bind oneself. I will go away now. I -wish I'd never come into this room." - -She put down her book on the table very softly, and turned to leave -the room, choking down her tears until she was in the solitude of her -own chamber. But Roger was at the door before her, holding it open -for her, and reading--she felt that he was reading--her face. He held -out his hand for hers, and his firm grasp expressed both sympathy and -regret for what had occurred. - -She could hardly keep back her sobs till she reached her bedroom. Her -feelings had been overwrought for some time past, without finding the -natural vent in action. The leaving Hamley Hall had seemed so sad -before; and now she was troubled with having to bear away a secret -which she ought never to have known, and the knowledge of which had -brought out a very uncomfortable responsibility. Then there would -arise a very natural wonder as to who Osborne's wife was. Molly had -not stayed so long and so intimately in the Hamley family without -being well aware of the manner in which the future lady of Hamley was -planned for. The Squire, for instance, partly in order to show that -Osborne, his heir, was above the reach of Molly Gibson, the doctor's -daughter, in the early days before he knew Molly well, had often -alluded to the grand, the high, and the wealthy marriage which Hamley -of Hamley, as represented by his clever, brilliant, handsome son -Osborne, might be expected to make. Mrs. Hamley, too, unconsciously -on her part, showed the projects that she was constantly devising for -the reception of the unknown daughter-in-law that was to be. - -"The drawing-room must be refurnished when Osborne marries"--or -"Osborne's wife will like to have the west suite of rooms to herself; -it will perhaps be a trial to her to live with the old couple; but we -must arrange it so that she will feel it as little as possible."--"Of -course, when Mrs. Osborne comes we must try and give her a new -carriage; the old one does well enough for us."--These, and similar -speeches had given Molly the impression of the future Mrs. Osborne as -of some beautiful grand young lady, whose very presence would make -the old Hall into a stately, formal mansion, instead of the pleasant, -unceremonious home that it was at present. Osborne, too, who had -spoken with such languid criticism to Mrs. Gibson about various -country belles, and even in his own home was apt to give himself -airs--only at home his airs were poetically fastidious, while with -Mrs. Gibson they had been socially fastidious--what unspeakably -elegant beauty had he chosen for his wife? Who had satisfied him; and -yet satisfying him, had to have her marriage kept in concealment from -his parents? At length Molly tore herself up from her wonderings. It -was of no use: she could not find out; she might not even try. The -blank wall of her promise blocked up the way. Perhaps it was not even -right to wonder, and endeavour to remember slight speeches, casual -mentions of a name, so as to piece them together into something -coherent. Molly dreaded seeing either of the brothers again; but they -all met at dinner-time as if nothing had happened. The Squire was -taciturn, either from melancholy or displeasure. He had never spoken -to Osborne since his return, excepting about the commonest trifles, -when intercourse could not be avoided; and his wife's state oppressed -him like a heavy cloud coming over the light of his day. Osborne put -on an indifferent manner to his father, which Molly felt sure was -assumed; but it was not conciliatory for all that. Roger, quiet, -steady, and natural, talked more than all the others; but he too -was uneasy, and in distress on many accounts. To-day he principally -addressed himself to Molly; entering into rather long narrations of -late discoveries in natural history, which kept up the current of -talk without requiring much reply from any one. Molly had expected -Osborne to look something different from usual--conscious, or -ashamed, or resentful, or even "married"--but he was exactly the -Osborne of the morning--handsome, elegant, languid in manner and in -look; cordial with his brother, polite towards her, secretly uneasy -at the state of things between his father and himself. She would -never have guessed the concealed romance which lay _perdu_ under -that every-day behaviour. She had always wished to come into direct -contact with a love-story: here she had, and she only found it very -uncomfortable; there was a sense of concealment and uncertainty about -it all; and her honest straightforward father, her quiet life at -Hollingford, which, even with all its drawbacks, was above-board, -and where everybody knew what everybody was doing, seemed secure and -pleasant in comparison. Of course she felt great pain at quitting -the Hall, and at the mute farewell she had taken of her sleeping -and unconscious friend. But leaving Mrs. Hamley now was a different -thing to what it had been a fortnight ago. Then she was wanted at any -moment, and felt herself to be of comfort. Now her very existence -seemed forgotten by the poor lady whose body appeared to be living so -long after her soul. - -She was sent home in the carriage, loaded with true thanks from every -one of the family. Osborne ransacked the greenhouses for flowers for -her; Roger had chosen her out books of every kind. The Squire himself -kept shaking her hand, without being able to speak his gratitude, -till at last he took her in his arms, and kissed her as he would have -done a daughter. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -CYNTHIA'S ARRIVAL. - - -Molly's father was not at home when she returned; and there was no -one to give her a welcome. Mrs. Gibson was out paying calls, the -servants told Molly. She went upstairs to her own room, meaning to -unpack and arrange her borrowed books. Rather to her surprise she saw -the chamber, corresponding to her own, being dusted; water and towels -too were being carried in. - -"Is any one coming?" she asked of the housemaid. - -"Missus's daughter from France. Miss Kirkpatrick is coming -to-morrow." - -Was Cynthia coming at last? Oh, what a pleasure it would be to have a -companion, a girl, a sister of her own age! Molly's depressed spirits -sprang up again with bright elasticity. She longed for Mrs. Gibson's -return, to ask her all about it: it must be very sudden, for Mr. -Gibson had said nothing of it at the Hall the day before. No quiet -reading now; the books were hardly put away with Molly's usual -neatness. She went down into the drawing-room, and could not settle -to anything. At last Mrs. Gibson came home, tired out with her walk -and her heavy velvet cloak. Until that was taken off, and she had -rested herself for a few minutes, she seemed quite unable to attend -to Molly's questions. - -"Oh, yes! Cynthia is coming home to-morrow, by the 'Umpire,' which -passes through at ten o'clock. What an oppressive day it is for the -time of the year! I really am almost ready to faint. Cynthia heard of -some opportunity, I believe, and was only too glad to leave school a -fortnight earlier than we planned. She never gave me the chance of -writing to say I did, or did not, like her coming so much before the -time; and I shall have to pay for her just the same as if she had -stopped. And I meant to have asked her to bring me a French bonnet; -and then you could have had one made after mine. But I'm very glad -she's coming, poor dear." - -"Is anything the matter with her?" asked Molly. - -"Oh, no! Why should there be?" - -"You called her 'poor dear,' and it made me afraid lest she might be -ill." - -"Oh, no! It's only a way I got into, when Mr. Kirkpatrick died. A -fatherless girl--you know one always does call them 'poor dears.' Oh, -no! Cynthia never is ill. She's as strong as a horse. She never would -have felt to-day as I have done. Could you get me a glass of wine and -a biscuit, my dear? I'm really quite faint." - -Mr. Gibson was much more excited about Cynthia's arrival than her -own mother was. He anticipated her coming as a great pleasure to -Molly, on whom, in spite of his recent marriage and his new wife, his -interests principally centred. He even found time to run upstairs and -see the bedrooms of the two girls; for the furniture of which he had -paid a pretty round sum. - -"Well, I suppose young ladies like their bedrooms decked out in this -way! It's very pretty certainly, but--" - -"I liked my own old room better, papa; but perhaps Cynthia is -accustomed to such decking up." - -"Perhaps; at any rate, she'll see we've tried to make it pretty. -Yours is like hers. That's right. It might have hurt her, if hers had -been smarter than yours. Now, good-night in your fine flimsy bed." - -Molly was up betimes--almost before it was light--arranging her -pretty Hamley flowers in Cynthia's room. She could hardly eat her -breakfast that morning. She ran upstairs and put on her things, -thinking that Mrs. Gibson was quite sure to go down to the "George -Inn," where the "Umpire" stopped, to meet her daughter after a two -years' absence. But, to her surprise, Mrs. Gibson had arranged -herself at her great worsted-work frame, just as usual; and she, in -her turn, was astonished at Molly's bonnet and cloak. - -"Where are you going so early, child? The fog hasn't cleared away -yet." - -"I thought you would go and meet Cynthia; and I wanted to go with -you." - -"She will be here in half an hour; and dear papa has told the -gardener to take the wheelbarrow down for her luggage. I'm not sure -if he is not gone himself." - -"Then are not you going?" asked Molly, with a good deal of -disappointment. - -"No, certainly not. She will be here almost directly. And, besides, -I don't like to expose my feelings to every passer-by in High Street. -You forget I have not seen her for two years, and I hate scenes in -the market-place." - -She settled herself to her work again; and Molly, after some -consideration, gave up her own going, and employed herself in looking -out of the downstairs window which commanded the approach from the -town. - -"Here she is--here she is!" she cried out at last. Her father was -walking by the side of a tall young lady; William the gardener -was wheeling along a great cargo of baggage. Molly flew to the -front-door, and had it wide open to admit the new-comer some time -before she arrived. - -"Well! here she is. Molly, this is Cynthia. Cynthia, Molly. You're to -be sisters, you know." - -Molly saw the beautiful, tall, swaying figure, against the light of -the open door, but could not see any of the features that were, for -the moment, in shadow. A sudden gush of shyness had come over her -just at the instant, and quenched the embrace she would have given a -moment before. But Cynthia took her in her arms, and kissed her on -both cheeks. - -"Here's mamma," she said, looking beyond Molly on to the stairs where -Mrs. Gibson stood, wrapped up in a shawl, and shivering in the cold. -She ran past Molly and Mr. Gibson, who rather averted their eyes from -this first greeting between mother and child. - -Mrs. Gibson said-- - -"Why, how you are grown, darling! You look quite a woman." - -"And so I am," said Cynthia. "I was before I went away; I've hardly -grown since,--except, it is always to be hoped, in wisdom." - -"Yes! That we will hope," said Mrs. Gibson, in rather a meaning -way. Indeed there were evidently hidden allusions in their seeming -commonplace speeches. When they all came into the full light and -repose of the drawing-room, Molly was absorbed in the contemplation -of Cynthia's beauty. Perhaps her features were not regular; but the -changes in her expressive countenance gave one no time to think of -that. Her smile was perfect; her pouting charming; the play of the -face was in the mouth. Her eyes were beautifully shaped, but their -expression hardly seemed to vary. In colouring she was not unlike -her mother; only she had not so much of the red-haired tints in her -complexion; and her long-shaped, serious grey eyes were fringed with -dark lashes, instead of her mother's insipid flaxen ones. Molly fell -in love with her, so to speak, on the instant. She sate there warming -her feet and hands, as much at her ease as if she had been there all -her life; not particularly attending to her mother--who, all the -time, was studying either her or her dress--measuring Molly and Mr. -Gibson with grave observant looks, as if guessing how she should like -them. - -"There's hot breakfast ready for you in the dining-room, when you are -ready for it," said Mr. Gibson. "I'm sure you must want it after your -night journey." He looked round at his wife, at Cynthia's mother, but -she did not seem inclined to leave the warm room again. - -"Molly will take you to your room, darling," said she; "it is near -hers, and she has got her things to take off. I'll come down and sit -in the dining-room while you are having your breakfast, but I really -am afraid of the cold now." - -Cynthia rose and followed Molly upstairs. - -"I'm so sorry there isn't a fire for you," said Molly, "but--I -suppose it wasn't ordered; and, of course, I don't give any orders. -Here is some hot water, though." - -"Stop a minute," said Cynthia, getting hold of both Molly's hands, -and looking steadily into her face, but in such a manner that she did -not dislike the inspection. - -"I think I shall like you. I am so glad! I was afraid I should not. -We're all in a very awkward position together, aren't we? I like your -father's looks, though." - - -[Illustration: FIRST IMPRESSIONS.] - - -Molly could not help smiling at the way this was said. Cynthia -replied to her smile. - -"Ah, you may laugh. But I don't know that I am easy to get on with; -mamma and I didn't suit when we were last together. But perhaps we -are each of us wiser now. Now, please leave me for a quarter of an -hour. I don't want anything more." - -Molly went into her own room, waiting to show Cynthia down to the -dining-room. Not that, in the moderate-sized house, there was any -difficulty in finding the way. A very little trouble in conjecturing -would enable a stranger to discover any room. But Cynthia had -so captivated Molly, that she wanted to devote herself to the -new-comer's service. Ever since she had heard of the probability -of her having a sister--(she called her a sister, but whether it was -a Scotch sister, or a sister _à la mode de Brétagne_, would have -puzzled most people)--Molly had allowed her fancy to dwell much on -the idea of Cynthia's coming; and in the short time since they had -met, Cynthia's unconscious power of fascination had been exercised -upon her. Some people have this power. Of course, its effects are -only manifested in the susceptible. A school-girl may be found in -every school who attracts and influences all the others, not by her -virtues, nor her beauty, nor her sweetness, nor her cleverness, but -by something that can neither be described nor reasoned upon. It is -the something alluded to in the old lines:-- - - Love me not for comely grace, - For my pleasing eye and face; - No, nor for my constant heart,-- - For these may change, and turn to ill, - And thus true love may sever. - But love me on, and know not why, - So hast thou the same reason still - To dote upon me ever. - -A woman will have this charm, not only over men but over her own -sex; it cannot be defined, or rather it is so delicate a mixture -of many gifts and qualities that it is impossible to decide on the -proportions of each. Perhaps it is incompatible with very high -principle; as its essence seems to consist in the most exquisite -power of adaptation to varying people and still more various moods; -"being all things to all men." At any rate, Molly might soon have -been aware that Cynthia was not remarkable for unflinching morality; -but the glamour thrown over her would have prevented Molly from any -attempt at penetrating into and judging her companion's character, -even had such processes been the least in accordance with her own -disposition. - -Cynthia was very beautiful, and was so well aware of this fact that -she had forgotten to care about it; no one with such loveliness ever -appeared so little conscious of it. Molly would watch her perpetually -as she moved about the room, with the free stately step of some wild -animal of the forest--moving almost, as it were, to the continual -sound of music. Her dress, too, though now to our ideas it would -be considered ugly and disfiguring, was suited to her complexion -and figure, and the fashion of it subdued within due bounds by her -exquisite taste. It was inexpensive enough, and the changes in it -were but few. Mrs. Gibson professed herself shocked to find that -Cynthia had but four gowns, when she might have stocked herself so -well, and brought over so many useful French patterns, if she had but -patiently waited for her mother's answer to the letter which she had -sent, announcing her return by the opportunity madame had found for -her. Molly was hurt for Cynthia at all these speeches; she thought -they implied that the pleasure which her mother felt in seeing her a -fortnight sooner after her two years' absence was inferior to that -which she would have received from a bundle of silver-paper patterns. -But Cynthia took no apparent notice of the frequent recurrence of -these small complaints. Indeed, she received much of what her mother -said with a kind of complete indifference, that made Mrs. Gibson hold -her rather in awe; and she was much more communicative to Molly than -to her own child. With regard to dress, however, Cynthia soon showed -that she was her mother's own daughter in the manner in which she -could use her deft and nimble fingers. She was a capital workwoman; -and, unlike Molly, who excelled in plain sewing, but had no notion of -dressmaking or millinery, she could repeat the fashions she had only -seen in passing along the streets of Boulogne, with one or two pretty -rapid movements of her hands, as she turned and twisted the ribbons -and gauze her mother furnished her with. So she refurbished Mrs. -Gibson's wardrobe; doing it all in a sort of contemptuous manner, the -source of which Molly could not quite make out. - -Day after day the course of these small frivolities was broken in -upon by the news Mr. Gibson brought of Mrs. Hamley's nearer approach -to death. Molly--very often sitting by Cynthia, and surrounded by -ribbon, and wire, and net--heard the bulletins like the toll of a -funeral bell at a marriage feast. Her father sympathized with her. It -was the loss of a dear friend to him too; but he was so accustomed to -death, that it seemed to him but as it was, the natural end of all -things human. To Molly, the death of some one she had known so well -and loved so much, was a sad and gloomy phenomenon. She loathed the -small vanities with which she was surrounded, and would wander out -into the frosty garden, and pace the walk, which was both sheltered -and concealed by evergreens. - -At length--and yet it was not so long, not a fortnight since Molly -had left the Hall--the end came. Mrs. Hamley had sunk out of life as -gradually as she had sunk out of consciousness and her place in this -world. The quiet waves closed over her, and her place knew her no -more. - -"They all sent their love to you, Molly," said her father. "Roger -said he knew how you would feel it." - -Mr. Gibson had come in very late, and was having a solitary dinner -in the dining-room. Molly was sitting near him to keep him company. -Cynthia and her mother were upstairs. The latter was trying on a -head-dress which Cynthia had made for her. - -Molly remained downstairs after her father had gone out afresh on -his final round among his town patients. The fire was growing very -low, and the lights were waning. Cynthia came softly in, and taking -Molly's listless hand, that hung down by her side, sat at her feet -on the rug, chafing her chilly fingers without speaking. The tender -action thawed the tears that had been gathering heavily at Molly's -heart, and they came dropping down her cheeks. - -"You loved her dearly, did you not, Molly?" - -"Yes," sobbed Molly; and then there was a silence. - -"Had you known her long?" - -"No, not a year. But I had seen a great deal of her. I was almost -like a daughter to her; she said so. Yet I never bid her good-by, or -anything. Her mind became weak and confused." - -"She had only sons, I think?" - -"No; only Mr. Osborne and Mr. Roger Hamley. She had a daughter -once--'Fanny.' Sometimes, in her illness, she used to call me -'Fanny.'" - -The two girls were silent for some time, both gazing into the fire. -Cynthia spoke first:-- - -"I wish I could love people as you do, Molly!" - -"Don't you?" said the other, in surprise. - -"No. A good number of people love me, I believe, or at least they -think they do; but I never seem to care much for any one. I do -believe I love you, little Molly, whom I have only known for ten -days, better than any one." - -"Not than your mother?" said Molly, in grave astonishment. - -"Yes, than my mother!" replied Cynthia, half-smiling. "It's very -shocking, I daresay; but it is so. Now, don't go and condemn me. I -don't think love for one's mother quite comes by nature; and remember -how much I have been separated from mine! I loved my father, if you -will," she continued, with the force of truth in her tone, and then -she stopped; "but he died when I was quite a little thing, and no one -believes that I remember him. I heard mamma say to a caller, not a -fortnight after his funeral, 'Oh, no, Cynthia is too young; she has -quite forgotten him'--and I bit my lips, to keep from crying out, -'Papa! papa! have I?' But it's of no use. Well, then mamma had to go -out as a governess; she couldn't help it, poor thing! but she didn't -much care for parting with me. I was a trouble, I daresay. So I was -sent to school at four years old; first one school, and then another; -and in the holidays, mamma went to stay at grand houses, and I was -generally left with the schoolmistresses. Once I went to the Towers; -and mamma lectured me continually, and yet I was very naughty, I -believe. And so I never went again; and I was very glad of it, for it -was a horrid place." - -"That it was!" said Molly, who remembered her own day of tribulation -there. - -"And once I went to London, to stay with my uncle Kirkpatrick. He is -a lawyer, and getting on now; but then he was poor enough, and had -six or seven children. It was winter-time, and we were all shut up in -a small house in Doughty Street. But, after all, that wasn't so bad." - -"But then you lived with your mother when she began school at -Ashcombe. Mr. Preston told me that, when I stayed that day at the -Manor-house." - -"What did he tell you?" asked Cynthia, almost fiercely. - -"Nothing but that. Oh, yes! He praised your beauty, and wanted me to -tell you what he had said." - -"I should have hated you if you had," said Cynthia. - -"Of course I never thought of doing such a thing," replied Molly. "I -didn't like him; and Lady Harriet spoke of him the next day, as if he -wasn't a person to be liked." - -Cynthia was quite silent. At length she said,-- - -"I wish I was good!" - -"So do I," said Molly, simply. She was thinking again of Mrs. -Hamley,-- - - Only the actions of the just - Smell sweet and blossom in the dust, - -and "goodness" just then seemed to her to be the only enduring thing -in the world. - -"Nonsense, Molly! You are good. At least, if you're not good, what -am I? There's a rule-of-three sum for you to do! But it's no use -talking; I am not good, and I never shall be now. Perhaps I might be -a heroine still, but I shall never be a good woman, I know." - -"Do you think it easier to be a heroine?" - -"Yes, as far as one knows of heroines from history. I'm capable of a -great jerk, an effort, and then a relaxation--but steady, every-day -goodness is beyond me. I must be a moral kangaroo!" - -Molly could not follow Cynthia's ideas; she could not distract -herself from the thoughts of the sorrowing group at the Hall. - -"How I should like to see them all! and yet one can do nothing at -such a time! Papa says the funeral is to be on Tuesday, and that, -after that, Roger Hamley is to go back to Cambridge. It will seem -as if nothing had happened! I wonder how the squire and Mr. Osborne -Hamley will get on together." - -"He's the eldest son, is he not? Why shouldn't he and his father get -on well together?" - -"Oh! I don't know. That is to say, I do know, but I think I ought not -to tell." - -"Don't be so pedantically truthful, Molly. Besides, your manner shows -when you speak truth and when you speak falsehood, without troubling -yourself to use words. I knew exactly what your 'I don't know' meant. -I never consider myself bound to be truthful, so I beg we may be on -equal terms." - -Cynthia might well say she did not consider herself bound to be -truthful; she literally said what came uppermost, without caring very -much whether it was accurate or not. But there was no ill-nature, -and, in a general way, no attempt at procuring any advantage for -herself in all her deviations; and there was often such a latent -sense of fun in them that Molly could not help being amused with them -in fact, though she condemned them in theory. Cynthia's playfulness -of manner glossed such failings over with a kind of charm; and yet, -at times, she was so soft and sympathetic that Molly could not resist -her, even when she affirmed the most startling things. The little -account she made of her own beauty pleased Mr. Gibson extremely; and -her pretty deference to him won his heart. She was restless too, till -she had attacked Molly's dress, after she had remodelled her -mother's. - -"Now for you, sweet one," said she as she began upon one of Molly's -gowns. "I've been working as connoisseur until now; now I begin as -amateur." - -She brought down her pretty artificial flowers, plucked out of her -own best bonnet to put into Molly's, saying they would suit her -complexion, and that a knot of ribbons would do well enough for her. -All the time she worked, she sang; she had a sweet voice in singing, -as well as in speaking, and used to run up and down her gay French -_chansons_ without any difficulty; so flexible in the art was she. -Yet she did not seem to care for music. She rarely touched the piano, -on which Molly practised with daily conscientiousness. Cynthia was -always willing to answer questions about her previous life, though, -after the first, she rarely alluded to it of herself; but she was a -most sympathetic listener to all Molly's innocent confidences of joys -and sorrows: sympathizing even to the extent of wondering how she -could endure Mr. Gibson's second marriage, and why she did not take -some active steps of rebellion. - -In spite of all this agreeable and pungent variety of companionship -at home, Molly yearned after the Hamleys. If there had been a woman -in that family she would probably have received many little notes, -and heard numerous details which were now lost to her, or summed -up in condensed accounts of her father's visits at the Hall, which, -since his dear patient was dead, were only occasional. - -"Yes! The Squire is a good deal changed; but he's better than he was. -There's an unspoken estrangement between him and Osborne; one can -see it in the silence and constraint of their manners; but outwardly -they are friendly--civil at any rate. The squire will always respect -Osborne as his heir, and the future representative of the family. -Osborne doesn't look well; he says he wants change. I think he's -weary of the domestic dullness, or domestic dissension. But he feels -his mother's death acutely. It's a wonder that he and his father are -not drawn together by their common loss. Roger's away at Cambridge -too--examination for the mathematical tripos. Altogether the aspect -of both people and place is changed; it is but natural!" - -Such is perhaps the summing-up of the news of the Hamleys, as -contained in many bulletins. They always ended in some kind message -to Molly. - -Mrs. Gibson generally said, as a comment upon her husband's account -of Osborne's melancholy,-- - -"My dear! why don't you ask him to dinner here? A little quiet -dinner, you know. Cook is quite up to it; and we would all of us wear -blacks and lilacs; he couldn't consider that as gaiety." - -Mr. Gibson took no more notice of these suggestions than by shaking -his head. He had grown accustomed to his wife by this time, and -regarded silence on his own part as a great preservative against long -inconsequential arguments. But every time that Mrs. Gibson was struck -by Cynthia's beauty, she thought it more and more advisable that Mr. -Osborne Hamley should be cheered up by a quiet little dinner-party. -As yet no one but the ladies of Hollingford and Mr. Ashton, the -vicar--that hopeless and impracticable old bachelor--had seen -Cynthia; and what was the good of having a lovely daughter, if there -were none but old women to admire her? - -Cynthia herself appeared extremely indifferent upon the subject, -and took very little notice of her mother's constant talk about the -gaieties that were possible, and the gaieties that were impossible, -in Hollingford. She exerted herself just as much to charm the two -Miss Brownings as she would have done to delight Osborne Hamley, -or any other young heir. That is to say, she used no exertion, but -simply followed her own nature, which was to attract every one of -those she was thrown amongst. The exertion seemed rather to be -to refrain from doing so, and to protest, as she often did, by -slight words and expressive looks against her mother's words and -humours--alike against her folly and her caresses. Molly was almost -sorry for Mrs. Gibson, who seemed so unable to gain influence over -her child. One day Cynthia read Molly's thought. - -"I'm not good, and I told you so. Somehow, I cannot forgive her -for her neglect of me as a child, when I would have clung to her. -Besides, I hardly ever heard from her when I was at school. And I -know she put a stop to my coming over to her wedding. I saw the -letter she wrote to Madame Lefevre. A child should be brought up with -its parents, if it is to think them infallible when it grows up." - -"But though it may know that there must be faults," replied Molly, -"it ought to cover them over and try to forget their existence." - -"It ought. But don't you see I have grown up outside the pale of -duty and 'oughts.' Love me as I am, sweet one, for I shall never be -better." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -MRS. GIBSON'S VISITORS. - - -One day, to Molly's infinite surprise, Mr. Preston was announced -as a caller. Mrs. Gibson and she were sitting together in the -drawing-room; Cynthia was out--gone into the town a-shopping--when -the door was opened, the name given, and in walked the young man. His -entrance seemed to cause more confusion than Molly could well account -for. He came in with the same air of easy assurance with which he -had received her and her father at Ashcombe Manor-house. He looked -remarkably handsome in his riding-dress, and with the open-air -exercise he had just had. But Mrs. Gibson's smooth brows contracted a -little at the sight of him, and her reception of him was much cooler -than that which she usually gave to visitors. Yet there was a degree -of agitation in it, which surprised Molly a little. Mrs. Gibson was -at her everlasting worsted-work frame when Mr. Preston entered the -room; but somehow in rising to receive him, she threw down her basket -of crewels, and, declining Molly's offer to help her, she would pick -up all the reels herself, before she asked her visitor to sit down. -He stood there, hat in hand, affecting an interest in the recovery of -the worsted which Molly was sure he did not feel; for all the time -his eyes were glancing round the room, and taking note of the details -in the arrangement. - -At length they were seated, and conversation began. - -"It is the first time I have been in Hollingford since your marriage, -Mrs. Gibson, or I should certainly have called to pay my respects -sooner." - -"I know you are very busy at Ashcombe. I did not expect you to call. -Is Lord Cumnor at the Towers? I have not heard from her ladyship for -more than a week!" - -"No! he seemed still detained at Bath. But I had a letter from him -giving me certain messages for Mr. Sheepshanks. Mr. Gibson is not at -home, I'm afraid?" - -"No. He is a great deal out--almost constantly, I may say. I had no -idea that I should see so little of him. A doctor's wife leads a very -solitary life, Mr. Preston!" - -"You can hardly call it solitary, I should think, when you have such -a companion as Miss Gibson always at hand," said he, bowing to Molly. - -"Oh, but I call it solitude for a wife when her husband is away. Poor -Mr. Kirkpatrick was never happy unless I always went with him;--all -his walks, all his visits, he liked me to be with him. But, somehow, -Mr. Gibson feels as if I should be rather in his way." - -"I don't think you could ride pillion behind him on Black Bess, -mamma," said Molly. "And unless you could do that, you could hardly -go with him in his rounds up and down all the rough lanes." - -"Oh! but he might keep a brougham! I've often said so. And then I -could use it for visiting in the evenings. Really it was one reason -why I didn't go to the Hollingford Charity Ball. I couldn't bring -myself to use the dirty fly from the 'George.' We really must stir -papa up against next winter, Molly; it will never do for you and--" - -She pulled herself up suddenly, and looked furtively at Mr. Preston -to see if he had taken any notice of her abruptness. Of course he -had, but he was not going to show it. He turned to Molly, and said,-- - -"Have you ever been to a public ball yet, Miss Gibson?" - -"No!" said Molly. - -"It will be a great pleasure to you when the time comes." - -"I'm not sure. I shall like it if I have plenty of partners; but I'm -afraid I shan't know many people." - -"And you suppose that young men haven't their own ways and means of -being introduced to pretty girls?" - -It was exactly one of the speeches Molly had disliked him for before; -and delivered, too, in that kind of underbred manner which showed -that it was meant to convey a personal compliment. Molly took great -credit to herself for the unconcerned manner with which she went on -with her tatting exactly as if she had never heard it. - -"I only hope I may be one of your partners at the first ball you go -to. Pray, remember my early application for that honour, when you are -overwhelmed with requests for dances." - -"I don't choose to engage myself beforehand," said Molly, perceiving, -from under her dropped eyelids, that he was leaning forward and -looking at her as though he was determined to have an answer. - -"Young ladies are always very cautious in fact, however modest they -may be in profession," he replied, addressing himself in a nonchalant -manner to Mrs. Gibson. "In spite of Miss Gibson's apprehension of not -having many partners, she declines the certainty of having one. I -suppose Miss Kirkpatrick will have returned from France before then?" - -He said these last words exactly in the same tone as he had used -before; but Molly's instinct told her that he was making an effort to -do so. She looked up. He was playing with his hat, almost as if he -did not care to have any answer to his question. Yet he was listening -acutely, and with a half smile on his face. - -Mrs. Gibson reddened a little, and hesitated,-- - -"Yes; certainly. My daughter will be with us next winter, I believe; -and I daresay she will go out with us." - -"Why can't she say at once that Cynthia is here now?" asked Molly of -herself, yet glad that Mr. Preston's curiosity was baffled. - -He still smiled; but this time he looked up at Mrs. Gibson, as he -asked,--"You have good news from her, I hope?" - -"Yes; very. By the way, how are our old friends the Robinsons? How -often I think of their kindness to me at Ashcombe! Dear good people, -I wish I could see them again." - -"I will certainly tell them of your kind inquiries. They are very -well, I believe." - -Just at this moment, Molly heard the familiar sound of the click -and opening of the front door. She knew it must be Cynthia; and, -conscious of some mysterious reason which made Mrs. Gibson wish to -conceal her daughter's whereabouts from Mr. Preston, and maliciously -desirous to baffle him, she rose to leave the room, and meet Cynthia -on the stairs; but one of the lost crewels of worsted had entangled -itself in her gown and feet, and before she had freed herself of the -encumbrance, Cynthia had opened the drawing-room door, and stood -in it, looking at her mother, at Molly, at Mr. Preston, but not -advancing one step. Her colour, which had been brilliant the first -moment of her entrance, faded away as she gazed; but her eyes--her -beautiful eyes--usually so soft and grave, seemed to fill with fire, -and her brows to contract, as she took the resolution to come forward -and take her place among the three, who were all looking at her with -different emotions. She moved calmly and slowly forwards; Mr. Preston -went a step or two to meet her, his hand held out, and the whole -expression of his face that of eager delight. - -But she took no notice of the outstretched hand, nor of the chair -that he offered her. She sate down on a little sofa in one of the -windows, and called Molly to her. - -"Look at my purchases," said she. "This green ribbon was -fourteen-pence a yard, this silk three shillings," and so she went -on, forcing herself to speak about these trifles as if they were -all the world to her, and she had no attention to throw away on her -mother and her mother's visitor. - -Mr. Preston took his cue from her. He, too, talked of the news of -the day, the local gossip--but Molly, who glanced up at him from -time to time, was almost alarmed by the bad expression of suppressed -anger, almost amounting to vindictiveness, which entirely marred his -handsome looks. She did not wish to look again; and tried rather to -back up Cynthia's efforts at maintaining a separate conversation. Yet -she could not help overhearing Mrs. Gibson's strain after increased -civility, as if to make up for Cynthia's rudeness, and, if possible, -to deprecate his anger. She talked perpetually, as though her object -were to detain him; whereas, previous to Cynthia's return, she had -allowed frequent pauses in the conversation, as though to give him -the opportunity to take his leave. - -In the course of the conversation between them the Hamleys came up. -Mrs. Gibson was never unwilling to dwell upon Molly's intimacy with -this county family; and when the latter caught the sound of her own -name, her stepmother was saying,-- - -"Poor Mrs. Hamley could hardly do without Molly; she quite looked -upon her as a daughter, especially towards the last, when, I am -afraid, she had a good deal of anxiety. Mr. Osborne Hamley--I daresay -you have heard--he did not do so well at college, and they had -expected so much--parents will, you know; but what did it signify? -for he had not to earn his living! I call it a very foolish kind of -ambition when a young man has not to go into a profession." - -"Well, at any rate, the Squire must be satisfied now. I saw this -morning's _Times_, with the Cambridge examination lists in it. Isn't -the second son called after his father, Roger?" - -"Yes," said Molly, starting up, and coming nearer. - -"He's senior wrangler, that's all," said Mr. Preston, almost as -though he were vexed with himself for having anything to say that -could give her pleasure. Molly went back to her seat by Cynthia. - -"Poor Mrs. Hamley," said she, very softly, as if to herself. Cynthia -took her hand, in sympathy with Molly's sad and tender look, rather -than because she understood all that was passing in her mind, nor did -she quite understand it herself. A death that had come out of time; -a wonder whether the dead knew what passed upon the earth they had -left--the brilliant Osborne's failure, Roger's success; the vanity -of human wishes,--all these thoughts, and what they suggested, were -inextricably mingled up in her mind. She came to herself in a few -minutes. Mr. Preston was saying all the unpleasant things he could -think of about the Hamleys in a tone of false sympathy. - -"The poor old Squire--not the wisest of men--has woefully mismanaged -his estate. And Osborne Hamley is too fine a gentleman to understand -the means by which to improve the value of the land--even if he had -the capital. A man who had practical knowledge of agriculture, and -some thousands of ready money, might bring the rental up to eight -thousand or so. Of course, Osborne will try and marry some one with -money; the family is old and well-established, and he mustn't object -to commercial descent, though I daresay the Squire will for him; but -then the young fellow himself is not the man for the work. No! the -family's going down fast; and it's a pity when these old Saxon houses -vanish off the land; but it is 'kismet' with the Hamleys. Even the -senior wrangler--if it is that Roger Hamley--he will have spent all -his brains in one effort. You never hear of a senior wrangler being -worth anything afterwards. He'll be a Fellow of his college, of -course--that will be a livelihood for him at any rate." - -"I believe in senior wranglers," said Cynthia, her clear high voice -ringing through the room. "And from all I've ever heard of Mr. Roger -Hamley, I believe he will keep up the distinction he has earned. And -I don't believe that the house of Hamley is so near extinction in -wealth and fame, and good name." - -"They are fortunate in having Miss Kirkpatrick's good word," said Mr. -Preston, rising to take his leave. - -"Dear Molly," said Cynthia, in a whisper, "I know nothing about your -friends the Hamleys, except that they are your friends, and what you -have told me about them. But I won't have that man speaking of them -so--and your eyes filling with tears all the time. I'd sooner swear -to their having all the talents and good fortune under the sun." - -The only person of whom Cynthia appeared to be wholesomely afraid -was Mr. Gibson. When he was present she was more careful in speaking, -and showed more deference to her mother. Her evident respect for him, -and desire to win his good opinion, made her curb herself before him; -and in this manner she earned his favour as a lively, sensible girl, -with just so much knowledge of the world as made her a very desirable -companion to Molly. Indeed, she made something of the same kind of -impression on all men. They were first struck with her personal -appearance; and then with her pretty deprecating manner, which -appealed to them much as if she had said, "You are wise, and I am -foolish--have mercy on my folly." It was a way she had; it meant -nothing really; and she was hardly conscious of it herself; but it -was very captivating all the same. Even old Williams, the gardener, -felt it; he said to his confidante, Molly-- - -"Eh, miss, but that be a rare young lady! She do have such pretty -coaxing ways. I be to teach her to bud roses come the season--and -I'll warrant ye she'll learn sharp enough, for all she says she bees -so stupid." - -If Molly had not had the sweetest disposition in the world she might -have become jealous of all the allegiance laid at Cynthia's feet; -but she never thought of comparing the amount of admiration and -love which they each received. Yet once she did feel a little as -if Cynthia were poaching on her manor. The invitation to the quiet -dinner had been sent to Osborne Hamley, and declined by him. But he -thought it right to call soon afterwards. It was the first time Molly -had seen any of the family since she left the Hall, just before Mrs. -Hamley's death; and there was so much that she wanted to ask. She -tried to wait patiently till Mrs. Gibson had exhausted the first gush -of her infinite nothings; and then Molly came in with her modest -questions. How was the Squire? Had he returned to his old habits? Had -his health suffered?--putting each inquiry with as light and delicate -a touch as if she had been dressing a wound. She hesitated a little, -a very little, before speaking of Roger; for just one moment the -thought flitted across her mind, that Osborne might feel the contrast -between his own and his brother's college career too painfully to -like to have it referred to; but then she remembered the generous -brotherly love that had always existed between the two, and had just -entered upon the subject, when Cynthia in obedience to her mother's -summons, came into the room, and took up her work. No one could have -been quieter--she hardly uttered a word; but Osborne seemed to fall -under her power at once. He no longer gave his undivided attention -to Molly. He cut short his answers to her questions; and by-and-by, -without Molly's rightly understanding how it was, he had turned -towards Cynthia, and was addressing himself to her. Molly saw the -look of content on Mrs. Gibson's face; perhaps it was her own -mortification at not having heard all she wished to know about Roger, -which gave her a keener insight than usual, but certain it is that -all at once she perceived that Mrs. Gibson would not dislike a -marriage between Osborne and Cynthia, and considered the present -occasion as an auspicious beginning. Remembering the secret which she -had been let into so unwillingly, Molly watched his behaviour, almost -as if she had been retained in the interest of the absent wife; but, -after all, thinking as much of the possibility of his attracting -Cynthia as of the unknown and mysterious Mrs. Osborne Hamley. His -manner was expressive of great interest and of strong prepossession -in favour of the beautiful girl to whom he was talking. He was in -deep mourning, which showed off his slight figure and delicate -refined face. But there was nothing of flirting, as far as Molly -understood the meaning of the word, in either looks or words. -Cynthia, too, was extremely quiet; she was always much quieter with -men than with women; it was part of the charm of her soft allurement -that she was so passive. They were talking of France. Mrs. Gibson -herself had passed two or three years of her girlhood there; and -Cynthia's late return from Boulogne made it a very natural subject -of conversation. But Molly was thrown out of it; and with her heart -still unsatisfied as to the details of Roger's success, she had to -stand up at last, and receive Osborne's good-by, scarcely longer or -more intimate than his farewell to Cynthia. As soon as he was gone, -Mrs. Gibson began in his praise. - -"Well, really, I begin to have some faith in long descent. What a -gentleman he is! How agreeable and polite! So different from that -forward Mr. Preston," she continued, looking a little anxiously at -Cynthia. Cynthia, quite aware that her reply was being watched for, -said, coolly,-- - -"Mr. Preston doesn't improve on acquaintance. There was a time, -mamma, when I think both you and I thought him very agreeable." - -"I don't remember. You've a clearer memory than I have. But we were -talking of this delightful Mr. Osborne Hamley. Why, Molly, you were -always talking of his brother--it was Roger this, and Roger that--I -can't think how it was you so seldom mentioned this young man." - -"I didn't know I had mentioned Mr. Roger Hamley so often," said -Molly, blushing a little. "But I saw much more of him--he was more at -home." - -"Well, well! It's all right, my dear. I daresay he suits you best. -But really, when I saw Osborne Hamley close to my Cynthia, I couldn't -help thinking--but perhaps I'd better not tell you what I was -thinking of. Only they are each of them so much above the average in -appearance; and, of course, that suggests things." - -"I perfectly understand what you were thinking of, mamma," said -Cynthia, with the greatest composure; "and so does Molly, I have no -doubt." - -"Well! there's no harm in it, I'm sure. Did you hear him say that, -though he did not like to leave his father alone just at present, yet -that when his brother Roger came back from Cambridge, he should feel -more at liberty! It was quite as much as to say, 'If you will ask me -to dinner then, I shall be delighted to come.' And chickens will be -so much cheaper, and cook has such a nice way of boning them, and -doing them up with forcemeat. Everything seems to be falling out -so fortunately. And Molly, my dear, you know I won't forget you. -By-and-by, when Roger Hamley has taken his turn at stopping at home -with his father, we will ask him to one of our little quiet dinners." - -Molly was very slow at taking this in; but in about a minute the -sense of it had reached her brain, and she went all over very red and -hot; especially as she saw that Cynthia was watching the light come -into her mind with great amusement. - -"I'm afraid Molly isn't properly grateful, mamma. If I were you, I -wouldn't exert myself to give a dinner-party on her account. Bestow -all your kindness upon me." - -Molly was often puzzled by Cynthia's speeches to her mother; and this -was one of these occasions. But she was more anxious to say something -for herself; she was so much annoyed at the implication in Mrs. -Gibson's last words. - -"Mr. Roger Hamley has been very good to me; he was a great deal at -home when I was there, and Mr. Osborne Hamley was very little there: -that was the reason I spoke so much more of one than the other. If I -had--if he had,"--losing her coherence in the difficulty of finding -words,--"I don't think I should,--oh, Cynthia, instead of laughing at -me, I think you might help me to explain myself!" - -Instead, Cynthia gave a diversion to the conversation. - -"Mamma's paragon gives me an idea of weakness. I can't quite make out -whether it's in body or mind. Which is it, Molly?" - -"He is not strong, I know; but he's very accomplished and clever. -Every one says that,--even papa, who doesn't generally praise young -men. That made the puzzle the greater when he did so badly at -college." - -"Then it's his character that is weak. I'm sure there's weakness -somewhere; but he's very agreeable. It must have been very pleasant, -staying at the Hall." - -"Yes; but it's all over now." - -"Oh, nonsense!" said Mrs. Gibson, wakening up from counting the -stitches in her pattern. "We shall have the young men coming to -dinner pretty often, you'll see. Your father likes them, and I shall -always make a point of welcoming his friends. They can't go on -mourning for a mother for ever. I expect we shall see a great deal of -them; and that the two families will become very intimate. After all, -these good Hollingford people are terribly behindhand, and I should -say, rather commonplace." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE HALF-SISTERS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -It appeared as if Mrs. Gibson's predictions were likely to be -verified; for Osborne Hamley found his way to her drawing-room pretty -frequently. To be sure, sometimes prophets can help on the fulfilment -of their own prophecies; and Mrs. Gibson was not passive. - -Molly was altogether puzzled by his manners and ways. He spoke of -occasional absences from the Hall, without exactly saying where he -had been. But that was not her idea of the conduct of a married man; -who, she imagined, ought to have a house and servants, and pay rent -and taxes, and live with his wife. Who this mysterious wife might be -faded into insignificance before the wonder of where she was. London, -Cambridge, Dover, nay, even France, were mentioned by him as places -to which he had been on these different little journeys. These facts -came out quite casually, almost as if he was unaware of what he was -betraying. Sometimes he dropped out such sentences as these:--"Ah, -that would be the day I was crossing! It was stormy indeed! Instead -of our being only two hours, we were nearly five." Or, "I met Lord -Hollingford at Dover last week, and he said," &c. "The cold now is -nothing to what it was in London on Thursday--the thermometer was -down at 15 ." Perhaps, in the rapid flow of conversation, these -small revelations were noticed by no one but Molly; whose interest -and curiosity were always hovering over the secret she had become -possessed of, in spite of all her self-reproach for allowing her -thoughts to dwell on what was still to be kept as a mystery. - -It was also evident to her that Osborne was not too happy at home. -He had lost the slight touch of cynicism which he had affected when -he was expected to do wonders at college; and that was one good -result of his failure. If he did not give himself the trouble of -appreciating other people, and their performances, at any rate his -conversation was not so amply sprinkled with critical pepper. He was -more absent, not so agreeable, Mrs. Gibson thought, but did not say. -He looked ill in health; but that might be the consequence of the -real depression of spirits which Molly occasionally saw peeping out -through all his pleasant surface-talk. Now and then, when he was -talking directly to her, he referred to "the happy days that are -gone," or, "to the time when my mother was alive;" and then his voice -sank, and a gloom came over his countenance, and Molly longed to -express her own deep sympathy. He did not often mention his father; -and Molly thought she could read in his manner, when he did, that -something of the painful restraint she had noticed when she was last -at the Hall still existed between them. Nearly every particular she -knew of the family interior she had heard from Mrs. Hamley, and she -was uncertain how far her father was acquainted with them; so she -did not like to question him too closely; nor was he a man to be so -questioned as to the domestic affairs of his patients. Sometimes she -wondered if it was a dream--that short half-hour in the library at -Hamley Hall--when she had learnt a fact which seemed so all-important -to Osborne, yet which made so little difference in his way of -life--either in speech or action. During the twelve or fourteen hours -that she had remained at the Hall afterwards, no further allusion -had been made to his marriage, either by himself or by Roger. It was, -indeed, very like a dream. Probably Molly would have been rendered -much more uncomfortable in the possession of her secret if Osborne -had struck her as particularly attentive in his devotion to Cynthia. -She evidently amused and attracted him, but not in any lively or -passionate kind of way. He admired her beauty, and seemed to feel -her charm; but he would leave her side, and come to sit near Molly, -if anything reminded him of his mother, about which he could talk -to her, and to her alone. Yet he came so often to the Gibsons, that -Mrs. Gibson might be excused for the fancy she had taken into her -head, that it was for Cynthia's sake. He liked the lounge, the -friendliness, the company of two intelligent girls of beauty and -manners above the average; one of whom stood in a peculiar relation -to him, as having been especially beloved by the mother whose memory -he cherished so fondly. Knowing himself to be out of the category -of bachelors, he was, perhaps, too indifferent as to other people's -ignorance, and its possible consequences. - -Somehow, Molly did not like to be the first to introduce Roger's name -into the conversation, so she lost many an opportunity of hearing -intelligence about him. Osborne was often so languid or so absent -that he only followed the lead of talk; and as an awkward fellow, -who had paid her no particular attention, and as a second son, Roger -was not pre-eminent in Mrs. Gibson's thoughts; Cynthia had never -seen him, and the freak did not take her often to speak about him. -He had not come home since he had obtained his high place in the -mathematical lists: that Molly knew; and she knew, too, that he was -working hard for something--she supposed a fellowship--and that was -all. Osborne's tone in speaking of him was always the same: every -word, every inflection of the voice breathed out affection and -respect--nay, even admiration! And this from the _nil admirari_ -brother, who seldom carried his exertions so far. - -"Ah, Roger!" he said one day. Molly caught the name in an instant, -though she had not heard what had gone before. "He is a fellow in a -thousand--in a thousand, indeed! I don't believe there is his match -anywhere for goodness and real solid power combined." - -"Molly," said Cynthia, after Mr. Osborne Hamley had gone, "what sort -of a man is this Roger Hamley? One can't tell how much to believe of -his brother's praises; for it is the one subject on which Osborne -Hamley becomes enthusiastic. I've noticed it once or twice before." - -While Molly hesitated on which point of the large round to begin her -description, Mrs. Gibson struck in,-- - -"It just shows what a sweet disposition Osborne Hamley is of--that -he should praise his brother as he does. I daresay he is a senior -wrangler, and much good may it do him! I don't deny that; but as for -conversation, he's as heavy as heavy can be. A great awkward fellow -to boot, who looks as if he did not know two and two made four, for -all he is such a mathematical genius. You would hardly believe he -was Osborne Hamley's brother to see him! I should not think he has a -profile at all." - -"What do you think of him, Molly?" said the persevering Cynthia. - -"I like him," said Molly. "He has been very kind to me. I know he -isn't handsome like Osborne." - -It was rather difficult to say all this quietly, but Molly managed to -do it, quite aware that Cynthia would not rest till she had extracted -some kind of an opinion out of her. - -"I suppose he will come home at Easter," said Cynthia, "and then I -shall see him for myself." - -"It's a great pity that their being in mourning will prevent their -going to the Easter charity ball," said Mrs. Gibson, plaintively. -"I shan't like to take you two girls, if you are not to have any -partners. It will put me in such an awkward position. I wish we could -join on to the Towers party. That would secure you partners, for they -always bring a number of dancing men, who might dance with you after -they had done their duty by the ladies of the house. But really -everything is so changed since dear Lady Cumnor has been an invalid -that, perhaps, they won't go at all." - -This Easter ball was a great subject of conversation with Mrs. -Gibson. She sometimes spoke of it as her first appearance in society -as a bride, though she had been visiting once or twice a week all -winter long. Then she shifted her ground, and said she felt so much -interest in it, because she would then have the responsibility of -introducing both her own and Mr. Gibson's daughter to public notice, -though the fact was that pretty nearly every one who was going to -this ball had seen the two young ladies--though not their ball -dresses--before. But, aping the manners of the aristocracy as far -as she knew them, she intended to "bring out" Molly and Cynthia on -this occasion, which she regarded in something of the light of a -presentation at Court. "They are not out yet," was her favourite -excuse when either of them was invited to any house to which she did -not wish them to go, or they were invited without her. She even made -a difficulty about their "not being out" when Miss Browning--that -old friend of the Gibson family--came in one morning to ask the two -girls to come to a friendly tea and a round game afterwards; this -mild piece of gaiety being designed as an attention to three of Mrs. -Goodenough's grandchildren--two young ladies and their schoolboy -brother--who were staying on a visit to their grand-mamma. - -"You are very kind, Miss Browning, but, you see, I hardly like to let -them go--they are not out, you know, till after the Easter ball." - -"Till when we are invisible," said Cynthia, always ready with her -mockery to exaggerate any pretension of her mother's. "We are so high -in rank that our sovereign must give us her sanction before we can -play a round game at your house." - -Cynthia enjoyed the idea of her own full-grown size and stately gait, -as contrasted with that of a meek, half-fledged girl in the nursery; -but Miss Browning was half puzzled and half affronted. - -"I don't understand it at all. In my days girls went wherever it -pleased people to ask them, without this farce of bursting out in all -their new fine clothes at some public place. I don't mean but what -the gentry took their daughters to York, or Matlock, or Bath, to -give them a taste of gay society when they were growing up; and the -quality went up to London, and their young ladies were presented to -Queen Charlotte, and went to a birthday ball, perhaps. But for us -little Hollingford people--why, we knew every child amongst us from -the day of its birth; and many a girl of twelve or fourteen have I -seen go out to a card-party, and sit quiet at her work, and know how -to behave as well as any lady there. There was no talk of 'coming -out' in those days for any one under the daughter of a Squire." - -"After Easter, Molly and I shall know how to behave at a card-party, -but not before," said Cynthia, demurely. - -"You're always fond of your quips and your cranks, my dear," said -Miss Browning, "and I wouldn't quite answer for your behaviour: you -sometimes let your spirits carry you away. But I'm quite sure Molly -will be a little lady as she always is, and always was, and I have -known her from a babe." - -Mrs. Gibson took up arms on behalf of her own daughter, or, rather, -she took up arms against Molly's praises. - -"I don't think you would have called Molly a lady the other day, -Miss Browning, if you had found her where I did: sitting up in a -cherry-tree, six feet from the ground at least, I do assure you." - -"Oh! but that wasn't pretty," said Miss Browning, shaking her head at -Molly. "I thought you'd left off those tom-boy ways." - -"She wants the refinement which good society gives in several ways," -said Mrs. Gibson, returning to the attack on poor Molly. "She's very -apt to come upstairs two steps at a time." - -"Only two, Molly!" said Cynthia. "Why, to-day I found I could manage -four of these broad shallow steps." - -"My dear child, what are you saying?" - -"Only confessing that I, like Molly, want the refinements which good -society gives; therefore, please do let us go to Miss Brownings' -this evening. I will pledge myself for Molly that she shan't sit in -a cherry-tree; and Molly shall see that I don't go upstairs in an -unladylike way. I will go upstairs as meekly as if I were a come-out -young lady, and had been to the Easter ball." - -So it was agreed that they should go. If Mr. Osborne Hamley had been -named as one of the probable visitors, there would have been none of -this difficulty about the affair. - -But though he was not there, his brother Roger was. Molly saw him in -a minute when she entered the little drawing-room; but Cynthia did -not. - -"And see, my dears," said Miss Phoebe Browning, turning them round -to the side where Roger stood waiting for his turn of speaking -to Molly, "we've got a gentleman for you after all! Wasn't it -fortunate?--just as sister said that you might find it dull--you, -Cynthia, she meant, because you know you come from France--then, just -as if he had been sent from heaven, Mr. Roger came in to call; and I -won't say we laid violent hands on him, because he was too good for -that; but really we should have been near it, if he had not stayed of -his own accord." - -The moment Roger had done his cordial greeting to Molly, he asked her -to introduce him to Cynthia. - - -[Illustration: ROGER IS INTRODUCED AND ENSLAVED.] - - -"I want to know her--your new sister," he added, with the kind smile -Molly remembered so well since the very first day she had seen it -directed towards her, as she sate crying under the weeping ash. -Cynthia was standing a little behind Molly when Roger asked for this -introduction. She was generally dressed with careless grace. Molly, -who was delicate neatness itself, used sometimes to wonder how -Cynthia's tumbled gowns, tossed away so untidily, had the art of -looking so well, and falling in such graceful folds. For instance, -the pale lilac muslin gown she wore this evening had been worn many -times before, and had looked unfit to wear again till Cynthia put -it on. Then the limpness became softness, and the very creases took -the lines of beauty. Molly, in a daintily clean pink muslin, did not -look half so elegantly dressed as Cynthia. The grave eyes that the -latter raised when she had to be presented to Roger had a sort of -child-like innocence and wonder about them, which did not quite -belong to Cynthia's character. She put on her armour of magic that -evening--involuntarily as she always did; but, on the other side, she -could not help trying her power on strangers. Molly had always felt -that she should have a right to a good long talk with Roger when she -next saw him; and that he would tell her, or she should gather from -him all the details she so longed to hear about the Squire--about -the Hall--about Osborne--about himself. He was just as cordial and -friendly as ever with her. If Cynthia had not been there, all would -have gone on as she had anticipated; but of all the victims to -Cynthia's charms he fell most prone and abject. Molly saw it all, -as she was sitting next to Miss Phoebe at the tea-table, acting -right-hand, and passing cake, cream, sugar, with such busy assiduity -that every one besides herself thought that her mind, as well as her -hands, was fully occupied. She tried to talk to the two shy girls, -as in virtue of her two years' seniority she thought herself bound -to do; and the consequence was, she went upstairs with the twain -clinging to her arms, and willing to swear an eternal friendship. -Nothing would satisfy them but that she must sit between them at -vingt-un; and they were so desirous of her advice in the important -point of fixing the price of the counters that she could not ever -have joined in the animated conversation going on between Roger and -Cynthia. Or, rather, it would be more correct to say that Roger was -talking in a most animated manner to Cynthia, whose sweet eyes were -fixed upon his face with a look of great interest in all he was -saying, while it was only now and then she made her low replies. -Molly caught a few words occasionally in intervals of business. - -"At my uncle's, we always give a silver threepence for three dozen. -You know what a silver threepence is, don't you, dear Miss Gibson?" - -"The three classes are published in the Senate House at nine o'clock -on the Friday morning, and you can't imagine--" - -"I think it will be thought rather shabby to play at anything less -than sixpence. That gentleman" (this in a whisper) "is at Cambridge, -and you know they always play very high there, and sometimes ruin -themselves, don't they, dear Miss Gibson?" - -"Oh, on this occasion the Master of Arts who precedes the candidates -for honours when they go into the Senate House is called the Father -of the College to which he belongs. I think I mentioned that before, -didn't I?" - -So Cynthia was hearing all about Cambridge, and the very examination -about which Molly had felt such keen interest, without having ever -been able to have her questions answered by a competent person; -and Roger, to whom she had always looked as the final and most -satisfactory answerer, was telling the whole of what she wanted to -know, and she could not listen. It took all her patience to make up -little packets of counters, and settle, as the arbiter of the game, -whether it would be better for the round or the oblong counters to be -reckoned as six. And when all was done, and every one sate in their -places round the table, Roger and Cynthia had to be called twice -before they came. They stood up, it is true, at the first sound of -their names; but they did not move--Roger went on talking, Cynthia -listening till the second call; when they hurried to the table and -tried to appear, all on a sudden, quite interested in the great -questions of the game--namely, the price of three dozen counters, and -whether, all things considered, it would be better to call the round -counters or the oblong half-a-dozen each. Miss Browning, drumming the -pack of cards on the table, and quite ready to begin dealing, decided -the matter by saying, "Rounds are sixes, and three dozen counters -cost sixpence. Pay up, if you please, and let us begin at once." -Cynthia sate between Roger and William Orford, the young schoolboy, -who bitterly resented on this occasion his sisters' habit of calling -him "Willie," as he thought it was this boyish sobriquet which -prevented Cynthia from attending as much to him as to Mr. Roger -Hamley; he also was charmed by the charmer, who found leisure to -give him one or two of her sweet smiles. On his return home to his -grand-mamma's, he gave out one or two very decided and rather original -opinions, quite opposed--as was natural--to his sisters'. One was-- - -"That, after all, a senior wrangler was no great shakes. Any man -might be one if he liked, but there were a lot of fellows that he -knew who would be very sorry to go in for anything so slow." - -Molly thought the game never would end. She had no particular turn -for gambling in her; and whatever her card might be, she regularly -put on two counters, indifferent as to whether she won or lost. -Cynthia, on the contrary, staked high, and was at one time very rich, -but ended by being in debt to Molly something like six shillings. She -had forgotten her purse, she said, and was obliged to borrow from the -more provident Molly, who was aware that the round game of which Miss -Browning had spoken to her was likely to require money. If it was -not a very merry affair for all the individuals concerned, it was -a very noisy one on the whole. Molly thought it was going to last -till midnight; but punctually, as the clock struck nine, the little -maid-servant staggered in under the weight of a tray loaded with -sandwiches, cakes, and jelly. This brought on a general move; and -Roger, who appeared to have been on the watch for something of the -kind, came and took a chair by Molly. - -"I am so glad to see you again--it seems such a long time since -Christmas," said he, dropping his voice, and not alluding more -exactly to the day when she had left the Hall. - -"It is a long time," she replied; "we are close to Easter now. I -have so wanted to tell you how glad I was to hear about your honours -at Cambridge. I once thought of sending you a message through -your brother, but then I thought it might be making too much fuss, -because I know nothing of mathematics, or of the value of a senior -wranglership; and you were sure to have so many congratulations from -people who did know." - -"I missed yours though, Molly," said he, kindly. "But I felt sure you -were glad for me." - -"Glad and proud too," said she. "I should so like to hear something -more about it. I heard you telling Cynthia--" - -"Yes. What a charming person she is! I should think you must be -happier than we expected long ago." - -"But tell me something about the senior wranglership, please," said -Molly. - -"It's a long story, and I ought to be helping the Miss Brownings to -hand sandwiches--besides, you wouldn't find it very interesting, it's -so full of technical details." - -"Cynthia looked very much interested," said Molly. - -"Well! then I refer you to her, for I must go now. I can't for shame -go on sitting here, and letting those good ladies have all the -trouble. But I shall come and call on Mrs. Gibson soon. Are you -walking home to-night?" - -"Yes, I think so," replied Molly, eagerly foreseeing what was to -come. - -"Then I shall walk home with you. I left my horse at the 'George,' -and that's half-way. I suppose old Betty will allow me to accompany -you and your sister? You used to describe her as something of a -dragon." - -"Betty has left us," said Molly, sadly. "She's gone to live at a -place at Ashcombe." - -He made a face of dismay, and then went off to his duties. The short -conversation had been very pleasant, and his manner had had just the -brotherly kindness of old times; but it was not quite the manner he -had to Cynthia; and Molly half thought she would have preferred the -latter. He was now hovering about Cynthia, who had declined the offer -of refreshments from Willie Orford. Roger was tempting her, and with -playful entreaties urging her to take some thing from him. Every word -they said could be heard by the whole room; yet every word was said, -on Roger's part at least, as if he could not have spoken it in that -peculiar manner to any one else. At length, and rather more because -she was weary of being entreated, than because it was his wish, -Cynthia took a macaroon, and Roger seemed as happy as though she -had crowned him with flowers. The whole affair was as trifling and -commonplace as could be in itself; hardly worth noticing; and yet -Molly did notice it, and felt uneasy; she could not tell why. As it -turned out, it was a rainy night, and Mrs. Gibson sent a fly for the -two girls instead of old Betty's substitute. Both Cynthia and Molly -thought of the possibility of their taking the two Orford girls back -to their grandmother's, and so saving them a wet walk; but Cynthia -got the start in speaking about it; and the thanks and the implied -praise for thoughtfulness were hers. - -When they got home Mr. and Mrs. Gibson were sitting in the -drawing-room, quite ready to be amused by any details of the evening. - -Cynthia began,-- - -"Oh! it wasn't very entertaining. One didn't expect that," and she -yawned wearily. - -"Who were there?" asked Mr. Gibson. "Quite a young party--wasn't it?" - -"They'd only asked Lizzie and Fanny Orford, and their brother; but -Mr. Roger Hamley had ridden over and called on Miss Brownings, and -they kept him to tea. No one else." - -"Roger Hamley there!" said Mr. Gibson. "He's come home then. I must -make time to ride over and see him." - -"You'd much better ask him here," said Mrs. Gibson. "Suppose you -invite him and his brother to dine here on Friday, my dear. It would -be a very pretty attention, I think." - -"My dear! these young Cambridge men have a very good taste in wine, -and don't spare it. My cellar won't stand many of their attacks." - -"I didn't think you were so inhospitable, Mr. Gibson." - -"I'm not inhospitable, I'm sure. If you'll put 'bitter beer' in the -corner of your notes of invitation, just as the smart people put -'quadrilles' as a sign of the entertainment offered, we'll have -Osborne and Roger to dinner any day you like. And what did you think -of my favourite, Cynthia? You hadn't seen him before, I think?" - -"Oh! he's nothing like so handsome as his brother; nor so polished; -nor so easy to talk to. He entertained me for more than an hour with -a long account of some examination or other; but there's something -one likes about him." - -"Well--and Molly," said Mrs. Gibson, who piqued herself on being an -impartial stepmother, and who always tried hard to make Molly talk as -much as Cynthia,--"what sort of an evening have you had?" - -"Very pleasant, thank you." Her heart a little belied her as she said -this. She had not cared for the round game; and she would have cared -for Roger's conversation. She had had what she was indifferent to, -and not had what she would have liked. - -"We've had our unexpected visitor, too," said Mr. Gibson. "Just after -dinner, who should come in but Mr. Preston. I fancy he's having -more of the management of the Hollingford property than formerly. -Sheepshanks is getting an old man. And if so, I suspect we shall -see a good deal of Preston. He's 'no blate,' as they used to say in -Scotland, and made himself quite at home to-night. If I'd asked him -to stay, or, indeed, if I'd done anything but yawn, he'd have been -here now. But I defy any man to stay when I've a fit of yawning." - -"Do you like Mr. Preston, papa?" asked Molly. - -"About as much as I do half the men I meet. He talks well, and has -seen a good deal. I know very little of him, though, except that he's -my lord's steward, which is a guarantee for a good deal." - -"Lady Harriet spoke pretty strongly against him that day I was with -her at the Manor-house." - -"Lady Harriet's always full of fancies: she likes persons to-day, and -dislikes them to-morrow," said Mrs. Gibson, who was touched on her -sore point whenever Molly quoted Lady Harriet, or said anything to -imply ever so transitory an intimacy with her. - -"You must know a good deal about Mr. Preston, my dear. I suppose you -saw a good deal of him at Ashcombe?" - -Mrs. Gibson coloured, and looked at Cynthia before she replied. -Cynthia's face was set into a determination not to speak, however -much she might be referred to. - -"Yes; we saw a good deal of him--at one time, I mean. He's -changeable, I think. But he always sent us game, and sometimes fruit. -There were some stories against him, but I never believed them." - -"What kind of stories?" said Mr. Gibson, quickly. - -"Oh, vague stories, you know: scandal, I daresay. No one ever -believed them. He could be so agreeable if he chose; and my lord, who -is so very particular, would never have kept him as agent if they -were true; not that I ever knew what they were, for I consider all -scandal as abominable gossip." - -"I'm very glad I yawned in his face," said Mr. Gibson. "I hope he'll -take the hint." - -"If it was one of your giant-gapes, papa, I should call it more than -a hint," said Molly. "And if you want a yawning chorus the next time -he comes, I'll join in; won't you, Cynthia?" - -"I don't know," replied the latter, shortly, as she lighted her -bed-candle. The two girls had usually some nightly conversation in -one or other of their bed-rooms; but to-night Cynthia said something -or other about being terribly tired, and hastily shut her door. - -The very next day, Roger came to pay his promised call. Molly was out -in the garden with Williams, planning the arrangement of some new -flower-beds, and deep in her employment of placing pegs upon the lawn -to mark out the different situations, when, standing up to mark the -effect, her eye was caught by the figure of a gentleman, sitting with -his back to the light, leaning forwards and talking, or listening, -eagerly. Molly knew the shape of the head perfectly, and hastily -began to put off her brown-holland gardening apron, emptying the -pockets as she spoke to Williams. - -"You can finish it now, I think," said she. "You know about the -bright-coloured flowers being against the privet-hedge, and where the -new rose-bed is to be?" - -"I can't justly say as I do," said he. "Mebbe, you'll just go o'er it -all once again, Miss Molly. I'm not so young as I oncst was, and my -head is not so clear now-a-days, and I'd be loath to make mistakes -when you're so set upon your plans." - -Molly gave up her impulse in a moment. She saw that the old gardener -was really perplexed, yet that he was as anxious as he could be to do -his best. So she went over the ground again, pegging and explaining -till the wrinkled brow was smooth again, and he kept saying, "I see, -miss. All right, Miss Molly, I'se gotten it in my head as clear as -patchwork now." - -So she could leave him, and go in. But just as she was close to the -garden door, Roger came out. It really was for once a case of virtue -its own reward, for it was far pleasanter to her to have him in a -tête-à-tête, however short, than in the restraint of Mrs. Gibson's -and Cynthia's presence. - -"I only just found out where you were, Molly. Mrs. Gibson said you -had gone out, but she didn't know where; and it was the greatest -chance that I turned round and saw you." - -"I saw you some time ago, but I couldn't leave Williams. I think he -was unusually slow to-day; and he seemed as if he couldn't understand -my plans for the new flower-beds." - -"Is that the paper you've got in your hand? Let me look at it, will -you? Ah, I see! you've borrowed some of your ideas from our garden at -home, haven't you? This bed of scarlet geraniums, with the border of -young oaks, pegged down! That was a fancy of my dear mother's." - -They were both silent for a minute or two. Then Molly said,-- - -"How is the Squire? I've never seen him since." - -"No, he told me how much he wanted to see you, but he couldn't make -up his mind to come and call. I suppose it would never do now for you -to come and stay at the Hall, would it? It would give my father so -much pleasure: he looks upon you as a daughter, and I'm sure both -Osborne and I shall always consider you are like a sister to us, -after all my mother's love for you, and your tender care of her at -last. But I suppose it wouldn't do." - -"No! certainly not," said Molly, hastily. - -"I fancy if you could come it would put us a little to rights. You -know, as I think I once told you, Osborne has behaved differently to -what I should have done, though not wrongly,--only what I call an -error of judgment. But my father, I'm sure, has taken up some notion -of--never mind; only the end of it is that he holds Osborne still in -tacit disgrace, and is miserable himself all the time. Osborne, too, -is sore and unhappy, and estranged from my father. It is just what -my mother would have put right very soon, and perhaps you could -have done it--unconsciously, I mean--for this wretched mystery that -Osborne preserves about his affairs is at the root of it all. But -there's no use talking about it; I don't know why I began." Then, -with a wrench, changing the subject, while Molly still thought of -what he had been telling her, he broke out,--"I can't tell you how -much I like Miss Kirkpatrick, Molly. It must be a great pleasure to -you having such a companion!" - -"Yes," said Molly, half smiling. "I'm very fond of her; and I think I -like her better every day I know her. But how quickly you have found -out her virtues!" - -"I didn't say 'virtues,' did I?" asked he, reddening, but putting -the question in all good faith. "Yet I don't think one could be -deceived in that face. And Mrs. Gibson appears to be a very friendly -person,--she has asked Osborne and me to dine here on Friday." - -"Bitter beer" came into Molly's mind; but what she said was, "And are -you coming?" - -"Certainly, I am, unless my father wants me; and I've given Mrs. -Gibson a conditional promise for Osborne, too. So I shall see you all -very soon again. But I must go now. I have to keep an appointment -seven miles from here in half-an-hour's time. Good luck to your -flower-garden, Molly." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE OLD SQUIRE'S TROUBLES. - - -Affairs were going on worse at the Hall than Roger had liked to tell. -Moreover, very much of the discomfort there arose from "mere manner," -as people express it, which is always indescribable and indefinable. -Quiet and passive as Mrs. Hamley had always been in appearance, -she was the ruling spirit of the house as long as she lived. The -directions to the servants, down to the most minute particulars, -came from her sitting-room, or from the sofa on which she lay. Her -children always knew where to find her; and to find her, was to find -love and sympathy. Her husband, who was often restless and angry from -one cause or another, always came to her to be smoothed down and -put right. He was conscious of her pleasant influence over him, and -became at peace with himself when in her presence; just as a child -is at ease when with some one who is both firm and gentle. But the -keystone of the family arch was gone, and the stones of which it -was composed began to fall apart. It is always sad when a sorrow of -this kind seems to injure the character of the mourning survivors. -Yet, perhaps, this injury may be only temporary or superficial; the -judgments so constantly passed upon the way in which people bear the -loss of those whom they have deeply loved, appear to be even more -cruel, and wrongly meted out, than human judgments generally are. To -careless observers, for instance, it would seem as though the Squire -was rendered more capricious and exacting, more passionate and -authoritative, by his wife's death. The truth was, that it occurred -at a time when many things came to harass him, and some to bitterly -disappoint him; and _she_ was no longer there to whom he used to -carry his sore heart for the gentle balm of her sweet words. So the -sore heart ached and smarted intensely; and often, when he saw how -his violent conduct affected others, he could have cried out for -their pity, instead of their anger and resentment: "Have mercy upon -me, for I am very miserable." How often have such dumb thoughts gone -up from the hearts of those who have taken hold of their sorrow -by the wrong end, as prayers against sin! And when the Squire saw -that his servants were learning to dread him, and his first-born to -avoid him, he did not blame them. He knew he was becoming a domestic -tyrant; it seemed as if all circumstances conspired against him, and -as if he was too weak to struggle with them; else, why did everything -in doors and out of doors go so wrong just now, when all he could -have done, had things been prosperous, was to have submitted, in very -imperfect patience, to the loss of his wife? But just when he needed -ready money to pacify Osborne's creditors, the harvest had turned out -remarkably plentiful, and the price of corn had sunk down to a level -it had not touched for years. The Squire had insured his life at the -time of his marriage for a pretty large sum. It was to be a provision -for his wife, if she survived him, and for their younger children. -Roger was the only representative of these interests now; but the -Squire was unwilling to lose the insurance by ceasing to pay the -annual sum. He would not, if he could, have sold any part of the -estate which he inherited from his father; and, besides, it was -strictly entailed. He had sometimes thought how wise a step it -would have been could he have sold a portion of it, and with the -purchase-money have drained and reclaimed the remainder; and at -length, learning from some neighbour that Government would make -certain advances for drainage, &c., at a very low rate of interest, -on condition that the work was done, and the money repaid, within a -given time, his wife had urged him to take advantage of the proffered -loan. But now that she was no longer there to encourage him, and take -an interest in the progress of the work, he grew indifferent to it -himself, and cared no more to go out on his stout roan cob, and sit -square on his seat, watching the labourers on the marshy land all -overgrown with rushes; speaking to them from time to time in their -own strong nervous country dialect: but the interest to Government -had to be paid all the same, whether the men worked well or ill. -Then the roof of the Hall let in the melted snow-water this winter; -and, on examination, it turned out that a new roof was absolutely -required. The men who had come about the advances made to Osborne by -the London money-lender, had spoken disparagingly of the timber on -the estate--"Very fine trees--sound, perhaps, too, fifty years ago, -but gone to rot now; had wanted lopping and clearing. Was there no -wood-ranger or forester? They were nothing like the value young Mr. -Hamley had represented them to be." The remarks had come round to -the squire's ears. He loved the trees he had played under as a boy -as if they were living creatures; that was on the romantic side of -his nature. Merely looking at them as representing so many pounds -sterling, he had esteemed them highly, and had had, until now, -no opinion of another by which to correct his own judgment. So -these words of the valuers cut him sharp, although he affected to -disbelieve them, and tried to persuade himself that he did so. But, -after all, these cares and disappointments did not touch the root of -his deep resentment against Osborne. There is nothing like wounded -affection for giving poignancy to anger. And the Squire believed that -Osborne and his advisers had been making calculations, based upon his -own death. He hated the idea so much--it made him so miserable--that -he would not face it, and define it, and meet it with full inquiry -and investigation. He chose rather to cherish the morbid fancy that -he was useless in this world--born under an unlucky star--that all -things went badly under his management. But he did not become humble -in consequence. He put his misfortunes down to the score of Fate--not -to his own; and he imagined that Osborne saw his failures, and that -his first-born grudged him his natural term of life. All these -fancies would have been set to rights could he have talked them over -with his wife; or even had he been accustomed to mingle much in -the society of those whom he esteemed his equals; but, as has been -stated, he was inferior in education to those who should have been -his mates; and perhaps the jealousy and _mauvaise honte_ that this -inferiority had called out long ago, extended itself in some measure -to the feelings he entertained towards his sons--less to Roger -than to Osborne, though the former was turning out by far the most -distinguished man. But Roger was practical; interested in all -out-of-doors things, and he enjoyed the details, homely enough, which -his father sometimes gave him of the every-day occurrences which -the latter had noticed in the woods and the fields. Osborne, on the -contrary, was what is commonly called "fine;" delicate almost to -effeminacy in dress and in manner; careful in small observances. All -this his father had been rather proud of in the days when he looked -forward to a brilliant career at Cambridge for his son; he had at -that time regarded Osborne's fastidiousness and elegance as another -stepping-stone to the high and prosperous marriage which was to -restore the ancient fortunes of the Hamley family. But now that -Osborne had barely obtained his degree; that all the boastings of his -father had proved vain; that the fastidiousness had led to unexpected -expenses (to attribute the most innocent cause to Osborne's debts), -the poor young man's ways and manners became a subject of irritation -to his father. Osborne was still occupied with his books and his -writings when he was at home; and this mode of passing the greater -part of the day gave him but few subjects in common with his father -when they did meet at meal times, or in the evenings. Perhaps if -Osborne had been able to have more out-of-door amusements it would -have been better; but he was short-sighted, and cared little for the -carefully observant pursuits of his brother; he knew but few young -men of his own standing in the county; his hunting even, of which he -was passionately fond, had been curtailed this season, as his father -had disposed of one of the two hunters he had been hitherto allowed. -The whole stable establishment had been reduced; perhaps because it -was the economy which told most on the enjoyment of both the Squire -and Osborne, and which, therefore, the former took a savage pleasure -in enforcing. The old carriage--a heavy family coach bought in the -days of comparative prosperity--was no longer needed after madam's -death, and fell to pieces in the cobwebbed seclusion of the -coach-house. The best of the two carriage-horses was taken for a gig, -which the Squire now set up; saying many a time to all who might -care to listen to him that it was the first time for generations -that the Hamleys of Hamley had not been able to keep their own coach. -The other carriage-horse was turned out to grass; being too old for -regular work. Conqueror used to come whinnying up to the park palings -whenever he saw the Squire, who had always a piece of bread, or some -sugar, or an apple for the old favourite; and would make many a -complaining speech to the dumb animal, telling him of the change of -times since both were in their prime. It had never been the Squire's -custom to encourage his boys to invite their friends to the Hall. -Perhaps this, too, was owing to his _mauvaise honte_, and also to an -exaggerated consciousness of the deficiencies of his establishment as -compared with what he imagined these lads were accustomed to at home. -He explained this once or twice to Osborne and Roger when they were -at Rugby. - -"You see, all you public schoolboys have a kind of freemasonry of -your own, and outsiders are looked on by you much as I look on -rabbits and all that isn't game. Ay, you may laugh, but it is so; and -your friends will throw their eyes askance at me, and never think on -my pedigree, which would beat theirs all to shivers, I'll be bound. -No; I'll have no one here at the Hall who will look down on a Hamley -of Hamley, even if he only knows how to make a cross instead of write -his name." - -Then, of course, they must not visit at houses to whose sons the -Squire could not or would not return a like hospitality. On all these -points Mrs. Hamley had used her utmost influence without avail; -his prejudices were immoveable. As regarded his position as head -of the oldest family in three counties, his pride was invincible; -as regarded himself personally--ill at ease in the society of -his equals, deficient in manners, and in education--his morbid -sensitiveness was too sore and too self-conscious to be called -humility. - -Take one instance from among many similar scenes of the state of -feeling between him and his eldest son, which, if it could not be -called active discord, showed at least passive estrangement. - -It took place on an evening in the March succeeding Mrs. Hamley's -death. Roger was at Cambridge. Osborne had also been from home, and -he had not volunteered any information as to his absence. The Squire -believed that Osborne had been either at Cambridge with his brother, -or in London; he would have liked to hear where his son had been, -what he had been doing, and whom he had seen, purely as pieces of -news, and as some diversion from the domestic worries and cares which -were pressing him hard; but he was too proud to ask any questions, -and Osborne had not given him any details of his journey. This -silence had aggravated the Squire's internal dissatisfaction, and -he came home to dinner weary and sore-hearted a day or two after -Osborne's return. It was just six o'clock, and he went hastily into -his own little business-room on the ground-floor, and, after washing -his hands, came into the drawing-room feeling as if he were very -late, but the room was empty. He glanced at the clock over the -mantel-piece, as he tried to warm his hands at the fire. The fire had -been neglected, and had gone out during the day; it was now piled up -with half-dried wood, which sputtered and smoked instead of doing its -duty in blazing and warming the room, through which the keen wind was -cutting its way in all directions. The clock had stopped, no one had -remembered to wind it up, but by the squire's watch it was already -past dinner-time. The old butler put his head into the room, but, -seeing the squire alone, he was about to draw it back, and wait -for Mr. Osborne, before announcing dinner. He had hoped to do this -unperceived, but the squire caught him in the act. - -"Why isn't dinner ready?" he called out sharply. "It's ten minutes -past six. And, pray, why are you using this wood? It's impossible to -get oneself warm by such a fire as this." - -"I believe, sir, that Thomas--" - -"Don't talk to me of Thomas. Send dinner in directly." - -About five minutes elapsed, spent by the hungry Squire in all sorts -of impatient ways--attacking Thomas, who came in to look after -the fire; knocking the logs about, scattering out sparks, but -considerably lessening the chances of warmth; touching up the -candles, which appeared to him to give a light unusually insufficient -for the large cold room. While he was doing this, Osborne came in -dressed in full evening dress. He always moved slowly; and this, to -begin with, irritated the Squire. Then an uncomfortable consciousness -of a black coat, drab trousers, checked cotton cravat, and splashed -boots, forced itself upon him as he saw Osborne's point-device -costume. He chose to consider it affectation and finery in Osborne, -and was on the point of bursting out with some remark, when the -butler, who had watched Osborne downstairs before making the -announcement, came in to say dinner was ready. - -"It surely isn't six o'clock?" said Osborne, pulling out his dainty -little watch. He was scarcely more unaware than it of the storm that -was brewing. - -"Six o'clock! It's more than a quarter past," growled out his father. - -"I fancy your watch must be wrong, sir. I set mine by the Horse -Guards only two days ago." - -Now, impugning that old steady, turnip-shaped watch of the Squire's -was one of the insults which, as it could not reasonably be resented, -was not to be forgiven. That watch had been given him by his -father when watches were watches long ago. It had given the law to -house-clocks, stable-clocks, kitchen-clocks--nay, even to Hamley -Church clock in its day; and was it now, in its respectable old age, -to be looked down upon by a little whipper-snapper of a French watch -which could go into a man's waistcoat pocket, instead of having to -be extricated, with due effort, like a respectable watch of size and -position, from a fob in the waistband? No! not if the whipper-snapper -were backed by all the Horse Guards that ever were, with the Life -Guards to boot. Poor Osborne might have known better than to cast -this slur on his father's flesh and blood; for so dear did he hold -his watch! - -"My watch is like myself," said the squire, 'girning,' as the Scotch -say--"plain, but steady-going. At any rate, it gives the law in my -house. The King may go by the Horse Guards if he likes." - -"I beg your pardon, sir," said Osborne, really anxious to keep the -peace, "I went by my watch, which is certainly right by London time; -and I'd no idea you were waiting for me; otherwise I could have -dressed much quicker." - -"I should think so," said the Squire, looking sarcastically at his -son's attire. "When I was a young man I should have been ashamed to -have spent as much time at my looking-glass as if I'd been a girl. -I could make myself as smart as any one when I was going to a dance, -or to a party where I was likely to meet pretty girls; but I should -have laughed myself to scorn if I'd stood fiddle-faddling at a glass, -smirking at my own likeness, all for my own pleasure." - -Osborne reddened, and was on the point of letting fly some caustic -remark on his father's dress at the present moment; but he contented -himself with saying, in a low voice,-- - -"My mother always expected us all to dress for dinner. I got into the -habit of doing it to please her, and I keep it up now." Indeed, he -had a certain kind of feeling of loyalty to her memory in keeping -up all the little domestic habits and customs she had instituted or -preferred. But the contrast which the Squire thought was implied by -Osborne's remark, put him beside himself. - -"And I, too, try to attend to her wishes. I do; and in more important -things. I did when she was alive; and I do so now." - -"I never said you did not," said Osborne, astonished at his father's -passionate words and manner. - -"Yes, you did, sir. You meant it. I could see by your looks. I saw -you look at my morning coat. At any rate, I never neglected any wish -of hers in her lifetime. If she'd wished me to go to school again -and learn my A, B, C, I would. By ---- I would; and I wouldn't have -gone playing me, and lounging away my time, for fear of vexing and -disappointing her. Yet some folks older than school-boys--" - -The squire choked here; but though the words would not come his -passion did not diminish. "I'll not have you casting up your mother's -wishes to me, sir. You, who went near to break her heart at last!" - -Osborne was strongly tempted to get up and leave the room. Perhaps it -would have been better if he had; it might then have brought about -an explanation, and a reconciliation between father and son. But he -thought he did well in sitting still and appearing to take no notice. -This indifference to what he was saying appeared to annoy the Squire -still more, and he kept on grumbling and talking to himself till -Osborne, unable to bear it any longer, said, very quietly, but very -bitterly-- - -"I am only a cause of irritation to you, and home is no longer home -to me, but a place in which I am to be controlled in trifles, and -scolded about trifles as if I were a child. Put me in a way of making -a living for myself--that much your oldest son has a right to ask of -you--I will then leave this house, and you shall be no longer vexed -by my dress, or my want of punctuality." - -"You make your request pretty much as another son did long ago: 'Give -me the portion that falleth to me.' But I don't think what he did -with his money is much encouragement for me to--." Then the thought -of how little he could give his son his "portion," or any part of it, -stopped the Squire. - -Osborne took up the speech. - -"I'm as ready as any man to earn my living; only the preparation for -any profession will cost money, and money I haven't got." - -"No more have I," said the Squire, shortly. - -"What is to be done then?" said Osborne, only half believing his -father's words. - -"Why, you must learn to stop at home, and not take expensive -journeys; and you must reduce your tailor's bill. I don't ask you -to help me in the management of the land--you're far too fine a -gentleman for that; but if you can't earn money, at least you needn't -spend it." - -"I've told you I'm willing enough to earn money," cried Osborne, -passionately at last. "But how am I to do it? You really are very -unreasonable, sir." - -"Am I?" said the Squire--cooling in manner, though not in temper, as -Osborne grew warm. "But I don't set up for being reasonable; men who -have to pay away money that they haven't got for their extravagant -sons aren't likely to be reasonable. There's two things you've gone -and done which put me beside myself, when I think of them; you've -turned out next door to a dunce at college, when your poor mother -thought so much of you--and when you might have pleased and gratified -her so if you chose--and, well! I won't say what the other thing is." - -"Tell me, sir," said Osborne, almost breathless with the idea that -his father had discovered his secret marriage; but the father was -thinking of the money-lenders, who were calculating how soon Osborne -would come into the estate. - -"No!" said the Squire. "I know what I know; and I'm not going to -tell you how I know it. Only, I'll just say this--your friends no -more know a piece of good timber when they see it than you or I know -how you could earn five pounds if it was to keep you from starving. -Now, there's Roger--we none of us made an ado about him; but he'll -have his Fellowship now, I'll warrant him, and be a bishop, or a -chancellor, or something, before we've found out he's clever--we've -been so much taken up thinking about you. I don't know what's come -over me to speak of 'we'--'we' in this way," said he, suddenly -dropping his voice,--a change of tone as sad as sad could be. "I -ought to say 'I;' it will be 'I' for evermore in this world." - -He got up and left the room in quick haste, knocking over his chair, -and not stopping to pick it up. Osborne, who was sitting and shading -his eyes with his hand, as he had been doing for some time, looked up -at the noise, and then rose as quickly and hurried after his father, -only in time to hear the study-door locked on the inside the moment -he reached it. - -Osborne returned into the dining-room chagrined and sorrowful. But he -was always sensitive to any omission of the usual observances, which -might excite remark; and even with his heavy heart he was careful to -pick up the fallen chair, and restore it to its place near the bottom -of the table; and afterwards so to disturb the dishes as to make it -appear that they had been touched, before ringing for Robinson. When -the latter came in, followed by Thomas, Osborne thought it necessary -to say to him that his father was not well, and had gone into the -study; and that he himself wanted no dessert, but would have a cup -of coffee in the drawing-room. The old butler sent Thomas out of the -room, and came up confidentially to Osborne. - -"I thought master wasn't justly himself, Mr. Osborne, before dinner. -And, therefore, I made excuses for him--I did. He spoke to Thomas -about the fire, sir, which is a thing I could in nowise put up -with, unless by reason of sickness, which I am always ready to make -allowances for." - -"Why shouldn't my father speak to Thomas?" said Osborne. "But, -perhaps, he spoke angrily, I daresay; for I'm sure he's not well." - -"No, Mr. Osborne, it wasn't that. I myself am given to anger; and I'm -blessed with as good health as any man in my years. Besides, anger's -a good thing for Thomas. He needs a deal of it. But it should come -from the right quarter--and that is me, myself, Mr. Osborne. I know -my place, and I know my rights and duties as well as any butler that -lives. And it's my duty to scold Thomas, and not master's. Master -ought to have said, 'Robinson! you must speak to Thomas about letting -out the fire,' and I'd ha' given it him well,--as I shall do now, -for that matter. But as I said before, I make excuses for master, -as being in mental distress and bodily ill-health; so I've brought -myself round not to give warning, as I should ha' done, for certain, -under happier circumstances." - -"Really, Robinson, I think it's all great nonsense," said Osborne, -weary of the long story the butler had told him, and to which he -had not half attended. "What in the world does it signify whether -my father speaks to you or to Thomas? Bring me coffee in the -drawing-room, and don't trouble your head any more about scolding -Thomas." - -Robinson went away offended at his grievance being called nonsense. -He kept muttering to himself in the intervals of scolding Thomas, and -saying,--"Things is a deal changed since poor missis went. I don't -wonder master feels it, for I'm sure I do. She was a lady who had -always a becoming respect for a butler's position, and could have -understood how he might be hurt in his mind. She'd never ha' called -his delicacies of feelings nonsense--not she; no more would Mr. -Roger. He's a merry young gentleman, and over fond of bringing dirty, -slimy creatures into the house; but he's always a kind word for a man -who is hurt in his mind. He'd cheer up the Squire, and keep him from -getting so cross and wilful. I wish Mr. Roger was here, I do." - -The poor Squire, shut up with his grief, and his ill-temper as well, -in the dingy, dreary study where he daily spent more and more of -his indoors life, turned over his cares and troubles till he was as -bewildered with the process as a squirrel must be in going round in -a cage. He had out day-books and ledgers, and was calculating up -back-rents; and every time the sum-totals came to different amounts. -He could have cried like a child over his sums; he was worn out and -weary, angry and disappointed. He closed his books at last with a -bang. - -"I'm getting old," he said, "and my head's less clear than it used to -be. I think sorrow for her has dazed me. I never was much to boast -on; but she thought a deal of me--bless her! She'd never let me call -myself stupid; but, for all that, I am stupid. Osborne ought to help -me. He's had money enough spent on his learning; but, instead, he -comes down dressed like a popinjay, and never troubles his head to -think how I'm to pay his debts. I wish I'd told him to earn his -living as a dancing-master," said the squire, with a sad smile at his -own wit. "He's dressed for all the world like one. And how he's spent -the money no one knows! Perhaps Roger will turn up some day with a -heap of creditors at his heels. No, he won't--not Roger; he may be -slow, but he's steady, is old Roger. I wish he was here. He's not the -eldest son, but he'd take an interest in the estate; and he'd do up -these weary accounts for me. I wish Roger was here!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -OSBORNE HAMLEY REVIEWS HIS POSITION. - - -Osborne had his solitary cup of coffee in the drawing-room. He was -very unhappy too, after his fashion. He stood on the hearth-rug -pondering over his situation. He was not exactly aware how hardly -his father was pressed for ready-money; the Squire had never spoken -to him on the subject without being angry; and many of his loose -contradictory statements--all of which, however contradictory they -might appear, had their basis in truth--were set down by his son -to the exaggeration of passion. But it was uncomfortable enough to -a young man of Osborne's age to feel himself continually hampered -for want of a five-pound note. The principal supplies for the -liberal--almost luxurious table at the Hall, came off the estate; so -that there was no appearance of poverty as far as the household went; -and as long as Osborne was content at home, he had everything he -could wish for; but he had a wife elsewhere--he wanted to see her -continually--and that necessitated journeys. She, poor thing! had to -be supported--where was the money for the journeys and for Aimée's -modest wants to come from? That was the puzzle in Osborne's mind -just now. While he had been at college his allowance--heir of the -Hamleys--had been three hundred, while Roger had to be content with a -hundred less. The payment of these annual sums had given the Squire -a good deal of trouble; but he thought of it as a merely temporary -inconvenience; perhaps unreasonably thought so. Osborne was to -do great things; take high honours, get a fellowship, marry a -long-descended heiress, live in some of the many uninhabited rooms at -the Hall, and help the squire in the management of the estate that -would some time be his. Roger was to be a clergyman; steady, slow -Roger was just fitted for that, and when he declined entering the -Church, preferring a life of more activity and adventure, Roger was -to be--anything; he was useful and practical, and fit for all the -employments from which Osborne was shut out by his fastidiousness, -and his (pseudo) genius; so it was well he was an eldest son, for he -would never have done to struggle through the world; and as for his -settling down to a profession, it would be like cutting blocks with -a razor! And now here was Osborne, living at home, but longing to be -elsewhere; his allowance stopped in reality; indeed, the punctual -payment of it during the last year or two had been owing to his -mother's exertions; but nothing had been said about its present -cessation by either father or son; money matters were too sore a -subject between them. Every now and then the Squire threw him a -ten-pound note or so; but the sort of suppressed growl with which it -was given, and the entire uncertainty as to when he might receive -such gifts, rendered any calculation based upon their receipt -exceedingly vague and uncertain. - -"What in the world can I do to secure an income?" thought Osborne, as -he stood on the hearth-rug, his back to a blazing fire, his cup of -coffee sent up in the rare old china that had belonged to the Hall -for generations; his dress finished, as dress of Osborne's could -hardly fail to be. One could hardly have thought that this elegant -young man, standing there in the midst of comfort that verged on -luxury, should have been turning over that one great problem in his -mind; but so it was. "What can I do to be sure of a present income? -Things cannot go on as they are. I should need support for two or -three years, even if I entered myself at the Temple, or Lincoln's -Inn. It would be impossible to live on my pay in the army; besides, -I should hate that profession. In fact, there are evils attending all -professions--I couldn't bring myself to become a member of any I've -ever heard of. Perhaps I'm more fitted to take 'orders' than anything -else; but to be compelled to write weekly sermons whether one had -anything to say or not, and, probably, doomed only to associate with -people below one in refinement and education! Yet poor Aimée must -have money. I can't bear to compare our dinners here, overloaded with -joints and game and sweets, as Morgan will persist in sending them -up, with Aimée's two little mutton-chops. Yet what would my father -say if he knew I'd married a Frenchwoman? In his present mood he'd -disinherit me, if that is possible; and he'd speak about her in a way -I couldn't stand. A Roman Catholic, too! Well, I don't repent it. I'd -do it again. Only if my mother had been in good health--if she could -have heard my story, and known Aimée! As it is I must keep it secret; -but where to get money? Where to get money?" - -Then he bethought him of his poems--would they sell, and bring him -in money? In spite of Milton, he thought they might; and he went to -fetch his MSS. out of his room. He sate down near the fire, trying to -study them with a critical eye, to represent public opinion as far as -he could. He had changed his style since the Mrs. Hemans' days. He -was essentially imitative in his poetic faculty; and of late he had -followed the lead of a popular writer of sonnets. He turned his poems -over: they were almost equivalent to an autobiographical passage in -his life. Arranging them in their order, they came as follows:-- - -"To Aimée, Walking with a Little Child." - -"To Aimée, Singing at her Work." - -"To Aimée, Turning away from me while I told my Love." - -"Aimée's Confession." - -"Aimée in Despair." - -"The Foreign Land in which my Aimée dwells." - -"The Wedding Ring." - -"The Wife." - -When he came to this last sonnet he put down his bundle of papers -and began to think. "The wife." Yes, and a French wife; and a -Roman Catholic wife--and a wife who might be said to have been in -service! And his father's hatred of the French, both collectively -and individually--collectively, as tumultuous brutal ruffians, -who murdered their king, and committed all kinds of bloody -atrocities--individually, as represented by "Boney," and the various -caricatures of "Johnny Crapaud" that had been in full circulation -about five-and-twenty years before this time, when the Squire had -been young and capable of receiving impressions. As for the form of -religion in which Mrs. Osborne Hamley had been brought up, it is -enough to say that Catholic emancipation had begun to be talked about -by some politicians, and that the sullen roar of the majority of -Englishmen, at the bare idea of it, was surging in the distance with -ominous threatenings; the very mention of such a measure before the -Squire was, as Osborne well knew, like shaking a red flag before a -bull. - -And then he considered that if Aimée had had the unspeakable, the -incomparable blessing of being born of English parents, in the very -heart of England--Warwickshire, for instance--and had never heard -of priests, or mass, or confession, or the Pope, or Guy Fawkes, but -had been born, baptized, and bred in the Church of England, without -having ever seen the outside of a dissenting meeting-house, or a -papist chapel--even with all these advantages, her having been a -(what was the equivalent for "bonne" in English? 'nursery-governess' -was a term hardly invented) nursery-maid, with wages paid down once a -quarter, liable to be dismissed at a month's warning, and having her -tea and sugar doled out to her, would be a shock to his father's old -ancestral pride that he would hardly ever get over. - -"If he saw her!" thought Osborne. "If he could but see her!" But if -the Squire were to see Aimée, he would also hear her speak her pretty -broken English--precious to her husband, as it was in it that she -had confessed brokenly with her English tongue, that she loved him -soundly with her French heart--and Squire Hamley piqued himself on -being a good hater of the French. "She would make such a loving, -sweet, docile little daughter to my father--she would go as near as -any one could towards filling up the blank void in this house, if he -would but have her; but he won't; he never would; and he sha'n't have -the opportunity of scouting her. Yet if I called her 'Lucy' in these -sonnets; and if they made a great effect--were praised in _Blackwood_ -and the _Quarterly_--and all the world was agog to find out the -author; and I told him my secret--I could if I were successful--I -think then he would ask who Lucy was, and I could tell him all then. -If--how I hate 'ifs.' 'If me no ifs.' My life has been based on -'whens;' and first they have turned to 'ifs,' and then they have -vanished away. It was 'when Osborne gets honours,' and then 'if -Osborne,' and then a failure altogether. I said to Aimée, 'when my -mother sees you,' and now it is 'if my father saw her,' with a very -faint prospect of its ever coming to pass." So he let the evening -hours flow on and disappear in reveries like these; winding up with -a sudden determination to try the fate of his poems with a publisher, -with the direct expectation of getting money for them, and an -ulterior fancy that, if successful, they might work wonders with his -father. - -When Roger came home Osborne did not let a day pass before telling -his brother of his plans. He never did conceal anything long from -Roger; the feminine part of his character made him always desirous of -a confidant, and as sweet sympathy as he could extract. But Roger's -opinion had no effect on Osborne's actions; and Roger knew this full -well. So when Osborne began with--"I want your advice on a plan -I have got in my head," Roger replied: "Some one told me that the -Duke of Wellington's maxim was never to give advice unless he could -enforce its being carried into effect; now I can't do that; and you -know, old boy, you don't follow out my advice when you've got it." - -"Not always, I know. Not when it doesn't agree with my own opinion. -You're thinking about this concealment of my marriage; but you're -not up in all the circumstances. You know how fully I meant to have -done it, if there hadn't been that row about my debts; and then my -mother's illness and death. And now you've no conception how my -father is changed--how irritable he has become! Wait till you've been -at home a week! Robinson, Morgan--it's the same with them all; but -worst of all with me." - -"Poor fellow!" said Roger; "I thought he looked terribly changed: -shrunken, and his ruddiness of complexion altered." - -"Why, he hardly takes half the exercise he used to do, so it's no -wonder. He has turned away all the men off the new works, which used -to be such an interest to him; and because the roan cob stumbled with -him one day, and nearly threw him, he won't ride it; and yet he won't -sell it and buy another, which would be the sensible plan; so there -are two old horses eating their heads off, while he is constantly -talking about money and expense. And that brings me to what I was -going to say. I'm desperately hard up for money, and so I've been -collecting my poems--weeding them well, you know--going over them -quite critically, in fact; and I want to know if you think Deighton -would publish them. You've a name in Cambridge, you know; and I -daresay he would look at them if you offered them to him." - -"I can but try," said Roger; "but I'm afraid you won't get much by -them." - -"I don't expect much. I'm a new man, and must make my name. I should -be content with a hundred. If I'd a hundred pounds I'd set myself to -do something. I might keep myself and Aimée by my writings while I -studied for the bar; or, if the worst came to the worst, a hundred -pounds would take us to Australia." - -"Australia! Why, Osborne, what could you do there? And leave my -father! I hope you'll never get your hundred pounds, if that's the -use you're to make of it! Why, you'd break the Squire's heart." - -"It might have done once," said Osborne, gloomily, "but it wouldn't -now. He looks at me askance, and shies away from conversation with -me. Let me alone for noticing and feeling this kind of thing. It's -this very susceptibility to outward things that gives me what faculty -I have; and it seems to me as if my bread, and my wife's too, were to -depend upon it. You'll soon see for yourself the terms which I am on -with my father!" - -Roger did soon see. His father had slipped into a habit of silence -at meal-times--a habit which Osborne, who was troubled and anxious -enough for his own part, had not striven to break. Father and son -sate together, and exchanged all the necessary speeches connected -with the occasion civilly enough; but it was a relief to them when -their intercourse was over, and they separated--the father to brood -over his sorrow and his disappointment, which were real and deep -enough, and the injury he had received from his boy, which was -exaggerated in his mind by his ignorance of the actual steps Osborne -had taken to raise money. If the money-lenders had calculated the -chances of his father's life or death in making their bargain, -Osborne himself had thought only of how soon and how easily he could -get the money requisite for clearing him from all imperious claims -at Cambridge, and for enabling him to follow Aimée to her home in -Alsace, and for the subsequent marriage. As yet, Roger had never seen -his brother's wife; indeed, he had only been taken into Osborne's -full confidence after all was decided in which his advice could have -been useful. And now, in the enforced separation, Osborne's whole -thought, both the poetical and practical sides of his mind, ran -upon the little wife who was passing her lonely days in farmhouse -lodgings, wondering when her bridegroom husband would come to her -next. With such an engrossing subject, it was, perhaps, no wonder -that he unconsciously neglected his father; but it was none the less -sad at the time, and to be regretted in its consequences. - -"I may come in and have a pipe with you, sir, mayn't I?" said Roger, -that first evening, pushing gently against the study-door, which his -father held only half open. - -"You'll not like it," said the squire, still holding the door against -him, but speaking in a relenting tone. "The tobacco I use isn't what -young men like. Better go and have a cigar with Osborne." - -"No. I want to sit with you, and I can stand pretty strong tobacco." - -Roger pushed in, the resistance slowly giving way before him. - -"It will make your clothes smell. You'll have to borrow Osborne's -scents to sweeten yourself," said the Squire, grimly, at the same -time pushing a short smart amber-mouthed pipe to his son. - -"No; I'll have a churchwarden. Why, father, do you think I'm a baby -to put up with a doll's head like this?" looking at the carving upon -it. - -The Squire was pleased in his heart, though he did not choose to -show it. He only said, "Osborne brought it me when he came back from -Germany. That's three years ago." And then for some time they smoked -in silence. But the voluntary companionship of his son was very -soothing to the Squire, though not a word might be said. - -The next speech he made showed the direction of his thoughts; indeed, -his words were always a transparent medium through which the current -might be seen. - -"A deal of a man's life comes and goes in three years--I've found -that out;" and he puffed away at his pipe again. While Roger was -turning over in his mind what answer to make to this truism, the -squire again stopped his smoking and spoke. - -"I remember when there was all that fuss about the Prince of -Wales being made regent, I read somewhere--I daresay it was in a -newspaper--that kings and their heirs-apparent were always on bad -terms. Osborne was quite a little chap then: he used to go out riding -with me on White Surrey;--you won't remember the pony we called White -Surrey?" - -"I remember it; but I thought it a tall horse in those days." - -"Ah! that was because you were such a small lad, you know. I'd seven -horses in the stable then--not counting the farm-horses. I don't -recollect having a care then, except--_she_ was always delicate, you -know. But what a beautiful boy Osborne was! He was always dressed in -black velvet--it was a foppery, but it wasn't my doing, and it was -all right, I'm sure. He's a handsome fellow now, but the sunshine has -gone out of his face." - -"He's a good deal troubled about this money, and the anxiety he has -given you," said Roger, rather taking his brother's feelings for -granted. - -"Not he," said the Squire, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and -hitting the bowl so sharply against the hob that it broke in pieces. -"There! But never mind! I say, not he, Roger! He's none troubled -about the money. It's easy getting money from Jews if you're the -eldest son, and the heir. They just ask, 'How old is your father, and -has he had a stroke, or a fit?' and it's settled out of hand, and -then they come prowling about a place, and running down the timber -and land--Don't let us speak of him; it's no good, Roger. He and I -are out of tune, and it seems to me as if only God Almighty could -put us to rights. It's thinking of how he grieved _her_ at last that -makes me so bitter with him. And yet there's a deal of good in him! -and he's so quick and clever, if only he'd give his mind to things. -Now, you were always slow, Roger--all your masters used to say so." - -Roger laughed a little-- - -"Yes; I'd many a nickname at school for my slowness," said he. - -"Never mind!" said the Squire, consolingly. "I'm sure I don't. If you -were a clever fellow like Osborne yonder, you'd be all for caring for -books and writing, and you'd perhaps find it as dull as he does to -keep company with a bumpkin-squire Jones like me. Yet, I daresay, -they think a deal of you at Cambridge," said he, after a pause, -"since you've got this fine wranglership; I'd nearly forgotten -that--the news came at such a miserable time." - -"Well, yes! They're always proud of the senior wrangler of the year -up at Cambridge. Next year I must abdicate." - -The Squire sat and gazed into the embers, still holding his useless -pipe-stem. At last he said, in a low voice, as if scarcely aware he -had got a listener,--"I used to write to her when she was away in -London, and tell her the home news. But no letter will reach her now! -Nothing reaches her!" - -Roger started up. - -"Where's the tobacco-box, father? Let me fill you another pipe!" -and when he had done so, he stooped over his father and stroked his -cheek. The Squire shook his head. - -"You've only just come home, lad. You don't know me, as I am -now-a-days! Ask Robinson--I won't have you asking Osborne, he ought -to keep it to himself--but any of the servants will tell you I'm not -like the same man for getting into passions with them. I used to -be reckoned a good master, but that's past now! Osborne was once a -little boy, and she was once alive--and I was once a good master--a -good master--yes! It's all past now." - -He took up his pipe, and began to smoke afresh, and Roger, after a -silence of some minutes, began a long story about some Cambridge -man's misadventure on the hunting-field, telling it with such humour -that the Squire was beguiled into hearty laughing. When they rose to -go to bed his father said to Roger,-- - -"Well, we've had a pleasant evening--at least, I have. But perhaps -you haven't; for I'm but poor company now, I know." - -"I don't know when I've passed a happier evening, father," said -Roger. And he spoke truly, though he did not trouble himself to find -out the cause of his happiness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -MRS. GIBSON'S LITTLE DINNER. