A VISIT TO THE HAMLEYS.
Of the news of Miss Gibson's had spread through the the one o'clock dinner-time came; and Mr. Coxe's was a of much to Mr. Gibson, who the of for his face, and want of appetite; which he out, with a good of sad ostentation; all of which was upon Molly, who was too full of her own personal to have any or to from them, once or twice when she of the many days that must pass over she should again to dinner with her father