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -All this had taken place before Roger's first meeting with Molly and -Cynthia at Miss Brownings'; and the little dinner on the Friday at -Mr. Gibson's, which followed in due sequence. - -Mrs. Gibson intended the Hamleys to find this dinner pleasant; and -they did. Mr. Gibson was fond of the two young men, both for their -parents' sake and their own, for he had known them since boyhood; and -to those whom he liked Mr. Gibson could be remarkably agreeable. Mrs. -Gibson really gave them a welcome--and cordiality in a hostess is a -very becoming mantle for any other deficiencies there may be. Cynthia -and Molly looked their best, which was all the duty Mrs. Gibson -absolutely required of them, as she was willing enough to take her -full share in the conversation. Osborne fell to her lot, of course, -and for some time he and she prattled on with all the ease of manner -and commonplaceness of meaning which go far to make the "art of -polite conversation." Roger, who ought to have made himself agreeable -to one or the other of the young ladies, was exceedingly interested -in what Mr. Gibson was telling him of a paper on comparative -osteology in some foreign journal of science, which Lord Hollingford -was in the habit of forwarding to his friend the country surgeon. -Yet, every now and then while he listened, he caught his attention -wandering to the face of Cynthia, who was placed between his brother -and Mr. Gibson. She was not particularly occupied with attending to -anything that was going on; her eyelids were carelessly dropped, as -she crumbled her bread on the tablecloth, and her beautiful long -eyelashes were seen on the clear tint of her oval cheek. She was -thinking of something else; Molly was trying to understand with all -her might. Suddenly Cynthia looked up, and caught Roger's gaze of -intent admiration too fully for her to be unaware that he was staring -at her. She coloured a little; but, after the first moment of rosy -confusion at his evident admiration of her, she flew to the attack, -diverting his confusion at thus being caught, to the defence of -himself from her accusation. - -"It is quite true!" she said to him. "I was not attending: you see -I don't know even the A B C of science. But, please, don't look so -severely at me, even if I am a dunce!" - -"I didn't know--I didn't mean to look severely, I am sure," replied -he, not knowing well what to say. - -"Cynthia is not a dunce either," said Mrs. Gibson, afraid lest her -daughter's opinion of herself might be taken seriously. "But I have -always observed that some people have a talent for one thing and -some for another. Now Cynthia's talents are not for science and the -severer studies. Do you remember, love, what trouble I had to teach -you the use of the globes?" - -"Yes; and I don't know longitude from latitude now; and I'm always -puzzled as to which is perpendicular and which is horizontal." - -"Yet, I do assure you," her mother continued, rather addressing -herself to Osborne, "that her memory for poetry is prodigious. I have -heard her repeat the 'Prisoner of Chillon' from beginning to end." - -"It would be rather a bore to have to hear her, I think," said Mr. -Gibson, smiling at Cynthia, who gave him back one of her bright looks -of mutual understanding. - -"Ah, Mr. Gibson, I have found out before now that you have no soul -for poetry; and Molly there is your own child. She reads such deep -books--all about facts and figures: she'll be quite a blue-stocking -by-and-by." - -"Mamma," said Molly, reddening, "you think it was a deep book because -there were the shapes of the different cells of bees in it! but it -was not at all deep. It was very interesting." - -"Never mind, Molly," said Osborne. "I stand up for blue-stockings." - -"And I object to the distinction implied in what you say," said -Roger. "It was not deep, _ergo_, it was very interesting. Now, a book -may be both deep and interesting." - -"Oh, if you are going to chop logic and use Latin words, I think it -is time for us to leave the room," said Mrs. Gibson. - -"Don't let us run away as if we were beaten, mamma," said Cynthia. -"Though it may be logic, I, for one, can understand what Mr. Roger -Hamley said just now; and I read some of Molly's books; and whether -it was deep or not I found it very interesting--more so than I should -think the 'Prisoner of Chillon' now-a-days. I've displaced the -Prisoner to make room for Johnnie Gilpin as my favourite poem." - -"How could you talk such nonsense, Cynthia!" said Mrs. Gibson, as the -girls followed her upstairs. "You know you are not a dunce. It is all -very well not to be a blue-stocking, because gentle-people don't like -that kind of woman; but running yourself down, and contradicting all -I said about your liking for Byron, and poets and poetry--to Osborne -Hamley of all men, too!" - -Mrs. Gibson spoke quite crossly for her. - -"But, mamma," Cynthia replied, "I am either a dunce, or I am not. If -I am, I did right to own it; if I am not, he's a dunce if he doesn't -find out I was joking." - -"Well," said Mrs. Gibson, a little puzzled by this speech, and -wanting some elucidatory addition. - -"Only that if he's a dunce his opinion of me is worth nothing. So, -any way, it doesn't signify." - -"You really bewilder me with your nonsense, child. Molly is worth -twenty of you." - -"I quite agree with you, mamma," said Cynthia, turning round to take -Molly's hand. - -"Yes; but she ought not to be," said Mrs. Gibson, still irritated. -"Think of the advantages you've had." - -"I'm afraid I had rather be a dunce than a blue-stocking," said -Molly; for the term had a little annoyed her, and the annoyance was -rankling still. - -"Hush; here they are coming: I hear the dining-room door! I never -meant you were a blue-stocking, dear, so don't look vexed.--Cynthia, -my love, where did you get those lovely flowers--anemones, are they? -They suit your complexion so exactly." - -"Come, Molly, don't look so grave and thoughtful," exclaimed Cynthia. -"Don't you perceive mamma wants us to be smiling and amiable?" - -Mr. Gibson had had to go out to his evening round; and the young men -were all too glad to come up into the pretty drawing-room; the bright -little wood-fire; the comfortable easy-chairs which, with so small -a party, might be drawn round the hearth; the good-natured hostess; -the pretty, agreeable girls. Roger sauntered up to the corner where -Cynthia was standing, playing with a hand-screen. - -"There is a charity ball in Hollingford soon, isn't there?" asked he. - -"Yes; on Easter Tuesday," she replied. - -"Are you going? I suppose you are?" - -"Yes; mamma is going to take Molly and me." - -"You will enjoy it very much--going together?" - -For the first time during this little conversation she glanced up at -him--real honest pleasure shining out of her eyes. - -"Yes; going together will make the enjoyment of the thing. It would -be dull without her." - -"You are great friends, then?" he asked. - -"I never thought I should like any one so much,--any girl I mean." - -She put in the final reservation in all simplicity of heart; and in -all simplicity did he understand it. He came ever so little nearer, -and dropped his voice a little. - -"I was so anxious to know. I am so glad. I have often wondered how -you two were getting on." - -"Have you?" said she, looking up again. "At Cambridge? You must be -very fond of Molly!" - -"Yes, I am. She was with us so long; and at such a time! I look upon -her almost as a sister." - -"And she is very fond of all of you. I seem to know you all from -hearing her talk about you so much.--All of you!" said she, laying an -emphasis on "all" to show that it included the dead as well as the -living. Roger was silent for a minute or two. - -"I didn't know you, even by hearsay. So you mustn't wonder that I was -a little afraid. But as soon as I saw you I knew how it must be; and -it was such a relief!" - -"Cynthia," said Mrs. Gibson, who thought that the younger son had had -quite his share of low, confidential conversation, "come here, and -sing that little French ballad to Mr. Osborne Hamley." - -"Which do you mean, mamma? 'Tu t'en repentiras, Colin?'" - -"Yes; such a pretty, playful little warning to young men," said Mrs. -Gibson, smiling up at Osborne. "The refrain is-- - - Tu t'en repentiras, Colin, - Tu t'en repentiras, - Car si tu prends une femme, Colin, - Tu t'en repentiras. - -The advice may apply very well when there is a French wife in the -case; but not, I am sure, to an Englishman who is thinking of an -English wife." - - -[Illustration: "TU T'EN REPENTIRAS, COLIN."] - - -This choice of a song was exceedingly _mal-àpropos_, had Mrs. Gibson -but known it. Osborne and Roger knowing that the wife of the former -was a Frenchwoman, and, conscious of each other's knowledge, felt -doubly awkward; while Molly was as much confused as though she -herself were secretly married. However, Cynthia carolled the saucy -ditty out, and her mother smiled at it, in total ignorance of any -application it might have. Osborne had instinctively gone to stand -behind Cynthia, as she sate at the piano, so as to be ready to turn -over the leaves of her music if she required it. He kept his hands -in his pockets and his eyes fixed on her fingers; his countenance -clouded with gravity at all the merry quips which she so playfully -sang. Roger looked grave as well, but was much more at his ease than -his brother; indeed, he was half-amused by the awkwardness of the -situation. He caught Molly's troubled eyes and heightened colour, and -he saw that she was feeling this _contretemps_ more seriously than -she needed to do. He moved to a seat by her, and half whispered, "Too -late a warning, is it not?" - -Molly looked up at him as he leant towards her, and replied in the -same tone--"Oh, I am so sorry!" - -"You need not be. He won't mind it long; and a man must take the -consequences when he puts himself in a false position." - -Molly could not tell what to reply to this, so she hung her head -and kept silence. Yet she could see that Roger did not change his -attitude or remove his hand from the back of his chair, and, impelled -by curiosity to find out the cause of his stillness, she looked up at -him at length, and saw his gaze fixed on the two who were near the -piano. Osborne was saying something eagerly to Cynthia, whose grave -eyes were upturned to him with soft intentness of expression, and her -pretty mouth half-open, with a sort of impatience for him to cease -speaking, that she might reply. - -"They are talking about France," said Roger, in answer to Molly's -unspoken question. "Osborne knows it well, and Miss Kirkpatrick has -been at school there, you know. It sounds very interesting; shall we -go nearer and hear what they are saying?" - -It was all very well to ask this civilly, but Molly thought it would -have been better to wait for her answer. Instead of waiting, however, -Roger went to the piano, and, leaning on it, appeared to join in the -light merry talk, while he feasted his eyes as much as he dared by -looking at Cynthia. Molly suddenly felt as if she could scarcely keep -from crying--a minute ago he had been so near to her, and talking so -pleasantly and confidentially; and now he almost seemed as if he had -forgotten her existence. She thought that all this was wrong; and -she exaggerated its wrongness to herself; "mean," and "envious of -Cynthia," and "ill-natured," and "selfish," were the terms she kept -applying to herself; but it did no good, she was just as naughty at -the last as at the first. - -Mrs. Gibson broke into the state of things which Molly thought was to -endure for ever. Her work had been intricate up to this time, and had -required a great deal of counting; so she had had no time to attend -to her duties, one of which she always took to be to show herself to -the world as an impartial stepmother. Cynthia had played and sung, -and now she must give Molly her turn of exhibition. Cynthia's singing -and playing was light and graceful, but anything but correct; but -she herself was so charming, that it was only fanatics for music who -cared for false chords and omitted notes. Molly, on the contrary, had -an excellent ear, if she had ever been well taught; and both from -inclination and conscientious perseverance of disposition, she would -go over an incorrect passage for twenty times. But she was very shy -of playing in company; and when forced to do it, she went through her -performance heavily, and hated her handiwork more than any one. - -"Now, you must play a little, Molly," said Mrs. Gibson; "play us that -beautiful piece of Kalkbrenner's, my dear." - -Molly looked up at her stepmother with beseeching eyes; but it only -brought out another form of request, still more like a command. - -"Go at once, my dear. You may not play it quite rightly; and I know -you are very nervous; but you're quite amongst friends." - -So there was a disturbance made in the little group at the piano, and -Molly sate down to her martyrdom. - -"Please, go away!" said she to Osborne, who was standing behind her -ready to turn over. "I can quite well do it for myself. And oh! if -you would but talk!" - -Osborne remained where he was in spite of her appeal, and gave -her what little approval she got; for Mrs. Gibson, exhausted by -her previous labour of counting her stitches, fell asleep in her -comfortable sofa-corner near the fire; and Roger, who began at first -to talk a little in compliance with Molly's request, found his -conversation with Cynthia so agreeable, that Molly lost her place -several times in trying to catch a sudden glimpse of Cynthia sitting -at her work, and Roger by her, intent on catching her low replies to -what he was saying. - -"There, now I've done!" said Molly, standing up quickly as soon as -she had finished the eighteen dreary pages; "and I think I will never -sit down to play again!" - -Osborne laughed at her vehemence. Cynthia began to take some part -in what was being said, and thus made the conversation general. Mrs. -Gibson wakened up gracefully, as was her way of doing all things, and -slid into the subjects they were talking about so easily, that she -almost succeeded in making them believe she had never been asleep at -all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -HOLLINGFORD IN A BUSTLE. - - -All Hollingford felt as if there was a great deal to be done before -Easter this year. There was Easter proper, which always required new -clothing of some kind, for fear of certain consequences from little -birds, who were supposed to resent the impiety of those that did -not wear some new article of dress on Easter-day. And most ladies -considered it wiser that the little birds should see the new article -for themselves, and not have to take it upon trust, as they would -have to do if it were merely a pocket-handkerchief, or a petticoat, -or any article of under-clothing. So piety demanded a new bonnet, or -a new gown; and was barely satisfied with an Easter pair of gloves. -Miss Rose was generally very busy just before Easter in Hollingford. -Then this year there was the charity ball. Ashcombe, Hollingford, and -Coreham were three neighbouring towns, of about the same number of -population, lying at the three equidistant corners of a triangle. In -imitation of greater cities with their festivals, these three towns -had agreed to have an annual ball for the benefit of the county -hospital to be held in turn at each place; and Hollingford was to be -the place this year. - -It was a fine time for hospitality, and every house of any pretension -was as full as it could hold, and flys were engaged long months -before. - -If Mrs. Gibson could have asked Osborne, or in default, Roger Hamley -to go to the ball with them and to sleep at their house,--or if, -indeed, she could have picked up any stray scion of a "county family" -to whom such an offer would have been a convenience, she would have -restored her own dressing-room to its former use as the spare-room, -with pleasure. But she did not think it was worth her while to put -herself out for any of the humdrum and ill-dressed women who had been -her former acquaintances at Ashcombe. For Mr. Preston it might have -been worth while to give up her room, considering him in the light of -a handsome and prosperous young man, and a good dancer besides. But -there were more lights in which he was to be viewed. Mr. Gibson, who -really wanted to return the hospitality shown to him by Mr. Preston -at the time of his marriage, had yet an instinctive distaste to the -man, which no wish of freeing himself from obligation, nor even the -more worthy feeling of hospitality, could overcome. Mrs. Gibson -had some old grudges of her own against him, but she was not one -to retain angry feelings, or be very active in her retaliation; -she was afraid of Mr. Preston, and admired him at the same time. -It was awkward too--so she said--to go into a ball-room without -any gentleman at all, and Mr. Gibson was so uncertain! On the -whole--partly for this last-given reason, and partly because -conciliation was the best policy, Mrs. Gibson was slightly in favour -of inviting Mr. Preston to be their guest. But as soon as Cynthia -heard the question discussed--or rather, as soon as she heard it -discussed in Mr. Gibson's absence, she said that if Mr. Preston came -to be their visitor on the occasion, she for one would not go to the -ball at all. She did not speak with vehemence or in anger; but with -such quiet resolution that Molly looked up in surprise. She saw -that Cynthia was keeping her eyes fixed on her work, and that she -had no intention of meeting any one's gaze, or giving any further -explanation. Mrs. Gibson, too, looked perplexed, and once or twice -seemed on the point of asking some question; but she was not angry -as Molly had fully expected. She watched Cynthia furtively and in -silence for a minute or two, and then said that, after all, she could -not conveniently give up her dressing-room; and, altogether, they had -better say no more about it. So no stranger was invited to stay at -Mr. Gibson's at the time of the ball; but Mrs. Gibson openly spoke -of her regret at the unavoidable inhospitality, and hoped that they -might be able to build an addition to their house before the next -triennial Hollingford ball. - -Another cause of unusual bustle at Hollingford this Easter was the -expected return of the family to the Towers, after their unusually -long absence. Mr. Sheepshanks might be seen trotting up and down on -his stout old cob, speaking to attentive masons, plasterers, and -glaziers about putting everything--on the outside at least--about -the cottages belonging to "my lord," in perfect repair. Lord Cumnor -owned the greater part of the town; and those who lived under other -landlords, or in houses of their own, were stirred up by the dread -of contrast to do up their dwellings. So the ladders of whitewashers -and painters were sadly in the way of the ladies tripping daintily -along to make their purchases, and holding their gowns up in a bunch -behind, after a fashion quite gone out in these days. The housekeeper -and steward from the Towers might also be seen coming in to give -orders at the various shops; and stopping here and there at those -kept by favourites, to avail themselves of the eagerly-tendered -refreshments. - -Lady Harriet came to call on her old governess the day after the -arrival of the family at the Towers. Molly and Cynthia were out -walking when she came--doing some errands for Mrs. Gibson, who had a -secret idea that Lady Harriet would call at the particular time she -did, and had a not uncommon wish to talk to her ladyship without the -corrective presence of any member of her own family. - -Mrs. Gibson did not give Molly the message of remembrance that Lady -Harriet had left for her; but she imparted various pieces of news -relating to the Towers with great animation and interest. The Duchess -of Menteith and her daughter, Lady Alice, were coming to the Towers; -would be there the day of the ball; would come to the ball; and the -Menteith diamonds were famous. That was piece of news the first. -The second was that ever so many gentlemen were coming to the -Towers--some English, some French. This piece of news would have come -first in order of importance had there been much probability of their -being dancing men, and, as such, possible partners at the coming -ball. But Lady Harriet had spoken of them as Lord Hollingford's -friends, useless scientific men in all probability. Then, finally, -Mrs. Gibson was to go to the Towers next day to lunch; Lady Cumnor -had written a little note by Lady Harriet to beg her to come; if -Mrs. Gibson could manage to find her way to the Towers, one of the -carriages in use should bring her back to her own home in the course -of the afternoon. - -"The dear countess!" said Mrs. Gibson, with soft affection. It was -a soliloquy, uttered after a minute's pause, at the end of all this -information. - -And all the rest of that day her conversation had an aristocratic -perfume hanging about it. One of the few books she had brought with -her into Mr. Gibson's house was bound in pink, and in it she studied -"Menteith, Duke of, Adolphus George," &c., &c., till she was fully up -in all the duchess's connections, and probable interests. Mr. Gibson -made his mouth up into a droll whistle when he came home at night, -and found himself in a Towers' atmosphere. Molly saw the shade -of annoyance through the drollery; she was beginning to see it -oftener than she liked, not that she reasoned upon it, or that she -consciously traced the annoyance to its source; but she could not -help feeling uneasy in herself when she knew her father was in the -least put out. - -Of course a fly was ordered for Mrs. Gibson. In the early afternoon -she came home. If she had been disappointed in her interview with -the countess she never told her woe, nor revealed the fact that when -she first arrived at the Towers she had to wait for an hour in Lady -Cumnor's morning-room, uncheered by any companionship save that of -her old friend, Mrs. Bradley, till suddenly, Lady Harriet coming in, -she exclaimed, "Why, Clare! you dear woman! are you here all alone? -Does mamma know?" And, after a little more affectionate conversation, -she rushed to find her ladyship, who was perfectly aware of the fact, -but too deep in giving the duchess the benefit of her wisdom and -experience in trousseaux to be at all aware of the length of time -Mrs. Gibson had been passing in patient solitude. At lunch Mrs. -Gibson was secretly hurt by my lord's supposing it to be her dinner, -and calling out his urgent hospitality from the very bottom of the -table, giving as a reason for it, that she must remember it was her -dinner. In vain she piped out in her soft, high voice, "Oh, my lord! -I never eat meat in the middle of the day; I can hardly eat anything -at lunch." Her voice was lost, and the duchess might go away with the -idea that the Hollingford doctor's wife dined early; that is to say, -if her grace ever condescended to have any idea on the subject at -all; which presupposes that she was cognizant of the fact of there -being a doctor at Hollingford, and that he had a wife, and that his -wife was the pretty, faded, elegant-looking woman sending away her -plate of untasted food--food which she longed to eat, for she was -really desperately hungry after her drive and her solitude. - -And then after lunch there did come a _tête-à-tête_ with Lady Cumnor, -which was conducted after this wise:-- - -"Well, Clare! I am really glad to see you. I once thought I should -never get back to the Towers, but here I am! There was such a clever -man at Bath--a Doctor Snape--he cured me at last--quite set me up. I -really think if ever I am ill again I shall send for him: it is such -a thing to find a really clever medical man. Oh, by the way, I always -forget you've married Mr. Gibson--of course he is very clever, and -all that. (The carriage to the door in ten minutes, Brown, and desire -Bradley to bring my things down.) What was I asking you? Oh! how do -you get on with the stepdaughter? She seemed to me to be a young lady -with a pretty stubborn will of her own. I put a letter for the post -down somewhere, and I cannot think where; do help me look for it, -there's a good woman. Just run to my room, and see if Brown can find -it, for it is of great consequence." - -Off went Mrs. Gibson, rather unwillingly; for there were several -things she wanted to speak about, and she had not heard half of what -she had expected to learn of the family gossip. But all chance was -gone; for when she came back from her fruitless errand, Lady Cumnor -and the duchess were in full talk, Lady Cumnor with the missing -letter in her hand, which she was using something like a baton to -enforce her words. - -"Every iota from Paris! Every i-o-ta!" - -Lady Cumnor was too much of a lady not to apologize for useless -trouble, but they were nearly the last words she spoke to Mrs. -Gibson, for she had to go out and drive with the duchess; and the -brougham to take "Clare" (as she persisted in calling Mrs. Gibson) -back to Hollingford followed the carriage to the door. Lady Harriet -came away from her _entourage_ of young men and young ladies, all -prepared for some walking expedition, to wish Mrs. Gibson good-by. - -"We shall see you at the ball," she said. "You'll be there with your -two girls, of course, and I must have a little talk with you there; -with all these visitors in the house, it has been impossible to see -anything of you to-day, you know." - -Such were the facts, but rose-colour was the medium through which -they were seen by Mrs. Gibson's household listeners on her return. - -"There are many visitors staying at the Towers--oh, yes! a great -many: the duchess and Lady Alice, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey, and Lord -Albert Monson and his sister, and my old friend Captain James of the -Blues--many more, in fact. But, of course, I preferred going to Lady -Cumnor's own room, where I could see her and Lady Harriet quietly, -and where we were not disturbed by the bustle downstairs. Of course -we were obliged to go down to lunch, and then I saw my old friends, -and renewed pleasant acquaintances. But I really could hardly get any -connected conversation with any one. Lord Cumnor seemed so delighted -to see me there again: though there were six or seven between us, he -was always interrupting with some civil or kind speech especially -addressed to me. And after lunch Lady Cumnor asked me all sorts of -questions about my new life with as much interest as if I had been -her daughter. To be sure, when the duchess came in we had to leave -off, and talk about the trousseau she is preparing for Lady Alice. -Lady Harriet made such a point of our meeting at the ball; she is -such a good, affectionate creature, is Lady Harriet!" - -This last was said in a tone of meditative appreciation. - -The afternoon of the day on which the ball was to take place, a -servant rode over from Hamley with two lovely nosegays, "with the -Mr. Hamleys' compliments to Miss Gibson and Miss Kirkpatrick." -Cynthia was the first to receive them. She came dancing into the -drawing-room, flourishing the flowers about in either hand, and -danced up to Molly, who was trying to settle to her reading, by way -of passing the time away till the evening came. - -"Look, Molly, look! Here are bouquets for us! Long life to the -givers!" - -"Who are they from?" asked Molly, taking hold of one, and examining -it with tender delight at its beauty. - -"Who from? Why, the two paragons of Hamleys, to be sure. Is it not a -pretty attention?" - -"How kind of them!" said Molly. - -"I'm sure it is Osborne who thought of it. He has been so much -abroad, where it is such a common compliment to send bouquets to -young ladies." - -"I don't see why you should think it is Osborne's thought!" said -Molly, reddening a little. "Mr. Roger Hamley used to gather nosegays -constantly for his mother, and sometimes for me." - -"Well, never mind whose thought it was, or who gathered them; we've -got the flowers, and that's enough. Molly, I'm sure these red flowers -will just match your coral necklace and bracelets," said Cynthia, -pulling out some camellias, then a rare kind of flower. - -"Oh, please, don't!" exclaimed Molly. "Don't you see how carefully -the colours are arranged--they have taken such pains; please, don't." - -"Nonsense!" said Cynthia, continuing to pull them out; "see, here are -quite enough. I'll make you a little coronet of them--sewn on black -velvet, which will never be seen--just as they do in France!" - -"Oh, I am so sorry! It is quite spoilt," said Molly. - -"Never mind! I'll take this spoilt bouquet; I can make it up again -just as prettily as ever; and you shall have this, which has never -been touched." Cynthia went on arranging the crimson buds and flowers -to her taste. Molly said nothing, but kept watching Cynthia's nimble -fingers tying up the wreath. - -"There!" said Cynthia, at last, "when that is sewn on black velvet, -to keep the flowers from dying, you'll see how pretty it will look. -And there are enough red flowers in this untouched nosegay to carry -out the idea!" - -"Thank you" (very slowly). "But sha'n't you mind having only the -wrecks of the other?" - -"Not I; red flowers would not go with my pink dress." - -"But--I daresay they arranged each nosegay so carefully!" - -"Perhaps they did. But I never would allow sentiment to interfere -with my choice of colours; and pink does tie one down. Now you, -in white muslin, just tipped with crimson, like a daisy, may wear -anything." - -Cynthia took the utmost pains in dressing Molly, leaving the clever -housemaid to her mother's exclusive service. Mrs. Gibson was more -anxious about her attire than was either of the girls; it had given -her occasion for deep thought and not a few sighs. Her deliberation -had ended in her wearing her pearl-grey satin wedding-gown, with a -profusion of lace, and white and coloured lilacs. Cynthia was the one -who took the affair most lightly. Molly looked upon the ceremony of -dressing for a first ball as rather a serious ceremony; certainly as -an anxious proceeding. Cynthia was almost as anxious as herself; only -Molly wanted her appearance to be correct and unnoticed; and Cynthia -was desirous of setting off Molly's rather peculiar charms--her -cream-coloured skin, her profusion of curly black hair, her beautiful -long-shaped eyes, with their shy, loving expression. Cynthia took -up so much time in dressing Molly to her mind, that she herself had -to perform her toilette in a hurry. Molly, ready dressed, sate on a -low chair in Cynthia's room, watching the pretty creature's rapid -movements, as she stood in her petticoat before the glass, doing up -her hair, with quick certainty of effect. At length, Molly heaved a -long sigh, and said,-- - -"I should like to be pretty!" - -"Why, Molly," said Cynthia, turning round with an exclamation on the -tip of her tongue; but when she caught the innocent, wistful look on -Molly's face, she instinctively checked what she was going to say, -and, half-smiling to her own reflection in the glass, she said,--"The -French girls would tell you, to believe that you were pretty would -make you so." - -Molly paused before replying,-- - -"I suppose they would mean that if you knew you were pretty, you -would never think about your looks; you would be so certain of being -liked, and that it is caring--" - -"Listen! that's eight o'clock striking. Don't trouble yourself with -trying to interpret a French girl's meaning, but help me on with my -frock, there's a dear one." - -The two girls were dressed, and were standing over the fire waiting -for the carriage in Cynthia's room, when Maria (Betty's successor) -came hurrying into the room. Maria had been officiating as maid to -Mrs. Gibson, but she had had intervals of leisure, in which she had -rushed upstairs, and, under the pretence of offering her services, -had seen the young ladies' dresses, and the sight of so many nice -clothes had sent her into a state of excitement which made her think -nothing of rushing upstairs for the twentieth time, with a nosegay -still more beautiful than the two previous ones. - -"Here, Miss Kirkpatrick! No, it's not for you, miss!" as Molly, being -nearer to the door, offered to take it and pass it to Cynthia. "It's -for Miss Kirkpatrick; and there's a note for her besides!" - -Cynthia said nothing, but took the note and the flowers. She held the -note so that Molly could read it at the same time she did. - - - I send you some flowers; and you must allow me to claim - the first dance after nine o'clock, before which time I - fear I cannot arrive.--R. P. - - -"Who is it?" asked Molly. - -Cynthia looked extremely irritated, indignant, perplexed--what was it -turned her cheek so pale, and made her eyes so full of fire? - -"It is Mr. Preston," said she, in answer to Molly. "I shall not dance -with him; and here go his flowers--" - -Into the very middle of the embers, which she immediately stirred -down upon the beautiful shrivelling petals as if she wished to -annihilate them as soon as possible. Her voice had never been raised; -it was as sweet as usual; nor, though her movements were prompt -enough, were they hasty or violent. - -"Oh!" said Molly, "those beautiful flowers! We might have put them in -water." - -"No," said Cynthia; "it's best to destroy them. We don't want them; -and I can't bear to be reminded of that man." - -"It was an impertinent familiar note," said Molly. "What right had -he to express himself in that way--no beginning, no end, and only -initials! Did you know him well when you were at Ashcombe, Cynthia?" - -"Oh, don't let us think any more about him," replied Cynthia. "It is -quite enough to spoil any pleasure at the ball to think that he will -be there. But I hope I shall get engaged before he comes, so that I -can't dance with him--and don't you, either!" - -"There! they are calling for us," exclaimed Molly, and with quick -step, yet careful of their draperies, they made their way downstairs -to the place where Mr. and Mrs. Gibson awaited them. Yes; Mr. Gibson -was going,--even if he had to leave them afterwards to attend to any -professional call. And Molly suddenly began to admire her father -as a handsome man, when she saw him now, in full evening attire. -Mrs. Gibson, too--how pretty she was! In short, it was true that no -better-looking a party than these four people entered the Hollingford -ball-room that evening. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -A CHARITY BALL. - - -At the present time there are few people at a public ball besides the -dancers and their chaperones, or relations in some degree interested -in them. But in the days when Molly and Cynthia were young--before -railroads were, and before their consequences, the excursion-trains, -which take every one up to London now-a-days, there to see their fill -of gay crowds and fine dresses--to go to an annual charity-ball, even -though all thought of dancing had passed by years ago, and without -any of the responsibilities of a chaperone, was a very allowable -and favourite piece of dissipation to all the kindly old maids who -thronged the country towns of England. They aired their old lace and -their best dresses; they saw the aristocratic magnates of the country -side; they gossipped with their coevals, and speculated on the -romances of the young around them in a curious yet friendly spirit. -The Miss Brownings would have thought themselves sadly defrauded -of the gayest event of the year, if anything had prevented their -attending the charity ball, and Miss Browning would have been -indignant, Miss Phoebe aggrieved, had they not been asked to -Ashcombe and Coreham, by friends at each place, who had, like them, -gone through the dancing-stage of life some five-and-twenty years -before, but who liked still to haunt the scenes of their former -enjoyment, and see a younger generation dance on "regardless of their -doom." They had come in one of the two sedan-chairs that yet lingered -in use at Hollingford; such a night as this brought a regular harvest -of gains to the two old men who, in what was called the "town's -livery," trotted backwards and forwards with their many loads of -ladies and finery. There were some postchaises, and some "flys," but -after mature deliberation Miss Browning had decided to keep to the -more comfortable custom of the sedan-chair; "which," as she said to -Miss Piper, one of her visitors, "came into the parlour, and got full -of the warm air, and nipped you up, and carried you tight and cosy -into another warm room, where you could walk out without having to -show your legs by going up steps, or down steps." Of course only one -could go at a time; but here again a little of Miss Browning's good -management arranged everything so very nicely, as Miss Hornblower -(their other visitor) remarked. She went first, and remained in the -warm cloak-room until her hostess followed; and then the two ladies -went arm-in-arm into the ball-room, finding out convenient seats -whence they could watch the arrivals and speak to their passing -friends, until Miss Phoebe and Miss Piper entered, and came to take -possession of the seats reserved for them by Miss Browning's care. -These two younger ladies came in, also arm-in-arm, but with a certain -timid flurry in look and movement very different from the composed -dignity of their seniors (by two or three years). When all four -were once more assembled together, they took breath, and began to -converse. - -"Upon my word, I really do think this is a better room than our -Ashcombe Court-house!" - -"And how prettily it is decorated!" piped out Miss Piper. "How well -the roses are made! But you all have such taste at Hollingford." - -"There's Mrs. Dempster," cried Miss Hornblower; "she said she and her -two daughters were asked to stay at Mr. Sheepshanks'. Mr. Preston -was to be there, too; but I suppose they could not all come at once. -Look! and there is young Roscoe, our new doctor. I declare it seems -as if all Ashcombe were here. Mr. Roscoe! Mr. Roscoe! come here and -let me introduce you to Miss Browning, the friend we are staying -with. We think very highly of our young doctor, I can assure you, -Miss Browning." - -Mr. Roscoe bowed, and simpered at hearing his own praises. But Miss -Browning had no notion of having any doctor praised, who had come to -settle on the very verge of Mr. Gibson's practice, so she said to -Miss Hornblower,-- - -"You must be glad, I am sure, to have somebody you can call in, if -you are in any sudden hurry, or for things that are too trifling -to trouble Mr. Gibson about; and I should think Mr. Roscoe would -feel it a great advantage to profit, as he will naturally have the -opportunity of doing, by witnessing Mr. Gibson's skill!" - -Probably Mr. Roscoe would have felt more aggrieved by this speech -than he really was, if his attention had not been called off just -then by the entrance of the very Mr. Gibson who was being spoken of. -Almost before Miss Browning had ended her severe and depreciatory -remarks, he had asked his friend Miss Hornblower,-- - -"Who is that lovely girl in pink, just come in?" - -"Why, that's Cynthia Kirkpatrick!" said Miss Hornblower, taking up a -ponderous gold eyeglass to make sure of her fact. "How she has grown! -To be sure, it is two or three years since she left Ashcombe--she was -very pretty then--people did say Mr. Preston admired her very much; -but she was so young!" - -"Can you introduce me?" asked the impatient young surgeon. "I should -like to ask her to dance." - -When Miss Hornblower returned from her greeting to her former -acquaintance, Mrs. Gibson, and had accomplished the introduction -which Mr. Roscoe had requested, she began her little confidences to -Miss Browning. - -"Well, to be sure! How condescending we are! I remember the time when -Mrs. Kirkpatrick wore old black silks, and was thankful and civil -as became her place as a schoolmistress, and as having to earn her -bread. And now she is in a satin; and she speaks to me as if she -just could recollect who I was, if she tried very hard! It isn't so -long ago since Mrs. Dempster came to consult me as to whether Mrs. -Kirkpatrick would be offended, if she sent her a new breadth for -her lilac silk-gown, in place of one that had been spoilt by Mrs. -Dempster's servant spilling the coffee over it the night before; and -she took it and was thankful, for all she's dressed in pearl-grey -satin now! And she would have been glad enough to marry Mr. Preston -in those days." - -"I thought you said he admired her daughter," put in Miss Browning to -her irritated friend. - -"Well! perhaps I did, and perhaps it was so; I'm sure I can't tell; -he was a great deal at the house. Miss Dixon keeps a school in the -same house now, and I'm sure she does it a great deal better." - -"The earl and the countess are very fond of Mrs. Gibson," said Miss -Browning. "I know, for Lady Harriet told us when she came to drink -tea with us last autumn; and they desired Mr. Preston to be very -attentive to her when she lived at Ashcombe." - -"For goodness' sake don't go and repeat what I've been saying -about Mr. Preston and Mrs. Kirkpatrick to her ladyship. One may be -mistaken, and you know I only said 'people talked about it.'" - -Miss Hornblower was evidently alarmed lest her gossip should be -repeated to the Lady Harriet, who appeared to be on such an intimate -footing with her Hollingford friends. Nor did Miss Browning dissipate -the illusion. Lady Harriet had drunk tea with them, and might do it -again; and, at any rate, the little fright she had put her friend -into was not a bad return for that praise of Mr. Roscoe, which had -offended Miss Browning's loyalty to Mr. Gibson. - -Meanwhile Miss Piper and Miss Phoebe, who had not the character of -_esprit-forts_ to maintain, talked of the dresses of the people -present, beginning by complimenting each other. - -"What a lovely turban you have got on, Miss Piper, if I may be -allowed to say so: so becoming to your complexion!" - -"Do you think so?" said Miss Piper, with ill-concealed gratification; -it was something to have a "complexion" at forty-five. "I got it -at Brown's, at Somerton, for this very ball. I thought I must have -something to set off my gown, which isn't quite so new as it once -was; and I have no handsome jewellery like you"--looking with -admiring eyes at a large miniature set round with pearls, which -served as a shield to Miss Phoebe's breast. - -"It is handsome," that lady replied. "It is a likeness of my dear -mother; Dorothy has got my father on. The miniatures were both taken -at the same time; and just about then my uncle died and left us each -a legacy of fifty pounds, which we agreed to spend on the setting of -our miniatures. But because they are so valuable Dorothy always keeps -them locked up with the best silver, and hides the box somewhere; she -never will tell me where, because she says I've such weak nerves, and -that if a burglar, with a loaded pistol at my head, were to ask me -where we kept our plate and jewels, I should be sure to tell him; and -she says, for her part, she would never think of revealing under any -circumstances. (I'm sure I hope she won't be tried.) But that's the -reason I don't wear it often; it's only the second time I've had it -on; and I can't even get at it, and look at it, which I should like -to do. I shouldn't have had it on to-night, but that Dorothy gave -it out to me, saying it was but a proper compliment to pay to the -Duchess of Menteith, who is to be here in all her diamonds." - -"Dear-ah-me! Is she really! Do you know I never saw a duchess -before." And Miss Piper drew herself up and craned her neck, as if -resolved to "behave herself properly," as she had been taught to -do at boarding-school thirty years before, in the presence of "her -grace." By-and-by she said to Miss Phoebe, with a sudden jerk out -of position,--"Look, look! that's our Mr. Cholmley, the magistrate" -(he was the great man of Coreham), "and that's Mrs. Cholmley in red -satin, and Mr. George and Mr. Harry from Oxford, I do declare; and -Miss Cholmley, and pretty Miss Sophy. I should like to go and speak -to them, but then it's so formidable crossing a room without a -gentleman. And there is Coxe the butcher and his wife! Why all -Coreham seems to be here! And how Mrs. Coxe can afford such a gown I -can't make out for one, for I know Coxe had some difficulty in paying -for the last sheep he bought of my brother." - -Just at this moment the band, consisting of two violins, a harp, and -an occasional clarionet, having finished their tuning, and brought -themselves as nearly into accord as was possible, struck up a brisk -country-dance, and partners quickly took their places. Mrs. Gibson -was secretly a little annoyed at Cynthia's being one of those -to stand up in this early dance, the performers in which were -principally the punctual plebeians of Hollingford, who, when a ball -was fixed to begin at eight, had no notion of being later, and so -losing part of the amusement for which they had paid their money. She -imparted some of her feelings to Molly, sitting by her, longing to -dance, and beating time to the spirited music with one of her pretty -little feet. - -"Your dear papa is always so very punctual! To-night it seems almost -a pity, for we really are here before there is any one come that we -know." - -"Oh! I see so many people here that I know. There are Mr. and Mrs. -Smeaton, and that nice good-tempered daughter." - -"Oh! booksellers and butchers if you will." - -"Papa has found a great many friends to talk to." - -"Patients, my dear--hardly friends. There are some nice-looking -people here," catching her eye on the Cholmleys; "but I daresay they -have driven over from the neighbourhood of Ashcombe or Coreham, and -have hardly calculated how soon they would get here. I wonder when -the Towers' party will come. Ah! there's Mr. Ashton, and Mr. Preston. -Come, the room is beginning to fill." - -So it was, for this was to be a very good ball, people said; and a -large party from the Towers was coming, and a duchess in diamonds -among the number. Every great house in the district was expected to -be full of guests on these occasions; but at this early hour, the -townspeople had the floor almost entirely to themselves; the county -magnates came dropping in later; and chiefest among them all was the -lord-lieutenant from the Towers. But to-night they were unusually -late, and the aristocratic ozone being absent from the atmosphere, -there was a flatness about the dancing of all those who considered -themselves above the plebeian ranks of the tradespeople. They, -however, enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and sprang and bounded -till their eyes sparkled and their cheeks glowed with exercise and -excitement. Some of the more prudent parents, mindful of the next -day's duties, began to consider at what hour they ought to go home; -but with all there was an expressed or unexpressed curiosity to -see the duchess and her diamonds; for the Menteith diamonds were -famous in higher circles than that now assembled; and their fame -had trickled down to it through the medium of ladies'-maids and -housekeepers. Mr. Gibson had had to leave the ball-room for a time, -as he had anticipated, but he was to return to his wife as soon as -his duties were accomplished; and, in his absence, Mrs. Gibson kept -herself a little aloof from the Miss Brownings and those of her -acquaintance who would willingly have entered into conversation with -her, with the view of attaching herself to the skirts of the Towers' -party, when they should make their appearance. If Cynthia would not -be so very ready in engaging herself to every possible partner who -asked her to dance, there were sure to be young men staying at the -Towers who would be on the look-out for pretty girls: and who could -tell to what a dance might lead? Molly, too, though not so good a -dancer as Cynthia, and, from her timidity, less graceful and easy, -was becoming engaged pretty deeply; and, it must be confessed, -she was longing to dance every dance, no matter with whom. Even -she might not be available for the more aristocratic partners Mrs. -Gibson anticipated. She was feeling very much annoyed with the whole -proceedings of the evening when she was aware of some one standing by -her; and, turning a little to one side, she saw Mr. Preston keeping -guard, as it were, over the seats which Molly and Cynthia had just -quitted. He was looking so black that, if their eyes had not met, -Mrs. Gibson would have preferred not speaking to him; as it was, she -thought it unavoidable. - -"The rooms are not well-lighted to-night, are they, Mr. Preston?" - -"No," said he; "but who could light such dingy old paint as this, -loaded with evergreens, too, which always darken a room?" - -"And the company, too! I always think that freshness and brilliancy -of dress go as far as anything to brighten up a room. Look what a set -of people are here: the greater part of the women are dressed in -dark silks, really only fit for a morning. The place will be quite -different, by-and-by, when the county families are in a little more -force." - -Mr. Preston made no reply. He had put his glass in his eye, -apparently for the purpose of watching the dancers. If its exact -direction could have been ascertained, it would have been found -that he was looking intently and angrily at a flying figure in pink -muslin: many a one was gazing at Cynthia with intentness besides -himself, but no one in anger. Mrs. Gibson was not so fine an observer -as to read all this; but here was a gentlemanly and handsome young -man, to whom she could prattle, instead of either joining herself on -to objectionable people, or sitting all forlorn until the Towers' -party came. So she went on with her small remarks. - -"You are not dancing, Mr. Preston!" - -"No! The partner I had engaged has made some mistake. I am waiting to -have an explanation with her." - -Mrs. Gibson was silent. An uncomfortable tide of recollections -appeared to come over her; she, like Mr. Preston, watched Cynthia; -the dance was ended, and she was walking round the room in easy -unconcern as to what might await her. Presently her partner, Mr. -Harry Cholmley, brought her back to her seat. She took that vacant -next to Mr. Preston, leaving the one by her mother for Molly's -occupation. The latter returned a moment afterwards to her place. -Cynthia seemed entirely unconscious of Mr. Preston's neighbourhood. -Mrs. Gibson leaned forwards, and said to her daughter,-- - -"Your last partner was a gentleman, my dear. You are improving in -your selection. I really was ashamed of you before, figuring away -with that attorney's clerk. Molly, do you know whom you have been -dancing with? I have found out he is the Coreham bookseller." - -"That accounts for his being so well up in all the books I've been -wanting to hear about," said Molly, eagerly, but with a spice of -malice in her mind. "He really was very pleasant, mamma," she added; -"and he looks quite a gentleman, and dances beautifully!" - -"Very well. But remember if you go on this way you will have to shake -hands over the counter to-morrow morning with some of your partners -of to-night," said Mrs. Gibson, coldly. - -"But I really don't know how to refuse when people are introduced -to me and ask me, and I am longing to dance. You know to-night it -is a charity ball, and papa said everybody danced with everybody," -said Molly, in a pleading tone of voice; for she could not quite -thoroughly enjoy herself if she was out of harmony with any one. -What reply Mrs. Gibson would have made to this speech cannot now -be ascertained; for, before she could answer, Mr. Preston stepped -a little forwards, and said, in a tone which he meant to be icily -indifferent, but which trembled with anger,-- - -"If Miss Gibson finds any difficulty in refusing a partner, she has -only to apply to Miss Kirkpatrick for instructions." - -Cynthia lifted up her beautiful eyes, and, fixing them on Mr. -Preston's face, said, very quietly, as if only stating a matter of -fact,-- - -"You forget, I think, Mr. Preston: Miss Gibson implied that she -wished to dance with the person who asked her--that makes all the -difference. I can't instruct her how to act in that difficulty." - -And to the rest of this little conversation, Cynthia appeared to lend -no ear; and she was almost directly claimed by her next partner. Mr. -Preston took the seat now left empty much to Molly's annoyance. At -first she feared lest he might be going to ask her to dance; but, -instead, he put out his hand for Cynthia's nosegay, which she had -left on rising, entrusted to Molly. It had suffered considerably from -the heat of the room, and was no longer full and fresh; not so much -so as Molly's, which had not, in the first instance, been pulled to -pieces in picking out the scarlet flowers which now adorned Molly's -hair, and which had since been cherished with more care. Enough, -however, remained of Cynthia's to show very distinctly that it was -not the one Mr. Preston had sent; and it was perhaps to convince -himself of this, that he rudely asked to examine it. But Molly, -faithful to what she imagined would be Cynthia's wish, refused to -allow him to touch it; she only held it a little nearer. - -"Miss Kirkpatrick has not done me the honour of wearing the bouquet -I sent her, I see. She received it, I suppose, and my note?" - -"Yes," said Molly, rather intimidated by the tone in which this was -said. "But we had already accepted these two nosegays." - -Mrs. Gibson was just the person to come to the rescue with her -honeyed words on such an occasion as the present. She evidently was -rather afraid of Mr. Preston, and wished to keep at peace with him. - -"Oh, yes, we were so sorry! Of course, I don't mean to say we could -be sorry for any one's kindness; but two such lovely nosegays had -been sent from Hamley Hall--you may see how beautiful from what Molly -holds in her hand--and they had come before yours, Mr. Preston." - -"I should have felt honoured if you had accepted of mine, since -the young ladies were so well provided for. I was at some pains in -selecting the flowers at Green's; I think I may say it was rather -more recherché than that of Miss Kirkpatrick's, which Miss Gibson -holds so tenderly and securely in her hand." - -"Oh, because Cynthia would take out the most effective flowers to put -in my hair!" exclaimed Molly, eagerly. - -"Did she?" said Mr. Preston, with a certain accent of pleasure in his -voice, as though he were glad she set so little store by the nosegay; -and he walked off to stand behind Cynthia in the quadrille that was -being danced; and Molly saw him making her reply to him--against her -will, Molly was sure. But, somehow, his face and manner implied power -over her. She looked grave, deaf, indifferent, indignant, defiant; -but, after a half-whispered speech to Cynthia, at the conclusion -of the dance, she evidently threw him an impatient consent to what -he was asking, for he walked off with a disagreeable smile of -satisfaction on his handsome face. - -All this time the murmurs were spreading at the lateness of the party -from the Towers, and person after person came up to Mrs. Gibson as -if she were the accredited authority as to the earl and countess's -plans. In one sense this was flattering; but then the acknowledgment -of common ignorance and wonder reduced her to the level of the -inquirers. Mrs. Goodenough felt herself particularly aggrieved; she -had had her spectacles on for the last hour and a half, in order to -be ready for the sight the very first minute any one from the Towers -appeared at the door. - -"I had a headache," she complained, "and I should have sent my money, -and never stirred out o' doors to-night; for I've seen a many of -these here balls, and my lord and my lady too, when they were better -worth looking at nor they are now; but every one was talking of the -duchess, and the duchess and her diamonds, and I thought I shouldn't -like to be behindhand, and never ha' seen neither the duchess nor -her diamonds; so I'm here, and coal and candle-light wasting away -at home, for I told Sally to sit up for me; and, above everything, -I cannot abide waste. I took it from my mother, who was such a one -against waste as you never see now-a-days. She was a manager, if -ever there was a one; and brought up nine children on less than -any one else could do, I'll be bound. Why! she wouldn't let us be -extravagant--not even in the matter of colds. Whenever any on us had -got a pretty bad cold, she took the opportunity and cut our hair; for -she said, said she, it was of no use having two colds when one would -do--and cutting of our hair was sure to give us a cold. But, for all -that, I wish the duchess would come." - -"Ah! but fancy what it is to me," sighed out Mrs. Gibson; "so long as -I have been without seeing the dear family--and seeing so little of -them the other day when I was at the Towers (for the duchess would -have my opinion on Lady Alice's trousseau, and kept asking me so many -questions it took up all the time)--and Lady Harriet's last words -were a happy anticipation of our meeting to-night. It's nearly twelve -o'clock." - -Every one of any pretensions to gentility was painfully affected by -the absence of the family from the Towers; the very fiddlers seemed -unwilling to begin playing a dance that might be interrupted by the -entrance of the great folks. Miss Phoebe Browning had apologized -for them--Miss Browning had blamed them with calm dignity; it was -only the butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers who rather -enjoyed the absence of restraint, and were happy and hilarious. - -At last, there was a rumbling, and a rushing, and a whispering, and -the music stopped; so the dancers were obliged to do so too; and in -came Lord Cumnor in his state dress, with a fat, middle-aged woman -on his arm; she was dressed almost like a girl--in a sprigged muslin, -with natural flowers in her hair, but not a vestige of a jewel or a -diamond. Yet it must be the duchess; but what was a duchess without -diamonds?--and in a dress which farmer Hudson's daughter might have -worn! Was it the duchess? Could it be the duchess? The little crowd -of inquirers around Mrs. Gibson thickened, to hear her confirm their -disappointing surmise. After the duchess came Lady Cumnor, looking -like Lady Macbeth in black velvet--a cloud upon her brow, made more -conspicuous by the lines of age rapidly gathering on her handsome -face; and Lady Harriet, and other ladies, amongst whom there was one -dressed so like the duchess as to suggest the idea of a sister rather -than a daughter, as far as dress went. There was Lord Hollingford, -plain in face, awkward in person, gentlemanly in manner; and -half-a-dozen younger men, Lord Albert Monson, Captain James, and -others of their age and standing, who came in looking anything if not -critical. This long-expected party swept up to the seats reserved -for them at the head of the room, apparently regardless of the -interruption they caused; for the dancers stood aside, and almost -dispersed back to their seats, and when "Money-musk" struck up again, -not half the former set of people stood up to finish the dance. - -Lady Harriet, who was rather different to Miss Piper, and no more -minded crossing the room alone than if the lookers-on were so many -cabbages, spied the Gibson party pretty quickly out, and came across -to them. - -"Here we are at last. How d'ye do, dear? Why, little one" (to Molly), -"how nice you're looking! Aren't we shamefully late?" - -"Oh! it's only just past twelve," said Mrs. Gibson; "and I daresay -you dined very late." - -"It wasn't that; it was that ill-mannered woman, who went to her own -room after we came out from dinner, and she and Lady Alice stayed -there invisible, till we thought they were putting on some splendid -attire--as they ought to have done--and at half-past ten, when mamma -sent up to them to say the carriages were at the door, the duchess -sent down for some beef-tea, and at last appeared _à l'enfant_ as -you see her. Mamma is so angry with her, and some of the others are -annoyed at not coming earlier, and one or two are giving themselves -airs about coming at all. Papa is the only one who is not affected by -it." Then turning to Molly Lady Harriet asked,-- - -"Have you been dancing much, Miss Gibson?" - -"Yes; not every dance, but nearly all." - -It was a simple question enough; but Lady Harriet's speaking at all -to Molly had become to Mrs. Gibson almost like shaking a red rag at -a bull; it was the one thing sure to put her out of temper. But she -would not have shown this to Lady Harriet for the world; only she -contrived to baffle any endeavours at further conversation between -the two, by placing herself betwixt Lady Harriet and Molly, whom the -former asked to sit down in the absent Cynthia's room. - -"I won't go back to those people, I am so mad with them; and, -besides, I hardly saw you the other day, and I must have some gossip -with you." So she sat down by Mrs. Gibson, and as Mrs. Goodenough -afterwards expressed it, "looked like anybody else." Mrs. Goodenough -said this to excuse herself for a little misadventure she fell into. -She had taken a deliberate survey of the grandees at the upper end of -the room, spectacles on nose, and had inquired, in no very measured -voice, who everybody was, from Mr. Sheepshanks, my lord's agent, and -her very good neighbour, who in vain tried to check her loud ardour -for information by replying to her in whispers. But she was rather -deaf as well as blind, so his low tones only brought upon him fresh -inquiries. Now, satisfied as far as she could be, and on her way -to departure, and the extinguishing of fire and candle-light, she -stopped opposite to Mrs. Gibson, and thus addressed her by way of -renewal of their former subject of conversation:-- - -"Such a shabby thing for a duchess I never saw; not a bit of a -diamond near her! They're none of 'em worth looking at except the -countess, and she's always a personable woman, and not so lusty -as she was. But they're not worth waiting up for till this time o' -night." - -There was a moment's pause. Then Lady Harriet put her hand out, and -said,-- - -"You don't remember me, but I know you from having seen you at the -Towers. Lady Cumnor is a good deal thinner than she was, but we hope -her health is better for it." - -"It's Lady Harriet," said Mrs. Gibson to Mrs. Goodenough, in -reproachful dismay. - -"Deary me, your ladyship! I hope I've given no offence! But, you -see--that is to say, your ladyship sees, that it's late hours for -such folks as me, and I only stayed out of my bed to see the duchess, -and I thought she'd come in diamonds and a coronet; and it puts one -out at my age, to be disappointed in the only chance I'm like to have -of so fine a sight." - -"I'm put out too," said Lady Harriet. "I wanted to have come early, -and here we are as late as this. I'm so cross and ill-tempered, I -should be glad to hide myself in bed as soon as you will do." - -She said this so sweetly that Mrs. Goodenough relaxed into a smile, -and her crabbedness into a compliment. - -"I don't believe as ever your ladyship can be cross and ill-tempered -with that pretty face. I'm an old woman, so you must let me say so." -Lady Harriet stood up, and made a low curtsey. Then holding out her -hand, she said,-- - -"I won't keep you up any longer; but I'll promise one thing in return -for your pretty speech: if ever I am a duchess, I'll come and show -myself to you in all my robes and gewgaws. Good night, madam!" - -"There! I knew how it would be!" said she, not resuming her seat. -"And on the eve of a county election too." - -"Oh! you must not take old Mrs. Goodenough as a specimen, dear Lady -Harriet. She is always a grumbler! I am sure no one else would -complain of your all being as late as you liked," said Mrs. Gibson. - -"What do you say, Molly?" said Lady Harriet, suddenly turning her -eyes on Molly's face. "Don't you think we've lost some of our -popularity,--which at this time means votes--by coming so late. Come, -answer me! you used to be a famous little truth-teller." - -"I don't know about popularity or votes," said Molly, rather -unwillingly. "But I think many people were sorry you did not come -sooner; and isn't that rather a proof of popularity?" she added. - -"That's a very neat and diplomatic answer," said Lady Harriet, -smiling, and tapping Molly's cheek with her fan. - -"Molly knows nothing about it," said Mrs. Gibson, a little off -her guard. "It would be very impertinent if she or any one else -questioned Lady Cumnor's perfect right to come when she chose." - -"Well, all I know is, I must go back to mamma now; but I shall make -another raid into these regions by-and-by, and you must keep a place -for me. Ah! there are--Miss Brownings; you see I don't forget my -lesson, Miss Gibson." - -"Molly, I cannot have you speaking so to Lady Harriet," said Mrs. -Gibson, as soon as she was left alone with her stepdaughter. "You -would never have known her at all if it had not been for me, and -don't be always putting yourself into our conversation." - -"But I must speak if she asks me questions," pleaded Molly. - -"Well! if you must, you must, I acknowledge. I'm candid about that at -any rate. But there's no need for you to set up to have an opinion at -your age." - -"I don't know how to help it," said Molly. - -"She's such a whimsical person; look there, if she's not talking to -Miss Phoebe; and Miss Phoebe is so weak she'll be easily led away -into fancying she is hand and glove with Lady Harriet. If there is -one thing I hate more than another, it is the trying to make out an -intimacy with great people." - -Molly felt innocent enough, so she offered no justification of -herself, and made no reply. Indeed she was more occupied in watching -Cynthia. She could not understand the change that seemed to have come -over her. She was dancing, it was true, with the same lightness and -grace as before, but the smooth bounding motion, as of a feather -blown onwards by the wind, was gone. She was conversing with her -partner, but without the soft animation that usually shone out upon -her countenance. And when she was brought back to her seat Molly -noticed her changed colour, and her dreamily abstracted eyes. - -"What is the matter, Cynthia?" asked she, in a very low voice. - -"Nothing," said Cynthia, suddenly looking up, and in an accent of -what, in her, was sharpness. "Why should there be?" - -"I don't know; but you look different to what you did--tired or -something." - -"There's nothing the matter, or, if there is, don't talk about it. -It's all your fancy." - -This was a rather contradictory speech, to be interpreted by -intuition rather than by logic. Molly understood that Cynthia wished -for quietness and silence. But what was her surprise, after the -speeches that had passed before, and the implication of Cynthia's -whole manner to Mr. Preston, to see him come up to her, and, without -a word, offer his arm and lead her away to dance. It appeared to -strike Mrs. Gibson as something remarkable; for, forgetting her late -passage at arms with Molly, she asked, wonderingly, as if almost -distrusting the evidence of her senses,-- - -"Is Cynthia going to dance with Mr. Preston?" - -Molly had scarcely time to answer before she herself was led off by -her partner. She could hardly attend to him or to the figures of the -quadrille for watching for Cynthia among the moving forms. - -Once she caught a glimpse of her standing still--downcast--listening -to Mr. Preston's eager speech. Again she was walking languidly among -the dancers, almost as if she took no notice of those around her. -When she and Molly joined each other again, the shade on Cynthia's -face had deepened to gloom. But, at the same time, if a physiognomist -had studied her expression, he would have read in it defiance and -anger, and perhaps also a little perplexity. While this quadrille had -been going on, Lady Harriet had been speaking to her brother. - -"Hollingford!" she said, laying her hand on his arm, and drawing him -a little apart from the well-born crowd amid which he stood, silent -and abstracted, "you don't know how these good people here have been -hurt and disappointed with our being so late, and with the duchess's -ridiculous simplicity of dress." - -"Why should they mind it?" asked he, taking advantage of her being -out of breath with eagerness. - -"Oh, don't be so wise and stupid; don't you see, we're a show and a -spectacle--it's like having a pantomime with harlequin and columbine -in plain clothes." - -"I don't understand how--" he began. - -"Then take it upon trust. They really are a little disappointed, -whether they are logical or not in being so, and we must try and make -it up to them; for one thing, because I can't bear our vassals to -look dissatisfied and disloyal, and then there's the election in -June." - -"I really would as soon be out of the House as in it." - -"Nonsense; it would grieve papa beyond measure--but there's no -time to talk about that now. You must go and dance with some of -the townspeople, and I'll ask Sheepshanks to introduce me to a -respectable young farmer. Can't you get Captain James to make himself -useful? There he goes with Lady Alice! If I don't get him introduced -to the ugliest tailor's daughter I can find for the next dance!" She -put her arm in her brother's as she spoke, as if to lead him to some -partner. He resisted, however--resisted piteously. - -"Pray don't, Harriet. You know I can't dance. I hate it; I always -did. I don't know how to get through a quadrille." - -"It's a country dance!" said she, resolutely. - -"It's all the same. And what shall I say to my partner? I haven't -a notion: I shall have no subject in common. Speak of being -disappointed, they'll be ten times more disappointed when they find I -can neither dance nor talk!" - -"I'll be merciful; don't be so cowardly. In their eyes a lord may -dance like a bear--as some lords not very far from me are--if he -likes, and they'll take it for grace. And you shall begin with Molly -Gibson, your friend the doctor's daughter. She's a good, simple, -intelligent little girl, which you'll think a great deal more of, I -suppose, than of the frivolous fact of her being very pretty. Clare! -will you allow me to introduce my brother to Miss Gibson? he hopes to -engage her for this dance. Lord Hollingford, Miss Gibson!" - -Poor Lord Hollingford! there was nothing for it but for him to follow -his sister's very explicit lead, and Molly and he walked off to their -places, each heartily wishing their dance together well over. Lady -Harriet flew off to Mr. Sheepshanks to secure her respectable young -farmer, and Mrs. Gibson remained alone, wishing that Lady Cumnor -would send one of her attendant gentlemen for her. It would be so -much more agreeable to be sitting even at the fag-end of nobility -than here on a bench with everybody; hoping that everybody would see -Molly dancing away with a lord, yet vexed that the chance had so -befallen that Molly instead of Cynthia was the young lady singled -out; wondering if simplicity of dress was now become the highest -fashion, and pondering on the possibility of cleverly inducing -Lady Harriet to introduce Lord Albert Monson to her own beautiful -daughter, Cynthia. - -Molly found Lord Hollingford, the wise and learned Lord Hollingford, -strangely stupid in understanding the mystery of "Cross hands and -back again, down the middle and up again." He was constantly getting -hold of the wrong hands, and as constantly stopping when he had -returned to his place, quite unaware that the duties of society and -the laws of the dance required that he should go on capering till -he had arrived at the bottom of the room. He perceived that he had -performed his part very badly, and apologized to Molly when once they -had arrived at that haven of comparative peace; and he expressed his -regret so simply and heartily that she felt at her ease with him at -once, especially when he confided to her his reluctance at having to -dance at all, and his only doing it under his sister's compulsion. -To Molly he was an elderly widower, almost as old as her father, -and by-and-by they got into very pleasant conversation. She learnt -from him that Roger Hamley had just been publishing a paper in some -scientific periodical, which had excited considerable attention, -as it was intended to confute some theory of a great French -physiologist, and Roger's article proved the writer to be possessed -of a most unusual amount of knowledge on the subject. This piece -of news was of great interest to Molly; and, in her questions, she -herself evinced so much intelligence, and a mind so well prepared for -the reception of information, that Lord Hollingford at any rate would -have felt his quest of popularity a very easy affair indeed, if he -might have gone on talking quietly to Molly during the rest of the -evening. When he took her back to her place, he found Mr. Gibson -there, and fell into talk with him, until Lady Harriet once more came -to stir him up to his duties. Before very long, however, he returned -to Mr. Gibson's side, and began telling him of this paper of Roger -Hamley's, of which Mr. Gibson had not yet heard. In the midst -of their conversation, as they stood close by Mrs. Gibson, Lord -Hollingford saw Molly in the distance, and interrupted himself to -say, "What a charming little lady that daughter of yours is! Most -girls of her age are so difficult to talk to; but she is intelligent -and full of interest in all sorts of sensible things; well read, -too--she was up in _Le Règne Animal_--and very pretty!" - -Mr. Gibson bowed, much pleased at such a compliment from such a man, -were he lord or not. It is very likely that if Molly had been a -stupid listener, Lord Hollingford would not have discovered her -beauty; or the converse might be asserted--if she had not been young -and pretty, he would not have exerted himself to talk on scientific -subjects in a manner which she could understand. But in whatever way -Molly had won his approbation and admiration, there was no doubt that -she had earned it somehow. And, when she next returned to her place, -Mrs. Gibson greeted her with soft words and a gracious smile; for -it does not require much reasoning power to discover, that if it -is a very fine thing to be mother-in-law to a very magnificent -three-tailed bashaw, it presupposes that the wife who makes the -connection between the two parties is in harmony with her mother. And -so far had Mrs. Gibson's thoughts wandered into futurity. She only -wished that the happy chance had fallen to Cynthia's instead of to -Molly's lot. But Molly was a docile, sweet creature, very pretty, -and remarkably intelligent, as my lord had said. It was a pity that -Cynthia preferred making millinery to reading; but perhaps that could -be rectified. And there was Lord Cumnor coming to speak to her, and -Lady Cumnor nodding to her, and indicating a place by her side. - -It was not an unsatisfactory ball upon the whole to Mrs. Gibson, -although she paid the usual penalty for sitting up beyond her -ordinary hour in perpetual glare and movement. The next morning -she awoke irritable and fatigued; and a little of the same feeling -oppressed both Cynthia and Molly. The former was lounging in the -window-seat, holding a three-days'-old newspaper in her hand, which -she was making a pretence of reading, when she was startled by her -mother's saying,-- - -"Cynthia! can't you take up a book and improve yourself? I am sure -your conversation will never be worth listening to, unless you read -something better than newspapers. Why don't you keep up your French? -There was some French book that Molly was reading--_Le Règne Animal_, -I think." - -"No! I never read it!" said Molly, blushing. "Mr. Roger Hamley -sometimes read pieces out of it when I was first at the Hall, and -told me what it was about." - -"Oh! well. Then I suppose I was mistaken. But it comes to all the -same thing. Cynthia, you really must learn to settle yourself to some -improving reading every morning." - -Rather to Molly's surprise, Cynthia did not reply a word; but -dutifully went and brought down from among her Boulogne school-books, -_Le Siècle de Louis XIV_. But after a while, Molly saw that this -"improving reading" was just as much a mere excuse for Cynthia's -thinking her own thoughts as the newspaper had been. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -FATHER AND SONS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Things were not going on any better at Hamley Hall. Nothing had -occurred to change the state of dissatisfied feeling into which the -Squire and his eldest son had respectively fallen; and the long -continuance merely of dissatisfaction is sure of itself to deepen -the feeling. Roger did all in his power to bring the father and son -together; but sometimes wondered if it would not have been better to -leave them alone; for they were falling into the habit of each making -him their confidant, and so defining emotions and opinions which -would have had less distinctness if they had been unexpressed. There -was little enough relief in the daily life at the Hall to help them -all to shake off the gloom; and it even told on the health of both -the Squire and Osborne. The Squire became thinner, his skin as well -as his clothes began to hang loose about him, and the freshness -of his colour turned to red streaks, till his cheeks looked like -Eardiston pippins, instead of resembling "a Katherine pear on the -side that's next the sun." Roger thought that his father sate indoors -and smoked in his study more than was good for him, but it had -become difficult to get him far afield; he was too much afraid of -coming across some sign of the discontinued drainage works, or being -irritated afresh by the sight of his depreciated timber. Osborne was -wrapt up in the idea of arranging his poems for the press, and so -working out his wish for independence. What with daily writing to -his wife--taking his letters himself to a distant post-office, and -receiving hers there--touching up his sonnets, &c., with fastidious -care--and occasionally giving himself the pleasure of a visit to the -Gibsons, and enjoying the society of the two pleasant girls there, -he found little time for being with his father. Indeed, Osborne was -too self-indulgent or "sensitive," as he termed it, to bear well -with the Squire's gloomy fits, or too frequent querulousness. The -consciousness of his secret, too, made Osborne uncomfortable in his -father's presence. It was very well for all parties that Roger was -not "sensitive," for, if he had been, there were times when it would -have been hard to bear little spurts of domestic tyranny, by which -his father strove to assert his power over both his sons. One of -these occurred very soon after the night of the Hollingford -charity-ball. - -Roger had induced his father to come out with him; and the Squire -had, on his son's suggestion, taken with him his long unused spud. -The two had wandered far afield; perhaps the elder man had found the -unwonted length of exercise too much for him; for, as he approached -the house, on his return, he became what nurses call in children -"fractious," and ready to turn on his companion for every remark he -made. Roger understood the case by instinct, as it were, and bore it -all with his usual sweetness of temper. They entered the house by -the front door; it lay straight on their line of march. On the old -cracked yellow-marble slab, there lay a card with Lord Hollingford's -name on it, which Robinson, evidently on the watch for their return, -hastened out of his pantry to deliver to Roger. - -"His lordship was very sorry not to see you, Mr. Roger, and his -lordship left a note for you. Mr. Osborne took it, I think, when -he passed through. I asked his lordship if he would like to see Mr. -Osborne, who was indoors, as I thought. But his lordship said he was -pressed for time, and told me to make his excuses." - -"Didn't he ask for me?" growled the Squire. - -"No, sir; I can't say as his lordship did. He would never have -thought of Mr. Osborne, sir, if I hadn't named him. It was Mr. Roger -he seemed so keen after." - -"Very odd," said the Squire. Roger said nothing, although he -naturally felt some curiosity. He went into the drawing-room, not -quite aware that his father was following him. Osborne sate at a -table near the fire, pen in hand, looking over one of his poems, and -dotting the _i_'s, crossing the _t_'s, and now and then pausing over -the alteration of a word. - -"Oh, Roger!" he said, as his brother came in, "here's been Lord -Hollingford wanting to see you." - -"I know," replied Roger. - -"And he's left a note for you. Robinson tried to persuade him it was -for my father, so he's added a 'junior' (Roger Hamley, Esq., junior) -in pencil." The Squire was in the room by this time, and what he had -overheard rubbed him up still more the wrong way. Roger took his -unopened note and read it. - -"What does he say?" asked the Squire. - -Roger handed him the note. It contained an invitation to dinner to -meet M. Geoffroi St. H----, whose views on certain subjects Roger had -been advocating in the article Lord Hollingford had spoken about to -Molly, when he danced with her at the Hollingford ball. M. Geoffroi -St. H---- was in England now, and was expected to pay a visit at -the Towers in the course of the following week. He had expressed a -wish to meet the author of the paper which had already attracted the -attention of the French comparative anatomists; and Lord Hollingford -added a few words as to his own desire to make the acquaintance of a -neighbour whose tastes were so similar to his own; and then followed -a civil message from Lord and Lady Cumnor. - -Lord Hollingford's hand was cramped and rather illegible. The squire -could not read it all at once, and was enough put out to decline any -assistance in deciphering it. At last he made it out. - -"So my lord lieutenant is taking some notice of the Hamleys at last. -The election is coming on, is it? But I can tell him we're not to be -got so easily. I suppose this trap is set for you, Osborne? What's -this you've been writing that the French mounseer is so taken with?" - -"It is not me, sir!" said Osborne. "Both note and call are for -Roger." - -"I don't understand it," said the Squire. "These Whig fellows have -never done their duty by me; not that I want it of them. The Duke -of Debenham used to pay the Hamleys a respect due to 'em--the -oldest landowners in the county--but since he died, and this -shabby Whig lord has succeeded him, I've never dined at the lord -lieutenant's--no, not once." - -"But I think, sir, I've heard you say Lord Cumnor used to invite -you,--only you did not choose to go," said Roger. - -"Yes. What d'ye mean by that? Do you suppose I was going to desert -the principles of my family, and curry favour with the Whigs? No! -leave that to them. They can ask the heir of the Hamleys fast enough -when a county election is coming on." - -"I tell you, sir," said Osborne, in the irritable tone he sometimes -used when his father was particularly unreasonable, "it is not me -Lord Hollingford is inviting; it is Roger. Roger is making himself -known for what he is, a first-rate fellow," continued Osborne--a -sting of self-reproach mingling with his generous pride in his -brother--"and he's getting himself a name; he's been writing -about these new French theories and discoveries, and this foreign -_savant_ very naturally wants to make his acquaintance, and so Lord -Hollingford asks him to dine. It's as clear as can be," lowering his -tone, and addressing himself to Roger; "it has nothing to do with -politics, if my father would but see it." - -Of course the Squire heard this little aside with the unlucky -uncertainty of hearing which is a characteristic of the beginning -of deafness; and its effect on him was perceptible in the increased -acrimony of his next speech. - -"You young men think you know everything. I tell you it's a palpable -Whig trick. And what business has Roger--if it is Roger the man -wants--to go currying favour with the French? In my day we were -content to hate 'em and to lick 'em. But it's just like your conceit, -Osborne, setting yourself up to say it's your younger brother they're -asking, and not you; I tell you it's you. They think the eldest son -was sure to be called after his father, Roger--Roger Hamley, junior. -It's as plain as a pike-staff. They know they can't catch me with -chaff, but they've got up this French dodge. What business had you to -go writing about the French, Roger? I should have thought you were -too sensible to take any notice of their fancies and theories; but if -it is you they've asked, I'll not have you going and meeting these -foreigners at a Whig house. They ought to have asked Osborne. He's -the representative of the Hamleys, if I'm not; and they can't get me, -let 'em try ever so. Besides, Osborne has got a bit of the mounseer -about him, which he caught with being so fond of going off to the -Continent, instead of coming back to his good old English home." - -He went on repeating much of what he had said before, till he -left the room. Osborne had kept on replying to his unreasonable -grumblings, which had only added to his anger; and as soon as the -Squire was fairly gone, Osborne turned to Roger, and said,-- - -"Of course you'll go, Roger? ten to one he'll be in another mind -to-morrow." - -"No," said Roger, bluntly enough--for he was extremely disappointed; -"I won't run the chance of vexing him. I shall refuse." - -"Don't be such a fool!" exclaimed Osborne. "Really, my father is too -unreasonable. You heard how he kept contradicting himself; and such a -man as you to be kept under like a child by--" - -"Don't let us talk any more about it, Osborne," said Roger, writing -away fast. When the note was written, and sent off, he came and put -his hand caressingly on Osborne's shoulder, as he sate pretending -to read, but in reality vexed with both his father and his brother, -though on very different grounds. - -"How go the poems, old fellow? I hope they're nearly ready to bring -out." - -"No, they're not; and if it weren't for the money, I shouldn't care -if they were never published. What's the use of fame, if one mayn't -reap the fruits of it?" - -"Come, now, we'll have no more of that; let's talk about the money. -I shall be going up for my Fellowship examination next week, and then -we'll have a purse in common, for they'll never think of not giving -me a Fellowship now I'm senior wrangler. I'm short enough myself at -present, and I don't like to bother my father; but when I'm Fellow, -you shall take me down to Winchester, and introduce me to the little -wife." - -"It will be a month next Monday since I left her," said Osborne, -laying down his papers and gazing into the fire, as if by so doing he -could call up her image. "In her letter this morning she bids me give -you such a pretty message. It won't bear translating into English; -you must read it for yourself," continued he, pointing out a line or -two in a letter he drew from his pocket. - -Roger suspected that one or two of the words were wrongly spelt; -but their purport was so gentle and loving, and had such a touch of -simple, respectful gratitude in them, that he could not help being -drawn afresh to the little unseen sister-in-law, whose acquaintance -Osborne had made by helping her to look for some missing article of -the children's, whom she was taking for their daily walk in Hyde -Park. For Mrs. Osborne Hamley had been nothing more than a French -_bonne_, very pretty, very graceful, and very much tyrannized over -by the rough little boys and girls she had in charge. She was a -little orphan girl, who had charmed the heads of a travelling English -family, as she had brought madame some articles of lingerie at an -hotel; and she had been hastily engaged by them as _bonne_ to their -children, partly as a pet and plaything herself, partly because it -would be so good for the children to learn French from a native -(of Alsace!). By-and-by her mistress ceased to take any particular -notice of Aimée in the bustle of London and London gaiety; but though -feeling more and more forlorn in a strange land every day, the French -girl strove hard to do her duty. One touch of kindness, however, was -enough to set the fountain gushing; and she and Osborne naturally -fell into an ideal state of love, to be rudely disturbed by the -indignation of the mother, when accident discovered to her the -attachment existing between her children's _bonne_ and a young man -of an entirely different class. Aimée answered truly to all her -mistress's questions; but no worldly wisdom, nor any lesson to be -learnt from another's experience, could in the least disturb her -entire faith in her lover. Perhaps Mrs. Townshend did no more than -her duty in immediately sending Aimée back to Metz, where she had -first met with her, and where such relations as remained to the girl -might be supposed to be residing. But, altogether, she knew so little -of the kind of people or life to which she was consigning her deposed -protégée that Osborne, after listening with impatient indignation to -the lecture which Mrs. Townshend gave him when he insisted on seeing -her in order to learn what had become of his love, that the young man -set off straight for Metz in hot haste, and did not let the grass -grow under his feet until he had made Aimée his wife. All this had -occurred the previous autumn, and Roger did not know of the step his -brother had taken until it was irrevocable. Then came the mother's -death, which, besides the simplicity of its own overwhelming sorrow, -brought with it the loss of the kind, tender mediatrix, who could -always soften and turn his father's heart. It is doubtful, however, -if even she could have succeeded in this, for the Squire looked high, -and over high, for the wife of his heir; he detested all foreigners, -and overmore held all Roman Catholics in dread and abomination -something akin to our ancestors' hatred of witchcraft. All these -prejudices were strengthened by his grief. Argument would always have -glanced harmless away off his shield of utter unreason; but a loving -impulse, in a happy moment, might have softened his heart to what he -most detested in the former days. But the happy moments came not now, -and the loving impulses were trodden down by the bitterness of his -frequent remorse, not less than by his growing irritability; so Aimée -lived solitary in the little cottage near Winchester in which Osborne -had installed her when she first came to England as his wife, and -in the dainty furnishing of which he had run himself so deeply into -debt. For Osborne consulted his own fastidious taste in his purchases -rather than her simple childlike wishes and wants, and looked upon -the little Frenchwoman rather as the future mistress of Hamley Hall -than as the wife of a man who was wholly dependent on others at -present. He had chosen a southern county as being far removed from -those midland shires where the name of Hamley of Hamley was well and -widely known; for he did not wish his wife to assume, if only for a -time, a name which was not justly and legally her own. In all these -arrangements he had willingly striven to do his full duty by her; and -she repaid him with passionate devotion and admiring reverence. If -his vanity had met with a check, or his worthy desires for college -honours had been disappointed, he knew where to go for a comforter; -one who poured out praise till her words were choked in her throat by -the rapidity of her thoughts, and who poured out the small vials of -her indignation on every one who did not acknowledge and bow down to -her husband's merits. If she ever wished to go to the château--that -was his home--and to be introduced to his family, Aimée never hinted -a word of it to him. Only she did yearn, and she did plead, for a -little more of her husband's company; and the good reasons which had -convinced her of the necessity of his being so much away when he was -present to urge them, failed in their efficacy when she tried to -reproduce them to herself in his absence. - -The afternoon of the day on which Lord Hollingford called Roger -was going upstairs, three steps at a time, when, at a turn on the -landing, he encountered his father. It was the first time he had seen -him since their conversation about the Towers' invitation to dinner. -The Squire stopped his son by standing right in the middle of the -passage. - -"Thou'rt going to meet the mounseer, my lad?" said he, half as -affirmation, half as question. - -"No, sir; I sent off James almost immediately with a note declining -it. I don't care about it--that's to say, not to signify." - -"Why did you take me up so sharp, Roger?" said his father pettishly. -"You all take me up so hastily now-a-days. I think it's hard when a -man mustn't be allowed a bit of crossness when he's tired and heavy -at heart--that I do." - -"But, father, I should never like to go to a house where they had -slighted you." - -"Nay, nay, lad," said the Squire, brightening up a little; "I think -I slighted them. They asked me to dinner, after my lord was made -lieutenant, time after time, but I never would go near 'em. I call -that my slighting them." - -And no more was said at the time; but the next day the Squire again -stopped Roger. - -"I've been making Jem try on his livery-coat that he hasn't worn this -three or four years,--he's got too stout for it now." - -"Well, he needn't wear it, need he? and Morgan's lad will be glad -enough of it,--he's sadly in want of clothes." - -"Ay, ay; but who's to go with you when you call at the Towers? It's -but polite to call after Lord What's-his-name has taken the trouble -to come here; and I shouldn't like you to go without a groom." - -"My dear father! I shouldn't know what to do with a man riding at my -back. I can find my way to the stable-yard for myself, or there'll be -some man about to take my horse. Don't trouble yourself about that." - -"Well, you're not Osborne, to be sure. Perhaps it won't strike 'em -as strange for you. But you must look up, and hold your own, and -remember you're one of the Hamleys, who've been on the same land for -hundreds of years, while they're but trumpery Whig folk who only came -into the county in Queen Anne's time." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -RIVALRY. - - -For some days after the ball Cynthia seemed languid, and was very -silent. Molly, who had promised herself fully as much enjoyment in -talking over the past gaiety with Cynthia as in the evening itself, -was disappointed when she found that all conversation on the subject -was rather evaded than encouraged. Mrs. Gibson, it is true, was ready -to go over the ground as many times as any one liked; but her words -were always like ready-made clothes, and never fitted individual -thoughts. Anybody might have used them, and, with a change of proper -names, they might have served to describe any ball. She repeatedly -used the same language in speaking about it, till Molly knew the -sentences and their sequence even to irritation. - -"Ah! Mr. Osborne, you should have been there! I said to myself many a -time how you really should have been there--you and your brother, of -course." - -"I thought of you very often during the evening!" - -"Did you? Now that I call very kind of you. Cynthia, darling! Do you -hear what Mr. Osborne Hamley was saying?" as Cynthia came into the -room just then. "He thought of us all on the evening of the ball." - -"He did better than merely remember us then," said Cynthia, with her -soft slow smile. "We owe him thanks for those beautiful flowers, -mamma." - -"Oh!" said Osborne, "you must not thank me exclusively. I believe it -was my thought, but Roger took all the trouble of it." - -"I consider the thought as everything," said Mrs. Gibson. "Thought is -spiritual, while action is merely material." - -This fine sentence took the speaker herself by surprise; and in such -conversation as was then going on, it is not necessary to accurately -define the meaning of everything that is said. - -"I'm afraid the flowers were too late to be of much use, though," -continued Osborne. "I met Preston the next morning, and of course we -talked about the ball. I was sorry to find he had been beforehand -with us." - -"He only sent one nosegay, and that was for Cynthia," said Molly, -looking up from her work. "And it did not come till after we had -received the flowers from Hamley." Molly caught a sight of Cynthia's -face before she bent down again to her sewing. It was scarlet in -colour, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes. Both she and her -mother hastened to speak as soon as Molly had finished, but Cynthia's -voice was choked with passion, and Mrs. Gibson had the word. - -"Mr. Preston's bouquet was just one of those formal affairs any one -can buy at a nursery-garden, which always strike me as having no -sentiment in them. I would far rather have two or three lilies of the -valley gathered for me by a person I like, than the most expensive -bouquet that could be bought!" - -"Mr. Preston had no business to speak as if he had forestalled you," -said Cynthia. "It came just as we were ready to go, and I put it into -the fire directly." - -"Cynthia, my dear love!" said Mrs. Gibson (who had never heard of the -fate of the flowers until now), "what an idea of yourself you will -give to Mr. Osborne Hamley; but, to be sure, I can quite understand -it. You inherit my feeling--my prejudice--sentimental I grant, -against bought flowers." - -Cynthia was silent for a moment; then she said, "I used some of -your flowers, Mr. Hamley, to dress Molly's hair. It was a great -temptation, for the colour so exactly matched her coral ornaments; -but I believe she thought it treacherous to disturb the arrangement, -so I ought to take all the blame on myself." - -"The arrangement was my brother's, as I told you; but I am sure he -would have preferred seeing them in Miss Gibson's hair rather than -in the blazing fire. Mr. Preston comes far the worst off." Osborne -was rather amused at the whole affair, and would have liked to probe -Cynthia's motives a little farther. He did not hear Molly saying in -as soft a voice as if she were talking to herself, "I wore mine just -as they were sent," for Mrs. Gibson came in with a total change of -subject. - -"Speaking of lilies of the valley, is it true that they grow wild -in Hurst Wood? It is not the season for them to be in flower yet; -but when it is, I think we must take a walk there--with our luncheon -in a basket--a little picnic in fact. You'll join us, won't you?" -turning to Osborne. "I think it's a charming plan! You could ride to -Hollingford and put up your horse here, and we could have a long day -in the woods and all come home to dinner--dinner with a basket of -lilies in the middle of the table!" - -"I should like it very much," said Osborne; "but I may not be at -home. Roger is more likely to be here, I believe, at that time--a -month hence." He was thinking of the visit to London to sell -his poems, and the run down to Winchester which he anticipated -afterwards--the end of May had been the period fixed for this -pleasure for some time, not merely in his own mind, but in writing to -his wife. - -"Oh, but you must be with us! We must wait for Mr. Osborne Hamley, -must not we, Cynthia?" - -"I'm afraid the lilies won't wait," replied Cynthia. - -"Well, then, we must put it off till dog-rose and honey-suckle time. -You will be at home then, won't you? or does the London season -present too many attractions?" - -"I don't exactly know when dog-roses are in flower!" - -"Not know, and you a poet? Don't you remember the lines-- - - It was the time of roses, - We plucked them as we passed?" - -"Yes; but that doesn't specify the time of year that is the time -of roses; and I believe my movements are guided more by the lunar -calendar than the floral. You had better take my brother for your -companion; he is practical in his love of flowers, I am only -theoretical." - -"Does that fine word 'theoretical' imply that you are ignorant?" -asked Cynthia. - -"Of course we shall be happy to see your brother; but why can't we -have you too? I confess to a little timidity in the presence of one -so deep and learned as your brother is from all accounts. Give me a -little charming ignorance, if we must call it by that hard word." - -Osborne bowed. It was very pleasant to him to be petted and -flattered, even though he knew all the time that it was only -flattery. It was an agreeable contrast to the home that was so dismal -to him, to come to this house, where the society of two agreeable -girls, and the soothing syrup of their mother's speeches, awaited -him whenever he liked to come. To say nothing of the difference that -struck upon his senses, poetical though he might esteem himself, of a -sitting-room full of flowers, and tokens of women's presence, where -all the chairs were easy, and all the tables well covered with pretty -things, to the great drawing-room at home, where the draperies were -threadbare, and the seats uncomfortable, and no sign of feminine -presence ever now lent a grace to the stiff arrangement of the -furniture. Then the meals, light and well-cooked, suited his taste -and delicate appetite so much better than the rich and heavy viands -prepared by the servants at the Hall. Osborne was becoming a little -afraid of falling into the habit of paying too frequent visits to -the Gibsons (and that, not because he feared the consequences of -his intercourse with the two young ladies; for he never thought of -them excepting as friends;--the fact of his marriage was constantly -present to his mind, and Aimée too securely enthroned in his heart, -for him to remember that he might be looked upon by others in the -light of a possible husband); but the reflection forced itself -upon him occasionally, whether he was not trespassing too often on -hospitality which he had at present no means of returning. - -But Mrs. Gibson, in her ignorance of the true state of affairs, was -secretly exultant in the attraction which made him come so often -and lounge away the hours in her house and garden. She had no doubt -that it was Cynthia who drew him thither; and if the latter had been -a little more amenable to reason, her mother would have made more -frequent allusions than she did to the crisis which she thought was -approaching. But she was restrained by the intuitive conviction that -if her daughter became conscious of what was impending, and was made -aware of Mrs. Gibson's cautious and quiet efforts to forward the -catastrophe, the wilful girl would oppose herself to it with all -her skill and power. As it was, Mrs. Gibson trusted that Cynthia's -affections would become engaged before she knew where she was, and -that in that case she would not attempt to frustrate her mother's -delicate scheming, even though she did perceive it. But Cynthia had -come across too many varieties of flirtation, admiration, and even -passionate love, to be for a moment at fault as to the quiet friendly -nature of Osborne's attentions. She received him always as a sister -might a brother. It was different when Roger returned from his -election as Fellow of Trinity. The trembling diffidence, the hardly -suppressed ardour of his manner, made Cynthia understand before long -with what kind of love she had now to deal. She did not put it into -so many words--no, not even in her secret heart--but she recognized -the difference between Roger's relation to her and Osborne's long -before Mrs. Gibson found it out. Molly was, however, the first to -discover the nature of Roger's attention. The first time they saw -him after the ball, it came out to her observant eyes. Cynthia had -not been looking well since that evening; she went slowly about the -house, pale and heavy-eyed; and, fond as she usually was of exercise -and the free fresh air, there was hardly any persuading her now to go -out for a walk. Molly watched this fading with tender anxiety, but -to all her questions as to whether she had felt over-fatigued with -her dancing, whether anything had occurred to annoy her, and all -such inquiries, she replied in languid negatives. Once Molly touched -on Mr. Preston's name, and found that this was a subject on which -Cynthia was raw; now, Cynthia's face lighted up with spirit, and her -whole body showed her ill-repressed agitation, but she only said a -few sharp words, expressive of anything but kindly feeling towards -the gentleman, and then bade Molly never name his name to her again. -Still, the latter could not imagine that he was more than intensely -distasteful to her friend, as well as to herself; he could not be -the cause of Cynthia's present indisposition. But this indisposition -lasted so many days without change or modification, that even Mrs. -Gibson noticed it, and Molly became positively uneasy. Mrs. Gibson -considered Cynthia's quietness and languor as the natural consequence -of "dancing with everybody who asked her" at the ball. Partners whose -names were in the "Red Book" would not have produced half the amount -of fatigue, according to Mrs. Gibson's judgment apparently, and if -Cynthia had been quite well, very probably she would have hit the -blot in her mother's speech with one of her touches of sarcasm. -Then, again, when Cynthia did not rally, Mrs. Gibson grew impatient, -and accused her of being fanciful and lazy; at length, and partly -at Molly's instance, there came an appeal to Mr. Gibson, and a -professional examination of the supposed invalid, which Cynthia hated -more than anything, especially when the verdict was, that there was -nothing very much the matter, only a general lowness of tone, and -depression of health and spirits, which would soon be remedied by -tonics, and meanwhile, she was not to be roused to exertion. - -"If there is one thing I dislike," said Cynthia to Mr. Gibson, after -he had pronounced tonics to be the cure for her present state, "it is -the way doctors have of giving tablespoonfuls of nauseous mixtures as -a certain remedy for sorrows and cares." She laughed up in his face -as she spoke; she had always a pretty word and smile for him, even in -the midst of her loss of spirits. - -"Come! you acknowledge you have 'sorrows' by that speech: we'll make -a bargain: if you'll tell me your sorrows and cares, I'll try and -find some other remedy for them than giving you what you are pleased -to term my nauseous mixtures." - -"No," said Cynthia, colouring; "I never said I had sorrows and cares; -I spoke generally. What should I have a sorrow about?--you and Molly -are only too kind to me," her eyes filling with tears. - -"Well, well, we'll not talk of such gloomy things, and you shall have -some sweet emulsion to disguise the taste of the bitters I shall be -obliged to fall back upon." - -"Please, don't. If you but knew how I dislike emulsions and -disguises! I do want bitters--and if I sometimes--if I'm obliged -to--if I'm not truthful myself, I do like truth in others--at least, -sometimes." She ended her sentence with another smile, but it was -rather faint and watery. - -Now the first person out of the house to notice Cynthia's change of -look and manner was Roger Hamley--and yet he did not see her until, -under the influence of the nauseous mixture, she was beginning to -recover. But his eyes were scarcely off her during the first five -minutes he was in the room. All the time he was trying to talk -to Mrs. Gibson in reply to her civil platitudes, he was studying -Cynthia; and at the first convenient pause he came and stood before -Molly, so as to interpose his person between her and the rest of the -room; for some visitors had come in subsequent to his entrance. - -"Molly, how ill your sister is looking! What is it? Has she had -advice? You must forgive me, but so often those who live together in -the same house don't observe the first approaches of illness." - -Now Molly's love for Cynthia was fast and unwavering, but if anything -tried it, it was the habit Roger had fallen into of always calling -Cynthia Molly's sister in speaking to the latter. From any one else -it would have been a matter of indifference to her, and hardly to be -noticed; it vexed both ear and heart when Roger used the expression; -and there was a curtness of manner as well as of words in her reply. - -"Oh! she was over-tired by the ball. Papa has seen her, and says she -will be all right very soon." - -"I wonder if she wants change of air?" said Roger, meditatively. "I -wish--I do wish we could have her at the Hall; you and your mother -too, of course. But I don't see how it would be possible--or else how -charming it would be!" - -Molly felt as if a visit to the Hall under such circumstances would -be altogether so different an affair to all her former ones, that she -could hardly tell if she should like it or not. - -Roger went on,-- - -"You got our flowers in time, did you not? Ah! you don't know how -often I thought of you that evening! And you enjoyed it too, didn't -you?--you had plenty of agreeable partners, and all that makes a -first ball delightful? I heard that your sister danced every dance." - -"It was very pleasant," said Molly, quietly. "But, after all, I'm not -sure if I want to go to another just yet; there seems to be so much -trouble connected with a ball." - -"Ah! you are thinking of your sister, and her not being well?" - -"No, I was not," said Molly, rather bluntly. "I was thinking of the -dress, and the dressing, and the weariness the next day." - -He might think her unfeeling if he liked; she felt as if she had only -too much feeling just then, for it was bringing on her a strange -contraction of heart. But he was too inherently good himself to put -any harsh construction on her speech. Just before he went away, while -he was ostensibly holding her hand and wishing her good-by, he said -to her in a voice too low to be generally heard,-- - -"Is there anything I could do for your sister? We have plenty of -books, as you know, if she cares for reading." Then, receiving no -affirmative look or word from Molly in reply to this suggestion, -he went on,--"Or flowers? she likes flowers. Oh! and our forced -strawberries are just ready--I will bring some over to-morrow." - -"I am sure she will like them," said Molly. - -For some reason or other, unknown to the Gibsons, a longer interval -than usual occurred between Osborne's visits, while Roger came almost -every day, always with some fresh offering by which he openly sought -to relieve Cynthia's indisposition as far as it lay in his power. -Her manner to him was so gentle and gracious that Mrs. Gibson became -alarmed, lest, in spite of his "uncouthness" (as she was pleased -to term it), he might come to be preferred to Osborne, who was so -strangely neglecting his own interests, in Mrs. Gibson's opinion. In -her quiet way, she contrived to pass many slights upon Roger; but the -darts rebounded from his generous nature that could not have imagined -her motives, and fastened themselves on Molly. She had often been -called naughty and passionate when she was a child; and she thought -now that she began to understand that she really had a violent -temper. What seemed neither to hurt Roger nor annoy Cynthia made -Molly's blood boil; and now she had once discovered Mrs. Gibson's -wish to make Roger's visits shorter and less frequent, she was -always on the watch for indications of this desire. She read her -stepmother's heart when the latter made allusions to the Squire's -loneliness, now that Osborne was absent from the Hall, and that Roger -was so often away amongst his friends during the day,-- - -"Mr. Gibson and I should be so delighted if you could have stopped to -dinner; but, of course, we cannot be so selfish as to ask you to stay -when we remember how your father would be left alone. We were saying -yesterday we wondered how he bore his solitude, poor old gentleman!" - -Or, as soon as Roger came with his bunch of early roses, it was -desirable for Cynthia to go and rest in her own room, while Molly -had to accompany Mrs. Gibson on some improvised errand or call. -Still Roger, whose object was to give pleasure to Cynthia, and who -had, from his boyhood, been always certain of Mr. Gibson's friendly -regard, was slow to perceive that he was not wanted. If he did not -see Cynthia, that was his loss; at any rate, he heard how she was, -and left her some little thing which he believed she would like, and -was willing to risk the chance of his own gratification by calling -four or five times in the hope of seeing her once. At last there came -a day when Mrs. Gibson went beyond her usual negative snubbiness, -and when, in some unwonted fit of crossness, for she was a very -placid-tempered person in general, she was guilty of positive -rudeness. - -Cynthia was very much better. Tonics had ministered to a mind -diseased, though she hated to acknowledge it; her pretty bloom and -much of her light-heartedness had come back, and there was no cause -remaining for anxiety. Mrs. Gibson was sitting at her embroidery -in the drawing-room, and the two girls were at the window, Cynthia -laughing at Molly's earnest endeavours to imitate the French accent -in which the former had been reading a page of Voltaire. For -the duty, or the farce, of settling to "improving reading" in -the mornings was still kept up, although Lord Hollingford, the -unconscious suggestor of the idea, had gone back to town without -making any of the efforts to see Molly again that Mrs. Gibson had -anticipated on the night of the ball. That Alnaschar vision had -fallen to the ground. It was as yet early morning; a delicious, -fresh, lovely June day, the air redolent with the scents of -flower-growth and bloom; and half the time the girls had been -ostensibly employed in the French reading they had been leaning out -of the open window trying to reach a cluster of climbing roses. They -had secured them at last, and the buds lay on Cynthia's lap, but many -of the petals had fallen off; so, though the perfume lingered about -the window-seat, the full beauty of the flowers had passed away. Mrs. -Gibson had once or twice reproved them for the merry noise they were -making, which hindered her in the business of counting the stitches -in her pattern; and she had set herself a certain quantity to do -that morning before going out, and was of that nature which attaches -infinite importance to fulfilling small resolutions, made about -indifferent trifles without any reason whatever. - -"Mr. Roger Hamley," was announced. "So tiresome!" said Mrs. Gibson, -almost in his hearing, as she pushed away her embroidery frame. She -put out her cold, motionless hand to him, with a half-murmured word -of welcome, still eyeing her lost embroidery. He took no apparent -notice, and passed on to the window. - -"How delicious!" said he. "No need for any more Hamley roses now -yours are out." - -"I agree with you," said Mrs. Gibson, replying to him before either -Cynthia or Molly could speak, though he addressed his words to them. -"You have been very kind in bringing us flowers so long; but now our -own are out we need not trouble you any more." - -He looked at her with a little surprise clouding his honest face; it -was perhaps more at the tone than the words. Mrs. Gibson, however, -had been bold enough to strike the first blow, and she determined -to go on as opportunity offered. Molly would perhaps have been more -pained if she had not seen Cynthia's colour rise. She waited for her -to speak, if need were; for she knew that Roger's defence, if defence -were required, might be safely entrusted to Cynthia's ready wit. - -He put out his hand for the shattered cluster of roses that lay in -Cynthia's lap. - -"At any rate," said he, "my trouble--if Mrs. Gibson considers it has -been a trouble to me--will be over-paid, if I may have this." - -"Old lamps for new," said Cynthia, smiling as she gave it to him. "I -wish one could always buy nosegays such as you have brought us, as -cheaply." - -"You forget the waste of time that, I think, we must reckon as part -of the payment," said her mother. "Really, Mr. Hamley, we must learn -to shut our doors on you if you come so often, and at such early -hours! I settle myself to my own employment regularly after breakfast -till lunch-time; and it is my wish to keep Cynthia and Molly to a -course of improving reading and study--so desirable for young people -of their age, if they are ever to become intelligent, companionable -women; but with early visitors it is quite impossible to observe any -regularity of habits." - -All this was said in that sweet, false tone which of late had gone -through Molly like the scraping of a slate-pencil on a slate. Roger's -face changed. His ruddy colour grew paler for a moment, and he looked -grave and not pleased. In another moment the wonted frankness of -expression returned. Why should not he, he asked himself, believe -her? It was early to call; it did interrupt regular occupation. So he -spoke, and said,-- - -"I believe I have been very thoughtless--I'll not come so early -again; but I had some excuse to-day: my brother told me you had made -a plan for going to see Hurst Wood when the roses were out, and they -are earlier than usual this year--I've been round to see. He spoke of -a long day there, going before lunch--" - -"The plan was made with Mr. Osborne Hamley. I could not think of -going without him!" said Mrs. Gibson, coldly. - -"I had a letter from him this morning, in which he named your wish, -and he says he fears he cannot be at home till they are out of -flower. I daresay they are not much to see in reality, but the day is -so lovely I thought that the plan of going to Hurst Wood would be a -charming excuse for being out of doors." - -"Thank you. How kind you are! and so good, too, in sacrificing your -natural desire to be with your father as much as possible." - -"I'm glad to say my father is so much better than he was in the -winter that he spends much of his time out of doors in his fields. He -has been accustomed to go about alone, and I--we think that as great -a return to his former habits as he can be induced to make is the -best for him." - -"And when do you return to Cambridge?" - -There was some hesitation in Roger's manner as he replied,-- - -"It is uncertain. You probably know that I am a Fellow of Trinity -now. I hardly yet know what my future plans may be; I am thinking of -going up to London soon." - -"Ah! London is the true place for a young man," said Mrs. Gibson, -with decision, as if she had reflected a good deal on the question. -"If it were not that we really are so busy this morning, I should -have been tempted to make an exception to our general rule; one more -exception, for your early visits have made us make too many already. -Perhaps, however, we may see you again before you go?" - -"Certainly I shall come," replied he, rising to take his leave, and -still holding the demolished roses in his hand. Then, addressing -himself more especially to Cynthia, he added, "My stay in London will -not exceed a fortnight or so--is there anything I can do for you--or -you?" turning a little to Molly. - -"No, thank you very much," said Cynthia, very sweetly, and then, -acting on a sudden impulse, she leant out of the window, and gathered -him some half-opened roses. "You deserve these; do throw that poor -shabby bunch away." - -His eyes brightened, his cheeks glowed. He took the offered buds, but -did not throw away the other bunch. - -"At any rate, I may come after lunch is over, and the afternoons and -evenings will be the most delicious time of day a month hence." He -said this to both Molly and Cynthia, but in his heart he addressed it -to the latter. - -Mrs. Gibson affected not to hear what he was saying, but held out her -limp hand once more to him. - -"I suppose we shall see you when you return; and pray tell your -brother how we are longing to have a visit from him again." - -When he had left the room, Molly's heart was quite full. She -had watched his face, and read something of his feelings: his -disappointment at their non-acquiescence in his plan of a day's -pleasure in Hurst Wood, the delayed conviction that his presence -was not welcome to the wife of his old friend, which had come so -slowly upon him--perhaps, after all, these things touched Molly more -keenly than they did him. His bright look when Cynthia gave him the -rose-buds indicated a gush of sudden delight more vivid than the pain -he had shown by his previous increase of gravity. - -"I can't think why he will come at such untimely hours," said Mrs. -Gibson, as soon as she heard him fairly out of the house. "It's -different from Osborne; we are so much more intimate with him: he -came and made friends with us all the time this stupid brother of -his was muddling his brains with mathematics at Cambridge. Fellow of -Trinity, indeed! I wish he would learn to stay there, and not come -intruding here, and assuming that because I asked Osborne to join in -a picnic it was all the same to me which brother came." - -"In short, mamma, one man may steal a horse, but another must not -look over the hedge," said Cynthia, pouting a little. - -"And the two brothers have always been treated so exactly alike by -their friends, and there has been such a strong friendship between -them, that it is no wonder Roger thinks he may be welcome where -Osborne is allowed to come at all hours," continued Molly, in high -dudgeon. "Roger's 'muddled brains,' indeed! Roger, 'stupid!'" - -"Oh, very well, my dears! When I was young it wouldn't have been -thought becoming for girls of your age to fly out because a little -restraint was exercised as to the hours at which they should receive -the young men's calls. And they would have supposed that there might -be good reasons why their parents disapproved of the visits of -certain gentlemen, even while they were proud and pleased to see some -members of the same family." - -"But that was what I said, mamma," said Cynthia, looking at her -mother with an expression of innocent bewilderment on her face. "One -man may--" - -"Be quiet, child! All proverbs are vulgar, and I do believe that -is the vulgarest of all. You are really catching Roger Hamley's -coarseness, Cynthia!" - -"Mamma," said Cynthia, roused to anger, "I don't mind your abusing -me, but Mr. Roger Hamley has been very kind to me while I've not -been well: I can't bear to hear him disparaged. If he's coarse, I've -no objection to be coarse as well, for it seems to me it must mean -kindliness and pleasantness, and the bringing of pretty flowers and -presents." - -Molly's tears were brimming over at these words; she could have -kissed Cynthia for her warm partisanship, but, afraid of betraying -emotion, and "making a scene," as Mrs. Gibson called any signs of -warm feeling, she laid down her book hastily, and ran upstairs to -her room, and locked the door in order to breathe freely. There were -traces of tears upon her face when she returned into the drawing-room -half-an-hour afterwards, walking straight and demurely up to her -former place, where Cynthia still sate and gazed idly out of the -window, pouting and displeased; Mrs. Gibson, meanwhile, counting her -stitches aloud with great distinctness and vigour. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -BUSH-FIGHTING. - - -During all the months that had elapsed since Mrs. Hamley's death, -Molly had wondered many a time about the secret she had so -unwittingly become possessed of that last day in the Hall library. It -seemed so utterly strange and unheard-of a thing to her inexperienced -mind, that a man should be married, and yet not live with his -wife--that a son should have entered into the holy state of matrimony -without his father's knowledge, and without being recognized as the -husband of some one known or unknown by all those with whom he came -in daily contact, that she felt occasionally as if that little ten -minutes of revelation must have been a vision in a dream. Roger -had only slightly referred to it once, and Osborne had kept entire -silence on the subject ever since. Not even a look, or a pause, -betrayed any allusion to it; it even seemed to have passed out of -their thoughts. There had been the great sad event of their mother's -death to fill their minds on the next occasion of their meeting -Molly; and since then long pauses of intercourse had taken place; so -that she sometimes felt as if both the brothers must have forgotten -how she had come to know their important secret. She even found -herself often entirely forgetting it, but perhaps the consciousness -of it was present to her unawares, and enabled her to comprehend the -real nature of Osborne's feelings towards Cynthia. At any rate, she -never for a moment had supposed that his gentle kind manner towards -Cynthia was anything but the courtesy of a friend. Strange to say, in -these latter days Molly had looked upon Osborne's relation to herself -as pretty much the same as that in which at one time she had regarded -Roger's; and she thought of the former as of some one as nearly a -brother both to Cynthia and herself, as any young man could well be, -whom they had not known in childhood, and who was in nowise related -to them. She thought that he was very much improved in manner, and -probably in character, by his mother's death. He was no longer -sarcastic, or fastidious, or vain, or self-confident. She did not -know how often all these styles of talk or of behaviour were put on -to conceal shyness or consciousness, and to veil the real self from -strangers. - -Osborne's conversation and ways might very possibly have been just -the same as before, had he been thrown amongst new people; but Molly -only saw him in their own circle in which he was on terms of decided -intimacy. Still there was no doubt that he was really improved, -though perhaps not to the extent for which Molly gave him credit; and -this exaggeration on her part arose very naturally from the fact, -that he, perceiving Roger's warm admiration for Cynthia, withdrew a -little out of his brother's way; and used to go and talk to Molly in -order not to intrude himself between Roger and Cynthia. Of the two, -perhaps, Osborne preferred Molly; to her he needed not to talk if the -mood was not on him--they were on those happy terms where silence is -permissible, and where efforts to act against the prevailing mood of -the mind are not required. Sometimes, indeed, when Osborne was in the -humour to be critical and fastidious as of yore, he used to vex Roger -by insisting upon it that Molly was prettier than Cynthia. - -"You mark my words, Roger. Five years hence the beautiful Cynthia's -red and white will have become just a little coarse, and her figure -will have thickened, while Molly's will only have developed into more -perfect grace. I don't believe the girl has done growing yet; I'm -sure she's taller than when I first saw her last summer." - -"Miss Kirkpatrick's eyes must always be perfection. I cannot fancy -any could come up to them: soft, grave, appealing, tender; and such a -heavenly colour--I often try to find something in nature to compare -them to; they are not like violets--that blue in the eyes is too like -physical weakness of sight; they are not like the sky--that colour -has something of cruelty in it." - -"Come, don't go on trying to match her eyes as if you were a draper, -and they a bit of ribbon; say at once 'her eyes are loadstars,' and -have done with it! I set up Molly's grey eyes and curling black -lashes, long odds above the other young woman's; but, of course, it's -all a matter of taste." - -And now both Osborne and Roger had left the neighbourhood. In spite -of all that Mrs. Gibson had said about Roger's visits being ill-timed -and intrusive, she began to feel as if they had been a very pleasant -variety, now that they had ceased altogether. He brought in a whiff -of a new atmosphere from that of Hollingford. He and his brother had -been always ready to do numberless little things which only a man can -do for women; small services which Mr. Gibson was always too busy to -render. For the good doctor's business grew upon him. He thought that -this increase was owing to his greater skill and experience, and he -would probably have been mortified if he could have known how many -of his patients were solely biassed in sending for him, by the fact -that he was employed at the Towers. Something of this sort must have -been contemplated in the low scale of payment adopted long ago by -the Cumnor family. Of itself the money he received for going to the -Towers would hardly have paid him for horse-flesh, but then, as Lady -Cumnor in her younger days had worded it,-- - -"It is such a thing for a man just setting up in practice for himself -to be able to say he attends at this house!" - -So the prestige was tacitly sold and paid for; but neither buyer nor -seller defined the nature of the bargain. - -On the whole, it was as well that Mr. Gibson spent so much of his -time from home. He sometimes thought so himself when he heard his -wife's plaintive fret or pretty babble over totally indifferent -things, and perceived of how flimsy a nature were all her fine -sentiments. Still, he did not allow himself to repine over the step -he had taken; he wilfully shut his eyes and waxed up his ears to many -small things that he knew would have irritated him if he had attended -to them; and, in his solitary rides, he forced himself to dwell on -the positive advantages that had accrued to him and his through his -marriage. He had obtained an unexceptionable chaperone, if not a -tender mother, for his little girl; a skilful manager of his previous -disorderly household; a woman who was graceful and pleasant to -look at for the head of his table. Moreover, Cynthia reckoned for -something on the favourable side of the balance. She was a capital -companion for Molly; and the two were evidently very fond of each -other. The feminine companionship of the mother and daughter was -agreeable to him as well as to his child,--when Mrs. Gibson was -moderately sensible and not over-sentimental, he mentally added; and -then he checked himself, for he would not allow himself to become -more aware of her faults and foibles by defining them. At any rate, -she was harmless, and wonderfully just to Molly for a stepmother. -She piqued herself upon this indeed, and would often call attention -to the fact of her being unlike other women in this respect. Just -then sudden tears came into Mr. Gibson's eyes, as he remembered how -quiet and undemonstrative his little Molly had become in her general -behaviour to him; but how once or twice, when they had met upon the -stairs, or were otherwise unwitnessed, she had caught him and kissed -him--hand or cheek--in a sad passionateness of affection. But in a -moment he began to whistle an old Scotch air he had heard in his -childhood, and which had never recurred to his memory since; and -five minutes afterwards he was too busily treating a case of white -swelling in the knee of a little boy, and thinking how to relieve the -poor mother, who went out charring all day, and had to listen to the -moans of her child all night, to have any thought for his own cares, -which, if they really existed, were of so trifling a nature compared -to the hard reality of this hopeless woe. - -Osborne came home first. He returned, in fact, not long after Roger -had gone away; but he was languid and unwell, and, though he did -not complain, he felt unequal to any exertion. Thus a week or more -elapsed before any of the Gibsons knew that he was at the Hall; and -then it was only by chance that they became aware of it. Mr. Gibson -met him in one of the lanes near Hamley; the acute surgeon noticed -the gait of the man as he came near, before he recognized who it was. -When he overtook him he said,-- - -"Why, Osborne, is it you? I thought it was an old man of fifty -loitering before me! I didn't know you had come back." - - -[Illustration: "WHY, OSBORNE, IS IT YOU?"] - - -"Yes," said Osborne, "I've been at home nearly ten days. I daresay -I ought to have called on your people, for I made a half promise to -Mrs. Gibson to let her know as soon as I returned; but the fact is, -I'm feeling very good-for-nothing,--this air oppresses me; I could -hardly breathe in the house, and yet I'm already tired with this -short walk." - -"You'd better get home at once; and I'll call and see you as I come -back from Rowe's." - -"No, you mustn't on any account!" said Osborne, hastily; "my father -is annoyed enough about my going from home, so often, he says, though -I hadn't been from it for six weeks. He puts down all my languor -to my having been away,--he keeps the purse-strings, you know," he -added, with a faint smile, "and I'm in the unlucky position of a -penniless heir, and I've been brought up so--In fact, I must leave -home from time to time, and, if my father gets confirmed in this -notion of his that my health is worse for my absences, he'll stop the -supplies altogether." - -"May I ask where you do spend your time when you are not at Hamley -Hall?" asked Mr. Gibson, with some hesitation in his manner. - -"No!" replied Osborne, reluctantly. "I will tell you this:--I -stay with friends in the country. I lead a life which ought to be -conducive to health, because it is thoroughly simple, rational, and -happy. And now I've told you more about it than my father himself -knows. He never asks me where I've been; and I shouldn't tell him if -he did--at least, I think not." - -Mr. Gibson rode on by Osborne's side, not speaking for a moment or -two. - -"Osborne, whatever scrapes you may have got into, I should advise -your telling your father boldly out. I know him; and I know he'll be -angry enough at first, but he'll come round, take my word for it; -and, somehow or another, he'll find money to pay your debts and set -you free, if it's that kind of difficulty; and if it's any other -kind of entanglement, why still he's your best friend. It's this -estrangement from your father that's telling on your health, I'll be -bound." - -"No," said Osborne, "I beg your pardon; but it's not that; I am -really out of order. I daresay my unwillingness to encounter any -displeasure from my father is the consequence of my indisposition; -but I'll answer for it, it is not the cause of it. My instinct tells -me there is something really the matter with me." - -"Come, don't be setting up your instinct against the profession," -said Mr. Gibson, cheerily. - -He dismounted, and throwing the reins of his horse round his arm, he -looked at Osborne's tongue and felt his pulse, asking him various -questions. At the end he said,-- - -"We'll soon bring you about, though I should like a little more quiet -talk with you, without this tugging brute for a third. If you'll -manage to ride over and lunch with us to-morrow, Dr. Nicholls will -be with us; he's coming over to see old Rowe; and you shall have the -benefit of the advice of two doctors instead of one. Go home now, -you've had enough exercise for the middle of a day as hot as this is. -And don't mope in the house, listening to the maunderings of your -stupid instinct." - -"What else have I to do?" said Osborne. "My father and I are not -companions; one can't read and write for ever, especially when -there's no end to be gained by it. I don't mind telling you--but in -confidence, recollect--that I've been trying to get some of my poems -published; but there's no one like a publisher for taking the conceit -out of one. Not a man among them would have them as a gift." - -"Oho! so that's it, is it, Master Osborne? I thought there was some -mental cause for this depression of health. I wouldn't trouble my -head about it, if I were you, though that's always very easily said, -I know. Try your hand at prose, if you can't manage to please the -publishers with poetry; but, at any rate, don't go on fretting -over spilt milk. But I mustn't lose my time here. Come over to us -to-morrow, as I said; and what with the wisdom of two doctors, and -the wit and folly of three women, I think we shall cheer you up a -bit." - -So saying, Mr. Gibson remounted, and rode away at the long, slinging -trot so well known to the country people as the doctor's pace. - -"I don't like his looks," thought Mr. Gibson to himself at night, -as over his daybooks he reviewed the events of the day. "And then -his pulse. But how often we're all mistaken; and, ten to one, my own -hidden enemy lies closer to me than his does to him--even taking the -worse view of the case." - -Osborne made his appearance a considerable time before luncheon -the next morning; and no one objected to the earliness of his call. -He was feeling better. There were few signs of the invalid about -him; and what few there were disappeared under the bright pleasant -influence of such a welcome as he received from all. Molly and -Cynthia had much to tell him of the small proceedings since he went -away, or to relate the conclusions of half-accomplished projects. -Cynthia was often on the point of some gay, careless inquiry as -to where he had been, and what he had been doing; but Molly, who -conjectured the truth, as often interfered to spare him the pain of -equivocation--a pain that her tender conscience would have felt for -him, much more than he would have felt it for himself. - -Mrs. Gibson's talk was desultory, complimentary, and sentimental, -after her usual fashion; but still, on the whole, though Osborne -smiled to himself at much that she said, it was soothing and -agreeable. Presently, Dr. Nicholls and Mr. Gibson came in; the former -had had some conference with the latter on the subject of Osborne's -health; and, from time to time, the skilful old physician's sharp and -observant eyes gave a comprehensive look at Osborne. - -Then there was lunch, when every one was merry and hungry, excepting -the hostess, who was trying to train her midday appetite into -the genteelest of all ways, and thought (falsely enough) that Dr. -Nicholls was a good person to practise the semblance of ill-health -upon, and that he would give her the proper civil amount of -commiseration for her ailments, which every guest ought to bestow -upon a hostess who complains of her delicacy of health. The old -doctor was too cunning a man to fall into this trap. He would keep -recommending her to try the coarsest viands on the table; and, at -last, he told her if she could not fancy the cold beef to try a -little with pickled onions. There was a twinkle in his eye as he said -this, that would have betrayed his humour to any observer; but Mr. -Gibson, Cynthia, and Molly were all attacking Osborne on the subject -of some literary preference he had expressed, and Dr. Nicholls had -Mrs. Gibson quite at his mercy. She was not sorry when luncheon was -over to leave the room to the three gentlemen; and ever afterwards -she spoke of Dr. Nicholls as "that bear." - -Presently, Osborne came upstairs, and, after his old fashion, began -to take up new books, and to question the girls as to their music. -Mrs. Gibson had to go out and pay some calls, so she left the three -together; and after a while they adjourned into the garden, Osborne -lounging on a chair, while Molly employed herself busily in tying up -carnations, and Cynthia gathered flowers in her careless, graceful -way. - -"I hope you notice the difference in our occupations, Mr. Hamley. -Molly, you see, devotes herself to the useful, and I to the -ornamental. Please, under what head do you class what you are doing? -I think you might help one of us, instead of looking on like the -Grand Seigneur." - -"I don't know what I can do," said he, rather plaintively. "I should -like to be useful, but I don't know how; and my day is past for -purely ornamental work. You must let me be, I'm afraid. Besides, I'm -really rather exhausted by being questioned and pulled about by those -good doctors." - -"Why, you don't mean to say they have been attacking you since -lunch!" exclaimed Molly. - -"Yes; indeed, they have; and they might have gone on till now if Mrs. -Gibson had not come in opportunely." - -"I thought mamma had gone out some time ago!" said Cynthia, catching -wafts of the conversation as she flitted hither and thither among the -flowers. - -"She came into the dining-room not five minutes ago. Do you want her, -for I see her crossing the hall at this very moment?" and Osborne -half rose. - -"Oh, not at all!" said Cynthia. "Only she seemed to be in such a -hurry to go out, I fancied she had set off long ago. She had some -errand to do for Lady Cumnor, and she thought she could manage to -catch the housekeeper, who is always in the town on Thursday." - -"Are the family coming to the Towers this autumn?" - -"I believe so. But I don't know, and I don't much care. They don't -take kindly to me," continued Cynthia, "and so I suppose I'm not -generous enough to take kindly to them." - -"I should have thought that such a very unusual blot in their -discrimination would have interested you in them as extraordinary -people," said Osborne, with a little air of conscious gallantry. - -"Isn't that a compliment?" said Cynthia, after a pause of mock -meditation. "If any one pays me a compliment, please let it be short -and clear. I'm very stupid at finding out hidden meanings." - -"Then such speeches as 'you are very pretty,' or 'you have charming -manners,' are what you prefer. Now, I pique myself on wrapping up my -sugar-plums delicately." - -"Then would you please to write them down, and at my leisure I'll -parse them." - -"No! It would be too much trouble. I'll meet you half-way, and study -clearness next time." - -"What are you two talking about?" said Molly, resting on her light -spade. - -"It's only a discussion on the best way of administering -compliments," said Cynthia, taking up her flower-basket again, but -not going out of the reach of the conversation. - -"I don't like them at all in any way," said Molly. "But, perhaps, -it's rather sour grapes with me," she added. - -"Nonsense!" said Osborne. "Shall I tell you what I heard of you at -the ball?" - -"Or shall I provoke Mr. Preston," said Cynthia, "to begin upon you? -It's like turning a tap, such a stream of pretty speeches flows out -at the moment." Her lip curled with scorn. - -"For you, perhaps," said Molly; "but not for me." - -"For any woman. It's his notion of making himself agreeable. If you -dare me, Molly, I'll try the experiment, and you'll see with what -success." - -"No, don't, pray!" said Molly, in a hurry. "I do so dislike him!" - -"Why?" said Osborne, roused to a little curiosity by her vehemence. - -"Oh! I don't know. He never seems to know what one is feeling." - -"He wouldn't care if he did know," said Cynthia. "And he might know -he is not wanted." - -"If he chooses to stay, he cares little whether he is wanted or not." - -"Come, this is very interesting," said Osborne. "It is like the -strophe and anti-strophe in a Greek chorus. Pray, go on." - -"Don't you know him?" asked Molly. - -"Yes, by sight, and I think we were once introduced. But, you know, -we are much farther from Ashcombe, at Hamley, than you are here, at -Hollingford." - -"Oh! but he's coming to take Mr. Sheepshanks' place, and then he'll -live here altogether," said Molly. - -"Molly! who told you that?" said Cynthia, in quite a different tone -of voice from that in which she had been speaking hitherto. - -"Papa,--didn't you hear him? Oh, no! it was before you were down this -morning. Papa met Mr. Sheepshanks yesterday, and he told him it was -all settled: you know we heard a rumour about it in the spring!" - -Cynthia was very silent after this. Presently, she said that she had -gathered all the flowers she wanted, and that the heat was so great -she would go indoors. And then Osborne went away. But Molly had set -herself a task to dig up such roots as had already flowered, and to -put down some bedding-out plants in their stead. Tired and heated as -she was she finished it, and then went upstairs to rest, and change -her dress. According to her wont, she sought for Cynthia; there was -no reply to her soft knock at the bedroom-door opposite to her own, -and, thinking that Cynthia might have fallen asleep, and be lying -uncovered in the draught of the open window, she went in softly. -Cynthia was lying upon the bed as if she had thrown herself down on -it without caring for the ease or comfort of her position. She was -very still; and Molly took a shawl, and was going to place it over -her, when she opened her eyes, and spoke,-- - -"Is that you, dear? Don't go. I like to know that you are there." - -She shut her eyes again, and remained quite quiet for a few minutes -longer. Then she started up into a sitting posture, pushed her hair -away from her forehead and burning eyes, and gazed intently at Molly. - -"Do you know what I've been thinking, dear?" said she. "I think I've -been long enough here, and that I had better go out as a governess." - -"Cynthia! what do you mean?" asked Molly, aghast. "You've been -asleep--you've been dreaming. You're over-tired," continued she, -sitting down on the bed, and taking Cynthia's passive hand, and -stroking it softly--a mode of caressing that had come down to her -from her mother--whether as an hereditary instinct, or as a lingering -remembrance of the tender ways of the dead woman, Mr. Gibson often -wondered within himself when he observed it. - -"Oh, how good you are, Molly! I wonder, if I had been brought up like -you, whether I should have been as good. But I've been tossed about -so." - -"Then, don't go and be tossed about any more," said Molly, softly. - -"Oh, dear! I had better go. But, you see, no one ever loved me like -you, and, I think, your father--doesn't he, Molly? And it's hard to -be driven out." - -"Cynthia, I am sure you're not well, or else you're not half awake." - -Cynthia sate with her arms encircling her knees, and looking at -vacancy. - -"Well!" said she, at last, heaving a great sigh; but, then, smiling -as she caught Molly's anxious face, "I suppose there's no escaping -one's doom; and anywhere else I should be much more forlorn and -unprotected." - -"What do you mean by your doom?" - -"Ah, that's telling, little one," said Cynthia, who seemed now to -have recovered her usual manner. "I don't mean to have one, though. I -think that, though I am an arrant coward at heart, I can show fight." - -"With whom?" asked Molly, really anxious to probe the mystery--if, -indeed, there was one--to the bottom, in the hope of some remedy -being found for the distress Cynthia was in when first Molly entered. - -Again Cynthia was lost in thought; then, catching the echo of Molly's -last words in her mind, she said,-- - -"'With whom?'--oh! show fight with whom?--why, my doom, to be sure. -Am not I a grand young lady to have a doom? Why, Molly, child, how -pale and grave you look!" said she, kissing her all of a sudden. "You -ought not to care so much for me; I'm not good enough for you to -worry yourself about me. I've given myself up a long time ago as a -heartless baggage!" - -"Nonsense! I wish you wouldn't talk so, Cynthia!" - -"And I wish you wouldn't always take me 'at the foot of the letter,' -as an English girl at school used to translate it. Oh, how hot it -is! Is it never going to get cool again? My child! what dirty hands -you've got, and face too; and I've been kissing you--I daresay I'm -dirty with it, too. Now, isn't that like one of mamma's speeches? -But, for all that, you look more like a delving Adam than a spinning -Eve." This had the effect that Cynthia intended; the daintily clean -Molly became conscious of her soiled condition, which she had -forgotten while she had been attending to Cynthia, and she hastily -withdrew to her own room. When she had gone, Cynthia noiselessly -locked the door; and, taking her purse out of her desk, she began to -count over her money. She counted it once--she counted it twice, as -if desirous of finding out some mistake which should prove it to be -more than it was; but the end of it all was a sigh. - -"What a fool!--what a fool I was!" said she, at length. "But even if -I don't go out as a governess, I shall make it up in time." - -Some weeks after the time he had anticipated when he had spoken of -his departure to the Gibsons, Roger returned back to the Hall. One -morning when he called, Osborne told them that his brother had been -at home for two or three days. - -"And why has he not come here, then?" said Mrs. Gibson. "It is not -kind of him not to come and see us as soon as he can. Tell him I say -so--pray do." - -Osborne had gained one or two ideas as to her treatment of Roger the -last time he had called. Roger had not complained of it, or even -mentioned it, till that very morning; when Osborne was on the point -of starting, and had urged Roger to accompany him, the latter had -told him something of what Mrs. Gibson had said. He spoke rather as -if he was more amused than annoyed; but Osborne could read that he -was chagrined at those restrictions placed upon calls which were the -greatest pleasure of his life. Neither of them let out the suspicion -which had entered both their minds--the well-grounded suspicion -arising from the fact that Osborne's visits, be they paid early or -late, had never yet been met with a repulse. - -Osborne now reproached himself with having done Mrs. Gibson -injustice. She was evidently a weak, but probably a disinterested, -woman; and it was only a little bit of ill-temper on her part which -had caused her to speak to Roger as she had done. - -"I daresay it was rather impertinent of me to call at such an -untimely hour," said Roger. - -"Not at all; I call at all hours, and nothing is ever said about it. -It was just because she was put out that morning. I'll answer for it -she's sorry now, and I'm sure you may go there at any time you like -in the future." - -Still, Roger did not choose to go again for two or three weeks, and -the consequence was that the next time he called the ladies were out. -Once again he had the same ill-luck, and then he received a little -pretty three-cornered note from Mrs. Gibson:-- - - - MY DEAR SIR, - - How is it that you are become so formal all on a sudden, - leaving cards, instead of awaiting our return? Fie for - shame! If you had seen the faces of disappointment that - I did when the horrid little bits of pasteboard were - displayed to our view, you would not have borne malice - against me so long; for it is really punishing others as - well as my naughty self. If you will come to-morrow--as - early as you like--and lunch with us, I'll own I was - cross, and acknowledge myself a penitent.--Yours ever, - - HYACINTH C. K. GIBSON. - - -There was no resisting this, even if there had not been strong -inclination to back up the pretty words. Roger went, and Mrs. Gibson -caressed and petted him in her sweetest, silkiest manner. Cynthia -looked lovelier than ever to him for the slight restriction that -had been laid for a time on their intercourse. She might be gay -and sparkling with Osborne; with Roger she was soft and grave. -Instinctively she knew her men. She saw that Osborne was only -interested in her because of her position in a family with whom he -was intimate; that his friendship was without the least touch of -sentiment; and that his admiration was only the warm criticism of -an artist for unusual beauty. But she felt how different Roger's -relation to her was. To him she was _the_ one, alone, peerless. If -his love was prohibited, it would be long years before he could -sink down into tepid friendship; and to him her personal loveliness -was only one of the many charms that made him tremble into passion. -Cynthia was not capable of returning such feelings; she had had too -little true love in her life, and perhaps too much admiration to do -so; but she appreciated this honest ardour, this loyal worship that -was new to her experience. Such appreciation, and such respect for -his true and affectionate nature, gave a serious tenderness to her -manner to Roger, which allured him with a fresh and separate grace. -Molly sate by, and wondered how it would all end, or, rather, how -soon it would all end, for she thought that no girl could resist such -reverent passion; and on Roger's side there could be no doubt--alas! -there could be no doubt. An older spectator might have looked far -ahead, and thought of the question of pounds, shillings, and pence. -Where was the necessary income for a marriage to come from? Roger -had his Fellowship now, it is true; but the income of that would be -lost if he married; he had no profession, and the life interest of -the two or three thousand pounds that he inherited from his mother, -belonged to his father. This older spectator might have been a little -surprised at the _empressement_ of Mrs. Gibson's manner to a younger -son, always supposing this said spectator to have read to the depths -of her worldly heart. Never had she tried to be more agreeable to -Osborne; and though her attempt was a great failure when practised -upon Roger, and he did not know what to say in reply to the delicate -flatteries which he felt to be insincere, he saw that she intended -him to consider himself henceforward free of the house; and he was -too glad to avail himself of this privilege to examine over-closely -into what might be her motives for her change of manner. He shut his -eyes, and chose to believe that she was now desirous of making up for -her little burst of temper on his previous visit. - -The result of Osborne's conference with the two doctors had been -certain prescriptions which appeared to have done him much good, -and which would in all probability have done him yet more, could he -have been free of the recollection of the little patient wife in -her solitude near Winchester. He went to her whenever he could; and, -thanks to Roger, money was far more plentiful with him now than it -had been. But he still shrank, and perhaps even more and more, from -telling his father of his marriage. Some bodily instinct made him -dread all agitation inexpressibly. If he had not had this money from -Roger, he might have been compelled to tell his father all, and to -ask for the necessary funds to provide for the wife and the coming -child. But with enough in hand, and a secret, though remorseful, -conviction that as long as Roger had a penny his brother was sure to -have half of it, made him more reluctant than ever to irritate his -father by a revelation of his secret. "Not just yet, not just at -present," he kept saying both to Roger and to himself. "By-and-by, if -we have a boy, I will call it Roger"--and then visions of poetical -and romantic reconciliations brought about between father and son, -through the medium of a child, the offspring of a forbidden marriage, -became still more vividly possible to him, and at any rate it was a -staving-off of an unpleasant thing. He atoned to himself for taking -so much of Roger's Fellowship money by reflecting that, if Roger -married, he would lose this source of revenue; yet Osborne was -throwing no impediment in the way of this event, rather forwarding it -by promoting every possible means of his brother's seeing the lady of -his love. Osborne ended his reflections by convincing himself of his -own generosity. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -OLD WAYS AND NEW WAYS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Mr. Preston was now installed in his new house at Hollingford; Mr. -Sheepshanks having entered into dignified idleness at the house of -his married daughter, who lived in the county town. His successor -had plunged with energy into all manner of improvements; and -among others, he fell to draining a piece of outlying waste and -unreclaimed land of Lord Cumnor's, which was close to Squire Hamley's -property--that very piece for which he had had the Government grant, -but which now lay neglected, and only half drained, with stacks of -mossy tiles, and lines of upturned furrows telling of abortive plans. -It was not often that the Squire rode in this direction now-a-days; -but the cottage of a man who had been the squire's gamekeeper -in those more prosperous days when the Hamleys could afford to -"preserve," was close to the rush-grown ground. This old servant and -tenant was ill, and had sent a message up to the Hall, asking to see -the Squire: not to reveal any secret, or to say anything particular, -but only from the feudal loyalty, which made it seem to the dying man -as if it would be a comfort to shake the hand, and look once more -into the eyes of the lord and master whom he had served, and whose -ancestors his own forbears had served for so many generations. And -the Squire was as fully alive as old Silas to the claims of the tie -that existed between them. Though he hated the thought, and still -more, should hate the sight of the piece of land, on the side of -which Silas's cottage stood, the Squire ordered his horse, and rode -off within half-an-hour of receiving the message. As he drew near -the spot he thought he heard the sound of tools, and the hum of -many voices, just as he used to hear them a year or two before. He -listened with surprise. Yes! Instead of the still solitude he had -expected, there was the clink of iron, the heavy gradual thud of the -fall of barrows-ful of soil--the cry and shout of labourers. But not -on his land--better worth expense and trouble by far than the reedy -clay common on which the men were, in fact, employed. He knew it was -Lord Cumnor's property; and he knew Lord Cumnor and his family had -gone up in the world ("the Whig rascals!"), both in wealth and in -station, as the Hamleys had gone down. But all the same--in spite -of long known facts, and in spite of reason--the Squire's ready -anger rose high at the sight of his neighbour doing what he had been -unable to do, and he a Whig, and his family only in the county since -Queen Anne's time. He went so far as to wonder whether they might -not--the labourers he meant--avail themselves of his tiles, lying so -conveniently close to hand. All these thoughts, regrets, and wonders -were in his mind as he rode up to the cottage he was bound to, and -gave his horse in charge to a little lad, who had hitherto found his -morning's business and amusement in playing at "houses" with a still -younger sister, with some of the Squire's neglected tiles. But he -was old Silas's grandson, and he might have battered the rude red -earthenware to pieces--a whole stack--one by one, and the Squire -would have said little or nothing. It was only that he would not -spare one to a labourer of Lord Cumnor's. No! not one. - -Old Silas lay in a sort of closet, opening out of the family -living-room. The small window that gave it light looked right on to -the "moor," as it was called; and by day the check curtain was drawn -aside so that he might watch the progress of the labour. Everything -about the old man was clean, if coarse; and, with Death, the -leveller, so close at hand, it was the labourer who made the first -advances, and put out his horny hand to the Squire. - -"I thought you'd come, Squire. Your father came for to see my father -as he lay a-dying." - -"Come, come, my man!" said the Squire, easily affected, as he always -was. "Don't talk of dying, we shall soon have you out, never fear. -They've sent you up some soup from the Hall, as I bade 'em, haven't -they?" - -"Ay, ay, I've had all as I could want for to eat and to drink. The -young squire and Master Roger was here yesterday." - -"Yes, I know." - -"But I'm a deal nearer Heaven to-day, I am. I should like you to look -after th' covers in th' West Spinney, Squire; them gorse, you know, -where th' old fox had her hole--her as give 'em so many a run. You'll -mind it, Squire, though you was but a lad. I could laugh to think on -her tricks yet." And, with a weak attempt at a laugh, he got himself -into a violent fit of coughing, which alarmed the squire, who thought -he would never get his breath again. His daughter-in-law came in -at the sound, and told the Squire that he had these coughing-bouts -very frequently, and that she thought he would go off in one of them -before long. This opinion of hers was spoken simply out before the -old man, who now lay gasping and exhausted upon his pillow. Poor -people acknowledge the inevitableness and the approach of death in -a much more straightforward manner than is customary among more -educated folk. The Squire was shocked at her hard-heartedness, as -he considered it; but the old man himself had received much tender -kindness from his daughter-in-law; and what she had just said was no -more news to him than the fact that the sun would rise to-morrow. He -was more anxious to go on with his story. - -"Them navvies--I call 'em navvies because some on 'em is strangers, -though some on 'em is th' men as was turned off your own works, -squire, when there came orders to stop 'em last fall--they're -a-pulling up gorse and brush to light their fire for warming up their -messes. It's a long way off to their homes, and they mostly dine -here; and there'll be nothing of a cover left, if you don't see after -'em. I thought I should like to tell ye afore I died. Parson's been -here; but I did na tell him. He's all for the earl's folk, and he'd -not ha' heeded. It's the earl as put him into his church, I reckon, -for he said what a fine thing it were for to see so much employment -a-given to the poor, and he never said nought o' th' sort when your -works were agait, Squire." - -This long speech had been interrupted by many a cough and gasp for -breath; and having delivered himself of what was on his mind, he -turned his face to the wall, and appeared to be going to sleep. -Presently he roused himself with a start:-- - -"I know I flogged him well, I did. But he were after pheasants' eggs, -and I didn't know he were an orphan. Lord, forgive me!" - -"He's thinking on David Morton, the cripple, as used to go about -trapping vermin," whispered the woman. - -"Why, he died long ago--twenty year, I should think," replied the -Squire. - -"Ay, but when grandfather goes off i' this way to sleep after a bout -of talking he seems to be dreaming on old times. He'll not waken up -yet, sir; you'd best sit down if you'd like to stay," she continued, -as she went into the house-place and dusted a chair with her apron. -"He was very particular in bidding me wake him if he were asleep, and -you or Mr. Roger was to call. Mr. Roger said he'd be coming again -this morning--but he'll likely sleep an hour or more, if he's let -alone." - -"I wish I'd said good-by, I should like to have done that." - -"He drops off so sudden," said the woman. "But if you'd be better -pleased to have said it, Squire, I'll waken him up a bit." - -"No, no!" the Squire called out as the woman was going to be as good -as her word. "I'll come again, perhaps to-morrow. And tell him I was -sorry; for I am indeed. And be sure and send to the Hall for anything -you want! Mr. Roger is coming, is he? He'll bring me word how he is, -later on. I should like to have bidden him good-by." - -So, giving sixpence to the child who had held his horse, the Squire -mounted. He sate still a moment, looking at the busy work going on -before him, and then at his own half-completed drainage. It was a -bitter pill. He had objected to borrowing from Government, in the -first instance; and then his wife had persuaded him to the step; and -after it was once taken, he was as proud as could be of the only -concession to the spirit of progress he ever made in his life. He had -read and studied the subject pretty thoroughly, if also very slowly, -during the time his wife had been influencing him. He was tolerably -well up in agriculture, if in nothing else; and at one time he had -taken the lead among the neighbouring landowners, when he first began -tile-drainage. In those days people used to speak of Squire Hamley's -hobby; and at market ordinaries, or county dinners, they rather -dreaded setting him off on long repetitions of arguments from the -different pamphlets on the subject which he had read. And now the -proprietors all around him were draining--draining; his interest -to Government was running on all the same, though his works were -stopped, and his tiles deteriorating in value. It was not a soothing -consideration, and the Squire was almost ready to quarrel with his -shadow. He wanted a vent for his ill-humour; and suddenly remembering -the devastations on his covers, which he had heard about not a -quarter of an hour before, he rode towards the men busy at work on -Lord Cumnor's land. Just before he got up to them he encountered -Mr. Preston, also on horseback, come to overlook his labourers. The -Squire did not know him personally, but from the agent's manner -of speaking, and the deference that was evidently paid to him, Mr. -Hamley saw that he was a responsible person. So he addressed the -agent:--"I beg your pardon, I suppose you are the manager of these -works?" - -Mr. Preston replied,--"Certainly. I am that and many other things -besides, at your service. I have succeeded Mr. Sheepshanks in the -management of my lord's property. Mr. Hamley of Hamley, I believe?" - -The Squire bowed stiffly. He did not like his name to be asked or -presumed upon in that manner. An equal might conjecture who he was, -or recognize him, but, till he announced himself, an inferior had no -right to do more than address him respectfully as "sir." That was the -Squire's code of etiquette. - -"I am Mr. Hamley of Hamley. I suppose you are as yet ignorant of the -boundary of Lord Cumnor's land, and so I will inform you that my -property begins at the pond yonder--just where you see the rise in -the ground." - -"I am perfectly acquainted with that fact, Mr. Hamley," said Mr. -Preston, a little annoyed at the ignorance attributed to him. "But -may I inquire why my attention is called to it just now?" - -The Squire was beginning to boil over; but he tried to keep his -temper in. The effort was very much to be respected, for it was a -great one. There was something in the handsome and well-dressed -agent's tone and manner inexpressibly irritating to the squire, and -it was not lessened by an involuntary comparison of the capital -roadster on which Mr. Preston was mounted with his own ill-groomed -and aged cob. - -"I have been told that your men out yonder do not respect these -boundaries, but are in the habit of plucking up gorse from my covers -to light their fires." - -"It is possible they may!" said Mr. Preston, lifting his eyebrows, -his manner being more nonchalant than his words. "I daresay they -think no great harm of it. However, I'll inquire." - -"Do you doubt my word, sir?" said the Squire, fretting his mare till -she began to dance about. "I tell you I've heard it only within this -last half-hour." - -"I don't mean to doubt your word, Mr. Hamley; it's the last thing -I should think of doing. But you must excuse my saying that the -argument which you have twice brought up for the authenticity of your -statement, 'that you have heard it within the last half-hour,' is not -quite so forcible as to preclude the possibility of a mistake." - -"I wish you'd only say in plain language that you doubt my word," -said the Squire, clenching and slightly raising his horsewhip. "I -can't make out what you mean--you use so many words." - -"Pray don't lose your temper, sir. I said I should inquire. You have -not seen the men pulling up gorse yourself, or you would have named -it. I, surely, may doubt the correctness of your information until -I have made some inquiry; at any rate, that is the course I shall -pursue, and if it gives you offence, I shall be sorry, but I shall -do it just the same. When I am convinced that harm has been done to -your property, I shall take steps to prevent it for the future, and -of course, in my lord's name, I shall pay you compensation--it may -probably amount to half-a-crown." He added these last words in a -lower tone, as if to himself, with a slight contemptuous smile on his -face. - -"Quiet, mare, quiet," said the Squire, totally unaware that he was -the cause of her impatient movements by the way he was perpetually -tightening her reins; and also, perhaps, he unconsciously addressed -the injunction to himself. - -Neither of them saw Roger Hamley, who was just then approaching them -with long, steady steps. He had seen his father from the door of old -Silas's cottage, and, as the poor fellow was still asleep, he was -coming to speak to his father, and was near enough now to hear the -next words. - -"I don't know who you are, but I've known land-agents who were -gentlemen, and I've known some who were not. You belong to this last -set, young man," said the squire, "that you do. I should like to try -my horsewhip on you for your insolence." - -"Pray, Mr. Hamley," replied Mr. Preston, coolly, "curb your temper a -little, and reflect. I really feel sorry to see a man of your age in -such a passion:"--moving a little farther off, however, but really -more with a desire to save the irritated man from carrying his threat -into execution, out of a dislike to the slander and excitement it -would cause, than from any personal dread. Just at this moment Roger -Hamley came close up. He was panting a little, and his eyes were very -stern and dark; but he spoke quietly enough. - -"Mr. Preston, I can hardly understand what you mean by your last -words. But, remember, my father is a gentleman of age and position, -and not accustomed to receive advice as to the management of his -temper from young men like you." - - -[Illustration: THE BURNING OF THE GORSE.] - - -"I desired him to keep his men off my land," said the Squire to -his son--his wish to stand well in Roger's opinion restraining his -temper a little; but though his words might be a little calmer, there -were all other signs of passion present--the discoloured complexion, -the trembling hands, the fiery cloud in his eyes. "He refused, and -doubted my word." - -Mr. Preston turned to Roger, as if appealing from Philip drunk to -Philip sober, and spoke in a tone of cool explanation, which, though -not insolent in words, was excessively irritating in manner. - -"Your father has misunderstood me--perhaps it is no wonder," trying -to convey, by a look of intelligence at the son, his opinion that the -father was in no state to hear reason. "I never refused to do what -was just and right. I only required further evidence as to the past -wrong-doing; your father took offence at this," and then he shrugged -his shoulders, and lifted his eyebrows in a manner he had formerly -learnt in France. - -"At any rate, sir! I can scarcely reconcile the manner and words -to my father, which I heard you use when I first came up, with the -deference you ought to have shown to a man of his age and position. -As to the fact of the trespass--" - -"They are pulling up all the gorse, Roger--there'll be no cover -whatever for game soon," put in the Squire. - -Roger bowed to his father, but took up his speech at the point it was -at before the interruption. - -"I will inquire into it myself at a cooler moment; and if I find that -such trespass or damage has been committed, of course I shall expect -that you will see it put a stop to. Come, father! I am going to -see old Silas--perhaps you don't know that he is very ill." So he -endeavoured to wile the Squire away to prevent further words. He was -not entirely successful. - -Mr. Preston was enraged by Roger's calm and dignified manner, -and threw after them this parting shaft, in the shape of a loud -soliloquy,-- - -"Position, indeed! What are we to think of the position of a man who -begins works like these without counting the cost, and comes to a -stand-still, and has to turn off his labourers just at the beginning -of winter, leaving--" - -They were too far off to hear the rest. The Squire was on the point -of turning back before this, but Roger took hold of the reins of the -old mare, and led her over some of the boggy ground, as if to guide -her into sure footing, but, in reality, because he was determined to -prevent the renewal of the quarrel. It was well that the cob knew -him, and was, indeed, old enough to prefer quietness to dancing; for -Mr. Hamley plucked hard at the reins, and at last broke out with an -oath,--"Damn it, Roger! I'm not a child; I won't be treated as such. -Leave go, I say!" - -Roger let go; they were now on firm ground, and he did not wish any -watchers to think that he was exercising any constraint over his -father; and this quiet obedience to his impatient commands did more -to soothe the Squire than anything else could have effected just -then. - -"I know I turned them off--what could I do? I'd no more money for -their weekly wages; it's a loss to me, as you know. He doesn't know, -no one knows, but I think your mother would, how it cut me to turn -'em off just before winter set in. I lay awake many a night thinking -of it, and I gave them what I had--I did, indeed. I hadn't got money -to pay 'em, but I had three barren cows fattened, and gave every -scrap of meat to the men, and I let 'em go into the woods and gather -what was fallen, and I winked at their breaking off old branches, and -now to have it cast up against me by that cur--that servant. But I'll -go on with the works, by ----, I will, if only to spite him. I'll -show him who I am. My position, indeed! A Hamley of Hamley takes a -higher position than his master. I'll go on with the works, see if -I don't! I'm paying between one and two hundred a year interest on -Government money. I'll raise some more if I go to the Jews; Osborne -has shown me the way, and Osborne shall pay for it--he shall. I'll -not put up with insults. You shouldn't have stopped me, Roger! I wish -to heaven I'd horsewhipped the fellow!" - -He was lashing himself again into an impotent rage, painful to a son -to witness; but just then the little grandchild of old Silas, who -had held the Squire's horse during his visit to the sick man, came -running up, breathless: - -"Please, sir, please, squire, mammy has sent me; grandfather has -wakened up sudden, and mammy says he's dying, and would you please -come; she says he'd take it as a kind compliment, she's sure." - -So they went to the cottage, the Squire speaking never a word, but -suddenly feeling as if lifted out of a whirlwind and set down in a -still and awful place. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -A PASSIVE COQUETTE. - - -It is not to be supposed that such an encounter as Mr. Preston had -just had with Roger Hamley sweetened the regards in which the two -young men henceforward held each other. They had barely spoken to one -another before, and but seldom met; for the land-agent's employment -had hitherto lain at Ashcombe, some sixteen or seventeen miles from -Hamley. He was older than Roger by several years; but during the -time he had been in the county Osborne and Roger had been at school -and at college. Mr. Preston was prepared to dislike the Hamleys for -many unreasonable reasons. Cynthia and Molly had both spoken of -the brothers with familiar regard, implying considerable intimacy; -their flowers had been preferred to his on the occasion of the ball; -most people spoke well of them; and Mr. Preston had an animal's -instinctive jealousy and combativeness against all popular young men. -Their "position"--poor as the Hamleys might be--was far higher than -his own in the county; and, moreover, he was agent to the great Whig -lord, whose political interests were diametrically opposed to those -of the old Tory squire. Not that Lord Cumnor troubled himself much -about his political interests. His family had obtained property and -title from the Whigs at the time of the Hanoverian succession; and -so, traditionally, he was a Whig, and had belonged in his youth to -Whig clubs, where he had lost considerable sums of money to Whig -gamblers. All this was satisfactory and consistent enough. And if -Lord Hollingford had not been returned for the county on the Whig -interest--as his father had been before him, until he had succeeded -to the title--it is quite probable Lord Cumnor would have considered -the British constitution in danger, and the patriotism of his -ancestors ungratefully ignored. But, excepting at elections, he had -no notion of making Whig and Tory a party cry. He had lived too much -in London, and was of too sociable a nature, to exclude any man who -jumped with his humour from the hospitality he was always ready to -offer, be the agreeable acquaintance Whig, Tory, or Radical. But in -the county of which he was lord-lieutenant, the old party distinction -was still a shibboleth by which men were tested as to their fitness -for social intercourse, as well as on the hustings. If by any chance -a Whig found himself at a Tory dinner-table--or vice versâ--the food -was hard of digestion, and wine and viands were criticized rather -than enjoyed. A marriage between the young people of the separate -parties was almost as unheard-of and prohibited an alliance as that -of Romeo and Juliet's. And of course Mr. Preston was not a man in -whose breast such prejudices would die away. They were an excitement -to him for one thing, and called out all his talent for intrigue on -behalf of the party to which he was allied. Moreover, he considered -it as loyalty to his employer to "scatter his enemies" by any means -in his power. He had always hated and despised the Tories in general; -and after that interview on the marshy common in front of Silas's -cottage, he hated the Hamleys and Roger especially, with a very -choice and particular hatred. "That prig," as hereafter he always -designated Roger--"he shall pay for it yet," he said to himself by -way of consolation, after the father and son had left him. "What a -lout it is!"--watching the receding figures, "The old chap has twice -as much spunk," as the Squire tugged at his bridle reins. "The old -mare could make her way better without being led, my fine fellow. But -I see through your dodge. You're afraid of your old father turning -back and getting into another rage. Position indeed! a beggarly -squire--a man who did turn off his men just before winter, to rot -or starve, for all he cared--it's just like a brutal old Tory." And, -under the cover of sympathy with the dismissed labourers, Mr. Preston -indulged his own private pique very pleasantly. - -Mr. Preston had many causes for rejoicing: he might have forgotten -this discomfiture, as he chose to feel it, in the remembrance of -an increase of income, and in the popularity he enjoyed in his new -abode. All Hollingford came forward to do the earl's new agent -honour. Mr. Sheepshanks had been a crabbed, crusty old bachelor, -frequenting inn-parlours on market days, not unwilling to give -dinners to three or four chosen friends and familiars, with whom, -in return, he dined from time to time, and with whom, also, he kept -up an amicable rivalry in the matter of wines. But he "did not -appreciate female society," as Miss Browning elegantly worded his -unwillingness to accept the invitations of the Hollingford ladies. -He was even unrefined enough to speak of these invitations to his -intimate friends aforesaid as "those old women's worrying," but, of -course, they never heard of this. Little quarter-of-sheet notes, -without any envelopes--that invention was unknown in those days--but -sealed in the corners when folded up instead of gummed as they are -fastened at present--occasionally passed between Mr. Sheepshanks -and the Miss Brownings, Mrs. Goodenough or others. From the -first-mentioned ladies the form ran as follows:--"Miss Browning -and her sister, Miss Phoebe Browning, present their respectful -compliments to Mr. Sheepshanks, and beg to inform him that a few -friends have kindly consented to favour them with their company at -tea on Thursday next. Miss Browning and Miss Phoebe will take it -very kindly if Mr. Sheepshanks will join their little circle." - -Now for Mrs. Goodenough. - -"Mrs. Goodenough's respects to Mr. Sheepshanks, and hopes he is in -good health. She would be very glad if he would favour her with his -company to tea on Monday. My daughter, in Combermere, has sent me a -couple of guinea-fowls, and Mrs. Goodenough hopes Mr. Sheepshanks -will stay and take a bit of supper." - -No need for the dates of the days of the month. The good ladies would -have thought that the world was coming to an end if the invitation -had been sent out a week before the party therein named. But not even -guinea-fowls for supper could tempt Mr. Sheepshanks. He remembered -the made-wines he had tasted in former days at Hollingford parties, -and shuddered. Bread-and-cheese, with a glass of bitter-beer, or a -little brandy-and-water, partaken of in his old clothes (which had -worn into shapes of loose comfort, and smelt strongly of tobacco), -he liked better than roast guinea-fowl and birch-wine, even without -throwing into the balance the stiff uneasy coat, and the tight -neckcloth and tighter shoes. So the ex-agent had been seldom, if -ever, seen at the Hollingford tea-parties. He might have had his form -of refusal stereotyped, it was so invariably the same. - -"Mr. Sheepshanks' duty to Miss Browning and her sister" (to Mrs. -Goodenough, or to others, as the case might be). "Business of -importance prevents him from availing himself of their polite -invitation; for which he begs to return his best thanks." - -But now that Mr. Preston had succeeded, and come to live in -Hollingford, things were changed. - -He accepted every civility right and left, and won golden opinions -accordingly. Parties were made in his honour, "just as if he had been -a bride," Miss Phoebe Browning said; and to all of them he went. - -"What's the man after?" said Mr. Sheepshanks to himself, when he -heard of his successor's affability, and sociability, and amiability, -and a variety of other agreeable "ilities," from the friends whom the -old steward still retained at Hollingford. "Preston's not a man to -put himself out for nothing. He's deep. He'll be after something -solider than popularity." - -The sagacious old bachelor was right. Mr. Preston was "after" -something more than mere popularity. He went wherever he had a chance -of meeting Cynthia Kirkpatrick. - -It might be that Molly's spirits were more depressed at this time -than they were in general; or that Cynthia was exultant, unawares to -herself, in the amount of attention and admiration she was receiving -from Roger by day, from Mr. Preston in the evening, but the two girls -seemed to have parted company in cheerfulness. Molly was always -gentle, but very grave and silent. Cynthia, on the contrary, was -merry, full of pretty mockeries, and hardly ever silent. When first -she came to Hollingford one of her great charms had been that she -was such a gracious listener; now her excitement, by whatever caused, -made her too restless to hold her tongue; yet what she said was too -pretty, too witty, not to be a winning and sparkling interruption, -eagerly welcomed by those who were under her sway. Mr. Gibson was -the only one who observed this change, and reasoned upon it. "She's -in a mental fever of some kind," thought he to himself. "She's very -fascinating, but I don't quite understand her." - -If Molly had not been so entirely loyal to her friend, she might have -thought this constant brilliancy a little tiresome when brought into -every-day life; it was not the sunshiny rest of a placid lake, it was -rather the glitter of the pieces of a broken mirror, which confuses -and bewilders. Cynthia would not talk quietly about anything now; -subjects of thought or conversation seemed to have lost their -relative value. There were exceptions to this mood of hers, when she -sank into deep fits of silence, that would have been gloomy had it -not been for the never varying sweetness of her temper. If there was -a little kindness to be done to either Mr. Gibson or Molly, Cynthia -was just as ready as ever to do it; nor did she refuse to do anything -her mother wished, however fidgety might be the humour that prompted -the wish. But in this latter case Cynthia's eyes were not quickened -by her heart. - -Molly was dejected, she knew not why. Cynthia had drifted a little -apart; that was not it. Her stepmother had whimsical moods; and if -Cynthia displeased her, she would oppress Molly with small kindnesses -and pseudo-affection. Or else everything was wrong, the world was -out of joint, and Molly had failed in her mission to set it right, -and was to be blamed accordingly. But Molly was of too steady a -disposition to be much moved by the changeableness of an unreasonable -person. She might be annoyed, or irritated, but she was not -depressed. That was not it. The real cause was certainly this. As -long as Roger was drawn to Cynthia, and sought her of his own accord, -it had been a sore pain and bewilderment to Molly's heart; but it was -a straightforward attraction, and one which Molly acknowledged, in -her humility and great power of loving, to be the most natural thing -in the world. She would look at Cynthia's beauty and grace, and feel -as if no one could resist it. And when she witnessed all the small -signs of honest devotion which Roger was at no pains to conceal, she -thought, with a sigh, that surely no girl could help relinquishing -her heart to such tender, strong keeping as Roger's character -ensured. She would have been willing to cut off her right hand, -if need were, to forward his attachment to Cynthia; and the -self-sacrifice would have added a strange zest to a happy crisis. She -was indignant at what she considered to be Mrs. Gibson's obtuseness -to so much goodness and worth; and when she called Roger "a country -lout," or any other depreciative epithet, Molly would pinch herself -in order to keep silent. But after all, those were peaceful days -compared to the present, when she, seeing the wrong side of the -tapestry, after the wont of those who dwell in the same house with -a plotter, became aware that Mrs. Gibson had totally changed her -behaviour to Roger, from some cause unknown to Molly. - -But he was always exactly the same; "steady as old Time," as Mrs. -Gibson called him, with her usual originality; "a rock of strength, -under whose very shadow there is rest," as Mrs. Hamley had once -spoken of him. So the cause of Mrs. Gibson's altered manner lay not -in him. Yet now he was sure of a welcome, let him come at any hour he -would. He was playfully reproved for having taken Mrs. Gibson's words -too literally, and for never coming before lunch. But he said he -considered her reasons for such words to be valid, and should respect -them. And this was done out of his simplicity, and from no tinge of -malice. Then in their family conversations at home, Mrs. Gibson was -constantly making projects for throwing Roger and Cynthia together, -with so evident a betrayal of her wish to bring about an engagement, -that Molly chafed at the net spread so evidently, and at Roger's -blindness in coming so willingly to be entrapped. She forgot his -previous willingness, his former evidences of manly fondness for the -beautiful Cynthia; she only saw plots of which he was the victim, and -Cynthia the conscious if passive bait. She felt as if she could not -have acted as Cynthia did; no, not even to gain Roger's love. Cynthia -heard and saw as much of the domestic background as she did, and yet -she submitted to the rôle assigned to her! To be sure, this rôle -would have been played by her unconsciously; the things prescribed -were what she would naturally have done; but because they were -prescribed--by implication only, it is true--Molly would have -resisted; have gone out, for instance, when she was expected to stay -at home; or have lingered in the garden when a long country walk was -planned. At last--for she could not help loving Cynthia, come what -would--she determined to believe that Cynthia was entirely unaware of -all; but it was with an effort that she brought herself to believe -it. - -It may be all very pleasant "to sport with Amaryllis in the shade, -or with the tangles of Neæra's hair," but young men at the outset of -their independent life have many other cares in this prosaic England -to occupy their time and their thoughts. Roger was Fellow of Trinity, -to be sure; and from the outside it certainly appeared as if his -position, as long as he chose to keep unmarried, was a very easy -one. His was not a nature, however, to sink down into inglorious -ease, even had his fellowship income been at his disposal. He -looked forward to an active life; in what direction he had not yet -determined. He knew what were his talents and his tastes; and did -not wish the former to lie buried, nor the latter, which he regarded -as gifts, fitting him for some peculiar work, to be disregarded or -thwarted. He rather liked awaiting an object, secure in his own -energy to force his way to it, when once he saw it clearly. He -reserved enough of money for his own personal needs, which were -small, and for the ready furtherance of any project he might see -fit to undertake; the rest of his income was Osborne's; given and -accepted in the spirit which made the bond between these two brothers -so rarely perfect. It was only the thought of Cynthia that threw -Roger off his balance. A strong man in everything else, about her -he was as a child. He knew that he could not marry and retain -his fellowship; his intention was to hold himself loose from any -employment or profession until he had found one to his mind, so -there was no immediate prospect--no prospect for many years, indeed, -that he would be able to marry. Yet he went on seeking Cynthia's -sweet company, listening to the music of her voice, basking in her -sunshine, and feeding his passion in every possible way, just like an -unreasoning child. He knew that it was folly--and yet he did it; and -it was perhaps this that made him so sympathetic with Osborne. Roger -racked his brains about Osborne's affairs much more frequently than -Osborne troubled himself. Indeed, he had become so ailing and languid -of late, that even the Squire made only very faint objections to -his desire for frequent change of scene, though formerly he used to -grumble so much at the necessary expenditure it involved. - -"After all, it doesn't cost much," the Squire said to Roger one day. -"Choose how he does it, he does it cheaply; he used to come and ask -me for twenty, where now he does it for five. But he and I have -lost each other's language, that's what we have! and my dictionary" -(only he called it "dixonary") "has all got wrong because of those -confounded debts--which he will never explain to me, or talk -about--he always holds me off at arm's length when I begin upon -it--he does, Roger--me, his old dad, as was his primest favourite of -all, when he was a little bit of a chap!" - -The Squire dwelt so much upon Osborne's reserved behaviour to -himself, that brooding over this one subject perpetually he became -more morose and gloomy than ever in his manner to Osborne, resenting -the want of the confidence and affection that he thus repelled. So -much so that Roger, who desired to avoid being made the receptacle -of his father's complaints against Osborne--and Roger's passive -listening was the sedative his father always sought--had often -to have recourse to the discussion of the drainage works as a -counter-irritant. The Squire had felt Mr. Preston's speech about -the dismissal of his work-people very keenly; it fell in with the -reproaches of his own conscience, though, as he would repeat to -Roger over and over again,--"I couldn't help it--how could I?--I was -drained dry of ready money--I wish the land was drained as dry as -I am," said he, with a touch of humour that came out before he was -aware, and at which he smiled sadly enough. "What was I to do, I ask -you, Roger? I know I was in a rage--I've had a deal to make me so--and -maybe I didn't think as much about consequences as I should ha' -done, when I gave orders for 'em to be sent off; but I couldn't have -done otherwise if I'd ha' thought for a twelvemonth in cool blood. -Consequences! I hate consequences; they've always been against me; -they have. I'm so tied up I can't cut down a stick more, and that's a -'consequence' of having the property so deucedly well settled; I wish -I'd never had any ancestors. Ay, laugh, lad! it does me good to see -thee laugh a bit, after Osborne's long face, which always grows longer -at sight o' me!" - -"Look here, father!" said Roger, suddenly, "I'll manage somehow about -the money for the works. You trust to me; give me two months to turn -myself in, and you shall have some money, at any rate, to begin -with." - -The Squire looked at him, and his face brightened as a child's does -at the promise of a pleasure made to him by some one on whom he can -rely. He became a little graver, however, as he said,--"But how will -you get it? It's hard enough work." - -"Never mind; I'll get it--a hundred or so at first--I don't yet -know how--but remember, father, I'm a senior wrangler, and a 'very -promising young writer,' as that review called me. Oh, you don't know -what a fine fellow you've got for a son! You should have read that -review to know all my wonderful merits." - -"I did, Roger. I heard Gibson speaking of it, and I made him get it -for me. I should have understood it better if they could have called -the animals by their English names, and not put so much of their -French jingo into it." - -"But it was an answer to an article by a French writer," pleaded -Roger. - -"I'd ha' let him alone!" said the Squire, earnestly. "We had to -beat 'em, and we did it at Waterloo; but I'd not demean myself by -answering any of their lies, if I was you. But I got through the -review, for all their Latin and French--I did; and if you doubt me, -you just look at the end of the great ledger, turn it upside down, -and you'll find I've copied out all the fine words they said of you: -'careful observer,' 'strong nervous English,' 'rising philosopher.' -Oh! I can nearly say it all off by heart, for many a time when I'm -frabbed by bad debts, or Osborne's bills, or moidered with accounts, -I turn the ledger wrong way up, and smoke a pipe over it, while I -read those pieces out of the review which speak about you, lad!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -COMING EVENTS. - - -Roger had turned over many plans in his mind, by which he thought -that he could obtain sufficient money for the purpose he desired to -accomplish. His careful grandfather, who had been a merchant in the -city, had so tied up the few thousands he had left to his daughter, -that although, in case of her death before her husband's, the latter -might enjoy the life-interest thereof, yet, in case of both their -deaths, their second son did not succeed to the property until he was -five-and-twenty; and if he died before that age, the money that would -then have been his went to one of his cousins on the maternal side. -In short, the old merchant had taken as many precautions about his -legacy as if it had been for tens, instead of units of thousands. Of -course Roger might have slipped through all these meshes by insuring -his life until the specified age; and, probably, if he had consulted -any lawyer, this course would have been suggested to him. But he -disliked taking any one into his confidence on the subject of -his father's want of ready money. He had obtained a copy of his -grandfather's will at Doctors' Commons, and he imagined that all the -contingencies involved in it would be patent to the light of nature -and common sense. He was a little mistaken in this, but not the less -resolved that money in some way he would have in order to fulfil his -promise to his father, and for the ulterior purpose of giving the -squire some daily interest to distract his thoughts from the regrets -and cares that were almost weakening his mind. It was "Roger Hamley, -senior wrangler and Fellow of Trinity, to the highest bidder, no -matter what honest employment," and presently it came down to "any -bidder at all." - -Another perplexity and distress at this time weighed upon Roger. -Osborne, heir to the estate, was going to have a child. The Hamley -property was entailed on "heirs male born in lawful wedlock." Was the -"wedlock" lawful? Osborne never seemed to doubt that it was--never -seemed, in fact, to think twice about it. And if he, the husband, did -not, how much less did Aimée, the trustful wife? Yet who could tell -how much misery any shadows of illegality might cast into the future? -One evening Roger, sitting by the languid, careless, dilettante -Osborne, began to question him as to the details of the marriage. -Osborne knew instinctively at what Roger was aiming. It was not that -he did not desire perfect legality in justice to his wife; it was -that he was so indisposed at the time that he hated to be bothered. -It was something like the refrain of Gray's Scandinavian Prophetess: -"Leave me, leave me to repose." - -"But do try and tell me how you managed it." - -"How tiresome you are, Roger!" put in Osborne. - -"Well, I daresay I am. Go on!" - -"I've told you Morrison married us. You remember old Morrison at -Trinity?" - -"Yes; as good and blunder-headed a fellow as ever lived." - -"Well, he's taken orders; and the examination for priest's orders -fatigued him so much that he got his father to give him a hundred or -two for a tour on the Continent. He meant to get to Rome, because he -heard that there were such pleasant winters there. So he turned up at -Metz in August." - -"I don't see why." - -"No more did he. He never was great in geography, you know; and -somehow he thought that Metz, pronounced French fashion, must be on -the road to Rome. Some one had told him so in fun. However, it was -very well for me that I met with him there, for I was determined to -be married, and that without loss of time." - -"But Aimée is a Catholic?" - -"That's true! but you see I am not. You don't suppose I would do her -any wrong, Roger?" asked Osborne, sitting up in his lounging-chair, -and speaking rather indignantly to Roger, his face suddenly flushing -red. - -"No! I'm sure you would not mean it; but, you see, there's a child -coming, and this estate is entailed on 'heirs-male.' Now, I want -to know if the marriage is legal or not? and it seems to me it's a -ticklish question." - -"Oh!" said Osborne, falling back into repose, "if that's all, I -suppose you're next heir-male, and I can trust you as I can myself. -You know my marriage is _bonâ fide_ in intention, and I believe -it to be legal in fact. We went over to Strasbourg; Aimée picked -up a friend--a good middle-aged Frenchwoman--who served half -as bridesmaid, half as chaperone, and then we went before the -mayor--préfet--what do you call them? I think Morrison rather enjoyed -the spree. I signed all manner of papers in the prefecture; I did not -read them over, for fear lest I could not sign them conscientiously. -It was the safest plan. Aimée kept trembling so I thought she would -faint; and then we went off to the nearest English chaplaincy, -Carlsruhe, and the chaplain was away, so Morrison easily got the loan -of the chapel, and we were married the next day." - -"But surely some registration or certificate was necessary?" - -"Morrison said he would undertake all those forms; and he ought to -know his own business. I know I tipped him pretty well for the job." - -"You must be married again," said Roger, after a pause, "and -that before the child is born. Have you got a certificate of the -marriage?" - -"I daresay Morrison has got it somewhere. But I believe I'm legally -married according to the laws both of England and France; I really -do, old fellow. I've got the préfet's papers somewhere." - -"Never mind! you shall be married again in England. Aimée goes to the -Roman Catholic chapel at Prestham, doesn't she?" - -"Yes. She is so good I wouldn't disturb her in her religion for the -world." - -"Then you shall be married both there and at the church of the parish -in which she lives as well," said Roger, decidedly. - -"It's a great deal of trouble, unnecessary trouble, and unnecessary -expense, I should say," said Osborne. "Why can't you leave well -alone? Neither Aimée nor I are of the sort of stuff to turn -scoundrels and deny the legality of our marriage; and if the child -is a boy and my father dies, and I die, why I'm sure you'll do him -justice, as sure as I am of myself, old fellow!" - -"But if I die into the bargain? Make a hecatomb of the present -Hamleys all at once, while you are about it. Who succeeds as -heir-male?" - -Osborne thought for a moment. "One of the Irish Hamleys, I suppose. -I fancy they are needy chaps. Perhaps you're right. But what need to -have such gloomy forebodings?" - -"The law makes one have foresight in such affairs," said Roger. "So -I'll go down to Aimée next week when I'm in town, and I'll make all -necessary arrangements before you come. I think you'll be happier if -it is all done." - -"I shall be happier if I've a chance of seeing the little woman, that -I grant you. But what is taking you up to town? I wish I'd money to -run about like you, instead of being shut up for ever in this dull -old house." - -Osborne was apt occasionally to contrast his position with Roger's -in a tone of complaint, forgetting that both were the results of -character, and also that out of his income Roger gave up so large -a portion for the maintenance of his brother's wife. But if this -ungenerous thought of Osborne's had been set clearly before his -conscience, he would have smote his breast and cried "Mea culpa" with -the best of them; it was only that he was too indolent to keep an -unassisted conscience. - -"I shouldn't have thought of going up," said Roger, reddening as if -he had been accused of spending another's money instead of his own, -"if I hadn't had to go up on business. Lord Hollingford has written -for me; he knows my great wish for employment, and has heard of -something which he considers suitable; there's his letter if you care -to read it. But it does not tell anything definitely." - -Osborne read the letter and returned it to Roger. After a moment or -two of silence he said,--"Why do you want money? Are we taking too -much from you? It's a great shame of me; but what can I do? Only -suggest a career for me, and I'll follow it to-morrow." He spoke as -if Roger had been reproaching him. - -"My dear fellow, don't get those notions into your head! I must -do something for myself sometimes, and I've been on the look-out. -Besides, I want my father to go on with his drainage; it would do -good both to his health and his spirits. If I can advance any part of -the money requisite, he and you shall pay me interest until you can -return the capital." - -"Roger, you're the providence of the family," exclaimed Osborne, -suddenly struck by admiration at his brother's conduct, and -forgetting to contrast it with his own. - -So Roger went up to London and Osborne followed him, and for two or -three weeks the Gibsons saw nothing of the brothers. But as wave -succeeds to wave, so interest succeeds to interest. "The family," -as they were called, came down for their autumn sojourn at the -Towers, and again the house was full of visitors, and the Towers' -servants, and carriages, and liveries were seen in the two streets of -Hollingford, just as they might have been seen for scores of autumns -past. - -So runs the round of life from day to day. Mrs. Gibson found the -chances of intercourse with the Towers rather more personally -exciting than Roger's visits, or the rarer calls of Osborne Hamley. -Cynthia had an old antipathy to the great family who had made so much -of her mother and so little of her; and whom she considered as in -some measure the cause why she had seen so little of her mother in -the days when the little girl had craved for love and found none. -Moreover, Cynthia missed her slave, although she did not care for -Roger one thousandth part of what he did for her; yet she had found -it not unpleasant to have a man whom she thoroughly respected, and -whom men in general respected, the subject of her eye, the glad -ministrant to each scarce-spoken wish, a person in whose sight -all her words were pearls or diamonds, all her actions heavenly -graciousness, and in whose thoughts she reigned supreme. She had -no modest unconsciousness about her; and yet she was not vain. -She knew of all this worship; and when from circumstances she no -longer received it, she missed it. The Earl and the Countess, Lord -Hollingford and Lady Harriet, lords and ladies in general, liveries, -dresses, bags of game, and rumours of riding parties, were as nothing -to her compared to Roger's absence. And yet she did not love him. -No, she did not love him. Molly knew that Cynthia did not love him. -Molly grew angry with her many and many a time as the conviction of -this fact was forced upon her. Molly did not know her own feelings; -Roger had no overwhelming interest in what they might be; while his -very life-breath seemed to depend on what Cynthia felt and thought. -Therefore Molly had keen insight into her "sister's" heart; and she -knew that Cynthia did not love Roger. Molly could have cried with -passionate regret at the thought of the unvalued treasure lying at -Cynthia's feet; and it would have been a merely unselfish regret. -It was the old fervid tenderness: "Do not wish for the moon, O my -darling, for I cannot give it thee." Cynthia's love was the moon -Roger yearned for; and Molly saw that it was far away and out of -reach, else would she have strained her heart-cords to give it to -Roger. - -"I am his sister," she would say to herself. "That old bond is not -done away with, though he is too much absorbed by Cynthia to speak -about it just now. His mother called me 'Fanny;' it was almost like -an adoption. I must wait and watch, and see if I can do anything for -my brother." - -One day Lady Harriet came to call on the Gibsons, or rather on Mrs. -Gibson, for the latter retained her old jealousy if any one else -in Hollingford was supposed to be on intimate terms at the great -house, or in the least acquainted with their plans. Mr. Gibson might -possibly know as much, but then he was professionally bound to -secrecy. Out of the house she considered Mr. Preston as her rival, -and he was aware that she did so, and delighted in teasing her by -affecting a knowledge of family plans and details of affairs of which -she was ignorant. Indoors she was jealous of the fancy Lady Harriet -had evidently taken for her step-daughter, and she contrived to place -quiet obstacles in the way of a too frequent intercourse between the -two. These obstacles were not unlike the shield of the knight in -the old story; only instead of the two sides presented to the two -travellers approaching it from opposite quarters, one of which was -silver, and one of which was gold, Lady Harriet saw the smooth and -shining yellow radiance, while poor Molly only perceived a dull and -heavy lead. To Lady Harriet it was "Molly is gone out; she will be so -sorry to miss you, but she was obliged to go to see some old friends -of her mother's whom she ought not to neglect; as I said to her, -constancy is everything. It is Sterne, I think, who says, 'Thine own -and thy mother's friends forsake not.' But, dear Lady Harriet, you'll -stop till she comes home, won't you? I know how fond you are of her; -in fact" (with a little surface playfulness) "I sometimes say you -come more to see her than your poor old Clare." - -To Molly it had previously been,-- - -"Lady Harriet is coming here this morning. I can't have any one else -coming in. Tell Maria to say I'm not at home. Lady Harriet has always -so much to tell me. Dear Lady Harriet! I've known all her secrets -since she was twelve years old. You two girls must keep out of the -way. Of course she'll ask for you, out of common civility; but -you would only interrupt us if you came in, as you did the other -day;"--now addressing Molly--"I hardly like to say so, but I thought -it was very forward." - -"Maria told me she had asked for me," put in Molly, simply. - -"Very forward indeed!" continued Mrs. Gibson, taking no further -notice of the interruption, except to strengthen the words to which -Molly's little speech had been intended as a correction. - -"I think this time I must secure her ladyship from the chances of -such an intrusion, by taking care that you are out of the house, -Molly. You had better go to the Holly Farm, and speak about those -damsons I ordered, and which have never been sent." - -"I'll go," said Cynthia. "It's far too long a walk for Molly; she's -had a bad cold, and isn't as strong as she was a fortnight ago. I -delight in long walks. If you want Molly out of the way, mamma, send -her to the Miss Brownings'--they are always glad to see her." - -"I never said I wanted Molly out of the way, Cynthia," replied Mrs. -Gibson. "You always put things in such an exaggerated--I should -almost say, so coarse a manner. I am sure, Molly, my love, you -could never have so misunderstood me; it is only on Lady Harriet's -account." - -"I don't think I can walk as far as the Holly Farm; papa would take -the message; Cynthia need not go." - -"Well! I'm the last person in the world to tax any one's strength; -I'd sooner never see damson preserve again. Suppose you do go and see -Miss Browning; you can pay her a nice long call, you know she likes -that; and ask after Miss Phoebe's cold from me, you know. They were -friends of your mother's, my dear, and I would not have you break off -old friendships for the world. 'Constancy above everything' is my -motto, as you know, and the memory of the dead ought always to be -cherished." - -"Now, mamma, where am I to go?" asked Cynthia. "Though Lady Harriet -doesn't care for me as much as she does for Molly--indeed, quite the -contrary I should say--yet she might ask after me, and I had better -be safely out of the way." - -"True!" said Mrs. Gibson, meditatively, yet unconscious of any satire -in Cynthia's speech. - -"She is much less likely to ask for you, my dear: I almost think -you might remain in the house, or you might go to the Holly Farm; -I really do want the damsons; or you might stay here in the -dining-room, you know, so as to be ready to arrange lunch prettily, -if she does take a fancy to stay for it. She is very fanciful, -is dear Lady Harriet! I would not like her to think we made any -difference in our meals because she stayed. 'Simple elegance,' as I -tell her, 'always is what we aim at.' But still you could put out the -best service, and arrange some flowers, and ask cook what there is -for dinner that she could send us for lunch, and make it all look -pretty, and impromptu, and natural. I think you had better stay at -home, Cynthia, and then you could fetch Molly from Miss Brownings' in -the afternoon, you know, and you two could take a walk together." - -"After Lady Harriet was fairly gone! I understand, mamma. Off with -you, Molly. Make haste, or Lady Harriet may come and ask for you as -well as mamma. I'll take care and forget where you are going to, so -that no one shall learn from me where you are, and I'll answer for -mamma's loss of memory." - -"Child! what nonsense you talk; you quite confuse me with being so -silly," said Mrs. Gibson, fluttered and annoyed as she usually was -with the Lilliputian darts Cynthia flung at her. She had recourse to -her accustomed feckless piece of retaliation--bestowing some favour -on Molly; and this did not hurt Cynthia one whit. - -"Molly, darling, there's a very cold wind, though it looks so fine. -You had better put on my Indian shawl; and it will look so pretty, -too, on your grey gown--scarlet and grey; it's not everybody I would -lend it to, but you're so careful." - -"Thank you," said Molly: and she left Mrs. Gibson in careless -uncertainty as to whether her offer would be accepted or not. - -Lady Harriet was sorry to miss Molly, as she was fond of the -girl; but as she perfectly agreed with Mrs. Gibson's truism about -"constancy" and "old friends," she saw no occasion for saying any -more about the affair, but sat down in a little low chair with her -feet on the fender. This said fender was made of bright, bright -steel, and was strictly tabooed to all household and plebeian feet; -indeed the position, if they assumed it, was considered low-bred and -vulgar. - -"That's right, dear Lady Harriet! you can't think what a pleasure it -is to me to welcome you at my own fireside, into my humble home." - -"Humble! now, Clare, that's a little bit of nonsense, begging your -pardon. I don't call this pretty little drawing-room a bit of a -'humble home.' It's as full of comforts, and of pretty things too, as -any room of its size can be." - -"Ah! how small you must feel it! even I had to reconcile myself to it -at first." - -"Well! perhaps your schoolroom was larger, but remember how bare it -was, how empty of anything but deal tables, and forms, and mats. Oh, -indeed, Clare, I quite agree with mamma, who always says you have -done very well for yourself; and Mr. Gibson too! What an agreeable, -well-informed man!" - -"Yes, he is," said his wife, slowly, as if she did not like to -relinquish her rôle of a victim to circumstances quite immediately. -"He is very agreeable, very; only we see so little of him; and of -course he comes home tired and hungry, and not inclined to talk to -his own family, and apt to go to sleep." - -"Come, come!" said Lady Harriet, "I'm going to have my turn now. -We've had the complaint of a doctor's wife, now hear the moans of a -peer's daughter. Our house is so overrun with visitors! and literally -to-day I have come to you for a little solitude." - -"Solitude!" exclaimed Mrs. Gibson. "Would you rather be alone?" -slightly aggrieved. - -"No, you dear silly woman; my solitude requires a listener, to -whom I may say, 'How sweet is solitude!' But I am tired of the -responsibility of entertaining. Papa is so open-hearted, he asks -every friend he meets with to come and pay us a visit. Mamma is -really a great invalid, but she does not choose to give up her -reputation for good health, having always considered illness a want -of self-control. So she gets wearied and worried by a crowd of people -who are all of them open-mouthed for amusement of some kind; just -like a brood of fledglings in a nest; so I have to be parent-bird, -and pop morsels into their yellow leathery bills, to find them -swallowed down before I can think of where to find the next. Oh, it's -'entertaining' in the largest, literalist, dreariest sense of the -word. So I have told a few lies this morning, and come off here for -quietness and the comfort of complaining!" - -Lady Harriet threw herself back in her chair, and yawned; Mrs. Gibson -took one of her ladyship's hands in a soft sympathizing manner, and -murmured,-- - -"Poor Lady Harriet!" and then she purred affectionately. - -After a pause Lady Harriet started up and said--"I used to take you -as my arbiter of morals when I was a little girl. Tell me, do you -think it wrong to tell lies?" - -"Oh, my dear! how can you ask such questions?--of course it is very -wrong,--very wicked indeed, I think I may say. But I know you were -only joking when you said you had told lies." - -"No, indeed, I wasn't. I told as plump fat lies as you would wish -to hear. I said I 'was obliged to go into Hollingford on business,' -when the truth was there was no obligation in the matter, only an -insupportable desire of being free from my visitors for an hour or -two, and my only business was to come here, and yawn, and complain, -and lounge at my leisure. I really think I'm unhappy at having told a -story, as children express it." - -"But, my dear Lady Harriet," said Mrs. Gibson, a little puzzled as to -the exact meaning of the words that were trembling on her tongue, "I -am sure you thought that you meant what you said, when you said it." - -"No, I didn't," put in Lady Harriet. - -"And besides, if you didn't, it was the fault of the tiresome people -who drove you into such straits--yes, it was certainly their fault, -not yours--and then you know the conventions of society--ah, what -trammels they are!" - -Lady Harriet was silent for a minute or two; then she said,--"Tell -me, Clare; you've told lies sometimes, haven't you?" - -"Lady Harriet! I think you might have known me better; but I know you -don't mean it, dear." - -"Yes, I do. You must have told white lies, at any rate. How did you -feel after them?" - -"I should have been miserable if I ever had. I should have died of -self-reproach. 'The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the -truth,' has always seemed to me such a fine passage. But then I have -so much that is unbending in my nature, and in our sphere of life -there are so few temptations. If we are humble, we are also simple, -and unshackled by etiquette." - -"Then you blame me very much? If somebody else will blame me, I -sha'n't be so unhappy at what I said this morning." - -"I am sure I never blamed you, not in my innermost heart, dear Lady -Harriet. Blame you, indeed! That would be presumption in me." - -"I think I shall set up a confessor! and it sha'n't be you, Clare, -for you have always been only too indulgent to me." - -After a pause she said,--"Can you give me some lunch, Clare? I don't -mean to go home till three. My 'business' will take me till then, as -the people at the Towers are duly informed." - -"Certainly. I shall be delighted! but you know we are very simple in -our habits." - -"Oh, I only want a little bread-and-butter, and perhaps a slice of -cold meat--you must not give yourself any trouble, Clare--perhaps you -dine now? let me sit down just like one of your family." - -"Yes, you shall; I won't make any alteration;--it will be so pleasant -to have you sharing our family meal, dear Lady Harriet. But we dine -late, we only lunch now. How low the fire is getting; I really am -forgetting everything in the pleasure of this tête-à-tête!" - -So she rang twice; with great distinctness, and with a long pause -between the rings. Maria brought in coals. - -But the signal was as well understood by Cynthia as the "Hall of -Apollo" was by the servants of Lucullus. The brace of partridges that -were to have been for the late dinner were instantly put down to the -fire; and the prettiest china brought out, and the table decked with -flowers and fruit, arranged with all Cynthia's usual dexterity and -taste. So that when the meal was announced, and Lady Harriet entered -the room, she could not but think her hostess's apologies had been -quite unnecessary; and be more and more convinced that Clare had -done very well for herself. Cynthia now joined the party, pretty -and elegant as she always was; but somehow she did not take Lady -Harriet's fancy; she only noticed her on account of her being her -mother's daughter. Her presence made the conversation more general, -and Lady Harriet gave out several pieces of news, none of them of any -great importance to her, but as what had been talked about by the -circle of visitors assembled at the Towers. - -"Lord Hollingford ought to have been with us," she said, amongst -other things; "but he is obliged, or fancies himself obliged, which -is all the same thing, to stay in town about this Crichton legacy!" - -"A legacy? To Lord Hollingford? I am so glad!" - -"Don't be in a hurry to be glad! It's nothing for him but trouble. -Didn't you hear of that rich eccentric Mr. Crichton, who died -some time ago, and--fired by the example of Lord Bridgewater, -I suppose--left a sum of money in the hands of trustees, of -whom my brother is one, to send out a man with a thousand fine -qualifications, to make a scientific voyage, with a view to bringing -back specimens of the fauna of distant lands, and so forming the -nucleus of a museum which is to be called the Crichton Museum, and so -perpetuate the founder's name. Such various forms does man's vanity -take! Sometimes it stimulates philanthropy; sometimes a love of -science!" - -"It seems to me a very laudable and useful object, I am sure," said -Mrs. Gibson, safely. - -"I daresay it is, taking it from the public-good view. But it's -rather tiresome to us privately, for it keeps Hollingford in town--or -between it and Cambridge--and each place as dull and empty as can be, -just when we want him down at the Towers. The thing ought to have -been decided long ago, and there's some danger of the legacy lapsing. -The two other trustees have run away to the Continent, feeling, as -they say, the utmost confidence in him, but in reality shirking their -responsibilities. However, I believe he likes it, so I ought not to -grumble. He thinks he is going to be very successful in the choice of -his man--and he belongs to this county, too,--young Hamley of Hamley, -if he can only get his college to let him go, for he is a Fellow of -Trinity, senior wrangler or something; and they're not so foolish as -to send their crack man to be eaten up by lions and tigers!" - -"It must be Roger Hamley!" exclaimed Cynthia, her eyes brightening, -and her cheeks flushing. - -"He's not the eldest son; he can scarcely be called Hamley of -Hamley!" said Mrs. Gibson. - -"Hollingford's man is a Fellow of Trinity, as I said before." - -"Then it is Mr. Roger Hamley," said Cynthia; "and he's up in London -about some business! What news for Molly when she comes home!" - -"Why, what has Molly to do with it?" asked Lady Harriet. "Is--?" and -she looked into Mrs. Gibson's face for an answer. Mrs. Gibson in -reply gave an intelligent and very expressive glance at Cynthia, who -however did not perceive it. - -"Oh, no! not at all,"--and Mrs. Gibson nodded a little at her -daughter, as much as to say, "If any one, that." - -Lady Harriet began to look at the pretty Miss Kirkpatrick with fresh -interest; her brother had spoken in such a manner of this young -Mr. Hamley that every one connected with the phoenix was worthy of -observation. Then, as if the mention of Molly's name had brought her -afresh into her mind, Lady Harriet said,--"And where is Molly all -this time? I should like to see my little mentor. I hear she is very -much grown since those days." - -"Oh! when she once gets gossiping with the Miss Brownings, she never -knows when to come home," said Mrs. Gibson. - -"The Miss Brownings? Oh! I'm so glad you named them! I'm very fond of -them. Pecksy and Flapsy; I may call them so in Molly's absence. I'll -go and see them before I go home, and then perhaps I shall see my -dear little Molly too. Do you know, Clare, I've quite taken a fancy -to that girl!" - -So Mrs. Gibson, after all her precautions, had to submit to Lady -Harriet's leaving her half-an-hour earlier than she otherwise would -have done in order to "make herself common" (as Mrs. Gibson expressed -it) by calling on the Miss Brownings. - -But Molly had left before Lady Harriet arrived. - -Molly went the long walk to the Holly Farm, to order the damsons, -out of a kind of penitence. She had felt conscious of anger at being -sent out of the house by such a palpable manoeuvre as that which -her stepmother had employed. Of course she did not meet Cynthia, so -she went alone along the pretty lanes, with grassy sides and high -hedge-banks not at all in the style of modern agriculture. At first -she made herself uncomfortable with questioning herself as to how -far it was right to leave unnoticed the small domestic failings--the -webs, the distortions of truth which had prevailed in their household -ever since her father's second marriage. She knew that very often -she longed to protest, but did not do it, from the desire of sparing -her father any discord; and she saw by his face that he, too, was -occasionally aware of certain things that gave him pain, as showing -that his wife's standard of conduct was not as high as he would have -liked. It was a wonder to Molly whether this silence was right or -wrong. With a girl's want of toleration, and want of experience to -teach her the force of circumstances, and of temptation, she had -often been on the point of telling her stepmother some forcible home -truths. But, possibly, her father's example of silence, and often -some piece of kindness on Mrs. Gibson's part (for after her way, and -when in a good temper, she was very kind to Molly), made her hold her -tongue. - -That night at dinner, Mrs. Gibson recounted the conversation between -herself and Lady Harriet, giving it a very strong individual -colouring, as was her wont, and telling nearly the whole of what had -passed, although implying that there was a great deal said which was -so purely confidential, that she was bound in honour not to repeat -it. Her three auditors listened to her without interrupting her -much--indeed, without bestowing extreme attention on what she was -saying, until she came to the fact of Lord Hollingford's absence in -London, and the reason for it. - -"Roger Hamley going off on a scientific expedition!" exclaimed Mr. -Gibson, suddenly awakened into vivacity. - -"Yes. At least it is not settled finally; but as Lord Hollingford -is the only trustee who takes any interest--and being Lord Cumnor's -son--it is next to certain." - -"I think I must have a voice in the matter," said Mr. Gibson; and he -relapsed into silence, keeping his ears open, however, henceforward. - -"How long will he be away?" asked Cynthia. "We shall miss him sadly." - -Molly's lips formed an acquiescing "yes" to this remark, but no sound -was heard. There was a buzzing in her ears as if the others were -going on with the conversation, but the words they uttered seemed -indistinct and blurred; they were merely conjectures, and did not -interfere with the one great piece of news. To the rest of the party -she appeared to be eating her dinner as usual, and, if she were -silent, there was one listener the more to Mrs. Gibson's stream of -prattle, and Mr. Gibson's and Cynthia's remarks. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -It was a day or two afterwards, that Mr. Gibson made time to ride -round by Hamley, desirous to learn more exact particulars of this -scheme for Roger than he could obtain from any extraneous source, and -rather puzzled to know whether he should interfere in the project or -not. The state of the case was this:--Osborne's symptoms were, in Mr. -Gibson's opinion, signs of his having a fatal disease. Dr. Nicholls -had differed from him on this head, and Mr. Gibson knew that the old -physician had had long experience, and was considered very skilful -in the profession. Still he believed that he himself was right, and, -if so, the complaint was one which might continue for years in the -same state as at present, or might end the young man's life in an -hour--a minute. Supposing that Mr. Gibson was right, would it be well -for Roger to be away where no sudden calls for his presence could -reach him--away for two years? Yet if the affair was concluded, the -interference of a medical man might accelerate the very evil to be -feared; and after all, Dr. Nicholls might be right, and the symptoms -might proceed from some other cause. Might? Yes. Probably did? No. -Mr. Gibson could not bring himself to say "yes" to this latter form -of sentence. So he rode on, meditating; his reins slack, his head -a little bent. It was one of those still and lovely autumn days -when the red and yellow leaves are hanging-pegs to dewy, brilliant -gossamer-webs; when the hedges are full of trailing brambles, loaded -with ripe blackberries; when the air is full of the farewell whistles -and pipes of birds, clear and short--not the long full-throated -warbles of spring; when the whirr of the partridge's wings is heard -in the stubble-fields, as the sharp hoof-blows fall on the paved -lanes; when here and there a leaf floats and flutters down to the -ground, although there is not a single breath of wind. The country -surgeon felt the beauty of the seasons perhaps more than most men. -He saw more of it by day, by night, in storm and sunshine, or in the -still, soft, cloudy weather. He never spoke about what he felt on -the subject; indeed, he did not put his feelings into words, even to -himself. But if his mood ever approached to the sentimental, it was -on such days as this. He rode into the stable-yard, gave his horse to -a man, and went into the house by a side entrance. In the passage he -met the Squire. - -"That's capital, Gibson! what good wind blew you here? You'll have -some lunch? it's on the table, I only just this minute left the -room." And he kept shaking Mr. Gibson's hand all the time till he had -placed him, nothing loth, at the well-covered dining-table. - -"What's this I hear about Roger?" said Mr. Gibson, plunging at once -into the subject. - -"Aha! so you've heard, have you? It's famous, isn't it? He's a boy to -be proud of, is old Roger. Steady Roger; we used to think him slow, -but it seems to me that slow and sure wins the race. But tell me; -what have you heard? how much is known? Nay, you must have a glass -full. It's old ale, such as we don't brew now-a-days; it's as old -as Osborne. We brewed it that autumn, and we called it the young -squire's ale. I thought to have tapped it on his marriage, but I -don't know when that will come to pass, so we've tapped it now in -Roger's honour." - -The old squire had evidently been enjoying the young squire's ale -to the verge of prudence. It was indeed as he said, "as strong as -brandy," and Mr. Gibson had to sip it very carefully as he ate his -cold roast beef. - -"Well! and what have you heard? There's a deal to hear, and all good -news, though I shall miss the lad, I know that." - -"I did not know it was settled; I only heard that it was in -progress." - -"Well, it was only in progress, as you call it, till last Tuesday. -He never let me know anything about it, though; he says he thought I -might be fidgety with thinking of the pros and cons. So I never knew -a word on't till I had a letter from my Lord Hollingford--where is -it?" pulling out a great black leathern receptacle for all manner of -papers. And putting on his spectacles, he read aloud their headings. - -"'Measurement of timber, new railings,' 'drench for cows, from Farmer -Hayes,' 'Dobson's accounts,'--'um 'um--here it is. Now read that -letter," handing it to Mr. Gibson. - -It was a manly, feeling, sensible letter, explaining to the old -father in very simple language the services which were demanded -by the terms of the will to which he and two or three others were -trustees; the liberal allowance for expenses, the still more liberal -reward for performance, which had tempted several men of considerable -renown to offer themselves as candidates for the appointment. Lord -Hollingford then went on to say that, having seen a good deal of -Roger lately, since the publication of his article in reply to the -French osteologist, he had had reason to think that in him the -trustees would find united the various qualities required in a -greater measure than in any of the applicants who had at that time -presented themselves. Roger had deep interest in the subject; much -acquired knowledge, and at the same time, great natural powers of -comparison, and classification of facts; he had shown himself to be -an observer of a fine and accurate kind; he was of the right age, in -the very prime of health and strength, and unshackled by any family -ties. Here Mr. Gibson paused for consideration. He hardly cared to -ascertain by what steps the result had been arrived at--he already -knew what that result was; but his mind was again arrested as his eye -caught on the remuneration offered, which was indeed most liberal; -and then he read with attention the high praise bestowed on the -son in this letter to the father. The Squire had been watching Mr. -Gibson--waiting till he came to this part--and he rubbed his hands -together as he said,-- - -"Ay! you've come to it at last. It's the best part of the whole, -isn't it? God bless the boy! and from a Whig, mind you, which makes -it the more handsome. And there's more to come still. I say, Gibson, -I think my luck is turning at last," passing him on yet another -letter to read. "That only came this morning; but I've acted on it -already, I sent for the foreman of the drainage works at once, I did; -and to-morrow, please God, they'll be at work again." - -Mr. Gibson read the second letter, from Roger. To a certain degree -it was a modest repetition of what Lord Hollingford had said, with -an explanation of how he had come to take so decided a step in life -without consulting his father. He did not wish him to be in suspense -for one reason. Another was that he felt, as no one else could feel -for him, that by accepting this offer, he entered upon the kind of -life for which he knew himself to be most fitted. And then he merged -the whole into business. He said that he knew well the suffering his -father had gone through when he had had to give up his drainage works -for want of money; that he, Roger, had been enabled at once to raise -money upon the remuneration he was to receive on the accomplishment -of his two years' work; and that he had also insured his life, in -order to provide for the repayment of the money he had raised, in -case he did not live to return to England. He said that the sum he -had borrowed on this security would at once be forwarded to his -father. - -Mr. Gibson laid down the letter without speaking a word for some -time; then he said,--"He'll have to pay a pretty sum for insuring his -life beyond seas." - -"He's got his Fellowship money," said the Squire, a little depressed -at Mr. Gibson's remark. - -"Yes; that's true. And he's a strong young fellow, as I know." - -"I wish I could tell his mother," said the Squire in an under-tone. - -"It seems all settled now," said Mr. Gibson, more in reply to his own -thoughts than to the Squire's remark. - -"Yes!" said the Squire; "and they're not going to let the grass grow -under his feet. He's to be off as soon as he can get his scientific -traps ready. I almost wish he wasn't to go. You don't seem quite to -like it, doctor?" - -"Yes, I do," said Mr. Gibson in a more cheerful tone than before. "It -can't be helped now without doing a mischief," thought he to himself. -"Why, Squire, I think it a great honour to have such a son. I envy -you, that's what I do. Here's a lad of three or four and twenty -distinguishing himself in more ways than one, and as simple and -affectionate at home as any fellow need to be--not a bit set up." - -"Ay, ay; he's twice as much a son to me as Osborne, who has been all -his life set up on nothing at all, as one may say." - -"Come, Squire, I mustn't hear anything against Osborne; we may praise -one, without hitting at the other. Osborne hasn't had the strong -health which has enabled Roger to work as he has done. I met a man -who knew his tutor at Trinity the other day, and of course we began -cracking about Roger--it's not every day that one can reckon a senior -wrangler amongst one's friends, and I'm nearly as proud of the lad -as you are. This Mr. Mason told me the tutor said that only half of -Roger's success was owing to his mental powers; the other half was -owing to his perfect health, which enabled him to work harder and -more continuously than most men without suffering. He said that in -all his experience he had never known any one with an equal capacity -for mental labour; and that he could come again with a fresh appetite -to his studies after shorter intervals of rest than most. Now I, -being a doctor, trace a good deal of his superiority to the material -cause of a thoroughly good constitution, which Osborne hasn't got." - -"Osborne might have, if he got out o' doors more," said the Squire, -moodily; "but except when he can loaf into Hollingford he doesn't -care to go out at all. I hope," he continued, with a glance of sudden -suspicion at Mr. Gibson, "he's not after one of your girls? I don't -mean any offence, you know; but he'll have the estate, and it won't -be free, and he must marry money. I don't think I could allow it in -Roger; but Osborne's the eldest son, you know." - -Mr. Gibson reddened; he was offended for a moment. Then the partial -truth of what the Squire said was presented to his mind, and he -remembered their old friendship, so he spoke quietly, if shortly. - -"I don't believe there's anything of the kind going on. I'm not much -at home, you know; but I've never heard or seen anything that should -make me suppose that there is. When I do, I'll let you know." - -"Now, Gibson, don't go and be offended. I'm glad for the boys to have -a pleasant house to go to, and I thank you and Mrs. Gibson for making -it pleasant. Only keep off love; it can come to no good. That's -all. I don't believe Osborne will ever earn a farthing to keep a -wife during my life, and if I were to die to-morrow, she would have -to bring some money to clear the estate. And if I do speak as I -shouldn't have done formerly--a little sharp or so--why, it's because -I've been worried by many a care no one knows anything of." - -"I'm not going to take offence," said Mr. Gibson, "but let us -understand each other clearly. If you don't want your sons to come -as much to my house as they do, tell them so yourself. I like the -lads, and am glad to see them; but if they do come, you must take the -consequences, whatever they are, and not blame me, or them either, -for what may happen from the frequent intercourse between two young -men and two young women; and what is more, though, as I said, I see -nothing whatever of the kind you fear at present, and have promised -to tell you of the first symptoms I do see, yet farther than that -I won't go. If there's an attachment at any future time, I won't -interfere." - -"I shouldn't so much mind if Roger fell in love with your Molly. He -can fight for himself, you see, and she's an uncommon nice girl. My -poor wife was so fond of her," answered the Squire. "It's Osborne and -the estate I'm thinking of!" - -"Well, then, tell him not to come near us. I shall be sorry, but you -will be safe." - -"I'll think about it; but he's difficult to manage. I've always to -get my blood well up before I can speak my mind to him." - -Mr. Gibson was leaving the room, but at these words he turned and -laid his hand on the Squire's arm. - -"Take my advice, Squire. As I said, there's no harm done as yet, as -far as I know. Prevention is better than cure. Speak out, but speak -gently to Osborne, and do it at once. I shall understand how it is if -he doesn't show his face for some months in my house. If you speak -gently to him, he'll take the advice as from a friend. If he can -assure you there's no danger, of course he'll come just as usual, -when he likes." - -It was all very fine giving the Squire this good advice; but as -Osborne had already formed the very kind of marriage his father most -deprecated, it did not act quite as well as Mr. Gibson had hoped. The -Squire began the conversation with unusual self-control; but he grew -irritated when Osborne denied his father's right to interfere in any -marriage he might contemplate; denied it with a certain degree of -doggedness and weariness of the subject that drove the Squire into -one of his passions; and although, on after reflection, he remembered -that he had his son's promise and solemn word not to think of either -Cynthia or Molly for his wife, yet the father and son had passed -through one of those altercations which help to estrange men for -life. Each had said bitter things to the other; and, if the brotherly -affection had not been so true between Osborne and Roger, they -too might have become alienated, in consequence of the Squire's -exaggerated and injudicious comparison of their characters and deeds. -But as Roger in his boyhood had loved Osborne too well to be jealous -of the praise and love which the eldest son, the beautiful brilliant -lad, had received, to the disparagement of his own plain awkwardness -and slowness, so now Osborne strove against any feeling of envy or -jealousy with all his might; but his efforts were conscious, Roger's -had been the simple consequence of affection, and the end to poor -Osborne was that he became moody and depressed in mind and body; but -both father and son concealed their feelings in Roger's presence. -When he came home just before sailing, busy and happy, the Squire -caught his infectious energy, and Osborne looked up and was cheerful. - -There was no time to be lost. He was bound to a hot climate, and must -take all advantage possible of the winter months. He was to go first -to Paris, to have interviews with some of the scientific men there. -Some of his outfit, instruments, &c., were to follow him to Havre, -from which port he was to embark, after transacting his business in -Paris. The Squire learnt all his arrangements and plans, and even -tried in after-dinner conversations to penetrate into the questions -involved in the researches his son was about to make. But Roger's -visit home could not be prolonged beyond two days. - -The last day he rode into Hollingford earlier than he needed to have -done to catch the London coach, in order to bid the Gibsons good-by. -He had been too actively busy for some time to have leisure to bestow -much thought on Cynthia; but there was no need for fresh meditation -on that subject. Her image as a prize to be worked for, to be served -for seven years, and seven years more, was safe and sacred in his -heart. It was very bad, this going away, and wishing her good-by -for two long years; and he wondered much during his ride how far he -should be justified in telling her mother, perhaps in telling her own -sweet self, what his feelings were without expecting, nay, indeed -reprobating, any answer on her part. Then she would know at any -rate how dearly she was beloved by one who was absent; how in all -difficulties or dangers the thought of her would be a polar star, -high up in the heavens, and so on, and so on; for with all a lover's -quickness of imagination and triteness of fancy, he called her -a star, a flower, a nymph, a witch, an angel, or a mermaid, a -nightingale, a siren, as one or another of her attributes rose up -before him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -A LOVER'S MISTAKE. - - -It was afternoon. Molly had gone out for a walk. Mrs. Gibson had been -paying some calls. Lazy Cynthia had declined accompanying either. A -daily walk was not a necessity to her as it was to Molly. On a lovely -day, or with an agreeable object, or when the fancy took her, she -could go as far as any one; but these were exceptional cases; in -general, she was not disposed to disturb herself from her in-door -occupations. Indeed, not one of the ladies would have left the house, -had they been aware that Roger was in the neighbourhood; for they -were aware that he was to come down but once before his departure, -and that his stay at home then would be but for a short time, and -they were all anxious to wish him good-by before his long absence. -But they had understood that he was not coming to the Hall until -the following week, and therefore they had felt themselves at full -liberty this afternoon to follow their own devices. - -Molly chose a walk that had been a favourite with her ever since she -was a child. Something or other had happened just before she left -home that made her begin wondering how far it was right for the sake -of domestic peace to pass over without comment the little deviations -from right that people perceive in those whom they live with. Or -whether, as they are placed in families for distinct purposes, not by -chance merely, there are not duties involved in this aspect of their -lot in life,--whether by continually passing over failings, their own -standard is not lowered,--the practical application of these thoughts -being a dismal sort of perplexity on Molly's part as to whether her -father was quite aware of her stepmother's perpetual lapses from -truth; and whether his blindness was wilful or not. Then she felt -bitterly enough that although she was sure as could be that there -was no real estrangement between her and her father, yet there were -perpetual obstacles thrown in the way of their intercourse; and she -thought with a sigh that if he would but come in with authority, he -might cut his way clear to the old intimacy with his daughter, and -that they might have all the former walks and talks, and quips and -cranks, and glimpses of real confidence once again; things that her -stepmother did not value, yet which she, like the dog in the manger, -prevented Molly's enjoying. But after all Molly was a girl, not so -far removed from childhood; and in the middle of her grave regrets -and perplexities, her eye was caught by the sight of some fine -ripe blackberries flourishing away high up on the hedge-bank among -scarlet hips and green and russet leaves. She did not care much for -blackberries herself; but she had heard Cynthia say that she liked -them; and besides there was the charm of scrambling and gathering -them; so she forgot all about her troubles, and went climbing up the -banks, and clutching at her almost inaccessible prizes, and slipping -down again triumphant, to carry them back to the large leaf which was -to serve her as a basket. One or two of them she tasted, but they -were as vapid to her palate as ever. The skirt of her pretty print -gown was torn out of the gathers, and even with the fruit she had -eaten "her pretty lips with blackberries were all besmeared and -dyed," when having gathered as many and more than she could possibly -carry, she set off home, hoping to escape into her room and mend her -gown before it had offended Mrs. Gibson's neat eye. The front door -was easily opened from the outside, and Molly was out of the clear -light of the open air and in the shadow of the hall, when she saw a -face peep out of the dining-room before she quite recognized whose it -was; and then Mrs. Gibson came softly out, sufficiently at least to -beckon her into the room. When Molly had entered Mrs. Gibson closed -the door. Poor Molly expected a reprimand for her torn gown and -untidy appearance, but was soon relieved by the expression of Mrs. -Gibson's face--mysterious and radiant. - -"I've been watching for you, dear. Don't go upstairs into the -drawing-room, love. It might be a little interruption just now. Roger -Hamley is there with Cynthia; and I've reason to think--in fact I did -open the door unawares, but I shut it again softly, and I don't think -they heard me. Isn't it charming? Young love, you know, ah, how sweet -it is!" - -"Do you mean that Roger has proposed to Cynthia?" asked Molly. - -"Not exactly that. But I don't know; of course I know nothing. Only I -did hear him say that he had meant to leave England without speaking -of his love, but that the temptation of seeing her alone had been too -great for him. It was symptomatic, was it not, my dear? And all I -wanted was to let it come to a crisis without interruption. So I've -been watching for you to prevent your going in and disturbing them." - -"But I may go to my own room, mayn't I," pleaded Molly. - -"Of course," said Mrs. Gibson, a little testily. "Only I had expected -sympathy from you at such an interesting moment." - -But Molly did not hear these last words. She had escaped upstairs, -and shut her door. Instinctively she had carried her leaf full of -blackberries--what would blackberries be to Cynthia now? She felt -as if she could not understand it all; but as for that matter, what -could she understand? Nothing. For a few minutes her brain seemed -in too great a whirl to comprehend anything but that she was being -carried on in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and -trees, with as little volition on her part as if she were dead. -Then the room grew stifling, and instinctively she went to the open -casement window, and leant out, gasping for breath. Gradually the -consciousness of the soft peaceful landscape stole into her mind, and -stilled the buzzing confusion. There, bathed in the almost level rays -of the autumn sunlight, lay the landscape she had known and loved -from childhood; as quiet, as full of low humming life as it had been -at this hour for many generations. The autumn flowers blazed out in -the garden below, the lazy cows were in the meadow beyond, chewing -their cud in the green aftermath; the evening fires had just been -made up in the cottages beyond, in preparation for the husband's -home-coming, and were sending up soft curls of blue smoke into the -still air; the children, let loose from school, were shouting merrily -in the distance, and she-- Just then she heard nearer sounds; an -opened door, steps on the lower flight of stairs. He could not -have gone without even seeing her. He never, never would have done -so cruel a thing--never would have forgotten poor little Molly, -however happy he might be! No! there were steps and voices, and the -drawing-room door was opened and shut once more. She laid down her -head on her arms that rested upon the window-sill, and cried,--she -had been so distrustful as to have let the idea enter her mind that -he could go without wishing her good-by--her, whom his mother had so -loved, and called by the name of his little dead sister. And as she -thought of the tender love Mrs. Hamley had borne her she cried the -more, for the vanishing of such love for her off the face of the -earth. Suddenly the drawing-room door opened, and some one was heard -coming upstairs; it was Cynthia's step. Molly hastily wiped her eyes, -and stood up and tried to look unconcerned; it was all she had time -to do before Cynthia, after a little pause at the closed door, had -knocked; and on an answer being given, had said, without opening -the door,--"Molly! Mr. Roger Hamley is here, and wants to wish you -good-by before he goes." Then she went downstairs again, as if -anxious just at that moment to avoid even so short a tête-à-tête with -Molly. With a gulp and a fit of resolution, as a child makes up its -mind to swallow a nauseous dose of medicine, Molly went instantly -downstairs. - -Roger was talking earnestly to Mrs. Gibson in the bow of the window -when Molly entered; Cynthia was standing near, listening, but taking -no part in the conversation. Her eyes were downcast, and she did not -look up as Molly drew shyly near. - -Roger was saying,--"I could never forgive myself if I had accepted a -pledge from her. She shall be free until my return; but the hope, the -words, her sweet goodness, have made me happy beyond description. Oh, -Molly!" suddenly becoming aware of her presence, and turning to her, -and taking her hand in both of his,--"I think you have long guessed -my secret, have you not? I once thought of speaking to you before I -left, and confiding it all to you. But the temptation has been too -great,--I have told Cynthia how fondly I love her, as far as words -can tell; and she says--" then he looked at Cynthia with passionate -delight, and seemed to forget in that gaze that he had left his -sentence to Molly half finished. - -Cynthia did not seem inclined to repeat her saying, whatever it was, -but her mother spoke for her. - -"My dear sweet girl values your love as it ought to be valued, I am -sure. And I believe," looking at Cynthia and Roger with intelligent -archness, "I could tell tales as to the cause of her indisposition in -the spring." - -"Mother," said Cynthia suddenly, "you know it was no such thing. Pray -don't invent stories about me. I have engaged myself to Mr. Roger -Hamley, and that is enough." - -"Enough! more than enough!" said Roger. "I will not accept your -pledge. I am bound, but you are free. I like to feel bound, it makes -me happy and at peace, but with all the chances involved in the next -two years, you must not shackle yourself by promises." - -Cynthia did not speak at once; she was evidently revolving something -in her own mind. Mrs. Gibson took up the word. - -"You are very generous, I am sure. Perhaps it will be better not to -mention it." - -"I would much rather have it kept a secret," said Cynthia, -interrupting. - -"Certainly, my dear love. That was just what I was going to say. -I once knew a young lady who heard of the death of a young man in -America, whom she had known pretty well; and she immediately said she -had been engaged to him, and even went so far as to put on weeds; and -it was a false report, for he came back well and merry, and declared -to everybody he had never so much as thought about her. So it was -very awkward for her. These things had much better be kept secret -until the proper time has come for divulging them." - -Even then and there Cynthia could not resist the temptation of -saying,--"Mamma, I will promise you I won't put on weeds, whatever -reports come of Mr. Roger Hamley." - -"Roger, please!" he put in, in a tender whisper. - -"And you will all be witnesses that he has professed to think of me, -if he is tempted afterwards to deny the fact. But at the same time I -wish it to be kept a secret until his return--and I am sure you will -all be so kind as to attend to my wish. Please, _Roger!_ Please, -Molly! Mamma, I must especially beg it of you!" - -Roger would have granted anything when she asked him by that name, -and in that tone. He took her hand in silent pledge of his reply. -Molly felt as if she could never bring herself to name the affair -as a common piece of news. So it was only Mrs. Gibson that answered -aloud,-- - -"My dear child! why 'especially' to poor me? You know I'm the most -trustworthy person alive!" - -The little pendule on the chimney-piece struck the half-hour. - -"I must go!" said Roger, in dismay. "I had no idea it was so late. I -shall write from Paris. The coach will be at the George by this time, -and will only stay five minutes. Dearest Cynthia--" he took her hand, -and then, as if the temptation was irresistible, he drew her to him -and kissed her. "Only remember you are free!" said he, as he released -her and passed on to Mrs. Gibson. - -"If I had considered myself free," said Cynthia, blushing a little, -but ready with her repartee to the last,--"if I had thought myself -free, do you think I would have allowed that?" - -Then Molly's turn came, and the old brotherly tenderness came back -into his look, his voice, his bearing. - -"Molly! you won't forget me, I know; I shall never forget you, nor -your goodness to--her." His voice began to quiver, and it was best -to be gone. Mrs. Gibson was pouring out, unheard and unheeded, words -of farewell; Cynthia was re-arranging some flowers in a vase on the -table, the defects in which had caught her artistic eye, without -the consciousness penetrating to her mind. Molly stood, numb to the -heart; neither glad nor sorry, nor anything but stunned. She felt the -slackened touch of the warm grasping hand; she looked up--for till -now her eyes had been downcast, as if there were heavy weights to -their lids--and the place was empty where he had been; his quick -step was heard on the stair, the front door was opened and shut; -and then as quick as lightning Molly ran up to the front attic--the -lumber-room, whose window commanded the street down which he -must pass. The window-clasp was unused and stiff, Molly tugged at -it--unless it was open, and her head put out, that last chance would -be gone. - -"I must see him again; I must! I must!" she wailed out, as she was -pulling. There he was, running hard to catch the London coach; his -luggage had been left at the George before he came up to wish the -Gibsons good-by. In all his hurry, Molly saw him turn round and shade -his eyes from the level rays of the westering sun, and rake the house -with his glances--in hopes, she knew, of catching one more glimpse of -Cynthia. But apparently he saw no one, not even Molly at the attic -casement; for she had drawn back when he had turned, and kept herself -in shadow; for she had no right to put herself forward as the one to -watch and yearn for farewell signs. None came--another moment--he was -out of sight for years! - - -[Illustration: THE LAST TURNING.] - - -She shut the window softly, and shivered all over. She left the attic -and went to her own room; but she did not begin to take off her -out-of-door things till she heard Cynthia's foot on the stairs. -Then she hastily went to the toilet-table, and began to untie her -bonnet-strings; but they were in a knot, and took time to undo. -Cynthia's step stopped at Molly's door; she opened it a little and -said,--"May I come in, Molly?" - -"Certainly," said Molly, longing to be able to say "No" all the time. -Molly did not turn to meet her, so Cynthia came up behind her, and -putting her two hands round Molly's waist, peeped over her shoulder, -putting out her lips to be kissed. Molly could not resist the -action--the mute entreaty for a caress. But, in the moment before, -she had caught the reflection of the two faces in the glass; her -own, red-eyed, pale, with lips dyed with blackberry juice, her curls -tangled, her bonnet pulled awry, her gown torn--and contrasted it -with Cynthia's brightness and bloom, and the trim elegance of her -dress. "Oh! it is no wonder!" thought poor Molly, as she turned -round, and put her arms round Cynthia, and laid her head for an -instant on her shoulder--the weary, aching head that sought a loving -pillow in that supreme moment! The next she had raised herself, and -taken Cynthia's two hands, and was holding her off a little, the -better to read her face. - - -[Illustration: "OH! IT IS NO WONDER!"] - - -"Cynthia! you do love him dearly, don't you?" - -Cynthia winced a little aside from the penetrating steadiness of -those eyes. - -"You speak with all the solemnity of an adjuration, Molly!" said she, -laughing a little at first to cover her nervousness, and then looking -up at Molly. "Don't you think I've given a proof of it? But you know -I've often told you I've not the gift of loving; I said pretty much -the same thing to him. I can respect, and I fancy I can admire, and -I can like, but I never feel carried off my feet by love for any one, -not even for you, little Molly, and I'm sure I love you more than--" - -"No, don't!" said Molly, putting her hand before Cynthia's mouth, in -almost a passion of impatience. "Don't, don't--I won't hear you--I -ought not to have asked you--it makes you tell lies!" - -"Why, Molly!" said Cynthia, in her turn seeking to read Molly's -face, "what's the matter with you? One might think you cared for him -yourself." - -"I?" said Molly, all the blood rushing to her heart suddenly; then it -returned, and she had courage to speak, and she spoke the truth as -she believed it, though not the real actual truth. - -"I do care for him; I think you have won the love of a prince amongst -men. Why, I am proud to remember that he has been to me as a brother, -and I love him as a sister, and I love you doubly because he has -honoured you with his love." - -"Come, that's not complimentary!" said Cynthia, laughing, but -not ill-pleased to hear her lover's praises, and even willing to -depreciate him a little in order to hear more. - -"He's well enough, I daresay, and a great deal too learned and clever -for a stupid girl like me; but even you must acknowledge he's very -plain and awkward; and I like pretty things and pretty people." - -"Cynthia, I won't talk to you about him. You know you don't mean what -you are saying, and you only say it out of contradiction, because I -praise him. He shan't be run down by you, even in joke." - -"Well, then, we won't talk of him at all. I was so surprised when -he began to speak--so--" and Cynthia looked very lovely, blushing -and dimpling up as she remembered his words and looks. Suddenly she -recalled herself to the present time, and her eye caught on the leaf -full of blackberries--the broad, green leaf, so fresh and crisp when -Molly had gathered it an hour or so ago, but now soft and flabby, and -dying. Molly saw it, too, and felt a strange kind of sympathetic pity -for the poor inanimate leaf. - -"Oh! what blackberries! you've gathered them for me, I know!" said -Cynthia, sitting down and beginning to feed herself daintily, -touching them lightly with the ends of her taper fingers, and -dropping each ripe berry into her open mouth. When she had eaten -about half she stopped suddenly short. - -"How I should like to have gone as far as Paris with him!" she -exclaimed. "I suppose it wouldn't have been proper; but how pleasant -it would have been! I remember at Boulogne" (another blackberry), -"how I used to envy the English who were going to Paris; it seemed -to me then as if nobody stopped at Boulogne, but dull, stupid -school-girls." - -"When will he be there?" asked Molly. - -"On Wednesday, he said. I'm to write to him there; at any rate he's -going to write to me." - -Molly went about the adjustment of her dress in a quiet, -business-like manner, not speaking much; Cynthia, although sitting -still, seemed very restless. Oh! how much Molly wished that she would -go. - -"Perhaps, after all," said Cynthia, after a pause of apparent -meditation, "we shall never be married." - -"Why do you say that?" said Molly, almost bitterly. "You have nothing -to make you think so. I wonder how you can bear to think you won't, -even for a moment." - -"Oh!" said Cynthia; "you mustn't go and take me _au grand sérieux_. I -daresay I don't mean what I say, but you see everything seems a dream -at present. Still, I think the chances are equal--the chances for and -against our marriage, I mean. Two years! it's a long time! he may -change his mind, or I may; or some one else may turn up, and I may -get engaged to him: what should you think of that, Molly? I'm putting -such a gloomy thing as death quite on one side, you see; yet in two -years how much may happen!" - -"Don't talk so, Cynthia, please don't," said Molly, piteously. "One -would think you didn't care for him, and he cares so much for you!" - -"Why, did I say I didn't care for him? I was only calculating -chances. I'm sure I hope nothing will happen to prevent the marriage. -Only, you know it may, and I thought I was taking a step in wisdom, -in looking forward to all the evils that might befall. I'm sure all -the wise people I've ever known thought it a virtue to have gloomy -prognostics of the future. But you're not in a mood for wisdom or -virtue, I see; so I'll go and get ready for dinner, and leave you to -your vanities of dress." - -She took Molly's face in both her hands, before Molly was aware -of her intention, and kissed it playfully. Then she left Molly to -herself. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -THE MOTHER'S MANOEUVRE. - - -Mr. Gibson was not at home at dinner--detained by some patient, most -probably. This was not an unusual occurrence; but it _was_ rather an -unusual occurrence for Mrs. Gibson to go down into the dining-room, -and sit with him as he ate his deferred meal when he came in an hour -or two later. In general, she preferred her easy-chair, or her corner -of the sofa, upstairs in the drawing-room, though it was very rarely -that she would allow Molly to avail herself of her stepmother's -neglected privilege. Molly would fain have gone down and kept her -father company every night that he had these solitary meals; but for -peace and quietness she gave up her own wishes on the matter. - -Mrs. Gibson took a seat by the fire in the dining-room, and patiently -waited for the auspicious moment when Mr. Gibson, having satisfied -his healthy appetite, turned from the table, and took his place by -her side. She got up, and with unaccustomed attention moved the wine -and glasses so that he could help himself without moving from his -chair. - -"There, now! are you comfortable? for I have a great piece of news to -tell you!" said she, when all was arranged. - -"I thought there was something on hand," said he, smiling. "Now for -it!" - -"Roger Hamley has been here this afternoon to bid us good-by." - -"Good-by! Is he gone? I didn't know he was going so soon!" exclaimed -Mr. Gibson. - -"Yes: never mind, that's not it." - -"But tell me; has he left this neighbourhood? I wanted to have seen -him." - -"Yes, yes. He left love and regret, and all that sort of thing -for you. Now let me get on with my story: he found Cynthia alone, -proposed to her, and was accepted." - -"Cynthia? Roger proposed to her, and she accepted him?" repeated Mr. -Gibson, slowly. - -"Yes, to be sure. Why not? you speak as if it was something so very -surprising." - -"Did I? But I am surprised. He's a very fine young fellow, and I -wish Cynthia joy; but do you like it? It will have to be a very long -engagement." - -"Perhaps," said she, in a knowing manner. - -"At any rate he will be away for two years," said Mr. Gibson. - -"A great deal may happen in two years," she replied. - -"Yes! he will have to run many risks, and go into many dangers, and -will come back no nearer to the power of maintaining a wife than when -he went out." - -"I don't know that," she replied, still in the arch manner of one -possessing superior knowledge. "A little bird did tell me that -Osborne's life is not so very secure; and then--what will Roger be? -Heir to the estate." - -"Who told you that about Osborne?" said he, facing round upon her, -and frightening her with his sudden sternness of voice and manner. -It seemed as if absolute fire came out of his long dark sombre eyes. -"_Who_ told you, I say?" - -She made a faint rally back into her former playfulness. - -"Why? can you deny it? Is it not the truth?" - -"I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told you that Osborne Hamley's life -is in more danger than mine--or yours?" - -"Oh, don't speak in that frightening way. My life is not in danger, -I'm sure; nor yours either, love, I hope." - -He gave an impatient movement, and knocked a wine-glass off the -table. For the moment she felt grateful for the diversion, and -busied herself in picking up the fragments: "bits of glass were so -dangerous," she said. But she was startled by a voice of command, -such as she had never yet heard from her husband. - -"Never mind the glass. I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told you -anything about Osborne Hamley's state of health?" - -"I am sure I wish no harm to him, and I daresay he is in very good -health, as you say," whispered she, at last. - -"Who told--?" began he again, sterner than ever. - -"Well, if you will know, and will make such a fuss about it," said -she, driven to extremity, "it was you yourself--you or Dr. Nicholls, -I am sure I forget which." - -"I never spoke to you on the subject, and I don't believe Nicholls -did. You'd better tell me at once what you're alluding to, for I'm -resolved I'll have it out before we leave this room." - -"I wish I'd never married again," she said, now fairly crying, and -looking round the room, as if in vain search for a mouse-hole in -which to hide herself. Then, as if the sight of the door into the -store-room gave her courage, she turned and faced him. - -"You should not talk your medical secrets so loud then, if you don't -want people to hear them. I had to go into the store-room that day -Dr. Nicholls was here; cook wanted a jar of preserve, and stopped me -just as I was going out--I am sure it was for no pleasure of mine, -for I was sadly afraid of stickying my gloves--it was all that you -might have a comfortable dinner." - -She looked as if she was going to cry again, but he gravely motioned -her to go on, merely saying,-- - -"Well! you overheard our conversation, I suppose?" - -"Not much," she answered eagerly, almost relieved by being thus -helped out in her forced confession. "Only a sentence or two." - -"What were they?" he asked. - -"Why, you had just been saying something, and Dr. Nicholls said, 'If -he has got aneurism of the aorta his days are numbered.'" - -"Well. Anything more?" - -"Yes; you said, 'I hope to God I may be mistaken; but there is a -pretty clear indication of symptoms, in my opinion.'" - -"How do you know we were speaking of Osborne Hamley?" he asked; -perhaps in hopes of throwing her off the scent. But as soon as she -perceived that he was descending to her level of subterfuge, she took -courage, and said in quite a different tone to the cowed one which -she had been using: - -"Oh! I know. I heard his name mentioned by you both before I began to -listen." - -"Then you own you did listen?" - -"Yes," said she, hesitating a little now. - -"And pray how do you come to remember so exactly the name of the -disease spoken of?" - -"Because I went--now don't be angry, I really can't see any harm in -what I did--" - -"Then, don't deprecate anger. You went--" - -"Into the surgery, and looked it out. Why might not I?" - -Mr. Gibson did not answer--did not look at her. His face was very -pale, and both forehead and lips were contracted. At length he roused -himself, sighed, and said,-- - -"Well! I suppose as one brews one must bake." - -"I don't understand what you mean," pouted she. - -"Perhaps not," he replied. "I suppose that it was what you heard on -that occasion that made you change your behaviour to Roger Hamley? -I've noticed how much more civil you were to him of late." - -"If you mean that I have ever got to like him as much as Osborne, -you are very much mistaken; no, not even though he has offered to -Cynthia, and is to be my son-in-law." - -"Let me know the whole affair. You overheard,--I will own that it was -Osborne about whom we were speaking, though I shall have something to -say about that presently--and then, if I understand you rightly, you -changed your behaviour to Roger, and made him more welcome to this -house than you had ever done before, regarding him as proximate heir -to the Hamley estates?" - -"I don't know what you mean by 'proximate.'" - -"Go into the surgery, and look into the dictionary, then," said he, -losing his temper for the first time during the conversation. - -"I knew," said she through sobs and tears, "that Roger had taken -a fancy to Cynthia; any one might see that; and as long as Roger -was only a younger son, with no profession, and nothing but his -fellowship, I thought it right to discourage him, as any one would -who had a grain of common sense in them; for a clumsier, more common, -awkward, stupid fellow I never saw--to be called 'county,' I mean." - -"Take care; you'll have to eat your words presently when you come to -fancy he'll have Hamley some day." - -"No, I shan't," said she, not perceiving his exact drift. "You are -vexed now because it is not Molly he's in love with; and I call it -very unjust and unfair to my poor fatherless girl. I am sure I have -always tried to further Molly's interests as if she was my own -daughter." - -Mr. Gibson was too indifferent to this accusation to take any notice -of it. He returned to what was of far more importance to him. - -"The point I want to be clear about is this. Did you or did you not -alter your behaviour to Roger in consequence of what you overheard of -my professional conversation with Dr. Nicholls? Have you not favoured -his suit to Cynthia since then, on the understanding gathered from -that conversation that he stood a good chance of inheriting Hamley?" - -"I suppose I did," said she, sulkily. "And if I did, I can't -see any harm in it, that I should be questioned as if I were -in a witness-box. He was in love with Cynthia long before that -conversation, and she liked him so much. It was not for me to cross -the path of true love. I don't see how you would have a mother show -her love for her child if she may not turn accidental circumstances -to her advantage. Perhaps Cynthia might have died if she had been -crossed in love; her poor father was consumptive." - -"Don't you know that all professional conversations are confidential? -That it would be the most dishonourable thing possible for me to -betray secrets which I learn in the exercise of my profession?" - -"Yes, of course, you." - -"Well! and are not you and I one in all these respects? You cannot do -a dishonourable act without my being inculpated in the disgrace. If -it would be a deep disgrace for me to betray a professional secret, -what would it be for me to trade on that knowledge?" - -He was trying hard to be patient; but the offence was of that class -which galled him insupportably. - -"I don't know what you mean by trading. Trading in a daughter's -affections is the last thing I should do; and I should have thought -you would be rather glad than otherwise to get Cynthia well married, -and off your hands." - -Mr. Gibson got up, and walked about the room, his hands in his -pockets. Once or twice he began to speak, but he stopped impatiently -short without going on. - -"I don't know what to say to you," he said at length. "You either -can't or won't see what I mean. I'm glad enough to have Cynthia here. -I have given her a true welcome, and I sincerely hope she will find -this house as much a home as my own daughter does. But for the future -I must look out of my doors, and double-lock the approaches if I am -so foolish as to-- However, that's past and gone; and it remains with -me to prevent its recurrence as far as I can for the future. Now let -us hear the present state of affairs." - -"I don't think I ought to tell you anything about it. It is a secret, -just as much as your mysteries are." - -"Very well; you have told me enough for me to act upon, which I -most certainly shall do. It was only the other day I promised the -Squire to let him know if I suspected anything--any love affair, or -entanglement, much less an engagement, between either of his sons and -our girls." - -"But this is not an engagement; he would not let it be so; if you -would only listen to me, I could tell you all. Only I do hope you -won't go and tell the Squire and everybody. Cynthia did so beg that -it might not be known. It is only my unfortunate frankness that has -led me into this scrape. I never could keep a secret from those whom -I love." - -"I must tell the Squire. I shall not mention it to any one else. And -do you quite think it was consistent with your general frankness to -have overheard what you did, and never to have mentioned it to me? -I could have told you then that Dr. Nicholls' opinion was decidedly -opposed to mine, and that he believed that the disturbance about -which I consulted him on Osborne's behalf was merely temporary. Dr. -Nicholls would tell you that Osborne is as likely as any man to live -and marry and beget children." - -If there was any skill used by Mr. Gibson so to word this speech -as to conceal his own opinion, Mrs. Gibson was not sharp enough to -find it out. She was dismayed, and Mr. Gibson enjoyed her dismay; it -restored him to something like his usual frame of mind. - -"Let us review this misfortune, for I see you consider it as such," -said he. - -"No, not quite a misfortune," said she. "But, certainly, if I had -known Dr. Nicholls' opinion--" she hesitated. - -"You see the advantage of always consulting me," he continued -gravely. "Here is Cynthia engaged--" - -"Not engaged, I told you before. He would not allow it to be -considered an engagement on her part." - -"Well, entangled in a love-affair with a lad of three-and-twenty, -with nothing beyond his fellowship and a chance of inheriting an -encumbered estate; no profession even, abroad for two years, and -I must go and tell his father all about it to-morrow." - -"Oh dear! Pray say that, if he dislikes it, he has only to express -his opinion." - -"I don't think you can act without Cynthia in the affair. And if I am -not mistaken, Cynthia will have a pretty stout will of her own on the -subject." - -"Oh, I don't think she cares for him very much; she is not one to be -always falling in love, and she does not take things very deeply to -heart. But, of course, one would not do anything abruptly; two years' -absence gives one plenty of time to turn oneself in." - -"But a little while ago we were threatened with consumption and an -early death if Cynthia's affections were thwarted." - -"Oh, you dear creature, how you remember all my silly words! It might -be, you know. Poor dear Mr. Kirkpatrick was consumptive, and Cynthia -may have inherited it, and a great sorrow might bring out the latent -seeds. At times I am so fearful. But I daresay it is not probable, -for I don't think she takes things very deeply to heart." - -"Then I'm quite at liberty to give up the affair, acting as Cynthia's -proxy, if the Squire disapproves of it?" - -Poor Mrs. Gibson was in a strait at this question. - -"No!" she said at last. "We cannot give it up. I am sure Cynthia -would not; especially if she thought others were acting for her. And -he really is very much in love. I wish he were in Osborne's place." - -"Shall I tell you what I should do?" said Mr. Gibson, in real -earnest. "However it may have been brought about, here are two young -people in love with each other. One is as fine a young fellow as ever -breathed; the other a very pretty, lively, agreeable girl. The father -of the young man must be told, and it is most likely he will bluster -and oppose; for there is no doubt it is an imprudent affair as far as -money goes. But let them be steady and patient, and a better lot need -await no young woman. I only wish it were Molly's good fortune to -meet with such another." - -"I will try for her; I will indeed," said Mrs. Gibson, relieved by -his change of tone. - -"No, don't. That's one thing I forbid. I'll have no 'trying' for -Molly." - -"Well, don't be angry, dear! Do you know I was quite afraid you were -going to lose your temper at one time." - -"It would have been of no use!" said he, gloomily, getting up as if -to close the sitting. His wife was only too glad to make her escape. -The conjugal interview had not been satisfactory to either. Mr. -Gibson had been compelled to face and acknowledge the fact, that the -wife he had chosen had a very different standard of conduct from -that which he had upheld all his life, and had hoped to have seen -inculcated in his daughter. He was more irritated than he chose to -show; for there was so much of self-reproach in his irritation that -he kept it to himself, brooded over it, and allowed a feeling of -suspicious dissatisfaction with his wife to grow up in his mind, -which extended itself by-and-by to the innocent Cynthia, and -caused his manner to both mother and daughter to assume a certain -curt severity, which took the latter at any rate with extreme -surprise. But on the present occasion he followed his wife up to the -drawing-room, and gravely congratulated the astonished Cynthia. - -"Has mamma told you?" said she, shooting an indignant glance at her -mother. "It is hardly an engagement; and we all pledged ourselves to -keep it a secret, mamma among the rest!" - -"But, my dearest Cynthia, you could not expect--you could not have -wished me to keep a secret from my husband?" pleaded Mrs. Gibson. - -"No, perhaps not. At any rate, sir," said Cynthia, turning towards -him with graceful frankness, "I am glad you should know it. You have -always been a most kind friend to me, and I daresay I should have -told you myself, but I did not want it named; if you please, it must -still be a secret. In fact, it is hardly an engagement--he" (she -blushed and sparkled a little at the euphuism, which implied that -there was but one "he" present in her thoughts at the moment) "would -not allow me to bind myself by any promise until his return!" - -Mr. Gibson looked gravely at her, irresponsive to her winning looks, -which at the moment reminded him too forcibly of her mother's ways. -Then he took her hand, and said, seriously enough,--"I hope you are -worthy of him, Cynthia, for you have indeed drawn a prize. I have -never known a truer or warmer heart than Roger's; and I have known -him boy and man." - -Molly felt as if she could have thanked her father aloud for this -testimony to the value of him who was gone away. But Cynthia pouted a -little before she smiled up in his face. - -"You are not complimentary, are you, Mr. Gibson?" said she. "He -thinks me worthy, I suppose; and if you have so high an opinion -of him, you ought to respect his judgment of me." If she hoped to -provoke a compliment she was disappointed, for Mr. Gibson let go her -hand in an absent manner, and sate down in an easy chair by the fire, -gazing at the wood embers as if hoping to read the future in them. -Molly saw Cynthia's eyes fill with tears, and followed her to the -other end of the room, where she had gone to seek some working -materials. - -"Dear Cynthia," was all she said; but she pressed her hand while -trying to assist in the search. - -"Oh, Molly, I am so fond of your father; what makes him speak so to -me to-night?" - -"I don't know," said Molly; "perhaps he's tired." - -They were recalled from further conversation by Mr. Gibson. He had -roused himself from his reverie, and was now addressing Cynthia. - -"I hope you will not consider it a breach of confidence, Cynthia, but -I must tell the Squire of--of what has taken place to-day between -you and his son. I have bound myself by a promise to him. He was -afraid--it's as well to tell you the truth--he was afraid" (an -emphasis on this last word) "of something of this kind between his -sons and one of you two girls. It was only the other day I assured -him there was nothing of the kind on foot; and I told him then I -would inform him at once if I saw any symptoms." - -Cynthia looked extremely annoyed. - -"It was the one thing I stipulated for--secrecy." - -"But why?" said Mr. Gibson. "I can understand your not wishing to -have it made public under the present circumstances. But the nearest -friends on both sides! Surely you can have no objection to that?" - -"Yes, I have," said Cynthia; "I would not have had any one know if I -could have helped it." - -"I'm almost certain Roger will tell his father." - -"No, he won't," said Cynthia; "I made him promise, and I think he is -one to respect a promise"--with a glance at her mother, who, feeling -herself in disgrace with both husband and child, was keeping a -judicious silence. - -"Well, at any rate, the story would come with so much better a grace -from him that I shall give him the chance; I won't go over to the -Hall till the end of the week; he may have written and told his -father before then." - -Cynthia held her tongue for a little while. Then she said, with -tearful pettishness,-- - -"A man's promise is to override a woman's wish, then, is it?" - -"I don't see any reason why it should not." - -"Will you trust in my reasons when I tell you it will cause me -a great deal of distress if it gets known?" She said this in so -pleading a voice, that if Mr. Gibson had not been thoroughly -displeased and annoyed by his previous conversation with her mother, -he must have yielded to her. As it was, he said, coldly,--"Telling -Roger's father is not making it public. I don't like this exaggerated -desire for such secrecy, Cynthia. It seems to me as if something more -than is apparent was concealed behind it." - -"Come, Molly," said Cynthia, suddenly; "let us sing that duet I've -been teaching you; it's better than talking as we are doing." - -It was a little lively French duet. Molly sang it carelessly, with -heaviness at her heart; but Cynthia sang it with spirit and apparent -merriment; only she broke down in hysterics at last, and flew -upstairs to her own room. Molly, heeding nothing else--neither her -father nor Mrs. Gibson's words--followed her, and found the door of -her bedroom locked, and for all reply to her entreaties to be allowed -to come in, she heard Cynthia sobbing and crying. - -It was more than a week after the incidents just recorded before -Mr. Gibson found himself at liberty to call on the Squire; and he -heartily hoped that long before then, Roger's letter might have -arrived from Paris, telling his father the whole story. But he saw at -the first glance that the Squire had heard nothing unusual to disturb -his equanimity. He was looking better than he had done for months -past; the light of hope was in his eyes, his face seemed of a healthy -ruddy colour, gained partly by his resumption of outdoor employment -in the superintendence of the works, and partly because the happiness -he had lately had through Roger's means, caused his blood to flow -with regular vigour. He had felt Roger's going away, it is true; but -whenever the sorrow of parting with him pressed too heavily upon him, -he filled his pipe, and smoked it out over a long, slow, deliberate, -re-perusal of Lord Hollingford's letter, every word of which he knew -by heart; but expressions in which he made a pretence to himself -of doubting, that he might have an excuse for looking at his son's -praises once again. The first greetings over, Mr. Gibson plunged into -his subject. - -"Any news from Roger yet?" - -"Oh, yes; here's his letter," said the Squire, producing his black -leather case, in which Roger's missive had been placed along with the -other very heterogeneous contents. - -Mr. Gibson read it, hardly seeing the words after he had by one rapid -glance assured himself that there was no mention of Cynthia in it. - -"Hum! I see he doesn't name one very important event that has -befallen him since he left you," said Mr. Gibson, seizing on the -first words that came. "I believe I'm committing a breach of -confidence on one side; but I'm going to keep the promise I made -the last time I was here. I find there is something--something -of the kind you apprehended--you understand--between him and my -step-daughter, Cynthia Kirkpatrick. He called at our house to wish -us good-by, while waiting for the London coach, found her alone, and -spoke to her. They don't call it an engagement, but of course it is -one." - -"Give me back the letter," said the Squire, in a constrained kind of -voice. Then he read it again, as if he had not previously mastered -its contents, and as if there might be some sentence or sentences he -had overlooked. - -"No!" he said at last, with a sigh. "He tells me nothing about it. -Lads may play at confidences with their fathers, but they keep a deal -back." The Squire appeared more disappointed at not having heard of -this straight from Roger than displeased at the fact itself, Mr. -Gibson thought. But he let him take his time. - -"He's not the eldest son," continued the Squire, talking as it -were to himself. "But it's not the match I should have planned -for him. How came you, sir," said he, firing round on Mr. Gibson, -suddenly--"to say when you were last here, that there was nothing -between my sons and either of your girls? Why, this must have been -going on all the time!" - -"I'm afraid it was. But I was as ignorant about it as the babe -unborn. I only heard of it on the evening of the day of Roger's -departure." - -"And that's a week ago, sir. What's kept you quiet ever since?" - -"I thought that Roger would tell you himself." - -"That shows you've no sons. More than half their life is unknown to -their fathers. Why, Osborne there, we live together--that's to say, -we have our meals together, and we sleep under the same roof--and -yet--Well! well! life is as God has made it. You say it's not an -engagement yet? But I wonder what I'm doing? Hoping for my lad's -disappointment in the folly he's set his heart on--and just when he's -been helping me. Is it a folly, or is it not? I ask you, Gibson, for -you must know this girl. She hasn't much money, I suppose?" - -"About thirty pounds a year, at my pleasure during her mother's -life." - -"Whew! It's well he's not Osborne. They'll have to wait. What family -is she of? None of 'em in trade, I reckon, from her being so poor?" - -"I believe her father was grandson of a certain Sir Gerald -Kirkpatrick. Her mother tells me it is an old baronetcy. I know -nothing of such things." - -"That's something. I do know something of such things, as you are -pleased to call them. I like honourable blood." - -Mr. Gibson could not help saying, "But I'm afraid that only -one-eighth of Cynthia's blood is honourable; I know nothing further -of her relations excepting the fact that her father was a curate." - -"Professional. That's a step above trade at any rate. How old is -she?" - -"Eighteen or nineteen." - -"Pretty?" - -"Yes, I think so; most people do; but it's all a matter of taste. -Come, Squire, judge for yourself. Ride over and take lunch with us -any day you like. I may not be in; but her mother will be there, and -you can make acquaintance with your son's future wife." - -This was going too fast, however; presuming too much on the quietness -with which the Squire had been questioning him. Mr. Hamley drew back -within his shell, and spoke in a surly manner as he replied,-- - -"Roger's 'future wife!' He'll be wiser by the time he comes home. Two -years among the black folk will have put more sense in him." - -"Possible, but not probable, I should say," replied Mr. Gibson. -"Black folk are not remarkable for their powers of reasoning, I -believe, so that they haven't much chance of altering his opinion -by argument, even if they understood each other's language; and -certainly if he shares my taste, their peculiarity of complexion will -only make him appreciate white skins the more." - -"But you said it was no engagement," growled the Squire. "If he -thinks better of it, you won't keep him to it, will you?" - -"If he wishes to break it off, I shall certainly advise Cynthia to -be equally willing, that's all I can say. And I see no reason for -discussing the affair further at present. I've told you how matters -stand because I promised you I would, if I saw anything of this kind -going on. But in the present condition of things, we can neither make -nor mar; we can only wait." And he took up his hat to go. But the -Squire was discontented. - -"Don't go, Gibson. Don't take offence at what I've said, though I'm -sure I don't know why you should. What's the girl like in herself?" - -"I don't know what you mean," said Mr. Gibson. But he did; only he -was vexed, and did not choose to understand. - -"Is she--well, is she like your Molly?--sweet-tempered and -sensible--with her gloves always mended, and neat about the feet, and -ready to do anything one asks her just as if doing it was the very -thing she liked best in the world?" - -Mr. Gibson's face relaxed now, and he could understand all the -Squire's broken sentences and unexplained meanings. - -"She is much prettier than Molly to begin with, and has very winning -ways. She's always well-dressed and smart-looking, and I know she -hasn't much to spend on her clothes, and always does what she's asked -to do, and is ready enough with her pretty, lively answers. I don't -think I ever saw her out of temper; but then I'm not sure if she -takes things keenly to heart, and a certain obtuseness of feeling -goes a great way towards a character for good temper, I've observed. -Altogether I think Cynthia is one in a hundred." - -The Squire meditated a little. "Your Molly is one in a thousand, to -my mind. But then, you see, she comes of no family at all,--and I -don't suppose she'll have a chance of much money." This he said as if -he were thinking aloud, and without reference to Mr. Gibson, but it -nettled the latter, and he replied somewhat impatiently,-- - -"Well, but as there's no question of Molly in this business, I don't -see the use of bringing her name in, and considering either her -family or her fortune." - -"No, to be sure not," said the Squire, rousing up. "My wits had gone -far afield, and I'll own I was only thinking what a pity it was she -wouldn't do for Osborne. But, of course, it's out of the -question--out of the question." - -"Yes," said Mr. Gibson, "and if you will excuse me, Squire, I really -must go now, and then you'll be at liberty to send your wits afield -uninterrupted." This time he was at the door before the Squire -called him back. He stood impatiently hitting his top-boots with his -riding-whip, waiting for the interminable last words. - -"I say, Gibson, we're old friends, and you're a fool if you take -anything I say as an offence. Madam your wife and I didn't hit it off -the only time I ever saw her. I won't say she was silly, but I think -one of us was silly, and it wasn't me. However, we'll pass that over. -Suppose you bring her, and this girl Cynthia (which is as outlandish -a Christian name as I'd wish to hear), and little Molly out here to -lunch some day,--I'm more at my ease in my own house,--and I'm more -sure to be civil, too. We need say nothing about Roger,--neither the -lass nor me,--and you keep your wife's tongue quiet, if you can. It -will only be like a compliment to you on your marriage, you know--and -no one must take it for anything more. Mind, no allusion or mention -of Roger, and this piece of folly. I shall see the girl then, and -I can judge her for myself; for, as you say, that will be the best -plan. Osborne will be here too; and he's always in his element -talking to women. I sometimes think he's half a woman himself, he -spends so much money and is so unreasonable." - -The Squire was pleased with his own speech and his own thought, and -smiled a little as he finished speaking. Mr. Gibson was both pleased -and amused; and he smiled too, anxious as he was to be gone. The next -Thursday was soon fixed upon as the day on which Mr. Gibson was to -bring his womenkind out to the Hall. He thought that, on the whole, -the interview had gone off a good deal better than he had expected, -and felt rather proud of the invitation of which he was the bearer. -Therefore Mrs. Gibson's manner of receiving it was an annoyance to -him. She, meanwhile, had been considering herself as an injured woman -ever since the evening of the day of Roger's departure; what business -had any one had to speak as if the chances of Osborne's life being -prolonged were infinitely small, if in fact the matter was uncertain? -She liked Osborne extremely, much better than Roger; and would gladly -have schemed to secure him for Cynthia, if she had not shrunk from -the notion of her daughter's becoming a widow. For if Mrs. Gibson had -ever felt anything acutely it was the death of Mr. Kirkpatrick; and, -amiably callous as she was in most things, she recoiled from exposing -her daughter wilfully to the same kind of suffering which she herself -had experienced. But if she had only known Dr. Nicholls' opinion she -would never have favoured Roger's suit; never. And then Mr. Gibson -himself; why was he so cold and reserved in his treatment of her -since that night of explanation? She had done nothing wrong; yet she -was treated as though she were in disgrace. And everything about -the house was flat just now. She even missed the little excitement -of Roger's visits, and the watching of his attentions to Cynthia. -Cynthia too was silent enough; and as for Molly, she was absolutely -dull and out of spirits, a state of mind so annoying to Mrs. Gibson -just now, that she vented some of her discontent upon the poor girl, -from whom she feared neither complaint nor repartee. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -DOMESTIC DIPLOMACY. - - -The evening of the day on which Mr. Gibson had been to see the -Squire, the three women were alone in the drawing-room, for Mr. -Gibson had had a long round and was not as yet come in. They had had -to wait dinner for him; and for some time after his return there was -nothing done or said but what related to the necessary business of -eating. Mr. Gibson was, perhaps, as well satisfied with his day's -work as any of the four; for this visit to the Squire had been -weighing on his mind ever since he had heard of the state of things -between Roger and Cynthia. He did not like the having to go and -tell of a love-affair so soon after he had declared his belief -that no such thing existed; it was a confession of fallibility -which is distasteful to most men. If the Squire had not been of -so unsuspicious and simple a nature, he might have drawn his own -conclusions from the apparent concealment of facts, and felt doubtful -of Mr. Gibson's perfect honesty in the business; but being what -he was, there was no danger of such unjust misapprehension. Still -Mr. Gibson knew the hot hasty temper he had to deal with, and had -expected more violence of language than he really encountered; and -the last arrangement by which Cynthia, her mother, and Molly--who, as -Mr. Gibson thought to himself, and smiled at the thought, was sure to -be a peacemaker, and a sweetener of intercourse--were to go to the -Hall and make acquaintance with the Squire, appeared like a great -success to Mr. Gibson, for achieving which he took not a little -credit to himself. Altogether, he was more cheerful and bland than he -had been for many days; and when he came up into the drawing-room for -a few minutes after dinner, before going out again to see his town -patients, he whistled a little under his breath, as he stood with his -back to the fire, looking at Cynthia, and thinking that he had not -done her justice when describing her to the Squire. Now this soft, -almost tuneless whistling, was to Mr. Gibson what purring is to a -cat. He could no more have done it with an anxious case on his mind, -or when he was annoyed by human folly, or when he was hungry, than -he could have flown through the air. Molly knew all this by instinct, -and was happy without being aware of it, as soon as she heard the low -whistle which was no music after all. But Mrs. Gibson did not like -this trick of her husband's; it was not refined she thought, not even -"artistic;" if she could have called it by this fine word it would -have compensated her for the want of refinement. To-night it was -particularly irritating to her nerves; but since her conversation -with Mr. Gibson about Cynthia's engagement, she had not felt herself -in a sufficiently good position to complain. - -Mr. Gibson began,--"Well, Cynthia; I've seen the Squire to-day, and -made a clean breast of it." - -Cynthia looked up quickly, questioning with her eyes; Molly stopped -her netting to listen; no one spoke. - -"You're all to go there on Thursday to lunch; he asked you all, and I -promised for you." - -Still no reply; natural, perhaps, but very flat. - -"You'll be glad of that, Cynthia, shan't you?" asked Mr. Gibson. "It -may be a little formidable, but I hope it will be the beginning of a -good understanding between you." - -"Thank you!" said she, with an effort. "But--but won't it make it -public? I do so wish not to have it known, or talked about, not till -he comes back or close upon the marriage." - -"I don't see how it should make it public," said Mr. Gibson. "My -wife goes to lunch with my friend, and takes her daughters with -her--there's nothing in that, is there?" - -"I am not sure that I shall go," put in Mrs. Gibson. She did not -know why she said it, for she fully intended to go all the time; but -having said it, she was bound to stick to it for a little while; and, -with such a husband as hers, the hard necessity was sure to fall upon -her of having to find a reason for her saying. Then it came, quick -and sharp. - -"Why not?" said he, turning round upon her. - -"Oh, because--because I think he ought to have called on Cynthia -first; I've that sort of sensitiveness I can't bear to think of her -being slighted because she is poor." - -"Nonsense!" said Mr. Gibson. "I do assure you, no slight whatever -was intended. He does not wish to speak about the engagement to any -one--not even to Osborne--that's your wish, too, isn't it, Cynthia? -Nor does he intend to mention it to any of you when you go there; -but, naturally enough, he wants to make acquaintance with his future -daughter-in-law. If he deviated so much from his usual course as to -come calling here--" - -"I am sure I don't want him to come calling here," said Mrs. Gibson, -interrupting. "He was not so very agreeable the only time he did -come. But I am that sort of a character that I cannot put up with -any neglect of persons I love, just because they are not smiled upon -by fortune." She sighed a little ostentatiously as she ended her -sentence. - -"Well, then, you won't go!" said Mr. Gibson, provoked, but not -wishing to have a long discussion, especially as he felt his temper -going. - -"Do you wish it, Cynthia?" said Mrs. Gibson, anxious for an excuse to -yield. - -But her daughter was quite aware of this motive for the question, and -replied quietly,--"Not particularly, mamma. I am quite willing to -refuse the invitation." - -"It is already accepted," said Mr. Gibson, almost ready to vow -that he would never again meddle in any affair in which women were -concerned, which would effectually shut him out from all love-affairs -for the future. He had been touched by the Squire's relenting, -pleased with what he had thought would give others pleasure, and this -was the end of it! - -"Oh, do go, Cynthia!" said Molly, pleading with her eyes as well as -her words. "Do; I am sure you will like the Squire; and it is such a -pretty place, and he'll be so much disappointed." - -"I should not like to give up my dignity," said Cynthia, demurely. -"And you heard what mamma said!" - -It was very malicious of her. She fully intended to go, and was -equally sure that her mother was already planning her dress for the -occasion in her own mind. Mr. Gibson, however, who, surgeon though -he was, had never learnt to anatomize a woman's heart, took it all -literally, and was excessively angry both with Cynthia and her -mother; so angry that he did not dare to trust himself to speak. He -went quickly to the door, intending to leave the room; but his wife's -voice arrested him; she said,-- - -"My dear, do you wish me to go? if you do, I will put my own feelings -on one side." - -"Of course I do!" he said, short and stern, and left the room. - -"Then I'll go!" said she, in the voice of a victim--those words were -meant for him, but he hardly heard them. "And we'll have a fly from -the 'George,' and get a livery-coat for Thomas, which I've long been -wanting, only dear Mr. Gibson did not like it, but on an occasion -like this I'm sure he won't mind; and Thomas shall go on the box, -and--" - -"But, mamma, I've my feelings too," said Cynthia. - -"Nonsense, child! when all is so nicely arranged too." - -So they went on the day appointed. Mr. Gibson was aware of the change -of plans, and that they were going after all; but he was so much -annoyed by the manner in which his wife had received an invitation -that appeared to him so much kinder than he had expected from his -previous knowledge of the Squire, and his wishes on the subject of -his sons' marriage, that Mrs. Gibson heard neither interest nor -curiosity expressed by her husband as to the visit itself, or the -reception they met with. Cynthia's indifference as to whether the -invitation was accepted or not had displeased Mr. Gibson. He was not -up to her ways with her mother, and did not understand how much of -this said indifference had been assumed in order to countervent Mrs. -Gibson's affectation and false sentiment. But for all his annoyance -on the subject, he was, in fact, very curious to know how the visit -had gone off, and took the first opportunity of being alone with -Molly to question her about the lunch of the day before at Hamley -Hall. - -"And so you went to Hamley yesterday after all?" - -"Yes; I thought you would have come. The Squire seemed quite to -expect you." - -"I thought of going there at first; but I changed my mind like -other people. I don't see why women are to have a monopoly of -changeableness. Well! how did it go off? Pleasantly, I suppose, for -both your mother and Cynthia were in high spirits last night." - -"Yes. The dear old Squire was in his best dress and on his best -behaviour, and was so prettily attentive to Cynthia, and she looked -so lovely, walking about with him, and listening to all his talk -about the garden and farm. Mamma was tired, and stopped in-doors, so -they got on very well, and saw a great deal of each other." - -"And my little girl trotted behind?" - -"Oh, yes. You know I was almost at home, and besides--of course--" -Molly went very red, and left the sentence unfinished. - -"Do you think she's worthy of him?" asked her father, just as if she -had completed her speech. - -"Of Roger, papa? oh, who is? But she is very sweet, and very, very -charming." - -"Very charming if you will, but somehow I don't quite understand her. -Why does she want all this secrecy? Why was she not more eager to go -and pay her duty to Roger's father? She took it as coolly as if I'd -asked her to go to church!" - -"I don't think she did take it coolly; I believe I don't quite -understand her either, but I love her dearly all the same." - -"Umph; I like to understand people thoroughly, but I know it's not -necessary to women. D'ye really think she's worthy of him?" - -"Oh, papa--" said Molly, and then she stopped; she wanted to speak in -favour of Cynthia, but somehow she could form no reply that pleased -her to this repeated inquiry. He did not seem much to care whether he -got an answer or not, for he went on with his own thoughts, and the -result was that he asked Molly if Cynthia had heard from Roger. - -"Yes; on Wednesday morning." - -"Did she show it to you? But of course not. Besides, I read the -Squire's letter, which told all about him." - -Now Cynthia, rather to Molly's surprise, had told her that she might -read the letter if she liked, and Molly had shrunk from availing -herself of the permission, for Roger's sake. She thought that he -would probably have poured out his heart to the one sole person, and -that it was not fair to listen, as it were, to his confidences. - -"Was Osborne at home?" asked Mr. Gibson. "The Squire said he did -not think he would have come back; but the young fellow is so -uncertain--" - -"No, he was still from home." Then Molly blushed all over crimson, -for it suddenly struck her that Osborne was probably with his -wife--that mysterious wife, of whose existence she was cognizant, -but of whom she knew so little, and of whom her father knew nothing. -Mr. Gibson noticed the blush with anxiety. What did it mean? It was -troublesome enough to find that one of the Squire's precious sons -had fallen in love within the prohibited ranks; and what would not -have to be said and done if anything fresh were to come out between -Osborne and Molly? He spoke out at once to relieve himself of this -new apprehension. - -"Molly, I was taken by surprise by this affair between Cynthia and -Roger Hamley--if there's anything more on the tapis let me know at -once, honestly and openly. I know it's an awkward question for you to -reply to; but I wouldn't ask it unless I had good reasons." He took -her hand as he spoke. She looked up at him with clear, truthful eyes, -which filled with tears as she spoke. She did not know why the tears -came; perhaps it was because she was not so strong as formerly. - -"If you mean that you're afraid that Osborne thinks of me as Roger -thinks of Cynthia, papa, you are quite mistaken. Osborne and I are -friends and nothing more, and never can be anything more. That's all -I can tell you." - -"It's quite enough, little one. It's a great relief. I don't want to -have my Molly carried off by any young man just yet; I should miss -her sadly." He could not help saying this in the fulness of his heart -just then, but he was surprised at the effect these few tender words -produced. Molly threw her arms round his neck, and began to sob -bitterly, her head lying on his shoulder. "There, there!" said he, -patting her on the back, and leading her to the sofa, "that will do. -I get quite enough of tears in the day, shed for real causes, not to -want them at home, where, I hope, they are shed for no cause at all. -There's nothing really the matter, is there, my dear?" he continued, -holding her a little away from him that he might look in her face. -She smiled at him through her tears; and he did not see the look of -sadness which returned to her face after he had left her. - -"Nothing, dear, dear papa--nothing now. It is such a comfort to have -you all to myself--it makes me happy." - -Mr. Gibson knew all implied in these words, and felt that there was -no effectual help for the state of things which had arisen from his -own act. It was better for them both that they should not speak out -more fully. So he kissed her, and said,-- - -"That's right, dear! I can leave you in comfort now, and indeed I've -stayed too long already gossiping. Go out and have a walk--take -Cynthia with you, if you like. I must be off. Good-by, little one." - -His commonplace words acted like an astringent on Molly's relaxed -feelings. He intended that they should do so; it was the truest -kindness to her; but he walked away from her with a sharp pang at his -heart, which he stunned into numbness as soon as he could by throwing -himself violently into the affairs and cares of others. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -A FLUKE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -The honour and glory of having a lover of her own was soon to fall -to Molly's share; though, to be sure, it was a little deduction from -the honour that the man who came with the full intention of proposing -to her, ended by making Cynthia an offer. It was Mr. Coxe, who came -back to Hollingford to follow out the purpose he had announced to Mr. -Gibson nearly two years before, of inducing Molly to become his wife -as soon as he should have succeeded to his uncle's estate. He was now -a rich, though still a red-haired, young man. He came to the George -Inn, bringing his horses and his groom; not that he was going to ride -much, but that he thought such outward signs of his riches might help -on his suit; and he was so justly modest in his estimation of himself -that he believed that he needed all extraneous aid. He piqued himself -on his constancy; and indeed, considering that he had been so much -restrained by his duty, his affection, and his expectations to his -crabbed old uncle, that he had not been able to go much into society, -and very rarely indeed into the company of young ladies, such -fidelity to Molly was very meritorious, at least in his own eyes. Mr. -Gibson too was touched by it, and made it a point of honour to give -him a fair field, all the time sincerely hoping that Molly would not -be such a goose as to lend a willing ear to a youth who could never -remember the difference between apophysis and epiphysis. He thought -it as well not to tell his wife more of Mr. Coxe's antecedents than -that he had been a former pupil; who had relinquished ("all that he -knew of," understood) the medical profession because an old uncle -had left him enough of money to be idle. Mrs. Gibson, who felt that -she had somehow lost her place in her husband's favour, took it into -her head that she could reinstate herself if she was successful -in finding a good match for his daughter Molly. She knew that her -husband had forbidden her to try for this end, as distinctly as -words could express a meaning; but her own words so seldom expressed -her meaning, or if they did, she held to her opinions so loosely, -that she had no idea but that it was the same with other people. -Accordingly she gave Mr. Coxe a very sweet and gracious welcome. - -"It is such a pleasure to me to make acquaintance with the former -pupils of my husband. He has spoken to me so often of you that I -quite feel as if you were one of the family, as indeed I am sure that -Mr. Gibson considers you." - -Mr. Coxe felt much flattered, and took the words as a happy omen for -his love-affair. "Is Miss Gibson in?" asked he, blushing violently. -"I knew her formerly--that is to say, I lived in the same house -with her, for more than two years, and it would be a great pleasure -to--to--" - -"Certainly, I am sure she will be so glad to see you. I sent her -and Cynthia--you don't know my daughter Cynthia, I think, Mr. Coxe? -she and Molly are such great friends--out for a brisk walk this -frosty day, but I think they will soon come back." She went on saying -agreeable nothings to the young man, who received her attentions -with a certain complacency, but was all the time much more engaged -in listening to the well-remembered click at the front door,--the -shutting it to again with household care, and the sound of the -familiar bounding footstep on the stair. At last they came. Cynthia -entered first, bright and blooming, fresh colour in her cheeks and -lips, fresh brilliance in her eyes. She looked startled at the sight -of a stranger, and for an instant she stopped short at the door, as -if taken by surprise. Then in came Molly softly behind her, smiling, -happy, dimpled; but not such a glowing beauty as Cynthia. - -"Oh, Mr. Coxe, is it you?" said she, going up to him with an -outstretched hand, and greeting him with simple friendliness. - -"Yes; it seems such a long time since I saw you. You are so much -grown--so much--well, I suppose I mustn't say what," he replied, -speaking hurriedly, and holding her hand all the time, rather to -her discomfiture. Then Mrs. Gibson introduced her daughter, and the -two girls spoke of the enjoyment of their walk. Mr. Coxe marred his -cause in that very first interview, if indeed he ever could have -had any chance, by his precipitancy in showing his feelings, and -Mrs. Gibson helped him to mar it by trying to assist him. Molly lost -her open friendliness of manner, and began to shrink away from him -in a way which he thought was a very ungrateful return for all his -faithfulness to her these two years past; and after all she was not -the wonderful beauty his fancy or his love had painted her. That Miss -Kirkpatrick was far more beautiful and much easier of access. For -Cynthia put on all her pretty airs--her look of intent interest in -what any one was saying to her, let the subject be what it would, -as if it was the thing she cared most about in the whole world; her -unspoken deference; in short, all the unconscious ways she possessed -by instinct of tickling the vanity of men. So while Molly quietly -repelled him, Cynthia drew him to her by her soft attractive ways; -and his constancy fell before her charms. He was thankful that he had -not gone too far with Molly, and grateful to Mr. Gibson for having -prohibited all declarations two years ago; for Cynthia, and Cynthia -alone, could make him happy. After a fortnight's time, during which -he had entirely veered round in his allegiance, he thought it -desirable to speak to Mr. Gibson. He did so with a certain sense -of exultation in his own correct behaviour in the affair, but at -the same time feeling rather ashamed of the confession of his own -changeableness which was naturally involved. Now it had so happened -that Mr. Gibson had been unusually little at home during the -fortnight that Mr. Coxe had ostensibly lodged at the "George," but -in reality had spent the greater part of his time at Mr. Gibson's -house--so that he had seen very little of his former pupil, and on -the whole he had thought him improved, especially after Molly's -manner had made her father pretty sure that Mr. Coxe stood no chance -in that quarter. But Mr. Gibson was quite ignorant of the attraction -which Cynthia had had for the young man. If he had perceived it, he -would have nipped it in the bud pretty quickly, for he had no notion -of any girl, even though only partially engaged to one man, receiving -offers from others, if a little plain speaking could prevent it. Mr. -Coxe had asked for a private interview; they were sitting in the old -surgery, now called the consulting-room, but still retaining so much -of its former self as to be the last place in which Mr. Coxe could -feel himself at ease. He was red up to the very roots of his red -hair, and kept turning his glossy new hat round and round in his -fingers, unable to find out the proper way of beginning his sentence, -so at length he plunged in, grammar or no grammar. - -"Mr. Gibson, I daresay you'll be surprised, I'm sure I am at--at what -I want to say; but I think it's the part of an honourable man, as you -said yourself, sir, a year or two ago, to--to speak to the father -first, and as you, sir, stand in the place of a father to Miss -Kirkpatrick, I should like to express my feelings, my hopes, or -perhaps I should say wishes, in short--" - -"Miss Kirkpatrick?" said Mr. Gibson, a good deal surprised. - -"Yes, sir!" continued Mr. Coxe, rushing on now he had got so far. "I -know it may appear inconstant and changeable, but I do assure you, I -came here with a heart as faithful to your daughter as ever beat in a -man's bosom. I most fully intended to offer myself and all that I had -to her acceptance before I left; but really, sir, if you had seen her -manner to me every time I endeavoured to press my suit a little--it -was more than coy, it was absolutely repellent, there could be no -mistaking it,--while Miss Kirkpatrick--" he looked modestly down, and -smoothed the nap of his hat, smiling a little while he did so. - -"While Miss Kirkpatrick--?" repeated Mr. Gibson, in such a stern -voice, that Mr. Coxe, landed esquire as he was now, felt as much -discomfited as he used to do when he was an apprentice, and Mr. -Gibson had spoken to him in a similar manner. - -"I was only going to say, sir, that so far as one can judge from -manner, and willingness to listen, and apparent pleasure in my -visits--altogether, I think I may venture to hope that Miss -Kirkpatrick is not quite indifferent to me,--and I would wait,--you -have no objection, have you, sir, to my speaking to her, I mean?" -said Mr. Coxe, a little anxious at the expression on Mr. Gibson's -face. "I do assure you I haven't a chance with Miss Gibson," he -continued, not knowing what to say, and fancying that his inconstancy -was rankling in Mr. Gibson's mind. - -"No! I don't suppose you have. Don't go and fancy it is that which is -annoying me. You're mistaken about Miss Kirkpatrick, however. I don't -believe she could ever have meant to give you encouragement!" - -Mr. Coxe's face grew perceptibly paler. His feelings, if evanescent, -were evidently strong. - -"I think, sir, if you could have seen her--I don't consider myself -vain, and manner is so difficult to describe. At any rate, you can -have no objection to my taking my chance, and speaking to her." - -"Of course, if you won't be convinced otherwise, I can have no -objection. But if you'll take my advice, you will spare yourself the -pain of a refusal. I may, perhaps, be trenching on confidence, but I -think I ought to tell you that her affections are otherwise engaged." - -"It cannot be!" said Mr. Coxe. "Mr. Gibson, there must be some -mistake. I have gone as far as I dared in expressing my feelings, -and her manner has been most gracious. I don't think she could have -misunderstood my meaning. Perhaps she has changed her mind? It is -possible that, after consideration, she has learnt to prefer another, -is it not?" - -"By 'another,' you mean yourself, I suppose. I can believe in such -inconstancy" (he could not help, in his own mind, giving a slight -sneer at the instance before him), "but I should be very sorry to -think that Miss Kirkpatrick could be guilty of it." - -"But she may--it is a chance. Will you allow me to see her?" - -"Certainly, my poor fellow"--for, intermingled with a little -contempt, was a good deal of respect for the simplicity, the -unworldliness, the strength of feeling, even though the feeling was -evanescent--"I will send her to you directly." - -"Thank you, sir. God bless you for a kind friend!" - -Mr. Gibson went upstairs to the drawing-room, where he was pretty -sure he should find Cynthia. There she was, as bright and careless as -usual, making up a bonnet for her mother, and chattering to Molly as -she worked. - -"Cynthia, you will oblige me by going down into my consulting-room at -once. Mr. Coxe wants to speak to you!" - -"Mr. Coxe?" said Cynthia. "What can he want with me?" - -Evidently, she answered her own question as soon as it was asked, for -she coloured, and avoided meeting Mr. Gibson's severe, uncompromising -look. As soon as she had left the room, Mr. Gibson sat down, -and took up a new _Edinburgh_ lying on the table, as an excuse -for conversation. Was there anything in the article that made -him say, after a minute or two, to Molly, who sat silent and -wondering--"Molly, you must never trifle with the love of an honest -man. You don't know what pain you may give." - -Presently Cynthia came back into the drawing-room, looking very -much confused. Most likely she would not have returned if she had -known that Mr. Gibson was still there; but it was such an unheard-of -thing for him to be sitting in that room in the middle of the day, -reading or making pretence to read, that she had never thought of his -remaining. He looked up at her the moment she came in, so there was -nothing for it but putting a bold face on it, and going back to her -work. - -"Is Mr. Coxe still downstairs?" asked Mr. Gibson. - -"No. He is gone. He asked me to give you both his kind regards. I -believe he is leaving this afternoon." Cynthia tried to make her -manner as commonplace as possible; but she did not look up, and her -voice trembled a little. - -Mr. Gibson went on looking at his book for a few minutes; but Cynthia -felt that more was coming, and only wished it would come quickly, for -the severe silence was very hard to bear. It came at last. - -"I trust this will never occur again, Cynthia!" said he, in grave -displeasure. "I should not feel satisfied with the conduct of any -girl, however free, who could receive marked attentions from a young -man with complacency, and so lead him on to make an offer which she -never meant to accept. But what must I think of a young woman in -your position, engaged--yet 'accepting most graciously,' for that -was the way Coxe expressed it--the overtures of another man? Do you -consider what unnecessary pain you have given him by your thoughtless -behaviour? I call it thoughtless, but it's the mildest epithet I can -apply to it. I beg that such a thing may not occur again, or I shall -be obliged to characterize it more severely." - - -[Illustration: "I TRUST THIS WILL NEVER OCCUR AGAIN, CYNTHIA!"] - - -Molly could not imagine what "more severely" could be, for her -father's manner appeared to her almost cruel in its sternness. -Cynthia coloured up extremely, then went pale, and at length raised -her beautiful appealing eyes full of tears to Mr. Gibson. He was -touched by that look, but he resolved immediately not to be mollified -by any of her physical charms of expression, but to keep to his sober -judgment of her conduct. - -"Please, Mr. Gibson, hear my side of the story before you speak so -hardly to me. I did not mean to--to flirt. I merely meant to make -myself agreeable,--I can't help doing that,--and that goose of a Mr. -Coxe seems to have fancied I meant to give him encouragement." - -"Do you mean that you were not aware that he was falling in love with -you?" Mr. Gibson was melting into a readiness to be convinced by that -sweet voice and pleading face. - -"Well, I suppose I must speak truly." Cynthia blushed and -smiled--ever so little--but it was a smile, and it hardened Mr. -Gibson's heart again. "I did think once or twice that he was becoming -a little more complimentary than the occasion required; but I hate -throwing cold water on people, and I never thought he could take it -into his silly head to fancy himself seriously in love, and to make -such a fuss at the last, after only a fortnight's acquaintance." - -"You seem to have been pretty well aware of his silliness (I -should rather call it simplicity). Don't you think you should have -remembered that it might lead him to exaggerate what you were doing -and saying into encouragement?" - -"Perhaps. I daresay I'm all wrong, and that he is all right," said -Cynthia, piqued and pouting. "We used to say in France, that '_les -absens ont toujours tort_,' but really it seems as if here--" she -stopped. She was unwilling to be impertinent to a man whom she -respected and liked. She took up another point of her defence, and -rather made matters worse. "Besides, Roger would not allow me to -consider myself as finally engaged to him; I would willingly have -done it, but he would not let me." - -"Nonsense. Don't let us go on talking about it, Cynthia! I've said -all that I mean to say. I believe that you were only thoughtless, as -I told you before. But don't let it happen again." He left the room -at once, to put a stop to the conversation, the continuance of which -would serve no useful purpose, and perhaps end by irritating him. - -"Not guilty, but we recommend the prisoner not to do it again. It's -pretty much that, isn't it, Molly?" said Cynthia, letting her tears -downfall, even while she smiled. "I do believe your father might make -a good woman of me yet, if he would only take the pains, and wasn't -quite so severe. And to think of that stupid little fellow making all -this mischief! He pretended to take it to heart, as if he had loved -me for years instead of only for days. I daresay only for hours if -the truth were told." - -"I was afraid he was becoming very fond of you," said Molly; "at -least it struck me once or twice; but I knew he could not stay long, -and I thought it would only make you uncomfortable if I said anything -about it. But now I wish I had!" - -"It wouldn't have made a bit of difference," replied Cynthia. "I knew -he liked me, and I like to be liked; it's born in me to try to make -every one I come near fond of me; but then they shouldn't carry it -too far, for it becomes very troublesome if they do. I shall hate -red-haired people for the rest of my life. To think of such a man as -that being the cause of your father's displeasure with me!" - -Molly had a question at her tongue's end that she longed to put; she -knew it was indiscreet, but at last out it came almost against her -will: - -"Shall you tell Roger about it?" - -Cynthia replied, "I've not thought about it--no! I don't think I -shall--there's no need. Perhaps, if we are ever married--" - -"Ever married!" said Molly, under her breath. But Cynthia took no -notice of the exclamation until she had finished the sentence which -it interrupted. - -"--and I can see his face and know his mood, I may tell it him then; -but not in writing, and when he is absent; it might annoy him." - -"I am afraid it would make him uncomfortable," said Molly, -simply. "And yet it must be so pleasant to be able to tell him -everything--all your difficulties and troubles." - -"Yes; only I don't worry him with these things; it's better to -write him merry letters, and cheer him up among the black folk. You -repeated 'Ever married,' a little while ago; do you know, Molly, I -don't think I ever shall be married to him? I don't know why, but I -have a strong presentiment, so it's just as well not to tell him all -my secrets, for it would be awkward for him to know them if it never -came off!" - -Molly dropped her work, and sat silent, looking into the future; at -length she said, "I think it would break his heart, Cynthia!" - -"Nonsense. Why, I'm sure that Mr. Coxe came here with the intention -of falling in love with you--you needn't blush so violently. I'm sure -you saw it as plainly as I did, only you made yourself disagreeable, -and I took pity on him, and consoled his wounded vanity." - -"Can you--do you dare to compare Roger Hamley to Mr. Coxe?" asked -Molly, indignantly. - -"No, no, I don't!" said Cynthia in a moment. "They are as different -as men can be. Don't be so dreadfully serious over everything, Molly. -You look as oppressed with sad reproach, as if I had been passing on -to you the scolding your father gave me." - -"Because I don't think you value Roger as you ought, Cynthia!" said -Molly stoutly, for it required a good deal of courage to force -herself to say this, although she could not tell why she shrank so -from speaking. - -"Yes, I do! It's not in my nature to go into ecstasies, and I don't -suppose I shall ever be what people call 'in love.' But I am glad he -loves me, and I like to make him happy, and I think him the best and -most agreeable man I know, always excepting your father when he isn't -angry with me. What can I say more, Molly? would you like me to say I -think him handsome?" - -"I know most people think him plain, but--" - -"Well, I'm of the opinion of most people then, and small blame to -them. But I like his face--oh, ten thousand times better than Mr. -Preston's handsomeness!" For the first time during the conversation -Cynthia seemed thoroughly in earnest. Why Mr. Preston was introduced -neither she nor Molly knew; it came up and out by a sudden impulse; -but a fierce look came into the eyes, and the soft lips contracted -themselves as Cynthia named his name. Molly had noticed this look -before, always at the mention of this one person. - -"Cynthia, what makes you dislike Mr. Preston so much?" - -"Don't you? Why do you ask me? and yet, Molly," said she, suddenly -relaxing into depression, not merely in tone and look, but in the -droop of her limbs--"Molly, what should you think of me if I married -him after all?" - -"Married him! Has he ever asked you?" - -But Cynthia, instead of replying to this question, went on, uttering -her own thoughts,--"More unlikely things have happened. Have you -never heard of strong wills mesmerizing weaker ones into submission? -One of the girls at Madame Lefevre's went out as a governess to a -Russian family, who lived near Moscow. I sometimes think I'll write -to her to find me a situation in Russia, just to get out of the daily -chance of seeing that man!" - -"But sometimes you seem quite intimate with him, and talk to him--" - -"How can I help it?" said Cynthia impatiently. Then recovering -herself she added: "We knew him so well at Ashcombe, and he's not a -man to be easily thrown off, I can tell you. I must be civil to him; -it's not from liking, and he knows it's not, for I've told him so. -However, we won't talk about him. I don't know how we came to do it, -I'm sure: the mere fact of his existence, and of his being within -half a mile of us, is bad enough. Oh! I wish Roger was at home, -and rich, and could marry me at once, and carry me away from that -man! If I'd thought of it, I really believe I would have taken poor -red-haired Mr. Coxe." - -"I don't understand it at all," said Molly. "I dislike Mr. Preston, -but I should never think of taking such violent steps as you speak -of, to get away from the neighbourhood in which he lives." - -"No, because you are a reasonable little darling," said Cynthia, -resuming her usual manner, and coming up to Molly, and kissing her. -"At least you'll acknowledge I'm a good hater!" - -"Yes. But still I don't understand it." - -"Oh, never mind! There are old complications with our affairs at -Ashcombe. Money matters are at the root of it all. Horrid poverty--do -let us talk of something else! Or, better still, let me go and finish -my letter to Roger, or I shall be too late for the African mail!" - -"Isn't it gone? Oh, I ought to have reminded you! It will be too -late. Did you not see the notice at the post-office that letters -ought to be in London on the morning of the 10th instead of the -evening. Oh, I am so sorry!" - -"So am I, but it can't be helped. It is to be hoped it will be the -greater treat when he does get it. I've a far greater weight on my -heart, because your father seems so displeased with me. I was fond -of him, and now he is making me quite a coward. You see, Molly," -continued she, a little piteously, "I've never lived with people with -such a high standard of conduct before; and I don't quite know how to -behave." - -"You must learn," said Molly tenderly. "You'll find Roger quite as -strict in his notions of right and wrong." - -"Ah, but he's in love with me!" said Cynthia, with a pretty -consciousness of her power. Molly turned away her head, and was -silent; it was of no use combating the truth, and she tried rather -not to feel it--not to feel, poor girl, that she too had a great -weight on her heart, into the cause of which she shrank from -examining. That whole winter long she had felt as if her sun was all -shrouded over with grey mist, and could no longer shine brightly for -her. She wakened up in the morning with a dull sense of something -being wrong; the world was out of joint, and, if she were born to set -it right, she did not know how to do it. Blind herself as she would, -she could not help perceiving that her father was not satisfied with -the wife he had chosen. For a long time Molly had been surprised at -his apparent contentment; sometimes she had been unselfish enough to -be glad that he was satisfied; but still more frequently nature would -have its way, and she was almost irritated at what she considered -his blindness. Something, however, had changed him now: something -that had arisen at the time of Cynthia's engagement. He had become -nervously sensitive to his wife's failings, and his whole manner -had grown dry and sarcastic, not merely to her, but sometimes to -Cynthia,--and even--but this very rarely, to Molly herself. He was -not a man to go into passions, or ebullitions of feeling: they would -have relieved him, even while degrading him in his own eyes; but -he became hard, and occasionally bitter in his speeches and ways. -Molly now learnt to long after the vanished blindness in which her -father had passed the first year of his marriage; yet there were no -outrageous infractions of domestic peace. Some people might say that -Mr. Gibson "accepted the inevitable;" he told himself in more homely -phrase "that it was no use crying over spilt milk:" and he, from -principle, avoided all actual dissensions with his wife, preferring -to cut short a discussion by a sarcasm, or by leaving the room. -Moreover, Mrs. Gibson had a very tolerable temper of her own, and her -cat-like nature purred and delighted in smooth ways, and pleasant -quietness. She had no great facility for understanding sarcasm; it -is true it disturbed her, but as she was not quick at deciphering -any depth of meaning, and felt it unpleasant to think about it, she -forgot it as soon as possible. Yet she saw she was often in some kind -of disfavour with her husband, and it made her uneasy. She resembled -Cynthia in this: she liked to be liked; and she wanted to regain -the esteem which she did not perceive she had lost for ever. Molly -sometimes took her stepmother's part in secret; she felt as if -she herself could never have borne her father's hard speeches so -patiently; they would have cut her to the heart, and she must either -have demanded an explanation, and probed the sore to the bottom, or -sat down despairing and miserable. Instead of which Mrs. Gibson, -after her husband had left the room, on these occasions would say in -a manner more bewildered than hurt-- - -"I think dear papa seems a little put out to-day; we must see that he -has a dinner that he likes when he comes home. I have often perceived -that everything depends on making a man comfortable in his own -house." - -And thus she went on, groping about to find the means of reinstating -herself in his good graces--really trying, according to her lights, -till Molly was often compelled to pity her in spite of herself, and -although she saw that her stepmother was the cause of her father's -increased astringency of disposition. For, indeed, he had got into -that kind of exaggerated susceptibility with regard to his wife's -faults, which may be best typified by the state of bodily irritation -that is produced by the constant recurrence of any particular noise: -those who are brought within hearing of it, are apt to be always on -the watch for the repetition, if they are once made to notice it, and -are in an irritable state of nerves. - -So that poor Molly had not passed a cheerful winter, independently of -any private sorrows that she might have in her own heart. She did not -look well, either: she was gradually falling into low health, rather -than bad health. Her heart beat more feebly and slower; the vivifying -stimulant of hope--even unacknowledged hope--was gone out of her -life. It seemed as if there was not, and never could be in this -world, any help for the dumb discordancy between her father and his -wife. Day after day, month after month, year after year, would Molly -have to sympathize with her father, and pity her stepmother, feeling -acutely for both, and certainly more than Mrs. Gibson felt for -herself. Molly could not imagine how she had at one time wished for -her father's eyes to be opened, and how she could ever have fancied -that if they were, he would be able to change things in Mrs. Gibson's -character. It was all hopeless, and the only attempt at a remedy was -to think about it as little as possible. Then Cynthia's ways and -manners about Roger gave Molly a great deal of uneasiness. She did -not believe that Cynthia cared enough for him; at any rate, not with -the sort of love that she herself would have bestowed, if she had -been so happy--no, that was not it--if she had been in Cynthia's -place. She felt as if she should have gone to him both hands held -out, full and brimming over with tenderness, and been grateful for -every word of precious confidence bestowed on her. Yet Cynthia -received his letters with a kind of carelessness, and read them with -a strange indifference, while Molly sat at her feet, so to speak, -looking up with eyes as wistful as a dog's waiting for crumbs, and -such chance beneficences. - -She tried to be patient on these occasions, but at last she must -ask--"Where is he, Cynthia? What does he say?" By this time Cynthia -had put down the letter on the table by her, smiling a little from -time to time, as she remembered the loving compliments it contained. - -"Where? Oh, I didn't look exactly--somewhere in Abyssinia--Huon. I -can't read the word, and it doesn't much signify, for it would give -me no idea." - -"Is he well?" asked greedy Molly. - -"Yes, now. He has had a slight touch of fever, he says; but it's all -over now, and he hopes he is getting acclimatized." - -"Of fever!--and who took care of him? he would want nursing,--and so -far from home. Oh, Cynthia!" - -"Oh, I don't fancy he had any nursing, poor fellow! One doesn't -expect nursing, and hospitals, and doctors in Abyssinia; but he had -plenty of quinine with him, and I suppose that is the best specific. -At any rate he says he is quite well now!" - -Molly sat silent for a minute or two. - -"What is the date of the letter, Cynthia?" - -"I didn't look. December the--December the 10th." - -"That's nearly two months ago," said Molly. - -"Yes; but I determined I wouldn't worry myself with useless anxiety, -when he went away. If anything did--go wrong, you know," said -Cynthia, using a euphuism for death, as most people do (it is an -ugly word to speak plain out in the midst of life), "it would be all -over before I even heard of his illness, and I could be of no use to -him--could I, Molly?" - -"No. I daresay it is all very true; only I should think the Squire -could not take it so easily." - -"I always write him a little note when I hear from Roger, but I don't -think I'll name this touch of fever--shall I, Molly?" - -"I don't know," said Molly. "People say one ought, but I almost wish -I hadn't heard it. Please, does he say anything else that I may -hear?" - -"Oh, lovers' letters are so silly, and I think this is sillier than -usual," said Cynthia, looking over her letter again. "Here's a piece -you may read, from that line to that," indicating two places. "I -haven't read it myself for it looked dullish--all about Aristotle and -Pliny--and I want to get this bonnet-cap made up before we go out to -pay our calls." - -Molly took the letter, the thought crossing her mind that he had -touched it, had had his hands upon it, in those far distant desert -lands, where he might be lost to sight and to any human knowledge -of his fate; even now her pretty brown fingers almost caressed the -flimsy paper with their delicacy of touch as she read. She saw -references made to books, which, with a little trouble, would be -accessible to her here in Hollingford. Perhaps the details and the -references would make the letter dull and dry to some people, but not -to her, thanks to his former teaching and the interest he had excited -in her for his pursuits. But, as he said in apology, what had he to -write about in that savage land, but his love, and his researches, -and travels? There was no society, no gaiety, no new books to write -about, no gossip in Abyssinian wilds. - -Molly was not in strong health, and perhaps this made her a little -fanciful; but certain it is that her thoughts by day and her dreams -by night were haunted by the idea of Roger lying ill and untended in -those savage lands. Her constant prayer, "O my Lord! give her the -living child, and in no wise slay it," came from a heart as true as -that of the real mother in King Solomon's judgment. "Let him live, -let him live, even though I may never set eyes upon him again. Have -pity upon his father! Grant that he may come home safe, and live -happily with her whom he loves so tenderly--so tenderly, O God." And -then she would burst into tears, and drop asleep at last, sobbing. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -MR. KIRKPATRICK, Q.C. - - -Cynthia was always the same with Molly: kind, sweet-tempered, ready -to help, professing a great deal of love for her, and probably -feeling as much as she did for any one in the world. But Molly had -reached to this superficial depth of affection and intimacy in the -first few weeks of Cynthia's residence in her father's house; and if -she had been of a nature prone to analyse the character of one whom -she loved dearly, she might have perceived that, with all Cynthia's -apparent frankness, there were certain limits beyond which her -confidence did not go; where her reserve began, and her real self was -shrouded in mystery. For instance, her relations with Mr. Preston -were often very puzzling to Molly. She was sure that there had been a -much greater intimacy between them formerly at Ashcombe, and that the -remembrance of this was often very galling and irritating to Cynthia, -who was as evidently desirous of forgetting it as he was anxious -to make her remember it. But why this intimacy had ceased, why -Cynthia disliked him so extremely now, and many other unexplained -circumstances connected with these two facts, were Cynthia's secrets; -and she effectually baffled all Molly's innocent attempts during -the first glow of her friendship for Cynthia, to learn the girlish -antecedents of her companion's life. Every now and then Molly came -to a dead wall, beyond which she could not pass--at least with the -delicate instruments which were all she chose to use. Perhaps Cynthia -might have told all there was to tell to a more forcible curiosity, -which knew how to improve every slip of the tongue and every fit of -temper to its own gratification. But Molly's was the interest of -affection, not the coarser desire of knowing everything for a little -excitement; and as soon as she saw that Cynthia did not wish to tell -her anything about that period of her life, Molly left off referring -to it. But if Cynthia had preserved a sweet tranquillity of manner -and an unvarying kindness for Molly during the winter of which there -is question, at present she was the only person to whom the beauty's -ways were unchanged. Mr. Gibson's influence had been good for her as -long as she saw that he liked her; she had tried to keep as high a -place in his good opinion as she could, and had curbed many a little -sarcasm against her mother, and many a twisting of the absolute -truth when he was by. Now there was a constant uneasiness about her -which made her more cowardly than before; and even her partisan, -Molly, could not help being aware of the distinct equivocations she -occasionally used when anything in Mr. Gibson's words or behaviour -pressed her too hard. Her repartees to her mother were less frequent -than they had been, but there was often the unusual phenomenon -of pettishness in her behaviour to her. These changes in humour -and disposition, here described all at once, were in themselves a -series of delicate alterations of relative conduct spread over many -months--many winter months of long evenings and bad weather, which -bring out discords of character, as a dash of cold water brings out -the fading colours of an old fresco. - -During much of this time Mr. Preston had been at Ashcombe; for Lord -Cumnor had not been able to find an agent whom he liked to replace -Mr. Preston; and while the inferior situation remained vacant Mr. -Preston had undertaken to do the duties of both. Mrs. Goodenough had -had a serious illness; and the little society at Hollingford did not -care to meet while one of their habitual set was scarcely out of -danger. So there had been very little visiting; and though Miss -Browning said that the absence of the temptations of society was very -agreeable to cultivated minds, after the dissipations of the previous -autumn, when there were parties every week to welcome Mr. Preston, -yet Miss Phoebe let out in confidence that she and her sister had -fallen into the habit of going to bed at nine o'clock, for they found -cribbage night after night, from five o'clock till ten, rather too -much of a good thing. To tell the truth, that winter, if peaceful, -was monotonous in Hollingford; and the whole circle of gentility -there was delighted to be stirred up in March by the intelligence -that Mr. Kirkpatrick, the newly-made Q.C., was coming on a visit for -a couple of days to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Gibson. Mrs. Goodenough's -room was the very centre of gossip; gossip had been her daily bread -through her life, gossip was meat and wine to her now. - -"Dear-ah-me!" said the old lady, rousing herself so as to sit upright -in her easy-chair, and propping herself with her hands on the arms; -"who would ha' thought she'd such grand relations! Why, Mr. Ashton -told me once that a Queen's counsel was as like to be a judge as a -kitten is like to be a cat. And to think of her being as good as -a sister to a judge! I saw one oncst; and I know I thought as I -shouldn't wish for a better winter-cloak than his old robes would -make me, if I could only find out where I could get 'em second-hand. -And I know she'd her silk gowns turned and dyed and cleaned, and, for -aught I know, turned again, while she lived at Ashcombe. Keeping a -school, too, and so near akin to this Queen's counsel all the time! -Well, to be sure, it wasn't much of a school--only ten young ladies -at the best o' times; so perhaps he never heard of it." - -"I've been wondering what they'll give him to dinner," said Miss -Browning. "It is an unlucky time for visitors; no game to be had, -and lamb so late this year, and chicken hardly to be had for love or -money." - -"He'll have to put up with calf's head, that he will," said Mrs. -Goodenough, solemnly. "If I'd ha' got my usual health I'd copy out -a receipt of my grandmother's for a rolled calf's head, and send it -to Mrs. Gibson--the doctor has been very kind to me all through this -illness--I wish my daughter in Combermere would send me some autumn -chickens--I'd pass 'em on to the doctor, that I would; but she's been -a-killing of 'em all, and a-sending of them to me, and the last she -sent she wrote me word was the last." - -"I wonder if they'll give a party for him!" suggested Miss Phoebe. -"I should like to see a Queen's counsel for once in my life. I have -seen javelin-men, but that's the greatest thing in the legal line I -ever came across." - -"They'll ask Mr. Ashton, of course," said Miss Browning. "The three -black graces, Law, Physic, and Divinity, as the song calls them. -Whenever there's a second course, there's always the clergyman of the -parish invited in any family of gentility." - -"I wonder if he's married!" said Mrs. Goodenough. Miss Phoebe had -been feeling the same wonder, but had not thought it maidenly to -express it, even to her sister, who was the source of knowledge, -having met Mrs. Gibson in the street on her way to Mrs. Goodenough's. - -"Yes, he's married, and must have several children, for Mrs. Gibson -said that Cynthia Kirkpatrick had paid them a visit in London, to -have lessons with her cousins. And she said that his wife was a most -accomplished woman, and of good family, though she brought him no -fortune." - -"It's a very creditable connection, I'm sure; it's only a wonder -to me as how we've heard so little talk of it before," said Mrs. -Goodenough. "At the first look of the thing, I shouldn't ha' thought -Mrs. Gibson was one to hide away her fine relations under a bushel; -indeed, for that matter, we're all of us fond o' turning the best -breadth o' the gown to the front. I remember, speaking o' breadths, -how I've undone my skirts many a time and oft to put a stain or a -grease-spot next to poor Mr. Goodenough. He'd a soft kind of heart -when first we was married, and he said, says he, 'Patty, link thy -right arm into my left one, then thou'lt be nearer to my heart;' and -so we kept up the habit, when, poor man, he'd a deal more to think on -than romancing on which side his heart lay; so, as I said, I always -put my damaged breadths on the right hand, and when we walked arm in -arm, as we always did, no one was never the wiser." - -"I should not be surprised if he invited Cynthia to pay him another -visit in London," said Miss Browning. "If he did it when he was poor, -he's twenty times more likely to do it now he's a Queen's counsel." - -"Ay, work it by the rule o' three, and she stands a good chance. I -only hope it won't turn her head; going up visiting in London at her -age. Why, I was fifty before ever I went!" - -"But she has been in France; she's quite a travelled young lady," -said Miss Phoebe. - -Mrs. Goodenough shook her head for a whole minute before she gave -vent to her opinion. - -"It's a risk," said she, "a great risk. I don't like saying so to -the doctor, but I shouldn't like having my daughter, if I was him, -so cheek-by-jowl with a girl as was brought up in the country where -Robespierre and Bonyparte was born." - -"But Buonaparte was a Corsican," said Miss Browning, who was much -farther advanced both in knowledge and in liberality of opinions than -Mrs. Goodenough. "And there's a great opportunity for cultivation of -the mind afforded by intercourse with foreign countries. I always -admire Cynthia's grace of manner, never too shy to speak, yet never -putting herself forwards; she's quite a help to a party; and if she -has a few airs and graces, why they're natural at her age! Now as for -dear Molly, there's a kind of awkwardness about her--she broke one of -our best china cups last time she was at a party at our house, and -spilt the coffee on the new carpet; and then she got so confused that -she hardly did anything but sit in a corner and hold her tongue all -the rest of the evening." - -"She was so sorry for what she'd done, sister," said Miss Phoebe, -in a gentle tone of reproach; she was always faithful to Molly. - -"Well, and did I say she wasn't? but was there any need for her to be -stupid all the evening after?" - -"But you were rather sharp,--rather displeased--" - -"And I think it my duty to be sharp, ay, and cross too, when I see -young folks careless. And when I see my duty clear, I do it; I'm not -one to shrink from it, and they ought to be grateful to me. It's -not every one that will take the trouble of reproving them, as Mrs. -Goodenough knows. I'm very fond of Molly Gibson, very, for her own -sake and for her mother's too; I'm not sure if I don't think she's -worth half-a-dozen Cynthias, but for all that she shouldn't break my -best china teacup, and then sit doing nothing for her livelihood all -the rest of the evening." - -By this time Mrs. Goodenough gave evident signs of being tired; -Molly's misdemeanors and Miss Browning's broken teacup were not as -exciting subjects of conversation as Mrs. Gibson's newly-discovered -good luck in having a successful London lawyer for a relation. - -Mr. Kirkpatrick had been, like many other men, struggling on in his -profession, and encumbered with a large family of his own; he was -ready to do a good turn for his connections, if it occasioned him no -loss of time, and if (which was, perhaps, a primary condition) he -remembered their existence. Cynthia's visit to Doughty Street nine -or ten years ago had not made much impression upon him after he had -once suggested its feasibility to his good-natured wife. He was even -rather startled every now and then by the appearance of a pretty -little girl amongst his own children, as they trooped in to dessert, -and had to remind himself who she was. But as it was his custom -to leave the table almost immediately and to retreat into a small -back-room called his study, to immerse himself in papers for the rest -of the evening, the child had not made much impression upon him; and -probably the next time he remembered her existence was when Mrs. -Kirkpatrick wrote to him to beg him to receive Cynthia for a night on -her way to school at Boulogne. The same request was repeated on her -return; but it so happened that he had not seen her either time; and -only dimly remembered some remarks which his wife had made on one of -these occasions, that it seemed to her rather hazardous to send so -young a girl so long a journey without making more provision for her -safety than Mrs. Kirkpatrick had done. He knew that his wife would -fill up all deficiencies in this respect as if Cynthia had been her -own daughter; and thought no more about her until he received an -invitation to attend Mrs. Kirkpatrick's wedding with Mr. Gibson, the -highly-esteemed surgeon of Hollingford, &c. &c.--an attention which -irritated instead of pleasing him. "Does the woman think I have -nothing to do but run about the country in search of brides and -bridegrooms, when this great case of Houghton _v._ Houghton is coming -on, and I haven't a moment to spare?" he asked of his wife. - -"Perhaps she never heard of it," suggested Mrs. Kirkpatrick. - -"Nonsense! the case has been in the papers for days." - -"But she mayn't know you are engaged in it." - -"She mayn't," said he, meditatively--such ignorance was possible. - -But now the great case of Houghton _v._ Houghton was a thing of the -past; the hard struggle was over, the comparative table-land of Q. -C.-dom gained, and Mr. Kirkpatrick had leisure for family feeling and -recollection. One day in the Easter vacation he found himself near -Hollingford; he had a Sunday to spare, and he wrote to offer himself -as a visitor to the Gibsons from Friday till Monday, expressing -strongly (what he really felt, in a less degree,) his wish to make -Mr. Gibson's acquaintance. Mr. Gibson, though often overwhelmed with -professional business, was always hospitable; and moreover, it was -always a pleasure to him to get out of the somewhat confined mental -atmosphere which he had breathed over and over again, and have a -whiff of fresh air: a glimpse of what was passing in the great world -beyond his daily limits of thought and action. So he was ready to -give a cordial welcome to his unknown relation. Mrs. Gibson was -in a flutter of sentimental delight, which she fancied was family -affection, but which might not have been quite so effervescent if Mr. -Kirkpatrick had remained in his former position of struggling lawyer, -with seven children, living in Doughty Street. - -When the two gentlemen met they were attracted towards each other -by a similarity of character, with just enough difference in their -opinions to make the experience of each, on which such opinions -were based, valuable to the other. To Mrs. Gibson, although the -bond between them counted for very little in their intercourse, Mr. -Kirkpatrick paid very polite attention; and was, in fact, very glad -that she had done so well for herself as to marry a sensible and -agreeable man, who was able to keep her in comfort, and to behave -to her daughter in so liberal a manner. Molly struck him as a -delicate-looking girl, who might be very pretty if she had a greater -look of health and animation: indeed, looking at her critically, -there were beautiful points about her face--long soft grey eyes, -black curling eyelashes, rarely-showing dimples, perfect teeth; -but there was a languor over all, a slow depression of manner, -which contrasted unfavourably with the brightly-coloured Cynthia, -sparkling, quick, graceful, and witty. As Mr. Kirkpatrick expressed -it afterwards to his wife, he was quite in love with that girl; -and Cynthia, as ready to captivate strangers as any little girl -of three or four, rose to the occasion, forgot all her cares and -despondencies, remembered no longer her regret at having lost -something of Mr. Gibson's good opinion, and listened eagerly and made -soft replies, intermixed with naïve sallies of droll humour, till -Mr. Kirkpatrick was quite captivated. He left Hollingford, almost -surprised to have performed a duty, and found it a pleasure. For Mrs. -Gibson and Molly he had a general friendly feeling; but he did not -care if he never saw them again. But for Mr. Gibson he had a warm -respect, a strong personal liking, which he should be glad to have -ripen into a friendship, if there was time for it in this bustling -world. And he fully resolved to see more of Cynthia; his wife must -know her; they must have her up to stay with them in London, and show -her something of the world. But, on returning home, Mr. Kirkpatrick -found so much work awaiting him that he had to lock up embryo -friendships and kindly plans in some safe closet of his mind, -and give himself up, body and soul, to the immediate work of his -profession. But, in May, he found time to take his wife to the -Academy Exhibition, and some portrait there striking him as being -like Cynthia, he told his wife more about her and his visit to -Hollingford than he had ever had leisure to do before; and the -result was that on the next day a letter was sent off to Mrs. Gibson, -inviting Cynthia to pay a visit to her cousins in London, and -reminding her of many little circumstances that had occurred when she -was with them as a child, so as to carry on the clue of friendship -from that time to the present. - -On its receipt, this letter was greeted in various ways by the four -people who sate round the breakfast-table. Mrs. Gibson read it to -herself first. Then, without telling what its contents were, so that -her auditors were quite in the dark as to what her remarks applied, -she said,-- - -"I think they might have remembered that I am a generation nearer to -them than she is, but nobody thinks of family affection now-a days; -and I liked him so much, and bought a new cookery-book, all to make -it pleasant and agreeable and what he was used to." She said all this -in a plaintive, aggrieved tone of voice; but as no one knew to what -she was referring, it was difficult to offer her consolation. Her -husband was the first to speak. - -"If you want us to sympathize with you, tell us what is the nature of -your woe." - -"Why, I daresay it's what he means as a very kind attention, only I -think I ought to have been asked before Cynthia," said she, reading -the letter over again. - -"Who's _he_? and what's meant for a 'kind attention'?" - -"Mr. Kirkpatrick, to be sure. This letter is from him; and he wants -Cynthia to go and pay them a visit, and never says anything about you -or me, my dear. And I'm sure we did our best to make it pleasant; and -he should have asked us first, I think." - -"As I couldn't possibly have gone, it makes very little difference to -me." - -"But I could have gone; and, at any rate, he should have paid us -the compliment: it's only a proper mark of respect, you know. So -ungrateful, too, when I gave up my dressing-room on purpose for him!" - -"And I dressed for dinner every day he was here, if we are each to -recapitulate all our sacrifices on his behalf. But, for all that, I -didn't expect to be invited to his house. I shall be only too glad if -he will come again to mine." - -"I've a great mind not to let Cynthia go," said Mrs. Gibson -reflectively. - -"I can't go, mamma," said Cynthia, colouring. "My gowns are all so -shabby, and my old bonnet must do for the summer." - -"Well, but you can buy a new one; and I'm sure it is high time you -should get yourself another silk gown. You must have been saving up a -great deal, for I don't know when you've had any new clothes." - -Cynthia began to say something, but stopped short. She went on -buttering her toast, but she held it in her hand without eating it; -without looking up either, as, after a minute or two of silence, she -spoke again:-- - -"I cannot go. I should like it very much; but I really cannot go. -Please, mamma, write at once, and refuse it." - -"Nonsense, child! When a man in Mr. Kirkpatrick's position comes -forward to offer a favour, it does not do to decline it without -giving a sufficient reason. So kind of him as it is, too!" - -"Suppose you offer to go instead of me?" proposed Cynthia. - -"No, no! that won't do," said Mr. Gibson, decidedly. "You can't -transfer invitations in that way. But, really, this excuse about your -clothes does appear to be very trivial, Cynthia, if you have no other -reason to give." - -"It is a real, true reason to me," said Cynthia, looking up at him -as she spoke. "You must let me judge for myself. It would not do -to go there in a state of shabbiness, for even in Doughty Street, -I remember, my aunt was very particular about dress; and now that -Margaret and Helen are grown up, and they visit so much,--pray don't -say anything more about it, for I know it would not do." - -"What have you done with all your money, I wonder?" said Mrs. Gibson. -"You've twenty pounds a year, thanks to Mr. Gibson and me; and I'm -sure you haven't spent more than ten." - -"I hadn't many things when I came back from France," said Cynthia, in -a low voice, and evidently troubled by all this questioning. "Pray -let it be decided at once; I can't go, and there's an end of it." She -got up, and left the room rather suddenly. - -"I don't understand it at all," said Mrs. Gibson. "Do you, Molly?" - -"No. I know she doesn't like spending money on her dress, and is very -careful." Molly said this much, and then was afraid she had made -mischief. - -"But then she must have got the money somewhere. It always has struck -me that if you have not extravagant habits, and do not live up to -your income, you must have a certain sum to lay by at the end of the -year. Have I not often said so, Mr. Gibson?" - -"Probably." - -"Well, then, apply the same reasoning to Cynthia's case; and then, I -ask, what has become of the money?" - -"I cannot tell," said Molly, seeing that she was appealed to. "She -may have given it away to some one who wants it." - -Mr. Gibson put down his newspaper. - -"It's very clear that she has neither got the dress nor the money -necessary for this London visit, and that she doesn't want any more -inquiries to be made on the subject. She likes mysteries, in fact, -and I detest them. Still, I think it's a desirable thing for her to -keep up the acquaintance, or friendship, or whatever it is to be -called, with her father's family; and I shall gladly give her ten -pounds; and if that's not enough, why, either you must help her out, -or she must do without some superfluous article of dress or another." - -"I'm sure there never was such a kind, dear, generous man as you are, -Mr. Gibson," said his wife. "To think of your being a stepfather! -and so good to my poor fatherless girl! But, Molly my dear, I -think you'll acknowledge that you too are very fortunate in your -stepmother. Are not you, love? And what happy _tête-à-têtes_ we shall -have together when Cynthia goes to London! I'm not sure if I don't -get on better with you even than with her, though she is my own -child; for, as dear papa says so truly, there is a love of mystery -about her; and if I hate anything, it is the slightest concealment -or reserve. Ten pounds! Why, it will quite set her up, buy her a -couple of gowns and a new bonnet, and I don't know what all! Dear Mr. -Gibson, how generous you are!" - -Something very like "Pshaw!" was growled out from behind the -newspaper. - -"May I go and tell her?" said Molly, rising up. - -"Yes, do, love. Tell her it would be so ungrateful to refuse; and -tell her that your father wishes her to go; and tell her, too, that -it would be quite wrong not to avail herself of an opening which may -by-and-by be extended to the rest of the family. I am sure if they -ask me--which certainly they ought to do--I won't say before they -asked Cynthia, because I never think of myself, and am really the -most forgiving person in the world, in forgiving slights;--but when -they do ask me, which they are sure to do, I shall never be content -till, by putting in a little hint here and a little hint there, I've -induced them to send you an invitation. A month or two in London -would do you so much good, Molly." - -Molly had left the room before this speech was ended, and Mr. Gibson -was occupied with his newspaper; but Mrs. Gibson finished it to -herself very much to her own satisfaction; for, after all, it was -better to have some one of the family going on the visit, though she -might not be the right person, than to refuse it altogether, and -never to have the opportunity of saying anything about it. As Mr. -Gibson was so kind to Cynthia, she too would be kind to Molly, and -dress her becomingly, and invite young men to the house; do all -the things, in fact, which Molly and her father did not want to -have done, and throw the old stumbling-blocks in the way of their -unrestrained intercourse, which was the one thing they desired to -have, free and open, and without the constant dread of her jealousy. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -SECRET THOUGHTS OOZE OUT. - - -Molly found Cynthia in the drawing-room, standing in the bow-window, -looking out on the garden. She started as Molly came up to her. - -"Oh, Molly," said she, putting her arms out towards her, "I am always -so glad to have you with me!" - -It was outbursts of affection such as these that always called -Molly back, if she had been ever so unconsciously wavering in her -allegiance to Cynthia. She had been wishing downstairs that Cynthia -would be less reserved, and not have so many secrets; but now it -seemed almost like treason to have wanted her to be anything but what -she was. Never had any one more than Cynthia the power spoken of by -Goldsmith when he wrote-- - - He threw off his friends like a huntsman his pack, - For he knew when he liked he could whistle them back. - -"Do you know, I think you'll be glad to hear what I've got to tell -you," said Molly. "I think you would really like to go to London; -shouldn't you?" - -"Yes, but it's of no use liking," said Cynthia. "Don't you begin -about it, Molly, for the thing is settled; and I can't tell you why, -but I can't go." - -"It is only the money, dear. And papa has been so kind about it. He -wants you to go; he thinks you ought to keep up relationships; and he -is going to give you ten pounds." - -"How kind he is!" said Cynthia. "But I ought not to take it. I wish I -had known you years ago; I should have been different to what I am." - -"Never mind that! We like you as you are; we don't want you -different. You'll really hurt papa if you don't take it. Why do you -hesitate? Do you think Roger won't like it?" - -"Roger! no, I wasn't thinking about him! Why should he care? I shall -be there and back again before he even hears about it." - -"Then you will go?" said Molly. - -Cynthia thought for a minute or two. "Yes, I will," said she, at -length. "I daresay it's not wise; but it will be pleasant, and I'll -go. Where is Mr. Gibson? I want to thank him. Oh, how kind he is! -Molly, you're a lucky girl!" - -"I?" said Molly, quite startled at being told this; for she had been -feeling as if so many things were going wrong, almost as if they -would never go right again. - -"There he is!" said Cynthia. "I hear him in the hall!" And down -she flew, and laying her hands on Mr. Gibson's arm, she thanked -him with such warm impulsiveness, and in so pretty and caressing a -manner, that something of his old feeling of personal liking for her -returned, and he forgot for a time the causes of disapproval he had -against her. - -"There, there!" said he, "that's enough, my dear! It's quite right -you should keep up with your relations; there's nothing more to be -said about it." - -"I do think your father is the most charming man I know," said -Cynthia, on her return to Molly; "and it's that which always makes -me so afraid of losing his good opinion, and fret so when I think he -is displeased with me. And now let us think all about this London -visit. It will be delightful, won't it? I can make ten pounds go ever -so far; and in some ways it will be such a comfort to get out of -Hollingford." - -"Will it?" said Molly, rather wistfully. - -"Oh, yes! You know I don't mean that it will be a comfort to leave -you; that will be anything but a comfort. But, after all, a country -town is a country town, and London is London. You need not smile at -my truisms; I've always had a sympathy with M. de la Palisse,-- - - M. de la Palisse est mort - En perdant sa vie; - Un quart d'heure avant sa mort - Il était en vie," - -sang she, in so gay a manner that she puzzled Molly, as she often -did, by her change of mood from the gloomy decision with which she -had refused to accept the invitation only half an hour ago. She -suddenly took Molly round the waist, and began waltzing round the -room with her, to the imminent danger of the various little tables, -loaded with "_objets d'art_" (as Mrs. Gibson delighted to call them) -with which the drawing-room was crowded. She avoided them, however, -with her usual skill; but they both stood still at last, surprised -at Mrs. Gibson's surprise, as she stood at the door, looking at the -whirl going on before her. - -"Upon my word, I only hope you are not going crazy, both of you! -What's all this about, pray?" - -"Only because I'm so glad I'm going to London, mamma," said Cynthia, -demurely. - -"I'm not sure if it's quite the thing for an engaged young lady to -be so much beside herself at the prospect of gaiety. In my time, our -great pleasure in our lovers' absence was in thinking about them." - -"I should have thought that would have given you pain, because you -would have had to remember that they were away, which ought to have -made you unhappy. Now, to tell you the truth, just at the moment I -had forgotten all about Roger. I hope it wasn't very wrong. Osborne -looks as if he did all my share as well as his own of the fretting -after Roger. How ill he looked yesterday!" - -"Yes," said Molly; "I didn't know if any one besides me had noticed -it. I was quite shocked." - -"Ah," said Mrs. Gibson, "I'm afraid that young man won't live -long--very much afraid," and she shook her head ominously. - -"Oh, what will happen if he dies!" exclaimed Molly, suddenly sitting -down, and thinking of that strange, mysterious wife who never made -her appearance, whose very existence was never spoken about--and -Roger away too! - -"Well, it would be very sad, of course, and we should all feel it -very much, I've no doubt; for I've always been very fond of Osborne; -in fact, before Roger became, as it were, my own flesh and blood, I -liked Osborne better: but we must not forget the living, dear Molly," -(for Molly's eyes were filling with tears at the dismal thoughts -presented to her). "Our dear good Roger would, I am sure, do all in -his power to fill Osborne's place in every way; and his marriage need -not be so long delayed." - -"Don't speak of that in the same breath as Osborne's life, mamma," -said Cynthia, hastily. - -"Why, my dear, it is a very natural thought. For poor Roger's sake, -you know, one wishes it not to be so very, very long an engagement; -and I was only answering Molly's question, after all. One can't help -following out one's thoughts. People must die, you know--young, as -well as old." - -"If I ever suspected Roger of following out his thoughts in a similar -way," said Cynthia, "I'd never speak to him again." - -"As if he would!" said Molly, warm in her turn. "You know he never -would; and you shouldn't suppose it of him, Cynthia--no, not even for -a moment!" - -"I can't see the great harm of it all, for my part," said Mrs. -Gibson, plaintively. "A young man strikes us all as looking very -ill--and I'm sure I'm sorry for it; but illness very often leads to -death. Surely you agree with me there, and what's the harm of saying -so? Then Molly asks what will happen if he dies; and I try to answer -her question. I don't like talking or thinking of death any more than -any one else; but I should think myself wanting in strength of mind -if I could not look forward to the consequences of death. I really -think we're commanded to do so, somewhere in the Bible or the -Prayer-book." - -"Do you look forward to the consequences of my death, mamma?" asked -Cynthia. - -"You really are the most unfeeling girl I ever met with," said Mrs. -Gibson, really hurt. "I wish I could give you a little of my own -sensitiveness, for I have too much for my happiness. Don't let us -speak of Osborne's looks again; ten to one it was only some temporary -over-fatigue, or some anxiety about Roger, or perhaps a little fit -of indigestion. I was very foolish to attribute it to anything more -serious, and dear papa might be displeased if he knew I had done -so. Medical men don't like other people to be making conjectures -about health; they consider it as trenching on their own particular -province, and very proper, I'm sure. Now let us consider about your -dress, Cynthia; I could not understand how you had spent your money, -and made so little show with it." - -"Mamma! it may sound very cross, but I must tell Molly, and you, and -everybody, once for all, that as I don't want and didn't ask for more -than my allowance, I'm not going to answer any questions about what -I do with it." She did not say this with any want of respect; but she -said it with quiet determination, which subdued her mother for the -time; though often afterwards, when Mrs. Gibson and Molly were alone, -the former would start the wonder as to what Cynthia could possibly -have done with her money, and hunt each poor conjecture through woods -and valleys of doubt, till she was wearied out; and the exciting -sport was given up for the day. At present, however, she confined -herself to the practical matter in hand; and the genius for millinery -and dress, inherent in both mother and daughter, soon settled a great -many knotty points of contrivance and taste, and then they all three -set to work to "gar auld claes look amaist as weel's the new." - -Cynthia's relations with the Squire had been very stationary ever -since the visit she had paid to the Hall the previous autumn. He had -received them all at that time with hospitable politeness, and he -had been more charmed with Cynthia than he liked to acknowledge to -himself when he thought the visit all over afterwards. - -"She's a pretty lass, sure enough," thought he, "and has pretty ways -about her too, and likes to learn from older people, which is a good -sign; but somehow I don't like madam her mother; but still she is her -mother, and the girl's her daughter; yet she spoke to her once or -twice as I shouldn't ha' liked our little Fanny to have spoken, if -it had pleased God for her to ha' lived. No, it's not the right way, -and it may be a bit old-fashioned, but I like the right way. And then -again she took possession o' me, as I may say, and little Molly had -to run after us in the garden walks that are too narrow for three, -just like a little four-legged doggie; and the other was so full of -listening to me, she never turned round for to speak a word to Molly. -I don't mean to say they're not fond of each other, and that's in -Roger's sweetheart's favour; and it's very ungrateful in me to go and -find fault with a lass who was so civil to me, and had such a pretty -way with her of hanging on every word that fell from my lips. Well! -a deal may come and go in two years! and the lad says nothing to me -about it. I'll be as deep as him, and take no more notice of the -affair till he comes home and tells me himself." - -So although the Squire was always delighted to receive the little -notes which Cynthia sent him every time she heard from Roger, and -although this attention on her part was melting the heart he tried -to harden, he controlled himself into writing her the briefest -acknowledgments. His words were strong in meaning, but formal -in expression; she herself did not think much about them, being -satisfied to do the kind actions that called them forth. But her -mother criticised them and pondered them. She thought she had hit -on the truth when she decided in her own mind that it was a very -old-fashioned style, and that he and his house and his furniture -all wanted some of the brightening up and polishing which they were -sure to receive, when--she never quite liked to finish the sentence -definitely, although she kept repeating to herself that "there was no -harm in it." - -To return to the Squire. Occupied as he now was, he recovered his -former health, and something of his former cheerfulness. If Osborne -had met him half-way, it is probable that the old bond between father -and son might have been renewed; but Osborne either was really an -invalid, or had sunk into invalid habits, and made no effort to -rally. If his father urged him to go out--nay, once or twice he -gulped down his pride, and asked Osborne to accompany him--Osborne -would go to the window and find out some flaw or speck in the wind -or weather, and make that an excuse for stopping in-doors over his -books. He would saunter out on the sunny side of the house in a -manner that the Squire considered as both indolent and unmanly. Yet -if there was a prospect of his leaving home, which he did pretty -often about this time, he was seized with a hectic energy: the clouds -in the sky, the easterly wind, the dampness of the air, were nothing -to him then; and as the Squire did not know the real secret cause -of this anxiety to be gone, he took it into his head that it arose -from Osborne's dislike to Hamley and to the monotony of his father's -society. - -"It was a mistake," thought the Squire. "I see it now. I was never -great at making friends myself: I always thought those Oxford and -Cambridge men turned up their noses at me for a country booby, and -I'd get the start and have none o' them. But when the boys went to -Rugby and Cambridge, I should ha' let them have had their own friends -about 'em, even though they might ha' looked down on me; it was the -worst they could ha' done to me; and now what few friends I had have -fallen off from me, by death or somehow, and it is but dreary work -for a young man, I grant it. But he might try not to show it so plain -to me as he does. I'm getting case-hardened, but it does cut me to -the quick sometimes--it does. And he so fond of his dad as he was -once! If I can but get the land drained I'll make him an allowance, -and let him go to London, or where he likes. Maybe he'll do better -this time, or maybe he'll go to the dogs altogether; but perhaps it -will make him think a bit kindly of the old father at home--I should -like him to do that, I should!" - -It is possible that Osborne might have been induced to tell his -father of his marriage during their long solitary intercourse, if the -Squire, in an unlucky moment, had not given him his confidence about -Roger's engagement with Cynthia. It was on one wet Sunday afternoon, -when the father and son were sitting together in the large empty -drawing-room. Osborne had not been to church in the morning; the -Squire had, and he was now trying hard to read one of Blair's -sermons. They had dined early; they always did on Sundays; and either -that, or the sermon, or the hopeless wetness of the day, made the -afternoon seem interminably long to the Squire. He had certain -unwritten rules for the regulation of his conduct on Sundays. Cold -meat, sermon-reading, no smoking till after evening prayers, as -little thought as possible as to the state of the land and the -condition of the crops, and as much respectable sitting in-doors in -his best clothes as was consistent with going to church twice a day, -and saying the responses louder than the clerk. To-day it had rained -so unceasingly that he had remitted the afternoon church; but oh, -even with the luxury of a nap, how long it seemed before he saw the -Hall servants trudging homewards, along the field-path, a covey of -umbrellas! He had been standing at the window for the last half-hour, -his hands in his pockets, and his mouth often contracting itself into -the traditional sin of a whistle, but as often checked into sudden -gravity--ending, nine times out of ten, in a yawn. He looked askance -at Osborne, who was sitting near the fire absorbed in a book. The -poor Squire was something like the little boy in the child's story, -who asks all sorts of birds and beasts to come and play with him; -and, in every case, receives the sober answer, that they are too busy -to have leisure for trivial amusements. The father wanted the son to -put down his book, and talk to him: it was so wet, so dull, and a -little conversation would so wile away the time! But Osborne, with -his back to the window where his father was standing, saw nothing -of all this, and went on reading. He had assented to his father's -remark that it was a very wet afternoon, but had not carried on the -subject into all the varieties of truisms of which it was susceptible. -Something more rousing must be started, and this the Squire felt. The -recollection of the affair between Roger and Cynthia came into his -head, and, without giving it a moment's consideration, he began,-- - -"Osborne! Do you know anything about this--this attachment of -Roger's?" - -Quite successful. Osborne laid down his book in a moment, and turned -round to his father. - -"Roger! an attachment! No! I never heard of it--I can hardly believe -it--that is to say, I suppose it is to--" - -And then he stopped; for he thought he had no right to betray his own -conjecture that the object was Cynthia Kirkpatrick. - -"Yes. He is though. Can you guess who to? Nobody that I particularly -like--not a connection to my mind--yet she's a very pretty girl; and -I suppose I was to blame in the first instance." - -"Is it--?" - -"It's no use beating about the bush. I've gone so far, I may as well -tell you all. It's Miss Kirkpatrick, Gibson's stepdaughter. But it's -not an engagement, mind you--" - -"I'm very glad--I hope she likes Roger back again--" - -"Like--it's only too good a connection for her not to like it: if -Roger is of the same mind when he comes home, I'll be bound she'll be -only too happy!" - -"I wonder Roger never told me," said Osborne, a little hurt, now he -began to consider himself. - -"He never told me either," said the Squire. "It was Gibson, who came -here, and made a clean breast of it, like a man of honour. I'd been -saying to him, I couldn't have either of you two lads taking up with -his lasses. I'll own it was you I was afraid of--it's bad enough with -Roger, and maybe will come to nothing after all; but if it had been -you, I'd ha' broken with Gibson and every mother's son of 'em, sooner -than have let it go on; and so I told Gibson." - -"I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but, once for all, I claim -the right of choosing my wife for myself, subject to no man's -interference," said Osborne, hotly. - -"Then you'll keep your wife with no man's interference, that's all; -for ne'er a penny will you get from me, my lad, unless you marry to -please me a little, as well as yourself a great deal. That's all I -ask of you. I'm not particular as to beauty, or as to cleverness, and -piano-playing, and that sort of thing; if Roger marries this girl, we -shall have enough of that in the family. I shouldn't much mind her -being a bit older than you, but she must be well-born, and the more -money she brings the better for the old place." - -"I say again, father, I choose my wife for myself, and I don't admit -any man's right of dictation." - -"Well, well!" said the Squire, getting a little angry in his turn. -"If I'm not to be father in this matter, thou sha'n't be son. Go -against me in what I've set my heart on, and you'll find there's the -devil to pay, that's all. But don't let us get angry, it's Sunday -afternoon for one thing, and it's a sin; and besides that, I've not -finished my story." - -For Osborne had taken up his book again, and under pretence of -reading, was fuming to himself. He hardly put it away even at his -father's request. - -"As I was saying, Gibson said, when first we spoke about it, that -there was nothing on foot between any of you four, and that if there -was, he would let me know; so by-and-by he comes and tells me of -this." - -"Of what--I don't understand how far it has gone?" - -There was a tone in Osborne's voice the Squire did not quite like; -and he began answering rather angrily. - -"Of this, to be sure--of what I'm telling you--of Roger going and -making love to this girl, that day he left, after he had gone away -from here, and was waiting for the 'Umpire' in Hollingford. One would -think you quite stupid at times, Osborne." - -"I can only say that these details are quite new to me; you never -mentioned them before, I assure you." - -"Well; never mind whether I did or not. I'm sure I said Roger was -attached to Miss Kirkpatrick, and be hanged to her; and you might -have understood all the rest as a matter of course." - -"Possibly," said Osborne, politely. "May I ask if Miss Kirkpatrick, -who appeared to me to be a very nice girl, responds to Roger's -affection?" - -"Fast enough, I'll be bound," said the Squire, sulkily. "A Hamley of -Hamley isn't to be had every day. Now, I'll tell you what, Osborne, -you're the only marriageable one left in the market, and I want to -hoist the old family up again. Don't go against me in this; it really -will break my heart if you do." - -"Father, don't talk so," said Osborne. "I'll do anything I can to -oblige you, except--" - -"Except the only thing I've set my heart on your doing." - -"Well, well, let it alone for the present. There's no question of my -marrying just at this moment. I'm out of health, and I'm not up to -going into society, and meeting young ladies and all that sort of -thing, even if I had an opening into fitting society." - -"You should have an opening fast enough. There'll be more money -coming in, in a year or two, please God. And as for your health, why, -what's to make you well, if you cower over the fire all day, and -shudder away from a good honest tankard as if it were poison?" - -"So it is to me," said Osborne, languidly, playing with his book as -if he wanted to end the conversation and take it up again. The Squire -saw the movements, and understood them. - -"Well," said he, "I'll go and have a talk with Will about poor old -Black Bess. It's Sunday work enough, asking after a dumb animal's -aches and pains." - -But after his father had left the room Osborne did not take up his -book again. He laid it down on the table by him, leant back in his -chair, and covered his eyes with his hand. He was in a state of -health which made him despondent about many things, though, least -of all, about what was most in danger. The long concealment of his -marriage from his father made the disclosure of it far, far more -difficult than it would have been at first. Unsupported by Roger, how -could he explain it all to one so passionate as the Squire? how tell -of the temptation, the stolen marriage, the consequent happiness, and -alas! the consequent suffering?--for Osborne had suffered, and did -suffer, greatly in the untoward circumstances in which he had placed -himself. He saw no way out of it all, excepting by the one strong -stroke of which he felt himself incapable. So with a heavy heart he -addressed himself to his book again. Everything seemed to come in his -way, and he was not strong enough in character to overcome obstacles. -The only overt step he took in consequence of what he had heard from -his father, was to ride over to Hollingford the first fine day after -he had received the news, and go to see Cynthia and the Gibsons. He -had not been there for a long time; bad weather and languor combined -had prevented him. He found them full of preparations and discussions -about Cynthia's visit to London; and she herself not at all in -the sentimental mood proper to respond to his delicate intimations -of how glad he was in his brother's joy. Indeed, it was so long -after the time, that Cynthia scarcely perceived that to him the -intelligence was recent, and that the first bloom of his emotions -had not yet passed away. With her head a little on one side, -she was contemplating the effect of a knot of ribbons, when he -began, in a low whisper, and leaning forward towards her as he -spoke,--"Cynthia--I may call you Cynthia now, mayn't I?--I'm so glad -of this news; I've only just heard of it, but I'm so glad!" - -"What news do you mean?" She had her suspicions; but she was annoyed -to think that from one person her secret was passing to another and -another, till, in fact, it was becoming no secret at all. Still, -Cynthia could always conceal her annoyance when she chose. "Why are -you to begin calling me Cynthia now?" she went on, smiling. "The -terrible word has slipped out from between your lips before, do you -know?" - -This light way of taking his tender congratulation did not quite -please Osborne, who was in a sentimental mood, and for a minute or so -he remained silent. Then, having finished making her bow of ribbon, -she turned to him, and continued in a quick low voice, anxious to -take advantage of a conversation between her mother and Molly,-- - -"I think I can guess why you made that pretty little speech just -now. But do you know you ought not to have been told? And, moreover, -things are not quite arrived at the solemnity of--of--well--an -engagement. He would not have it so. Now, I sha'n't say any more; and -you must not. Pray remember you ought not to have known; it is my -own secret, and I particularly wished it not to be spoken about; and -I don't like its being so talked about. Oh, the leaking of water -through one small hole!" - -And then she plunged into the talk of the other two, making the -conversation general. Osborne was rather discomfited at the -non-success of his congratulations; he had pictured to himself the -unbosoming of a love-sick girl, full of rapture, and glad of a -sympathizing confidant. He little knew Cynthia's nature. The more she -suspected that she was called upon for a display of emotion, the less -would she show; and her emotions were generally under the control of -her will. He had made an effort to come and see her; and now he leant -back in his chair, weary and a little dispirited. - -"You poor dear young man," said Mrs. Gibson, coming up to him with -her soft, soothing manner; "how tired you look! Do take some of that -eau-de-Cologne and bathe your forehead. This spring weather overcomes -me too. 'Primavera' I think the Italians call it. But it is very -trying for delicate constitutions, as much from its associations as -from its variableness of temperature. It makes me sigh perpetually; -but then I am so sensitive. Dear Lady Cumnor always used to say I was -like a thermometer. You've heard how ill she has been?" - -"No," said Osborne, not very much caring either. - -"Oh, yes, she is better now; but the anxiety about her has tried me -so: detained here by what are, of course, my duties, but far away -from all intelligence, and not knowing what the next post might -bring." - -"Where was she then?" asked Osborne, becoming a little more -sympathetic. - -"At Spa. Such a distance off! Three days' post! Can't you conceive -the trial? Living with her as I did for years; bound up in the family -as I was." - -"But Lady Harriet said, in her last letter, that they hoped she would -be stronger than she had been for years," said Molly, innocently. - -"Yes--Lady Harriet--of course--every one who knows Lady Harriet knows -that she is of too sanguine a temperament for her statements to be -perfectly relied on. Altogether--strangers are often deluded by Lady -Harriet--she has an off-hand manner which takes them in; but she does -not mean half she says." - -"We will hope she does in this instance," said Cynthia, shortly. -"They're in London now, and Lady Cumnor hasn't suffered from the -journey." - -"They say so," said Mrs. Gibson, shaking her head, and laying an -emphasis on the word "say." "I am perhaps over-anxious, but I wish--I -wish I could see and judge for myself. It would be the only way of -calming my anxiety. I almost think I shall go up with you, Cynthia, -for a day or two, just to see her with my own eyes. I don't quite -like your travelling alone either. We will think about it, and you -shall write to Mr. Kirkpatrick, and propose it, if we determine upon -it. You can tell him of my anxiety; and it will be only sharing your -bed for a couple of nights." - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - -MOLLY GIBSON BREATHES FREELY. - - -That was the way in which Mrs. Gibson first broached her intention -of accompanying Cynthia up to London for a few days' visit. She had -a trick of producing the first sketch of any new plan before an -outsider to the family circle; so that the first emotions of others, -if they disapproved of her projects, had to be repressed, until the -idea had become familiar to them. To Molly it seemed too charming -a proposal ever to come to pass. She had never allowed herself to -recognize the restraint she was under in her stepmother's presence; -but all at once she found it out when her heart danced at the idea -of three whole days--for that it would be at the least--of perfect -freedom of intercourse with her father; of old times come back again; -of meals without perpetual fidgetiness after details of ceremony and -correctness of attendance. - -"We'll have bread-and-cheese for dinner, and eat it on our knees; -we'll make up for having had to eat sloppy puddings with a fork -instead of a spoon all this time, by putting our knives in our mouths -till we cut ourselves. Papa shall pour his tea into his saucer if -he's in a hurry; and if I'm thirsty, I'll take the slop-basin. And -oh, if I could but get, buy, borrow, or steal any kind of an old -horse; my grey skirt isn't new, but it will do;--that would be too -delightful! After all, I think I can be happy again; for months and -months it has seemed as if I had got too old ever to feel pleasure, -much less happiness again." - -So thought Molly. Yet she blushed, as if with guilt, when Cynthia, -reading her thoughts, said to her one day,-- - -"Molly, you're very glad to get rid of us, are not you?" - -"Not of you, Cynthia; at least, I don't think I am. Only, if you but -knew how I love papa, and how I used to see a great deal more of him -than I ever do now--" - -"Ah! I often think what interlopers we must seem, and are in fact--" - -"I don't feel you as such. You, at any rate, have been a new delight -to me--a sister; and I never knew how charming such a relationship -could be." - -"But mamma?" said Cynthia, half-suspiciously, half-sorrowfully. - -"She is papa's wife," said Molly, quietly. "I don't mean to say I'm -not often very sorry to feel I'm no longer first with him; but it -was"--the violent colour flushed into her face till even her eyes -burnt, and she suddenly found herself on the point of crying; the -weeping ash-tree, the misery, the slow dropping comfort, and the -comforter came all so vividly before her--"it was Roger!"--she went -on looking up at Cynthia, as she overcame her slight hesitation at -mentioning his name--"Roger, who told me how I ought to take papa's -marriage, when I was first startled and grieved at the news. Oh, -Cynthia, what a great thing it is to be loved by him!" - -Cynthia blushed, and looked fluttered and pleased. - -"Yes, I suppose it is. At the same time, Molly, I'm afraid he'll -expect me to be always as good as he fancies me now, and I shall have -to walk on tiptoe all the rest of my life." - -"But you are good, Cynthia," put in Molly. - -"No, I'm not. You're just as much mistaken as he is; and some day I -shall go down in your opinions with a run, just like the hall clock -the other day when the spring broke." - -"I think he'll love you just as much," said Molly. - -"Could you? Would you be my friend if--if it turned out ever that I -had done very wrong things? Would you remember how very difficult it -has sometimes been to me to act rightly?" (she took hold of Molly's -hand as she spoke). "We won't speak of mamma, for your sake as much -as mine or hers; but you must see she isn't one to help a girl with -much good advice, or good-- Oh, Molly, you don't know how I was -neglected just at a time when I wanted friends most. Mamma does not -know it; it is not in her to know what I might have been if I had -only fallen into wise, good hands. But I know it; and what's more," -continued she, suddenly ashamed of her unusual exhibition of feeling, -"I try not to care, which I daresay is really the worst of all; but I -could worry myself to death if I once took to serious thinking." - -"I wish I could help you, or even understand you," said Molly, after -a moment or two of sad perplexity. - -"You can help me," said Cynthia, changing her manner abruptly. "I can -trim bonnets, and make head-dresses; but somehow my hands can't fold -up gowns and collars, like your deft little fingers. Please will -you help me to pack? That's a real, tangible piece of kindness, and -not sentimental consolation for sentimental distresses, which are, -perhaps, imaginary after all." - -In general, it is the people that are left behind stationary, who -give way to low spirits at any parting; the travellers, however -bitterly they may feel the separation, find something in the change -of scene to soften regret in the very first hour of separation. But -as Molly walked home with her father from seeing Mrs. Gibson and -Cynthia off to London by the "Umpire" coach, she almost danced along -the street. - -"Now, papa!" said she, "I'm going to have you all to myself for a -whole week. You must be very obedient." - -"Don't be tyrannical, then. You're walking me out of breath, and -we're cutting Mrs. Goodenough, in our hurry." - -So they crossed over the street to speak to Mrs. Goodenough. - -"We've just been seeing my wife and her daughter off to London. Mrs. -Gibson has gone up for a week!" - -"Deary, deary, to London, and only for a week! Why, I can remember -its being a three days' journey! It'll be very lonesome for you, Miss -Molly, without your young companion!" - -"Yes!" said Molly, suddenly feeling as if she ought to have taken -this view of the case. "I shall miss Cynthia very much." - -"And you, Mr. Gibson; why, it'll be like being a widower over again! -You must come and drink tea with me some evening. We must try and -cheer you up a bit amongst us. Shall it be Tuesday?" - -In spite of the sharp pinch which Molly gave to his arm, Mr. Gibson -accepted the invitation, much to the gratification of the old lady. - -"Papa, how could you go and waste one of our evenings! We have but -six in all, and now but five; and I had so reckoned on our doing all -sorts of things together." - -"What sort of things?" - -"Oh, I don't know: everything that is unrefined and ungenteel," added -she, slily looking up into her father's face. - -His eyes twinkled, but the rest of his face was perfectly grave. "I'm -not going to be corrupted. With toil and labour I've reached a very -fair height of refinement. I won't be pulled down again." - -"Yes, you will, papa. We'll have bread-and-cheese for lunch this -very day. And you shall wear your slippers in the drawing-room every -evening you'll stay quietly at home; and oh, papa, don't you think I -could ride Nora Creina? I've been looking out the old grey skirt, and -I think I could make myself tidy." - -"Where is the side-saddle to come from?" - -"To be sure, the old one won't fit that great Irish mare. But I'm not -particular, papa. I think I could manage somehow." - -"Thank you. But I'm not quite going to return into barbarism. It may -be a depraved taste, but I should like to see my daughter properly -mounted." - -"Think of riding together down the lanes--why, the dog-roses must be -all out in flower, and the honeysuckles, and the hay--how I should -like to see Merriman's farm again! Papa, do let me have one ride with -you! Please do. I'm sure we can manage it somehow." - -And "somehow" it was managed. "Somehow" all Molly's wishes came to -pass; there was only one little drawback to this week of holiday and -happy intercourse with her father. Everybody would ask them out to -tea. They were quite like bride and bridegroom; for the fact was, -that the late dinners which Mrs. Gibson had introduced into her own -house, were a great inconvenience in the calculations of the small -tea-drinkings at Hollingford. How ask people to tea at six, who dined -at that hour? How, when they refused cake and sandwiches at half-past -eight, how induce other people who were really hungry to commit a -vulgarity before those calm and scornful eyes? So there had been a -great lull of invitations for the Gibsons to Hollingford tea-parties. -Mrs. Gibson, whose object was to squeeze herself into "county -society," had taken this being left out of the smaller festivities -with great equanimity; but Molly missed the kind homeliness of the -parties to which she had gone from time to time as long as she could -remember; and though, as each three-cornered note was brought in, -she grumbled a little over the loss of another charming evening -with her father, she really was glad to go again in the old way -among old friends. Miss Browning and Miss Phoebe were especially -compassionate towards her in her loneliness. If they had had their -will she would have dined there every day; and she had to call upon -them very frequently in order to prevent their being hurt at her -declining the dinners. Mrs. Gibson wrote twice during her week's -absence to her husband. That piece of news was quite satisfactory -to the Miss Brownings, who had of late held themselves a great deal -aloof from a house where they chose to suppose that their presence -was not wanted. In their winter evenings they had often talked over -Mr. Gibson's household, and having little besides conjecture to go -upon, they found the subject interminable, as they could vary the -possibilities every day. One of their wonders was how Mr. and Mrs. -Gibson really got on together; another was whether Mrs. Gibson was -extravagant or not. Now two letters during the week of her absence -showed what was in those days considered a very proper amount of -conjugal affection. Yet not too much--at elevenpence-halfpenny -postage. A third letter would have been extravagant. Sister looked to -sister with an approving nod as Molly named the second letter, which -arrived in Hollingford the very day before Mrs. Gibson was to return. -They had settled between themselves that two letters would show the -right amount of good feeling and proper understanding in the Gibson -family: more would have been extravagant; only one would have been -a mere matter of duty. There had been rather a question between -Miss Browning and Miss Phoebe as to which person the second letter -(supposing it came) was to be addressed to. It would be very conjugal -to write twice to Mr. Gibson; and yet it would be very pretty if -Molly came in for her share. - -"You've had another letter, you say, my dear?" asked Miss Browning. -"I daresay Mrs. Gibson has written to you this time?" - -"It is a large sheet, and Cynthia has written on one half to me, and -all the rest is to papa." - -"A very nice arrangement, I'm sure. And what does Cynthia say? Is she -enjoying herself?" - -"Oh, yes, I think so. They've had a dinner-party; and one night, -when mamma was at Lady Cumnor's, Cynthia went to the play with her -cousins." - -"Upon my word! and all in one week? I do call that dissipation. Why, -Thursday would be taken up with the journey, and Friday with resting, -and Sunday is Sunday all the world over; and they must have written -on Tuesday. Well! I hope Cynthia won't find Hollingford dull, that's -all, when she comes back." - -"I don't think it's likely," said Miss Phoebe, with a little simper -and a knowing look, which sate oddly on her kindly innocent face. -"You see a great deal of Mr. Preston, don't you, Molly?" - -"Mr. Preston!" said Molly, flushing up with surprise. "No! not much. -He's been at Ashcombe all winter, you know! He has but just come back -to settle here. What should make you think so?" - -"Oh! a little bird told us," said Miss Browning. Molly knew that -little bird from her childhood, and had always hated it, and longed -to wring its neck. Why could not people speak out and say that they -did not mean to give up the name of their informant? But it was a -very favourite form of fiction with the Miss Brownings, and to Miss -Phoebe it was the very acme of wit. - -"The little bird was flying about one day in Heath Lane, and it saw -Mr. Preston and a young lady--we won't say who--walking together in -a very friendly manner, that is to say, he was on horseback; but the -path is raised above the road, just where there is the little wooden -bridge over the brook--" - -"Perhaps Molly is in the secret, and we ought not to ask her about -it," said Miss Phoebe, seeing Molly's extreme discomfiture and -annoyance. - -"It can be no great secret," said Miss Browning, dropping the -little-bird formula, and assuming an air of dignified reproval at -Miss Phoebe's interruption, "for Miss Hornblower says Mr. Preston -owns to being engaged--" - -"At any rate it isn't to Cynthia, that I know positively," said Molly -with some vehemence. "And pray put a stop to any such reports; you -don't know what mischief they may do. I do so hate that kind of -chatter!" It was not very respectful of Molly to speak in this way -to be sure, but she thought only of Roger; and the distress any such -reports might cause, should he ever hear of them (in the centre of -Africa!) made her colour up scarlet with vexation. - -"Heighty-teighty! Miss Molly! don't you remember that I am old enough -to be your mother, and that it is not pretty behaviour to speak so to -us--to me! 'Chatter' to be sure. Really, Molly--" - -"I beg your pardon," said Molly, only half-penitent. - -"I daresay you did not mean to speak so to sister," said Miss -Phoebe, trying to make peace. - -Molly did not answer all at once. She wanted to explain how much -mischief might be done by such reports. - -"But don't you see," she went on, still flushed by vexation, "how -bad it is to talk of such things in such a way? Supposing one of -them cared for some one else, and that might happen, you know; Mr. -Preston, for instance, may be engaged to some one else?" - -"Molly! I pity the woman! Indeed I do. I have a very poor opinion of -Mr. Preston," said Miss Browning, in a warning tone of voice; for a -new idea had come into her head. - -"Well, but the woman, or young lady, would not like to hear such -reports about Mr. Preston." - -"Perhaps not. But for all that, take my word for it, he's a great -flirt, and young ladies had better not have much to do with him." - -"I daresay it was all accident their meeting in Heath Lane," said -Miss Phoebe. - -"I know nothing about it," said Molly, "and I daresay I have been -impertinent, only please don't talk about it any more. I have my -reasons for asking you." She got up, for by the striking of the -church clock she had just found out that it was later than she had -thought, and she knew that her father would be at home by this time. -She bent down and kissed Miss Browning's grave and passive face. - -"How you are growing, Molly!" said Miss Phoebe, anxious to cover -over her sister's displeasure. "'As tall and as straight as a -poplar-tree!' as the old song says." - -"Grow in grace, Molly, as well as in good looks!" said Miss Browning, -watching her out of the room. As soon as she was fairly gone, Miss -Browning got up and shut the door quite securely, and then sitting -down near her sister, she said, in a low voice, "Phoebe, it was -Molly herself that was with Mr. Preston in Heath Lane that day when -Mrs. Goodenough saw them together!" - -"Gracious goodness me!" exclaimed Miss Phoebe, receiving it at once -as gospel. "How do you know?" - -"By putting two and two together. Didn't you notice how red Molly -went, and then pale, and how she said she knew for a fact that Mr. -Preston and Cynthia Kirkpatrick were not engaged?" - -"Perhaps not engaged; but Mrs. Goodenough saw them loitering -together, all by their own two selves--" - -"Mrs. Goodenough only crossed Heath Lane at the Shire Oak, as she was -riding in her phaeton," said Miss Browning sententiously. "We all -know what a coward she is in a carriage, so that most likely she had -only half her wits about her, and her eyes are none of the best when -she is standing steady on the ground. Molly and Cynthia have got -their new plaid shawls just alike, and they trim their bonnets alike, -and Molly is grown as tall as Cynthia since Christmas. I was always -afraid she'd be short and stumpy, but she's now as tall and slender -as anyone need be. I'll answer for it, Mrs. Goodenough saw Molly, and -took her for Cynthia." - -When Miss Browning "answered for it" Miss Phoebe gave up doubting. -She sate some time in silence revolving her thoughts. Then she said: - -"It wouldn't be such a very bad match after all, sister." She spoke -very meekly, awaiting her sister's sanction to her opinion. - -"Phoebe, it would be a bad match for Mary Pearson's daughter. If -I had known what I know now we'd never have had him to tea last -September." - -"Why, what do you know?" asked Miss Phoebe. - -"Miss Hornblower told me many things; some that I don't think -you ought to hear, Phoebe. He was engaged to a very pretty Miss -Gregson, at Henwick, where he comes from; and her father made -inquiries, and heard so much that was bad about him that he made his -daughter break off the match, and she's dead since!" - -"How shocking!" said Miss Phoebe, duly impressed. - -"Besides, he plays at billiards, and he bets at races, and some -people do say he keeps race-horses." - -"But isn't it strange that the earl keeps him on as his agent?" - -"No! perhaps not. He's very clever about land, and very sharp in all -law affairs; and my lord isn't bound to take notice--if indeed he -knows--of the manner in which Mr. Preston talks when he has taken too -much wine." - -"Taken too much wine! Oh, sister, is he a drunkard? and we have had -him to tea!" - -"I didn't say he was a drunkard, Phoebe," said Miss Browning, -pettishly. "A man may take too much wine occasionally, without being -a drunkard. Don't let me hear you using such coarse words, Phoebe!" - -Miss Phoebe was silent for a time after this rebuke. - -Presently she said, "I do hope it wasn't Molly Gibson." - -"You may hope as much as you like, but I'm pretty sure it was. -However, we'd better say nothing about it to Mrs. Goodenough; she has -got Cynthia into her head, and there let her rest. Time enough to set -reports afloat about Molly when we know there's some truth in them. -Mr. Preston might do for Cynthia, who's been brought up in France, -though she has such pretty manners; but it may have made her not -particular. He must not, and he shall not, have Molly, if I go into -church and forbid the banns myself; but I'm afraid--I'm afraid -there's something between her and him. We must keep on the look-out, -Phoebe. I'll be her guardian angel, in spite of herself." - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - -GATHERING CLOUDS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Mrs. Gibson came back full of rose-coloured accounts of London. Lady -Cumnor had been gracious and affectionate, "so touched by my going -up to see her so soon after her return to England," Lady Harriet -charming and devoted to her old governess, Lord Cumnor "just like -his dear usual hearty self;" and as for the Kirkpatricks, no Lord -Chancellor's house was ever grander than theirs, and the silk gown of -the Q.C. had floated over housemaids and footmen. Cynthia, too, was -so much admired; and as for her dress, Mrs. Kirkpatrick had showered -down ball-dresses and wreaths, and pretty bonnets and mantles, like a -fairy godmother. Mr. Gibson's poor present of ten pounds shrank into -very small dimensions compared with all this munificence. - -"And they're so fond of her, I don't know when we shall have her -back," was Mrs. Gibson's winding-up sentence. "And now, Molly, what -have you and papa been doing? Very gay, you sounded in your letter. -I had not time to read it in London; so I put it in my pocket, and -read it in the coach coming home. But, my dear child, you do look -so old-fashioned with your gown made all tight, and your hair all -tumbling about in curls. Curls are quite gone out. We must do your -hair differently," she continued, trying to smooth Molly's black -waves into straightness. - -"I sent Cynthia an African letter," said Molly, timidly. "Did you -hear anything of what was in it?" - -"Oh, yes, poor child! It made her very uneasy, I think; she said she -did not feel inclined to go to Mr. Rawson's ball, which was on that -night, and for which Mrs. Kirkpatrick had given her the ball-dress. -But there was really nothing for her to fidget herself about. Roger -only said he had had another touch of fever, but was better when he -wrote. He says every European has to be acclimatized by fever in that -part of Abyssinia where he is." - -"And did she go?" asked Molly. - -"Yes, to be sure. It is not an engagement; and if it were, it is not -acknowledged. Fancy her going and saying, 'A young man that I know -has been ill for a few days in Africa, two months ago, therefore I -don't want to go to the ball to-night.' It would have seemed like -affectation of sentiment; and if there's one thing I hate it is -that." - -"She would hardly enjoy herself," said Molly. - -"Oh, yes, but she did. Her dress was white gauze, trimmed with -lilacs, and she really did look--a mother may be allowed a little -natural partiality--most lovely. And she danced every dance, although -she was quite a stranger. I am sure she enjoyed herself, from her -manner of talking about it next morning." - -"I wonder if the Squire knows." - -"Knows what? Oh, yes, to be sure--you mean about Roger. I daresay he -doesn't, and there's no need to tell him, for I've no doubt it is all -right now." And she went out of the room to finish her unpacking. - -Molly let her work fall, and sighed. "It will be a year the day after -to-morrow since he came here to propose our going to Hurst Wood, and -mamma was so vexed at his calling before lunch. I wonder if Cynthia -remembers it as well as I do. And now, perhaps-- Oh! Roger, Roger! I -wish--I pray that you were safe home again! How could we all bear it, -if--" - -She covered her face with her hands, and tried to stop thinking. -Suddenly she got up, as if stung by a venomous fancy. - -"I don't believe she loves him as she ought, or she could not--could -not have gone and danced. What shall I do if she does not? What shall -I do? I can bear anything but that." - -But she found the long suspense as to his health hard enough to -endure. They were not likely to hear from him for a month at least, -and before that time had elapsed Cynthia would be at home again. -Molly learnt to long for her return before a fortnight of her absence -was over. She had had no idea that perpetual tête-à-têtes with Mrs. -Gibson could, by any possibility, be so tiresome as she found them. -Perhaps Molly's state of delicate health, consequent upon her rapid -growth during the last few months, made her irritable; but really -often she had to get up and leave the room to calm herself down after -listening to a long series of words, more frequently plaintive or -discontented in tone than cheerful, and which at the end conveyed -no distinct impression of either the speaker's thought or feeling. -Whenever anything had gone wrong, whenever Mr. Gibson had coolly -persevered in anything to which she had objected; whenever the cook -had made a mistake about the dinner, or the housemaid broken any -little frangible article; whenever Molly's hair was not done to her -liking, or her dress did not become her, or the smell of dinner -pervaded the house, or the wrong callers came, or the right callers -did not come--in fact, whenever anything went wrong, poor Mr. -Kirkpatrick was regretted and mourned over, nay, almost blamed, as -if, had he only given himself the trouble of living, he could have -helped it. - -"When I look back to those happy days, it seems to me as if I had -never valued them as I ought. To be sure--youth, love,--what did we -care for poverty! I remember dear Mr. Kirkpatrick walking five miles -into Stratford to buy me a muffin because I had such a fancy for one -after Cynthia was born. I don't mean to complain of dear papa--but -I don't think--but, perhaps I ought not to say it to you. If Mr. -Kirkpatrick had but taken care of that cough of his; but he was so -obstinate! Men always are, I think. And it really was selfish of -him. Only I daresay he did not consider the forlorn state in which I -should be left. It came harder upon me than upon most people, because -I always was of such an affectionate sensitive nature. I remember a -little poem of Mr. Kirkpatrick's, in which he compared my heart to a -harpstring, vibrating to the slightest breeze." - -"I thought harpstrings required a pretty strong finger to make them -sound," said Molly. - -"My dear child, you've no more poetry in you than your father. And as -for your hair! it's worse than ever. Can't you drench it in water to -take those untidy twists and twirls out of it?" - -"It only makes it curl more and more when it gets dry," said Molly, -sudden tears coming into her eyes as a recollection came before her -like a picture seen long ago and forgotten for years--a young mother -washing and dressing her little girl; placing the half-naked darling -on her knee, and twining the wet rings of dark hair fondly round her -fingers, and then, in an ecstasy of fondness, kissing the little -curly head. - -The receipt of Cynthia's letters made very agreeable events. She -did not write often, but her letters were tolerably long when they -did come, and very sprightly in tone. There was constant mention -made of many new names, which conveyed no idea to Molly, though Mrs. -Gibson would try and enlighten her by running commentaries like the -following:-- - -"Mrs. Green! ah, that's Mr. Jones's pretty cousin, who lives in -Russell Square with the fat husband. They keep their carriage; but -I'm not sure if it is not Mr. Green who is Mrs. Jones's cousin. We -can ask Cynthia when she comes home. Mr. Henderson! to be sure--a -young man with black whiskers, a pupil of Mr. Kirkpatrick's -formerly,--or was he a pupil of Mr. Murray's? I know they said he had -read law with somebody. Ah, yes! they are the people who called the -day after Mr. Rawson's ball, and who admired Cynthia so much, without -knowing I was her mother. She was very handsomely dressed indeed, in -black satin; and the son had a glass eye, but he was a young man of -good property. Coleman! yes, that was the name." - -No more news of Roger until some time after Cynthia had returned from -her London visit. She came back looking fresher and prettier than -ever, beautifully dressed, thanks to her own good taste, and her -cousin's generosity, full of amusing details of the gay life she had -been enjoying, yet not at all out of spirits at having left it behind -her. She brought home all sorts of pretty and dainty devices for -Molly; a neck-ribbon made up in the newest fashion, a pattern for a -tippet, a delicate pair of light gloves, embroidered as Molly had -never seen gloves embroidered before, and many another little sign of -remembrance during her absence. Yet somehow or other, Molly felt that -Cynthia was changed in her relation to her. Molly was aware that she -had never had Cynthia's full confidence, for with all her apparent -frankness and _naïveté_ of manner, Cynthia was extremely reserved and -reticent. She knew this much of herself, and had often laughed about -it to Molly, and the latter had by this time found out the truth of -her friend's assertion. But Molly did not trouble herself much about -it. She too knew that there were many thoughts and feelings that -flitted through her mind which she should never think of telling -to any one, except perhaps--if they were ever very much thrown -together--to her father. She knew that Cynthia withheld from her more -than thoughts and feelings--that she withheld facts. But then, as -Molly reflected, these facts might involve details of struggle and -suffering--might relate to her mother's neglect--and altogether be of -so painful a character, that it would be well if Cynthia could forget -her childhood altogether, instead of fixing it in her mind by the -relation of her grievances and troubles. So it was not now by any -want of confidence that Molly felt distanced as it were. It was -because Cynthia rather avoided than sought her companionship; because -her eyes shunned the straight, serious, loving look of Molly's; -because there were certain subjects on which she evidently disliked -speaking, not particularly interesting things as far as Molly could -perceive, but it almost seemed as if they lay on the road to points -to be avoided. Molly felt a sort of sighing pleasure in noticing -Cynthia's changed manner of talking about Roger. She spoke of him -tenderly now; "poor Roger," as she called him; and Molly thought -that she must be referring to the illness which he had mentioned -in his last letter. One morning in the first week after Cynthia's -return home, just as he was going out, Mr. Gibson ran up into the -drawing-room, hat on, booted and spurred, and hastily laid an open -pamphlet down before her; pointing out a particular passage with -his finger, but not speaking a word before he rapidly quitted the -room. His eyes were sparkling, and had an amused as well as pleased -expression. All this Molly noticed, as well as Cynthia's flush of -colour as she read what was thus pointed out to her. Then she pushed -it a little on one side, not closing the book, however, and went on -with her work. - -"What is it? may I see it?" asked Molly, stretching out her hand for -the pamphlet, which lay within her reach. But she did not take it -until Cynthia had said-- - -"Certainly; I don't suppose there are any great secrets in a -scientific journal, full of reports of meetings." And she gave the -book a little push towards Molly. - -"Oh, Cynthia!" said Molly, catching her breath as she read, "are -you not proud?" For it was an account of an annual gathering of the -Geographical Society, and Lord Hollingford had read a letter he had -received from Roger Hamley, dated from Arracuoba, a district in -Africa, hitherto unvisited by any intelligent European traveller; and -about which Mr. Hamley sent many curious particulars. The reading of -this letter had been received with the greatest interest, and several -subsequent speakers had paid the writer very high compliments. - -But Molly might have known Cynthia better than to expect an answer -responsive to the feelings that prompted her question. Let Cynthia -be ever so proud, ever so glad, or so grateful, or even indignant, -remorseful, grieved or sorry, the very fact that she was expected by -another to entertain any of these emotions, would have been enough to -prevent her expressing them. - -"I'm afraid I'm not as much struck by the wonder of the thing as you -are, Molly. Besides, it is not news to me; at least, not entirely. -I heard about the meeting before I left London; it was a good deal -talked about in my uncle's set; to be sure, I didn't hear all the -fine things they say of him there--but then, you know, that's a mere -fashion of speaking, which means nothing; somebody is bound to pay -compliments when a lord takes the trouble to read one of his letters -aloud." - -"Nonsense," said Molly. "You know you don't believe what you are -saying, Cynthia." - -Cynthia gave that pretty little jerk of her shoulders, which was her -equivalent for a French shrug, but did not lift up her head from her -sewing. Molly began to read the report over again. - -"Why, Cynthia!" she said, "you might have been there; ladies were -there. It says 'many ladies were present.' Oh, couldn't you have -managed to go? If your uncle's set cared about these things, wouldn't -some of them have taken you?" - -"Perhaps, if I had asked them. But I think they would have been -rather astonished at my sudden turn for science." - -"You might have told your uncle how matters really stood, he wouldn't -have talked about it if you had wished him not, I am sure, and he -could have helped you." - -"Once for all, Molly," said Cynthia, now laying down her work, and -speaking with quick authority, "do learn to understand that it is, -and always has been my wish, not to have the relation which Roger and -I bear to each other, mentioned or talked about. When the right time -comes, I will make it known to my uncle, and to everybody whom it may -concern; but I am not going to make mischief, and get myself into -trouble--even for the sake of hearing compliments paid to him--by -letting it out before the time. If I'm pushed to it, I'd sooner -break it off altogether at once, and have done with it. I can't be -worse off than I am now." Her angry tone had changed into a kind of -desponding complaint before she had ended her sentence. Molly looked -at her with dismay. - -"I can't understand you, Cynthia," she said at length. - -"No; I daresay you can't," said Cynthia, looking at her with tears -in her eyes, and very tenderly, as if in atonement for her late -vehemence. "I am afraid--I hope you never will." - -In a moment, Molly's arms were round her. "Oh, Cynthia," she -murmured, "have I been plaguing you? Have I vexed you? Don't say -you're afraid of my knowing you. Of course you've your faults, -everybody has, but I think I love you the better for them." - -"I don't know that I am so very bad," said Cynthia, smiling a little -through the tears that Molly's words and caresses had forced to -overflow from her eyes. "But I have got into scrapes. I'm in a scrape -now. I do sometimes believe I shall always be in scrapes, and if they -ever come to light, I shall seem to be worse than I really am; and I -know your father will throw me off, and I--no, I won't be afraid that -you will, Molly." - -"I'm sure I won't. Are they--do you think--how would Roger take it?" -asked Molly, very timidly. - -"I don't know. I hope he will never hear of it. I don't see why he -should, for in a little while I shall be quite clear again. It all -came about without my ever thinking I was doing wrong. I've a great -mind to tell you all about it, Molly." - -Molly did not like to urge it, though she longed to know, and to see -if she could not offer help; but while Cynthia was hesitating, and -perhaps, to say the truth, rather regretting that she had even made -this slight advance towards bestowing her confidence, Mrs. Gibson -came in, full of some manner of altering a gown of hers, so as to -make it into the fashion of the day, as she had seen it during her -visit to London. Cynthia seemed to forget her tears and her troubles, -and to throw her whole soul into millinery. - -Cynthia's correspondence went on pretty briskly with her London -cousins, according to the usual rate of correspondence in those -days. Indeed, Mrs. Gibson was occasionally inclined to complain of -the frequency of Helen Kirkpatrick's letters; for before the penny -post came in, the recipient had to pay the postage of letters; and -eleven-pence-halfpenny three times a week came, according to Mrs. -Gibson's mode of reckoning when annoyed, to a sum "between three -and four shillings." But these complaints were only for the family; -they saw the wrong side of the tapestry. Hollingford in general, -Miss Brownings in particular, heard of "dear Helen's enthusiastic -friendship for Cynthia," and of "the real pleasure it was to receive -such constant news--relays of news indeed--from London. It was almost -as good as living there!" - -"A great deal better I should think," said Miss Browning with some -severity. For she had got many of her notions of the metropolis -from the British Essayists, where town is so often represented as -the centre of dissipation, corrupting country wives and squires' -daughters, and unfitting them for all their duties by the constant -whirl of its not always innocent pleasures. London was a sort of -moral pitch, which few could touch and not be defiled. Miss Browning -had been on the watch for the signs of deterioration in Cynthia's -character ever since her return home. But, except in a greater number -of pretty and becoming articles of dress, there was no great change -for the worse to be perceived. Cynthia had been "in the world," had -"beheld the glare and glitter and dazzling display of London," yet -had come back to Hollingford as ready as ever to place a chair for -Miss Browning, or to gather flowers for a nosegay for Miss Phoebe, -or to mend her own clothes. But all this was set down to the merits -of Cynthia, not to the credit of London-town. - -"As far as I can judge of London," said Miss Browning, sententiously -continuing her tirade against the place, "it's no better than a -pickpocket and a robber dressed up in the spoils of honest folk. I -should like to know where my Lord Hollingford was bred, and Mr. Roger -Hamley. Your good husband lent me that report of the meeting, Mrs. -Gibson, where so much was said about them both, and he was as proud -of their praises as if he had been akin to them, and Phoebe read -it aloud to me, for the print was too small for my eyes; she was a -good deal perplexed with all the new names of places, but I said -she had better skip them all, for we had never heard of them before -and probably should never hear of them again, but she read out the -fine things they said of my lord, and Mr. Roger, and I put it to -you, where were they born and bred? Why, within eight miles of -Hollingford; it might have been Molly there or me; it's all a chance; -and then they go and talk about the pleasures of intellectual society -in London, and the distinguished people up there that it is such an -advantage to know, and all the time I know it's only shops and the -play that's the real attraction. But that's neither here nor there. -We all put our best foot foremost, and if we have a reason to give -that looks sensible we speak it out like men, and never say anything -about the silliness we are hugging to our hearts. But I ask you -again, where does this fine society come from, and these wise men, -and these distinguished travellers? Why, out of country parishes like -this! London picks 'em all up, and decks herself with them, and then -calls out loud to the folks she's robbed, and says, 'Come and see -how fine I am.' Fine, indeed! I've no patience with London: Cynthia -is much better out of it; and I'm not sure, if I were you, Mrs. -Gibson, if I wouldn't stop up those London letters: they'll only be -unsettling her." - -"But perhaps she may live in London some of these days, Miss -Browning," simpered Mrs. Gibson. - -"Time enough then to be thinking of London. I wish her an honest -country husband with enough to live upon, and a little to lay by, -and a good character to boot. Mind that, Molly," said she, firing -round upon the startled Molly; "I wish Cynthia a husband with a good -character; but she's got a mother to look after her; you've none, and -when your mother was alive she was a dear friend of mine: so I'm not -going to let you throw yourself away upon any one whose life isn't -clear and above-board, you may depend upon it!" - -This last speech fell like a bomb into the quiet little drawing-room, -it was delivered with such vehemence. Miss Browning, in her secret -heart, meant it as a warning against the intimacy she believed that -Molly had formed with Mr. Preston; but as it happened that Molly had -never dreamed of any such intimacy, the girl could not imagine why -such severity of speech should be addressed to her. Mrs. Gibson, who -always took up the points of every word or action where they touched -her own self (and called it sensitiveness), broke the silence that -followed Miss Browning's speech by saying, plaintively,-- - -"I'm sure, Miss Browning, you are very much mistaken if you think -that any mother could take more care of Molly than I do. I don't--I -can't think there is any need for any one to interfere to protect -her, and I have not an idea why you have been talking in this way, -just as if we were all wrong, and you were all right. It hurts my -feelings, indeed it does; for Molly can tell you there is not a thing -or a favour that Cynthia has, that she has not. And as for not taking -care of her, why, if she were to go up to London to-morrow, I should -make a point of going with her to see after her; and I never did -it for Cynthia when she was at school in France; and her bedroom -is furnished just like Cynthia's, and I let her wear my red shawl -whenever she likes--she might have it oftener if she would. I can't -think what you mean, Miss Browning." - -"I did not mean to offend you, but I meant just to give Molly a hint. -She understands what I mean." - -"I'm sure I don't," said Molly, boldly. "I haven't a notion what you -meant, if you were alluding to anything more than you said straight -out,--that you do not wish me to marry any one who hasn't a good -character, and that, as you were a friend of mamma's, you would -prevent my marrying a man with a bad character, by every means in -your power. I'm not thinking of marrying; I don't want to marry -anybody at all; but if I did, and he were not a good man, I should -thank you for coming and warning me of it." - -"I shall not stand on warning you, Molly. I shall forbid the banns in -church, if need be," said Miss Browning, half convinced of the clear -transparent truth of what Molly had said--blushing all over, it is -true, but with her steady eyes fixed on Miss Browning's face while -she spoke. - -"Do!" said Molly. - -"Well, well, I won't say any more. Perhaps I was mistaken. We won't -say any more about it. But remember what I have said, Molly; there's -no harm in that, at any rate. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Mrs. -Gibson. As stepmothers go, I think you try and do your duty. Good -morning. Good-by to you both, and God bless you." - -If Miss Browning thought that her final blessing would secure peace -in the room she was leaving, she was very much mistaken; Mrs. Gibson -burst out with,-- - -"Try and do my duty, indeed! I should be much obliged to you, Molly, -if you would take care not to behave in such a manner as to bring -down upon me such impertinence as I have just been receiving from -Miss Browning." - -"But I don't know what made her talk as she did, mamma," said Molly. - -"I'm sure I don't know, and I don't care either. But I know -that I never was spoken to as if I was trying to do my duty -before,--'trying' indeed! everybody always knew that I did it, -without talking about it before my face in that rude manner. I've -that deep feeling about duty that I think it ought only to be talked -about in church, and in such sacred places as that; not to have a -common caller startling one with it, even though she was an early -friend of your mother's. And as if I didn't look after you quite as -much as I look after Cynthia! Why, it was only yesterday I went up -into Cynthia's room and found her reading a letter that she put away -in a hurry as soon as I came in, and I didn't even ask her who it was -from, and I'm sure I should have made you tell me." - -Very likely. Mrs. Gibson shrank from any conflicts with Cynthia, -pretty sure that she would be worsted in the end; while Molly -generally submitted sooner than have any struggle for her own will. - -Just then Cynthia came in. - -"What's the matter?" said she quickly, seeing that something was -wrong. - -"Why, Molly has been doing something which has set that impertinent -Miss Browning off into lecturing me on trying to do my duty! If your -poor father had but lived, Cynthia, I should never have been spoken -to as I have been. 'A stepmother trying to do her duty,' indeed! That -was Miss Browning's expression." - -Any allusion to her father took from Cynthia all desire of irony. She -came forward, and again asked Molly what was the matter. - -Molly, herself ruffled, made answer,-- - -"Miss Browning seemed to think I was likely to marry some one whose -character was objectionable--" - -"You, Molly?" said Cynthia. - -"Yes--she once before spoke to me,--I suspect she has got some notion -about Mr. Preston in her head--" - -Cynthia sate down quite suddenly. Molly went on: "And she spoke -as if mamma did not look enough after me,--I think she was rather -provoking--" - -"Not rather, but very--very impertinent," said Mrs. Gibson, a little -soothed by Molly's recognition of her grievance. - -"What could have put it into her head?" said Cynthia, very quietly, -taking up her sewing as she spoke. - -"I don't know," said her mother, replying to the question after her -own fashion. "I'm sure I don't always approve of Mr. Preston; but -even if it was him she was thinking about, he's far more agreeable -than she is; and I had much rather have him coming to call than an -old maid like her any day." - -"I don't know that it was Mr. Preston she was thinking about," said -Molly. "It was only a guess. When you were both in London she spoke -about him,--I thought she had heard something about you and him, -Cynthia." Unseen by her mother Cynthia looked up at Molly, her eyes -full of prohibition, her cheeks full of angry colour. Molly stopped -short suddenly. After that look she was surprised at the quietness -with which Cynthia said, almost immediately,-- - -"Well, after all, it is only your fancy that she was alluding to Mr. -Preston, so perhaps we had better not say any more about him; and as -for her advice to mamma to look after you better, Miss Molly, I'll -stand bail for your good behaviour; for both mamma and I know you're -the last person to do any foolish things in that way. And now don't -let us talk any more about it. I was coming to tell you that Hannah -Brand's little boy has been badly burnt, and his sister is downstairs -asking for old linen." - -Mrs. Gibson was always kind to poor people, and she immediately got -up and went to her stores to search for the article wanted. - -Cynthia turned quietly round to Molly. - -"Molly, pray don't ever allude to anything between me and Mr. -Preston,--not to mamma, nor to any one. Never do! I've a reason for -it,--don't say anything more about it, ever." - -Mrs. Gibson came back at this moment, and Molly had to stop short -again on the brink of Cynthia's confidence; uncertain indeed this -time, whether she would have been told anything more, and only sure -that she had annoyed Cynthia a good deal. - -But the time was approaching when she would know all. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - -THE STORM BURSTS. - - -The autumn drifted away through all its seasons. The golden -corn-harvest, the walks through the stubble-fields, and rambles into -hazel-copses in search of nuts; the stripping of the apple-orchards -of their ruddy fruit, amid the joyous cries and shouts of watching -children; and the gorgeous tulip-like colouring of the later time had -now come on with the shortening days. There was comparative silence -in the land, excepting for the distant shots, and the whirr of the -partridges as they rose up from the field. - -Ever since Miss Browning's unlucky conversation, things had been -ajar in the Gibsons' house. Cynthia seemed to keep every one out at -(mental) arms'-length; and particularly avoided any private talks -with Molly. Mrs. Gibson, still cherishing a grudge against Miss -Browning for her implied accusation of not looking enough after -Molly, chose to exercise a most wearying supervision over the poor -girl. It was, "Where have you been, child?" "Who did you see?" "Who -was that letter from?" "Why were you so long out when you had only -to go to so-and-so?" just as if Molly had really been detected in -carrying on some underhand intercourse. She answered every question -asked of her with the simple truthfulness of perfect innocence; -but the inquiries (although she read their motive, and knew that -they arose from no especial suspicion of her conduct, but only that -Mrs. Gibson might be able to say that she looked well after her -stepdaughter) chafed her inexpressibly. Very often she did not go out -at all, sooner than have to give a plan of her intended proceedings, -when perhaps she had no plan at all,--only thought of wandering out -at her own sweet will, and of taking pleasure in the bright solemn -fading of the year. It was a very heavy time for Molly,--zest and -life had fled, and left so many of the old delights mere shells of -seeming. She thought it was that her youth had fled; at nineteen! -Cynthia was no longer the same, somehow: and perhaps Cynthia's change -would injure her in the distant Roger's opinion. Her stepmother -seemed almost kind in comparison with Cynthia's withdrawal of her -heart; Mrs. Gibson worried her, to be sure, with all these forms of -watching over her; but in all her other ways, she, at any rate, was -the same. Yet Cynthia herself seemed anxious and care-worn, though -she would not speak of her anxieties to Molly. And then the poor girl -in her goodness would blame herself for feeling Cynthia's change of -manner; for as Molly said to herself, "If it is hard work for me to -help always fretting after Roger, and wondering where he is, and how -he is, what must it be for her?" - -One day Mr. Gibson came in, bright and swift. - -"Molly," said he, "where's Cynthia?" - -"Gone out to do some errands--" - -"Well, it's a pity--but never mind. Put on your bonnet and cloak as -fast as you can. I've had to borrow old Simpson's dog-cart,--there -would have been room both for you and Cynthia; but as it is, you must -walk back alone. I'll drive you as far on the Barford Road as I can, -and then you must jump down. I can't take you on to Broadhurst's, I -may be kept there for hours." - -Mrs. Gibson was out of the room; out of the house it might be, for -all Molly cared, now she had her father's leave and command. Her -bonnet and cloak were on in two minutes, and she was sitting by her -father's side, the back seat shut up, and the light weight going -swiftly and merrily bumping over the stone-paved lanes. - -"Oh, this is charming!" said Molly, after a toss-up on her seat from -a tremendous bump. - -"For youth, but not for crabbed age," said Mr. Gibson. "My bones are -getting rheumatic, and would rather go smoothly over macadamized -streets." - -"That's treason to this lovely view and this fine pure air, papa. -Only I don't believe you." - -"Thank you. As you are so complimentary, I think I shall put you down -at the foot of this hill; we've passed the second mile-stone from -Hollingford." - -"Oh, let me just go up to the top! I know we can see the blue range -of the Malverns from it, and Dorrimer Hall among the woods; the horse -will want a minute's rest, and then I will get down without a word." - -So she went up to the top of the hill; and there they sate still a -minute or two, enjoying the view, without much speaking. The woods -were golden; the old house of purple-red brick, with its twisted -chimneys, rose up from among them facing on to green lawns, and a -placid lake; beyond again were the Malvern Hills. - -"Now jump down, lassie, and make the best of your way home before it -gets dark. You'll find the cut over Croston Heath shorter than the -road we've come by." - -To get to Croston Heath, Molly had to go down a narrow lane -overshadowed by trees, with picturesque old cottages dotted here and -there on the steep sandy banks; and then there came a small wood, -and then there was a brook to be crossed on a plank-bridge, and up -the steeper fields on the opposite side were cut steps in the turfy -path; these ended, she was on Croston Heath, a wide-stretching -common skirted by labourers' dwellings, past which a near road to -Hollingford lay. - -The loneliest part of the road was the first--the lane, the wood, -the little bridge, and the clambering through the upland fields. But -Molly cared little for loneliness. She went along the lane under the -over-arching elm-branches, from which, here and there, a yellow leaf -came floating down upon her very dress; past the last cottage where -a little child had tumbled down the sloping bank, and was publishing -the accident with frightened cries. Molly stooped to pick it up, and -taking it in her arms in a manner which caused intense surprise to -take the place of alarm in its little breast, she carried it up the -rough flag steps towards the cottage which she supposed to be its -home. The mother came running in from the garden behind the house, -still holding the late damsons she had been gathering in her apron; -but, on seeing her, the little creature held out its arms to go to -her, and she dropped her damsons all about as she took it, and began -to soothe it as it cried afresh, interspersing her lulling with -thanks to Molly. She called her by her name; and on Molly asking the -woman how she came to know it, she replied that before her marriage -she had been a servant of Mrs. Goodenough, and so was "bound to -know Dr. Gibson's daughter by sight." After the exchange of two or -three more words, Molly ran down into the lane, and pursued her way, -stopping here and there to gather a nosegay of such leaves as struck -her for their brilliant colouring. She entered the wood. As she -turned a corner in the lonely path, she heard a passionate voice of -distress; and in an instant she recognized Cynthia's tones. She stood -still and looked around. There were some thick holly-bushes shining -out dark green in the midst of the amber and scarlet foliage. If -any one was there, it must be behind these thick bushes. So Molly -left the path, and went straight, plunging through the brown tangled -growth of ferns and underwood, and turned the holly bushes. There -stood Mr. Preston and Cynthia; he holding her hands tight, each -looking as if just silenced in some vehement talk by the rustle of -Molly's footsteps. - - -[Illustration: THERE STOOD MR. PRESTON AND CYNTHIA.] - - -For an instant no one spoke. Then Cynthia said,-- - -"Oh, Molly, Molly, come and judge between us!" - -Mr. Preston let go Cynthia's hands slowly, with a look that was more -of a sneer than a smile; and yet he, too, had been strongly agitated, -whatever was the subject in dispute. Molly came forward and took -Cynthia's arm, her eyes steadily fixed on Mr. Preston's face. It was -fine to see the fearlessness of her perfect innocence. He could not -bear her look, and said to Cynthia,-- - -"The subject of our conversation does not well admit of a third -person's presence. As Miss Gibson seems to wish for your company now, -I must beg you to fix some other time and place where we can finish -our discussion." - -"I will go if Cynthia wishes me," said Molly. - -"No, no; stay--I want you to stay--I want you to hear it all--I wish -I had told you sooner." - -"You mean that you regret that she has not been made aware of our -engagement--that you promised long ago to be my wife. Pray remember -that it was you who made me promise secrecy, not I you!" - -"I don't believe him, Cynthia. Don't, don't cry if you can help it; -I don't believe him." - -"Cynthia," said he, suddenly changing his tone to fervid tenderness, -"pray, pray do not go on so; you can't think how it distresses me!" -He stepped forward to try and take her hand and soothe her; but she -shrank away from him, and sobbed the more irrepressibly. She felt -Molly's presence so much to be a protection that now she dared to -let herself go, and to weaken herself by giving way to her emotion. - -"Go away!" said Molly. "Don't you see you make her worse?" But he -did not stir; he was looking at Cynthia so intently that he did not -seem even to hear her. "Go," said Molly, vehemently, "if it really -distresses you to see her cry. Don't you see, it's you who are the -cause of it?" - -"I will go if Cynthia tells me," said he at length. - -"Oh, Molly, I don't know what to do," said Cynthia, taking down her -hands from her tear-stained face, and appealing to Molly, and sobbing -worse than ever; in fact, she became hysterical, and though she tried -to speak coherently, no intelligible words would come. - -"Run to that cottage in the trees, and fetch her a cup of water," -said Molly. He hesitated a little. - -"Why don't you go?" said Molly, impatiently. - -"I have not done speaking to her; you will not leave before I come -back?" - -"No. Don't you see she can't move in this state?" - -He went quickly, if reluctantly. - -Cynthia was some time before she could check her sobs enough to -speak. At length she said,--"Molly, I do hate him!" - -"But what did he mean by saying you were engaged to him? Don't cry, -dear, but tell me; if I can help you I will, but I can't imagine what -it all really is." - -"It's too long a story to tell now, and I'm not strong enough. Look! -he's coming back. As soon as I can, let us get home." - -"With all my heart," said Molly. - -He brought the water, and Cynthia drank, and was restored to -calmness. - -"Now," said Molly, "we had better go home as fast as you can manage -it; it's getting dark quickly." - -If she hoped to carry Cynthia off so easily she was mistaken. Mr. -Preston was resolute on this point. He said-- - -"I think since Miss Gibson has made herself acquainted with this -much, we had better let her know the whole truth--that you are -engaged to marry me as soon as you are twenty; otherwise your being -here with me, and by appointment too, may appear strange--even -equivocal to her." - -"As I know that Cynthia is engaged to--another man, you can hardly -expect me to believe what you say, Mr. Preston." - -"Oh, Molly," said Cynthia, trembling all over, but trying to be -calm, "I am not engaged--neither to the person you mean, nor to Mr. -Preston." - -Mr. Preston forced a smile. "I think I have some letters that would -convince Miss Gibson of the truth of what I have said; and which will -convince Mr. Osborne Hamley, if necessary--I conclude it is to him -she is alluding." - -"I am quite puzzled by you both," said Molly. "The only thing I -do know is, that we ought not to be standing here at this time of -evening, and that Cynthia and I shall go home directly. If you want -to talk to Miss Kirkpatrick, Mr. Preston, why don't you come to my -father's house, and ask to see her openly, and like a gentleman?" - -"I am perfectly willing," said he; "I shall only be too glad to -explain to Mr. Gibson on what terms I stand in relation to her. If I -have not done it sooner, it is because I have yielded to her wishes." - -"Pray, pray don't. Molly--you don't know all--you don't know anything -about it; you mean well and kindly, I know, but you are only making -mischief. I am quite well enough to walk, do let us go; I will tell -you all about it when we are at home." She took Molly's arm and tried -to hasten her away; but Mr. Preston followed, talking as he walked by -their side. - -"I do not know what you will say at home; but can you deny that you -are my promised wife? Can you deny that it has only been at your -earnest request that I have kept the engagement secret so long?" He -was unwise--Cynthia stopped, and turned at bay. - -"Since you will have it out,--since I must speak here, I own that -what you say is literally true; that when I was a neglected girl of -sixteen, you--whom I believed to be a friend, lent me money at my -need, and made me give you a promise of marriage." - -"Made you!" said he, laying an emphasis on the first word. - -Cynthia turned scarlet. "'Made' is not the right word, I confess. -I liked you then--you were almost my only friend--and, if it had -been a question of immediate marriage, I daresay I should never have -objected. But I know you better now; and you have persecuted me so of -late, that I tell you once for all (as I have told you before, till -I am sick of the very words), that nothing shall ever make me marry -you. Nothing! I see there's no chance of escaping exposure and, I -daresay, losing my character, and I know losing all the few friends -I have." - -"Never me," said Molly, touched by the wailing tone of despair that -Cynthia was falling into. - -"It is hard," said Mr. Preston. "You may believe all the bad things -you like about me, Cynthia, but I don't think you can doubt my real, -passionate, disinterested love for you." - -"I do doubt it," said Cynthia, breaking out with fresh energy. "Ah! -when I think of the self-denying affection I have seen--I have -known--affection that thought of others before itself--" - -Mr. Preston broke in at the pause she made. She was afraid of -revealing too much to him. - -"You do not call it love which has been willing to wait for years--to -be silent while silence was desired--to suffer jealousy and to bear -neglect, relying on the solemn promise of a girl of sixteen--for -solemn say flimsy, when that girl grows older. Cynthia, I have loved -you, and I do love you, and I won't give you up. If you will but keep -your word, and marry me, I'll swear I'll make you love me in return." - -"Oh, I wish--I wish I'd never borrowed that unlucky money, it was the -beginning of it all. Oh, Molly, I have saved and scrimped to repay -it, and he won't take it now; I thought if I could but repay it, it -would set me free." - -"You seem to imply you sold yourself for twenty pounds," he said. -They were nearly on the common now, close to the protection of the -cottages, in very hearing of their inmates; if neither of the other -two thought of this, Molly did, and resolved in her mind to call in -at one of them, and ask for the labourer's protection home; at any -rate his presence must put a stop to this miserable altercation. - -"I did not sell myself; I liked you then. But oh, how I do hate you -now!" cried Cynthia, unable to contain her words. - -He bowed and turned back, vanishing rapidly down the field staircase. -At any rate that was a relief. Yet the two girls hastened on, as -if he was still pursuing them. Once, when Molly said something to -Cynthia, the latter replied-- - -"Molly, if you pity me--if you love me--don't say anything more just -now. We shall have to look as if nothing had happened when we get -home. Come to my room when we go upstairs to bed, and I'll tell you -all. I know you'll blame me terribly, but I will tell you all." - -So Molly did not say another word till they reached home; and then, -comparatively at ease, inasmuch as no one perceived how late was -their return to the house, each of the girls went up into their -separate rooms, to rest and calm themselves before dressing for the -necessary family gathering at dinner. Molly felt as if she were so -miserably shaken that she could not have gone down at all, if her own -interests only had been at stake. She sate by her dressing-table, -holding her head in her hands, her candles unlighted, and the room in -soft darkness, trying to still her beating heart, and to recall all -she had heard, and what would be its bearing on the lives of those -whom she loved. Roger. Oh, Roger!--far away in mysterious darkness of -distance--loving as he did (ah, that was love! that was the love to -which Cynthia had referred, as worthy of the name!) and the object of -his love claimed by another--false to one she must be! How could it -be? What would he think and feel if ever he came to know it? It was -of no use trying to imagine his pain--that could do no good. What lay -before Molly was, to try and extricate Cynthia, if she could help her -by thought, or advice, or action; not to weaken herself by letting -her fancy run into pictures of possible, probable suffering. - -When she went into the drawing-room before dinner, she found Cynthia -and her mother by themselves. There were candles in the room, but -they were not lighted, for the wood-fire blazed merrily if fitfully, -and they were awaiting Mr. Gibson's return, which might be expected -at any minute. Cynthia sate in the shade, so it was only by her -sensitive ear that Molly could judge of her state of composure. Mrs. -Gibson was telling some of her day's adventures--whom she had found -at home in the calls she had been making; who had been out; and -the small pieces of news she had heard. To Molly's quick sympathy -Cynthia's voice sounded languid and weary, but she made all the -proper replies, and expressed the proper interest at the right -places, and Molly came to the rescue, chiming in, with an effort, -it is true; but Mrs. Gibson was not one to notice slight shades -or differences in manner. When Mr. Gibson returned, the relative -positions of the parties were altered. It was Cynthia now who raised -herself into liveliness, partly from a consciousness that he would -have noticed any depression, and partly because Cynthia was one -of those natural coquettes, who, from their cradle to their grave, -instinctively bring out all their prettiest airs and graces in order -to stand well with any man, young or old, who may happen to be -present. She listened to his remarks and stories with all the sweet -intentness of happier days, till Molly, silent and wondering, could -hardly believe that the Cynthia before her was the same girl as she -who was sobbing and crying as if her heart would break, but two hours -before. It is true she looked pale and heavy-eyed, but that was the -only sign she gave of her past trouble, which yet must be a present -care, thought Molly. After dinner, Mr. Gibson went out to his town -patients; Mrs. Gibson subsided into her arm-chair, holding a sheet of -_The Times_ before her, behind which she took a quiet and lady-like -doze. Cynthia had a book in one hand, with the other she shaded her -eyes from the light. Molly alone could neither read, nor sleep, nor -work. She sate in the seat in the bow-window; the blind was not drawn -down, for there was no danger of their being overlooked. She gazed -into the soft outer darkness, and found herself striving to discern -the outlines of objects--the cottage at the end of the garden--the -great beech-tree with the seat round it--the wire arches, up which -the summer roses had clambered; each came out faint and dim against -the dusky velvet of the atmosphere. Presently tea came, and there was -the usual nightly bustle. The table was cleared, Mrs. Gibson roused -herself, and made the same remark about dear papa that she had done -at the same hour for weeks past. Cynthia too did not look different -from usual. And yet what a hidden mystery did her calmness hide! -thought Molly. At length came bed-time, and the customary little -speeches. Both Molly and Cynthia went to their own rooms without -exchanging a word. When Molly was in hers she had forgotten whether -she was to go to Cynthia, or Cynthia to come to her. She took off her -gown and put on her dressing-gown, and stood and waited, and even sat -down for a minute or two: but Cynthia did not come, so Molly went and -knocked at the opposite door, which, to her surprise, she found shut. -When she entered the room Cynthia sate by her dressing-table, just as -she had come up from the drawing-room. She had been leaning her head -on her arms, and seemed almost to have forgotten the tryst she had -made with Molly, for she looked up as if startled, and her face did -seem full of worry and distress; in her solitude she made no more -exertion, but gave way to thoughts of care. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - -CYNTHIA'S CONFESSION. - - -"You said I might come," said Molly, "and that you would tell me -all." - -"You know all, I think," said Cynthia, heavily. "Perhaps you don't -know what excuses I have, but at any rate you know what a scrape I am -in." - -"I've been thinking a great deal," said Molly, timidly and -doubtfully. "And I can't help fancying if you told papa--" - -Before she could go on, Cynthia had stood up. - -"No!" said she. "That I won't. Unless I'm to leave here at once. And -you know I have not another place to go to--without warning, I mean. -I daresay my uncle would take me in; he's a relation, and would be -bound to stand by me in whatever disgrace I might be; or perhaps I -might get a governess's situation--a pretty governess I should be!" - -"Pray, please, Cynthia, don't go off into such wild talking. I don't -believe you've done so very wrong. You say you have not, and I -believe you. That horrid man has managed to get you involved in some -way; but I am sure papa could set it to rights, if you would only -make a friend of him, and tell him all--" - -"No, Molly," said Cynthia, "I can't, and there's an end of it. You -may if you like, only let me leave the house first; give me that much -time." - -"You know I would never tell anything you wished me not to tell, -Cynthia," said Molly, deeply hurt. - -"Would you not, darling?" said Cynthia, taking her hand. "Will you -promise me that? quite a sacred promise?--for it would be such a -comfort to me to tell you all, now you know so much." - -"Yes! I'll promise not to tell. You should not have doubted me," said -Molly, still a little sorrowfully. - -"Very well. I trust to you. I know I may." - -"But do think of telling papa, and getting him to help you," -persevered Molly. - -"Never," said Cynthia, resolutely, but more quietly than before. -"Do you think I forget what he said at the time of that wretched -Mr. Coxe; how severe he was, and how long I was in disgrace, if -indeed I'm out of it now? I am one of those people, as mamma says -sometimes--I cannot live with persons who don't think well of me. -It may be a weakness, or a sin,--I'm sure I don't know, and I don't -care; but I really cannot be happy in the same house with any one who -knows my faults, and thinks that they are greater than my merits. Now -you know your father would do that. I have often told you that he -(and you too, Molly,) had a higher standard than I had ever known. -Oh, I couldn't bear it; if he were to know he would be so angry with -me--he would never get over it, and I have so liked him! I do so like -him!" - -"Well, never mind, dear; he shall not know," said Molly, for Cynthia -was again becoming hysterical,--"at least, we'll say no more about it -now." - -"And you'll never say any more--never--promise me," said Cynthia, -taking her hand eagerly. - -"Never till you give me leave. Now do let me see if I cannot help -you. Lie down on the bed, and I'll sit by you, and let us talk it -over." - -But Cynthia sat down again in the chair by the dressing-table. - -"When did it all begin?" said Molly, after a long pause of silence. - -"Long ago--four or five years. I was such a child to be left all to -myself. It was the holidays, and mamma was away visiting, and the -Donaldsons asked me to go with them to the Worcester Festival. You -can't fancy how pleasant it all sounded, especially to me. I had been -shut up in that great dreary house at Ashcombe, where mamma had her -school; it belonged to Lord Cumnor, and Mr. Preston as his agent had -to see it all painted and papered; but, besides that, he was very -intimate with us; I believe mamma thought--no, I'm not sure about -that, and I have enough blame to lay at her door, to prevent my -telling you anything that may be only fancy--" - -Then she paused and sate still for a minute or two, recalling the -past. Molly was struck by the aged and careworn expression which had -taken temporary hold of the brilliant and beautiful face; she could -see from that how much Cynthia must have suffered from this hidden -trouble of hers. - -"Well! at any rate we were intimate with him, and he came a great -deal about the house, and knew as much as any one of mamma's affairs, -and all the ins and outs of her life. I'm telling you this in order -that you may understand how natural it was for me to answer his -questions when he came one day and found me, not crying, for you know -I'm not much given to that, in spite of to-day's exposure of myself; -but fretting and fuming because, though mamma had written word I -might go with the Donaldsons, she had never said how I was to get any -money for the journey, much less for anything of dress, and I had -outgrown all my last year's frocks, and as for gloves and boots--in -short, I really had hardly clothes decent enough for church--" - -"Why didn't you write to her and tell her all this?" said Molly, half -afraid of appearing to cast blame by her very natural question. - -"I wish I had her letter to show you; you must have seen some of -mamma's letters, though; don't you know how she always seems to -leave out just the important point of every fact? In this case she -descanted largely on the enjoyment she was having, and the kindness -she was receiving, and her wish that I could have been with her, and -her gladness that I too was going to have some pleasure; but the only -thing that would have been of real use to me she left out, and that -was where she was going to next. She mentioned that she was leaving -the house she was stopping at the day after she wrote, and that -she should be at home by a certain date; but I got the letter on a -Saturday, and the festival began the next Tuesday--" - -"Poor Cynthia!" said Molly. "Still, if you had written, your letter -might have been forwarded. I don't mean to be hard, only I do so -dislike the thought of your ever having made a friend of that man." - -"Ah!" said Cynthia, sighing. "How easy it is to judge rightly -after one sees what evil comes from judging wrongly! I was only a -young girl, hardly more than a child, and he was a friend to us -then--excepting mamma, the only friend I knew; the Donaldsons were -only kind and good-natured acquaintances." - -"I am sorry," said Molly, humbly, "I have been so happy with papa. -I hardly can understand how different it must have been with you." - -"Different! I should think so. The worry about money made me sick of -my life. We might not say we were poor, it would have injured the -school; but I would have stinted and starved if mamma and I had got -on as happily together as we might have done--as you and Mr. Gibson -do. It was not the poverty; it was that she never seemed to care to -have me with her. As soon as the holidays came round she was off to -some great house or another; and I daresay I was at a very awkward -age to have me lounging about in the drawing-room when callers came. -Girls at the age I was then are so terribly keen at scenting out -motives, and putting in their disagreeable questions as to the little -twistings and twirlings and vanishings of conversation; they've no -distinct notion of what are the truths and falsehoods of polite -life. At any rate, I was very much in mamma's way, and I felt it. Mr. -Preston seemed to feel it too for me; and I was very grateful to him -for kind words and sympathetic looks--crumbs of kindness which would -have dropped under your table unnoticed. So this day, when he came -to see how the workmen were getting on, he found me in the deserted -schoolroom, looking at my faded summer bonnet and some old ribbons -I had been sponging, and half-worn-out gloves--a sort of rag-fair -spread out on the deal table. I was in a regular passion with only -looking at that shabbiness. He said he was so glad to hear I was -going to this festival with the Donaldsons; old Betty, our servant, -had told him the news, I believe. But I was so perplexed about money, -and my vanity was so put out about my shabby dress, that I was in a -pet, and said I shouldn't go. He sate down on the table, and little -by little he made me tell him all my troubles. I do sometimes think -he was very nice in those days. Somehow I never felt as if it was -wrong or foolish or anything to accept his offer of money at the -time. He had twenty pounds in his pocket, he said, and really didn't -know what to do with it,--shouldn't want it for months; I could repay -it, or rather mamma could, when it suited her. She must have known -I should want money, and most likely thought I should apply to him. -Twenty pounds wouldn't be too much, I must take it all, and so on. -I knew--at least I thought I knew--that I should never spend twenty -pounds; but I thought I could give him back what I didn't want, and -so--well, that was the beginning! It doesn't sound so very wrong, -does it, Molly?" - -"No," said Molly, hesitatingly. She did not wish to make herself into -a hard judge, and yet she did so dislike Mr. Preston. Cynthia went -on,-- - -"Well, what with boots and gloves, and a bonnet and a mantle, and a -white muslin gown, which was made for me before I left on Tuesday, -and a silk gown that followed to the Donaldsons', and my journeys, -and all, there was very little left of the twenty pounds, especially -when I found I must get a ball-dress in Worcester, for we were all -to go to the Ball. Mrs. Donaldson gave me my ticket, but she rather -looked grave at my idea of going to the Ball in my white muslin, -which I had already worn two evenings at their house. Oh dear! how -pleasant it must be to be rich! You know," continued Cynthia, smiling -a very little, "I can't help being aware that I'm pretty, and that -people admire me very much. I found it out first at the Donaldsons'. -I began to think I did look pretty in my fine new clothes, and I saw -that other people thought so too. I was certainly the belle of the -house, and it was very pleasant to feel my power. The last day or -two of that gay week Mr. Preston joined our party. The last time he -had seen me was when I was dressed in shabby clothes too small for -me, half-crying in my solitude, neglected and penniless. At the -Donaldsons' I was a little queen; and as I said, fine feathers make -fine birds, and all the people were making much of me; and at that -Ball, which was the first night he came, I had more partners than I -knew what to do with. I suppose he really did fall in love with me -then. I don't think he had done so before. And then I began to feel -how awkward it was to be in his debt. I couldn't give myself airs to -him as I did to others. Oh! it was so awkward and uncomfortable! But -I liked him, and felt him as a friend all the time. The last day I -was walking in the garden along with the others, and I thought I -would tell him how much I had enjoyed myself, and how happy I had -been, all thanks to his twenty pounds (I was beginning to feel like -Cinderella when the clock was striking twelve), and to tell him it -should be repaid to him as soon as possible, though I turned sick -at the thought of telling mamma, and knew enough of our affairs to -understand how very difficult it would be to muster up the money. The -end of our talk came very soon; for, almost to my terror, he began to -talk violent love to me, and to beg me to promise to marry him. I was -so frightened, that I ran away to the others. But that night I got -a letter from him, apologizing for startling me, renewing his offer, -his entreaties for a promise of marriage, to be fulfilled at any date -I would please to name--in fact, a most urgent love-letter, and in -it a reference to my unlucky debt, which was to be a debt no longer, -only an advance of the money to be hereafter mine if only-- You can -fancy it all, Molly, better than I can remember it to tell it you." - -"And what did you say?" asked Molly, breathless. - -"I did not answer it at all until another letter came, entreating for -a reply. By that time mamma had come home, and the old daily pressure -and plaint of poverty had come on. Mary Donaldson wrote to me often, -singing the praises of Mr. Preston as enthusiastically as if she had -been bribed to do it. I had seen him a very popular man in their set, -and I liked him well enough, and felt grateful to him. So I wrote and -gave him my promise to marry him when I was twenty, but it was to be -a secret till then. And I tried to forget I had ever borrowed money -of him, but somehow as soon as I felt pledged to him I began to hate -him. I couldn't endure his eagerness of greeting if ever he found me -alone; and mamma began to suspect, I think. I cannot tell you all the -ins and outs; in fact, I didn't understand them at the time, and I -don't remember clearly how it all happened now. But I know that Lady -Cuxhaven sent mamma some money to be applied to my education, as -she called it; and mamma seemed very much put out and in very low -spirits, and she and I didn't get on at all together. So, of course, -I never ventured to name the hateful twenty pounds to her, but went -on trying to think that if I was to marry Mr. Preston, it need never -be paid--very mean and wicked, I daresay; but oh, Molly, I've been -punished for it, for how I abhor that man." - -"But why? When did you begin to dislike him? You seem to have taken -it very passively all this time." - -"I don't know. It was growing upon me before I went to that school -at Boulogne. He made me feel as if I was in his power; and by too -often reminding me of my engagement to him, he made me critical of -his words and ways. There was an insolence in his manner to mamma, -too. Ah! you're thinking that I'm not too respectful a daughter--and -perhaps not; but I couldn't bear his covert sneers at her faults, and -I hated his way of showing what he called his 'love' for me. Then, -after I had been a _semestre_ at Mdme. Lefevre's, a new English girl -came--a cousin of his, who knew but little of me. Now, Molly, you -must forget as soon as I've told you what I'm going to say; and she -used to talk so much and perpetually about her cousin Robert--he was -the great man of the family, evidently--and how he was so handsome, -and every lady of the land in love with him,--a lady of title into -the bargain." - -"Lady Harriet! I daresay," said Molly, indignantly. - -"I don't know," said Cynthia, wearily. "I didn't care at the time, -and I don't care now; for she went on to say there was a very pretty -widow too, who made desperate love to him. He had often laughed with -them at all her little advances, which she thought he didn't see -through. And, oh! and this was the man I had promised to marry, and -gone into debt to, and written love-letters to! So now you understand -it all, Molly." - -"No, I don't yet. What did you do on hearing how he had spoken about -your mother?" - -"There was but one thing to do. I wrote and told him I hated him, and -would never, never marry him, and would pay him back his money and -the interest on it as soon as ever I could." - -"Well?" - -"And Mdme. Lefevre brought me back my letter,--unopened, I will say; -and told me that she didn't allow letters to gentlemen to be sent by -the pupils of her establishment unless she had previously seen their -contents. I told her he was a family friend, the agent who managed -mamma's affairs--I really could not stick at the truth; but she -wouldn't let it go; and I had to see her burn it, and to give her my -promise I wouldn't write again before she would consent not to tell -mamma. So I had to calm down and wait till I came home." - -"But you didn't see him then; at least, not for some time?" - -"No, but I could write; and I began to try and save up my money to -pay him." - -"What did he say to your letter?" - -"Oh, at first he pretended not to believe I could be in earnest; he -thought it was only pique, or a temporary offence to be apologized -for and covered over with passionate protestations." - -"And afterwards?" - -"He condescended to threats; and, what is worse, then I turned -coward. I couldn't bear to have it all known and talked about, and -my silly letters shown--oh, such letters! I cannot bear to think of -them, beginning, 'My dearest Robert,' to that man--" - -"But, oh, Cynthia, how could you go and engage yourself to Roger?" -asked Molly. - -"Why not?" said Cynthia, sharply turning round upon her. "I was -free--I am free; it seemed a way of assuring myself that I was quite -free; and I did like Roger--it was such a comfort to be brought into -contact with people who could be relied upon; and I was not a stock -or a stone that I could fail to be touched with his tender, unselfish -love, so different to Mr. Preston's. I know you don't think me good -enough for him; and, of course, if all this comes out, he won't think -me good enough either" (falling into a plaintive tone very touching -to hear); "and sometimes I think I'll give him up, and go off to some -fresh life amongst strangers; and once or twice I've thought I would -marry Mr. Preston out of pure revenge, and have him for ever in my -power--only I think I should have the worst of it; for he is cruel -in his very soul--tigerish, with his beautiful striped skin and -relentless heart. I have so begged and begged him to let me go -without exposure." - -"Never mind the exposure," said Molly. "It will recoil far more on -him than harm you." - -Cynthia went a little paler. "But I said things in those letters -about mamma. I was quick-eyed enough to all her faults, and hardly -understood the force of her temptations; and he says he will show -those letters to your father, unless I consent to acknowledge our -engagement." - -"He shall not!" said Molly, rising up in her indignation, and -standing before Cynthia almost as resolutely fierce as if she were -in the very presence of Mr. Preston himself. "I am not afraid of him. -He dare not insult me, or if he does I don't care. I will ask him for -those letters, and see if he will dare to refuse me." - -"You don't know him," said Cynthia, shaking her head. "He has made -many an appointment with me, just as if he would take back the -money--which has been sealed up ready for him this four months; or as -if he would give me back my letters. Poor, poor Roger! How little he -thinks of all this! When I want to write words of love to him I pull -myself up, for I have written words as affectionate to that other -man. And if Mr. Preston ever guessed that Roger and I were engaged, -he would manage to be revenged on both him and me, by giving us as -much pain as he could with those unlucky letters--written when I was -not sixteen, Molly,--only seven of them! They are like a mine under -my feet, which may blow up any day; and down will come father and -mother and all." She ended bitterly enough, though her words were so -light. - -"How can I get them?" said Molly, thinking: "for get them I will. -With papa to back me, he dare not refuse." - -"Ah! But that's just the thing. He knows I'm afraid of your father's -hearing of it all, more than of any one else." - -"And yet he thinks he loves you!" - -"It is his way of loving. He says often enough he doesn't care what -he does so that he gets me to be his wife; and that after that he is -sure he can make me love him." Cynthia began to cry, out of weariness -of body and despair of mind. Molly's arms were round her in a minute, -and she pressed the beautiful head to her bosom, and laid her own -cheek upon it, and hushed her up with lulling words, just as if -Cynthia were a little child. - -"Oh, it is such a comfort to have told you all!" murmured Cynthia. -And Molly made reply,--"I am sure we have right on our side; and that -makes me certain he must and shall give up the letters." - -"And take the money?" added Cynthia, lifting her head, and looking -eagerly into Molly's face. "He must take the money. Oh, Molly, you -can never manage it all without its coming out to your father! And I -would far rather go out to Russia as a governess. I almost think I -would rather--no, not that," said she, shuddering away from what she -was going to say. "But he must not know--please, Molly, he must not -know. I couldn't bear it. I don't know what I might not do. You'll -promise me never to tell him,--or mamma?" - -"I never will. You do not think I would for anything short of -saving--" She was going to have said, "saving you and Roger from -pain." But Cynthia broke in,-- - -"For nothing. No reason whatever must make you tell your father. If -you fail, you fail, and I will love you for ever for trying; but I -shall be no worse off than before. Better, indeed; for I shall have -the comfort of your sympathy. But promise me not to tell Mr. Gibson." - -"I have promised once," said Molly, "but I promise again; so now do -go to bed, and try and rest. You are looking as white as a sheet; -you'll be ill if you don't get some rest; and it's past two o'clock, -and you're shivering with cold." - -So they wished each other good-night. But when Molly got into her -room all her spirit left her; and she threw herself down on her bed, -dressed as she was, for she had no heart left for anything. If Roger -ever heard of it all by any chance, she felt how it would disturb his -love for Cynthia. And yet was it right to conceal it from him? She -must try and persuade Cynthia to tell it all straight out to him as -soon as he returned to England. A full confession on her part would -wonderfully lessen any pain he might have on first hearing of it. -She lost herself in thoughts of Roger--how he would feel, what he -would say, how that meeting would come to pass, where he was at that -very time, and so on, till she suddenly plucked herself up, and -recollected what she herself had offered and promised to do. Now that -the first fervour was over, she saw the difficulties clearly; and the -foremost of all was how she was to manage to have an interview with -Mr. Preston. How had Cynthia managed? and the letters that had passed -between them too? Unwillingly, Molly was compelled to perceive that -there must have been a great deal of underhand work going on beneath -Cynthia's apparent openness of behaviour; and still more unwillingly -she began to be afraid that she herself might be led into the -practice. But she would try and walk in a straight path; and if she -did wander out of it, it should only be to save pain to those whom -she loved. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - -MOLLY GIBSON TO THE RESCUE. - - -It seemed curious enough, after the storms of the night, to meet in -smooth tranquillity at breakfast. Cynthia was pale; but she talked as -quietly as usual about all manner of indifferent things, while Molly -sate silent, watching and wondering, and becoming convinced that -Cynthia must have gone through a long experience of concealing her -real thoughts and secret troubles before she could have been able to -put on such a semblance of composure. Among the letters that came -in that morning was one from the London Kirkpatricks; but not from -Helen, Cynthia's own particular correspondent. Her sister wrote -to apologize for Helen, who was not well, she said: had had the -influenza, which had left her very weak and poorly. - -"Let her come down here for change of air," said Mr. Gibson. "The -country at this time of the year is better than London, except when -the place is surrounded by trees. Now our house is well drained, high -up, gravel-soil, and I'll undertake to doctor her for nothing." - -"It would be charming," said Mrs. Gibson, rapidly revolving in -her mind the changes necessary in her household economy before -receiving a young lady accustomed to such a household as Mr. -Kirkpatrick's,--calculating the consequent inconveniences, and -weighing them against the probable advantages, even while she spoke. -"Should not you like it, Cynthia? and Molly too? You then, dear, -would become acquainted with one of the girls, and I have no doubt -you would be asked back again, which would be so very nice!" - -"And I shouldn't let her go," said Mr. Gibson, who had acquired an -unfortunate facility of reading his wife's thoughts. - -"Dear Helen!" went on Mrs. Gibson, "I should so like to nurse her! We -would make your consulting-room into her own private sitting-room, -my dear."--(It is hardly necessary to say that the scales had been -weighed down by the inconveniences of having a person behind the -scenes for several weeks). "For with an invalid so much depends on -tranquillity. In the drawing-room, for instance, she might constantly -be disturbed by callers; and the dining-room is so--so what shall I -call it? so dinnery,--the smell of meals never seems to leave it; it -would have been different if dear papa had allowed me to throw out -that window--" - -"Why can't she have the dressing-room for her bedroom, and the little -room opening out of the drawing-room for her sitting-room?" asked Mr. -Gibson. - -"The library," for by this name Mrs. Gibson chose to dignify what had -formerly been called the book-closet--"why, it would hardly hold a -sofa, besides the books and the writing-table; and there are draughts -everywhere. No, my dear, we had better not ask her at all, her own -home is comfortable at any rate!" - -"Well, well!" said Mr. Gibson, seeing that he was to be worsted, and -not caring enough about the matter to show fight. "Perhaps you're -right. It's a case of luxury _versus_ fresh air. Some people suffer -more from want of the one than from want of the other. You know I -shall be glad to see her if she likes to come, and take us as we are, -but I can't give up the consulting-room. It's a necessity; our daily -bread!" - -"I'll write and tell them how kind Mr. Gibson is," said his wife in -high contentment, as her husband left the room. "They'll be just as -much obliged to him as if she had come!" - -Whether it was Helen's illness, or from some other cause, after -breakfast Cynthia became very flat and absent, and this lasted all -day long. Molly understood now why her moods had been so changeable -for many months, and was tender and forbearing with her accordingly. -Towards evening, when the two girls were left alone, Cynthia came and -stood over Molly, so that her face could not be seen. - -"Molly," said she, "will you do it? Will you do what you said last -night? I've been thinking of it all day, and sometimes I believe he -would give you back the letters if you asked him; he might fancy--at -any rate it's worth trying, if you don't very much dislike it." - -Now it so happened that with every thought she had given to it, Molly -disliked the idea of the proposed interview with Mr. Preston more and -more; but it was, after all, her own offer, and she neither could nor -would draw back from it; it might do good; she did not see how it -could possibly do harm. So she gave her consent, and tried to conceal -her distaste, which grew upon her more and more as Cynthia hastily -arranged the details. - -"You shall meet him in the avenue leading from the park lodge up to -the Towers. He can come in one way from the Towers, where he has -often business--he has pass-keys everywhere--you can go in as we have -often done by the lodge--you need not go far." - -It did strike Molly that Cynthia must have had some experience in -making all these arrangements; and she ventured to ask how he was -to be informed of all this. Cynthia only reddened and replied, "Oh! -never mind! He will only be too glad to come; you heard him say -he wished to discuss the affair more; it is the first time the -appointment has come from my side. If I can but once be free--oh, -Molly, I will love you, and be grateful to you all my life!" - -Molly thought of Roger, and that thought prompted her next speech. - -"It must be horrible--I think I'm very brave--but I don't think I -could have--could have accepted even Roger, with a half-cancelled -engagement hanging over me." She blushed as she spoke. - -"You forget how I detest Mr. Preston!" said Cynthia. "It was that, -more than any excess of love for Roger, that made me thankful to be -at least as securely pledged to some one else. He did not want to -call it an engagement, but I did; because it gave me the feeling of -assurance that I was free from Mr. Preston. And so I am! all but -these letters. Oh! if you can but make him take back his abominable -money, and get me my letters! Then we would bury it all in oblivion, -and he could marry somebody else, and I would marry Roger, and no one -would be the wiser. After all, it was only what people call 'youthful -folly.' And you may tell Mr. Preston that as soon as he makes my -letters public, shows them to your father or anything, I'll go away -from Hollingford, and never come back." - -Loaded with many such messages, which she felt that she should never -deliver, not really knowing what she should say, hating the errand, -not satisfied with Cynthia's manner of speaking about her relations -to Roger, oppressed with shame and complicity in conduct which -appeared to her deceitful, yet willing to bear all and brave all, -if she could once set Cynthia in a straight path--in a clear space, -and almost more pitiful to her friend's great distress and possible -disgrace, than able to give her that love which involves perfect -sympathy, Molly set out on her walk towards the appointed place. It -was a cloudy, blustering day, and the noise of the blowing wind among -the nearly leafless branches of the great trees filled her ears, as -she passed through the park-gates and entered the avenue. She walked -quickly, instinctively wishing to get her blood up, and have no time -for thought. But there was a bend in the avenue about a quarter of a -mile from the lodge; after that bend it was a straight line up to the -great house, now emptied of its inhabitants. Molly did not like going -quite out of sight of the lodge, and she stood facing it, close by -the trunk of one of the trees. Presently she heard a step coming over -the grass. It was Mr. Preston. He saw a woman's figure, half-behind -the trunk of a tree, and made no doubt that it was Cynthia. But -when he came nearer, almost close, the figure turned round, and, -instead of the brilliantly coloured face of Cynthia, he met the pale -resolved look of Molly. She did not speak to greet him; but though -he felt sure from the general aspect of pallor and timidity that -she was afraid of him, her steady gray eyes met his with courageous -innocence. - -"Is Cynthia unable to come?" asked he, perceiving that she expected -him. - -"I did not know you thought that you should meet her," said Molly, a -little surprised. In her simplicity she had believed that Cynthia had -named that it was she, Molly Gibson, who would meet Mr. Preston at a -given time and place; but Cynthia had been too worldly-wise for that, -and had decoyed him thither by a vaguely worded note, which, while -avoiding actual falsehood, had led him to believe that she herself -would give him the meeting. - -"She said she should be here," said Mr. Preston, extremely annoyed at -being entrapped, as he now felt that he had been, into an interview -with Miss Gibson. Molly hesitated a little before she spoke. He was -determined not to break the silence; as she had intruded herself into -the affair, she should find her situation as awkward as possible. - -"At any rate she sent me here to meet you," said Molly. "She has told -me exactly how matters stand between you and her." - -"Has she?" sneered he. "She is not always the most open or reliable -person in the world!" - -Molly reddened. She perceived the impertinence of the tone; and her -temper was none of the coolest. But she mastered herself and gained -courage by so doing. - -"You should not speak so of the person you profess to wish to have -for your wife. But putting all that aside, you have some letters of -hers that she wishes to have back again." - -"I daresay." - -"And that you have no right to keep." - -"No legal, or no moral right? which do you mean?" - -"I do not know; simply you have no right at all, as a gentleman, to -keep a girl's letters when she asks for them back again, much less to -hold them over her as a threat." - -"I see you do know all, Miss Gibson," said he, changing his manner to -one of more respect. "At least she has told you her story from her -point of view, her side; now you must hear mine. She promised me as -solemnly as ever woman--" - -"She was not a woman, she was only a girl, barely sixteen." - -"Old enough to know what she was doing; but I'll call her a girl if -you like. She promised me solemnly to be my wife, making the one -stipulation of secrecy, and a certain period of waiting; she wrote -me letters repeating this promise, and confidential enough to prove -that she considered herself bound to me by such an implied relation. -I don't give in to humbug--I don't set myself up as a saint--and in -most ways I can look after my own interests pretty keenly; you know -enough of her position as a penniless girl, and at that time, with -no influential connections to take the place of wealth, and help me -on in the world, it was as sincere and unworldly a passion as ever -man felt; she must say so herself. I might have married two or three -girls with plenty of money; one of them was handsome enough, and not -at all reluctant." - -Molly interrupted him: she was chafed at the conceit of his manner. -"I beg your pardon, but I do not want to hear accounts of young -ladies whom you might have married; I come here simply on behalf of -Cynthia, who does not like you, and who does not wish to marry you." - -"Well, then, I must make her 'like' me, as you call it. She did -'like' me once, and made promises which she will find it requires the -consent of two people to break. I don't despair of making her love me -as much as ever she did, according to her letters, at least, when we -are married." - -"She will never marry you," said Molly, firmly. - -"Then if she ever honours any one else with her preference, he shall -be allowed the perusal of her letters to me." - -Molly almost could have laughed, she was so secure and certain -that Roger would never read letters offered to him under these -circumstances; but then she thought that he would feel such pain at -the whole affair, and at the contact with Mr. Preston, especially if -he had not heard of it from Cynthia first, and if she, Molly, could -save him pain she would. Before she could settle what to say, Mr. -Preston spoke again. - -"You said the other day that Cynthia was engaged. May I ask whom to?" - -"No," said Molly, "you may not. You heard her say it was not an -engagement. It is not exactly; and if it were a full engagement, do -you think, after what you last said, I should tell you to whom? But -you may be sure of this, he would never read a line of your letters. -He is too-- No! I won't speak of him before you. You could never -understand him." - -"It seems to me that this mysterious 'he' is a very fortunate person -to have such a warm defender in Miss Gibson, to whom he is not at -all engaged," said Mr. Preston, with so disagreeable a look on his -face that Molly suddenly found herself on the point of bursting into -tears. But she rallied herself, and worked on--for Cynthia first, and -for Roger as well. - -"No honourable man or woman will read your letters, and if any people -do read them, they will be so much ashamed of it that they won't dare -to speak of them. What use can they be of to you?" - -"They contain Cynthia's reiterated promises of marriage," replied he. - -"She says she would rather leave Hollingford for ever, and go out to -earn her bread, than marry you." - -His face fell a little. He looked so bitterly mortified, that Molly -was almost sorry for him. - -"Does she say that to you in cold blood? Do you know you are telling -me very hard truths, Miss Gibson? If they are truths, that is to -say," he continued, recovering himself a little. "Young ladies are -very fond of the words 'hate' and 'detest.' I've known many who have -applied them to men whom they were all the time hoping to marry." - -"I cannot tell about other people," said Molly; "I only know that -Cynthia does--" Here she hesitated for a moment; she felt for his -pain, and so she hesitated; but then she brought it out--"does as -nearly hate you as anybody like her ever does hate." - -"Like her?" said he, repeating the words almost unconsciously, -seizing on anything to try and hide his mortification. - -"I mean, I should hate worse," said Molly in a low voice. - -But he did not attend much to her answer. He was working the point of -his stick into the turf, and his eyes were bent on it. - -"So now would you mind sending her back the letters by me? I do -assure you that you cannot make her marry you." - -"You are very simple, Miss Gibson," said he, suddenly lifting up -his head. "I suppose you don't know that there is any other feeling -that can be gratified, except love. Have you never heard of revenge? -Cynthia has cajoled me with promises, and little as you or she may -believe me--well, it's no use speaking of that. I don't mean to let -her go unpunished. You may tell her that. I shall keep the letters, -and make use of them as I see fit when the occasion arises." - -Molly was miserably angry with herself for her mismanagement of the -affair. She had hoped to succeed: she had only made matters worse. -What new argument could she use? Meanwhile he went on, lashing -himself up as he thought how the two girls must have talked him over, -bringing in wounded vanity to add to the rage of disappointed love. - -"Mr. Osborne Hamley may hear of their contents, though he may be too -honourable to read them. Nay, even your father may hear whispers; -and if I remember them rightly, Miss Cynthia Kirkpatrick does not -always speak in the most respectful terms of the lady who is now Mrs. -Gibson. There are--" - -"Stop," said Molly. "I won't hear anything out of these letters, -written, when she was almost without friends, to you, whom she looked -upon as a friend! But I have thought of what I will do next. I give -you fair warning. If I had not been foolish, I should have told my -father, but Cynthia made me promise that I would not. So I will tell -it all, from beginning to end, to Lady Harriet, and ask her to speak -to her father. I feel sure that she will do it; and I don't think you -will dare to refuse Lord Cumnor." - -He felt at once that he should not dare; that, clever land-agent as -he was, and high up in the earl's favour on that account, yet that -the conduct of which he had been guilty in regard to the letters, and -the threats which he had held out respecting them, were just what -no gentleman, no honourable man, no manly man, could put up with in -any one about him. He knew that much, and he wondered how she, the -girl standing before him, had been clever enough to find it out. He -forgot himself for an instant in admiration of her. There she stood, -frightened, yet brave, not letting go her hold on what she meant to -do, even when things seemed most against her; and besides, there was -something that struck him most of all perhaps, and which shows the -kind of man he was--he perceived that Molly was as unconscious that -he was a young man, and she a young woman, as if she had been a pure -angel of heaven. Though he felt that he would have to yield, and give -up the letters, he was not going to do it at once; and while he was -thinking what to say, so as still to evade making any concession till -he had had time to think over it, he, with his quick senses all about -him, heard the trotting of a horse cranching quickly along over the -gravel of the drive. A moment afterwards, Molly's perception overtook -his. He could see the startled look overspread her face; and in an -instant she would have run away, but before the first rush was made, -Mr. Preston laid his hand firmly on her arm. - -"Keep quiet. You must be seen. You, at any rate, have done nothing to -be ashamed of." - -As he spoke, Mr. Sheepshanks came round the bend of the road and was -close upon them. Mr. Preston saw, if Molly did not, the sudden look -of intelligence that dawned upon the shrewd ruddy face of the old -gentleman--saw, but did not much heed. He went forwards and spoke to -Mr. Sheepshanks, who made a halt right before them. - -"Miss Gibson! your servant. Rather a blustering day for a young lady -to be out,--and cold, I should say, for standing still too long; eh, -Preston?" poking his whip at the latter in a knowing manner. - -"Yes," said Mr. Preston; "and I'm afraid I have kept Miss Gibson too -long standing." - -Molly did not know what to say or do; so she only bowed a silent -farewell, and turned away to go home, feeling very heavy at heart at -the non-success of her undertaking. For she did not know how she had -conquered, in fact, although Mr. Preston might not as yet acknowledge -it even to himself. Before she was out of hearing, she heard Mr. -Sheepshanks say,-- - -"Sorry to have disturbed your tête-à-tête, Preston," but though she -heard the words, their implied sense did not sink into her mind; she -was only feeling how she had gone out glorious and confident, and was -coming back to Cynthia defeated. - -Cynthia was on the watch for her return, and, rushing downstairs, -dragged Molly into the dining-room. - -"Well, Molly? Oh! I see you haven't got them. After all, I -never expected it." She sate down, as if she could get over her -disappointment better in that position, and Molly stood like a guilty -person before her. - -"I am so sorry; I did all I could; we were interrupted at last--Mr. -Sheepshanks rode up." - -"Provoking old man! Do you think you should have persuaded him to -give up the letters if you had had more time?" - -"I don't know. I wish Mr. Sheepshanks hadn't come up just then. I -didn't like his finding me standing talking to Mr. Preston." - -"Oh! I daresay he'd never think anything about it. What did he--Mr. -Preston--say?" - -"He seemed to think you were fully engaged to him, and that these -letters were the only proof he had. I think he loves you in his way." - -"His way, indeed!" said Cynthia, scornfully. - -"The more I think of it, the more I see it would be better for papa -to speak to him. I did say I would tell it all to Lady Harriet, and -get Lord Cumnor to make him give up the letters. But it would be very -awkward." - -"Very!" said Cynthia, gloomily. "But he would see it was only a -threat." - -"But I will do it in a moment, if you like. I meant what I said; only -I feel that papa would manage it best of all, and more privately." - -"I'll tell you what, Molly--you're bound by a promise, you know, and -cannot tell Mr. Gibson without breaking your solemn word--but it's -just this: I'll leave Hollingford and never come back again, if ever -your father hears of this affair; there!" Cynthia stood up now, and -began to fold up Molly's shawl, in her nervous excitement. - -"Oh, Cynthia--Roger!" was all that Molly said. - -"Yes, I know! you need not remind me of him. But I'm not going -to live in the house with any one who may be always casting up -in his mind the things he had heard against me--things--faults, -perhaps--which sound so much worse than they really are. I was so -happy when I first came here; you all liked me, and admired me, and -thought well of me, and now-- Why, Molly, I can see the difference -in you already. You carry your thoughts in your face--I have read -them there these two days--you've been thinking, 'How Cynthia must -have deceived me; keeping up a correspondence all this time--having -half-engagements to two men!' You've been more full of that than -of pity for me as a girl who has always been obliged to manage for -herself, without any friend to help her and protect her." - -Molly was silent. There was a great deal of truth in what Cynthia was -saying: and yet a great deal of falsehood. For, through all this long -forty-eight hours, Molly had loved Cynthia dearly; and had been more -weighed down by the position the latter was in than Cynthia herself. -She also knew--but this was a second thought following on the -other--that she had suffered much pain in trying to do her best -in this interview with Mr. Preston. She had been tried beyond her -strength: and the great tears welled up into her eyes, and fell -slowly down her cheeks. - -"Oh! what a brute I am!" said Cynthia, kissing them away. "I see--I -know it is the truth, and I deserve it--but I need not reproach you." - -"You did not reproach me!" said Molly, trying to smile. "I have -thought something of what you said--but I do love you dearly--dearly, -Cynthia--I should have done just the same as you did." - -"No, you would not. Your grain is different, somehow." - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - -CONFIDENCES. - - -All the rest of that day Molly was depressed and not well. Having -anything to conceal was so unusual--almost so unprecedented a -circumstance with her that it preyed upon her in every way. - -It was a nightmare that she could not shake off; she did so wish to -forget it all, and yet every little occurrence seemed to remind her -of it. The next morning's post brought several letters; one from -Roger for Cynthia, and Molly, letterless herself, looked at Cynthia -as she read it, with wistful sadness. It appeared to Molly as though -Cynthia should have no satisfaction in these letters, until she had -told him what was her exact position with Mr. Preston; yet Cynthia -was colouring and dimpling up as she always did at any pretty words -of praise, or admiration, or love. But Molly's thoughts and Cynthia's -reading were both interrupted by a little triumphant sound from Mrs. -Gibson, as she pushed a letter she had just received to her husband, -with a-- - -"There! I must say I expected that!" Then, turning to Cynthia, she -explained--"It is a letter from uncle Kirkpatrick, love. So kind, -wishing you to go and stay with them, and help them to cheer up -Helen; poor Helen! I am afraid she is very far from well. But -we could not have had her here, without disturbing dear papa in -his consulting-room; and, though I could have relinquished my -dressing-room--he--well! so I said in my letter how you were -grieved--you above all of us, because you are such a friend of -Helen's, you know--and how you longed to be of use,--as I am sure you -do--and so now they want you to go up directly, for Helen has quite -set her heart upon it." - -Cynthia's eyes sparkled. "I shall like going," said she--"all but -leaving you, Molly," she added, in a lower tone, as if suddenly -smitten with some compunction. - -"Can you be ready to go by the 'Bang-up' to-night?" said Mr. Gibson; -"for, curiously enough, after more than twenty years of quiet -practice at Hollingford, I am summoned up to-day for the first time -to a consultation in London to-morrow. I'm afraid Lady Cumnor is -worse, my dear." - -"You don't say so? Poor dear lady! What a shock it is to me! I'm so -glad I've had some breakfast. I could not have eaten anything." - -"Nay, I only say she is worse. With her complaint, being worse may be -only a preliminary to being better. Don't take my words for more than -their literal meaning." - -"Thank you. How kind and reassuring dear papa always is! About your -gowns, Cynthia?" - -"Oh, they're all right, mamma, thank you. I shall be quite ready by -four o'clock. Molly, will you come with me and help me to pack? I -wanted to speak to you, dear," said she, as soon as they had gone -upstairs. "It is such a relief to get away from a place haunted by -that man; but I'm afraid you thought I was glad to leave you; and -indeed I am not." There was a little flavour of "protesting too much" -about this; but Molly did not perceive it. She only said, "Indeed -I did not. I know from my own feelings how you must dislike meeting -a man in public in a different manner from what you have done in -private. I shall try not to see Mr. Preston again for a long, long -time, I'm sure. But, Cynthia, you haven't told me one word out of -Roger's letter. Please, how is he? Has he quite got over his attack -of fever?" - -"Yes, quite. He writes in very good spirits. A great deal about birds -and beasts, as usual, habits of natives, and things of that kind. You -may read from there" (indicating a place in the letter) "to there, if -you can. And I'll tell you what, I'll trust you with it, Molly, while -I pack; and that shows my sense of your honour--not but what you -might read it all, only you'd find the love-making dull; but make a -little account of where he is, and what he is doing, date, and that -sort of thing, and send it to his father." - -Molly took the letter down without a word, and began to copy it at -the writing-table; often reading over what she was allowed to read; -often pausing, her cheek on her hand, her eyes on the letter, and -letting her imagination rove to the writer, and all the scenes in -which she had either seen him herself, or in which her fancy had -painted him. She was startled from her meditations by Cynthia's -sudden entrance into the drawing-room, looking the picture of glowing -delight. "No one here? What a blessing! Ah, Miss Molly, you are more -eloquent than you believe yourself. Look here!" holding up a large -full envelope, and then quickly replacing it in her pocket, as if -she was afraid of being seen. "What's the matter, sweet one?" coming -up and caressing Molly. "Is it worrying itself over that letter? -Why, don't you see these are my very own horrible letters, that I -am going to burn directly, that Mr. Preston has had the grace to -send me, thanks to you, little Molly--cuishla ma chree, pulse of -my heart,--the letters that have been hanging over my head like -somebody's sword for these two years?" - -"Oh, I am so glad!" said Molly, rousing up a little. "I never thought -he would have sent them. He is better than I believed him. And now it -is all over. I am so glad! You quite think he means to give up all -claim over you by this, don't you, Cynthia?" - -"He may claim, but I won't be claimed; and he has no proofs now. It -is the most charming relief; and I owe it all to you, you precious -little lady! Now there's only one thing more to be done; and if you -would but do it for me--" (coaxing and caressing while she asked the -question). - -"Oh, Cynthia, don't ask me; I cannot do any more. You don't know how -sick I go when I think of yesterday, and Mr. Sheepshanks' look." - -"It is only a very little thing. I won't burden your conscience with -telling you how I got my letters, but it is not through a person -I can trust with money; and I must force him to take back his -twenty-three pounds odd shillings. I have put it together at the rate -of five per cent., and it's sealed up. Oh, Molly, I should go off -with such a light heart if you would only try to get it safely to -him. It's the last thing; there would be no immediate hurry, you -know. You might meet him by chance in a shop, in the street, even at -a party--and if you only had it with you in your pocket, there would -be nothing so easy." - -Molly was silent. "Papa would give it to him. There would be no harm -in that. I would tell him he must ask no questions as to what it -was." - -"Very well," said Cynthia, "have it your own way. I think my way is -the best: for if any of this affair comes out-- But you've done a -great deal for me already, and I won't blame you now for declining to -do any more!" - -"I do so dislike having these underhand dealings with him," pleaded -Molly. - -"Underhand! just simply giving him a letter from me! If I left a note -for Miss Browning, should you dislike giving it to her?" - -"You know that's very different. I could do it openly." - -"And yet there might be writing in that; and there wouldn't be a -line with the money. It would only be the winding-up--the honourable, -honest winding-up of an affair which has worried me for years. But do -as you like!" - -"Give it me!" said Molly. "I will try." - -"There's a darling! You can but try; and if you can't give it to him -in private, without getting yourself into a scrape, why, keep it till -I come back again. He shall have it then, whether he will or no!" - -Molly looked forward to her two days alone with Mrs. Gibson with very -different anticipations from those with which she had welcomed the -similar intercourse with her father. In the first place, there was no -accompanying the travellers to the inn from which the coach started; -leave-taking in the market-place was quite out of the bounds of Mrs. -Gibson's sense of propriety. Besides this, it was a gloomy, rainy -evening, and candles had to be brought in at an unusually early hour. -There would be no break for six hours--no music, no reading; but -the two ladies would sit at their worsted work, pattering away at -small-talk, with not even the usual break of dinner; for, to suit -the requirements of those who were leaving, they had already dined -early. But Mrs. Gibson really meant to make Molly happy, and tried to -be an agreeable companion, only Molly was not well, and was uneasy -about many apprehended cares and troubles--and at such hours of -indisposition as she was then passing through, apprehensions take -the shape of certainties, lying await in our paths. Molly would have -given a good deal to have shaken off all these feelings, unusual -enough to her; but the very house and furniture, and rain-blurred -outer landscape, seemed steeped with unpleasant associations, most of -them dating from the last few days. - -"You and I must go on the next journey, I think, my dear," said Mrs. -Gibson, almost chiming in with Molly's wish that she could get away -from Hollingford into some new air and life, for a week or two. "We -have been stay-at-homes for a long time, and variety of scene is so -desirable for the young! But I think the travellers will be wishing -themselves at home by this nice bright fireside. 'There's no place -like home,' as the poet says. 'Mid pleasures and palaces although I -may roam,' it begins, and it's both very pretty and very true. It's a -great blessing to have such a dear little home as this, is not it, -Molly?" - -"Yes," said Molly, rather drearily, having something of the "toujours -perdrix" feeling at the moment. If she could but have gone away with -her father, just for two days, how pleasant it would have been. - -"To be sure, love, it would be very nice for you and me to go a -little journey all by ourselves. You and I. No one else. If it -were not such miserable weather we would have gone off on a little -impromptu tour. I've been longing for something of the kind for some -weeks; but we live such a restricted kind of life here! I declare -sometimes I get quite sick of the very sight of the chairs and tables -that I know so well. And one misses the others too! It seems so flat -and deserted without them!" - -"Yes! We are very forlorn to-night; but I think it's partly owing to -the weather!" - -"Nonsense, dear. I can't have you giving in to the silly fancy of -being affected by weather. Poor dear Mr. Kirkpatrick used to say, 'a -cheerful heart makes its own sunshine.' He would say it to me, in -his pretty way, whenever I was a little low--for I am a complete -barometer--you may really judge of the state of the weather by my -spirits, I have always been such a sensitive creature! It is well -for Cynthia that she does not inherit it; I don't think her easily -affected in any way, do you?" - -Molly thought for a minute or two, and then replied--"No, she -certainly is not easily affected--not deeply affected perhaps I -should say." - -"Many girls, for instance, would have been touched by the admiration -she excited--I may say the attentions she received when she was at -her uncle's last summer." - -"At Mr. Kirkpatrick's?" - -"Yes. There was Mr. Henderson, that young lawyer; that's to say, he -is studying law, but he has a good private fortune and is likely -to have more, so he can only be what I call playing at law. Mr. -Henderson was over head and ears in love with her. It is not my -fancy, although I grant mothers are partial: both Mr. and Mrs. -Kirkpatrick noticed it; and in one of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's letters, -she said that poor Mr. Henderson was going into Switzerland for the -long vacation, doubtless to try and forget Cynthia; but she really -believed he would find it only 'dragging at each remove a lengthening -chain.' I thought it such a refined quotation, and altogether worded -so prettily. You must know aunt Kirkpatrick some day, Molly, my love; -she is what I call a woman of a truly elegant mind." - -"I can't help thinking it was a pity that Cynthia did not tell them -of her engagement." - -"It is not an engagement, my dear! How often must I tell you that?" - -"But what am I to call it?" - -"I don't see why you need to call it anything. Indeed, I don't -understand what you mean by 'it.' You should always try to express -yourself intelligibly. It really is one of the first principles -of the English language. In fact, philosophers might ask what is -language given us for at all, if it is not that we may make our -meaning understood?" - -"But there is something between Cynthia and Roger; they are more to -each other than I am to Osborne, for instance. What am I to call it?" - -"You should not couple your name with that of any unmarried young -man; it is so difficult to teach you delicacy, child. Perhaps one may -say there is a peculiar relation between dear Cynthia and Roger, but -it is very difficult to characterize it; I have no doubt that is the -reason she shrinks from speaking about it. For, between ourselves, -Molly, I really sometimes think it will come to nothing. He is -so long away, and, privately speaking, Cynthia is not very, very -constant. I once knew her very much taken before--that little affair -is quite gone by; and she was very civil to Mr. Henderson, in her -way; I fancy she inherits it, for when I was a girl I was beset by -lovers, and could never find in my heart to shake them off. You have -not heard dear papa say anything of the old Squire, or dear Osborne, -have you? It seems so long since we have heard or seen anything of -Osborne. But he must be quite well, I think, or we should have heard -of it." - -"I believe he is quite well. Some one said the other day that they -had met him riding--it was Mrs. Goodenough, now I remember--and that -he was looking stronger than he had done for years." - -"Indeed! I am truly glad to hear it. I always was fond of Osborne; -and, do you know, I never really took to Roger? I respected him -and all that, of course; but to compare him with Mr. Henderson! Mr. -Henderson is so handsome and well-bred, and gets all his gloves from -Houbigant!" - -It was true that they had not seen anything of Osborne Hamley for -a long time; but, as it often happens, just after they had been -speaking about him he appeared. It was on the day following Mr. -Gibson's departure that Mrs. Gibson received one of the notes, not -so common now as formerly, from the family in town, asking her to go -over to the Towers, and find a book, or a manuscript, or something or -other that Lady Cumnor wanted with all an invalid's impatience. It -was just the kind of employment she required for an amusement on a -gloomy day, and it put her into a good humour immediately. There was -a certain confidential importance about it, and it was a variety, and -it gave her the pleasant drive in a fly up the noble avenue, and the -sense of being the temporary mistress of all the grand rooms once so -familiar to her. She asked Molly to accompany her, out of an access -of kindness, but was not at all sorry when Molly excused herself and -preferred stopping at home. At eleven o'clock Mrs. Gibson was off, -all in her Sunday best (to use the servant's expression, which she -herself would so have contemned), well-dressed in order to impose on -the servants at the Towers, for there was no one else to see or to be -seen by. - -"I shall not be at home until the afternoon, my dear! But I hope you -will not find it dull. I don't think you will, for you are something -like me, my love--never less alone than when alone, as one of the -great authors has justly expressed it." - -Molly enjoyed the house to herself fully as much as Mrs. Gibson would -enjoy having the Towers to herself. She ventured on having her lunch -brought upon a tray into the drawing-room, so that she might eat -her sandwiches while she went on with her book. In the middle, Mr. -Osborne Hamley was announced. He came in, looking wretchedly ill in -spite of purblind Mrs. Goodenough's report of his healthy appearance. - -"This call is not on you, Molly," said he, after the first greetings -were over. "I was in hopes I might have found your father at home; -I thought lunch-time was the best hour." He had sate down, as if -thoroughly glad of the rest, and fallen into a languid stooping -position, as if it had become so natural to him that no sense of what -were considered good manners sufficed to restrain him now. - -"I hope you did not want to see him professionally?" said Molly, -wondering if she was wise in alluding to his health, yet urged to it -by her real anxiety. - -"Yes, I did. I suppose I may help myself to a biscuit and a glass of -wine? No, don't ring for more. I could not eat it if it was here. But -I just want a mouthful; this is quite enough, thank you. When will -your father be back?" - -"He was summoned up to London. Lady Cumnor is worse. I fancy there is -some operation going on; but I don't know. He will be back to-morrow -night." - -"Very well. Then I must wait. Perhaps I shall be better by that time. -I think it's half fancy; but I should like your father to tell me so. -He will laugh at me, I daresay; but I don't think I shall mind that. -He always is severe on fanciful patients, isn't he, Molly?" - -Molly thought that if he saw Osborne's looks just then he would -hardly think him fanciful, or be inclined to be severe. But she only -said,--"Papa enjoys a joke at everything, you know. It is a relief -after all the sorrow he sees." - -"Very true. There is a great deal of sorrow in the world. I don't -think it's a very happy place after all. So Cynthia is gone to -London?" he added, after a pause. "I think I should like to have seen -her again. Poor old Roger! He loves her very dearly, Molly," he said. -Molly hardly knew how to answer him in all this; she was so struck by -the change in both voice and manner. - -"Mamma has gone to the Towers," she began, at length. "Lady Cumnor -wanted several things that mamma only can find. She will be sorry to -miss you. We were speaking of you only yesterday, and she said how -long it was since we had seen you." - -"I think I've grown careless; I've often felt so weary and ill that -it was all I could do to keep up a brave face before my father." - -"Why did you not come and see papa?" said Molly; "or write to him?" - -"I cannot tell. I drifted on, sometimes better, and sometimes worse, -till to-day I mustered up pluck, and came to hear what your father -has got to tell me: and all for no use it seems." - -"I am very sorry. But it is only for two days. He shall go and see -you as soon as ever he returns." - -"He must not alarm my father, remember, Molly," said Osborne, lifting -himself by the arms of his chair into an upright position and -speaking eagerly for the moment. "I wish to God Roger was at home!" -said he, falling back into the old posture. - -"I can't help understanding you," said Molly. "You think yourself -very ill; but isn't it that you are tired just now?" She was not sure -if she ought to have understood what was passing in his mind; but as -she did, she could not help speaking a true reply. - -"Well, sometimes I do think I'm very ill; and then, again, I think -it's only the moping life sets me fancying and exaggerating." He was -silent for some time. Then, as if he had taken a sudden resolution, -he spoke again. "You see, there are others depending upon me--upon my -health. You haven't forgotten what you heard that day in the library -at home? No, I know you haven't. I have seen the thought of it in -your eyes often since then. I didn't know you at that time. I think I -do now." - -"Don't go on talking so fast," said Molly. "Rest. No one will -interrupt us; I will go on with my sewing; when you want to say -anything more I shall be listening." For she was alarmed at the -strange pallor that had come over his face. - -"Thank you." After a time he roused himself, and began to speak very -quietly, as if on an indifferent matter of fact. - -"The name of my wife is Aimée. Aimée Hamley, of course. She lives -at Bishopsfield, a village near Winchester. Write it down, but keep -it to yourself. She is a Frenchwoman, a Roman Catholic, and was a -servant. She is a thoroughly good woman. I must not say how dear she -is to me. I dare not. I meant once to have told Cynthia, but she -didn't seem quite to consider me as a brother. Perhaps she was shy of -a new relation; but you'll give my love to her, all the same. It is -a relief to think that some one else has my secret; and you are like -one of us, Molly. I can trust you almost as I can trust Roger. I feel -better already, now I feel that some one else knows the whereabouts -of my wife and child." - -"Child!" said Molly, surprised. But before he could reply, Maria had -announced, "Miss Phoebe Browning." - -"Fold up that paper," said he, quickly, putting something into her -hands. "It is only for yourself." - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - -HOLLINGFORD GOSSIPS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -"My dear Molly, why didn't you come and dine with us? I said to -sister I would come and scold you well. Oh, Mr. Osborne Hamley, is -that you?" and a look of mistaken intelligence at the tête-à-tête -she had disturbed came so perceptibly over Miss Phoebe's face that -Molly caught Osborne's sympathetic eye, and both smiled at the -notion. - -"I'm sure I--well! one must sometimes--I see our dinner would have -been--" Then she recovered herself into a connected sentence. "We -only just heard of Mrs. Gibson's having a fly from the 'George,' -because sister sent our Nancy to pay for a couple of rabbits Tom -Ostler had snared, (I hope we shan't be taken up for poachers, Mr. -Osborne--snaring doesn't require a licence, I believe?) and she heard -he was gone off with the fly to the Towers with your dear mamma; for -Coxe who drives the fly in general has sprained his ankle. We had -just finished dinner, but when Nancy said Tom Ostler would not be -back till night, I said, 'Why, there's that poor dear girl left all -alone by herself, and her mother such a friend of ours,'--when she -was alive, I mean. But I'm sure I'm glad I'm mistaken." - -Osborne said,--"I came to speak to Mr. Gibson, not knowing he had -gone to London, and Miss Gibson kindly gave me some of her lunch. -I must go now." - -"Oh dear! I am so sorry," fluttered out Miss Phoebe, "I disturbed -you; but it was with the best intentions. I always was mal-àpropos -from a child." But Osborne was gone before she had finished her -apologies. As he left, his eyes met Molly's with a strange look -of yearning farewell that struck her at the time, and that she -remembered strongly afterwards. "Such a nice suitable thing, and I -came in the midst, and spoilt it all. I am sure you're very kind, my -dear, considering--" - -"Considering what, my dear Miss Phoebe? If you are conjecturing a -love affair between Mr. Osborne Hamley and me, you never were more -mistaken in your life. I think I told you so once before. Please do -believe me." - -"Oh, yes! I remember. And somehow sister got it into her head it was -Mr. Preston. I recollect." - -"One guess is just as wrong as the other," said Molly, smiling, and -trying to look perfectly indifferent, but going extremely red at the -mention of Mr. Preston's name. It was very difficult for her to keep -up any conversation, for her heart was full of Osborne--his changed -appearance, his melancholy words of foreboding, and his confidences -about his wife--French, Catholic, servant. Molly could not help -trying to piece these strange facts together by imaginations of her -own, and found it very hard work to attend to kind Miss Phoebe's -unceasing patter. She came up to the point, however, when the voice -ceased; and could recall, in a mechanical manner, the echo of the -last words, which both from Miss Phoebe's look, and the dying -accent that lingered in Molly's ear, she perceived to be a question. -Miss Phoebe was asking her if she would go out with her. She was -going to Grinstead's, the bookseller of Hollingford; who, in addition -to his regular business, was the agent for the Hollingford Book -Society, received their subscriptions, kept their accounts, ordered -their books from London, and, on payment of a small salary, allowed -the Society to keep their volumes on shelves in his shop. It was -the centre of news, and the club, as it were, of the little town. -Everybody who pretended to gentility in the place belonged to it. It -was a test of gentility, indeed, rather than of education or a love -of literature. No shopkeeper would have thought of offering himself -as a member, however great his general intelligence and love of -reading; while it boasted on its list of subscribers most of the -county families in the neighbourhood, some of whom subscribed to it -as a sort of duty belonging to their station, without often using -their privilege of reading the books: while there were residents -in the little town, such as Mrs. Goodenough, who privately thought -reading a great waste of time, that might be much better employed -in sewing, and knitting, and pastry-making, but who nevertheless -belonged to it as a mark of station, just as these good, motherly -women would have thought it a terrible come-down in the world if they -had not had a pretty young servant-maid to fetch them home from the -tea-parties at night. At any rate, Grinstead's was a very convenient -place for a lounge. In that view of the Book Society every one -agreed. - -Molly went upstairs to get ready to accompany Miss Phoebe; and on -opening one of her drawers she saw Cynthia's envelope, containing -the money she owed to Mr. Preston, carefully sealed up like a letter. -This was what Molly had so unwillingly promised to deliver--the last -final stroke to the affair. Molly took it up, hating it. For a time -she had forgotten it; and now it was here, facing her, and she must -try and get rid of it. She put it into her pocket for the chances -of the walk and the day, and fortune for once seemed to befriend -her; for, on their entering Grinstead's shop, in which two or three -people were now, as always, congregated, making play of examining the -books, or business of writing down the titles of new works in the -order-book, there was Mr. Preston. He bowed as they came in. He could -not help that; but, at the sight of Molly, he looked as ill-tempered -and out of humour as a man well could do. She was connected in his -mind with defeat and mortification; and besides, the sight of her -called up what he desired now, above all things, to forget; namely, -the deep conviction, received through Molly's simple earnestness, -of Cynthia's dislike to him. If Miss Phoebe had seen the scowl upon -his handsome face, she might have undeceived her sister in her -suppositions about him and Molly. But Miss Phoebe, who did not -consider it quite maidenly to go and stand close to Mr. Preston, and -survey the shelves of books in such close proximity to a gentleman, -found herself an errand at the other end of the shop, and occupied -herself in buying writing-paper. Molly fingered her valuable letter, -as it lay in her pocket; did she dare to cross over to Mr. Preston, -and give it to him, or not? While she was still undecided, shrinking -always just at the moment when she thought she had got her courage -up for action, Miss Phoebe, having finished her purchase, turned -round, and after looking a little pathetically at Mr. Preston's back, -said to Molly in a whisper--"I think we'll go to Johnson's now, and -come back for the books in a little while." So across the street to -Johnson's they went; but no sooner had they entered the draper's -shop, than Molly's conscience smote her for her cowardice, and loss -of a good opportunity. "I'll be back directly," said she, as soon as -Miss Phoebe was engaged with her purchases; and Molly ran across to -Grinstead's, without looking either to the right or the left; she had -been watching the door, and she knew that no Mr. Preston had issued -forth. She ran in; he was at the counter now, talking to Grinstead -himself; Molly put the letter into his hand, to his surprise, -and almost against his will, and turned round to go back to Miss -Phoebe. At the door of the shop stood Mrs. Goodenough, arrested in -the act of entering, staring, with her round eyes, made still rounder -and more owl-like by spectacles, to see Molly Gibson giving Mr. -Preston a letter, which he, conscious of being watched, and favouring -underhand practices habitually, put quickly into his pocket, -unopened. Perhaps, if he had had time for reflection he would not -have scrupled to put Molly to open shame, by rejecting what she so -eagerly forced upon him. - -There was another long evening to be got through with Mrs. Gibson; -but on this occasion there was the pleasant occupation of dinner, -which took up at least an hour; for it was one of Mrs. Gibson's -fancies--one which Molly chafed against--to have every ceremonial -gone through in the same stately manner for two as for twenty. So, -although Molly knew full well, and her stepmother knew full well, -and Maria knew full well, that neither Mrs. Gibson nor Molly touched -dessert, it was set on the table with as much form as if Cynthia had -been at home, who delighted in almonds and raisins; or Mr. Gibson -been there, who never could resist dates, though he always protested -against "persons in their station of life having a formal dessert set -out before them every day." - -And Mrs. Gibson herself apologized, as it were, to Molly to-day, -in the same words she had often used to Mr. Gibson,--"It's no -extravagance, for we need not eat it--I never do. But it looks well, -and makes Maria understand what is required in the daily life of -every family of position." - -All through the evening Molly's thoughts wandered far and wide, -though she managed to keep up a show of attention to what Mrs. -Gibson was saying. She was thinking of Osborne, and his abrupt, -half-finished confidence, and his ill-looks; she was wondering when -Roger would come home, and longing for his return, as much (she said -to herself) for Osborne's sake as for her own. And then she checked -herself. What had she to do with Roger? Why should she long for his -return? It was Cynthia who was doing this; only somehow he was such -a true friend to Molly, that she could not help thinking of him as a -staff and a stay in the troublous times which appeared to lie not far -ahead--this evening. Then Mr. Preston and her little adventure with -him came uppermost. How angry he looked! How could Cynthia have -liked him even enough to get into this abominable scrape, which -was, however, all over now! And so she ran on in her fancies and -imaginations, little dreaming that that very night much talk was -going on not half-a-mile from where she sate sewing, that would prove -that the "scrape" (as she called it, in her girlish phraseology) was -not all over. - -Scandal sleeps in the summer, comparatively speaking. Its nature is -the reverse of that of the dormouse. Warm ambient air, loiterings -abroad, gardenings, flowers to talk about, and preserves to make, -soothed the wicked imp to slumber in the parish of Hollingford in -summer-time. But when evenings grew short, and people gathered round -the fires, and put their feet in a circle--not on the fenders, that -was not allowed--then was the time for confidential conversation! -Or in the pauses allowed for the tea-trays to circulate among the -card-tables--when those who were peaceably inclined tried to stop -the warm discussions about "the odd trick," and the rather wearisome -feminine way of "shouldering the crutch, and showing how fields were -won"--small crumbs and scraps of daily news came up to the surface, -such as "Martindale has raised the price of his best joints a -halfpenny in the pound;" or, "It's a shame of Sir Harry to order in -another book on farriery into the Book Society; Phoebe and I tried -to read it, but really there is no general interest in it;" or, "I -wonder what Mr. Ashton will do, now Nancy is going to be married! -Why, she's been with him these seventeen years! It's a very foolish -thing for a woman of her age to be thinking of matrimony; and so I -told her, when I met her in the market-place this morning!" - -So said Miss Browning on the night in question; her hand of cards -lying by her on the puce baize-covered table, while she munched the -rich pound-cake of a certain Mrs. Dawes, lately come to inhabit -Hollingford. - -"Matrimony's not so bad as you think for, Miss Browning," said Mrs. -Goodenough, standing up for the holy estate into which she had twice -entered. "If I'd ha' seen Nancy, I should ha' given her my mind very -different. It's a great thing to be able to settle what you'll have -for dinner, without never a one interfering with you." - -"If that's all!" said Miss Browning, drawing herself up, "I can do -that; and, perhaps, better than a woman who has a husband to please." - -"No one can say as I didn't please my husbands--both on 'em, though -Jeremy was tickler in his tastes than poor Harry Beaver. But as I -used to say to 'em, 'Leave the victual to me; it's better for you -than knowing what's to come beforehand. The stomach likes to be -taken by surprise.' And neither of 'em ever repented 'em of their -confidence. You may take my word for it, beans and bacon will taste -better (and Mr. Ashton's Nancy in her own house) than all the -sweetbreads and spring chickens she's been a-doing for him this -seventeen years. But if I chose, I could tell you of something as -would interest you all a deal more than old Nancy's marriage to a -widower with nine children--only as the young folks themselves is -meeting in private, clandestine-like, it's perhaps not for me to tell -their secrets." - -"I'm sure I don't want to hear of clandestine meetings between young -men and young women," said Miss Browning, throwing up her head. "It's -disgrace enough to the people themselves, I consider, if they enter -on a love affair without the proper sanction of parents. I know -public opinion has changed on the subject; but when poor Gratia was -married to Mr. Byerley, he wrote to my father without ever having so -much as paid her a compliment, or said more than the most trivial and -commonplace things to her; and my father and mother sent for her into -my father's study, and she said she was never so much frightened in -her life,--and they said it was a very good offer, and Mr. Byerley -was a very worthy man, and they hoped she would behave properly to -him when he came to supper that night. And after that he was allowed -to come twice a week till they were married. My mother and I sate at -our work in the bow-window of the Rectory drawing-room, and Gratia -and Mr. Byerley at the other end; and my mother always called my -attention to some flower or plant in the garden when it struck nine, -for that was his time for going. Without offence to the present -company, I am rather inclined to look upon matrimony as a weakness to -which some very worthy people are prone; but if they must be married, -let them make the best of it, and go through the affair with dignity -and propriety: or if there are misdoings and clandestine meetings, -and such things, at any rate, never let me hear about them! I think -it's you to play, Mrs. Dawes. You'll excuse my frankness on the -subject of matrimony! Mrs. Goodenough there can tell you I'm a very -out-spoken person." - -"It's not the out-speaking, it's what you say that goes against me, -Miss Browning," said Mrs. Goodenough, affronted, yet ready to play -her card as soon as needed. And as for Mrs. Dawes, she was too -anxious to get into the genteelest of all (Hollingford) society to -object to whatever Miss Browning (who, in right of being a deceased -rector's daughter, rather represented the selectest circle of the -little town) advocated, whether celibacy, marriage, bigamy, or -polygamy. - -So the remainder of the evening passed over without any further -reference to the secret Mrs. Goodenough was burning to disclose, -unless a remark made _àpropos de rien_ by Miss Browning, during the -silence of a deal, could be supposed to have connection with the -previous conversation. She said suddenly and abruptly,-- - -"I don't know what I have done that any man should make me his -slave." If she was referring to any prospect of matrimonial danger -she saw opening before her fancy, she might have been comforted. But -it was a remark of which no one took any notice, all being far too -much engaged in the rubber. Only when Miss Browning took her early -leave (for Miss Phoebe had a cold, and was an invalid at home), -Mrs. Goodenough burst out with-- - -"Well! now I may speak out my mind, and say as how if there was a -slave between us two, when Goodenough was alive, it wasn't me; and -I don't think as it was pretty in Miss Browning to give herself such -airs on her virginity when there was four widows in the room,--who've -had six honest men among 'em for husbands. No offence, Miss Airy!" -addressing an unfortunate little spinster, who found herself the sole -representative of celibacy now that Miss Browning was gone. "I could -tell her of a girl as she's very fond on, who's on the high road to -matrimony; and in as cunning a way as ever I heerd on; going out at -dusk to meet her sweetheart, just as if she was my Sally, or your -Jenny. And her name is Molly too,--which, as I have often thought, -shows a low taste in them as first called her so;--she might as -well be a scullery-maid at oncest. Not that she's picked up anybody -common; she's looked about her for a handsome fellow, and a smart -young man enough!" - -Every one around the table looked curious and intent on the -disclosures being made, except the hostess, Mrs. Dawes, who smiled -intelligence with her eyes, and knowingly pursed up her mouth until -Mrs. Goodenough had finished her tale. Then she said demurely,-- - -"I suppose you mean Mr. Preston and Miss Gibson?" - -"Why, who told you?" said Mrs. Goodenough, turning round upon her -in surprise. "You can't say as I did. There's many a Molly in -Hollingford, besides her,--though none, perhaps, in such a genteel -station in life. I never named her, I'm sure." - -"No. But I know. I could tell my tale too," continued Mrs. Dawes. - -"No! could you, really?" said Mrs. Goodenough, very curious and a -little jealous. - -"Yes. My uncle Sheepshanks came upon them in the Park Avenue,--he -startled 'em a good deal, he said; and when he taxed Mr. Preston with -being with his sweetheart, he didn't deny it." - -"Well! Now so much has come out, I'll tell you what I know. Only, -ladies, I wouldn't wish to do the girl an unkind turn,--so you must -keep what I've got to tell you a secret." Of course they promised; -that was easy. - -"My Hannah, as married Tom Oakes, and lives in Pearson's Lane, -was a-gathering of damsons only a week ago, and Molly Gibson was -a-walking fast down the lane,--quite in a hurry like to meet some -one,--and Hannah's little Anna-Maria fell down, and Molly (who's a -kind-hearted lass enough) picked her up; so if Hannah had had her -doubts before, she had none then." - -"But there was no one with her, was there?" asked one of the ladies, -anxiously, as Mrs. Goodenough stopped to finish her piece of cake, -just at this crisis. - -"No: I said she looked as if she was going to meet some one,--and -by-and-by comes Mr. Preston running out of the wood just beyond -Hannah's, and says he, 'A cup of water, please, good woman, for a -lady has fainted, or is 'sterical or something.' Now though he didn't -know Hannah, Hannah knew him. 'More folks know Tom Fool, than Tom -Fool knows,' asking Mr. Preston's pardon; for he's no fool whatever -he be. And I could tell you more,--and what I've seed with my -own eyes. I seed her give him a letter in Grinstead's shop, only -yesterday, and he looked as black as thunder at her, for he seed me -if she didn't." - -"It's a very suitable kind of thing," said Miss Airy; "why do they -make such a mystery of it?" - -"Some folks like it," said Mrs. Dawes; "it adds zest to it all, to do -their courting underhand." - -"Ay, it's like salt to their victual," put in Mrs. Goodenough. "But I -didn't think Molly Gibson was one of that sort, I didn't." - -"The Gibsons hold themselves very high?" cried Mrs. Dawes, more as an -inquiry than an assertion. "Mrs. Gibson has called upon me." - -"Ay, you're like to be a patient of the doctor's," put in Mrs. -Goodenough. - -"She seemed to me very affable, though she is so intimate with the -Countess and the family at the Towers; and is quite the lady herself; -dines late, I've heard, and everything in style." - -"Style! very different style to what Bob Gibson, her husband, was -used to when first he came here,--glad of a mutton-chop in his -surgery, for I doubt if he'd a fire anywhere else; we called him Bob -Gibson then, but none on us dare Bob him now; I'd as soon think o' -calling him sweep!" - -"I think it looks very bad for Miss Gibson!" said one lady, rather -anxious to bring back the conversation to the more interesting -present time. But as soon as Mrs. Goodenough heard this natural -comment on the disclosures she had made, she fired round on the -speaker:-- - -"Not at all bad, and I'll trouble you not to use such a word as that -about Molly Gibson, as I've known all her life. It's odd if you will. -I was odd myself as a girl; I never could abide a plate of gathered -gooseberries, but I must needs go and skulk behind a bush and gather -'em for myself. It's some folk's taste, though it mayn't be Miss -Browning's, who'd have all the courting done under the nose of the -family. All as ever I said was that I was surprised at it in Molly -Gibson; and that I'd ha' thought it was liker that pretty piece of a -Cynthia as they call her; indeed, at one time I was ready to swear -as it was her Mr. Preston was after. And now, ladies, I'll wish you -a very good night. I cannot abide waste; and I'll venture for it -Sally's letting the candle in the lantern run all to grease, instead -of putting it out, as I've told her to do, if ever she's got to wait -for me." - -So with formal dipping curtseys the ladies separated, but not without -thanking Mrs. Dawes for the pleasant evening they had had; a piece of -old-fashioned courtesy always gone through in those days. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - -SCANDAL AND ITS VICTIMS. - - -When Mr. Gibson returned to Hollingford, he found an accumulation of -business waiting for him, and he was much inclined to complain of the -consequences of the two days' comparative holiday, which had resulted -in over-work for the week to come. He had hardly time to speak to -his family, he had so immediately to rush off to pressing cases of -illness. But Molly managed to arrest him in the hall, standing there -with his great coat held out ready for him to put on, but whispering -as she did so-- - -"Papa! Mr. Osborne Hamley was here to see you yesterday. He looks -very ill, and he's evidently frightened about himself." - -Mr. Gibson faced about, and looked at her for a moment; but all he -said was-- - -"I'll go and see him; don't tell your mother where I'm gone: you've -not mentioned this to her, I hope?" - -"No," said Molly, for she had only told Mrs. Gibson of Osborne's -call, not of the occasion for it. - -"Don't say anything about it; there's no need. Now I think of it, I -can't possibly go to-day,--but I will go." - -Something in her father's manner disheartened Molly, who had -persuaded herself that Osborne's evident illness was partly -"nervous," by which she meant imaginary. She had dwelt upon his looks -of enjoyment at Miss Phoebe's perplexity, and thought that no one -really believing himself to be in danger could have given the merry -glances which he had done; but after seeing the seriousness of her -father's face, she recurred to the shock she had experienced on first -seeing Osborne's changed appearance. All this time Mrs. Gibson was -busy reading a letter from Cynthia which Mr. Gibson had brought from -London; for every opportunity of private conveyance was seized upon -when postage was so high; and Cynthia had forgotten so many things in -her hurried packing, that she now sent a list of the clothes which -she required. Molly almost wondered that it had not come to her; -but she did not understand the sort of reserve that was springing -up in Cynthia's mind towards her. Cynthia herself struggled with -the feeling, and tried to fight against it by calling herself -"ungrateful;" but the truth was, she believed that she no longer held -her former high place in Molly's estimation and she could not help -turning away from one who knew things to her discredit. She was fully -aware of Molly's prompt decision and willing action, where action -was especially disagreeable, on her behalf; she knew that Molly -would never bring up the past errors and difficulties; but still the -consciousness that the good, straightforward girl had learnt that -Cynthia had been guilty of so much underhand work cooled her regard, -and restrained her willingness of intercourse. Reproach herself with -ingratitude as she would, she could not help feeling glad to be -away from Molly; it was awkward to speak to her as if nothing had -happened; it was awkward to write to her about forgotten ribbons -and laces, when their last conversation had been on such different -subjects, and had called out such vehement expressions of feeling. -So Mrs. Gibson held the list in her hand, and read out the small -fragments of news that were intermixed with notices of Cynthia's -requirements. - -"Helen cannot be so very ill," said Molly at length, "or Cynthia -would not want her pink muslin and daisy wreath." - -"I don't see that that follows, I'm sure," replied Mrs. Gibson rather -sharply. "Helen would never be so selfish as to tie Cynthia to her -side, however ill she was. Indeed, I should not have felt that it -was my duty to let Cynthia go to London at all, if I had thought -she was to be perpetually exposed to the depressing atmosphere of -a sick-room. Besides, it must be so good for Helen to have Cynthia -coming in with bright pleasant accounts of the parties she has been -to--even if Cynthia disliked gaiety I should desire her to sacrifice -herself and go out as much as she could, for Helen's sake. My idea -of nursing is that one should not be always thinking of one's own -feelings and wishes, but doing those things which will most serve to -beguile the weary hours of an invalid. But then so few people have -had to consider the subject so deeply as I have done!" - -Mrs. Gibson here thought fit to sigh before going on with Cynthia's -letter. As far as Molly could make any sense out of this rather -incoherent epistle, very incoherently read aloud to her, Cynthia was -really pleased, and glad to be of use and comfort to Helen, but at -the same time very ready to be easily persuaded into the perpetual -small gaieties which abounded in her uncle's house in London, even at -this dead season of the year. Mrs. Gibson came upon Mr. Henderson's -name once, and then went on with a running "um-um-um" to herself, -which sounded very mysterious, but which might as well have been -omitted, as all that Cynthia really said about him was, "Mr. -Henderson's mother has advised my aunt to consult a certain Dr. -Donaldson, who is said to be very clever in such cases as Helen's, -but my uncle is not sufficiently sure of the professional etiquette, -&c." Then there came a very affectionate, carefully worded message to -Molly,--implying a good deal more than was said of loving gratitude -for the trouble she had taken on Cynthia's behalf. And that was all; -and Molly went away a little depressed; she knew not why. - -The operation on Lady Cumnor had been successfully performed, and in -a few days they hoped to bring her down to the Towers to recruit her -strength in the fresh country air. The case was one which interested -Mr. Gibson extremely, and in which his opinion had been proved to -be right, in opposition to that of one or two great names in London. -The consequence was that he was frequently consulted and referred to -during the progress of her recovery; and, as he had much to do in the -immediate circle of his Hollingford practice, as well as to write -thoughtful letters to his medical brethren in London, he found it -difficult to spare the three or four hours necessary to go over to -Hamley to see Osborne. He wrote to him, however, begging him to reply -immediately and detail his symptoms; and from the answer he received -he did not imagine that the case was immediately pressing. Osborne, -too, deprecated his coming over to Hamley for the express purpose -of seeing him. So the visit was deferred to that "more convenient -season" which is so often too late. - -All these days the buzzing gossip about Molly's meetings with Mr. -Preston, her clandestine correspondence, the secret interviews in -lonely places, had been gathering strength, and assuming the positive -form of scandal. The simple innocent girl, who walked through the -quiet streets without a thought of being the object of mysterious -implications, became for a time the unconscious black sheep of the -town. Servants heard part of what was said in their mistresses' -drawing-rooms, and exaggerated the sayings amongst themselves with -the coarse strengthening of expression common with uneducated people. -Mr. Preston himself became aware that her name was being coupled with -his, though hardly to the extent to which the love of excitement and -gossip had carried people's speeches; he chuckled over the mistake, -but took no pains to correct it. "It serves her right," said he to -himself, "for meddling with other folk's business," and he felt -himself avenged for the discomfiture which her menace of appealing to -Lady Harriet had caused him, and the mortification he had experienced -in learning from her plain-speaking lips, how he had been talked -over by Cynthia and herself, with personal dislike on the one side, -and evident contempt on the other. Besides, if any denial of Mr. -Preston's stirred up an examination as to the real truth, more might -come out of his baffled endeavours to compel Cynthia to keep to her -engagement to him than he cared to have known. He was angry with -himself for still loving Cynthia; loving her in his own fashion, be -it understood. He told himself that many a woman of more position and -wealth would be glad enough to have him; some of them pretty women -too. And he asked himself why he was such a confounded fool as to go -on hankering after a penniless girl, who was as fickle as the wind? -The answer was silly enough, logically; but forcible in fact. Cynthia -was Cynthia, and not Venus herself could have been her substitute. -In this one thing Mr. Preston was more really true than many worthy -men; who, seeking to be married, turn with careless facility from the -unattainable to the attainable, and keep their feelings and fancy -tolerably loose till they find a woman who consents to be their wife. -But no one would ever be to Mr. Preston what Cynthia had been, and -was; and yet he could have stabbed her in certain of his moods. So, -Molly, who had come between him and the object of his desire, was not -likely to find favour in his sight, or to obtain friendly actions -from him. - -There came a time--not very distant from the evening at Mrs. -Dawes'--when Molly felt that people looked askance at her. Mrs. -Goodenough openly pulled her grand-daughter away, when the young girl -stopped to speak to Molly in the street, and an engagement which -the two had made for a long walk together was cut very short by a -very trumpery excuse. Mrs. Goodenough explained her conduct in the -following manner to some of her friends:-- - -"You see, I don't think the worse of a girl for meeting her -sweetheart here and there and everywhere, till she gets talked about; -but then when she does--and Molly Gibson's name is in everybody's -mouth--I think it's only fair to Bessy, who has trusted me with -Annabella--not to let her daughter be seen with a lass who has -managed her matters so badly as to set folk talking about her. My -maxim is this,--and it's a very good working one, you may depend -on't--women should mind what they're about, and never be talked of; -and if a woman's talked of, the less her friends have to do with her -till the talk has died away, the better. So Annabella is not to have -anything to do with Molly Gibson, this visit at any rate." - -For a good while the Miss Brownings were kept in ignorance of the -evil tongues that whispered hard words about Molly. Miss Browning -was known to "have a temper," and by instinct every one who came in -contact with her shrank from irritating that temper by uttering the -slightest syllable against the smallest of those creatures over whom -she spread the ægis of her love. She would and did reproach them -herself; she used to boast that she never spared them: but no one -else might touch them with the slightest slur of a passing word. But -Miss Phoebe inspired no such terror; the great reason why she did -not hear of the gossip against Molly as early as any one, was that, -although she was not the rose, she lived near the rose. Besides, she -was of so tender a nature that even thick-skinned Mrs. Goodenough was -unwilling to say what would give Miss Phoebe pain; and it was the -new-comer Mrs. Dawes, who in all ignorance alluded to the town's -talk, as to something of which Miss Phoebe must be aware. Then Miss -Phoebe poured down her questions, although she protested, even with -tears, her total disbelief in all the answers she received. It was -a small act of heroism on her part to keep all that she then learnt -a secret from her sister Dorothy, as she did for four or five days; -till Miss Browning attacked her one evening with the following -speech:-- - -"Phoebe! either you've some reason for puffing yourself out with -sighs, or you've not. If you have a reason, it's your duty to tell it -me directly; and if you haven't a reason, you must break yourself of -a bad habit that is growing upon you." - -"Oh, sister! do you think it is really my duty to tell you? it would -be such a comfort; but then I thought I ought not; it will distress -you so." - -"Nonsense. I am so well prepared for misfortune by the frequent -contemplation of its possibility that I believe I can receive any ill -news with apparent equanimity and real resignation. Besides, when you -said yesterday at breakfast-time that you meant to give up the day -to making your drawers tidy, I was aware that some misfortune was -impending, though of course I could not judge of its magnitude. Is -the Highchester Bank broken?" - -"Oh no, sister!" said Miss Phoebe, moving to a seat close to her -sister's on the sofa. "Have you really been thinking that! I wish I -had told you what I heard at the very first, if you've been fancying -that!" - -"Take warning, Phoebe, and learn to have no concealments from me. I -did think we must be ruined, from your ways of going on: eating no -meat at dinner, and sighing continually. And now what is it?" - -"I hardly know how to tell you, Dorothy. I really don't." - -Miss Phoebe began to cry; Miss Browning took hold of her arm, and -gave her a little sharp shake. - -"Cry as much as you like when you've told me; but don't cry now, -child, when you're keeping me on the tenter-hooks." - -"Molly Gibson has lost her character, sister. That's it." - -"Molly Gibson has done no such thing!" said Miss Browning -indignantly. "How dare you repeat such stories about poor Mary's -child? Never let me hear you say such things again." - -"I can't help it. Mrs. Dawes told me; and she says it's all over the -town. I told her I did not believe a word of it. And I kept it from -you; and I think I should have been really ill if I'd kept it to -myself any longer. Oh, sister! what are you going to do?" - -For Miss Browning had risen without speaking a word, and was leaving -the room in a stately and determined fashion. - -"I'm going to put on my bonnet and things, and then I shall call upon -Mrs. Dawes, and confront her with her lies." - -"Oh, don't call them lies, sister; it's such a strong, ugly word. -Please call them tallydiddles, for I don't believe she meant any -harm. Besides--besides--if they should turn out to be truth? Really, -sister, that's the weight on my mind; so many things sounded as if -they might be true." - -"What things?" said Miss Browning, still standing with judicial -erectness of position in the middle of the floor. - -"Why--one story was that Molly had given him a letter." - -"Who's him? How am I to understand a story told in that silly way?" -Miss Browning sat down on the nearest chair, and made up her mind to -be patient if she could. - -"Him is Mr. Preston. And that must be true; because I missed her -from my side when I wanted to ask her if she thought blue would look -green by candlelight, as the young man said it would, and she had run -across the street, and Mrs. Goodenough was just going into the shop, -just as she said she was." - -Miss Browning's distress was overcoming her anger; so she only said, -"Phoebe, I think you'll drive me mad. Do tell me what you heard -from Mrs. Dawes in a sensible and coherent manner, for once in your -life." - -"I'm sure I'm trying with all my might to tell you everything just as -it happened." - -"What did you hear from Mrs. Dawes?" - -"Why, that Molly and Mr. Preston were keeping company just as if she -was a maid-servant and he was a gardener: meeting at all sorts of -improper times and places, and fainting away in his arms, and out at -night together, and writing to each other, and slipping their letters -into each other's hands; and that was what I was talking about, -sister, for I next door to saw that done once. I saw her with my own -eyes run across the street to Grinstead's, where he was, for we had -just left him there; with a letter in her hand, too, which was not -there when she came back all fluttered and blushing. But I never -thought anything of it at the time; but now all the town is talking -about it, and crying shame, and saying they ought to be married." -Miss Phoebe sank into sobbing again; but was suddenly roused by a -good box on her ear. Miss Browning was standing over her almost -trembling with passion. - -"Phoebe, if ever I hear you say such things again, I'll turn you -out of the house that minute." - -"I only said what Mrs. Dawes said, and you asked me what it was," -replied Miss Phoebe, humbly and meekly. "Dorothy, you should not -have done that." - -"Never mind whether I should or I shouldn't. That's not the matter -in hand. What I've got to decide is, how to put a stop to all these -lies." - -"But, Dorothy, they are not all lies--if you will call them so; I'm -afraid some things are true; though I stuck to their being false when -Mrs. Dawes told me of them." - -"If I go to Mrs. Dawes, and she repeats them to me, I shall slap her -face or box her ears I'm afraid, for I couldn't stand tales being -told of poor Mary's daughter, as if they were just a stirring piece -of news like James Horrocks' pig with two heads," said Miss Browning, -meditating aloud. "That would do harm instead of good. Phoebe, I'm -really sorry I boxed your ears, only I should do it again if you said -the same things." Phoebe sate down by her sister, and took hold of -one of her withered hands, and began caressing it, which was her way -of accepting her sister's expression of regret. "If I speak to Molly, -the child will deny it, if she's half as good-for-nothing as they -say; and if she's not, she'll only worry herself to death. No, that -won't do. Mrs. Goodenough--but she's a donkey; and if I convinced -her, she could never convince any one else. No; Mrs. Dawes, who told -you, shall tell me, and I'll tie my hands together inside my muff, -and bind myself over to keep the peace. And when I've heard what is -to be heard, I'll put the matter into Mr. Gibson's hands. That's what -I'll do. So it's no use your saying anything against it, Phoebe, -for I shan't attend to you." - -Miss Browning went to Mrs. Dawes' and began civilly enough to make -inquiries concerning the reports current in Hollingford about Molly -and Mr. Preston; and Mrs. Dawes fell into the snare, and told all the -real and fictitious circumstances of the story in circulation, quite -unaware of the storm that was gathering and ready to fall upon her -as soon as she stopped speaking. But she had not the long habit of -reverence for Miss Browning which would have kept so many Hollingford -ladies from justifying themselves if she found fault. Mrs. Dawes -stood up for herself and her own veracity, bringing out fresh -scandal, which she said she did not believe, but that many did; and -adducing so much evidence as to the truth of what she had said and -did believe, that Miss Browning was almost quelled, and sate silent -and miserable at the end of Mrs. Dawes' justification of herself. - -"Well!" she said at length, rising up from her chair as she spoke, -"I'm very sorry I've lived till this day; it's a blow to me just as -if I had heard of such goings-on in my own flesh and blood. I suppose -I ought to apologize to you, Mrs. Dawes, for what I said; but I've -no heart to do it to-day. I ought not to have spoken as I did; but -that's nothing to this affair, you see." - -"I hope you do me the justice to perceive that I only repeated what -I had heard on good authority, Miss Browning," said Mrs. Dawes in -reply. - -"My dear, don't repeat evil on any authority unless you can do some -good by speaking about it," said Miss Browning, laying her hand on -Mrs. Dawes' shoulder. "I'm not a good woman, but I know what is good, -and that advice is. And now I think I can tell you that I beg your -pardon for flying out upon you so; but God knows what pain you were -putting me to. You'll forgive me, won't you, my dear?" Mrs. Dawes -felt the hand trembling on her shoulder, and saw the real distress of -Miss Browning's mind, so it was not difficult for her to grant the -requested forgiveness. Then Miss Browning went home, and said but a -few words to Phoebe, who indeed saw well enough that her sister had -heard the reports confirmed, and needed no further explanation of -the cause of scarcely-tasted dinner, and short replies, and saddened -looks. Presently Miss Browning sate down and wrote a short note. Then -she rang the bell, and told the little maiden who answered it to -take it to Mr. Gibson, and if he was out to see that it was given -to him as soon as ever he came home. And then she went and put on -her Sunday cap; and Miss Phoebe knew that her sister had written -to ask Mr. Gibson to come and be told of the rumours affecting his -daughter. Miss Browning was sadly disturbed at the information she -had received, and the task that lay before her; she was miserably -uncomfortable to herself and irritable to Miss Phoebe, and the -netting-cotton she was using kept continually snapping and breaking -from the jerks of her nervous hands. When the knock at the door was -heard,--the well-known doctor's knock,--Miss Browning took off her -spectacles, and dropped them on the carpet, breaking them as she -did so; and then she bade Miss Phoebe leave the room, as if her -presence had cast the evil-eye, and caused the misfortune. She wanted -to look natural, and was distressed at forgetting whether she usually -received him sitting or standing. - -"Well!" said he, coming in cheerfully, and rubbing his cold hands as -he went straight to the fire, "and what is the matter with us? It's -Phoebe, I suppose? I hope none of those old spasms? But, after all, -a dose or two will set that to rights." - -"Oh! Mr. Gibson, I wish it was Phoebe, or me either!" said Miss -Browning, trembling more and more. - -He sate down by her patiently, when he saw her agitation, and took -her hand in a kind, friendly manner. - -"Don't hurry yourself,--take your time. I daresay it's not so bad as -you fancy; but we'll see about it. There's a great deal of help in -the world, much as we abuse it." - -"Mr. Gibson," said she, "it's your Molly I'm so grieved about. It's -out now, and God help us both, and the poor child too, for I'm sure -she's been led astray, and not gone wrong by her own free will!" - -"Molly!" said he, fighting against her words. "What's my little Molly -been doing or saying?" - -"Oh! Mr. Gibson, I don't know how to tell you. I never would have -named it, if I had not been convinced, sorely, sorely against my -will." - -"At any rate, you can let me hear what you've heard," said he, -putting his elbow on the table, and screening his eyes with his hand. -"Not that I'm a bit afraid of anything you can hear about my girl," -continued he. "Only in this little nest of gossip, it's as well to -know what people are talking about." - -"They say--oh! how shall I tell you?" - -"Go on, can't you?" said he, removing his hand from his blazing eyes. -"I'm not going to believe it, so don't be afraid!" - -"But I fear you must believe it. I would not if I could help it. -She's been carrying on a clandestine correspondence with Mr. -Preston!--" - -"Mr. Preston!" exclaimed he. - -"And meeting him at all sorts of unseemly places and hours, out of -doors,--in the dark,--fainting away in his--his arms, if I must speak -out. All the town is talking of it." Mr. Gibson's hand was over his -eyes again, and he made no sign; so Miss Browning went on, adding -touch to touch. "Mr. Sheepshanks saw them together. They have -exchanged notes in Grinstead's shop; she ran after him there." - -"Be quiet, can't you?" said Mr. Gibson, taking his hand away, and -showing his grim set face. "I've heard enough. Don't go on. I said -I shouldn't believe it, and I don't. I suppose I must thank you for -telling me; but I can't yet." - -"I don't want your thanks," said Miss Browning, almost crying. "I -thought you ought to know; for though you're married again, I can't -forget you were dear Mary's husband once upon a time; and Molly's her -child." - -"I'd rather not speak any more about it just at present," said he, -not at all replying to Miss Browning's last speech. "I may not -control myself as I ought. I only wish I could meet Preston, and -horsewhip him within an inch of his life. I wish I'd the doctoring -of these slanderous gossips. I'd make their tongues lie still for a -while. My little girl! What harm has she done them all, that they -should go and foul her fair name?" - -"Indeed, Mr. Gibson, I'm afraid it's all true. I would not have sent -for you if I hadn't examined into it. Do ascertain the truth before -you do anything violent, such as horsewhipping or poisoning." - -With all the _inconséquence_ of a man in a passion, Mr. Gibson -laughed out, "What have I said about horsewhipping or poisoning? -Do you think I'd have Molly's name dragged about the streets in -connection with any act of violence on my part? Let the report die -away as it arose. Time will prove its falsehood." - -"But I don't think it will, and that's the pity of it," said Miss -Browning. "You must do something, but I don't know what." - -"I shall go home and ask Molly herself what's the meaning of it all; -that's all I shall do. It's too ridiculous--knowing Molly as I do, -it's perfectly ridiculous." He got up and walked about the room -with hasty steps, laughing short unnatural laughs from time to time. -"Really what will they say next? 'Satan finds some mischief still for -idle tongues to do.'" - -"Don't talk of Satan, please, in this house. No one knows what may -happen, if he's lightly spoken about," pleaded Miss Browning. - -He went on, without noticing her, talking to himself,--"I've a great -mind to leave the place;--and what food for scandal that piece -of folly would give rise to!" Then he was silent for a time; his -hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, as he continued his -quarter-deck march. Suddenly he stopped close to Miss Browning's -chair: "I'm thoroughly ungrateful to you, for as true a mark of -friendship as you've ever shown to me. True or false, it was right -I should know the wretched scandal that was being circulated; and it -couldn't have been pleasant for you to tell it me. Thank you from the -bottom of my heart." - -"Indeed, Mr. Gibson, if it was false I would never have named it, but -let it die away." - -"It's not true, though!" said he, doggedly, letting drop the hand he -had taken in his effusion of gratitude. - -She shook her head. "I shall always love Molly for her mother's -sake," she said. And it was a great concession from the correct Miss -Browning. But her father did not understand it as such. - -"You ought to love her for her own. She has done nothing to disgrace -herself. I shall go straight home, and probe into the truth." - -"As if the poor girl who has been led away into deceit already would -scruple much at going on in falsehood," was Miss Browning's remark on -this last speech of Mr. Gibson's; but she had discretion enough not -to make it until he was well out of hearing. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - -AN INNOCENT CULPRIT. - - -With his head bent down--as if he were facing some keen-blowing -wind--and yet there was not a breath of air stirring--Mr. Gibson -went swiftly to his own home. He rang at the door-bell; an unusual -proceeding on his part. Maria opened the door. "Go and tell Miss -Molly she's wanted in the dining-room. Don't say who it is that wants -her." There was something in Mr. Gibson's manner that made Maria obey -him to the letter, in spite of Molly's surprised question,-- - -"Wants me? Who is it, Maria?" - -Mr. Gibson went into the dining-room, and shut the door, for an -instant's solitude. He went up to the chimney-piece, took hold of it, -and laid his head on his hands, and tried to still the beating of his -heart. - -The door opened. He knew that Molly stood there before he heard her -tone of astonishment. - -"Papa!" - -"Hush!" said he, turning round sharply. "Shut the door. Come here." - -She came to him, wondering what was amiss. Her thoughts went to the -Hamleys immediately. "Is it Osborne?" she asked, breathless. If Mr. -Gibson had not been too much agitated to judge calmly, he might have -deduced comfort from these three words. - -But instead of allowing himself to seek for comfort from collateral -evidence, he said,--"Molly, what is this I hear? That you have been -keeping up a clandestine intercourse with Mr. Preston--meeting him -in out-of-the-way places; exchanging letters with him in a stealthy -way?" - -Though he had professed to disbelieve all this, and did disbelieve it -at the bottom of his soul, his voice was hard and stern, his face was -white and grim, and his eyes fixed Molly's with the terrible keenness -of their research. Molly trembled all over, but she did not attempt -to evade his penetration. If she was silent for a moment, it was -because she was rapidly reviewing her relation with regard to Cynthia -in the matter. It was but a moment's pause of silence; but it seemed -long minutes to one who was craving for a burst of indignant denial. -He had taken hold of her two arms just above her wrists, as she had -advanced towards him; he was unconscious of this action; but, as his -impatience for her words grew upon him, he grasped her more and more -tightly in his vice-like hands, till she made a little involuntary -sound of pain. And then he let go; and she looked at her soft bruised -flesh, with tears gathering fast to her eyes to think that he, her -father, should have hurt her so. At the instant it appeared to her -stranger that he should inflict bodily pain upon his child, than that -he should have heard the truth--even in an exaggerated form. With a -childish gesture she held out her arm to him; but if she expected -pity, she received none. - -"Pooh!" said he, as he just glanced at the mark, "that is -nothing--nothing. Answer my question. Have you--have you met that man -in private?" - -"Yes, papa, I have; but I don't think it was wrong." - -He sate down now. "Wrong!" he echoed, bitterly. "Not wrong? Well! I -must bear it somehow. Your mother is dead. That's one comfort. It is -true, then, is it? Why, I didn't believe it--not I. I laughed in my -sleeve at their credulity; and I was the dupe all the time!" - -"Papa, I cannot tell you all. It is not my secret, or you should -know it directly. Indeed, you will be sorry some time--I have never -deceived you yet, have I?" trying to take one of his hands; but he -kept them tightly in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the pattern of -the carpet before him. "Papa!" said she, pleading again, "have I ever -deceived you?" - -"How can I tell? I hear of this from the town's talk. I don't know -what next may come out!" - -"The town's talk!" said Molly in dismay. "What business is it of -theirs?" - -"Every one makes it their business to cast dirt on a girl's name who -has disregarded the commonest rules of modesty and propriety." - -"Papa, you are very hard. Modesty disregarded! I will tell you -exactly what I have done. I met Mr. Preston once,--that evening -when you put me down to walk over Croston Heath,--and there was -another person with him. I met him a second time--and that time by -appointment--nobody but our two selves,--in the Towers' Park. That is -all, papa. You must trust me. I cannot explain more. You must trust -me indeed." - -He could not help relenting at her words; there was such truth in the -tone in which they were spoken. But he neither spoke nor stirred for -a minute or two. Then he raised his eyes to hers for the first time -since she had acknowledged the external truth of what he charged her -with. Her face was very white, but it bore the impress of the final -sincerity of death, when the true expression prevails without the -poor disguises of time. - -"The letters?" he said,--but almost as if he were ashamed to question -that countenance any further. - -"I gave him one letter,--of which I did not write a word,--which, in -fact, I believe to have been merely an envelope, without any writing -whatever inside. The giving that letter,--the two interviews I have -named,--make all the private intercourse I have had with Mr. Preston. -Oh! papa, what have they been saying that has grieved--shocked you so -much?" - -"Never mind. As the world goes, what you say you have done, Molly, is -ground enough. You must tell me all. I must be able to refute these -rumours point by point." - -"How are they to be refuted, when you say that the truth which I have -acknowledged is ground enough for what people are saying?" - -"You say you were not acting for yourself, but for another. If you -tell me who the other was,--if you tell me everything out fully, -I will do my utmost to screen her--for of course I guess it was -Cynthia--while I am exonerating you." - -"No, papa!" said Molly, after some little consideration; "I have told -you all I can tell; all that concerns myself; and I have promised not -to say one word more." - -"Then your character will be impugned. It must be, unless the fullest -explanation of these secret meetings is given. I've a great mind to -force the whole truth out of Preston himself!" - -"Papa! once again I beg you to trust me. If you ask Mr. Preston you -will very likely hear the whole truth; but that is just what I have -been trying so hard to conceal, for it will only make several people -very unhappy if it is known, and the whole affair is over and done -with now." - -"Not your share in it. Miss Browning sent for me this evening to -tell me how people were talking about you. She implied that it was a -complete loss of your good name. You don't know, Molly, how slight -a thing may blacken a girl's reputation for life. I'd hard work to -stand all she said, even though I didn't believe a word of it at the -time. And now you've told me that much of it is true." - -"But I think you are a brave man, papa. And you believe me, don't -you? We shall outlive these rumours, never fear." - -"You don't know the power of ill-natured tongues, child," said he. - -"Oh, now you've called me 'child' again I don't care for anything. -Dear, dear papa, I'm sure it is best and wisest to take no notice of -these speeches. After all, they may not mean them ill-naturedly. I am -sure Miss Browning would not. By-and-by they'll quite forget how much -they made out of so little,--and even if they don't, you would not -have me break my solemn word, would you?" - -"Perhaps not. But I cannot easily forgive the person who, by -practising on your generosity, led you into this scrape. You are very -young, and look upon these things as merely temporary evils. I have -more experience." - -"Still, I don't see what I can do now, papa. Perhaps I've been -foolish; but what I did, I did of my own self. It was not suggested -to me. And I'm sure it was not wrong in morals, whatever it might -be in judgment. As I said, it's all over now; what I did ended the -affair, I am thankful to say; and it was with that object I did it. -If people choose to talk about me, I must submit; and so must you, -dear papa." - -"Does your mother--does Mrs. Gibson--know anything about it?" asked -he with sudden anxiety. - -"No; not a bit; not a word. Pray don't name it to her. That might -lead to more mischief than anything else. I have really told you -everything I am at liberty to tell." - -It was a great relief to Mr. Gibson to find that his sudden fear that -his wife might have been privy to it all was ill-founded. He had been -seized by a sudden dread that she, whom he had chosen to marry in -order to have a protectress and guide for his daughter, had been -cognizant of this ill-advised adventure with Mr. Preston; nay, more, -that she might even have instigated it to save her own child; for -that Cynthia was, somehow or other, at the bottom of it all he had -no doubt whatever. But now, at any rate, Mrs. Gibson had not been -playing a treacherous part; that was all the comfort he could extract -out of Molly's mysterious admission, that much mischief might result -from Mrs. Gibson's knowing anything about these meetings with Mr. -Preston. - -"Then, what is to be done?" said he. "These reports are abroad,--am -I to do nothing to contradict them? Am I to go about smiling and -content with all this talk about you, passing from one idle gossip to -another?" - -"I'm afraid so. I'm very sorry, for I never meant you to have known -anything about it, and I can see now how it must distress you. But -surely when nothing more happens, and nothing comes of what has -happened, the wonder and the gossip must die away. I know you believe -every word I have said, and that you trust me, papa. Please, for my -sake, be patient with all this gossip and cackle." - -"It will try me hard, Molly," said he. - -"For my sake, papa!" - -"I don't see what else I can do," replied he moodily, "unless I get -hold of Preston." - -"That would be the worst of all. That would make a talk. And, after -all, perhaps he was not so very much to blame. Yes! he was. But -he behaved well to me as far as that goes," said she, suddenly -recollecting his speech when Mr. Sheepshanks came up in the Towers' -Park--"Don't stir, you have done nothing to be ashamed of." - -"That's true. A quarrel between men which drags a woman's name into -notice is to be avoided at any cost. But sooner or later I must have -it out with Preston. He shall find it not so pleasant to have placed -my daughter in equivocal circumstances." - -"He didn't place me. He didn't know I was coming, didn't expect to -meet me either time; and would far rather not have taken the letter I -gave him if he could have helped himself." - -"It's all a mystery. I hate to have you mixed up in mysteries." - -"I hate to be mixed up. But what can I do? I know of another mystery -which I'm pledged not to speak about. I cannot help myself." - -"Well, all I can say is, never be the heroine of a mystery that you -can avoid, if you can't help being an accessory. Then, I suppose, I -must yield to your wishes and let this scandal wear itself out -without any notice from me?" - -"What else can you do under the circumstances?" - -"Ay; what else, indeed? How shall you bear it?" - -For an instant the quick hot tears sprang into her eyes; to have -everybody--all her world, thinking evil of her, did seem hard to the -girl who had never thought or said an unkind thing of them. But she -smiled as she made answer,-- - -"It's like tooth-drawing, it will be over some time. It would be much -worse if I really had been doing wrong." - -"Cynthia shall beware--" he began; but Molly put her hand before his -mouth. - -"Papa, Cynthia must not be accused, or suspected; you will drive her -out of your house if you do, she is so proud, and so unprotected, -except by you. And Roger,--for Roger's sake, you will never do or say -anything to send Cynthia away, when he has trusted us all to take -care of her, and love her in his absence. Oh! I think if she were -really wicked, and I did not love her at all, I should feel bound to -watch over her, he loves her so dearly. And she is really good at -heart, and I do love her dearly. You must not vex or hurt Cynthia, -papa,--remember she is dependent upon you!" - -"I think the world would get on tolerably well, if there were no -women in it. They plague the life out of one. You've made me forget, -amongst you--poor old Job Houghton that I ought to have gone to see -an hour ago." - -Molly put up her mouth to be kissed. "You're not angry with me now, -papa, are you?" - -"Get out of my way" (kissing her all the same). "If I'm not angry -with you, I ought to be; for you've caused a great deal of worry, -which won't be over yet awhile, I can tell you." - -For all Molly's bravery at the time of this conversation, it was she -that suffered more than her father. He kept out of the way of hearing -gossip; but she was perpetually thrown into the small society of the -place. Mrs. Gibson herself had caught cold, and moreover was not -tempted by the quiet old-fashioned visiting which was going on just -about this time, provoked by the visit of two of Mrs. Dawes' pretty -unrefined nieces, who laughed, and chattered, and ate, and would fain -have flirted with Mr. Ashton, the vicar, could he have been brought -by any possibility to understand his share in the business. Mr. -Preston did not accept the invitations to Hollingford tea-drinkings -with the same eager gratitude as he had done a year before: or else -the shadow which hung over Molly would have extended to him, her -co-partner in the clandestine meetings which gave such umbrage to -the feminine virtue of the town. Molly herself was invited, because -it would not do to pass any apparent slight on either Mr. or Mrs. -Gibson; but there was a tacit and underhand protest against her being -received on the old terms. Every one was civil to her, but no one was -cordial; there was a very perceptible film of difference in their -behaviour to her from what it was formerly; nothing that had outlines -and could be defined. But Molly, for all her clear conscience and her -brave heart, felt acutely that she was only tolerated, not welcomed. -She caught the buzzing whispers of the two Miss Oakes's, who, when -they first met the heroine of the prevailing scandal, looked at her -askance, and criticised her pretensions to good looks, with hardly -an attempt at under-tones. Molly tried to be thankful that her -father was not in the mood for visiting. She was even glad that her -stepmother was too much of an invalid to come out, when she felt thus -slighted, and as it were, degraded from her place. Miss Browning -herself, that true old friend, spoke to her with chilling dignity, -and much reserve; for she had never heard a word from Mr. Gibson -since the evening when she had put herself to so much pain to tell -him of the disagreeable rumours affecting his daughter. - -Only Miss Phoebe would seek out Molly with even more than her -former tenderness; and this tried Molly's calmness more than all -the slights put together. The soft hand, pressing hers under the -table,--the continual appeals to her, so as to bring her back into -the conversation, touched Molly almost to shedding tears. Sometimes -the poor girl wondered to herself whether this change in the -behaviour of her acquaintances was not a mere fancy of hers; whether, -if she had never had that conversation with her father, in which she -had borne herself so bravely at the time, she should have discovered -the difference in their treatment of her. She never told her father -how she felt these perpetual small slights: she had chosen to bear -the burden of her own free will; nay, more, she had insisted on -being allowed to do so; and it was not for her to grieve him now by -showing that she shrank from the consequences of her own act. So she -never even made an excuse for not going into the small gaieties, or -mingling with the society of Hollingford. Only she suddenly let go -the stretch of restraint she was living in, when one evening her -father told her that he was really anxious about Mrs. Gibson's cough, -and should like Molly to give up a party at Mrs. Goodenough's, to -which they were all three invited, but to which Molly alone was -going. Molly's heart leaped up at the thought of stopping at home, -even though the next moment she had to blame herself for rejoicing at -a reprieve that was purchased by another's suffering. However, the -remedies prescribed by her husband did Mrs. Gibson good; and she was -particularly grateful and caressing to Molly. - -"Really, dear!" said she, stroking Molly's head, "I think your hair -is getting softer, and losing that disagreeable crisp curly feeling." - -Then Molly knew that her stepmother was in high good-humour; the -smoothness or curliness of her hair was a sure test of the favour in -which Mrs. Gibson held her at the moment. - -"I am so sorry to be the cause of detaining you from this little -party, but dear papa is so over-anxious about me. I have always been -a kind of pet with gentlemen, and poor Mr. Kirkpatrick never knew how -to make enough of me. But I think Mr. Gibson is even more foolishly -fond: his last words were, 'Take care of yourself, Hyacinth;' and -then he came back again to say, 'If you don't attend to my directions -I won't answer for the consequences.' I shook my forefinger at him, -and said, 'Don't be so anxious, you silly man.'" - -"I hope we have done everything he told us to do," said Molly. - -"Oh yes! I feel so much better. Do you know, late as it is, I think -you might go to Mrs. Goodenough's yet? Maria could take you, and I -should like to see you dressed; when one has been wearing dull warm -gowns for a week or two one gets quite a craving for bright colours, -and evening dress. So go and get ready, dear, and then perhaps you'll -bring me back some news, for really, shut up as I have been with only -papa and you for the last fortnight, I've got quite moped and dismal, -and I can't bear to keep young people from the gaieties suitable to -their age." - -"Oh, pray, mamma! I had so much rather not go!" - -"Very well! very well! Only I think it is rather selfish of you, when -you see I am so willing to make the sacrifice for your sake." - -"But you say it is a sacrifice to you, and I don't want to go." - -"Very well; did I not say you might stop at home? only pray don't -chop logic; nothing is so fatiguing to a sick person." - -Then they were silent for some time. Mrs. Gibson broke the silence by -saying, in a languid voice-- - -"Can't you think of anything amusing to say, Molly?" - -Molly pumped up from the depths of her mind a few little trivialities -which she had nearly forgotten, but she felt that they were anything -but amusing, and so Mrs. Gibson seemed to feel them; for presently -she said-- - -"I wish Cynthia was at home." And Molly felt it as a reproach to her -own dulness. - -"Shall I write to her and ask her to come back?" - -"Well, I'm not sure; I wish I knew a great many things. You've not -heard anything of poor dear Osborne Hamley lately, have you?" - -Remembering her father's charge not to speak of Osborne's health, -Molly made no reply, nor was any needed, for Mrs. Gibson went on -thinking aloud-- - -"You see, if Mr. Henderson has been as attentive as he was in the -spring--and the chances about Roger--I shall be really grieved if -anything happens to that young man, uncouth as he is, but it must be -owned that Africa is not merely an unhealthy--it is a savage--and -even in some parts a cannibal country. I often think of all I've -read of it in geography books, as I lie awake at night, and if Mr. -Henderson is really becoming attached! The future is hidden from us -by infinite wisdom, Molly, or else I should like to know it; one -would calculate one's behaviour at the present time so much better if -one only knew what events were to come. But I think, on the whole, we -had better not alarm Cynthia. If we had only known in time we might -have planned for her to have come down with Lord Cumnor and my lady." - -"Are they coming? Is Lady Cumnor well enough to travel?" - -"Yes, to be sure; or else I should not have considered whether or no -Cynthia could have come down with them. It would have sounded very -well--more than respectable, and would have given her a position -among that lawyer set in London." - -"Then Lady Cumnor is better?" - -"To be sure. I should have thought papa would have mentioned it to -you; but, to be sure, he is always so scrupulously careful not to -speak about his patients. Quite right too--quite right and delicate. -Why, he hardly ever tells me how they are going on. Yes! the Earl and -the Countess, and Lady Harriet and Lord and Lady Cuxhaven, and Lady -Agnes; and I've ordered a new winter bonnet and a black satin cloak." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. - -MOLLY GIBSON FINDS A CHAMPION. - - -Lady Cumnor had so far recovered from the violence of her attack, and -from the consequent operation, as to be able to be removed to the -Towers for change of air; and accordingly she was brought thither -by her whole family with all the pomp and state becoming an invalid -peeress. There was every probability that "the family" would make a -longer residence at the Towers than they had done for several years, -during which time they had been wanderers hither and thither in -search of health. Somehow, after all, it was very pleasant and -restful to come to the old ancestral home, and every member of the -family enjoyed it in his or her own way; Lord Cumnor most especially. -His talent for gossip and his love of small details had scarcely -fair play in the hurry of a London life, and were much nipped in the -bud during his Continental sojournings, as he neither spoke French -fluently, nor understood it easily when spoken. Besides, he was a -great proprietor, and liked to know how his land was going on; how -his tenants were faring in the world. He liked to hear of their -births, marriages, and deaths, and had something of a royal memory -for faces. In short, if ever a peer was an old woman, Lord Cumnor -was that peer; but he was a very good-natured old woman, and rode -about on his stout old cob with his pockets full of halfpence for -the children, and little packets of snuff for the old people. Like -an old woman, too, he enjoyed an afternoon cup of tea in his wife's -sitting-room, and over his gossip's beverage he would repeat all that -he had learnt in the day. Lady Cumnor was exactly in that state of -convalescence when such talk as her lord's was extremely agreeable -to her, but she had contemned the habit of listening to gossip so -severely all her life, that she thought it due to consistency to -listen first, and enter a supercilious protest afterwards. It had, -however, come to be a family habit for all of them to gather together -in Lady Cumnor's room on their return from their daily walks, or -drives, or rides, and over the fire, sipping their tea at her early -meal, to recount the morsels of local intelligence they had heard -during the morning. When they had said all that they had to say (and -not before), they had always to listen to a short homily from her -ladyship on the well-worn texts,--the poorness of conversation about -persons,--the probable falsehood of all they had heard, and the -degradation of character implied by its repetition. On one of these -November evenings they were all assembled in Lady Cumnor's room. -She was lying,--all draped in white, and covered up with an Indian -shawl,--on a sofa near the fire. Lady Harriet sate on the rug, close -before the wood-fire, picking up fallen embers with a pair of dwarf -tongs, and piling them on the red and odorous heap in the centre of -the hearth. Lady Cuxhaven, notable from girlhood, was using the blind -man's holiday to net fruit-nets for the walls at Cuxhaven Park. Lady -Cumnor's woman was trying to see to pour out tea by the light of one -small wax-candle in the background (for Lady Cumnor could not bear -much light to her weakened eyes); and the great leafless branches of -the trees outside the house kept sweeping against the windows, moved -by the wind that was gathering. - -It was always Lady Cumnor's habit to snub those she loved best. Her -husband was perpetually snubbed by her, yet she missed him now that -he was later than usual, and professed not to want her tea; but they -all knew that it was only because he was not there to hand it to her, -and be found fault with for his invariable stupidity in forgetting -that she liked to put sugar in before she took any cream. At length -he burst in:-- - -"I beg your pardon, my lady,--I'm later than I should have been, -I know. Why! haven't you had your tea yet?" he exclaimed, bustling -about to get the cup for his wife. - -"You know I never take cream before I've sweetened it," said she, -with even more emphasis on the "never" than usual. - -"Oh, dear! What a simpleton I am! I think I might have remembered it -by this time. You see I met old Sheepshanks, and that's the reason of -it." - -"Of your handing me the cream before the sugar?" asked his wife. It -was one of her grim jokes. - -"No, no! ha, ha! You're better this evening, I think, my dear. But, -as I was saying, Sheepshanks is such an eternal talker, there's no -getting away from him, and I had no idea it was so late!" - -"Well, I think the least you can do is to tell us something of Mr. -Sheepshanks' conversation now you have torn yourself away from him." - -"Conversation! did I call it conversation? I don't think I said much. -I listened. He really has always a great deal to say. More than -Preston, for instance. And, by the way, he was telling me something -about Preston;--old Sheepshanks thinks he'll be married before -long,--he says there's a great deal of gossip going on about him -and Gibson's daughter. They've been caught meeting in the park, and -corresponding, and all that kind of thing that is likely to end in a -marriage." - -"I shall be very sorry," said Lady Harriet. "I always liked that -girl; and I can't bear papa's model land-agent." - -"I daresay it's not true," said Lady Cumnor, in a very audible aside -to Lady Harriet. "Papa picks up stories one day to contradict them -the next." - -"Ah, but this did sound like truth. Sheepshanks said all the old -ladies in the town had got hold of it, and were making a great -scandal out of it." - -"I don't think it does sound quite a nice story. I wonder what Clare -could be doing to allow such goings on," said Lady Cuxhaven. - -"I think it is much more likely that Clare's own daughter--that -pretty pawky Miss Kirkpatrick--is the real heroine of this story," -said Lady Harriet. "She always looks like a heroine of genteel -comedy; and those young ladies were capable of a good deal of -innocent intriguing, if I remember rightly. Now little Molly Gibson -has a certain _gaucherie_ about her which would disqualify her at -once from any clandestine proceedings. Besides, 'clandestine!' why, -the child is truth itself. Papa, are you sure Mr. Sheepshanks said it -was Miss Gibson that was exciting Hollingford scandal? Wasn't it Miss -Kirkpatrick? The notion of her and Mr. Preston making a match of it -doesn't sound so incongruous; but if it's my little friend Molly, -I'll go to church and forbid the banns." - -"Really, Harriet, I can't think what always makes you take such an -interest in all these petty Hollingford affairs." - -"Mamma, it's only tit for tat. They take the most lively interest -in all our sayings and doings. If I were going to be married, they -would want to know every possible particular,--when we first met, -what we first said to each other, what I wore, and whether he offered -by letter or in person. I'm sure those good Miss Brownings were -wonderfully well-informed as to Mary's methods of managing her -nursery, and educating her girls; so it's only a proper return of the -compliment to want to know on our side how they are going on. I'm -quite of papa's faction. I like to hear all the local gossip." - -"Especially when it is flavoured with a spice of scandal and -impropriety, as in this case," said Lady Cumnor, with the momentary -bitterness of a convalescent invalid. Lady Harriet coloured with -annoyance. But then she rallied her courage, and said with more -gravity than before,-- - -"I am really interested in this story about Molly Gibson, I own. I -both like and respect her; and I do not like to hear her name coupled -with that of Mr. Preston. I can't help fancying papa has made some -mistake." - -"No, my dear. I'm sure I'm repeating what I heard. I'm sorry I said -anything about it, if it annoys you or my lady there. Sheepshanks did -say Miss Gibson, though, and he went on to say it was a pity the girl -had got herself so talked about; for it was the way they had carried -on that gave rise to all the chatter. Preston himself was a very -fair match for her, and nobody could have objected to it. But I'll -try and find a more agreeable piece of news. Old Margery at the -lodge is dead; and they don't know where to find some one to teach -clear-starching at your school; and Robert Hall made forty pounds -last year by his apples." So they drifted away from Molly and her -affairs; only Lady Harriet kept turning what she had heard over in -her own mind with interest and wonder. - -"I warned her against him the day of her father's wedding. And what -a straightforward, out-spoken topic it was then! I don't believe it; -it's only one of old Sheepshanks' stories, half invention and half -deafness." - -The next day Lady Harriet rode over to Hollingford, and for the -settling of her curiosity she called on Miss Brownings, and -introduced the subject. She would not have spoken about the rumour -she had heard to any who were not warm friends of Molly's. If Mr. -Sheepshanks had chosen to allude to it when she had been riding with -her father, she would very soon have silenced him by one of the -haughty looks she knew full well how to assume. But she felt as if -she must know the truth, and accordingly she began thus abruptly to -Miss Browning: - -"What is all this I hear about my little friend Molly Gibson and Mr. -Preston?" - -"Oh, Lady Harriet! have you heard of it? We are so sorry!" - -"Sorry for what?" - -"I think, begging your ladyship's pardon, we had better not say any -more till we know how much you know," said Miss Browning. - -"Nay," replied Lady Harriet, laughing a little, "I shan't tell what I -know till I am sure you know more. Then we'll make an exchange if you -like." - -"I'm afraid it's no laughing matter for poor Molly," said Miss -Browning, shaking her head. "People do say such things!" - -"But I don't believe them; indeed I don't," burst in Miss Phoebe, -half crying. - -"No more will I, then," said Lady Harriet, taking the good lady's -hand. - -"It's all very fine, Phoebe, saying you don't believe them, but I -should like to know who it was that convinced me, sadly against my -will, I am sure." - -"I only told you the facts as Mrs. Goodenough told them me, sister; -but I'm sure if you had seen poor patient Molly as I have done, -sitting up in a corner of a room, looking at the _Beauties of England -and Wales_ till she must have been sick of them, and no one speaking -to her; and she as gentle and sweet as ever at the end of the -evening, though maybe a bit pale--facts or no facts, I won't believe -anything against her." - -So there sate Miss Phoebe, in tearful defiance of facts. - -"And, as I said before, I'm quite of your opinion," said Lady -Harriet. - -"But how does your ladyship explain away her meetings with Mr. -Preston in all sorts of unlikely and open-air places?" asked Miss -Browning,--who, to do her justice, would have been only too glad to -join Molly's partisans, if she could have preserved her character for -logical deduction at the same time. "I went so far as to send for her -father and tell him all about it. I thought at least he would have -horsewhipped Mr. Preston; but he seems to have taken no notice of -it." - -"Then we may be quite sure he knows some way of explaining matters -that we don't," said Lady Harriet, decisively. "After all, there -may be a hundred and fifty perfectly natural and justifiable -explanations." - -"Mr. Gibson knew of none when I thought it my duty to speak to him," -said Miss Browning. - -"Why, suppose that Mr. Preston is engaged to Miss Kirkpatrick, and -Molly is confidante and messenger?" - -"I don't see that your ladyship's supposition much alters the blame. -Why, if he is honourably engaged to Cynthia Kirkpatrick, does he not -visit her openly at her home in Mr. Gibson's house? Why does Molly -lend herself to clandestine proceedings?" - -"One can't account for everything," said Lady Harriet, a little -impatiently, for reason was going hard against her. "But I choose to -have faith in Molly Gibson. I'm sure she's not done anything very -wrong. I've a great mind to go and call on her--Mrs. Gibson is -confined to her room with this horrid influenza--and take her with -me on a round of calls through this little gossiping town,--on Mrs. -Goodenough, or Badenough, who seems to have been propagating all -these stories. But I've not time to-day. I've to meet papa at three, -and it's three now. Only remember, Miss Phoebe, it's you and I -against the world, in defence of a distressed damsel." - -"Don Quixote and Sancho Panza!" said she to herself as she ran -lightly down Miss Browning's old-fashioned staircase. - -"Now, I don't think that's pretty of you, Phoebe," said Miss -Browning in some displeasure, as soon as she was alone with her -sister. "First, you convince me against my will, and make me very -unhappy; and I have to do unpleasant things, all because you've made -me believe that certain statements are true; and then you turn round -and cry, and say you don't believe a word of it all, making me out -a regular ogre and backbiter. No! it's of no use. I shan't listen -to you." So she left Miss Phoebe in tears, and locked herself up in -her own room. - -Lady Harriet, meanwhile, was riding homewards by her father's side, -apparently listening to all he chose to say, but in reality turning -over the probabilities and possibilities that might account for these -strange interviews between Molly and Mr. Preston. It was a case of -_parler de l'âne et l'on en voit les oreilles_. At a turn in the road -they saw Mr. Preston a little way before them, coming towards them on -his good horse, _point device_, in his riding attire. - -The earl, in his thread-bare coat, and on his old brown cob, called -out cheerfully,-- - -"Aha! here's Preston. Good-day to you. I was just wanting to ask you -about that slip of pasture-land on the Home Farm. John Brickkill -wants to plough it up and crop it. It's not two acres at the best." - -While they were talking over this bit of land, Lady Harriet came to -her resolution. As soon as her father had finished, she said,--"Mr. -Preston, perhaps you will allow me to ask you one or two questions to -relieve my mind, for I am in some little perplexity at present." - - -[Illustration: LADY HARRIET ASKS ONE OR TWO QUESTIONS.] - - -"Certainly; I shall only be too happy to give you any information in -my power." But the moment after he had made this polite speech, he -recollected Molly's speech--that she would refer her case to Lady -Harriet. But the letters had been returned, and the affair was now -wound up. She had come off conqueror, he the vanquished. Surely she -would never have been so ungenerous as to appeal after that. - -"There are reports about Miss Gibson and you current among the -gossips of Hollingford. Are we to congratulate you on your engagement -to that young lady?" - -"Ah! by the way, Preston, we ought to have done it before," -interrupted Lord Cumnor, in hasty goodwill. But his daughter said -quietly, "Mr. Preston has not yet told us if the reports are well -founded, papa." - -She looked at him with the air of a person expecting an answer, and -expecting a truthful answer. - -"I am not so fortunate," replied he, trying to make his horse appear -fidgety, without incurring observation. - -"Then I may contradict that report?" asked Lady Harriet quickly. "Or -is there any reason for believing that in time it may come true? I -ask because such reports, if unfounded, do harm to young ladies." - -"Keep other sweethearts off," put in Lord Cumnor, looking a good deal -pleased at his own discernment. Lady Harriet went on:-- - -"And I take a great interest in Miss Gibson." - -Mr. Preston saw from her manner that he was "in for it," as he -expressed it to himself. The question was, how much or how little did -she know? - -"I have no expectation or hope of ever having a nearer interest -in Miss Gibson than I have at present. I shall be glad if this -straightforward answer relieves your ladyship from your perplexity." - -He could not help the touch of insolence that accompanied these last -words. It was not in the words themselves, nor in the tone in which -they were spoken, nor in the look which accompanied them, it was in -all; it implied a doubt of Lady Harriet's right to question him as -she did; and there was something of defiance in it as well. But this -touch of insolence put Lady Harriet's mettle up; and she was not one -to check herself, in any course, for the opinion of an inferior. - -"Then, sir! are you aware of the injury you may do to a young lady's -reputation if you meet her, and detain her in long conversations, -when she is walking by herself, unaccompanied by any one? You give -rise--you have given rise to reports." - -"My dear Harriet, are not you going too far? You don't know--Mr. -Preston may have intentions--unacknowledged intentions." - -"No, my lord. I have no intentions with regard to Miss Gibson. She -may be a very worthy young lady--I have no doubt she is. Lady Harriet -seems determined to push me into such a position that I cannot -but acknowledge myself to be--it is not enviable--not pleasant to -own--but I am, in fact, a jilted man; jilted by Miss Kirkpatrick, -after a tolerably long engagement. My interviews with Miss Gibson -were not of the most agreeable kind--as you may conclude when I -tell you she was, I believe, the instigator--certainly, she was the -agent in this last step of Miss Kirkpatrick's. Is your ladyship's -curiosity" (with an emphasis on this last word) "satisfied with this -rather mortifying confession of mine?" - -"Harriet, my dear, you've gone too far--we had no right to pry into -Mr. Preston's private affairs." - -"No more I had," said Lady Harriet, with a smile of winning -frankness: the first smile she had accorded to Mr. Preston for many -a long day; ever since the time, years ago, when, presuming on his -handsomeness, he had assumed a tone of gallant familiarity with Lady -Harriet, and paid her personal compliments as he would have done to -an equal. - -"But he will excuse me, I hope," continued she, still in that -gracious manner which made him feel that he now held a much higher -place in her esteem than he had had at the beginning of their -interview, "when he learns that the busy tongues of the Hollingford -ladies have been speaking of my friend, Miss Gibson, in the most -unwarrantable manner; drawing unjustifiable inferences from the facts -of that intercourse with Mr. Preston, the nature of which he has just -conferred such a real obligation on me by explaining." - -"I think I need hardly request Lady Harriet to consider this -explanation of mine as confidential," said Mr. Preston. - -"Of course, of course!" said the earl; "every one will understand -that." And he rode home, and told his wife and Lady Cuxhaven the -whole conversation between Lady Harriet and Mr. Preston; in the -strictest confidence, of course. Lady Harriet had to stand a good -many strictures on manners, and proper dignity for a few days after -this. However, she consoled herself by calling on the Gibsons; and, -finding that Mrs. Gibson (who was still an invalid) was asleep at the -time, she experienced no difficulty in carrying off the unconscious -Molly for a walk, which Lady Harriet so contrived that they twice -passed through all the length of the principal street of the town, -loitered at Grinstead's for half an hour, and wound up by Lady -Harriet's calling on the Miss Brownings, who, to her regret, were not -at home. - -"Perhaps, it's as well," said she, after a minute's consideration. -"I'll leave my card, and put your name down underneath it, Molly." - -Molly was a little puzzled by the manner in which she had been taken -possession of, like an inanimate chattel, for all the afternoon, and -exclaimed,--"Please, Lady Harriet--I never leave cards; I have not -got any, and on the Miss Brownings, of all people; why, I am in and -out whenever I like." - -"Never mind, little one. To-day you shall do everything properly, and -according to full etiquette." - -"And now tell Mrs. Gibson to come out to the Towers for a long day; -we will send the carriage for her whenever she will let us know that -she is strong enough to come. Indeed, she had better come for a few -days; at this time of the year it doesn't do for an invalid to be out -in the evenings, even in a carriage." So spoke Lady Harriet, standing -on the white door-steps at Miss Brownings', and holding Molly's hand -while she wished her good-by. "You'll tell her, dear, that I came -partly to see her--but that finding her asleep, I ran off with you, -and don't forget about her coming to stay with us for change of -air--mamma will like it, I'm sure--and the carriage, and all that. -And now good-by, we've done a good day's work! And better than you're -aware of," continued she, still addressing Molly, though the latter -was quite out of hearing. "Hollingford is not the place I take it -to be, if it doesn't veer round in Miss Gibson's favour after my -to-day's trotting of that child about." - - - - -CHAPTER L. - -CYNTHIA AT BAY. - - -Mrs. Gibson was slow in recovering her strength after the influenza, -and before she was well enough to accept Lady Harriet's invitation to -the Towers, Cynthia came home from London. If Molly had thought her -manner of departure was scarcely as affectionate and considerate as -it might have been,--if such a thought had crossed Molly's fancy -for an instant, she was repentant for it as soon as ever Cynthia -returned, and the girls met together face to face, with all the old -familiar affection, going upstairs to the drawing-room, with their -arms round each other's waists, and sitting there together hand in -hand. Cynthia's whole manner was more quiet than it had been, when -the weight of her unpleasant secret rested on her mind, and made her -alternately despondent or flighty. - -"After all," said Cynthia, "there's a look of home about these rooms -which is very pleasant. But I wish I could see you looking stronger, -mamma! that's the only unpleasant thing. Molly, why didn't you send -for me?" - -"I wanted to do," began Molly-- - -"But I wouldn't let her," said Mrs. Gibson. "You were much better -in London than here, for you could have done me no good; and your -letters were very agreeable to read; and now Helen is better, and -I'm nearly well, and you've come home just at the right time, for -everybody is full of the Charity Ball." - -"But we are not going this year, mamma," said Cynthia decidedly. -"It's on the 25th, isn't it? and I'm sure you'll never be well enough -to take us." - -"You really seem determined to make me out worse than I am, child," -said Mrs. Gibson, rather querulously, she being one of those who, -when their malady is only trifling, exaggerate it, but when it is -really of some consequence, are unwilling to sacrifice any pleasures -by acknowledging it. It was well for her in this instance that her -husband had wisdom and authority enough to forbid her going to -this ball, on which she had set her heart; but the consequence of -his prohibition was an increase of domestic plaintiveness and low -spirits, which seemed to tell on Cynthia--the bright gay Cynthia -herself--and it was often hard work for Molly to keep up the spirits -of two other people as well as her own. Ill-health might account for -Mrs. Gibson's despondency, but why was Cynthia so silent, not to say -so sighing? Molly was puzzled to account for it; and all the more -perplexed because from time to time Cynthia kept calling upon her for -praise for some unknown and mysterious virtue that she had practised; -and Molly was young enough to believe that, after any exercise of -virtue, the spirits rose, cheered up by an approving conscience. -Such was not the case with Cynthia, however. She sometimes said -such things as these, when she had been particularly inert and -desponding:-- - -"Ah, Molly, you must let my goodness lie fallow for a while! -It has borne such a wonderful crop this year. I have been so -pretty-behaved--if you knew all!" Or, "Really, Molly, my virtue -must come down from the clouds! It was strained to the utmost in -London--and I find it is like a kite--after soaring aloft for some -time, it suddenly comes down, and gets tangled in all sorts of -briars and brambles; which things are an allegory, unless you can -bring yourself to believe in my extraordinary goodness while I was -away--giving me a sort of right to fall foul of all mamma's briars -and brambles now." - -But Molly had had some experience of Cynthia's whim of perpetually -hinting at a mystery which she did not mean to reveal in the Mr. -Preston days, and, although she was occasionally piqued into -curiosity, Cynthia's allusions at something more in the background -fell in general on rather deaf ears. One day the mystery burst its -shell, and came out in the shape of an offer made to Cynthia by Mr. -Henderson--and refused. Under all the circumstances, Molly could not -appreciate the heroic goodness so often alluded to. The revelation of -the secret at last took place in this way. Mrs. Gibson breakfasted -in bed: she had done so ever since she had had the influenza; -and, consequently, her own private letters always went up on her -breakfast-tray. One morning she came into the drawing-room earlier -than usual, with an open letter in her hand. - -"I've had a letter from aunt Kirkpatrick, Cynthia. She sends me my -dividends,--your uncle is so busy. But what does she mean by this, -Cynthia?" (holding out the letter to her, with a certain paragraph -indicated by her finger). Cynthia put her netting on one side, and -looked at the writing. Suddenly her face turned scarlet, and then -became of a deadly white. She looked at Molly, as if to gain courage -from the strong serene countenance. - -"It means--mamma, I may as well tell you at once--Mr. Henderson -offered to me while I was in London, and I refused him." - -"Refused him--and you never told me, but let me hear it by chance! -Really, Cynthia, I think you're very unkind. And pray what made you -refuse Mr. Henderson? Such a fine young man,--and such a gentleman! -Your uncle told me he had a very good private fortune besides." - -"Mamma, do you forget that I have promised to marry Roger Hamley?" -said Cynthia quietly. - -"No! of course I don't--how can I, with Molly always dinning the word -'engagement' into my ears? But really, when one considers all the -uncertainties,--and after all it was not a distinct promise,--he -seemed almost as if he might have looked forward to something of this -sort." - -"Of what sort, mamma?" said Cynthia, sharply. - -"Why, of a more eligible offer. He must have known you might change -your mind, and meet with some one you liked better: so little as you -had seen of the world." Cynthia made an impatient movement, as if to -stop her mother. - -"I never said I liked him better,--how can you talk so, mamma? I'm -going to marry Roger, and there's an end of it. I will not be spoken -to about it again." She got up and left the room. - -"Going to marry Roger! That's all very fine. But who is to guarantee -his coming back alive? And if he does, what have they to marry -upon, I should like to know? I don't wish her to have accepted Mr. -Henderson, though I am sure she liked him; and true love ought to -have its course, and not be thwarted; but she need not have quite -finally refused him until--well, until we had seen how matters turn -out. Such an invalid as I am too! It has given me quite a palpitation -at the heart. I do call it quite unfeeling of Cynthia." - -"Certainly,--" began Molly; but then she remembered that her -stepmother was far from strong, and unable to bear a protest in -favour of the right course without irritation. So she changed her -speech into a suggestion of remedies for palpitation; and curbed her -impatience to speak out her indignation at the contemplated falsehood -to Roger. But when they were alone, and Cynthia began upon the -subject, Molly was less merciful. Cynthia said,-- - -"Well, Molly, and now you know all! I've been longing to tell -you--and yet somehow I could not." - -"I suppose it was a repetition of Mr. Coxe," said Molly, gravely. -"You were agreeable,--and he took it for something more." - -"I don't know," sighed Cynthia. "I mean I don't know if I was -agreeable or not. He was very kind--very pleasant--but I did not -expect it all to end as it did. However, it's of no use thinking of -it." - -"No!" said Molly, simply; for to her mind the pleasantest and kindest -person in the world put in comparison with Roger was as nothing; he -stood by himself. Cynthia's next words,--and they did not come very -soon,--were on quite a different subject, and spoken in rather a -pettish tone. Nor did she allude again in jesting sadness to her late -efforts at virtue. - -In a little while Mrs. Gibson was able to accept the often-repeated -invitation from the Towers to go and stay there for a day or two. -Lady Harriet told her that it would be a kindness to Lady Cumnor to -come and bear her company in the life of seclusion the latter was -still compelled to lead; and Mrs. Gibson was flattered and gratified -with a dim unconscious sense of being really wanted, not merely -deluding herself into a pleasing fiction. Lady Cumnor was in that -state of convalescence common to many invalids. The spring of -life had begun again to flow, and with the flow returned the old -desires and projects and plans, which had all become mere matters of -indifference during the worst part of her illness. But as yet her -bodily strength was not sufficient to be an agent to her energetic -mind, and the difficulty of driving the ill-matched pair of body and -will--the one weak and languid, the other strong and stern,--made -her ladyship often very irritable. Mrs. Gibson herself was not quite -strong enough for a "_souffre-douleur_;" and the visit to the Towers -was not, on the whole, quite so happy a one as she had anticipated. -Lady Cuxhaven and Lady Harriet, each aware of their mother's state -of health and temper, but only alluding to it as slightly as was -absolutely necessary in their conversations with each other, took -care not to leave "Clare" too long with Lady Cumnor; but several -times when one or the other went to relieve guard they found Clare in -tears, and Lady Cumnor holding forth on some point on which she had -been meditating during the silent hours of her illness, and on which -she seemed to consider herself born to set the world to rights. Mrs. -Gibson was always apt to consider these remarks as addressed with a -personal direction at some error of her own, and defended the fault -in question with a sense of property in it, whatever it might happen -to be. The second and the last day of her stay at the Towers, Lady -Harriet came in, and found her mother haranguing in an excited tone -of voice, and Clare looking submissive and miserable and oppressed. - -"What's the matter, dear mamma? Are not you tiring yourself with -talking?" - -"No, not at all! I was only speaking of the folly of people dressing -above their station. I began by telling Clare of the fashions of -my grandmother's days, when every class had a sort of costume of -its own,--and servants did not ape tradespeople, nor tradespeople -professional men, and so on,--and what must the foolish woman do but -begin to justify her own dress, as if I had been accusing her, or -even thinking about her at all. Such nonsense! Really, Clare, your -husband has spoilt you sadly, if you can't listen to any one without -thinking they are alluding to you. People may flatter themselves -just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to -other people's minds, as if they believe that the world is always -contemplating their individual charms and virtues." - -"I was told, Lady Cumnor, that this silk was reduced in price. I -bought it at Waterloo House after the season was over," said Mrs. -Gibson, touching the very handsome gown she wore in deprecation of -Lady Cumnor's angry voice, and blundering on to the very source of -irritation. - -"Again, Clare! How often must I tell you I had no thought of you or -your gowns, or whether they cost much or little; your husband has to -pay for them, and it is his concern if you spend more on your dress -than you ought to do." - -"It was only five guineas for the whole dress," pleaded Mrs. Gibson. - -"And very pretty it is," said Lady Harriet, stooping to examine it, -and so hoping to soothe the poor aggrieved woman. But Lady Cumnor -went on,-- - -"No! you ought to have known me better by this time. When I -think a thing I say it out. I don't beat about the bush. I use -straightforward language. I will tell you where I think you have -been in fault, Clare, if you like to know." Like it or not, the -plain-speaking was coming now. "You have spoilt that girl of yours -till she does not know her own mind. She has behaved abominably -to Mr. Preston; and it is all in consequence of the faults in her -education. You have much to answer for." - -"Mamma, mamma!" said Lady Harriet, "Mr. Preston did not wish -it spoken about." And at the same moment Mrs. Gibson exclaimed, -"Cynthia--Mr. Preston!" in such a tone of surprise, that if Lady -Cumnor had been in the habit of observing the revelations made by -other people's tones and voices, she would have found out that Mrs. -Gibson was ignorant of the affair to which she was alluding. - -"As for Mr. Preston's wishes, I do not suppose I am bound to regard -them when I feel it my duty to reprove error," said Lady Cumnor -loftily to Lady Harriet. "And, Clare, do you mean to say that you are -not aware that your daughter has been engaged to Mr. Preston for some -time--years, I believe,--and has at last chosen to break it off,--and -has used the Gibson girl--I forget her name--as a cat's-paw, and made -both her and herself the town's talk--the butt for all the gossip -of Hollingford? I remember when I was young there was a girl called -Jilting Jessy. You'll have to watch over your young lady, or she -will get some such name. I speak to you like a friend, Clare, when -I tell you it's my opinion that girl of yours will get herself into -some more mischief yet before she's safely married. Not that I care -one straw for Mr. Preston's feelings. I don't even know if he's got -feelings or not; but I know what is becoming in a young woman, and -jilting is not. And now you may both go away, and send Bradley to me, -for I'm tired, and want to have a little sleep." - -"Indeed, Lady Cumnor--will you believe me?--I do not think Cynthia -was ever engaged to Mr. Preston. There was an old flirtation. I was -afraid--" - -"Ring the bell for Bradley," said Lady Cumnor, wearily: her eyes -closed. Lady Harriet had too much experience of her mother's moods -not to lead Mrs. Gibson away almost by main force, she protesting -all the while that she did not think there was any truth in the -statement, though it was dear Lady Cumnor that said it. - -Once in her own room, Lady Harriet said, "Now, Clare, I'll tell -you all about it; and I think you'll have to believe it, for it -was Mr. Preston himself who told me. I heard of a great commotion -in Hollingford about Mr. Preston; and I met him riding out, and -asked him what it was all about; he didn't want to speak about it, -evidently. No man does, I suppose, when he's been jilted; and he made -both papa and me promise not to tell; but papa did--and that's what -mamma has for a foundation; you see, a really good one." - -"But Cynthia is engaged to another man--she really is. And another--a -very good match indeed--has just been offering to her in London. Mr. -Preston is always at the root of mischief." - -"Nay! I do think in this case it must be that pretty Miss Cynthia -of yours who has drawn on one man to be engaged to her,--not to say -two,--and another to make her an offer. I can't endure Mr. Preston, -but I think it's rather hard to accuse him of having called up the -rivals, who are, I suppose, the occasion of his being jilted." - -"I don't know; I always feel as if he owed me a grudge, and men have -so many ways of being spiteful. You must acknowledge that if he had -not met you I should not have had dear Lady Cumnor so angry with me." - -"She only wanted to warn you about Cynthia. Mamma has always been -very particular about her own daughters. She has been very severe on -the least approach to flirting, and Mary will be like her!" - -"But Cynthia will flirt, and I can't help it. She is not noisy, or -giggling; she is always a lady--that everybody must own. But she -has a way of attracting men, she must have inherited from me, I -think." And here she smiled faintly, and would not have rejected a -confirmatory compliment, but none came. "However, I will speak to -her; I will get to the bottom of the whole affair. Pray tell Lady -Cumnor that it has so fluttered me the way she spoke, about my dress -and all. And it only cost five guineas after all, reduced from -eight!" - -"Well, never mind now. You are looking very much flushed; quite -feverish! I left you too long in mamma's hot room. But do you know -she is so much pleased to have you here?" And so Lady Cumnor really -was, in spite of the continual lectures which she gave "Clare," and -which poor Mrs. Gibson turned under as helplessly as the typical -worm. Still it was something to have a countess to scold her; and -that pleasure would endure when the worry was past. And then Lady -Harriet petted her more than usual to make up for what she had to go -through in the convalescent's room; and Lady Cuxhaven talked sense to -her, with dashes of science and deep thought intermixed, which was -very flattering, although generally unintelligible; and Lord Cumnor, -good-natured, good-tempered, kind, and liberal, was full of gratitude -to her for her kindness in coming to see Lady Cumnor, and his -gratitude took the tangible shape of a haunch of venison, to say -nothing of lesser game. When she looked back upon her visit, as she -drove home in the solitary grandeur of the Towers' carriage, there -had been but one great enduring rub--Lady Cumnor's crossness--and she -chose to consider Cynthia as the cause of that, instead of seeing the -truth, which had been so often set before her by the members of her -ladyship's family, that it took its origin in her state of health. -Mrs. Gibson did not exactly mean to visit this one discomfort upon -Cynthia, nor did she quite mean to upbraid her daughter for conduct -as yet unexplained, and which might have some justification; but, -finding her quietly sitting in the drawing-room, she sate down -despondingly in her own little easy chair, and in reply to Cynthia's -quick pleasant greeting of-- - -"Well, mamma, how are you? We didn't expect you so early! Let me take -off your bonnet and shawl!" she replied dolefully,-- - -"It has not been such a happy visit that I should wish to prolong -it." Her eyes were fixed on the carpet, and her face was as -irresponsive to the welcome offered as she could make it. - -"What has been the matter?" asked Cynthia, in all good faith. - -"You! Cynthia--you! I little thought when you were born how I should -have to bear to hear you spoken about." - -Cynthia threw back her head, and angry light came into her eyes. - -"What business have they with me? How came they to talk about me in -any way?" - -"Everybody is talking about you; it is no wonder they are. Lord -Cumnor is sure to hear about everything always. You should take more -care about what you do, Cynthia, if you don't like being talked -about." - -"It rather depends upon what people say," said Cynthia, affecting a -lightness which she did not feel; for she had a prevision of what was -coming. - -"Well! I don't like it, at any rate. It is not pleasant to me to hear -first of my daughter's misdoings from Lady Cumnor, and then to be -lectured about her, and her flirting, and her jilting, as if I had -had anything to do with it. I can assure you it has quite spoilt my -visit. No! don't touch my shawl. When I go to my room I can take it -myself." - -Cynthia was brought to bay, and sate down; remaining with her mother, -who kept sighing ostentatiously from time to time. - -"Would you mind telling me what they said? If there are accusations -abroad against me, it is as well I should know what they are. Here's -Molly" (as the girl entered the room, fresh from a morning's walk). -"Molly, mamma has come back from the Towers, and my lord and my -lady have been doing me the honour to talk over my crimes and -misdemeanors, and I am asking mamma what they have said. I don't set -up for more virtue than other people, but I can't make out what an -earl and a countess have to do with poor little me." - -"It was not for your sake!" said Mrs. Gibson. "It was for mine. They -felt for me, for it is not pleasant to have one's child's name in -everybody's mouth." - -"As I said before, that depends upon how it is in everybody's mouth. -If I were going to marry Lord Hollingford, I make no doubt every one -would be talking about me, and neither you nor I should mind it in -the least." - -"But this is no marriage with Lord Hollingford, so it is nonsense to -talk as if it was. They say you've gone and engaged yourself to Mr. -Preston, and now refuse to marry him; and they call that jilting." - -"Do you wish me to marry him, mamma?" asked Cynthia, her face in -a flame, her eyes cast down. Molly stood by, very hot, not fully -understanding it; and only kept where she was by the hope of coming -in as sweetener or peacemaker, or helper of some kind. - -"No," said Mrs. Gibson, evidently discomfited by the question. "Of -course I don't; you have gone and entangled yourself with Roger -Hamley, a very worthy young man; but nobody knows where he is, and if -he's dead or alive; and he has not a penny if he is alive." - -"I beg your pardon. I know that he has some fortune from his mother; -it may not be much, but he is not penniless; and he is sure to -earn fame and great reputation, and with it money will come," said -Cynthia. - -"You've entangled yourself with him, and you've done something of the -sort with Mr. Preston, and got yourself into such an imbroglio" (Mrs. -Gibson could not have said "mess" for the world, although the word -was present to her mind), "that when a really eligible person comes -forward--handsome, agreeable, and quite the gentleman--and a good -private fortune into the bargain, you have to refuse him. You'll end -as an old maid, Cynthia, and it will break my heart." - -"I daresay I shall," said Cynthia, quietly. "I sometimes think I'm -the kind of person of which old maids are made!" She spoke seriously, -and a little sadly. - -Mrs. Gibson began again. "I don't want to know your secrets as long -as they are secrets; but when all the town is talking about you, I -think I ought to be told." - -"But, mamma, I didn't know I was such a subject of conversation; and -even now I can't make out how it has come about." - -"No more can I. I only know that they say you've been engaged to Mr. -Preston, and ought to have married him, and that I can't help it, if -you did not choose, any more than I could have helped your refusing -Mr. Henderson; and yet I am constantly blamed for your misconduct. -I think it's very hard." Mrs. Gibson began to cry. Just then her -husband came in. - -"You here, my dear! Welcome back," said he, coming up to her -courteously, and kissing her cheek. "Why, what's the matter? Tears?" -and he heartily wished himself away again. - -"Yes!" said she, raising herself up, and clutching after sympathy of -any kind, at any price. "I'm come home again, and I'm telling Cynthia -how Lady Cumnor has been so cross to me, and all through her. Did you -know she had gone and engaged herself to Mr. Preston, and then broken -it off? Everybody is talking about it, and they know it up at the -Towers." - -For one moment his eyes met Molly's, and he comprehended it all. He -made his lips up into a whistle, but no sound came. Cynthia had quite -lost her defiant manner since her mother had spoken to Mr. Gibson. -Molly sate down by her. - -"Cynthia," said he, very seriously. - -"Yes!" she answered, softly. - -"Is this true? I had heard something of it before--not much; but -there is scandal enough about to make it desirable that you should -have some protector--some friend who knows the whole truth." - -No answer. At last she said, "Molly knows it all." - -Mrs. Gibson, too, had been awed into silence by her husband's grave -manner, and she did not like to give vent to the jealous thought in -her mind that Molly had known the secret of which she was ignorant. -Mr. Gibson replied to Cynthia with some sternness: - -"Yes! I know that Molly knows it all, and that she has had to bear -slander and ill words for your sake, Cynthia. But she refused to tell -me more." - -"She told you that much, did she?" said Cynthia, aggrieved. - -"I could not help it," said Molly. - -"She didn't name your name," said Mr. Gibson. "At the time I believe -she thought she had concealed it--but there was no mistaking who it -was." - -"Why did she speak about it at all?" said Cynthia, with some -bitterness. Her tone--her question stirred up Mr. Gibson's passion. - -"It was necessary for her to justify herself to me--I heard my -daughter's reputation attacked for the private meetings she had given -to Mr. Preston--I came to her for an explanation. There's no need to -be ungenerous, Cynthia, because you've been a flirt and a jilt, even -to the degree of dragging Molly's name down into the same mire." - -Cynthia lifted her bowed-down head, and looked at him. - -"You say that of me, Mr. Gibson? Not knowing what the circumstances -are, you say that?" - -He had spoken too strongly: he knew it. But he could not bring -himself to own it just at that moment. The thought of his sweet -innocent Molly, who had borne so much patiently, prevented any -retractation of his words at the time. - -"Yes!" he said, "I do say it. You cannot tell what evil constructions -are put upon actions ever so slightly beyond the bounds of maidenly -propriety. I do say that Molly has had a great deal to bear, in -consequence of this clandestine engagement of yours, Cynthia--there -may be extenuating circumstances, I acknowledge--but you will need -to remember them all to excuse your conduct to Roger Hamley, when -he comes home. I asked you to tell me the full truth, in order that -until he comes, and has a legal right to protect you, I may do so." -No answer. "It certainly requires explanation," continued he. "Here -are you,--engaged to two men at once to all appearances!" Still no -answer. "To be sure, the gossips of the town haven't yet picked out -the fact of Roger Hamley's being your accepted lover; but scandal has -been resting on Molly, and ought to have rested on you, Cynthia--for -a concealed engagement to Mr. Preston--necessitating meetings in all -sorts of places unknown to your friends." - -"Papa," said Molly, "if you knew all you wouldn't speak so to -Cynthia. I wish she would tell you herself all that she has told me." - -"I am ready to hear whatever she has to say," said he. But Cynthia -said,-- - -"No! you have prejudged me; you have spoken to me as you had no right -to speak. I refuse to give you my confidence, or accept your help. -People are very cruel to me"--her voice trembled for a moment--"I did -not think you would have been. But I can bear it." - -And then, in spite of Molly, who would have detained her by force, -she tore herself away, and hastily left the room. - -"Oh, papa!" said Molly, crying, and clinging to him, "do let me -tell you all." And then she suddenly recollected the awkwardness of -telling some of the details of the story before Mrs. Gibson, and -stopped short. - -"I think, Mr. Gibson, you have been very very unkind to my poor -fatherless child," said Mrs. Gibson, emerging from behind her -pocket-handkerchief. "I only wish her poor father had been alive, -and all this would never have happened." - -"Very probably. Still I cannot see of what either she or you have to -complain. Inasmuch as we could, I and mine have sheltered her! I have -loved her; I do love her almost as if she were my own child--as well -as Molly, I do not pretend to do." - -"That's it, Mr. Gibson! you do not treat her like your own child." -But in the midst of this wrangle Molly stole out, and went in search -of Cynthia. She thought she bore an olive-branch of healing in the -sound of her father's just spoken words: "I do love her almost as if -she were my own child." But Cynthia was locked into her room, and -refused to open the door. - -"Open to me, please," pleaded Molly. "I have something to say to -you--I want to see you--do open!" - -"No!" said Cynthia. "Not now. I am busy. Leave me alone. I don't want -to hear what you have got to say. I don't want to see you. By-and-by -we shall meet, and then--" Molly stood quite quietly, wondering -what new words of more persuasion she could use. In a minute or two -Cynthia called out, "Are you there still, Molly?" and when Molly -answered "Yes," and hoped for a relenting, the same hard metallic -voice, telling of resolution and repression, spoke out, "Go away. I -cannot bear the feeling of your being there--waiting and listening. -Go downstairs--out of the house--anywhere away. It is the most you -can do for me now." - - - - -CHAPTER LI. - -"TROUBLES NEVER COME ALONE." - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -Molly had her out-of-door things on, and she crept away as she was -bidden. She lifted her heavy weight of heart and body along till -she came to a field, not so very far off,--where she had sought the -comfort of loneliness ever since she was a child; and there, under -the hedge-bank, she sate down, burying her face in her hands, and -quivering all over as she thought of Cynthia's misery, which she -might not try to touch or assuage. She never knew how long she sate -there, but it was long past lunch-time when once again she stole -up to her room. The door opposite was open wide,--Cynthia had -quitted the chamber. Molly arranged her dress and went down into the -drawing-room. Cynthia and her mother sate there in the stern repose -of an armed neutrality. Cynthia's face looked made of stone, for -colour and rigidity; but she was netting away as if nothing unusual -had occurred. Not so Mrs. Gibson; her face bore evident marks of -tears, and she looked up and greeted Molly's entrance with a faint -smiling notice. Cynthia went on as though she had never heard the -opening of the door, or felt the approaching sweep of Molly's dress. -Molly took up a book,--not to read, but to have the semblance of some -employment which should not necessitate conversation. - -There was no measuring the duration of the silence that ensued. Molly -grew to fancy it was some old enchantment that weighed upon their -tongues and kept them still. At length Cynthia spoke, but she had to -begin again before her words came clear. - -"I wish you both to know that henceforward all is at an end between -me and Roger Hamley." - -Molly's book went down upon her knees; with open eyes and lips she -strove to draw in Cynthia's meaning. Mrs. Gibson spoke querulously, -as if injured,-- - -"I could have understood this if it had happened three months -ago,--when you were in London; but now it's just nonsense, Cynthia, -and you know you don't mean it!" - -Cynthia did not reply; nor did the resolute look on her face change -when Molly spoke at last,-- - -"Cynthia--think of him! It will break his heart!" - -"No!" said Cynthia, "it will not. But even if it did I cannot help -it." - -"All this talk will soon pass away!" said Molly; "and when he knows -the truth from your own self--" - -"From my own self he shall never hear it. I do not love him well -enough to go through the shame of having to excuse myself,--to -plead that he will reinstate me in his good opinion. Confession may -be--well! I can never believe it pleasant--but it may be an ease of -mind if one makes it to some people,--to some person,--and it may not -be a mortification to sue for forgiveness. I cannot tell. All I know -is,--and I know it clearly, and will act upon it inflexibly--that--" -And here she stopped short. - -"I think you might finish your sentence," said her mother, after a -silence of five seconds. - -"I cannot bear to exculpate myself to Roger Hamley. I will not submit -to his thinking less well of me than he has done,--however foolish -his judgment may have been. I would rather never see him again, for -these two reasons. And the truth is, I do not love him. I like him, I -respect him; but I will not marry him. I have written to tell him so. -That was merely as a relief to myself, for when or where the letter -will reach him-- And I have written to old Mr. Hamley. The relief -is the one good thing come out of it all. It is such a comfort -to feel free again. It wearied me so to think of straining up to -his goodness. 'Extenuate my conduct!'" she concluded, quoting Mr. -Gibson's words. Yet when Mr. Gibson came home, after a silent dinner, -she asked to speak with him, alone, in his consulting-room; and there -laid bare the exculpation of herself which she had given to Molly -many weeks before. When she had ended, she said: - -"And now, Mr. Gibson,--I still treat you like a friend,--help me to -find some home far away, where all the evil talking and gossip mamma -tells me of cannot find me and follow me. It may be wrong to care -for people's good opinion,--but it is me, and I cannot alter myself. -You, Molly,--all the people in the town,--I haven't the patience -to live through the nine days' wonder.--I want to go away and be a -governess." - -"But, my dear Cynthia,--how soon Roger will be back,--a tower of -strength!" - -"Has not mamma told you I have broken it all off with Roger? I -wrote this morning. I wrote to his father. That letter will reach -to-morrow. I wrote to Roger. If he ever receives that letter, I hope -to be far away by that time; in Russia may be." - -"Nonsense. An engagement like yours cannot be broken off, except by -mutual consent. You've only given others a great deal of pain without -freeing yourself. Nor will you wish it in a month's time. When you -come to think calmly, you'll be glad to think of the stay and support -of such a husband as Roger. You have been in fault, and have acted -foolishly at first,--perhaps wrongly afterwards; but you don't want -your husband to think you faultless?" - -"Yes, I do," said Cynthia. "At any rate, my lover must think me so. -And it is just because I do not love him even as so light a thing as -I could love, that I feel that I couldn't bear to have to tell him -I'm sorry, and stand before him like a chidden child to be admonished -and forgiven." - -"But here you are, just in such a position before me, Cynthia!" - -"Yes! but I love you better than Roger; I've often told Molly so. And -I would have told you, if I hadn't expected and hoped to leave you -all before long. I could see if the recollection of it all came up -before your mind; I could see it in your eyes; I should know it by -instinct. I have a fine instinct for reading the thoughts of others -when they refer to me. I almost hate the idea of Roger judging me by -his own standard, which wasn't made for me, and graciously forgiving -me at last." - -"Then I do believe it's right for you to break it off," said Mr. -Gibson, almost as if he were thinking to himself. "That poor poor -lad! But it will be best for him too. And he'll get over it. He has a -good strong heart. Poor old Roger!" - -For a moment Cynthia's wilful fancy stretched after the object -passing out of her grasp,--Roger's love became for the instant -a treasure; but, again, she knew that in its entirety of high -undoubting esteem, as well as of passionate regard, it would no -longer be hers; and for the flaw which she herself had made she cast -it away, and would none of it. Yet often in after years, when it -was too late, she wondered and strove to penetrate the inscrutable -mystery of "what would have been." - -"Still, take till to-morrow before you act upon your decision," said -Mr. Gibson, slowly. "What faults you have fallen into have been mere -girlish faults at first,--leading you into much deceit, I grant." - -"Don't give yourself the trouble to define the shades of blackness," -said Cynthia, bitterly. "I'm not so obtuse but what I know them all -better than any one can tell me. And as for my decision I acted upon -it at once. It may be long before Roger gets my letter,--but I hope -he is sure to get it at last,--and, as I said, I have let his father -know; it won't hurt him! Oh, sir, I think if I had been differently -brought up I shouldn't have had the sore angry heart I have. Now! No, -don't! I don't want reasoning comfort. I can't stand it. I should -always have wanted admiration and worship, and men's good opinion. -Those unkind gossips! To visit Molly with their hard words! Oh, dear! -I think life is very dreary." - -She put her head down on her hands; tired out mentally as well as -bodily. So Mr. Gibson thought. He felt as if much speech from him -would only add to her excitement, and make her worse. He left the -room, and called Molly, from where she was sitting, dolefully. "Go -to Cynthia!" he whispered, and Molly went. She took Cynthia into her -arms with gentle power, and laid her head against her own breast, as -if the one had been a mother, and the other a child. - -"Oh, my darling!" she murmured. "I do so love you, dear, dear -Cynthia!" and she stroked her hair, and kissed her eyelids; Cynthia -passive all the while, till suddenly she started up stung with a new -idea, and looking Molly straight in the face, she said,-- - -"Molly, Roger will marry you! See if it isn't so! You two good--" - -But Molly pushed her away with a sudden violence of repulsion. -"Don't!" she said. She was crimson with shame and indignation. "Your -husband this morning! Mine to-night! What do you take him for?" - -"A man!" smiled Cynthia. "And therefore, if you won't let me call -him changeable, I'll coin a word and call him consolable!" But Molly -gave her back no answering smile. At this moment, the servant Maria -entered the consulting-room, where the two girls were. She had a -scared look. - -"Isn't master here?" asked she, as if she distrusted her eyes. - -"No!" said Cynthia. "I heard him go out. I heard him shut the front -door not five minutes ago." - -"Oh, dear!" said Maria. "And there's a man come on horseback from -Hamley Hall, and he says as Mr. Osborne is dead, and that master must -go off to the Squire straight away." - -"Osborne Hamley dead!" said Cynthia, in awed surprise. Molly was out -at the front door, seeking the messenger through the dusk, round into -the stable-yard, where the groom sate motionless on his dark horse, -flecked with foam, made visible by the lantern placed on the steps -near, where it had been left by the servants, who were dismayed at -this news of the handsome young man who had frequented their master's -house, so full of sportive elegance and winsomeness. Molly went up to -the man, whose thoughts were lost in recollection of the scene he had -left at the place he had come from. - -She laid her hand on the hot damp skin of the horse's shoulder; the -man started. - -"Is the doctor coming, Miss?" For he saw who it was by the dim light. - -"He is dead, is he not?" asked Molly, in a low voice. - -"I'm afeard he is,--leastways, there's no doubt according to what -they said. But I've ridden hard! there may be a chance. Is the doctor -coming, Miss?" - -"He is gone out. They are seeking him, I believe. I will go myself. -Oh! the poor old Squire!" She went into the kitchen--went over the -house with swift rapidity to gain news of her father's whereabouts. -The servants knew no more than she did. Neither she nor they had -heard what Cynthia, ever quick of perception, had done. The shutting -of the front door had fallen on deaf ears, as far as others were -concerned. Upstairs sped Molly to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Gibson -stood at the door, listening to the unusual stir in the house. - -"What is it, Molly? Why, how white you look, child!" - -"Where's papa?" - -"Gone out. What's the matter?" - -"Where?" - -"How should I know? I was asleep; Jenny came upstairs on her way to -the bedrooms; she's a girl who never keeps to her work and Maria -takes advantage of her." - -"Jenny, Jenny!" cried Molly, frantic at the delay. - -"Don't shout, dear,--ring the bell. What can be the matter?" - -"Oh, Jenny!" said Molly, half-way up the stairs to meet her, "who -wanted papa?" - -Cynthia came to join the group; she too had been looking for traces -or tidings of Mr. Gibson. - -"What is the matter?" said Mrs. Gibson. "Can nobody speak and answer -a question?" - -"Osborne Hamley is dead!" said Cynthia, gravely. - -"Dead! Osborne! Poor fellow! I knew it would be so, though,--I was -sure of it. But Mr. Gibson can do nothing if he's dead. Poor young -man! I wonder where Roger is now? He ought to come home." - -Jenny had been blamed for coming into the drawing-room instead -of Maria, whose place it was, and so had lost the few wits she -had. To Molly's hurried questions her replies had been entirely -unsatisfactory. A man had come to the back door--she could not -see who it was--she had not asked his name: he wanted to speak to -master,--master had seemed in a hurry, and only stopped to get his -hat. - -"He will not be long away," thought Molly, "or he would have left -word where he was going. But oh! the poor father all alone!" And then -a thought came into her head, which she acted upon straight. "Go to -James, tell him to put the side-saddle I had in November on Nora -Creina. Don't cry, Jenny. There's no time for that. No one is angry -with you. Run!" - -So down into the cluster of collected women Molly came, equipped in -her jacket and skirt; quick determination in her eyes; controlled -quivering about the corners of her mouth. - -"Why, what in the world," said Mrs. Gibson--"Molly, what are you -thinking about?" But Cynthia had understood it at a glance, and was -arranging Molly's hastily assumed dress, as she passed along. - -"I am going. I must go. I cannot bear to think of him alone. When -papa comes back he is sure to go to Hamley, and if I am not wanted, I -can come back with him." She heard Mrs. Gibson's voice following her -in remonstrance, but she did not stay for words. She had to wait in -the stable-yard, and she wondered how the messenger could bear to eat -and drink the food and beer brought out to him by the servants. Her -coming out had evidently interrupted the eager talk,--the questions -and answers passing sharp to and fro; but she caught the words, "all -amongst the tangled grass," and "the Squire would let none on us -touch him: he took him up as if he was a baby; he had to rest many -a time, and once he sate him down on the ground; but still he kept -him in his arms; but we thought we should ne'er have gotten him up -again--him and the body." - -"The body!" - -Molly had never felt that Osborne was really dead till she heard -those words. They rode quick under the shadows of the hedgerow trees, -but when they slackened speed, to go up a brow, or to give their -horses breath, Molly heard those two little words again in her ears; -and said them over again to herself, in hopes of forcing the sharp -truth into her unwilling sense. But when they came in sight of the -square stillness of the house, shining in the moonlight--the moon had -risen by this time--Molly caught at her breath, and for an instant -she thought she never could go in, and face the presence in that -dwelling. One yellow light burnt steadily, spotting the silver -shining with its earthly coarseness. The man pointed it out: it was -almost the first word he had spoken since they had left Hollingford. - -"It's the old nursery. They carried him there. The Squire broke down -at the stair-foot, and they took him to the readiest place. I'll be -bound for it the Squire is there hisself, and old Robin too. They -fetched him, as a knowledgable man among dumb beasts, till th' -regular doctor came." - -Molly dropped down from her seat before the man could dismount to -help her. She gathered up her skirts and did not stay again to think -of what was before her. She ran along the once familiar turns, and -swiftly up the stairs, and through the doors, till she came to the -last; then she stopped and listened. It was a deathly silence. She -opened the door:--the Squire was sitting alone at the side of the -bed, holding the dead man's hand, and looking straight before him -at vacancy. He did not stir or move, even so much as an eyelid, at -Molly's entrance. The truth had entered his soul before this, and -he knew that no doctor, be he ever so cunning, could, with all his -striving, put the breath into that body again. Molly came up to him -with the softest steps, the most hushed breath that ever she could. -She did not speak, for she did not know what to say. She felt that he -had no more hope from earthly skill, so what was the use of speaking -of her father and the delay in his coming? After a moment's pause, -standing by the old man's side, she slipped down to the floor, and -sat at his feet. Possibly her presence might have some balm in it; -but uttering of words was as a vain thing. He must have been aware -of her being there, but he took no apparent notice. There they sate, -silent and still, he in his chair, she on the floor; the dead man, -beneath the sheet, for a third. She fancied that she must have -disturbed the father in his contemplation of the quiet face, now more -than half, but not fully, covered up out of sight. Time had never -seemed so without measure, silence had never seemed so noiseless as -it did to Molly, sitting there. In the acuteness of her senses she -heard a step mounting a distant staircase, coming slowly, coming -nearer. She knew it not to be her father's, and that was all she -cared about. Nearer and nearer--close to the outside of the door--a -pause, and a soft hesitating tap. The great gaunt figure sitting by -her side quivered at the sound. Molly rose and went to the door: it -was Robinson, the old butler, holding in his hand a covered basin of -soup. - -"God bless you, Miss," said he; "make him touch a drop o' this: he's -gone since breakfast without food, and it's past one in the morning -now." - -He softly removed the cover, and Molly took the basin back with her -to her place at the Squire's side. She did not speak, for she did not -well know what to say, or how to present this homely want of nature -before one so rapt in grief. But she put a spoonful to his lips, and -touched them with the savoury food, as if he had been a sick child, -and she the nurse; and instinctively he took down the first spoonful -of the soup. But in a minute he said, with a sort of cry, and almost -overturning the basin Molly held, by his passionate gesture as he -pointed to the bed,-- - -"He will never eat again--never." - -Then he threw himself across the corpse, and wept in such a terrible -manner that Molly trembled lest he also should die--should break his -heart there and then. He took no more notice of her words, of her -tears, of her presence, than he did of that of the moon, looking -through the unclosed window, with passionless stare. Her father stood -by them both before either of them was aware. - -"Go downstairs, Molly," said he gravely; but he stroked her head -tenderly as she rose. "Go into the dining-room." Now she felt the -reaction from all her self-control. She trembled with fear as she -went along the moonlit passages. It seemed to her as if she should -meet Osborne, and hear it all explained; how he came to die,--what he -now felt and thought and wished her to do. She did get down to the -dining-room,--the last few steps with a rush of terror,--senseless -terror of what might be behind her; and there she found supper laid -out, and candles lit, and Robinson bustling about decanting some -wine. She wanted to cry; to get into some quiet place, and weep away -her over-excitement; but she could hardly do so there. She only felt -very much tired, and to care for nothing in this world any more. But -vividness of life came back when she found Robinson holding a glass -to her lips as she sat in the great leather easy-chair, to which she -had gone instinctively as to a place of rest. - -"Drink, Miss. It's good old Madeira. Your papa said as how you was to -eat a bit. Says he, 'My daughter may have to stay here, Mr. Robinson, -and she's young for the work. Persuade her to eat something, or -she'll break down utterly.' Those was his very words." - -Molly did not say anything. She had not energy enough for resistance. -She drank and she ate at the old servant's bidding; and then she -asked him to leave her alone, and went back to her easy-chair and let -herself cry, and so ease her heart. - - - - -CHAPTER LII. - -SQUIRE HAMLEY'S SORROW. - - -It seemed very long before Mr. Gibson came down. He went and stood -with his back to the empty fireplace, and did not speak for a minute -or two. - -"He's gone to bed," said he at length. "Robinson and I have got him -there. But just as I was leaving him he called me back and asked -me to let you stop. I'm sure I don't know--but one doesn't like to -refuse at such a time." - -"I wish to stay," said Molly. - -"Do you? There's a good girl. But how will you manage?" - -"Oh, never mind that. I can manage. Papa,"--she paused--"what did -Osborne die of?" She asked the question in a low, awe-stricken voice. - -"Something wrong about the heart. You wouldn't understand if I told -you. I apprehended it for some time; but it's better not to talk -of such things at home. When I saw him on Thursday week, he seemed -better than I've seen him for a long time. I told Dr. Nicholls so. -But one never can calculate in these complaints." - -"You saw him on Thursday week? Why, you never mentioned it!" said -Molly. - -"No. I don't talk of my patients at home. Besides, I didn't want him -to consider me as his doctor, but as a friend. Any alarm about his -own health would only have hastened the catastrophe." - -"Then didn't he know that he was ill--ill of a dangerous complaint, -I mean: one that might end as it has done?" - -"No; certainly not. He would only have been watching his -symptoms--accelerating matters, in fact." - -"Oh, papa!" said Molly, shocked. - -"I've no time to go into the question," Mr. Gibson continued. "And -until you know what has to be said on both sides and in every -instance, you are not qualified to judge. We must keep our attention -on the duties in hand now. You sleep here for the remainder of the -night, which is more than half-gone already?" - -"Yes." - -"Promise me to go to bed just as usual. You may not think it, but -most likely you'll go to sleep at once. People do at your age." - -"Papa, I think I ought to tell you something. I know a great secret -of Osborne's, which I promised solemnly not to tell; but the last -time I saw him I think he must have been afraid of something like -this." A fit of sobbing came upon her, which her father was afraid -would end in hysterics. But suddenly she mastered herself, and looked -up into his anxious face, and smiled to reassure him. - -"I could not help it, papa!" - -"No. I know. Go on with what you were saying. You ought to be in bed; -but if you've a secret on your mind you won't sleep." - -"Osborne was married," said she, fixing her eyes on her father. "That -is the secret." - -"Married! Nonsense. What makes you think so?" - -"He told me. That's to say, I was in the library--was reading there, -some time ago; and Roger came and spoke to Osborne about his wife. -Roger did not see me, but Osborne did. They made me promise secrecy. -I don't think I did wrong." - -"Don't worry yourself about right or wrong just now; tell me more -about it, at once." - -"I knew no more till six months ago--last November, when you went up -to Lady Cumnor. Then he called, and gave me his wife's address, but -still under promise of secrecy; and, except those two times, and once -when Roger just alluded to it, I have never heard any one mention the -subject. I think he would have told me more that last time, only Miss -Phoebe came in." - -"Where is this wife of his?" - -"Down in the south; near Winchester, I think. He said she was a -Frenchwoman and a Roman Catholic; and I think he said she was a -servant," added Molly. - -"Phew!" Her father made a long whistle of dismay. - -"And," continued Molly, "he spoke of a child. Now you know as much as -I do, papa, except the address. I have it written down safe at home." - -Forgetting, apparently, what time of night it was, Mr. Gibson sate -down, stretched out his legs before him, put his hands in his -pockets, and began to think. Molly sate still without speaking, too -tired to do more than wait. - -"Well!" said he at last, jumping up, "nothing can be done to-night; -by to-morrow morning, perhaps, I may find out. Poor little pale -face!"--taking it between both his hands and kissing it; "poor, -sweet, little pale face!" Then he rang the bell, and told Robinson to -send some maid-servant to take Miss Gibson to her room. - -"He won't be up early," said he, in parting. "The shock has lowered -him too much to be energetic. Send breakfast up to him in his own -room. I'll be here again before ten." - -Late as it was before he left, he kept his word. - -"Now, Molly," he said, "you and I must tell him the truth between us. -I don't know how he will take it; it may comfort him, but I've very -little hope: either way, he ought to know it at once." - -"Robinson says he has gone into the room again, and he is afraid he -has locked the door on the inside." - -"Never mind. I shall ring the bell, and send up Robinson to say that -I am here, and wish to speak to him." - -The message returned was, "The Squire's kind love, and could not see -Mr. Gibson just then." Robinson added, "It was a long time before -he'd answer at all, sir." - -"Go up again, and tell him I can wait his convenience. Now that's a -lie," Mr. Gibson said, turning round to Molly as soon as Robinson had -left the room. "I ought to be far enough away at twelve; but, if I'm -not much mistaken, the innate habits of a gentleman will make him -uneasy at the idea of keeping me waiting his pleasure, and will do -more to bring him out of that room into this than any entreaties or -reasoning." Mr. Gibson was growing impatient though, before they -heard the Squire's footstep on the stairs; he was evidently coming -slowly and unwillingly. He came in almost like one blind, groping -along, and taking hold of chair or table for support or guidance till -he reached Mr. Gibson. He did not speak when he held the doctor by -the hand; he only hung down his head, and kept on a feeble shaking of -welcome. - -"I'm brought very low, sir. I suppose it's God's doing; but it comes -hard upon me. He was my firstborn child." He said this almost as if -speaking to a stranger, and informing him of facts of which he was -ignorant. - -"Here's Molly," said Mr. Gibson, choking a little himself, and -pushing her forwards. - -"I beg your pardon; I did not see you at first. My mind is a good -deal occupied just now." He sate heavily down, and then seemed almost -to forget they were there. Molly wondered what was to come next. -Suddenly her father spoke,-- - -"Where's Roger?" said he. "Is he not likely to be soon at the Cape?" -He got up and looked at the directions of one or two unopened letters -brought by that morning's post; among them was one in Cynthia's -handwriting. Both Molly and he saw it at the same time. How long it -was since yesterday! But the Squire took no notice of their -proceedings or their looks. - -"You will be glad to have Roger at home as soon as may be, I think, -sir. Some months must elapse first; but I'm sure he will return as -speedily as possible." - -The Squire said something in a very low voice. Both father and -daughter strained their ears to hear what it was. They both believed -it to be, "Roger isn't Osborne!" And Mr. Gibson spoke on that belief. -He spoke more quietly than Molly had ever heard him do before. - -"No! we know that. I wish that anything that Roger could do, or that -I could do, or that any one could do, would comfort you; but it is -past human comfort." - -"I do try to say, God's will be done, sir," said the Squire, looking -up at Mr. Gibson for the first time, and speaking with more life in -his voice; "but it's harder to be resigned than happy people think." -They were all silent for a while. The Squire himself was the first -to speak again,--"He was my first child, sir; my eldest son. And -of late years we weren't"--his voice broke down, but he controlled -himself--"we weren't quite as good friends as could be wished; and -I'm not sure--not sure that he knew how I loved him." And now he -cried aloud with an exceeding bitter cry. - -"Better so!" whispered Mr. Gibson to Molly. "When he's a little -calmer, don't be afraid; tell him all you know, exactly as it -happened." - -Molly began. Her voice sounded high and unnatural to herself, as if -some one else was speaking, but she made her words clear. The Squire -did not attempt to listen, at first, at any rate. - -"One day when I was here, at the time of Mrs. Hamley's last illness" -(the Squire here checked his convulsive breathing), "I was in the -library, and Osborne came in. He said he had only come in for a book, -and that I was not to mind him, so I went on reading. Presently, -Roger came along the flagged garden-path just outside the window -(which was open). He did not see me in the corner where I was -sitting, and said to Osborne, 'Here's a letter from your wife!'" - -Now the Squire was all attention; for the first time his tear-swollen -eyes met the eyes of another, and he looked at Molly with searching -anxiety, as he repeated, "His wife! Osborne married!" Molly went on: - -"Osborne was angry with Roger for speaking out before me, and they -made me promise never to mention it to any one; or to allude to it to -either of them again. I never named it to papa till last night." - -"Go on," said Mr. Gibson. "Tell the Squire about Osborne's call--what -you told me!" Still the Squire hung on her lips, listening with open -mouth and eyes. - -"Some months ago Osborne called. He was not well, and wanted to see -papa. Papa was away, and I was alone. I don't exactly remember how -it came about, but he spoke to me of his wife for the first and only -time since the affair in the library." She looked at her father, as -if questioning him as to the desirableness of telling the few further -particulars that she knew. The Squire's mouth was dry and stiff, but -he tried to say, "Tell me all,--everything." And Molly understood the -half-formed words. - -"He said his wife was a good woman, and that he loved her dearly; -but she was a French Roman Catholic, and a"--another glance at her -father--"she had been a servant once. That was all; except that I -have her address at home. He wrote it down and gave it me." - -"Well, well!" moaned the Squire. "It's all over now. All over. All -past and gone. We'll not blame him,--no; but I wish he'd ha' told -me; he and I to live together with such a secret in one of us. It's -no wonder to me now--nothing can be a wonder again, for one never -can tell what's in a man's heart. Married so long! and we sitting -together at meals--and living together. Why, I told him everything! -Too much, may be, for I showed him all my passions and ill-tempers! -Married so long! Oh, Osborne, Osborne, you should have told me!" - -"Yes, he should!" said Mr. Gibson. "But I daresay he knew how much -you would dislike such a choice as he had made. But he should have -told you!" - -"You know nothing about it, sir," said the Squire sharply. "You don't -know the terms we were on. Not hearty or confidential. I was cross -to him many a time; angry with him for being dull, poor lad--and he -with all this weight on his mind. I won't have people interfering and -judging between me and my sons. And Roger too! He could know it all, -and keep it from me!" - -"Osborne evidently had bound him down to secrecy, just as he bound -me," said Molly; "Roger could not help himself." - -"Osborne was such a fellow for persuading people, and winning them -over," said the Squire, dreamily. "I remember--but what's the use of -remembering? It's all over, and Osborne's dead without opening his -heart to me. I could have been tender to him, I could. But he'll -never know it now!" - -"But we can guess what wish he had strongest in his mind at the last, -from what we do know of his life," said Mr. Gibson. - -"What, sir?" said the Squire, with sharp suspicion of what was -coming. - -"His wife must have been his last thought, must she not?" - -"How do I know she was his wife? Do you think he'd go and marry a -French baggage of a servant? It may be all a tale trumped up." - -"Stop, Squire. I don't care to defend my daughter's truth or -accuracy. But with the dead man's body lying upstairs--his soul with -God--think twice before you say more hasty words, impugning his -character; if she was not his wife, what was she?" - -"I beg your pardon. I hardly know what I'm saying. Did I accuse -Osborne? Oh, my lad, my lad--thou might have trusted thy old dad! He -used to call me his 'old dad' when he was a little chap not bigger -than this," indicating a certain height with his hand. "I never meant -to say he was not--not what one would wish to think him now--his soul -with God, as you say very justly--for I'm sure it is there--" - -"Well! but, Squire," said Mr. Gibson, trying to check the other's -rambling, "to return to his wife--" - -"And the child," whispered Molly to her father. Low as the whisper -was, it struck on the Squire's ear. - -"What?" said he, turning round to her suddenly, "--child? You never -named that? Is there a child? Husband and father, and I never -knew! God bless Osborne's child! I say, God bless it!" He stood up -reverently, and the other two instinctively rose. He closed his hands -as if in momentary prayer. Then exhausted he sate down again, and put -out his hand to Molly. - -"You're a good girl. Thank you.--Tell me what I ought to do, and I'll -do it." This to Mr. Gibson. - -"I'm almost as much puzzled as you are, Squire," replied he. "I fully -believe the whole story; but I think there must be some written -confirmation of it, which perhaps ought to be found at once, before -we act. Most probably this is to be discovered among Osborne's -papers. Will you look over them at once? Molly shall return with me, -and find the address that Osborne gave her, while you are busy--" - -"She'll come back again?" said the Squire eagerly. "You--she won't -leave me to myself?" - -"No! She shall come back this evening. I'll manage to send her -somehow. But she has no clothes but the habit she came in, and I want -my horse that she rode away upon." - -"Take the carriage," said the Squire. "Take anything. I'll give -orders. You'll come back again, too?" - -"No! I'm afraid not, to-day. I'll come to-morrow, early. Molly shall -return this evening, whenever it suits you to send for her." - -"This afternoon; the carriage shall be at your house at three. I dare -not look at Osborne's--at the papers without one of you with me; and -yet I shall never rest till I know more." - -"I'll send the desk in by Robinson before I leave. And--can you give -me some lunch before I go?" - -Little by little he led the Squire to eat a morsel or so of food; -and so, strengthening him physically, and encouraging him mentally, -Mr. Gibson hoped that he would begin his researches during Molly's -absence. - -There was something touching in the Squire's wistful looks after -Molly as she moved about. A stranger might have imagined her to -be his daughter instead of Mr. Gibson's. The meek, broken-down, -considerate ways of the bereaved father never showed themselves more -strongly than when he called them back to his chair, out of which -he seemed too languid to rise, and said, as if by an after-thought: -"Give my love to Miss Kirkpatrick; tell her I look upon her as quite -one of the family. I shall be glad to see her after--after the -funeral. I don't think I can before." - -"He knows nothing of Cynthia's resolution to give up Roger," said Mr. -Gibson as they rode away. "I had a long talk with her last night, but -she was as resolute as ever. From what your mamma tells me, there is -a third lover in London, whom she's already refused. I'm thankful -that you've no lover at all, Molly, unless that abortive attempt of -Mr. Coxe's at an offer, long ago, can be called a lover." - -"I never heard of it, papa!" said Molly. - -"Oh, no; I forgot. What a fool I was! Why, don't you remember the -hurry I was in to get you off to Hamley Hall, the very first time you -ever went? It was all because I got hold of a desperate love-letter -from Coxe, addressed to you." - -But Molly was too tired to be amused, or even interested. She could -not get over the sight of the straight body covered with a sheet, -which yet let the outlines be seen,--all that remained of Osborne. -Her father had trusted too much to the motion of the ride, and the -change of scene from the darkened house. He saw his mistake. - -"Some one must write to Mrs. Osborne Hamley," said he. "I believe her -to have a legal right to the name; but whether or no, she must be -told that the father of her child is dead. Shall you do it, or I?" - -"Oh, you, please, papa!" - -"I will, if you wish. But she may have heard of you as a friend of -her dead husband's; while of me--a mere country doctor--it's very -probable she has never heard the name." - -"If I ought, I will do it." Mr. Gibson did not like this ready -acquiescence, given in so few words, too. - -"There's Hollingford church-spire," said she presently, as they drew -near the town, and caught a glimpse of the church through the trees. -"I think I never wish to go out of sight of it again." - -"Nonsense!" said he. "Why, you've all your travelling to do yet; -and if these new-fangled railways spread, as they say they will, we -shall all be spinning about the world; 'sitting on tea-kettles,' as -Phoebe Browning calls it. Miss Browning wrote such a capital letter -of advice to Miss Hornblower. I heard of it at the Millers'. Miss -Hornblower was going to travel by railroad for the first time; and -Dorothy was very anxious, and sent her directions for her conduct; -one piece of advice was not to sit on the boiler." - -Molly laughed a little, as she was expected to do. "Here we are at -home, at last." - -Mrs. Gibson gave Molly a warm welcome. For one thing, Cynthia was -in disgrace; for another, Molly came from the centre of news; for a -third, Mrs. Gibson was really fond of the girl, in her way, and sorry -to see her pale heavy looks. - -"To think of it all being so sudden at last! Not but what I always -expected it! And so provoking! Just when Cynthia had given up Roger! -If she had only waited a day! What does the Squire say to it all?" - -"He is beaten down with grief," replied Molly. - -"Indeed! I should not have fancied he had liked the engagement so -much." - -"What engagement?" - -"Why, Roger to Cynthia, to be sure. I asked you how the Squire took -her letter, announcing the breaking of it off?" - -"Oh--I made a mistake. He hasn't opened his letters to-day. I saw -Cynthia's among them." - -"Now that I call positive disrespect." - -"I don't know. He did not mean it for such. Where is Cynthia?" - -"Gone out into the meadow-garden. She'll be in directly. I wanted -her to do some errands for me, but she flatly refused to go into the -town. I am afraid she mismanages her affairs badly. But she won't -allow me to interfere. I hate to look at such things in a mercenary -spirit, but it is provoking to see her throw over two such good -matches. First Mr. Henderson, and now Roger Hamley. When does the -Squire expect Roger? Does he think he will come back sooner for poor -dear Osborne's death?" - -"I don't know. He hardly seems to think of anything but Osborne. He -appears to me to have almost forgotten every one else. But perhaps -the news of Osborne's being married, and of the child, may rouse him -up." - -Molly had no doubt that Osborne was really and truly married, nor -had she any idea that her father had never breathed the facts of -which she had told him on the previous night, to his wife or Cynthia. -But Mr. Gibson had been slightly dubious of the full legality of -the marriage, and had not felt inclined to speak of it to his wife -until that had been ascertained one way or another. So Mrs. Gibson -exclaimed, "What _do_ you mean, child? Married! Osborne married! Who -says so?" - -"Oh, dear! I suppose I ought not to have named it. I'm very stupid -to-day. Yes! Osborne has been married a long time; but the Squire did -not know of it until this morning. I think it has done him good. But -I don't know." - -"Who is the lady? Why, I call it a shame to go about as a single man, -and be married all the time! If there is one thing that revolts me, -it is duplicity. Who is the lady? Do tell me all you know about it, -there's a dear." - -"She is French, and a Roman Catholic," said Molly. - -"French! They are such beguiling women; and he was so much abroad! -You said there was a child,--is it a boy or a girl?" - -"I did not hear. I did not ask." - -Molly did not think it necessary to do more than answer questions; -indeed, she was vexed enough to have told anything of what her father -evidently considered it desirable to keep secret. Just then Cynthia -came wandering into the room with a careless, hopeless look in her -face, which Molly noticed at once. She had not heard of Molly's -arrival, and had no idea that she was returned until she saw her -sitting there. - -"Molly, darling! Is that you? You're as welcome as the flowers in -May, though you've not been gone twenty-four hours. But the house -isn't the same when you are away!" - -"And she brings us such news too!" said Mrs. Gibson. "I'm really -almost glad you wrote to the Squire yesterday, for if you had waited -till to-day--I thought you were in too great a hurry at the time--he -might have thought you had some interested reason for giving up your -engagement. Osborne Hamley was married all this time unknown to -everybody, and has got a child too." - -"Osborne married!" exclaimed Cynthia. "If ever a man looked a -bachelor, he did. Poor Osborne! with his fair delicate elegance,--he -looked so young and boyish!" - -"Yes! it was a great piece of deceit, and I can't easily forgive -him for it. Only think! If he had paid either of you any particular -attention, and you had fallen in love with him! Why, he might have -broken your heart, or Molly's either. I can't forgive him, even -though he is dead, poor fellow!" - -"Well, as he never did pay either of us any particular attention, and -as we neither of us did fall in love with him, I think I only feel -sorry that he had all the trouble and worry of concealment." Cynthia -spoke with a pretty keen recollection of how much trouble and worry -her concealment had cost her. - -"And now of course it is a son, and will be the heir, and Roger will -just be as poorly off as ever. I hope you'll take care and let the -Squire know Cynthia was quite ignorant of these new facts that have -come out when she wrote those letters, Molly? I should not like a -suspicion of worldliness to rest upon any one with whom I had any -concern." - -"He hasn't read Cynthia's letter yet. Oh, do let me bring it home -unopened," said Molly. "Send another letter to Roger--now--at once; -it will reach him at the same time; he will get both when he arrives -at the Cape, and make him understand which is the last--the real one. -Think! he will hear of Osborne's death at the same time--two such sad -things! Do, Cynthia!" - -"No, my dear," said Mrs. Gibson. "I could not allow that, even if -Cynthia felt inclined for it. Asking to be re-engaged to him! At -any rate, she must wait now until he proposes again, and we see how -things turn out." - -But Molly kept her pleading eyes fixed on Cynthia. - -"No!" said Cynthia firmly, but not without consideration. "It cannot -be. I've felt more content this last night than I've done for weeks -past. I'm glad to be free. I dreaded Roger's goodness, and learning, -and all that. It was not in my way, and I don't believe I should -have ever married him, even without knowing of all these ill-natured -stories that are circulating about me, and which he would hear of, -and expect me to explain, and be sorry for, and penitent and humble. -I know he could not have made me happy, and I don't believe he would -have been happy with me. It must stay as it is. I would rather be a -governess than married to him. I should get weary of him every day of -my life." - -"Weary of Roger!" said Molly to herself. "It is best as it is, I -see," she answered aloud. "Only I'm very sorry for him, very. He did -love you so. You will never get any one to love you like him!" - -"Very well. I must take my chance. And too much love is rather -oppressive to me, I believe. I like a great deal, widely spread -about; not all confined to one individual lover." - -"I don't believe you," said Molly. "But don't let us talk any more -about it. It is best as it is. I thought--I almost felt sure you -would be sorry this morning. But we will leave it alone now." She -sate silently looking out of the window, her heart sorely stirred, -she scarcely knew how or why. But she could not have spoken. Most -likely she would have begun to cry if she had spoken. Cynthia stole -softly up to her after a while. - -"You are vexed with me, Molly," she began in a low voice. But Molly -turned sharply round: - -"I! I have no business at all in the affair. It is for you to judge. -Do what you think right. I believe you have done right. Only I don't -want to discuss it, and paw it over with talk. I'm very much tired, -dear"--gently now she spoke--"and I hardly know what I say. If I -speak crossly, don't mind it." Cynthia did not reply at once. Then -she said,-- - -"Do you think I might go with you, and help you? I might have done -yesterday; and you say he hasn't opened my letter, so he has not -heard as yet. And I was always fond of poor Osborne, in my way, you -know." - -"I cannot tell; I have no right to say," replied Molly, scarcely -understanding Cynthia's motives, which, after all, were only impulses -in this case. "Papa would be able to judge; I think, perhaps, you had -better not. But don't go by my opinion; I can only tell what I should -wish to do in your place." - -"It was as much for your sake as any one's, Molly," said Cynthia. - -"Oh, then, don't! I am tired to-day with sitting up; but to-morrow -I shall be all right; and I should not like it, if, for my sake, you -came into the house at so solemn a time." - -"Very well!" said Cynthia, half-glad that her impulsive offer was -declined; for, as she said, thinking to herself, "It would have -been awkward after all." So Molly went back in the carriage alone, -wondering how she should find the Squire; wondering what discoveries -he had made among Osborne's papers, and at what conviction he would -have arrived. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII. - -UNLOOKED-FOR ARRIVALS. - - -Robinson opened the door for Molly almost before the carriage had -fairly drawn up at the Hall, and told her that the Squire had been -very anxious for her return, and had more than once sent him to -an upstairs window, from which a glimpse of the hill-road between -Hollingford and Hamley could be caught, to know if the carriage was -not yet in sight. Molly went into the drawing-room. The Squire was -standing in the middle of the floor awaiting her--in fact, longing to -go out and meet her, but restrained by a feeling of solemn etiquette, -which prevented his moving about as usual in that house of mourning. -He held a paper in his hands, which were trembling with excitement -and emotion; and four or five open letters were strewed on a table -near him. - -"It's all true," he began; "she's his wife, and he's her husband--was -her husband--that's the word for it--was! Poor lad! poor lad! it's -cost him a deal. Pray God, it wasn't my fault. Read this, my dear. -It's a certificate. It's all regular--Osborne Hamley to Marie-Aimée -Scherer,--parish-church and all, and witnessed. Oh, dear!" He sate -down in the nearest chair and groaned. Molly took a seat by him, and -read the legal paper, the perusal of which was not needed to convince -her of the fact of the marriage. She held it in her hand after she -had finished reading it, waiting for the Squire's next coherent -words; for he kept talking to himself in broken sentences. "Ay, -ay! that comes o' temper, and crabbedness. She was the only one as -could,--and I've been worse since she was gone. Worse! worse! and -see what it has come to! He was afraid of me--ay--afraid. That's the -truth of it--afraid. And it made him keep all to himself, and care -killed him. They may call it heart-disease--O my lad, my lad, I know -better now; but it's too late--that's the sting of it--too late, too -late!" He covered his face, and moved himself backward and forward -till Molly could bear it no longer. - -"There are some letters," said she: "may I read any of them?" At -another time she would not have asked; but she was driven to it now -by her impatience of the speechless grief of the old man. - -"Ay, read 'em, read 'em," said he. "Maybe you can. I can only pick -out a word here and there. I put 'em there for you to look at; and -tell me what is in 'em." - -Molly's knowledge of written French of the present day was not so -great as her knowledge of the French of the _Mémoires de Sully_, and -neither the spelling nor the writing of the letters was of the best; -but she managed to translate into good enough colloquial English some -innocent sentences of love, and submission to Osborne's will--as if -his judgment was infallible,--and of faith in his purposes,--little -sentences in "little language" that went home to the Squire's heart. -Perhaps if Molly had read French more easily she might not have -translated them into such touching, homely, broken words. Here and -there, there were expressions in English; these the hungry-hearted -Squire had read while waiting for Molly's return. Every time she -stopped, he said, "Go on." He kept his face shaded, and only repeated -those two words at every pause. She got up to find some more of -Aimée's letters. In examining the papers, she came upon one in -particular. "Have you seen this, sir? This certificate of baptism" -(reading aloud) "of Roger Stephen Osborne Hamley, born June 21, -183--, child of Osborne Hamley and Marie-Aimée his wife--" - -"Give it me," said the Squire, his voice breaking now, and stretching -forth his eager hand. "'Roger,' that's me, 'Stephen,' that's my poor -old father: he died when he was not so old as I am; but I've always -thought on him as very old. He was main and fond of Osborne, when he -was quite a little one. It's good of the lad to have thought on my -father Stephen. Ay! that was his name. And Osborne--Osborne Hamley! -One Osborne Hamley lies dead on his bed--and t'other--t'other I've -never seen, and never heard on till to-day. He must be called -Osborne, Molly. There is a Roger--there's two for that matter; but -one is a good-for-nothing old man; and there's never an Osborne any -more, unless this little thing is called Osborne; we'll have him -here, and get a nurse for him; and make his mother comfortable for -life in her own country. I'll keep this, Molly. You're a good lass -for finding it. Osborne Hamley! And if God will give me grace, he -shall never hear a cross word from me--never! He shan't be afeard of -me. Oh, _my_ Osborne, _my_ Osborne" (he burst out), "do you know now -how bitter and sore is my heart for every hard word as I ever spoke -to you? Do you know now how I loved you--my boy--my boy?" - -From the general tone of the letters, Molly doubted if the mother -would consent, so easily as the Squire seemed to expect, to be parted -from her child; the letters were not very wise, perhaps (though of -this Molly never thought), but a heart full of love spoke tender -words in every line. Still, it was not for Molly to talk of this -doubt of hers just then; but rather to dwell on the probable graces -and charms of the little Roger Stephen Osborne Hamley. She let -the Squire exhaust himself in wondering as to the particulars of -every event, helping him out in conjectures; and both of them, from -their imperfect knowledge of possibilities, made the most curious, -fantastic, and improbable guesses at the truth. And so that day -passed over, and the night came. - -There were not many people who had any claim to be invited to the -funeral, and of these Mr. Gibson and the Squire's hereditary man of -business had taken charge. But when Mr. Gibson came, early on the -following morning, Molly referred the question to him, which had -suggested itself to her mind, though apparently not to the Squire's, -what intimation of her loss should be sent to the widow, living -solitary near Winchester, watching and waiting, if not for his coming -who lay dead in his distant home, at least for his letters. One from -her had already come, in her foreign handwriting, to the post-office -to which all her communications were usually sent, but of course they -at the Hall knew nothing of this. - -"She must be told," said Mr. Gibson, musing. - -"Yes, she must," replied his daughter. "But how?" - -"A day or two of waiting will do no harm," said he, almost as if -he was anxious to delay the solution of the problem. "It will make -her anxious, poor thing, and all sorts of gloomy possibilities will -suggest themselves to her mind--amongst them the truth; it will be a -kind of preparation." - -"For what? Something must be done at last," said Molly. - -"Yes; true. Suppose you write, and say he's very ill; write -to-morrow. I daresay they've indulged themselves in daily postage, -and then she'll have had three days' silence. You say how you come -to know all you do about it; I think she ought to know he is very -ill--in great danger, if you like: and you can follow it up next day -with the full truth. I wouldn't worry the Squire about it. After the -funeral we will have a talk about the child." - -"She will never part with it," said Molly. - -"Whew! Till I see the woman I can't tell," said her father; "some -women would. It will be well provided for, according to what you say. -And she is a foreigner, and may very likely wish to go back to her -own people and kindred. There's much to be said on both sides." - -"So you always say, papa. But in this case I think you'll find I'm -right. I judge from her letters; but I think I'm right." - -"So you always say, daughter. Time will show. So the child is a -boy? Mrs. Gibson told me particularly to ask. It will go far to -reconciling her to Cynthia's dismissal of Roger. But indeed it is -quite as well for both of them, though of course he will be a long -time before he thinks so. They were not suited to each other. Poor -Roger! It was hard work writing to him yesterday; and who knows what -may have become of him! Well, well! one has to get through the world -somehow. I'm glad, however, this little lad has turned up to be the -heir. I shouldn't have liked the property to go to the Irish Hamleys, -who are the next heirs, as Osborne once told me. Now write that -letter, Molly, to the poor little Frenchwoman out yonder. It will -prepare her for it; and we must think a bit how to spare her the -shock, for Osborne's sake." - -The writing this letter was rather difficult work for Molly, and -she tore up two or three copies before she could manage it to her -satisfaction; and at last, in despair of ever doing it better, she -sent it off without re-reading it. The next day was easier; the fact -of Osborne's death was told briefly and tenderly. But when this -second letter was sent off, Molly's heart began to bleed for the -poor creature, bereft of her husband, in a foreign land, and he at a -distance from her, dead and buried without her ever having had the -chance of printing his dear features on her memory by one last long -lingering look. With her thoughts full of the unknown Aimée, Molly -talked much about her that day to the Squire. He would listen for -ever to any conjecture, however wild, about the grandchild, but -perpetually winced away from all discourse about "the Frenchwoman," -as he called her; not unkindly, but to his mind she was simply the -Frenchwoman--chattering, dark-eyed, demonstrative, and possibly even -rouged. He would treat her with respect as his son's widow, and -would try even not to think upon the female inveiglement in which he -believed. He would make her an allowance to the extent of his duty: -but he hoped and trusted he might never be called upon to see her. -His solicitor, Gibson, anybody and everybody, should be called upon -to form a phalanx of defence against that danger. - -And all this time a little young grey-eyed woman was making her -way,--not towards him, but towards the dead son, whom as yet she -believed to be her living husband. She knew she was acting in -defiance of his expressed wish; but he had never dismayed her with -any expression of his own fears about his health; and she, bright -with life, had never contemplated death coming to fetch away one so -beloved. He was ill--very ill, the letter from the strange girl said -that; but Aimée had nursed her parents, and knew what illness was. -The French doctor had praised her skill and neat-handedness as a -nurse, and even if she had been the clumsiest of women, was he not -her husband--her all? And was she not his wife, whose place was by -his pillow? So, without even as much reasoning as has been here -given, Aimée made her preparations, swallowing down the tears that -would overflow her eyes, and drop into the little trunk she was -packing so neatly. And by her side, on the ground, sate the child, -now nearly two years old; and for him Aimée had always a smile and a -cheerful word. Her servant loved her and trusted her; and the woman -was of an age to have had experience of humankind. Aimée had told -her that her husband was ill, and the servant had known enough of -the household history to be aware that as yet Aimée was not his -acknowledged wife. But she sympathized with the prompt decision of -her mistress to go to him directly, wherever he was. Caution comes -from education of one kind or another, and Aimée was not dismayed by -warnings; only the woman pleaded hard for the child to be left. "He -was such company," she said; "and he would so tire his mother in her -journeyings; and maybe his father would be too ill to see him." To -which Aimée replied, "Good company for you, but better for me. A -woman is never tired with carrying her own child" (which was not -true; but there was sufficient truth in it to make it believed by -both mistress and servant), "and if Monsieur could care for anything, -he would rejoice to hear the babble of his little son." So Aimée -caught the evening coach to London at the nearest cross-road, Martha -standing by as chaperon and friend to see her off, and handing her -in the large lusty child, already crowing with delight at the sight -of the horses. There was a "lingerie" shop, kept by a Frenchwoman, -whose acquaintance Aimée had made in the days when she was a London -nursemaid, and thither she betook herself, rather than to an hotel, -to spend the few night-hours that intervened before the Birmingham -coach started at early morning. She slept or watched on a sofa in -the parlour, for spare-bed there was none; but Madame Pauline came -in betimes with a good cup of coffee for the mother, and of "soupe -blanche" for the boy; and they went off again into the wide world, -only thinking of, only seeking the "him," who was everything human -to both. Aimée remembered the sound of the name of the village where -Osborne had often told her that he alighted from the coach to walk -home; and though she could never have spelt the strange uncouth word, -yet she spoke it with pretty slow distinctness to the guard, asking -him in her broken English when they should arrive there? Not till -four o'clock. Alas! and what might happen before then! Once with him -she would have no fear; she was sure that she could bring him round; -but what might not happen before he was in her tender care? She was -a very capable person in many ways, though so childish and innocent -in others. She made up her mind to the course she should pursue when -the coach set her down at Feversham. She asked for a man to carry her -trunk, and show her the way to Hamley Hall. - -"Hamley Hall!" said the innkeeper. "Eh! there's a deal o' trouble -there just now." - -"I know, I know," said she, hastening off after the wheelbarrow in -which her trunk was going, and breathlessly struggling to keep up -with it, her heavy child asleep in her arms. Her pulses beat all over -her body; she could hardly see out of her eyes. To her, a foreigner, -the drawn blinds of the house, when she came in sight of it, had no -significance; she hurried, stumbled on. - -"Back door or front, missus?" asked the boots from the inn. - -"The most nearest," said she. And the front door was "the most -nearest." Molly was sitting with the Squire in the darkened -drawing-room, reading out her translations of Aimée's letters to her -husband. The Squire was never weary of hearing them; the very sound -of Molly's voice soothed and comforted him, it was so sweet and low. -And he pulled her up, much as a child does, if on a second reading of -the same letter she substituted one word for another. The house was -very still this afternoon,--still as it had been now for several -days; every servant in it, however needlessly, moving about on -tiptoe, speaking below the breath, and shutting doors as softly -as might be. The nearest noise or stir of active life was that of -the rooks in the trees, who were beginning their spring chatter of -business. Suddenly, through this quiet, there came a ring at the -front-door bell that sounded, and went on sounding, through the -house, pulled by an ignorant vigorous hand. Molly stopped reading; -she and the Squire looked at each other in surprised dismay. Perhaps -a thought of Roger's sudden (and impossible) return was in the mind -of each; but neither spoke. They heard Robinson hurrying to answer -the unwonted summons. They listened; but they heard no more. There -was little more to hear. When the old servant opened the door, -a lady with a child in her arms stood there. She gasped out her -ready-prepared English sentence,-- - -"Can I see Mr. Osborne Hamley? He is ill, I know; but I am his wife." - -Robinson had been aware that there was some mystery, long suspected -by the servants, and come to light at last to the master,--he had -guessed that there was a young woman in the case; but when she stood -there before him, asking for her dead husband as if he were living, -any presence of mind Robinson might have had forsook him; he could -not tell her the truth,--he could only leave the door open, and say -to her, "Wait awhile, I'll come back," and betake himself to the -drawing-room where Molly was, he knew. He went up to her in a flutter -and a hurry, and whispered something to her which turned her white -with dismay. - -"What is it? What is it?" said the Squire, trembling with excitement. -"Don't keep it from me. I can bear it. Roger--" - -They both thought he was going to faint; he had risen up and come -close to Molly; suspense would be worse than anything. - -"Mrs. Osborne Hamley is here," said Molly. "I wrote to tell her her -husband was very ill, and she has come." - -"She does not know what has happened, seemingly," said Robinson. - -"I can't see her--I can't see her," said the Squire, shrinking away -into a corner. "You will go, Molly, won't you? You'll go." - -Molly stood for a moment or two, irresolute. She, too, shrank from -the interview. Robinson put in his word: "She looks but a weakly -thing, and has carried a big baby, choose how far, I didn't stop to -ask." - -At this instant the door softly opened, and right into the midst of -them came the little figure in grey, looking ready to fall with the -weight of her child. - -"You are Molly," said she, not seeing the Squire at once. "The lady -who wrote the letter; he spoke of you sometimes. You will let me go -to him." - -Molly did not answer, except that at such moments the eyes speak -solemnly and comprehensively. Aimée read their meaning. All she said -was,--"He is not--oh, my husband--my husband!" Her arms relaxed, her -figure swayed, the child screamed and held out his arms for help. -That help was given him by his grandfather, just before Aimée fell -senseless on the floor. - -"Maman, maman!" cried the little fellow, now striving and fighting to -get back to her, where she lay; he fought so lustily that the Squire -had to put him down, and he crawled to the poor inanimate body, -behind which sat Molly, holding the head; whilst Robinson rushed away -for water, wine, and more womankind. - - -[Illustration: "MAMAN, MAMAN!"] - - -"Poor thing, poor thing!" said the Squire, bending over her, and -crying afresh over her suffering. "She is but young, Molly, and she -must ha' loved him dearly." - -"To be sure!" said Molly, quickly. She was untying the bonnet, and -taking off the worn, but neatly mended gloves; there was the soft -luxuriant black hair, shading the pale, innocent face,--the little -notable-looking brown hands, with the wedding-ring for sole ornament. -The child clustered his fingers round one of hers, and nestled up -against her with his plaintive cry, getting more and more into a -burst of wailing: "Maman, maman!" At the growing acuteness of his -imploring, her hand moved, her lips quivered, consciousness came -partially back. She did not open her eyes, but great heavy tears -stole out from beneath her eyelashes. Molly held her head against -her own breast; and they tried to give her wine,--which she shrank -from--water, which she did not reject; that was all. At last she -tried to speak. "Take me away," she said, "into the dark. Leave me -alone." - -So Molly and the woman lifted her up and carried her away, and laid -her on the bed, in the best bed-chamber in the house, and darkened -the already shaded light. She was like an unconscious corpse herself, -in that she offered neither assistance nor resistance to all that -they were doing. But just before Molly was leaving the room to take -up her watch outside the door, she felt rather than heard that Aimée -spoke to her. - -"Food--bread and milk for baby." But when they brought her food -herself, she only shrank away and turned her face to the wall without -a word. In the hurry, the child had been left with Robinson and -the Squire. For some unknown, but most fortunate reason, he took a -dislike to Robinson's red face and hoarse voice, and showed a most -decided preference for his grandfather. When Molly came down she -found the Squire feeding the child, with more of peace upon his face -than there had been for all these days. The boy was every now and -then leaving off taking his bread and milk to show his dislike to -Robinson by word and gesture: a proceeding which only amused the old -servant, while it highly delighted the more favoured Squire. - -"She is lying very still, but she will neither speak nor eat. I don't -even think she is crying," said Molly, volunteering this account, for -the Squire was for the moment too much absorbed in his grandson to -ask many questions. - -Robinson put in his word: "Dick Hayward, he's Boots at the Hamley -Arms, says the coach she come by started at five this morning from -London, and the passengers said she'd been crying a deal on the road, -when she thought folks were not noticing; and she never came in to -meals with the rest, but stopped feeding her child." - -"She'll be tired out; we must let her rest," said the Squire. "And I -do believe this little chap is going to sleep in my arms. God bless -him." - -But Molly stole out, and sent off a lad to Hollingford with a note to -her father. Her heart had warmed towards the poor stranger, and she -felt uncertain as to what ought to be the course pursued in her case. - -She went up from time to time to look at the girl, scarce older than -herself, who lay there with her eyes open, but as motionless as -death. She softly covered her over, and let her feel the sympathetic -presence from time to time; and that was all she was allowed to do. -The Squire was curiously absorbed in the child, but Molly's supreme -tenderness was for the mother. Not but what she admired the sturdy, -gallant, healthy little fellow, whose every limb, and square inch of -clothing, showed the tender and thrifty care that had been taken of -him. By-and-by the Squire said in a whisper,-- - -"She's not like a Frenchwoman, is she, Molly?" - -"I don't know. I don't know what Frenchwomen are like. People say -Cynthia is French." - -"And she didn't look like a servant? We won't speak of Cynthia since -she's served my Roger so. Why, I began to think, as soon as I could -think after _that_, how I would make Roger and her happy, and have -them married at once; and then came that letter! I never wanted her -for a daughter-in-law, not I. But he did, it seems; and he wasn't one -for wanting many things for himself. But it's all over now; only we -won't talk of her; and maybe, as you say, she was more French than -English. This poor thing looks like a gentlewoman, I think. I hope -she's got friends who'll take care of her,--she can't be above -twenty. I thought she must be older than my poor lad!" - -"She's a gentle, pretty creature," said Molly. "But--but I sometimes -think it has killed her; she lies like one dead." And Molly could not -keep from crying softly at the thought. - -"Nay, nay!" said the Squire. "It's not so easy to break one's heart. -Sometimes I've wished it were. But one has to go on living--'all -the appointed days,' as it says in the Bible. But we'll do our best -for her. We'll not think of letting her go away till she's fit to -travel." - -Molly wondered in her heart about this going away, on which the -Squire seemed fully resolved. She was sure that he intended to keep -the child; perhaps he had a legal right to do so;--but would the -mother ever part from it? Her father, however, would solve the -difficulty,--her father, whom she always looked to as so clear-seeing -and experienced. She watched and waited for his coming. The February -evening drew on; the child lay asleep in the Squire's arms till his -grandfather grew tired, and laid him down on the sofa: the large -square-cornered yellow sofa upon which Mrs. Hamley used to sit, -supported by pillows in a half-reclining position. Since her time it -had been placed against the wall, and had served merely as a piece -of furniture to fill up the room. But once again a human figure was -lying upon it; a little human creature, like a cherub in some old -Italian picture. The Squire remembered his wife as he put the child -down. He thought of her as he said to Molly,-- - -"How pleased she would have been!" But Molly thought of the poor -young widow upstairs. Aimée was her "she" at the first moment. -Presently,--but it seemed a long long time first,--she heard the -quick prompt sounds which told of her father's arrival. In he -came--to the room as yet only lighted by the fitful blaze of the -fire. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV. - -MOLLY GIBSON'S WORTH IS DISCOVERED. - - -Mr. Gibson came in rubbing his hands after his frosty ride. Molly -judged from the look in his eye that he had been fully informed of -the present state of things at the Hall by some one. But he simply -went up to and greeted the Squire, and waited to hear what was said -to him. The Squire was fumbling at the taper on the writing-table, -and before he answered much he lighted it, and signing to his friend -to follow him, he went softly to the sofa and showed him the sleeping -child, taking the utmost care not to arouse it by flare or sound. - -"Well! this is a fine young gentleman," said Mr. Gibson, returning -to the fire rather sooner than the Squire expected. "And you've got -the mother here, I understand. Mrs. Osborne Hamley, as we must call -her, poor thing! It's a sad coming home to her; for I hear she knew -nothing of his death." He spoke without exactly addressing any one, -so that either Molly or the Squire might answer as they liked. The -Squire said,-- - -"Yes! She's felt it a terrible shock. She's upstairs in the best -bedroom. I should like you to see her, Gibson, if she'll let you. We -must do our duty by her, for my poor lad's sake. I wish he could have -seen his boy lying there; I do. I daresay it preyed on him to have to -keep it all to himself. He might ha' known me, though. He might ha' -known my bark was waur than my bite. It's all over now, though; and -God forgive me if I was too sharp. I'm punished now." - -Molly grew impatient on the mother's behalf. - -"Papa, I feel as if she was very ill; perhaps worse than we think. -Will you go and see her at once?" - -Mr. Gibson followed her upstairs, and the Squire came too, -thinking that he would do his duty now, and even feeling some -self-satisfaction at conquering his desire to stay with the child. -They went into the room where she had been taken. She lay quite still -in the same position as at first. Her eyes were open and tearless, -fixed on the wall. Mr. Gibson spoke to her, but she did not answer; -he lifted her hand to feel her pulse; she never noticed. - -"Bring me some wine at once, and order some beef-tea," he said to -Molly. - -But when he tried to put the wine into her mouth as she lay there on -her side, she made no effort to receive or swallow it, and it ran out -upon the pillow. Mr. Gibson left the room abruptly; Molly chafed the -little inanimate hand; the Squire stood by in dumb dismay, touched in -spite of himself by the death-in-life of one so young, and who must -have been so much beloved. - -Mr. Gibson came back two steps at a time; he was carrying the -half-awakened child in his arms. He did not scruple to rouse him into -yet further wakefulness--did not grieve to hear him begin to wail and -cry. His eyes were on the figure upon the bed, which at that sound -quivered all through; and when her child was laid at her back, and -began caressingly to scramble yet closer, Aimée turned round, and -took him in her arms, and lulled him and soothed him with the soft -wont of mother's love. - -Before she lost this faint consciousness, which was habit or instinct -rather than thought, Mr. Gibson spoke to her in French. The child's -one word of "maman" had given him this clue. It was the language -sure to be most intelligible to her dulled brain; and as it -happened,--only Mr. Gibson did not think of that--it was the language -in which she had been commanded, and had learnt to obey. - -Mr. Gibson's tongue was a little stiff at first, but by-and-by he -spoke it with all his old readiness. He extorted from her short -answers at first, then longer ones, and from time to time he plied -her with little drops of wine, until some further nourishment should -be at hand. Molly was struck by her father's low tones of comfort and -sympathy, although she could not follow what was said quickly enough -to catch the meaning of what passed. - -By-and-by, however, when her father had done all that he could, and -they were once more downstairs, he told them more about her journey -than they yet knew. The hurry, the sense of acting in defiance of -a prohibition, the over-mastering anxiety, the broken night, and -fatigue of the journey, had ill prepared her for the shock at last, -and Mr. Gibson was seriously alarmed for the consequences. She had -wandered strangely in her replies to him; he had perceived that she -was wandering, and had made great efforts to recall her senses; -but Mr. Gibson foresaw that some bodily illness was coming on, -and stopped late that night, arranging many things with Molly and -the Squire. One--the only--comfort arising from her state was the -probability that she would be entirely unconscious by the morrow--the -day of the funeral. Worn out by the contending emotions of the day, -the Squire seemed now unable to look beyond the wrench and trial of -the next twelve hours. He sate with his head in his hands, declining -to go to bed, refusing to dwell on the thought of his grandchild--not -three hours ago such a darling in his eyes. Mr. Gibson gave some -instructions to one of the maid-servants as to the watch she was to -keep by Mrs. Osborne Hamley, and insisted on Molly's going to bed. -When she pleaded the apparent necessity of her staying up, he said,-- - -"Now, Molly, look how much less trouble the dear old Squire would -give if he would obey orders. He is only adding to anxiety by -indulging himself. One pardons everything to extreme grief, however. -But you will have enough to do to occupy all your strength for days -to come; and go to bed you must now. I only wish I saw my way as -clearly through other things as I do to your nearest duty. I wish I'd -never let Roger go wandering off; he'll wish it too, poor fellow! -Did I tell you Cynthia is going off in hot haste to her uncle -Kirkpatrick's? I suspect a visit to him will stand in lieu of going -out to Russia as a governess." - -"I am sure she was quite serious in wishing for that." - -"Yes, yes! at the time. I've no doubt she thought she was sincere -in intending to go. But the great thing was to get out of the -unpleasantness of the present time and place; and uncle Kirkpatrick's -will do this as effectually, and more pleasantly, than a situation at -Nishni-Novgorod in an ice-palace." - -He had given Molly's thoughts a turn, which was what he wanted to -do. Molly could not help remembering Mr. Henderson, and his offer, -and all the consequent hints; and wondering, and wishing--what did -she wish? or had she been falling asleep? Before she had quite -ascertained this point she was asleep in reality. - -After this, long days passed over in a monotonous round of care; for -no one seemed to think of Molly's leaving the Hall during the woeful -illness that befell Mrs. Osborne Hamley. It was not that her father -allowed her to take much active part in the nursing; the Squire gave -him _carte-blanche_, and he engaged two efficient hospital nurses to -watch over the unconscious Aimée; but Molly was needed to receive the -finer directions as to her treatment and diet. It was not that she -was wanted for the care of the little boy; the Squire was too jealous -of the child's exclusive love for that, and one of the housemaids was -employed in the actual physical charge of him; but he needed some one -to listen to his incontinence of language, both when his passionate -regret for his dead son came uppermost, and also when he had -discovered some extraordinary charm in that son's child; and again -when he was oppressed with the uncertainty of Aimée's long-continued -illness. Molly was not so good or so bewitching a listener to -ordinary conversation as Cynthia; but where her heart was interested -her sympathy was deep and unfailing. In this case she only wished -that the Squire could really feel that Aimée was not the encumbrance -which he evidently considered her to be. Not that he would have -acknowledged the fact, if it had been put before him in plain words. -He fought against the dim consciousness of what was in his mind; he -spoke repeatedly of patience when no one but himself was impatient; -he would often say that when she grew better she must not be allowed -to leave the Hall until she was perfectly strong, when no one was -even contemplating the remotest chance of her leaving her child, -excepting only himself. Molly once or twice asked her father if she -might not speak to the Squire, and represent the hardship of sending -her away--the improbability that she would consent to quit her boy, -and so on; but Mr. Gibson only replied,-- - -"Wait quietly. Time enough when nature and circumstance have had -their chance, and have failed." - -It was well that Molly was such a favourite with the old servants; -for she had frequently to restrain and to control. To be sure, she -had her father's authority to back her; and they were aware that -where her own comfort, ease, or pleasure was concerned she never -interfered, but submitted to their will. If the Squire had known of -the want of attendance to which she submitted with the most perfect -meekness, as far as she herself was the only sufferer, he would have -gone into a towering rage. But Molly hardly thought of it, so anxious -was she to do all she could for others, and to remember the various -charges which her father gave her in his daily visits. Perhaps he -did not spare her enough; she was willing and uncomplaining; but one -day after Mrs. Osborne Hamley had "taken the turn," as the nurses -called it, when she was lying weak as a new-born baby, but with her -faculties all restored, and her fever gone,--when spring buds were -blooming out, and spring birds sang merrily,--Molly answered to her -father's sudden questioning that she felt unaccountably weary; that -her head ached heavily, and that she was aware of a sluggishness of -thought which it required a painful effort to overcome. - -"Don't go on," said Mr. Gibson, with a quick pang of anxiety, almost -of remorse. "Lie down here--with your back to the light. I'll come -back and see you before I go." And off he went in search of the -Squire. He had a good long walk before he came upon Mr. Hamley in -a field of spring wheat, where the women were weeding, his little -grandson holding to his finger in the intervals of short walks of -inquiry into the dirtiest places, which was all his sturdy little -limbs could manage. - -"Well, Gibson, and how goes the patient? Better? I wish we could -get her out of doors, such a fine day as it is. It would make her -strong as soon as anything. I used to beg my poor lad to come out -more. Maybe, I worried him; but the air is the finest thing for -strengthening that I know of. Though, perhaps, she'll not thrive in -English air as if she'd been born here; and she'll not be quite right -till she gets back to her native place, wherever that is." - -"I don't know. I begin to think we shall get her quite round here; -and I don't know that she could be in a better place. But it's not -about her. May I order the carriage for my Molly?" Mr. Gibson's voice -sounded as if he was choking a little as he said these last words. - -"To be sure," said the Squire, setting the child down. He had been -holding him in his arms the last few minutes: but now he wanted all -his eyes to look into Mr. Gibson's face. "I say," said he, catching -hold of Mr. Gibson's arm, "what's the matter, man? Don't twitch up -your face like that, but speak!" - -"Nothing's the matter," said Mr. Gibson, hastily. "Only I want her at -home, under my own eye;" and he turned away to go to the house. But -the Squire left his field and his weeders, and kept at Mr. Gibson's -side. He wanted to speak, but his heart was so full he did not know -what to say. "I say, Gibson," he got out at last, "your Molly is -liker a child of mine than a stranger; and I reckon we've all on us -been coming too hard upon her. You don't think there's much amiss, do -you?" - -"How can I tell?" said Mr. Gibson, almost savagely. But any hastiness -of temper was instinctively understood by the Squire; and he was not -offended, though he did not speak again till they reached the house. -Then he went to order the carriage, and stood by sorrowful enough -while the horses were being put in. He felt as if he should not know -what to do without Molly; he had never known her value, he thought, -till now. But he kept silence on this view of the case; which was a -praiseworthy effort on the part of one who usually let by-standers -see and hear as much of his passing feelings as if he had had a -window in his breast. He stood by while Mr. Gibson helped the -faintly-smiling, tearful Molly into the carriage. Then the Squire -mounted on the step and kissed her hand; but when he tried to thank -her and bless her, he broke down; and as soon as he was once more -safely on the ground, Mr. Gibson cried out to the coachman to drive -on. And so Molly left Hamley Hall. From time to time her father -rode up to the window, and made some little cheerful and apparently -careless remark. When they came within two miles of Hollingford, he -put spurs to his horse, and rode briskly past the carriage windows, -kissing his hand to the occupant as he did so. He went on to prepare -her home for Molly: when she arrived Mrs. Gibson was ready to greet -her. Mr. Gibson had given one or two of his bright, imperative -orders, and Mrs. Gibson was feeling rather lonely "without either of -her two dear girls at home," as she phrased it, to herself as well as -to others. - -"Why, my sweet Molly, this is an unexpected pleasure. Only this -morning I said to papa, 'When do you think we shall see our Molly -back?' He did not say much--he never does, you know; but I am sure he -thought directly of giving me this surprise, this pleasure. You're -looking a little--what shall I call it? I remember such a pretty line -of poetry, 'Oh, call her fair, not pale!'--so we'll call you fair." - -"You'd better not call her anything, but let her get to her own room -and have a good rest as soon as possible. Haven't you got a trashy -novel or two in the house? That's the literature to send her to -sleep." - -He did not leave her till he had seen her laid on a sofa in a -darkened room, with some slight pretence of reading in her hand. Then -he came away, leading his wife, who turned round at the door to kiss -her hand to Molly, and make a little face of unwillingness to be -dragged away. - -"Now, Hyacinth," said he, as he took his wife into the drawing-room, -"she will need much care. She has been overworked, and I've been a -fool. That's all. We must keep her from all worry and care,--but I -won't answer for it that she'll not have an illness, for all that!" - -"Poor thing! she does look worn out. She is something like me, her -feelings are too much for her. But now she is come home she shall -find us as cheerful as possible. I can answer for myself; and you -really must brighten up your doleful face, my dear--nothing so -bad for invalids as the appearance of depression in those around -them. I have had such a pleasant letter from Cynthia to-day. Uncle -Kirkpatrick really seems to make so much of her, he treats her just -like a daughter; he has given her a ticket to the Concerts of Ancient -Music; and Mr. Henderson has been to call on her, in spite of all -that has gone before." - -For an instant, Mr. Gibson thought that it was easy enough for -his wife to be cheerful, with the pleasant thoughts and evident -anticipations she had in her mind, but a little more difficult for -him to put off his doleful looks while his own child lay in a state -of suffering and illness which might be the precursor of a still -worse malady. But he was always a man for immediate action as soon -as he had resolved on the course to be taken; and he knew that "some -must watch, while some must sleep; so runs the world away." - -The illness which he apprehended came upon Molly; not violently or -acutely, so that there was any immediate danger to be dreaded; but -making a long pull upon her strength, which seemed to lessen day -by day, until at last her father feared that she might become a -permanent invalid. There was nothing very decided or alarming to tell -Cynthia, and Mrs. Gibson kept the dark side from her in her letters. -"Molly was feeling the spring weather;" or "Molly had been a good -deal overdone with her stay at the Hall, and was resting;" such -little sentences told nothing of Molly's real state. But then, as -Mrs. Gibson said to herself, it would be a pity to disturb Cynthia's -pleasure by telling her much about Molly; indeed, there was not much -to tell, one day was so like another. But it so happened that Lady -Harriet,--who came whenever she could to sit awhile with Molly, -at first against Mrs. Gibson's will, and afterwards with her full -consent,--for reasons of her own, Lady Harriet wrote a letter to -Cynthia, to which she was urged by Mrs. Gibson. It fell out in this -manner:--One day, when Lady Harriet was sitting in the drawing-room -for a few minutes after she had been with Molly, she said,-- - -"Really, Clare, I spend so much time in your house that I'm going -to establish a work-basket here. Mary has infected me with her -notability, and I'm going to work mamma a footstool. It is to be -a surprise; and so if I do it here she will know nothing about it. -Only I cannot match the gold beads I want for the pansies in this -dear little town; and Hollingford, who could send me down stars and -planets if I asked him, I make no doubt, could no more match beads -than--" - -"My dear Lady Harriet! you forget Cynthia! Think what a pleasure it -would be to her to do anything for you." - -"Would it? Then she shall have plenty of it; but mind, it is you who -have answered for her. She shall get me some wool too; how good I am -to confer so much pleasure on a fellow-creature! But seriously, do -you think I might write and give her a few commissions? Neither Agnes -nor Mary are in town--" - -"I am sure she would be delighted," said Mrs. Gibson, who also took -into consideration the reflection of aristocratic honour that would -fall upon Cynthia if she had a letter from Lady Harriet while at -Mr. Kirkpatrick's. So she gave the address, and Lady Harriet wrote. -All the first part of the letter was taken up with apology and -commissions; but then, never doubting but that Cynthia was aware of -Molly's state, she went on to say-- - -"I saw Molly this morning. Twice I have been forbidden admittance, as -she was too ill to see any one out of her own family. I wish we could -begin to perceive a change for the better; but she looks more fading -every time, and I fear Mr. Gibson considers it a very anxious case." - -The day but one after this letter was despatched, Cynthia walked into -the drawing-room at home with as much apparent composure as if she -had left it not an hour before. Mrs. Gibson was dozing, but believing -herself to be reading; she had been with Molly the greater part of -the morning, and now after her lunch, and the invalid's pretence of -early dinner, she considered herself entitled to some repose. She -started up as Cynthia came in: - -"Cynthia! Dear child, where have you come from? Why in the world have -you come? My poor nerves! My heart is quite fluttering; but, to be -sure, it's no wonder with all this anxiety I have to undergo. Why -have you come back?" - -"Because of the anxiety you speak of, mamma. I never knew,--you never -told me how ill Molly was." - -"Nonsense! I beg your pardon, my dear, but it's really nonsense. -Molly's illness is only nervous, Mr. Gibson says. A nervous fever; -but you must remember nerves are mere fancy, and she's getting -better. Such a pity for you to have left your uncle's. Who told you -about Molly?" - -"Lady Harriet. She wrote about some wool--" - -"I know,--I know. But you might have known she always exaggerates -things. Not but what I have been almost worn out with nursing. -Perhaps, after all, it is a very good thing you have come, my dear; -and now you shall come down into the dining-room and have some lunch, -and tell me all the Hyde Park Street news--into my room,--don't go -into yours yet--Molly is so sensitive to noise!" - -While Cynthia ate her lunch, Mrs. Gibson went on questioning. "And -your aunt, how is her cold? And Helen, quite strong again? Margaretta -as pretty as ever? The boys are at Harrow, I suppose? And my old -favourite, Mr. Henderson?" She could not manage to slip in this last -inquiry naturally; in spite of herself there was a change of tone, an -accent of eagerness. Cynthia did not reply on the instant; she poured -herself out some water with great deliberation, and then said,-- - -"My aunt is quite well; Helen is as strong as she ever is, and -Margaretta very pretty. The boys are at Harrow, and I conclude that -Mr. Henderson is enjoying his usual health, for he was to dine at my -uncle's to-day." - -"Take care, Cynthia. Look how you are cutting that gooseberry tart," -said Mrs. Gibson, with sharp annoyance; not provoked by Cynthia's -present action, although it gave excuse for a little vent of temper. -"I can't think how you could come off in this sudden kind of way; I -am sure it must have annoyed your uncle and aunt. I daresay they'll -never ask you again." - -"On the contrary, I am to go back there as soon as ever I can be easy -to leave Molly." - -"'Easy to leave Molly.' Now that really is nonsense, and rather -uncomplimentary to me, I must say: nursing her as I have been doing, -daily, and almost nightly; for I have been wakened times out of -number by Mr. Gibson getting up, and going to see if she had had her -medicine properly." - -"I'm afraid she has been very ill?" asked Cynthia. - -"Yes, she has, in one way; but not in another. It was what I call -more a tedious, than an interesting illness. There was no immediate -danger, but she lay much in the same state from day to day." - -"I wish I had known!" sighed Cynthia. "Do you think I might go and -see her now?" - -"I'll go and prepare her. You'll find her a good deal better than -she has been. Ah; here's Mr. Gibson!" He came into the dining-room, -hearing voices. Cynthia thought that he looked much older. - -"You here!" said he, coming forward to shake hands. "Why, how did you -come?" - -"By the 'Umpire.' I never knew Molly had been so ill, or I would have -come directly." Her eyes were full of tears. Mr. Gibson was touched; -he shook her hand again, and murmured, "You're a good girl, Cynthia." - -"She's heard one of dear Lady Harriet's exaggerated accounts," said -Mrs. Gibson, "and come straight off. I tell her it's very foolish, -for Molly is a great deal better now." - -"Very foolish," said Mr. Gibson, echoing his wife's words, but -smiling at Cynthia. "But sometimes one likes foolish people for their -folly, better than wise people for their wisdom." - -"I am afraid folly always annoys me," said his wife. "However, -Cynthia is here, and what is done, is done." - -"Very true, my dear. And now I'll run up and see my little girl, -and tell her the good news. You'd better follow me in a couple of -minutes." This to Cynthia. - -Molly's delight at seeing her showed itself first in a few happy -tears; and then in soft caresses and inarticulate sounds of love. -Once or twice she began, "It is such a pleasure," and there she -stopped short. But the eloquence of these five words sank deep into -Cynthia's heart. She had returned just at the right time, when Molly -wanted the gentle fillip of the society of a fresh and yet a familiar -person. Cynthia's tact made her talkative or silent, gay or grave, -as the varying humour of Molly required. She listened, too, with the -semblance, if not the reality, of unwearied interest, to Molly's -continual recurrence to all the time of distress and sorrow at Hamley -Hall, and to the scenes which had then so deeply impressed themselves -upon her susceptible nature. Cynthia instinctively knew that the -repetition of all these painful recollections would ease the -oppressed memory, which refused to dwell on anything but what had -occurred at a time of feverish disturbance of health. So she never -interrupted Molly, as Mrs. Gibson had so frequently done, with--"You -told me all that before, my dear. Let us talk of something else;" or, -"Really I cannot allow you to be always dwelling on painful thoughts. -Try and be a little more cheerful. Youth is gay. You are young, -and therefore you ought to be gay. That is put in a famous form of -speech; I forget exactly what it is called." - -So Molly's health and spirits improved rapidly after Cynthia's -return: and although she was likely to retain many of her invalid -habits during the summer, she was able to take drives, and enjoy the -fine weather; it was only her as yet tender spirits that required a -little management. All the Hollingford people forgot that they had -ever thought of her except as a darling of the town; and each in his -or her way showed kind interest in her father's child. Miss Browning -and Miss Phoebe considered it quite a privilege that they were -allowed to see her a fortnight or three weeks before any one else; -Mrs. Goodenough, spectacles on nose, stirred dainty messes in a -silver saucepan for Molly's benefit; the Towers sent books, and -forced fruit, and new caricatures, and strange and delicate poultry; -humble patients of "the doctor," as Mr. Gibson was usually termed, -left the earliest cauliflowers they could grow in their cottage -gardens, with "their duty for Miss." - -And last of all, though strongest in regard, most piteously eager in -interest, came Squire Hamley himself. When she was at the worst, he -rode over every day to hear the smallest detail, facing even Mrs. -Gibson (his abomination) if her husband was not at home, to ask and -hear, and ask and hear, till the tears were unconsciously stealing -down his cheeks. Every resource of his heart, or his house, or his -lands was searched and tried, if it could bring a moment's pleasure -to her; and whatever it might be that came from him, at her very -worst time, it brought out a dim smile upon her face. - - - - -CHAPTER LV. - -AN ABSENT LOVER RETURNS. - - -[Illustration (untitled)] - -And now it was late June; and to Molly's and her father's extreme -urgency in pushing, and Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick's affectionate -persistency in pulling, Cynthia had yielded, and had gone back to -finish her interrupted visit in London, but not before the bruit of -her previous sudden return to nurse Molly had told strongly in her -favour in the fluctuating opinion of the little town. Her affair with -Mr. Preston was thrust into the shade; while every one was speaking -of her warm heart. Under the gleam of Molly's recovery everything -assumed a rosy hue, as indeed became the time when actual roses were -fully in bloom. - -One morning Mrs. Gibson brought Molly a great basket of flowers, that -had been sent from the Hall. Molly still breakfasted in bed, but she -had just come down, and was now well enough to arrange the flowers -for the drawing-room, and as she did so with these blossoms, she made -some comments on each. - -"Ah! these white pinks! They were Mrs. Hamley's favourite flower; -and so like her! This little bit of sweet briar, it quite scents the -room. It has pricked my fingers, but never mind. Oh, mamma, look -at this rose! I forget its name, but it is very rare, and grows up -in the sheltered corner of the wall, near the mulberry-tree. Roger -bought the tree for his mother with his own money when he was quite a -boy; he showed it me, and made me notice it." - -"I daresay it was Roger who got it now. You heard papa say he had -seen him yesterday." - -"No! Roger! Roger come home!" said Molly, turning first red, then -very white. - -"Yes. Oh, I remember you had gone to bed before papa came in, and he -was called off early to tiresome Mrs. Beale. Yes, Roger turned up at -the Hall the day before yesterday." - -But Molly leaned back against her chair, too faint to do more at the -flowers for some time. She had been startled by the suddenness of the -news. "Roger come home!" - -It happened that Mr. Gibson was unusually busy on this particular -day, and he did not come home till late in the afternoon. But Molly -kept her place in the drawing-room all the time, not even going to -take her customary siesta, so anxious was she to hear everything -about Roger's return, which as yet appeared to her almost incredible. -But it was quite natural in reality; the long monotony of her illness -had made her lose all count of time. When Roger left England, his -idea was to coast round Africa on the eastern side until he reached -the Cape; and thence to make what further journey or voyage might -seem to him best in pursuit of his scientific objects. To Cape Town -all his letters had been addressed of late; and there, two months -before, he had received the intelligence of Osborne's death, as well -as Cynthia's hasty letter of relinquishment. He did not consider -that he was doing wrong in returning to England immediately, and -reporting himself to the gentlemen who had sent him out, with a -full explanation of the circumstances relating to Osborne's private -marriage and sudden death. He offered, and they accepted his offer, -to go out again for any time that they might think equivalent to the -five months he was yet engaged to them for. They were most of them -gentlemen of property, and saw the full importance of proving the -marriage of an eldest son, and installing his child as the natural -heir to a long-descended estate. This much information, but in a more -condensed form, Mr. Gibson gave to Molly, in a very few minutes. She -sat up on her sofa, looking very pretty with the flush on her cheeks, -and the brightness in her eyes. - -"Well!" said she, when her father stopped speaking. - -"Well! what?" asked he, playfully. - -"Oh! why, such a number of things. I've been waiting all day to ask -you all about everything. How is he looking?" - -"If a young man of twenty-four ever does take to growing taller, I -should say that he was taller. As it is, I suppose it's only that he -looks broader, stronger--more muscular." - -"Oh! is he changed?" asked Molly, a little disturbed by this account. - -"No, not changed; and yet not the same. He's as brown as a berry for -one thing; caught a little of the negro tinge, and a beard as fine -and sweeping as my bay-mare's tail." - -"A beard! But go on, papa. Does he talk as he used to do? I should -know his voice amongst ten thousand." - -"I didn't catch any Hottentot twang, if that's what you mean. Nor did -he say, 'Cæsar and Pompey berry much alike, 'specially Pompey,' which -is the only specimen of negro language I can remember just at this -moment." - -"And which I never could see the wit of," said Mrs. Gibson, who had -come into the room after the conversation had begun; and did not -understand what it was aiming at. Molly fidgeted; she wanted to go on -with her questions and keep her father to definite and matter-of-fact -answers, and she knew that when his wife chimed into a conversation, -Mr. Gibson was very apt to find out that he must go about some -necessary piece of business. - -"Tell me, how are they all getting on together?" It was an inquiry -which she did not make in general before Mrs. Gibson, for Molly and -her father had tacitly agreed to keep silence on what they knew or -had observed, respecting the three who formed the present family at -the Hall. - -"Oh!" said Mr. Gibson, "Roger is evidently putting everything to -rights in his firm, quiet way." - -"'Things to rights.' Why, what's wrong?" asked Mrs. Gibson quickly. -"The Squire and the French daughter-in-law don't get on well -together, I suppose? I am always so glad Cynthia acted with the -promptitude she did; it would have been very awkward for her to have -been mixed up with all these complications. Poor Roger! to find -himself supplanted by a child when he comes home!" - -"You were not in the room, my dear, when I was telling Molly of the -reasons for Roger's return; it was to put his brother's child at once -into his rightful and legal place. So now, when he finds the work -partly done to his hands, he is happy and gratified in proportion." - -"Then he is not much affected by Cynthia's breaking off her -engagement?" (Mrs. Gibson could afford to call it an "engagement" -now.) "I never did give him credit for very deep feelings." - -"On the contrary, he feels it very acutely. He and I had a long talk -about it, yesterday." - -Both Molly and Mrs. Gibson would have liked to have heard something -more about this conversation; but Mr. Gibson did not choose to go on -with the subject. The only point which he disclosed was that Roger -had insisted on his right to have a personal interview with Cynthia; -and, on hearing that she was in London at present, had deferred any -further explanation or expostulation by letter, preferring to await -her return. - -Molly went on with her questions on other subjects. "And Mrs. Osborne -Hamley? How is she?" - -"Wonderfully brightened up by Roger's presence. I don't think I've -ever seen her smile before; but she gives him the sweetest smiles -from time to time. They are evidently good friends; and she loses her -strange startled look when she speaks to him. I suspect she has been -quite aware of the Squire's wish that she should return to France; -and has been hard put to it to decide whether to leave her child or -not. The idea that she would have to make some such decision came -upon her when she was completely shattered by grief and illness, and -she hasn't had any one to consult as to her duty until Roger came, -upon whom she has evidently firm reliance. He told me something of -this himself." - -"You seem to have had quite a long conversation with him, papa!" - -"Yes. I was going to see old Abraham, when the Squire called to me -over the hedge, as I was jogging along. He told me the news; and -there was no resisting his invitation to come back and lunch with -them. Besides, one gets a great deal of meaning out of Roger's words; -it didn't take so very long a time to hear this much." - -"I should think he would come and call upon us soon," said Mrs. -Gibson to Molly, "and then we shall see how much we can manage to -hear." - -"Do you think he will, papa?" said Molly, more doubtfully. She -remembered the last time he was in that very room, and the hopes with -which he left it; and she fancied that she could see traces of this -thought in her father's countenance at his wife's speech. - -"I can't tell, my dear. Until he's quite convinced of Cynthia's -intentions, it can't be very pleasant for him to come on mere visits -of ceremony to the house in which he has known her; but he's one who -will always do what he thinks right, whether pleasant or not." - -Mrs. Gibson could hardly wait till her husband had finished his -sentence before she testified against a part of it. - -"'Convinced of Cynthia's intentions!' I should think she had made -them pretty clear! What more does the man want?" - -"He's not as yet convinced that the letter wasn't written in a fit -of temporary feeling. I've told him that this was true; although I -didn't feel it my place to explain to him the causes of that feeling. -He believes that he can induce her to resume the former footing. -I don't; and I've told him so; but, of course, he needs the full -conviction that she alone can give him." - -"Poor Cynthia! My poor child!" said Mrs. Gibson, plaintively. "What -she has exposed herself to by letting herself be over-persuaded by -that man!" - -Mr. Gibson's eyes flashed fire. But he kept his lips tight closed; -and only said, "'That man,' indeed!" quite below his breath. - -Molly, too, had been damped by an expression or two in her father's -speech. "Mere visits of ceremony!" Was it so, indeed? A "mere visit -of ceremony!" Whatever it was, the call was paid before many days -were over. That he felt all the awkwardness of his position towards -Mrs. Gibson--that he was in reality suffering pain all the time--was -but too evident to Molly; but, of course, Mrs. Gibson saw nothing -of this in her gratification at the proper respect paid to her by -one whose name was in the newspapers that chronicled his return, and -about whom already Lord Cumnor and the Towers family had been making -inquiry. - -Molly was sitting in her pretty white invalid's dress, half reading, -half dreaming, for the June air was so clear and ambient, the garden -so full of bloom, the trees so full of leaf, that reading by the open -window was only a pretence at such a time; besides which, Mrs. Gibson -continually interrupted her with remarks about the pattern of her -worsted work. It was after lunch--orthodox calling time, when Maria -ushered in Mr. Roger Hamley. Molly started up; and then stood shyly -and quietly in her place while a bronzed, bearded, grave man came -into the room, in whom she at first had to seek for the merry boyish -face she knew by heart only two years ago. But months in the climates -in which Roger had been travelling age as much as years in more -temperate regions. And constant thought and anxiety while in daily -peril of life deepen the lines of character upon the face. Moreover, -the circumstances that had of late affected him personally were not -of a nature to make him either buoyant or cheerful. But his voice was -the same; that was the first point of the old friend Molly caught, -when he addressed her in a tone far softer than he used in speaking -conventional politenesses to her stepmother. - -"I was so sorry to hear how ill you had been! You are looking but -delicate!" letting his eyes rest upon her face with affectionate -examination. Molly felt herself colour all over with the -consciousness of his regard. To do something to put an end to it, -she looked up, and showed him her beautiful soft grey eyes, which he -never remembered to have noticed before. She smiled at him as she -blushed still deeper, and said,-- - -"Oh! I am quite strong now to what I was. It would be a shame to be -ill when everything is in its full summer beauty." - -"I have heard how deeply we--I am indebted to you--my father can -hardly praise you--" - -"Please don't," said Molly, the tears coming into her eyes in spite -of herself. He seemed to understand her at once; he went on as if -speaking to Mrs. Gibson: "Indeed, my little sister-in-law is never -weary of talking about Monsieur le Docteur, as she calls your -husband!" - -"I have not had the pleasure of making Mrs. Osborne Hamley's -acquaintance yet," said Mrs. Gibson, suddenly aware of a duty which -might have been expected from her, "and I must beg you to apologize -to her for my remissness. But Molly has been such a care and anxiety -to me--for, you know, I look upon her quite as my own child--that -I really have not gone anywhere; excepting to the Towers, perhaps -I should say, which is just like another home to me. And then I -understood that Mrs. Osborne Hamley was thinking of returning to -France before long? Still it was very remiss." - -The little trap thus set for news of what might be going on in the -Hamley family was quite successful. Roger answered her thus:-- - -"I am sure Mrs. Osborne Hamley will be very glad to see any friends -of the family, as soon as she is a little stronger. I hope she will -not go back to France at all. She is an orphan, and I trust we shall -induce her to remain with my father. But at present nothing is -arranged." Then, as if glad to have got over his "visit of ceremony," -he got up and took leave. When he was at the door he looked back, -having, as he thought, a word more to say; but he quite forgot what -it was, for he surprised Molly's intent gaze, and sudden confusion at -discovery, and went away as soon as he could. - -"Poor Osborne was right!" said he. "She has grown into delicate -fragrant beauty, just as he said she would: or is it the character -which has formed her face? Now the next time I enter these doors, it -will be to learn my fate!" - -Mr. Gibson had told his wife of Roger's desire to have a personal -interview with Cynthia, rather with a view to her repeating what he -said to her daughter. He did not see any exact necessity for this, it -is true; but he thought it might be advisable that she should know -all the truth in which she was concerned, and he told his wife this. -But she took the affair into her own management, and, although she -apparently agreed with Mr. Gibson, she never named the affair to -Cynthia; all that she said to her was-- - -"Your old admirer, Roger Hamley, has come home in a great hurry, -in consequence of poor dear Osborne's unexpected decease. He must -have been rather surprised to find the widow and her little boy -established at the Hall. He came to call here the other day, and -made himself really rather agreeable, although his manners are not -improved by the society he has kept on his travels. Still I prophesy -he will be considered as a fashionable 'lion,' and perhaps the very -uncouthness which jars against my sense of refinement, may even -become admired in a scientific traveller, who has been into more -desert places, and eaten more extraordinary food, than any other -Englishman of the day. I suppose he has given up all chance of -inheriting the estate, for I hear he talks of returning to Africa, -and becoming a regular wanderer. Your name was not mentioned, but I -believe he inquired about you from Mr. Gibson." - -"There!" said she to herself, as she folded up and directed her -letter; "that can't disturb her, or make her uncomfortable. And it's -all the truth too, or very near it. Of course he'll want to see her -when she comes back; but by that time I do hope Mr. Henderson will -have proposed again, and that that affair will be all settled." - -But Cynthia returned to Hollingford one Tuesday morning, and in -answer to her mother's anxious inquiries on the subject, would only -say that Mr. Henderson had not offered again. "Why should he? She had -refused him once, and he did not know the reason of her refusal, at -least one of the reasons. She did not know if she should have taken -him if there had been no such person as Roger Hamley in the world. -No! Uncle and aunt Kirkpatrick had never heard anything about Roger's -offer,--nor had her cousins. She had always declared her wish to -keep it a secret, and she had not mentioned it to any one, whatever -other people might have done." Underneath this light and careless -vein there were other feelings; but Mrs. Gibson was not one to -probe beneath the surface. She had set her heart on Mr. Henderson's -marrying Cynthia very early in their acquaintance; and to know, -firstly, that the same wish had entered into his head, and that -Roger's attachment to Cynthia, with its consequences, had been -the obstacle; and secondly, that Cynthia herself with all the -opportunities of propinquity which she had lately had, had failed to -provoke a repetition of the offer,--was, as Mrs. Gibson said, "enough -to provoke a saint." All the rest of the day she alluded to Cynthia -as a disappointing and ungrateful daughter; Molly could not make out -why, and resented it for Cynthia, until the latter said, bitterly, -"Never mind, Molly. Mamma is only vexed because Mr.--because I have -not come back an engaged young lady." - -"Yes; and I am sure you might have done,--there's the ingratitude! I -am not so unjust as to want you to do what you can't do!" said Mrs. -Gibson, querulously. - -"But where's the ingratitude, mamma? I'm very much tired, and perhaps -that makes me stupid; but I cannot see the ingratitude." Cynthia -spoke very wearily, leaning her head back on the sofa-cushions, as if -she did not care to have an answer. - -"Why, don't you see we are doing all we can for you; dressing you -well, and sending you to London; and when you might relieve us of the -expense of all this, you don't." - -"No! Cynthia, I will speak," said Molly, all crimson with -indignation, and pushing away Cynthia's restraining hand. "I am sure -papa does not feel, and does not mind, any expense he incurs about -his daughters. And I know quite well that he does not wish us to -marry, unless--" She faltered and stopped. - -"Unless what?" said Mrs. Gibson, half-mocking. - -"Unless we love some one very dearly indeed," said Molly, in a low, -firm tone. - -"Well, after this tirade--really rather indelicate, I must say--I -have done. I will neither help nor hinder any love-affairs of you two -young ladies. In my days we were glad of the advice of our elders." -And she left the room to put into fulfilment an idea which had just -struck her: to write a confidential letter to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, -giving her her version of Cynthia's "unfortunate entanglement," and -"delicate sense of honour," and hints of her entire indifference -to all the masculine portion of the world, Mr. Henderson being -dexterously excluded from the category. - -"Oh, dear!" said Molly, throwing herself back in a chair, with a sigh -of relief, as Mrs. Gibson left the room; "how cross I do get since -I've been ill! But I couldn't bear her to speak as if papa grudged -you anything." - -"I'm sure he doesn't, Molly. You need not defend him on my account. -But I'm sorry mamma still looks upon me as 'an encumbrance,' as the -advertisements in _The Times_ always call us unfortunate children. -But I've been an encumbrance to her all my life. I'm getting very -much into despair about everything, Molly. I shall try my luck in -Russia. I've heard of a situation as English governess at Moscow, in -a family owning whole provinces of land, and serfs by the hundred. I -put off writing my letter till I came home; I shall be as much out -of the way there as if I was married. Oh, dear! travelling all night -isn't good for the spirits. How is Mr. Preston?" - -"Oh, he has taken Cumnor Grange, three miles away, and he never comes -in to the Hollingford tea-parties now. I saw him once in the street, -but it's a question which of us tried the hardest to get out of the -other's way." - -"You've not said anything about Roger, yet." - -"No; I didn't know if you would care to hear. He is very much -older-looking; quite a strong grown-up man. And papa says he is much -graver. Ask me any questions, if you want to know, but I have only -seen him once." - -"I was in hopes he would have left the neighbourhood by this time. -Mamma said he was going to travel again." - -"I can't tell," said Molly. "I suppose you know," she continued, but -hesitating a little before she spoke, "that he wishes to see you?" - -"No! I never heard. I wish he would have been satisfied with my -letter. It was as decided as I could make it. If I say I won't see -him, I wonder if his will or mine will be the strongest?" - -"His," said Molly. "But you must see him; you owe it to him. He will -never be satisfied without it." - -"Suppose he talks me round into resuming the engagement? I should -only break it off again." - -"Surely you can't be 'talked round' if your mind is made up. But -perhaps it is not really, Cynthia?" asked she, with a little wistful -anxiety betraying itself in her face. - -"It is quite made up. I am going to teach little Russian girls; and -am never going to marry nobody." - -"You are not serious, Cynthia. And yet it is a very serious thing." - -But Cynthia went into one of her wild moods, and no more reason or -sensible meaning was to be got out of her at the time. - - - - -CHAPTER LVI. - -"OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, AND ON WITH THE NEW." - - -The next morning saw Mrs. Gibson in a much more contented frame of -mind. She had written and posted her letter, and the next thing was -to keep Cynthia in what she called a reasonable state, or, in other -words, to try and cajole her into docility. But it was so much labour -lost. Cynthia had already received a letter from Mr. Henderson before -she came down to breakfast,--a declaration of love, a proposal of -marriage as clear as words could make it; together with an intimation -that, unable to wait for the slow delays of the post, he was going -to follow her down to Hollingford, and would arrive at the same time -that she had done herself on the previous day. Cynthia said nothing -about this letter to any one. She came late into the breakfast-room, -after Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had finished the actual business of the -meal; but her unpunctuality was quite accounted for by the fact that -she had been travelling all the night before. Molly was not as yet -strong enough to get up so early. Cynthia hardly spoke, and did not -touch her food. Mr. Gibson went about his daily business, and Cynthia -and her mother were left alone. - -"My dear," said Mrs. Gibson, "you are not eating your breakfast as -you should do. I am afraid our meals seem very plain and homely to -you after those in Hyde Park Street?" - -"No," said Cynthia; "I'm not hungry, that's all." - -"If we were as rich as your uncle, I should feel it to be both a duty -and a pleasure to keep an elegant table; but limited means are a -sad clog to one's wishes. I don't suppose that, work as he will, Mr. -Gibson can earn more than he does at present; while the capabilities -of the law are boundless. Lord Chancellor! Titles as well as -fortune!" - -Cynthia was almost too much absorbed in her own reflections to reply, -but she did say,--"Hundreds of briefless barristers. Take the other -side, mamma." - -"Well; but I have noticed that many of these have private fortunes." - -"Perhaps. Mamma, I expect Mr. Henderson will come and call this -morning." - -"Oh, my precious child! But how do you know? My darling Cynthia, am I -to congratulate you?" - -"No! I suppose I must tell you. I have had a letter this morning from -him, and he's coming down by the 'Umpire' to-day." - -"But he has offered? He surely must mean to offer, at any rate?" - -Cynthia played with her teaspoon before she replied; then she looked -up, like one startled from a dream, and caught the echo of her -mother's question. - -"Offered! yes, I suppose he has." - -"And you accept him? Say 'yes,' Cynthia, and make me happy!" - -"I shan't say 'yes' to make any one happy except myself, and the -Russian scheme has great charms for me." She said this to plague -her mother, and lessen Mrs. Gibson's exuberance of joy, it must be -confessed; for her mind was pretty well made up. But it did not -affect Mrs. Gibson, who affixed even less truth to it than there -really was. The idea of a residence in a new, strange country, among -new, strange people, was not without allurement to Cynthia. - -"You always look nice, dear; but don't you think you had better put -on that pretty lilac silk?" - -"I shall not vary a thread or a shred from what I have got on now." - -"You dear, wilful creature! you know you always look lovely in -whatever you put on." So, kissing her daughter, Mrs. Gibson left the -room, intent on the lunch which should impress Mr. Henderson at once -with an idea of family refinement. - -Cynthia went upstairs to Molly; she was inclined to tell her about -Mr. Henderson, but she found it impossible to introduce the subject -naturally, so she left it to time to reveal the future as gradually -as it might. Molly was tired with a bad night; and her father, in -his flying visit to his darling before going out, had advised her to -stay upstairs for the greater part of the morning, and to keep quiet -in her own room till after her early dinner, so Time had not a fair -chance of telling her what he had in store in his budget. Mrs. Gibson -sent an apology to Molly for not paying her her usual morning visit, -and told Cynthia to give Mr. Henderson's probable coming as a reason -for her occupation downstairs. But Cynthia did no such thing. She -kissed Molly, and sate silently by her, holding her hand; till at -length she jumped up, and said, "You shall be left alone now, little -one. I want you to be very well and very bright this afternoon: so -rest now." And Cynthia left her, and went to her own room, locked the -door, and began to think. - -Some one was thinking about her at the same time, and it was not Mr. -Henderson. Roger had heard from Mr. Gibson that Cynthia had come -home, and he was resolving to go to her at once, and have one strong, -manly attempt to overcome the obstacles whatever they might be--and -of their nature he was not fully aware--that she had conjured up -against the continuance of their relation to each other. He left his -father--he left them all--and went off into the woods, to be alone -until the time came when he might mount his horse and ride over to -put his fate to the touch. He was as careful as ever not to interfere -with the morning hours that were tabooed to him of old; but waiting -was very hard work when he knew that she was so near, and the time so -near at hand. - -Yet he rode slowly, compelling himself to quietness and patience when -he was once really on the way to her. - -"Mrs. Gibson at home? Miss Kirkpatrick?" he asked of the servant, -Maria, who opened the door. She was confused, but he did not notice -it. - -"I think so--I'm not sure! Will you walk up into the drawing-room, -sir? Miss Gibson is there, I know." - -So he went upstairs, all his nerves on the strain for the coming -interview with Cynthia. It was either a relief or a disappointment, -he was not sure which, to find only Molly in the room:--Molly, half -lying on the couch in the bow-window which commanded the garden; -draped in soft white drapery, very white herself, and a laced -half-handkerchief tied over her head to save her from any ill effects -of the air that blew in through the open window. He was so ready to -speak to Cynthia that he hardly knew what to say to any one else. - -"I am afraid you are not so well," he said to Molly, who sat up to -receive him, and who suddenly began to tremble with emotion. - -"I'm a little tired, that's all," said she; and then she was quite -silent, hoping that he might go, and yet somehow wishing him to stay. -But he took a chair and placed it near her, opposite to the window. -He thought that surely Maria would tell Miss Kirkpatrick that she was -wanted, and that at any moment he might hear her light quick footstep -on the stairs. He felt he ought to talk, but he could not think of -anything to say. The pink flush came out on Molly's cheeks; once or -twice she was on the point of speaking, but again she thought better -of it; and the pauses between their faint disjointed remarks became -longer and longer. Suddenly, in one of these pauses, the merry murmur -of distant happy voices in the garden came nearer and nearer; Molly -looked more and more uneasy and flushed, and in spite of herself -kept watching Roger's face. He could see over her into the garden. A -sudden deep colour overspread him, as if his heart had sent its blood -out coursing at full gallop. Cynthia and Mr. Henderson had come in -sight; he eagerly talking to her as he bent forward to look into her -face; she, her looks half averted in pretty shyness, was evidently -coquetting about some flowers, which she either would not give, -or would not take. Just then, for the lovers had emerged from the -shrubbery into comparatively public life, Maria was seen approaching; -apparently she had feminine tact enough to induce Cynthia to leave -her present admirer, and to go a few steps to meet her to receive -the whispered message that Mr. Roger Hamley was there, and wished to -speak to her. Roger could see her startled gesture; she turned back -to say something to Mr. Henderson before coming towards the house. -Now Roger spoke to Molly--spoke hurriedly, spoke hoarsely. - - -[Illustration: CYNTHIA'S LAST LOVER.] - - -"Molly, tell me! Is it too late for me to speak to Cynthia? I came on -purpose. Who is that man?" - -"Mr. Henderson. He only came to-day--but now he is her accepted -lover. Oh, Roger, forgive me the pain!" - -"Tell her I have been, and am gone. Send out word to her. Don't let -her be interrupted." - -And Roger ran downstairs at full speed, and Molly heard the -passionate clang of the outer door. He had hardly left the house -before Cynthia entered the room, pale and resolute. - -"Where is he?" she said, looking around, as if he might yet be -hidden. - -"Gone!" said Molly, very faint. - -"Gone. Oh, what a relief! It seems to be my fate never to be off with -the old lover before I am on with the new, and yet I did write as -decidedly as I could. Why, Molly, what's the matter?" for now Molly -had fainted away utterly. Cynthia flew to the bell, summoned Maria, -water, salts, wine, anything; and as soon as Molly, gasping and -miserable, became conscious again, she wrote a little pencil-note to -Mr. Henderson, bidding him return to the "George," whence he had come -in the morning, and saying that if he obeyed her at once, he might be -allowed to call again in the evening, otherwise she would not see him -till the next day. This she sent down by Maria, and the unlucky man -never believed but that it was Miss Gibson's sudden indisposition in -the first instance that had deprived him of his charmer's company. -He comforted himself for the long solitary afternoon by writing to -tell all his friends of his happiness, and amongst them uncle and -aunt Kirkpatrick, who received his letter by the same post as that -discreet epistle of Mrs. Gibson's, which she had carefully arranged -to reveal as much as she wished, and no more. - -"Was he very terrible?" asked Cynthia, as she sate with Molly in the -stillness of Mrs. Gibson's dressing-room. - -"Oh, Cynthia, it was such pain to see him, he suffered so!" - -"I don't like people of deep feelings," said Cynthia, pouting. "They -don't suit me. Why couldn't he let me go without this fuss? I'm not -worth his caring for!" - -"You have the happy gift of making people love you. Remember Mr. -Preston,--he too wouldn't give up hope." - -"Now I won't have you classing Roger Hamley and Mr. Preston together -in the same sentence. One was as much too bad for me as the other -is too good. Now I hope that man in the garden is the _juste -milieu_,--I'm that myself, for I don't think I'm vicious, and I know -I'm not virtuous." - -"Do you really like him enough to marry him?" asked Molly earnestly. -"Do think, Cynthia. It won't do to go on throwing your lovers off; -you give pain that I'm sure you do not mean to do,--that you cannot -understand." - -"Perhaps I can't. I'm not offended. I never set up for what I am -not, and I know I'm not constant. I've told Mr. Henderson so--" She -stopped, blushing and smiling at the recollection. - -"You have! and what did he say?" - -"That he liked me just as I was; so you see he's fairly warned. Only -he's a little afraid, I suppose,--for he wants me to be married very -soon, almost directly, in fact. But I don't know if I shall give -way,--you hardly saw him, Molly,--but he's coming again to-night, and -mind, I'll never forgive you if you don't think him very charming. -I believe I cared for him when he offered all those months ago, but -I tried to think I didn't; only sometimes I really was so unhappy, -I thought I must put an iron band round my heart to keep it from -breaking, like the Faithful John of the German story,--do you -remember, Molly?--how when his master came to his crown and his -fortune and his lady-love, after innumerable trials and disgraces, -and was driving away from the church where he'd been married in a -coach and six, with Faithful John behind, the happy couple heard -three great cracks in succession, and on inquiring, they were the -iron-bands round his heart, that Faithful John had worn all during -the time of his master's tribulation, to keep it from breaking." - -In the evening Mr. Henderson came. Molly had been very curious to see -him; and when she saw him she was not sure whether she liked him or -not. He was handsome, without being conceited; gentlemanly, without -being foolishly fine. He talked easily, and never said a silly thing. -He was perfectly well-appointed, yet never seemed to have given a -thought to his dress. He was good-tempered and kind; not without some -of the cheerful flippancy of repartee which belonged to his age and -profession, and which his age and profession are apt to take for -wit. But he wanted something in Molly's eyes--at any rate, in this -first interview, and in her heart of hearts she thought him rather -commonplace. But of course she said nothing of this to Cynthia, who -was evidently as happy as she could be. Mrs. Gibson, too, was in -the seventh heaven of ecstasy, and spoke but little; but what she -did say, expressed the highest sentiments in the finest language. -Mr. Gibson was not with them for long, but while he was there he -was evidently studying the unconscious Mr. Henderson with his dark -penetrating eyes. Mr. Henderson behaved exactly as he ought to have -done to everybody: respectful to Mr. Gibson, deferential to Mrs. -Gibson, friendly to Molly, devoted to Cynthia. - -The next time Mr. Gibson found Molly alone, he began,--"Well! and how -do you like the new relation that is to be?" - -"It's difficult to say. I think he's very nice in all his bits, -but--rather dull on the whole." - -"I think him perfection," said Mr. Gibson, to Molly's surprise; -but in an instant afterwards she saw that he had been speaking -ironically. He went on. "I don't wonder she preferred him to Roger -Hamley. Such scents! such gloves! And then his hair and his cravat!" - -"Now, papa, you're not fair. He is a great deal more than that. One -could see that he had very good feeling; and he is very handsome, and -very much attached to her." - -"So was Roger. However, I must confess I shall be only too glad to -have her married. She's a girl who'll always have some love-affair on -hand, and will always be apt to slip through a man's fingers if he -doesn't look sharp; as I was saying to Roger--" - -"You have seen him, then, since he was here?" - -"Met him in the street." - -"How was he?" - -"I don't suppose he'd been going through the pleasantest thing in -the world; but he'll get over it before long. He spoke with sense -and resignation, and didn't say much about it; but one could see -that he was feeling it pretty sharply. He's had three months to -think it over, remember. The Squire, I should guess, is showing more -indignation. He is boiling over, that any one should reject his son! -The enormity of the sin never seems to have been apparent to him -till now, when he sees how Roger is affected by it. Indeed, with the -exception of myself, I don't know one reasonable father; eh, Molly?" - -Whatever else Mr. Henderson might be, he was an impatient lover; he -wanted to marry Cynthia directly--next week--the week after; at any -rate before the long vacation, so that they could go abroad at once. -Trousseaux, and preliminary ceremonies, he gave to the winds. Mr. -Gibson, generous as usual, called Cynthia aside a morning or two -after her engagement, and put a hundred-pound note into her hands. - -"There! that's to pay your expenses to Russia and back. I hope you'll -find your pupils obedient." - -To his surprise, and rather to his discomfiture, Cynthia threw her -arms round his neck and kissed him. - -"You are the kindest person I know," said she; "and I don't know how -to thank you in words." - -"If you tumble my shirt-collars again in that way, I'll charge you -for the washing. Just now, too, when I'm trying so hard to be trim -and elegant, like your Mr. Henderson." - -"But you do like him, don't you?" said Cynthia, pleadingly. "He does -so like you." - -"Of course. We're all angels just now, and you're an arch-angel. I -hope he'll wear as well as Roger." - -Cynthia looked grave. "That was a very silly affair," she said. "We -were two as unsuitable people--" - -"It has ended, and that's enough. Besides, I've no more time to -waste; and there's your smart young man coming here in all haste." - -Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick sent all manner of congratulations; and -Mrs. Gibson, in a private letter, assured Mrs. Kirkpatrick that -her ill-timed confidence about Roger should be considered as quite -private. For as soon as Mr. Henderson had made his appearance in -Hollingford, she had written a second letter, entreating them not to -allude to anything she might have said in her first; which she said -was written in such excitement on discovering the real state of her -daughter's affections, that she had hardly known what she had said, -and had exaggerated some things, and misunderstood others: all -that she did know now was, that Mr. Henderson had just proposed to -Cynthia, and was accepted, and that they were as happy as the day -was long, and ("excuse the vanity of a mother,") made a most lovely -couple. So Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick wrote back an equally agreeable -letter, praising Mr. Henderson, admiring Cynthia, and generally -congratulatory; insisting into the bargain that the marriage should -take place from their house in Hyde Park Street, and that Mr. and -Mrs. Gibson and Molly should all come up and pay them a visit. There -was a little postscript at the end. "Surely you do not mean the -famous traveller, Hamley, about whose discoveries all our scientific -men are so much excited. You speak of him as a young Hamley, who went -to Africa. Answer this question, pray, for Helen is most anxious to -know." This P.S. being in Helen's handwriting. In her exultation -at the general success of everything, and desire for sympathy, Mrs. -Gibson read parts of this letter to Molly; the postscript among the -rest. It made a deeper impression on Molly than even the proposed -kindness of the visit to London. - -There were some family consultations; but the end of them all was -that the Kirkpatrick invitation was accepted. There were many small -reasons for this, which were openly acknowledged; but there was -one general and unspoken wish to have the ceremony performed out -of the immediate neighbourhood of the two men whom Cynthia had -previously--rejected; that was the word now to be applied to her -treatment of them. So Molly was ordered and enjoined and entreated -to become strong as soon as possible, in order that her health might -not prevent her attending the marriage; Mr. Gibson himself, though he -thought it his duty to damp the exultant anticipations of his wife -and her daughter, being not at all averse to the prospect of going -to London, and seeing half-a-dozen old friends, and many scientific -exhibitions, independently of the very fair amount of liking which he -had for his host, Mr. Kirkpatrick himself. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII. - -BRIDAL VISITS AND ADIEUX. - - -The whole town of Hollingford came to congratulate and inquire into -particulars. Some indeed--Mrs. Goodenough at the head of this class -of malcontents--thought that they were defrauded of their right to -a fine show by Cynthia's being married in London. Even Lady Cumnor -was moved into action. She, who had hardly ever paid calls "out of -her own sphere," who had only once been to see "Clare" in her own -house--she came to congratulate after her fashion. Maria had only -just time to run up into the drawing-room one morning, and say,-- - -"Please, ma'am, the great carriage from the Towers is coming up to -the gate, and my lady the Countess is sitting inside." It was but -eleven o'clock, and Mrs. Gibson would have been indignant at any -commoner who had ventured to call at such an untimely hour, but in -the case of the Peerage the rules of domestic morality were relaxed. - -The family "stood at arms," as it were, till Lady Cumnor appeared in -the drawing-room; and then she had to be settled in the best chair, -and the light adjusted before anything like conversation began. She -was the first to speak; and Lady Harriet, who had begun a few words -to Molly, dropped into silence. - -"I have been taking Mary--Lady Cuxhaven--to the railway station on -this new line between Birmingham and London, and I thought I would -come on here, and offer you my congratulations. Clare, which is -the young lady?"--putting up her glasses, and looking at Cynthia -and Molly, who were dressed pretty much alike. "I did not think it -would be amiss to give you a little advice, my dear," said she, when -Cynthia had been properly pointed out to her as bride elect. "I -have heard a good deal about you; and I am only too glad, for your -mother's sake,--your mother is a very worthy woman, and did her duty -very well while she was in our family--I am truly rejoiced, I say, -to hear that you are going to make so creditable a marriage. I hope -it will efface your former errors of conduct--which, we will hope, -were but trivial in reality--and that you will live to be a comfort -to your mother,--for whom both Lord Cumnor and I entertain a very -sincere regard. But you must conduct yourself with discretion in -whatever state of life it pleases God to place you, whether married -or single. You must reverence your husband, and conform to his -opinion in all things. Look up to him as your head, and do nothing -without consulting him."--It was as well that Lord Cumnor was -not amongst the audience; or he might have compared precept with -practice.--"Keep strict accounts; and remember your station in life. -I understand that Mr.--" looking about for some help as to the name -she had forgotten--"Anderson--Henderson is in the law. Although there -is a general prejudice against attorneys, I have known of two or -three who were very respectable men; and I am sure Mr. Henderson is -one, or your good mother and our old friend Gibson would not have -sanctioned the engagement." - -"He is a barrister," put in Cynthia, unable to restrain herself any -longer. "Barrister-at-law." - -"Ah, yes. Attorney-at-law. Barrister-at-law. I understand without -your speaking so loud, my dear. What was I going to say before you -interrupted me? When you have been a little in society you will find -that it is reckoned bad manners to interrupt. I had a great deal more -to say to you, and you have put it all out of my head. There was -something else your father wanted me to ask--what was it, Harriet?" - -"I suppose you mean about Mr. Hamley?" - -"Oh, yes! we are intending to have the house full of Lord -Hollingford's friends next month, and Lord Cumnor is particularly -anxious to secure Mr. Hamley." - -"The Squire?" asked Mrs. Gibson in some surprise. Lady Cumnor bowed -slightly, as much as to say, "If you did not interrupt me I should -explain." - -"The famous traveller--the scientific Mr. Hamley, I mean. I imagine -he is son to the Squire. Lord Hollingford knows him well; but when we -asked him before, he declined coming, and assigned no reason." - -Had Roger indeed been asked to the Towers and declined? Mrs. Gibson -could not understand it. Lady Cumnor went on-- - -"Now this time we are particularly anxious to secure him, and my -son Lord Hollingford will not return to England until the very week -before the Duke of Atherstone is coming to us. I believe Mr. Gibson -is very intimate with Mr. Hamley; do you think he could induce him to -favour us with his company?" - -And this from the proud Lady Cumnor; and the object of it Roger -Hamley, whom she had all but turned out of her drawing-room two years -ago for calling at an untimely hour; and whom Cynthia had turned out -of her heart. Mrs. Gibson was surprised, and could only murmur out -that she was sure Mr. Gibson would do all that her ladyship wished. - -"Thank you. You know me well enough to be aware that I am not the -person, nor is the Towers the house, to go about soliciting guests. -But in this instance I bend my head; high rank should always be the -first to honour those who have distinguished themselves by art or -science." - -"Besides, mamma," said Lady Harriet, "papa was saying that the -Hamleys have been on their land since before the Conquest; while we -only came into the county a century ago; and there is a tale that -the first Cumnor began his fortune through selling tobacco in King -James's reign." - -If Lady Cumnor did not exactly shift her trumpet and take snuff -there on the spot, she behaved in an equivalent manner. She began -a low-toned but nevertheless authoritative conversation with Clare -about the details of the wedding, which lasted until she thought it -fit to go, when she abruptly plucked Lady Harriet up, and carried -her off in the very midst of a description she was giving to Cynthia -about the delights of Spa, which was to be one of the resting-places -of the newly-married couple on their wedding-tour. - -Nevertheless she prepared a handsome present for the bride: a Bible -and a Prayer-book bound in velvet with silver-clasps; and also a -collection of household account-books, at the beginning of which Lady -Cumnor wrote down with her own hand the proper weekly allowance of -bread, butter, eggs, meat, and groceries per head, with the London -prices of the articles, so that the most inexperienced housekeeper -might ascertain whether her expenditure exceeded her means, as she -expressed herself in the note which she sent with the handsome, dull -present. - -"If you are driving into Hollingford, Harriet, perhaps you will take -these books to Miss Kirkpatrick," said Lady Cumnor, after she had -sealed her note with all the straightness and correctness befitting -a countess of her immaculate character. "I understand they are -all going up to London to-morrow for this wedding, in spite of -what I said to Clare of the duty of being married in one's own -parish-church. She told me at the time that she entirely agreed -with me, but that her husband had such a strong wish for a visit to -London, that she did not know how she could oppose him consistently -with her wifely duty. I advised her to repeat to him my reasons for -thinking that they would be ill-advised to have the marriage in town; -but I am afraid she has been overruled. That was her one great fault -when she lived with us; she was always so yielding, and never knew -how to say 'No.'" - -"Mamma!" said Lady Harriet, with a little sly coaxing in her tone. -"Do you think you would have been so fond of her, if she had opposed -you, and said 'No,' when you wished her to say 'Yes?'" - -"To be sure I should, my dear. I like everybody to have an opinion of -their own; only when my opinions are based on thought and experience, -which few people have had equal opportunities of acquiring, I think -it is but proper deference in others to allow themselves to be -convinced. In fact, I think it is only obstinacy which keeps them -from acknowledging that they are. I am not a despot, I hope?" she -asked, with some anxiety. - -"If you are, dear mamma," said Lady Harriet, kissing the stern -uplifted face very fondly, "I like a despotism better than a -republic, and I must be very despotic over my ponies, for it's -already getting very late for my drive round by Ash-holt." - -But when she arrived at the Gibsons', she was detained so long there -by the state of the family, that she had to give up her going to -Ash-holt. - -Molly was sitting in the drawing-room pale and trembling, and keeping -herself quiet only by a strong effort. She was the only person there -when Lady Harriet entered: the room was all in disorder, strewed with -presents and paper, and pasteboard boxes, and half-displayed articles -of finery. - -"You look like Marius sitting amidst the ruins of Carthage, my dear! -What's the matter? Why have you got on that wobegone face? This -marriage isn't broken off, is it? Though nothing would surprise me -where the beautiful Cynthia is concerned." - -"Oh, no! that's all right. But I have caught a fresh cold, and papa -says he thinks I had better not go to the wedding." - -"Poor little one! And it's the first visit to London too!" - -"Yes. But what I most care for is the not being with Cynthia to -the last; and then, papa"--she stopped, for she could hardly go -on without open crying, and she did not want to do that. Then she -cleared her voice. "Papa," she continued, "has so looked forward to -this holiday,--and seeing--and--, and going--oh! I can't tell you -where; but he has quite a list of people and sights to be seen,--and -now he says he should not be comfortable to leave me all alone for -more than three days,--two for travelling, and one for the wedding." -Just then Mrs. Gibson came in, ruffled too after her fashion, though -the presence of Lady Harriet was wonderfully smoothing. - -"My dear Lady Harriet--how kind of you! Ah, yes, I see this poor -unfortunate child has been telling you of her ill-luck; just when -everything was going on so beautifully; I'm sure it was that open -window at your back, Molly,--you know you would persist that it could -do you no harm, and now you see the mischief! I'm sure I shan't be -able to enjoy myself--and at my only child's wedding too--without -you; for I can't think of leaving you without Maria. I would rather -sacrifice anything myself than think of you, uncared for, and dismal -at home." - -"I am sure Molly is as sorry as any one," said Lady Harriet. - -"No. I don't think she is," said Mrs. Gibson, with happy disregard of -the chronology of events, "or she would not have sate with her back -to an open window the day before yesterday, when I told her not. But -it can't be helped now. Papa too--but it is my duty to make the best -of everything, and look at the cheerful side of life. I wish I could -persuade her to do the same" (turning and addressing Lady Harriet). -"But, you see, it is a great mortification to a girl of her age to -lose her first visit to London." - -"It is not that," began Molly; but Lady Harriet made her a little -sign to be silent while she herself spoke. - -"Now, Clare! you and I can manage it all, I think, if you will but -help me in a plan I've got in my head. Mr. Gibson shall stay as long -as ever he can in London; and Molly shall be well cared for, and have -some change of air and scene too, which is really what she needs -as much as anything, in my poor opinion. I can't spirit her to the -wedding and give her a sight of London; but I can carry her off to -the Towers, and nurse her myself; and send daily bulletins up to -London, so that Mr. Gibson may feel quite at ease, and stay with you -as long as you like. What do you say to it, Clare?" - -"Oh, I could not go," said Molly; "I should only be a trouble to -everybody." - -"Nobody asked you for your opinion, little one. If we wise elders -decide that you are to go, you must submit in silence." - -Meanwhile Mrs. Gibson was rapidly balancing advantages and -disadvantages. Amongst the latter, jealousy came in predominant. -Amongst the former,--it would sound well; Maria could then accompany -Cynthia and herself as "their maid;" Mr. Gibson would stay longer -with her, and it was always desirable to have a man at her beck and -call in such a place as London; besides that, this identical man was -gentlemanly and good-looking, and a favourite with her prosperous -brother-in-law. The "ayes" had it. - -"What a charming plan! I cannot think of anything kinder or -pleasanter for this poor darling. Only--what will Lady Cumnor say? I -am modest for my family as much as for myself. She won't--" - -"You know mamma's sense of hospitality is never more gratified than -when the house is quite full; and papa is just like her. Besides, she -is fond of you, and grateful to our good Mr. Gibson, and will be fond -of you, little one, when she knows you as I do." - -Molly's heart sank within her at the prospect. Except on the one -evening of her father's wedding-day, she had never even seen the -outside of the Towers since that unlucky day in her childhood -when she had fallen asleep on Clare's bed. She had a dread of the -countess, a dislike to the house; only it seemed as if it was a -solution to the problem of what to do with her, which had been -perplexing every one all morning, and so evidently that it had -caused her much distress. She kept silence, though her lips quivered -from time to time. Oh, if Miss Brownings had not chosen this very -time of all others to pay their monthly visit to Miss Hornblower! -If she could only have gone there, and lived with them in their -quaint, quiet, primitive way, instead of having to listen, without -remonstrance, to hearing plans discussed about her, as if she was an -inanimate chattel! - -"She shall have the south pink room, opening out of mine by one door, -you remember; and the dressing-room shall be made into a cosy little -sitting-room for her, in case she likes to be by herself. Parkes -shall attend upon her, and I'm sure Mr. Gibson must know Parkes's -powers as a nurse by this time. We shall have all manner of agreeable -people in the house to amuse her downstairs; and when she has got rid -of this access of cold, I will drive her out every day, and write -daily bulletins, as I said. Pray tell Mr. Gibson all that, and let it -be considered as settled. I will come for her in the close carriage -to-morrow, at eleven. And now may I see the lovely bride-elect, and -give her mamma's present, and my own good wishes?" - -So Cynthia came in, and demurely received the very proper present, -and the equally correct congratulations, without testifying any very -great delight or gratitude at either; for she was quite quick enough -to detect there was no great afflux of affection accompanying either. -But when she heard her mother quickly recapitulating all the details -of the plan for Molly, Cynthia's eyes did sparkle with gladness; and -almost to Lady Harriet's surprise, she thanked her as if she had -conferred a personal favour upon her, Cynthia. Lady Harriet saw, -too, that in a very quiet way, she had taken Molly's hand, and was -holding it all the time, as if loth to think of their approaching -separation--somehow, she and Lady Harriet were brought nearer -together by this little action than they had ever been before. - -If Molly had hoped that her father might have raised some obstacles -to the project, she was disappointed. But, indeed, she was satisfied -when she perceived how he seemed to feel that, by placing her under -the care of Lady Harriet and Parkes, he should be relieved from -anxiety; and how he spoke of this change of air and scene as being -the very thing he had been wishing to secure for her; country air, -and absence of excitement as this would be; for the only other place -where he could have secured her these advantages, and at the same -time sent her as an invalid, was to Hamley Hall; and he dreaded the -associations there with the beginning of her present illness. - -So Molly was driven off in state the next day, leaving her own home -all in confusion with the assemblage of boxes and trunks in the hall, -and all the other symptoms of the approaching departure of the family -for London and the wedding. All the morning Cynthia had been with -her in her room, attending to the arrangement of Molly's clothes, -instructing her what to wear with what, and rejoicing over the pretty -smartnesses, which, having been prepared for her as bridesmaid, were -now to serve as adornments for her visit to the Towers. Both Molly -and Cynthia spoke about dress as if it was the very object of their -lives; for each dreaded the introduction of more serious subjects; -Cynthia more for Molly than herself. Only when the carriage was -announced, and Molly was preparing to go downstairs, Cynthia said,-- - -"I am not going to thank you, Molly, or to tell you how I love you." - -"Don't," said Molly, "I can't bear it." - -"Only you know you are to be my first visitor, and if you wear brown -ribbons to a green gown, I'll turn you out of the house!" So they -parted. Mr. Gibson was there in the hall to hand Molly in. He had -ridden hard; and was now giving her two or three last injunctions as -to her health. - -"Think of us on Thursday," said he. "I declare I don't know which of -her three lovers she mayn't summon at the very last moment to act the -part of bridegroom. I'm determined to be surprised at nothing; and -will give her away with a good grace to whoever comes." - -They drove away, and until they were out of sight of the house, Molly -had enough to do to keep returning the kisses of the hand wafted to -her by her stepmother out of the drawing-room window, while at the -same time her eyes were fixed on a white handkerchief fluttering out -of the attic from which she herself had watched Roger's departure -nearly two years before. What changes time had brought! - -When Molly arrived at the Towers she was convoyed into Lady Cumnor's -presence by Lady Harriet. It was a mark of respect to the lady of the -house, which the latter knew that her mother would expect; but she -was anxious to get it over, and take Molly up into the room which she -had been so busy arranging for her. Lady Cumnor was, however, very -kind, if not positively gracious. - -"You are Lady Harriet's visitor, my dear," said she, "and I hope she -will take good care of you. If not, come and complain of her to me." -It was as near an approach to a joke as Lady Cumnor ever perpetrated, -and from it Lady Harriet knew that her mother was pleased by Molly's -manners and appearance. - -"Now, here you are in your own kingdom; and into this room I shan't -venture to come without express permission. Here is the last new -_Quarterly_, and the last new novel, and the last new Essays. Now, my -dear, you needn't come down again to-day unless you like it. Parkes -shall bring you everything and anything you want. You must get strong -as fast as you can, for all sorts of great and famous people are -coming to-morrow and the next day, and I think you'll like to see -them. Suppose for to-day you only come down to lunch, and if you -like it, in the evening. Dinner is such a wearily long meal, if one -isn't strong; and you wouldn't miss much, for there's only my cousin -Charles in the house now, and he is the personification of sensible -silence." - -Molly was only too glad to allow Lady Harriet to decide everything -for her. It had begun to rain, and was altogether a gloomy day for -August; and there was a small fire of scented wood burning cheerfully -in the sitting-room appropriated to her. High up, it commanded a -wide and pleasant view over the park, and from it could be seen the -spire of Hollingford Church, which gave Molly a pleasant idea of -neighbourhood to home. She was left alone, lying on the sofa--books -near her, wood crackling and blazing, wafts of wind bringing the -beating rain against the window, and so enhancing the sense of indoor -comfort by the outdoor contrast. Parkes was unpacking for her. Lady -Harriet had introduced Parkes to Molly by saying, "Now, Molly, this -is Mrs. Parkes, the only person I am ever afraid of. She scolds me if -I dirty myself with my paints, just as if I was a little child; and -she makes me go to bed when I want to sit up,"--Parkes was smiling -grimly all the time;--"so to get rid of her tyranny I give her you as -victim. Parkes, rule over Miss Gibson with a rod of iron; make her -eat and drink, and rest and sleep, and dress as you think wisest and -best." - -Parkes had begun her reign by putting Molly on the sofa, and saying, -"If you will give me your keys, Miss, I will unpack your things, and -let you know when it is time for me to arrange your hair, preparatory -to luncheon." For if Lady Harriet used familiar colloquialisms from -time to time, she certainly had not learnt it from Parkes, who piqued -herself on the correctness of her language. - -When Molly went down to lunch she found "cousin Charles," with his -aunt, Lady Cumnor. He was a certain Sir Charles Morton, the son of -Lady Cumnor's only sister: a plain, sandy-haired man of thirty-five -or so; immensely rich, very sensible, awkward, and reserved. He had -had a chronic attachment, of many years' standing, to his cousin, -Lady Harriet, who did not care for him in the least, although it -was the marriage very earnestly desired for her by her mother. Lady -Harriet was, however, on friendly terms with him, ordered him about, -and told him what to do, and what to leave undone, without having -even a doubt as to the willingness of his obedience. She had given -him his cue about Molly. - -"Now, Charles, the girl wants to be interested and amused without -having to take any trouble for herself; she is too delicate to be -very active either in mind or body. Just look after her when the -house gets full, and place her where she can hear and see everything -and everybody, without any fuss and responsibility." - -So Sir Charles began this day at luncheon by taking Molly under his -quiet protection. He did not say much to her; but what he did say was -thoroughly friendly and sympathetic; and Molly began, as he and Lady -Harriet intended that she should, to have a kind of pleasant reliance -upon him. Then in the evening while the rest of the family were at -dinner--after Molly's tea and hour of quiet repose, Parkes came and -dressed her in some of the new clothes prepared for the Kirkpatrick -visit, and did her hair in some new and pretty way, so that when -Molly looked at herself in the cheval-glass, she scarcely knew the -elegant reflection to be that of herself. She was fetched down by -Lady Harriet into the great long formidable drawing-room, which as -an interminable place of pacing, had haunted her dreams ever since -her childhood. At the further end sat Lady Cumnor at her tapestry -work; the light of fire and candle seemed all concentrated on that -one bright part where presently Lady Harriet made tea, and Lord -Cumnor went to sleep, and Sir Charles read passages aloud from the -_Edinburgh Review_ to the three ladies at their work. - -When Molly went to bed she was constrained to admit that staying at -the Towers as a visitor was rather pleasant than otherwise; and she -tried to reconcile old impressions with new ones, until she fell -asleep. There was another comparatively quiet day before the expected -guests began to arrive in the evening. Lady Harriet took Molly a -drive in her little pony-carriage; and for the first time for many -weeks Molly began to feel the delightful spring of returning health; -the dance of youthful spirits in the fresh air cleared by the -previous day's rain. - - - - -CHAPTER LVIII. - -REVIVING HOPES AND BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS. - - -"If you can without fatigue, dear, do come down to dinner to-day; -you'll then see the people one by one as they appear, instead of -having to encounter a crowd of strangers. Hollingford will be here -too. I hope you'll find it pleasant." - -So Molly made her appearance at dinner that day; and got to know, by -sight at least, some of the most distinguished of the visitors at the -Towers. The next day was Thursday, Cynthia's wedding-day; bright and -fine in the country, whatever it might be in London. And there were -several letters from the home-people awaiting Molly when she came -downstairs to the late breakfast. For, every day, every hour, she was -gaining strength and health, and she was unwilling to continue her -invalid habits any longer than was necessary. She looked so much -better that Sir Charles noticed it to Lady Harriet; and several of -the visitors spoke of her this morning as a very pretty, lady-like, -and graceful girl. This was Thursday; on Friday, as Lady Harriet had -told her, some visitors from the more immediate neighbourhood were -expected to stay over the Sunday; but she had not mentioned their -names, and when Molly went down into the drawing-room before dinner, -she was almost startled by perceiving Roger Hamley in the centre of -a group of gentlemen, who were all talking together eagerly, and, as -it seemed to her, making him the object of their attention. He made -a hitch in his conversation, lost the precise meaning of a question -addressed to him, answered it rather hastily, and made his way -to where Molly was sitting, a little behind Lady Harriet. He had -heard that she was staying at the Towers, but he was almost as much -surprised by hers, as she was by his unexpected appearance, for he -had only seen her once or twice since his return from Africa, and -then in the guise of an invalid. Now in her pretty evening dress, -with her hair beautifully dressed, her delicate complexion flushed a -little with timidity, yet her movements and manners bespeaking quiet -ease, Roger hardly recognized her, although he acknowledged her -identity. He began to feel that admiring deference which most young -men experience when conversing with a very pretty girl: a sort of -desire to obtain her good opinion in a manner very different to his -old familiar friendliness. He was annoyed when Sir Charles, whose -especial charge she still was, came up to take her in to dinner. He -could not quite understand the smile of mutual intelligence that -passed between the two, each being aware of Lady Harriet's plan -of sheltering Molly from the necessity of talking, and acting in -conformity with her wishes as much as with their own. Roger found -himself puzzling, and watching them from time to time during -dinner. Again in the evening he sought her out, but found her again -pre-occupied with one of the young men staying in the house, who had -had the advantage of two days of mutual interest, and acquaintance -with the daily events and jokes and anxieties of the family circle. -Molly could not help wishing to break off all this trivial talk and -to make room for Roger: she had so much to ask him about everything -at the Hall; he was, and had been such a stranger to them all for -these last two months, and more. But though each wanted to speak to -the other more than to any one else in the room, it so happened that -everything seemed to conspire to prevent it. Lord Hollingford carried -off Roger to the cluster of middle-aged men; he was wanted to give -his opinion upon some scientific subject. Mr. Ernulphus Watson, -the young man referred to above, kept his place by Molly, as the -prettiest girl in the room, and almost dazed her by his never-ceasing -flow of clever small-talk. She looked so tired and pale at last that -the ever-watchful Lady Harriet sent Sir Charles to the rescue, and -after a few words with Lady Harriet, Roger saw Molly quietly leave -the room; and a sentence or two which he heard Lady Harriet address -to her cousin made him know that it was for the night. Those -sentences might bear another interpretation than the obvious one. - -"Really, Charles, considering that she is in your charge, I think you -might have saved her from the chatter and patter of Mr. Watson; I can -only stand it when I am in the strongest health." - -Why was Molly in Sir Charles's charge? why? Then Roger remembered -many little things that might serve to confirm the fancy he had got -into his head; and he went to bed puzzled and annoyed. It seemed -to him such an incongruous, hastily-got-up sort of engagement, if -engagement it really was. On Saturday they were more fortunate: they -had a long _tête-à-tête_ in the most public place in the house--on a -sofa in the hall where Molly was resting at Lady Harriet's command -before going upstairs after a walk. Roger was passing through, and -saw her, and came to her. Standing before her, and making pretence of -playing with the gold-fish in a great marble basin close at hand,-- - -"I was very unlucky," said he. "I wanted to get near you last night, -but it was quite impossible. You were so busy talking to Mr. Watson, -until Sir Charles Morton came and carried you off--with such an air -of authority! Have you known him long?" - -Now this was not at all the manner in which Roger had pre-determined -that he would speak of Sir Charles to Molly; but the words came out -in spite of himself. - -"No! not long. I never saw him before I came here--on Tuesday. But -Lady Harriet told him to see that I did not get tired, for I wanted -to come down; but you know I have not been strong. He is a cousin of -Lady Harriet's, and does all she tells him to do." - -"Oh! he is not handsome; but I believe he is a very sensible man." - -"Yes! I should think so. He is so silent though, that I can hardly -judge." - -"He bears a very high character in the county," said Roger, willing -now to give him his full due. - -Molly stood up. - -"I must go upstairs," she said; "I only sate down here for a minute -or two because Lady Harriet bade me." - -"Stop a little longer," said he. "This is really the pleasantest -place; this basin of water-lilies gives one the idea, if not the -sensation, of coolness; besides--it seems so long since I saw you, -and I have a message from my father to give you. He is very angry -with you." - -"Angry with me?" said Molly in surprise. - -"Yes! He heard that you had come here for change of air; and he was -offended that you hadn't come to us--to the Hall, instead. He said -that you should have remembered old friends!" - -Molly took all this quite gravely, and did not at first notice the -smile on his face. - -"Oh! I am so sorry!" said she. "But will you please tell him how it -all happened. Lady Harriet called the very day when it was settled -that I was not to go to--" Cynthia's wedding, she was going to add, -but she suddenly stopped short, and, blushing deeply, changed the -expression, "go to London, and she planned it all in a minute, and -convinced mamma and papa, and had her own way. There was really no -resisting her." - -"I think you will have to tell all this to my father yourself if you -mean to make your peace. Why can you not come on to the Hall when you -leave the Towers?" - -To go in the cool manner suggested from one house to another, after -the manner of a royal progress, was not at all according to Molly's -primitive home-keeping notions. She made answer,-- - -"I should like it very much, some time. But I must go home first. -They will want me more than ever now--" - -Again she felt herself touching on a sore subject, and stopped short. -Roger became annoyed at her so constantly conjecturing what he must -be feeling on the subject of Cynthia's marriage. With sympathetic -perception she had discerned that the idea must give him pain; and -perhaps she also knew that he would dislike to show the pain; but she -had not the presence of mind or ready wit to give a skilful turn to -the conversation. All this annoyed Roger, he could hardly tell why. -He determined to take the metaphorical bull by the horns. Until that -was done, his footing with Molly would always be insecure; as it -always is between two friends, who mutually avoid a subject to which -their thoughts perpetually recur. - -"Ah, yes!" said he. "Of course you must be of double importance now -Miss Kirkpatrick has left you. I saw her marriage in _The Times_ -yesterday." - -His tone of voice was changed in speaking of her, but her name had -been named between them, and that was the great thing to accomplish. - -"Still," he continued, "I think I must urge my father's claim for a -short visit, and all the more, because I can really see the apparent -improvement in your health since I came,--only yesterday. Besides, -Molly," it was the old familiar Roger of former days who spoke now, -"I think you could help us at home. Aimée is shy and awkward with my -father, and he has never taken quite kindly to her,--yet I know they -would like and value each other, if some one could but bring them -together,--and it would be such a comfort to me if this could take -place before I have to leave." - -"To leave--are you going away again?" - -"Yes. Have you not heard? I didn't complete my engagement. I'm going -again in September for six months." - -"I remember. But somehow I fancied--you seemed to have settled down -into the old ways at the Hall." - -"So my father appears to think. But it is not likely I shall ever -make it my home again; and that is partly the reason why I want my -father to adopt the notion of Aimée's living with him. Ah, here are -all the people coming back from their walk. However, I shall see you -again; perhaps this afternoon we may get a little quiet time, for I -have a great deal to consult you about." - -They separated then, and Molly went upstairs very happy, very full -and warm at her heart; it was so pleasant to have Roger talking to -her in this way, like a friend; she had once thought that she could -never look upon the great brown-bearded celebrity in the former light -of almost brotherly intimacy, but now it was all coming right. There -was no opportunity for renewed confidences that afternoon. Molly went -a quiet decorous drive as fourth with two dowagers and one spinster; -but it was very pleasant to think that she should see him again at -dinner, and again to-morrow. On the Sunday evening, as they all were -sitting and loitering on the lawn before dinner, Roger went on with -what he had to say about the position of his sister-in-law in his -father's house: the mutual bond between the mother and grandfather -being the child; who was also, through jealousy, the bone of -contention and the severance. There were many little details to be -given in order to make Molly quite understand the difficulty of the -situations on both sides; and the young man and the girl became -absorbed in what they were talking about, and wandered away into the -shade of the long avenue. Lady Harriet separated herself from a group -and came up to Lord Hollingford, who was sauntering a little apart, -and putting her arm within his with the familiarity of a favourite -sister, she said,-- - -"Don't you think that your pattern young man, and my favourite young -woman, are finding out each other's good qualities?" - -He had not been observing as she had been. - -"Who do you mean?" said he. - -"Look along the avenue; who are those?" - -"Mr. Hamley and--is it not Miss Gibson? I can't quite make out. Oh! -if you're letting your fancy run off in that direction, I can tell -you it's quite waste of time. Roger Hamley is a man who will soon -have an European reputation!" - -"That's very possible, and yet it doesn't make any difference in my -opinion. Molly Gibson is capable of appreciating him." - -"She is a very pretty, good little country-girl. I don't mean to say -anything against her, but--" - -"Remember the Charity Ball; you called her 'unusually intelligent' -after you had danced with her there. But, after all, we are like -the genie and the fairy in the _Arabian Nights' Entertainment_, who -each cried up the merits of the Prince Caramalzaman and the Princess -Badoura." - -"Hamley is not a marrying man." - -"How do you know?" - -"I know that he has very little private fortune, and I know that -science is not a remunerative profession, if profession it can be -called." - -"Oh, if that's all--a hundred things may happen--some one may leave -him a fortune--or this tiresome little heir that nobody wanted, may -die." - -"Hush, Harriet, that's the worst of allowing yourself to plan far -ahead for the future; you are sure to contemplate the death of some -one, and to reckon upon the contingency as affecting events." - -"As if lawyers were not always doing something of the kind!" - -"Leave it to those to whom it is necessary. I dislike planning -marriages or looking forward to deaths about equally." - -"You are getting very prosaic and tiresome, Hollingford!" - -"Only getting!" said he smiling; "I thought you had always looked -upon me as a tiresome matter-of-fact fellow." - -"Now, if you're going to fish for a compliment I am gone. Only -remember my prophecy when my vision comes to pass; or make a bet, -and whoever wins shall spend the money on a present to Prince -Caramalzaman or Princess Badoura, as the case may be." - -Lord Hollingford remembered his sister's words as he heard Roger say -to Molly as he was leaving the Towers on the following day,-- - -"Then I may tell my father that you will come and pay him a visit -next week? You don't know what pleasure it will give him." He had -been on the point of saying "will give _us_," but he had an instinct -which told him it was as well to consider Molly's promised visit as -exclusively made to his father. - -The next day Molly went home; she was astonished at herself for -being so sorry to leave the Towers; and found it difficult, if not -impossible, to reconcile the long-fixed idea of the house as a place -wherein to suffer all a child's tortures of dismay and forlornness -with her new and fresh conception. She had gained health, she had -had pleasure, the faint fragrance of a new and unacknowledged hope -had stolen into her life. No wonder that Mr. Gibson was struck with -the improvement in her looks, and Mrs. Gibson impressed with her -increased grace. - -"Ah, Molly," said she, "it's really wonderful to see what a little -good society will do for a girl. Even a week of association with such -people as one meets with at the Towers is, as somebody said of a -lady of rank whose name I have forgotten, 'a polite education in -itself.' There is something quite different about you--a _je ne -sais quoi_--that would tell me at once that you have been mingling -with the aristocracy. With all her charms, it was what my darling -Cynthia wanted; not that Mr. Henderson thought so, for a more devoted -lover can hardly be conceived. He absolutely bought her a parure of -diamonds. I was obliged to say to him that I had studied to preserve -her simplicity of taste, and that he must not corrupt her with too -much luxury. But I was rather disappointed at their going off without -a maid. It was the one blemish in the arrangements--the spot in the -sun. Dear Cynthia, when I think of her, I do assure you, Molly, I -make it my nightly prayer that I may be able to find you just such -another husband. And all this time you have never told me who you met -at the Towers?" - -Molly ran over a list of names. Roger Hamley's came last. - -"Upon my word! That young man is pushing his way up!" - -"The Hamleys are a far older family than the Cumnors," said Molly, -flushing up. - -"Now, Molly, I can't have you democratic. Rank is a great -distinction. It is quite enough to have dear papa with democratic -tendencies. But we won't begin to quarrel. Now that you and I are -left alone, we ought to be bosom friends, and I hope we shall be. -Roger Hamley did not say much about that unfortunate little Osborne -Hamley, I suppose?" - -"On the contrary, he says his father dotes on the child; and he -seemed very proud of him, himself." - -"I thought the Squire must be getting very much infatuated with -something. I daresay the French mother takes care of that. Why! he -has scarcely taken any notice of you for this month or more, and -before that you were everything." - -It was about six weeks since Cynthia's engagement had become publicly -known, and that might have had something to do with the Squire's -desertion, Molly thought. But she said,-- - -"The Squire has sent me an invitation to go and stay there next week -if you have no objection, mamma. They seem to want a companion for -Mrs. Osborne Hamley, who is not very strong." - -"I can hardly tell what to say,--I don't like your having to -associate with a Frenchwoman of doubtful rank; and I can't bear the -thought of losing my child--my only daughter now. I did ask Helen -Kirkpatrick, but she can't come for some time; and the house is going -to be altered. Papa has consented to build me another room at last, -for Cynthia and Mr. Henderson will, of course, come and see us; -we shall have many more visitors, I expect, and your bedroom will -make a capital lumber-room; and Maria wants a week's holiday. I am -always so unwilling to put any obstacles in the way of any one's -pleasure,--weakly unwilling, I believe,--but it certainly would be -very convenient to have you out of the house for a few days; so, for -once, I will waive my own wish for your companionship, and plead your -cause with papa." - -Miss Brownings came to call and hear the double batch of news. Mrs. -Goodenough had called the very day on which they had returned from -Miss Hornblower's, to tell them the astounding fact of Molly Gibson -having gone on a visit to the Towers; not to come back at night, but -to sleep there, to be there for two or three days, just as if she -was a young lady of quality. So Miss Brownings came to hear all the -details of the wedding from Mrs. Gibson, and the history of Molly's -visit at the Towers as well. But Mrs. Gibson did not like this -divided interest, and some of her old jealousy of Molly's intimacy at -the Towers had returned. - -"Now, Molly," said Miss Browning, "let us hear how you behaved among -the great folks. You must not be set up with all their attention; -remember that they pay it to you for your good father's sake." - -"Molly is, I think, quite aware," put in Mrs. Gibson, in her most -soft and languid tone, "that she owes her privilege of visiting at -such a house to Lady Cumnor's kind desire to set my mind quite at -liberty at the time of Cynthia's marriage. As soon as ever I had -returned home, Molly came back; indeed, I should not have thought -it right to let her intrude upon their kindness beyond what was -absolutely necessary." - -Molly felt extremely uncomfortable at all this, though perfectly -aware of the entire inaccuracy of the statement. - -"Well, but, Molly!" said Miss Browning, "never mind whether you went -there on your own merits, or your worthy father's merits, or Mrs. -Gibson's merits; but tell us what you did when you were there." - -So Molly began an account of their sayings and doings, which she -could have made far more interesting to Miss Browning and Miss -Phoebe if she had not been conscious of her stepmother's critical -listening. She had to tell it all with a mental squint; the surest -way to spoil a narration. She was also subject to Mrs. Gibson's -perpetual corrections of little statements which she knew to be -facts. But what vexed her most of all was Mrs. Gibson's last speech -before the Miss Brownings left. - -"Molly has fallen into rambling ways with this visit of hers, of -which she makes so much, as if nobody had ever been in a great house -but herself. She is going to Hamley Hall next week,--getting quite -dissipated, in fact." - -Yet to Mrs. Goodenough, the next caller on the same errand of -congratulation, Mrs. Gibson's tone was quite different. There had -always been a tacit antagonism between the two, and the conversation -now ran as follows:-- - -Mrs. Goodenough began,-- - -"Well! Mrs. Gibson, I suppose I must wish you joy of Miss Cynthia's -marriage; I should condole with some mothers as had lost their -daughters; but you're not one of that sort, I reckon." - -Now, as Mrs. Gibson was not quite sure to which "sort" of mothers the -greatest credit was to be attached, she found it a little difficult -how to frame her reply. - -"Dear Cynthia!" she said. "One can't but rejoice in her happiness! -And yet--" she ended her sentence by sighing. - -"Ay. She was a young woman as would always have her followers; for, -to tell the truth, she was as pretty a creature as ever I saw in my -life. And all the more she needed skilful guidance. I'm sure I, for -one, am as glad as can be she's done so well by herself. Folks say -Mr. Henderson has a handsome private fortune over and above what he -makes by the law." - -"There is no fear but that my Cynthia will have everything this world -can give!" said Mrs. Gibson with dignity. - -"Well, well! she was always a bit of a favourite of mine; and as I -was saying to my grand-daughter there" (for she was accompanied by a -young lady, who looked keenly to the prospect of some wedding-cake), -"I was never one of those who ran her down and called her a flirt -and a jilt. I'm glad to hear she's like to be so well off. And now, -I suppose, you'll be turning your mind to doing something for Miss -Molly there?" - -"If you mean by that, doing anything that can, by hastening her -marriage, deprive me of the company of one who is like my own child, -you are very much mistaken, Mrs. Goodenough. And pray remember, -I am the last person in the world to match-make. Cynthia made Mr. -Henderson's acquaintance at her uncle's in London." - -"Ay! I thought her cousin was very often ill, and needing her -nursing, and you were very keen she should be of use. I'm not saying -but what it's right in a mother; I'm only putting in a word for Miss -Molly." - -"Thank you, Mrs. Goodenough," said Molly, half-angry, half-laughing. -"When I want to be married, I'll not trouble mamma. I'll look out for -myself." - -"Molly is becoming so popular, I hardly know how we shall keep her -at home," said Mrs. Gibson. "I miss her sadly; but, as I said to Mr. -Gibson, let young people have change, and see a little of the world -while they are young. It has been a great advantage to her being at -the Towers while so many clever and distinguished people were there. -I can already see a difference in her tone of conversation: an -elevation in her choice of subjects. And now she is going to Hamley -Hall. I can assure you I feel quite a proud mother, when I see how -she is sought after. And my other daughter--my Cynthia--writing such -letters from Paris!" - -"Things is a deal changed since my days, for sure," said Mrs. -Goodenough. "So, perhaps, I'm no judge. When I was married first, him -and me went in a postchaise to his father's house, a matter of twenty -mile off at the outside; and sate down to as good a supper amongst -his friends and relations as you'd wish to see. And that was my first -wedding jaunt. My second was when I better knowed my worth as a -bride, and thought that now or never I must see London. But I were -reckoned a very extravagant sort of a body to go so far, and spend -my money, though Harry had left me uncommon well off. But now young -folks go off to Paris, and think nothing of the cost: and it's well -if wilful waste don't make woeful want before they die. But I'm -thankful somewhat is being done for Miss Molly's chances, as I said -afore. It's not quite what I should have liked to have done for my -Annabella though. But times are changed, as I said just now." - - - - -CHAPTER LIX. - -MOLLY GIBSON AT HAMLEY HALL. - - -The conversation ended there for the time. Wedding-cake and wine were -brought in, and it was Molly's duty to serve them out. But those last -words of Mrs. Goodenough's tingled in her ears, and she tried to -interpret them to her own satisfaction in any way but the obvious -one. And that, too, was destined to be confirmed; for directly after -Mrs. Goodenough took her leave, Mrs. Gibson desired Molly to carry -away the tray to a table close to an open corner window, where the -things might be placed in readiness for any future callers; and -underneath this open window went the path from the house-door to the -road. Molly heard Mrs. Goodenough saying to her grand-daughter,-- - -"That Mrs. Gibson is a deep 'un. There's Mr. Roger Hamley as like as -not to have the Hall estate, and she sends Molly a-visiting--" and -then she passed out of hearing. Molly could have burst out crying, -with a full sudden conviction of what Mrs. Goodenough had been -alluding to: her sense of the impropriety of Molly's going to visit -at the Hall when Roger was at home. To be sure, Mrs. Goodenough was a -commonplace, unrefined woman. Mrs. Gibson did not seem to have even -noticed the allusion. Mr. Gibson took it all as a matter of course -that Molly should go to the Hall as simply now, as she had done -before. Roger had spoken of it in so straightforward a manner as -showed he had no conception of its being an impropriety,--this -visit,--this visit until now so happy a subject of anticipation. -Molly felt as if she could never speak to any one of the idea to -which Mrs. Goodenough's words had given rise; as if she could never -be the first to suggest the notion of impropriety, which presupposed -what she blushed to think of. Then she tried to comfort herself by -reasoning. If it had been wrong, forward, or indelicate, really -improper in the slightest degree, who would have been so ready as her -father to put his veto upon it? But reasoning was of no use after -Mrs. Goodenough's words had put fancies into Molly's head. The more -she bade these fancies begone the more they answered her (as Daniel -O'Rourke did the man in the moon, when he bade Dan get off his seat -on the sickle, and go into empty space):--"The more ye ask us the -more we won't stir." One may smile at a young girl's miseries of this -kind; but they are very real and stinging miseries to her. All that -Molly could do was to resolve on a single eye to the dear old Squire, -and his mental and bodily comforts; to try and heal up any breaches -which might have occurred between him and Aimée; and to ignore Roger -as much as possible. Good Roger! Kind Roger! Dear Roger! It would -be very hard to avoid him as much as was consistent with common -politeness; but it would be right to do it; and when she was with -him she must be as natural as possible, or he might observe some -difference; but what was natural? How much ought she avoid being with -him? Would he even notice if she was more chary of her company, more -calculating of her words? Alas! the simplicity of their intercourse -was spoilt henceforwards! She made laws for herself; she resolved -to devote herself to the Squire and to Aimée, and to forget Mrs. -Goodenough's foolish speeches; but her perfect freedom was gone; and -with it half her chance--that is to say, half her chance would have -been lost over any strangers who had not known her before; they would -probably have thought her stiff and awkward, and apt to say things -and then retract them. But she was so different from her usual self -that Roger noticed the change in her as soon as she arrived at the -Hall. She had carefully measured out the days of her visit; they were -to be exactly the same number as she had spent at the Towers. She -feared lest if she stayed at the Hall a shorter time the Squire might -be annoyed. Yet how charming the place looked in its early autumnal -glow as she drove up! And there was Roger at the hall-door, waiting -to receive her, watching for her coming. And now he retreated, -apparently to summon his sister-in-law, who came now timidly forwards -in her deep widow's mourning, holding her boy in her arms as if to -protect her shyness; but he struggled down, and ran towards the -carriage, eager to greet his friend the coachman, and to obtain a -promised ride. Roger did not say much himself; he wanted to make -Aimée feel her place as daughter of the house; but she was too timid -to speak much. And she only took Molly by the hand and led her into -the drawing-room, where, as if by a sudden impulse of gratitude for -all the tender nursing she had received during her illness, she put -her arms round Molly and kissed her long and well. And after that -they came to be friends. - -It was nearly lunch-time, and the Squire always made his appearance -at that meal, more for the pleasure of seeing his grandson eat his -dinner than for any hunger of his own. To-day Molly quickly saw the -whole state of the family affairs. She thought that even had Roger -said nothing about them at the Towers, she should have seen that -neither the father nor the daughter-in-law had as yet found the -clue to each other's characters, although they had now been living -for several months in the same house. Aimée seemed to forget her -English in her nervousness; and to watch with the jealous eyes of a -dissatisfied mother all the proceedings of the Squire towards her -little boy. They were not of the wisest kind, it must be owned; the -child sipped the strong ale with evident relish and clamoured for -everything which he saw the others enjoying. Aimée could hardly -attend to Molly for her anxiety as to what her boy was doing and -eating; yet she said nothing. Roger took the end of the table -opposite to that at which sat grandfather and grandchild. After the -boy's first wants were gratified the Squire addressed himself to -Molly. - -"Well! and so you can come here a-visiting though you have been among -the grand folks. I thought you were going to cut us, Miss Molly, when -I heard you was gone to the Towers. Couldn't find any other place to -stay at while father and mother were away, but an earl's, eh?" - -"They asked me, and I went," said Molly; "now you've asked me, and -I've come here." - -"I think you might ha' known you'd be always welcome here, without -waiting for asking. Why, Molly! I look upon you as a kind of a -daughter more than Madam there!" dropping his voice a little, -and perhaps supposing that the child's babble would drown the -signification of his words.--"Nay, you needn't look at me so -pitifully, she doesn't follow English readily." - -"I think she does!" said Molly, in a low voice,--not looking up, -however, for fear of catching another glimpse at Aimée's sudden -forlornness of expression and deepened colour. She felt grateful, -as if for a personal favour, when she heard Roger speaking to Aimée -the moment afterwards in the tender tones of brotherly friendliness; -and presently these two were sufficiently engaged in a separate -conversation to allow Molly and the Squire to go on talking. - -"He's a sturdy chap, isn't he?" said the Squire, stroking the little -Roger's curly head. "And he can puff four puffs at grandpapa's pipe -without being sick, can't he?" - -"I s'ant puff any more puffs," said the boy, resolutely. "Mamma says -'No.' I s'ant." - -"That's just like her!" said the Squire, dropping his voice this time -however. "As if it could do the child any harm!" - -Molly made a point of turning the conversation from all personal -subjects after this, and kept the Squire talking about the progress -of his drainage during the rest of lunch. He offered to take her to -see it; and she acceded to the proposal, thinking, meantime, how -little she need have anticipated the being thrown too intimately with -Roger, who seemed to devote himself to his sister-in-law. But, in -the evening, when Aimée had gone upstairs to put her boy to bed, and -the Squire was asleep in his easy-chair, a sudden flush of memory -brought Mrs. Goodenough's words again to her mind. She was virtually -tête-à-tête with Roger, as she had been dozens of times before, but -now she could not help assuming an air of constraint; her eyes did -not meet his in the old frank way; she took up a book at a pause in -the conversation, and left him puzzled and annoyed at the change -in her manner. And so it went on during all the time of her visit. -If sometimes she forgot, and let herself go into all her old -naturalness, by-and-by she checked herself, and became comparatively -cold and reserved. Roger was pained at all this--more pained day -after day; more anxious to discover the cause. Aimée, too, silently -noticed how different Molly became in Roger's presence. One day she -could not help saying to Molly,-- - -"Don't you like Roger? You would, if you only knew how good he is! He -is learned, but that is nothing: it is his goodness that one admires -and loves." - -"He is very good," said Molly. "I have known him long enough to know -that." - -"But you don't think him agreeable? He is not like my poor husband, -to be sure; and you knew him well, too. Ah! tell me about him once -again. When you first knew him? When his mother was alive?" - -Molly had grown very fond of Aimée; when the latter was at her ease -she had very charming and attaching ways; but feeling uneasy in her -position in the Squire's house, she was almost repellent to him; and -he, too, put on his worst side to her. Roger was most anxious to -bring them together, and had several consultations with Molly as to -the best means of accomplishing this end. As long as they talked upon -this subject, she spoke to him in the quiet sensible manner which she -inherited from her father; but when their discussions on this point -were ended, she fell back into her piquant assumption of dignified -reserve. It was very difficult for her to maintain this strange -manner, especially when once or twice she fancied that it gave him -pain; and she would go into her own room and suddenly burst into -tears on these occasions, and wish that her visit was ended, and -that she was once again in the eventless tranquillity of her own -home. Yet presently her fancy changed, and she clung to the swiftly -passing hours, as if she would still retain the happiness of each. -For, unknown to her, Roger was exerting himself to make her visit -pleasant. He was not willing to appear as the instigator of all the -little plans for each day, for he felt as if, somehow, he did not -hold the same place in her regard as formerly. Still, one day Aimée -suggested a nutting expedition--another day they gave little Roger -the unheard-of pleasure of tea out-of-doors--there was something else -agreeable for a third; and it was Roger who arranged all these simple -pleasures--such as he knew Molly would enjoy. But to her he only -appeared as the ready forwarder of Aimée's devices. The week was -nearly gone, when one morning the Squire found Roger sitting in the -old library--with a book before him, it is true, but so deep in -thought that he was evidently startled by his father's unexpected -entrance. - -"I thought I should find thee here, my lad! We'll have the old room -done up again before winter; it smells musty enough, and yet I -see it's the place for thee! I want thee to go with me round the -five-acre. I'm thinking of laying it down in grass. It's time for you -to be getting into the fresh air, you look quite wobegone over books, -books, books; there never was a thing like 'em for stealing a man's -health out of him!" - -So Roger went out with his father, without saying many words till -they were at some distance from the house. Then he brought out a -sentence with such abruptness that he repaid his father for the start -the latter had given him a quarter of an hour before. - -"Father, you remember I'm going out again to the Cape next month! You -spoke of doing up the library. If it is for me, I shall be away all -the winter." - -"Can't you get off it?" pleaded his father. "I thought maybe you'd -forgotten all about it." - -"Not likely!" said Roger, half smiling. - -"Well, but they might have found another man to finish up your work." - -"No one can finish it but myself. Besides, an engagement is an -engagement. When I wrote to Lord Hollingford to tell him I must come -home, I promised to go out again for another six months." - -"Ay. I know. And perhaps it will put it out of thy mind. It will -always be hard on me to part from thee. But I daresay it's best for -you." - -Roger's colour deepened. "You are alluding to--to Miss -Kirkpatrick--Mrs. Henderson, I mean. Father, let me tell you once -for all, I think that was rather a hasty affair. I'm pretty sure now -that we were not suited to each other. I was wretched when I got her -letter--at the Cape I mean--but I believe it was for the best." - -"That's right. That's my own boy," said the Squire turning round and -shaking hands with his son with vehemence. "And now I'll tell you -what I heard the other day, when I was at the magistrates' meeting. -They were all saying she had jilted Preston." - -"I don't want to hear anything against her; she may have her faults, -but I can never forget how I once loved her." - -"Well, well! Perhaps it's right. I was not so bad about it, was I, -Roger? Poor Osborne need not ha' been so secret with me. I asked your -Miss Cynthia out here--and her mother and all--my bark is worse than -my bite. For, if I had a wish on earth, it was to see Osborne married -as befitted one of an old stock, and he went and chose out this -French girl, of no family at all, only a--" - -"Never mind what she was; look at what she is! I wonder you are not -more taken with her humility and sweetness, father!" - -"I don't even call her pretty," said the Squire uneasily, for he -dreaded a repetition of the arguments which Roger had often used to -make him give Aimée her proper due of affection and position. "Now -your Miss Cynthia was pretty, I will say that for her, the baggage! -And to think that when you two lads flew right in your father's face, -and picked out girls below you in rank and family, you should neither -of you have set your fancies on my little Molly there. I daresay I -should ha' been angry enough at the time, but the lassie would ha' -found her way to my heart, as never this French lady, nor t' other -one, could ha' done." - -Roger did not answer. - -"I don't see why you mightn't put up for her still. I'm humble enough -now, and you're not heir as Osborne was who married a servant-maid. -Don't you think you could turn your thoughts upon Molly Gibson, -Roger?" - -"No!" said Roger, shortly. "It's too late--too late. Don't let us -talk any more of my marrying. Isn't this the five-acre field?" And -soon he was discussing the relative values of meadow, arable and -pasture land with his father, as heartily as if he had never known -Molly, or loved Cynthia. But the squire was not in such good spirits, -and went but heavily into the discussion. At the end of it he said -àpropos de bottes,-- - -"But don't you think you could like her if you tried, Roger?" - -Roger knew perfectly well to what his father was alluding, but for -an instant he was on the point of pretending to misunderstand. At -length, however, he said, in a low voice,-- - -"I shall never try, father. Don't let us talk any more about it. As -I said before, it's too late." - -The Squire was like a child to whom some toy has been refused; -from time to time the thought of his disappointment in this matter -recurred to his mind; and then he took to blaming Cynthia as the -primary cause of Roger's present indifference to womankind. - -It so happened that on Molly's last morning at the Hall, she received -her first letter from Cynthia--Mrs. Henderson. It was just before -breakfast-time; Roger was out of doors, Aimée had not as yet come -down; Molly was alone in the dining-room, where the table was already -laid. She had just finished reading her letter when the Squire came -in, and she immediately and joyfully told him what the morning had -brought to her. But when she saw the Squire's face, she could have -bitten her tongue out for having named Cynthia's name to him. He -looked vexed and depressed. - -"I wish I might never hear of her again--I do. She's been the bane -of my Roger, that's what she has. I haven't slept half the night, -and it's all her fault. Why, there's my boy saying now that he has -no heart for ever marrying, poor lad! I wish it had been you, Molly, -my lads had taken a fancy for. I told Roger so t'other day, and -I said that for all you were beneath what I ever thought to see -them marry,--well--it's of no use--it's too late, now, as he said. -Only never let me hear that baggage's name again, that's all, and -no offence to you either, lassie. I know you love the wench; but -if you'll take an old man's word, you're worth a score of her. I -wish young men would think so too," he muttered as he went to the -side-table to carve the ham, while Molly poured out the tea--her -heart very hot all the time, and effectually silenced for a space. -It was with the greatest difficulty that she could keep tears of -mortification from falling. She felt altogether in a wrong position -in that house, which had been like a home to her until this last -visit. What with Mrs. Goodenough's remarks, and now this speech of -the Squire's, implying--at least to her susceptible imagination--that -his father had proposed her as a wife to Roger, and that she had been -rejected--she was more glad than she could express, or even think, -that she was going home this very morning. Roger came in from his -walk while she was in this state of feeling. He saw in an instant -that something had distressed Molly; and he longed to have the old -friendly right of asking her what it was. But she had effectually -kept him at too great a distance during the last few days for him to -feel at liberty to speak to her in the old straightforward brotherly -way; especially now, when he perceived her efforts to conceal her -feelings, and the way in which she drank her tea in feverish haste, -and accepted bread only to crumble it about her plate, untouched. It -was all that he could do to make talk under these circumstances; but -he backed up her efforts as well as he could until Aimée came down, -grave and anxious: her boy had not had a good night, and did not seem -well; he had fallen into a feverish sleep now, or she could not have -left him. Immediately the whole table was in a ferment. The Squire -pushed away his plate, and could eat no more; Roger was trying -to extract a detail or a fact out of Aimée, who began to give -way to tears. Molly quickly proposed that the carriage, which -had been ordered to take her home at eleven, should come round -immediately--she had everything ready packed up, she said,--and -bring back her father at once. By leaving directly, she said, it was -probable they might catch him after he had returned from his morning -visits in the town, and before he had set off on his more distant -round. Her proposal was agreed to, and she went upstairs to put on -her things. She came down all ready into the drawing-room, expecting -to find Aimée and the Squire there; but during her absence word had -been brought to the anxious mother and grandfather that the child had -wakened up in a panic, and both had rushed up to their darling. But -Roger was in the drawing-room awaiting Molly, with a large bunch of -the choicest flowers. - -"Look, Molly!" said he, as she was on the point of leaving the room -again, on finding him there alone. "I gathered these flowers for you -before breakfast." He came to meet her reluctant advance. - -"Thank you!" said she. "You are very kind. I am very much obliged to -you." - -"Then you must do something for me," said he, determined not to -notice the restraint of her manner, and making the re-arrangement of -the flowers which she held a sort of link between them, so that she -could not follow her impulse, and leave the room. - -"Tell me,--honestly as I know you will if you speak at all,--haven't -I done something to vex you since we were so happy at the Towers -together?" - -His voice was so kind and true,--his manner so winning yet wistful, -that Molly would have been thankful to tell him all. She believed -that he could have helped her more than any one to understand how she -ought to behave rightly; he would have disentangled her fancies,--if -only he himself had not lain at the very core and centre of all her -perplexity and dismay. How could she tell him of Mrs. Goodenough's -words troubling her maiden modesty? How could she ever repeat what -his father had said that morning, and assure him that she, no more -than he, wished that their old friendliness should be troubled by the -thought of a nearer relationship? - -"No, you never vexed me in my whole life, Roger," said she, looking -straight at him for the first time for many days. - -"I believe you, because you say so. I have no right to ask further. -Molly, will you give me back one of those flowers, as a pledge of -what you have said?" - -"Take whichever you like," said she, eagerly offering him the whole -nosegay to choose from. - -"No; you must choose, and you must give it me." - -Just then the Squire came in. Roger would have been glad if Molly had -not gone on so eagerly to ransack the bunch for the choicest flower -in his father's presence; but she exclaimed: - -"Oh, please, Mr. Hamley, do you know which is Roger's favourite -flower?" - -"No. A rose, I daresay. The carriage is at the door, and, Molly my -dear, I don't want to hurry you, but--" - -"I know. Here, Roger,--here is a rose! - - ("And red as a rose was she.") - -I will find papa as soon as ever I get home. How is the little boy?" - -"I'm afraid he's beginning of some kind of a fever." - -And the Squire took her to the carriage, talking all the way of the -little boy; Roger following, and hardly heeding what he was doing in -the answer to the question he kept asking himself: "Too late--or not? -Can she ever forget that my first foolish love was given to one so -different?" - -While she, as the carriage rolled away, kept saying to herself,--"We -are friends again. I don't believe he will remember what the dear -Squire took it into his head to suggest for many days. It is so -pleasant to be on the old terms again! and what lovely flowers!" - - - - -CHAPTER LX. - -ROGER HAMLEY'S CONFESSION. - - -Roger had a great deal to think of as he turned away from looking -after the carriage as long as it could be seen. The day before, -he had believed that Molly had come to view all the symptoms of -his growing love for her,--symptoms which he thought had been so -patent,--as disgusting inconstancy to the inconstant Cynthia; that -she had felt that an attachment which could be so soon transferred to -another was not worth having; and that she had desired to mark all -this by her changed treatment of him, and so to nip it in the bud. -But this morning her old sweet, frank manner had returned--in their -last interview, at any rate. He puzzled himself hard to find out what -could have distressed her at breakfast-time. He even went so far as -to ask Robinson whether Miss Gibson had received any letters that -morning; and when he heard that she had had one, he tried to believe -that the letter was in some way the cause of her sorrow. So far -so good. They were friends again after their unspoken difference; -but that was not enough for Roger. He felt every day more and more -certain that she, and she alone, could make him happy. He had felt -this, and had partly given up all hope, while his father had been -urging upon him the very course he most desired to take. No need for -"trying" to love her, he said to himself,--that was already done. And -yet he was very jealous on her behalf. Was that love worthy of her -which had once been given to Cynthia? Was not this affair too much -a mocking mimicry of the last--again just on the point of leaving -England for a considerable time--if he followed her now to her own -home,--in the very drawing-room where he had once offered to Cynthia? -And then by a strong resolve he determined on this course. They -were friends now, and he kissed the rose that was her pledge of -friendship. If he went to Africa, he ran some deadly chances; he knew -better what they were now than he had done when he went before. Until -his return he would not even attempt to win more of her love than -he already had. But once safe home again, no weak fancies as to -what might or might not be her answer should prevent his running -all chances to gain the woman who was to him the one who excelled -all. His was not the poor vanity that thinks more of the possible -mortification of a refusal than of the precious jewel of a bride that -may be won. Somehow or another, please God to send him back safe, he -would put his fate to the touch. And till then he would be patient. -He was no longer a boy to rush at the coveted object; he was a man -capable of judging and abiding. - -Molly sent her father, as soon as she could find him, to the Hall; -and then sate down to the old life in the home drawing-room, where -she missed Cynthia's bright presence at every turn. Mrs. Gibson was -in rather a querulous mood, which fastened itself upon the injury of -Cynthia's letter being addressed to Molly, and not to herself. - -"Considering all the trouble I had with her trousseau, I think she -might have written to me." - -"But she did--her first letter was to you, mamma," said Molly, her -real thoughts still intent upon the Hall--upon the sick child--upon -Roger, and his begging for the flower. - -"Yes, just a first letter, three pages long, with an account of her -crossing; while to you she can write about fashions, and how the -bonnets are worn in Paris, and all sorts of interesting things. But -poor mothers must never expect confidential letters, I have found -that out." - -"You may see my letter, mamma," said Molly, "there is really nothing -in it." - -"And to think of her writing, and crossing to you who don't value it, -while my poor heart is yearning after my lost child! Really, life is -somewhat hard to bear at times." - -Then there was silence--for a while. - -"Do tell me something about your visit, Molly. Is Roger very -heart-broken? Does he talk much about Cynthia?" - -"No. He does not mention her often; hardly ever, I think." - -"I never thought he had much feeling. If he had had, he would not -have let her go so easily." - -"I don't see how he could help it. When he came to see her after his -return, she was already engaged to Mr. Henderson--he had come down -that very day," said Molly, with perhaps more heat than the occasion -required. - -"My poor head!" said Mrs. Gibson, putting her hands up to her head. -"One may see you've been stopping with people of robust health, -and--excuse my saying it, Molly, of your friends--of unrefined -habits, you've got to talk in so loud a voice. But do remember my -head, Molly. So Roger has quite forgotten Cynthia, has he? Oh! what -inconstant creatures men are! He will be falling in love with some -grandee next, mark my words! They are making a pet and a lion of him, -and he's just the kind of weak young man to have his head turned by -it all; and to propose to some fine lady of rank, who would no more -think of marrying him than of marrying her footman." - -"I don't think it is likely," said Molly, stoutly. "Roger is too -sensible for anything of the kind." - -"That's just the fault I always found with him; sensible and -cold-hearted! Now, that's a kind of character which may be very -valuable, but which revolts me. Give me warmth of heart, even with a -little of that extravagance of feeling which misleads the judgment, -and conducts into romance. Poor Mr. Kirkpatrick! That was just -his character. I used to tell him that his love for me was quite -romantic. I think I have told you about his walking five miles in the -rain to get me a muffin once when I was ill?" - -"Yes!" said Molly. "It was very kind of him." - -"So imprudent, too! Just what one of your sensible, cold-hearted, -commonplace people would never have thought of doing. With his cough -and all." - -"I hope he didn't suffer for it?" replied Molly, anxious at any -cost to keep off the subject of the Hamleys, upon which she and her -stepmother always disagreed, and on which she found it difficult to -keep her temper. - -"Yes, indeed, he did! I don't think he ever got over the cold he -caught that day. I wish you had known him, Molly. I sometimes wonder -what would have happened if you had been my real daughter, and -Cynthia dear papa's, and Mr. Kirkpatrick and your own dear mother had -all lived. People talk a good deal about natural affinities. It would -have been a question for a philosopher." She began to think on the -impossibilities she had suggested. - -"I wonder how the poor little boy is?" said Molly, after a pause, -speaking out her thought. - -"Poor little child! When one thinks how little his prolonged -existence is to be desired, one feels that his death would be a -boon." - -"Mamma! what do you mean?" asked Molly, much shocked. "Why, every one -cares for his life as the most precious thing! You have never seen -him! He is the bonniest, sweetest little fellow that can be! What do -you mean?" - -"I should have thought that the Squire would have desired a -better-born heir than the offspring of a servant,--with all his ideas -about descent and blood and family. And I should have thought that it -was a little mortifying to Roger--who must naturally have looked upon -himself as his brother's heir--to find a little interloping child, -half French, half English, stepping into his shoes!" - -"You don't know how fond they are of him,--the Squire looks upon him -as the apple of his eye." - -"Molly! Molly! pray don't let me hear you using such vulgar -expressions. When shall I teach you true refinement--that refinement -which consists in never even thinking a vulgar, commonplace thing! -Proverbs and idioms are never used by people of education. 'Apple of -his eye!' I am really shocked." - -"Well, mamma, I'm very sorry; but after all, what I wanted to say -as strongly as I could was, that the Squire loves the little boy as -much as his own child; and that Roger--oh! what a shame to think that -Roger--" And she stopped suddenly short, as if she were choked. - -"I don't wonder at your indignation, my dear!" said Mrs. Gibson. -"It is just what I should have felt at your age. But one learns the -baseness of human nature with advancing years. I was wrong, though, -to undeceive you so early--but depend upon it, the thought I alluded -to has crossed Roger Hamley's mind!" - -"All sorts of thoughts cross one's mind--it depends upon whether one -gives them harbour and encouragement," said Molly. - -"My dear, if you must have the last word, don't let it be a truism. -But let us talk on some more interesting subject. I asked Cynthia to -buy me a silk gown in Paris, and I said I would send her word what -colour I fixed upon--I think dark blue is the most becoming to my -complexion; what do you say?" - -Molly agreed, sooner than take the trouble of thinking about the -thing at all; she was far too full of her silent review of all the -traits in Roger's character which had lately come under her notice, -and that gave the lie direct to her stepmother's supposition. Just -then they heard Mr. Gibson's step downstairs. But it was some time -before he made his entrance into the room where they were sitting. - -"How is little Roger?" said Molly, eagerly. - -"Beginning with scarlet fever, I'm afraid. It's well you left when -you did, Molly. You've never had it. We must stop up all intercourse -with the Hall for a time. If there's one illness I dread, it is -this." - -"But you go and come back to us, papa." - -"Yes. But I always take plenty of precautions. However, no need to -talk about risks that lie in the way of one's duty. It is unnecessary -risks that we must avoid." - -"Will he have it badly?" asked Molly. - -"I can't tell. I shall do my best for the wee laddie." - -Whenever Mr. Gibson's feelings were touched, he was apt to recur to -the language of his youth. Molly knew now that he was much interested -in the case. - -For some days there was imminent danger to the little boy; for some -weeks there was a more chronic form of illness to contend with; but -when the immediate danger was over and the warm daily interest was -past, Molly began to realize that, from the strict quarantine her -father evidently thought it necessary to establish between the two -houses, she was not likely to see Roger again before his departure -for Africa. Oh! if she had but made more of the uncared-for days that -she had passed with him at the Hall! Worse than uncared for; days on -which she had avoided him; refused to converse freely with him; given -him pain by her change of manner; for she had read in his eyes, heard -in his voice, that he had been perplexed and pained, and now her -imagination dwelt on and exaggerated the expression of his tones and -looks. - -One evening after dinner, her father said,-- - -"As the country-people say, I've done a stroke of work to-day. Roger -Hamley and I have laid our heads together, and we've made a plan by -which Mrs. Osborne and her boy will leave the Hall." - -"What did I say the other day, Molly?" said Mrs. Gibson, -interrupting, and giving Molly a look of extreme intelligence. - -"And go into lodgings at Jennings' farm; not four hundred yards from -the Park-field gate," continued Mr. Gibson. "The Squire and his -daughter-in-law have got to be much better friends over the little -fellow's sick-bed; and I think he sees now how impossible it would -be for the mother to leave her child, and go and be happy in France, -which has been the notion running in his head all this time. To buy -her off, in fact. But that one night, when I was very uncertain -whether I could bring him through, they took to crying together, -and condoling with each other; and it was just like tearing down a -curtain that had been between them; they have been rather friends -than otherwise ever since. Still Roger"--(Molly's cheeks grew warm -and her eyes soft and bright; it was such a pleasure to hear his -name)--"and I both agree that his mother knows much better how to -manage the boy than his grandfather does. I suppose that was the -one good thing she got from that hard-hearted mistress of hers. She -certainly has been well trained in the management of children. And -it makes her impatient, and annoyed, and unhappy, when she sees -the Squire giving the child nuts and ale, and all sorts of silly -indulgences, and spoiling him in every possible way. Yet she's a -coward, and doesn't speak out her mind. Now by being in lodgings, and -having her own servants--nice pretty rooms they are, too; we went to -see them, and Mrs. Jennings promises to attend well to Mrs. Osborne -Hamley, and is very much honoured, and all that sort of thing--not -ten minutes' walk from the Hall, too, so that she and the little chap -may easily go backwards and forwards as often as they like, and yet -she may keep the control over the child's discipline and diet. In -short, I think I've done a good day's work," he continued, stretching -himself a little; and then with a shake rousing himself, and making -ready to go out again, to see a patient who had sent for him in his -absence. - -"A good day's work!" he repeated to himself as he ran downstairs. -"I don't know when I have been so happy!" For he had not told Molly -all that had passed between him and Roger. Roger had begun a fresh -subject of conversation just as Mr. Gibson was hastening away from -the Hall, after completing the new arrangement for Aimée and her -child. - -"You know that I set off next Tuesday, Mr. Gibson, don't you?" said -Roger, a little abruptly. - -"To be sure. I hope you'll be as successful in all your scientific -objects as you were the last time, and have no sorrows awaiting you -when you come back." - -"Thank you. Yes. I hope so. You don't think there's any danger of -infection now, do you?" - -"No! If the disease were to spread through the household, I think -we should have had some signs of it before now. One is never sure, -remember, with scarlet fever." - -Roger was silent for a minute or two. "Should you be afraid," he said -at length, "of seeing me at your house?" - -"Thank you; but I think I would rather decline the pleasure of your -society there at present. It's only three weeks or a month since -the child began. Besides, I shall be over here again before you go. -I'm always on my guard against symptoms of dropsy. I have known it -supervene." - -"Then I shall not see Molly again!" said Roger, in a tone and with a -look of great disappointment. - -Mr. Gibson turned his keen, observant eyes upon the young man, and -looked at him in as penetrating a manner as if he had been beginning -with an unknown illness. Then the doctor and the father compressed -his lips and gave vent to a long intelligent whistle. "Whew!" said -he. - -Roger's bronzed cheeks took a deeper shade. - -"You will take a message to her from me, won't you? A message of -farewell?" he pleaded. - -"Not I. I'm not going to be a message-carrier between any young man -and young woman. I'll tell my womenkind I forbade you to come near -the house, and that you're sorry to go away without bidding good-by. -That's all I shall say." - -"But you do not disapprove?--I see you guess why. Oh! Mr. Gibson, -just speak to me one word of what must be in your heart, though you -are pretending not to understand why I would give worlds to see Molly -again before I go." - -"My dear boy!" said Mr. Gibson, more affected than he liked to show, -and laying his hand on Roger's shoulder. Then he pulled himself up, -and said gravely enough,-- - -"Mind, Molly is not Cynthia. If she were to care for you, she is not -one who could transfer her love to the next comer." - -"You mean not as readily as I have done," replied Roger. "I only wish -you could know what a different feeling this is to my boyish love for -Cynthia." - -"I wasn't thinking of you when I spoke; but, however, as I might have -remembered afterwards that you were not a model of constancy, let us -hear what you have to say for yourself." - -"Not much. I did love Cynthia very much. Her manners and her beauty -bewitched me; but her letters,--short, hurried letters,--sometimes -showing that she really hadn't taken the trouble to read mine -through,--I cannot tell you the pain they gave me! Twelve months' -solitude, in frequent danger of one's life--face to face with -death--sometimes ages a man like many years' experience. Still I -longed for the time when I should see her sweet face again, and hear -her speak. Then the letter at the Cape!--and still I hoped. But you -know how I found her, when I went to have the interview which I -trusted might end in the renewal of our relations,--engaged to Mr. -Henderson. I saw her walking with him in your garden, coquetting with -him about a flower, just as she used to do with me. I can see the -pitying look in Molly's eyes as she watched me; I can see it now. And -I could beat myself for being such a blind fool as to-- What must she -think of me? how she must despise me, choosing the false Duessa." - -"Come, come! Cynthia isn't so bad as that. She's a very fascinating, -faulty creature." - -"I know! I know! I will never allow any one to say a word against -her. If I called her the false Duessa it was because I wanted to -express my sense of the difference between her and Molly as strongly -as I could. You must allow for a lover's exaggeration. Besides, all I -wanted to say was,--Do you think that Molly, after seeing and knowing -that I had loved a person so inferior to herself, could ever be -brought to listen to me?" - -"I don't know. I can't tell. And even if I could, I wouldn't. Only if -it's any comfort to you, I may say what my experience has taught me. -Women are queer, unreasoning creatures, and are just as likely as not -to love a man who has been throwing away his affection." - -"Thank you, sir!" said Roger, interrupting him. "I see you mean to -give me encouragement. And I had resolved never to give Molly a hint -of what I felt till I returned,--and then to try and win her by every -means in my power. I determined not to repeat the former scene in the -former place,--in your drawing-room,--however I might be tempted. And -perhaps, after all, she avoided me when she was here last." - -"Now, Roger, I've listened to you long enough. If you've nothing -better to do with your time than to talk about my daughter, I have. -When you come back it will be time enough to inquire how far your -father would approve of such an engagement." - -"He himself urged it upon me the other day--but then I was in -despair--I thought it was too late." - -"And what means you are likely to have of maintaining a wife?--I -always thought that point was passed too lightly over when you formed -your hurried engagement to Cynthia. I'm not mercenary,--Molly has -some money independently of me,--that she by the way knows nothing -of,--not much;--and I can allow her something. But all these things -must be left till your return." - -"Then you sanction my attachment?" - -"I don't know what you mean by sanctioning it. I can't help it. I -suppose losing one's daughter is a necessary evil. Still"--seeing the -disappointed expression on Roger's face--"it is but fair to you to -say, I'd rather give my child,--my only child, remember!--to you, -than to any man in the world!" - -"Thank you!" said Roger, shaking hands with Mr. Gibson, almost -against the will of the latter. "And I may see her, just once, before -I go?" - -"Decidedly not. There I come in as doctor as well as father. No!" - -"But you will take a message, at any rate?" - -"To my wife and to her conjointly. I will not separate them. I will -not in the slightest way be a go-between." - -"Very well," said Roger. "Tell them both as strongly as you can how -I regret your prohibition. I see I must submit. But if I don't come -back, I'll haunt you for having been so cruel." - -"Come, I like that. Give me a wise man of science in love! No one -beats him in folly. Good-by." - -"Good-by. You will see Molly this afternoon!" - -"To be sure. And you will see your father. But I don't heave such -portentous sighs at the thought." - -Mr. Gibson gave Roger's message to his wife and to Molly that evening -at dinner. It was but what the latter had expected, after all her -father had said of the very great danger of infection; but now that -her expectation came in the shape of a final decision, it took away -her appetite. She submitted in silence; but her observant father -noticed that after this speech of his, she only played with the food -on her plate, and concealed a good deal of it under her knife and -fork. - -"Lover _versus_ father!" thought he, half sadly. "Lover wins." And -he, too, became indifferent to all that remained of his dinner. Mrs. -Gibson pattered on; and nobody listened. - -The day of Roger's departure came. Molly tried hard to forget it -in working away at a cushion she was preparing as a present to -Cynthia; people did worsted-work in those days. One, two, three. One, -two, three, four, five, six, seven; all wrong: she was thinking of -something else, and had to unpick it. It was a rainy day, too; and -Mrs. Gibson, who had planned to go out and pay some calls, had to -stay indoors. This made her restless and fidgety. She kept going -backwards and forwards to different windows in the drawing-room to -look at the weather, as if she imagined that while it rained at one -window, it might be fine weather at another. - -"Molly--come here! who is that man wrapped up in a -cloak,--there,--near the Park wall, under the beech-tree--he has been -there this half-hour and more, never stirring, and looking at this -house all the time! I think it's very suspicious." - -Molly looked, and in an instant recognized Roger under all his wraps. -Her first instinct was to draw back. The next to come forwards, and -say--"Why, mamma, it's Roger Hamley! Look now--he's kissing his hand; -he's wishing us good-by in the only way he can!" And she responded -to his sign; but she was not sure if he perceived her modest quiet -movement, for Mrs. Gibson became immediately so demonstrative that -Molly fancied that her eager foolish pantomimic motions must absorb -all his attention. - -"I call this so attentive of him," said Mrs. Gibson, in the midst of -a volley of kisses of her hand. "Really, it is quite romantic. It -reminds me of former days--but he will be too late! I must send him -away; it is half-past twelve!" And she took out her watch and held it -up, tapping it with her forefinger, and occupying the very centre of -the window. Molly could only peep here and there, dodging now up, now -down, now on this side, now on that, of the perpetually-moving arms. -She fancied she saw something of a corresponding movement on Roger's -part. At length he went away slowly, slowly, and often looking back, -in spite of the tapped watch. Mrs. Gibson at last retreated, and -Molly quietly moved into her place to see his figure once more before -the turn of the road hid it from her view. He, too, knew where the -last glimpse of Mr. Gibson's house was to be obtained, and once more -he turned, and his white handkerchief floated in the air. Molly waved -hers high up, with eager longing that it should be seen. And then, -he was gone! and Molly returned to her worsted-work, happy, glowing, -sad, content, and thinking to herself how sweet is--friendship! - -When she came to a sense of the present, Mrs. Gibson was saying,-- - -"Upon my word, though Roger Hamley has never been a great favourite -of mine, this little attention of his has reminded me very forcibly -of a very charming young man--a _soupirant_, as the French would call -him--Lieutenant Harper--you must have heard me speak of him, Molly?" - -"I think I have!" said Molly, absently. - -"Well, you remember how devoted he was to me when I was at Mrs. -Duncombe's, my first situation, and I only seventeen. And when the -recruiting party was ordered to another town, poor Mr. Harper came -and stood opposite the schoolroom window for nearly an hour, and I -know it was his doing that the band played 'The girl I left behind -me,' when they marched out the next day. Poor Mr. Harper! It was -before I knew dear Mr. Kirkpatrick! Dear me. How often my poor heart -has had to bleed in this life of mine! not but what dear papa is a -very worthy man, and makes me very happy. He would spoil me, indeed, -if I would let him. Still he is not as rich as Mr. Henderson." - -That last sentence contained the germ of Mrs. Gibson's present -grievance. Having married Cynthia, as her mother put it--taking -credit to herself as if she had had the principal part in the -achievement--she now became a little envious of her daughter's good -fortune in being the wife of a young, handsome, rich, and moderately -fashionable man, who lived in London. She naïvely expressed her -feelings on this subject to her husband one day when she was really -not feeling quite well, and when consequently her annoyances were -much more present to her mind than her sources of happiness. - -"It is such a pity!" said she, "that I was born when I was. I should -so have liked to belong to this generation." - -"That's sometimes my own feeling," said he. "So many new views seem -to be opened in science, that I should like, if it were possible, to -live till their reality was ascertained, and one saw what they led -to. But I don't suppose that's your reason, my dear, for wishing to -be twenty or thirty years younger." - -"No, indeed. And I did not put it in that hard unpleasant way; I only -said I should like to belong to this generation. To tell the truth, -I was thinking of Cynthia. Without vanity, I believe I was as pretty -as she is--when I was a girl, I mean; I had not her dark eyelashes, -but then my nose was straighter. And now look at the difference! I -have to live in a little country town with three servants, and no -carriage; and she with her inferior good looks will live in Sussex -Place, and keep a man and a brougham, and I don't know what. But the -fact is, in this generation there are so many more rich young men -than there were when I was a girl." - -"Oh, ho! so that's your reason, is it, my dear? If you had been young -now you might have married somebody as well off as Walter?" - -"Yes!" said she. "I think that was my idea. Of course I should have -liked him to be you. I always think if you had gone to the bar you -might have succeeded better, and lived in London, too. I don't think -Cynthia cares much where she lives, yet you see it has come to her." - -"What has--London?" - -"Oh, you dear, facetious man. Now that's just the thing to have -captivated a jury. I don't believe Walter will ever be so clever -as you are. Yet he can take Cynthia to Paris, and abroad, and -everywhere. I only hope all this indulgence won't develope the faults -in Cynthia's character. It's a week since we heard from her, and I -did write so particularly to ask her for the autumn fashions before I -bought my new bonnet. But riches are a great snare." - -"Be thankful you are spared temptation, my dear." - -"No, I'm not. Everybody likes to be tempted. And, after all, it's -very easy to resist temptation, if one wishes." - -"I don't find it so easy," said her husband. - -"Here's medicine for you, mamma," said Molly, entering with a letter -held up in her hand. "A letter from Cynthia." - -"Oh, you dear little messenger of good news! There was one of the -heathen deities in Mangnall's Questions whose office it was to bring -news. The letter is dated from Calais. They're coming home! She's -bought me a shawl and a bonnet! The dear creature! Always thinking -of others before herself: good fortune cannot spoil her. They've a -fortnight left of their holiday! Their house is not quite ready; -they're coming here. Oh, now, Mr. Gibson, we must have the new -dinner-service at Watts's I've set my heart on so long! 'Home' -Cynthia calls this house. I'm sure it has been a home to her, poor -darling! I doubt if there is another man in the world who would have -treated his step-daughter like dear papa! And, Molly, you must have a -new gown." - -"Come, come! Remember I belong to the last generation," said Mr. -Gibson. - -"And Cynthia will not notice what I wear," said Molly, bright with -pleasure at the thought of seeing her again. - -"No! but Walter will. He has such a quick eye for dress, and I think -I rival papa; if he's a good stepfather, I'm a good stepmother, and -I could not bear to see my Molly shabby, and not looking her best. -I must have a new gown too. It won't do to look as if we had nothing -but the dresses which we wore at the wedding!" - -But Molly stood out against the new gown for herself, and urged -that if Cynthia and Walter were to come to visit them often, they -had better see them as they really were, in dress, habits, and -appointments. When Mr. Gibson had left the room, Mrs. Gibson softly -reproached Molly for her obstinacy. - -"You might have allowed me to beg for a new gown for you, Molly, when -you knew how much I had admired that figured silk at Brown's the -other day. And now, of course, I can't be so selfish as to get it for -myself, and you to have nothing. You should learn to understand the -wishes of other people. Still, on the whole, you are a dear, sweet -girl, and I only wish--well, I know what I wish; only dear papa does -not like it to be talked about. And now cover me up close, and let me -go to sleep, and dream about my dear Cynthia and my new shawl!" - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -CONCLUDING REMARKS: - -[By the Editor of _The Cornhill Magazine_.] - - -Here the story is broken off, and it can never be finished. What -promised to be the crowning work of a life is a memorial of death. A -few days longer, and it would have been a triumphal column, crowned -with a capital of festal leaves and flowers: now it is another sort -of column--one of those sad white pillars which stand broken in the -churchyard. - -But if the work is not quite complete, little remains to be added -to it, and that little has been distinctly reflected into our minds. -We know that Roger Hamley will marry Molly, and that is what we are -most concerned about. Indeed, there was little else to tell. Had the -writer lived, she would have sent her hero back to Africa forthwith; -and those scientific parts of Africa are a long way from Hamley; and -there is not much to choose between a long distance and a long time. -How many hours are there in twenty-four when you are all alone in -a desert place, a thousand miles from the happiness which might be -yours to take--if you were there to take it? How many, when from the -sources of the Topinambo your heart flies back ten times a day, like -a carrier-pigeon, to the one only source of future good for you, and -ten times a day returns with its message undelivered? Many more than -are counted on the calendar. So Roger found. The days were weeks that -separated him from the time when Molly gave him a certain little -flower, and months from the time which divorced him from Cynthia, -whom he had begun to doubt before he knew for certain that she was -never much worth hoping for. And if such were his days, what was -the slow procession of actual weeks and months in those remote and -solitary places? They were like years of a stay-at-home life, with -liberty and leisure to see that nobody was courting Molly meanwhile. -The effect of this was, that long before the term of his engagement -was ended all that Cynthia had been to him was departed from Roger's -mind, and all that Molly was and might be to him filled it full. - -He returned; but when he saw Molly again he remembered that to -her the time of his absence might not have seemed so long, and -was oppressed with the old dread that she would think him fickle. -Therefore this young gentleman, so self-reliant and so lucid in -scientific matters, found it difficult after all to tell Molly how -much he hoped she loved him; and might have blundered if he had not -thought of beginning by showing her the flower that was plucked from -the nosegay. How charmingly that scene would have been drawn, had -Mrs. Gaskell lived to depict it, we can only imagine: that it _would_ -have been charming--especially in what Molly did, and looked, and -said--we know. - -Roger and Molly are married; and if one of them is happier than -the other, it is Molly. Her husband has no need to draw upon the -little fortune which is to go to poor Osborne's boy, for he becomes -professor at some great scientific institution, and wins his way in -the world handsomely. The squire is almost as happy in this marriage -as his son. If any one suffers for it, it is Mr. Gibson. But he takes -a partner, so as to get a chance of running up to London to stay with -Molly for a few days now and then, and "to get a little rest from -Mrs. Gibson." Of what was to happen to Cynthia after her marriage the -author was not heard to say much; and, indeed, it does not seem that -anything needs to be added. One little anecdote, however, was told -of her by Mrs. Gaskell, which is very characteristic. One day, when -Cynthia and her husband were on a visit to Hollingford, Mr. Henderson -learned for the first time, through an innocent casual remark of -Mr. Gibson's, that the famous traveller, Roger Hamley, was known to -the family. Cynthia had never happened to mention it. How well that -little incident, too, would have been described! - -But it is useless to speculate upon what would have been done by the -delicate strong hand which can create no more Molly Gibsons--no more -Roger Hamleys. We have repeated, in this brief note, all that is -known of her designs for the story, which would have been completed -in another chapter. There is not so much to regret, then, so far as -this novel is concerned; indeed, the regrets of those who knew her -are less for the loss of the novelist than of the woman--one of the -kindest and wisest of her time. But yet, for her own sake _as_ a -novelist alone, her untimely death is a matter for deep regret. It is -clear in this novel of _Wives and Daughters_, in the exquisite little -story that preceded it, _Cousin Phillis_, and in _Sylvia's Lovers_, -that Mrs. Gaskell had within these five years started upon a new -career with all the freshness of youth, and with a mind which seemed -to have put off its clay and to have been born again. But that "put -off its clay" must be taken in a very narrow sense. All minds are -tinctured more or less with the "muddy vesture" in which they are -contained; but few minds ever showed less of base earth than Mrs. -Gaskell's. It was so at all times; but lately even the original -slight tincture seemed to disappear. While you read any one of the -last three books we have named, you feel yourself caught out of an -abominable wicked world, crawling with selfishness and reeking with -base passions, into one where there is much weakness, many mistakes, -sufferings long and bitter, but where it is possible for people to -live calm and wholesome lives; and, what is more, you feel that this -is at least as real a world as the other. The kindly spirit which -thinks no ill looks out of her pages irradiate; and while we read -them, we breathe the purer intelligence which prefers to deal with -emotions and passions which have a living root in minds within the -pale of salvation, and not with those which rot without it. This -spirit is more especially declared in _Cousin Phillis_ and _Wives and -Daughters_--their author's latest works; they seem to show that for -her the end of life was not descent amongst the clods of the valley, -but ascent into the purer air of the heaven-aspiring hills. - -We are saying nothing now of the merely intellectual qualities -displayed in these later works. Twenty years to come, that may be -thought the more important question of the two; in the presence of -her grave we cannot think so; but it is true, all the same, that -as mere works of art and observation, these later novels of Mrs. -Gaskell's are among the finest of our time. There is a scene in -_Cousin Phyllis_--where Holman, making hay with his men, ends the -day with a psalm--which is not excelled as a picture in all modern -fiction; and the same may be said of that chapter of this last story -in which Roger smokes a pipe with the Squire after the quarrel with -Osborne. There is little in either of these scenes, or in a score -of others which succeed each other like gems in a cabinet, which -the ordinary novel-maker could "seize." There is no "material" for -_him_ in half-a-dozen farming men singing hymns in a field, or a -discontented old gentleman smoking tobacco with his son. Still less -could he avail himself of the miseries of a little girl sent to -be happy in a fine house full of fine people; but it is just in -such things as these that true genius appears brightest and most -unapproachable. It is the same with the personages in Mrs. Gaskell's -works. Cynthia is one of the most difficult characters which have -ever been attempted in our time. Perfect art always obscures the -difficulties it overcomes; and it is not till we try to follow the -processes by which such a character as the Tito of _Romola_ is -created, for instance, that we begin to understand what a marvellous -piece of work it is. To be sure, Cynthia was not so difficult, nor is -it nearly so great a creation as that splendid achievement of art and -thought--of the rarest art, of the profoundest thought. But she also -belongs to the kind of characters which are conceived only in minds -large, clear, harmonious and just, and which can be portrayed fully -and without flaw only by hands obedient to the finest motions of the -mind. Viewed in this light, Cynthia is a more important piece of work -even than Molly, delicately as she is drawn, and true and harmonious -as that picture is also. And what we have said of Cynthia may be -said with equal truth of Osborne Hamley. The true delineation of a -character like that is as fine a test of art as the painting of a -foot or a hand, which also seems so easy, and in which perfection is -most rare. In this case the work is perfect. Mrs. Gaskell has drawn -a dozen characters more striking than Osborne since she wrote _Mary -Barton_, but not one which shows more exquisite finish. - -Another thing we may be permitted to notice, because it has a great -and general significance. It may be true that this is not exactly -the place for criticism, but since we are writing of Osborne Hamley, -we cannot resist pointing out a peculiar instance of the subtler -conceptions which underlie all really considerable works. Here are -Osborne and Roger, two men who, in every particular that can be -seized for _description_, are totally different creatures. Body and -mind they are quite unlike. They have different tastes; they take -different ways: they are men of two sorts which, in the society -sense, never "know" each other; and yet, never did brotherly blood -run more manifest than in the veins of those two. To make that -manifest without allowing the effort to peep out for a single moment, -would be a triumph of art; but it is a "touch beyond the reach of -art" to make their likeness in unlikeness so natural a thing that we -no more wonder about it than we wonder at seeing the fruit and the -bloom on the same bramble: we have always seen them there together in -blackberry season, and do not wonder about it nor think about it at -all. Inferior writers, even some writers who are highly accounted, -would have revelled in the "contrast," persuaded that they were -doing a fine anatomical dramatic thing by bringing it out at every -opportunity. To the author of _Wives and Daughters_ this sort of -anatomy was mere dislocation. She began by having the people of her -story born in the usual way, and not built up like the Frankenstein -monster; and thus when Squire Hamley took a wife, it was then -provided that his two boys should be as naturally one and diverse as -the fruit and the bloom on the bramble. "It goes without speaking." -These differences are precisely what might have been expected -from the union of Squire Hamley with the town-bred, refined, -delicate-minded woman whom he married; and the affection of the young -men, their kindness (to use the word in its old and new meanings at -once) is nothing but a reproduction of those impalpable threads of -love which bound the equally diverse father and mother in bonds -faster than the ties of blood. - -But we will not permit ourselves to write any more in this vein. It -is unnecessary to demonstrate to those who know what is and what -is not true literature that Mrs. Gaskell was gifted with some of -the choicest faculties bestowed upon mankind; that these grew into -greater strength and ripened into greater beauty in the decline of -her days; and that she has gifted us with some of the truest, purest -works of fiction in the language. 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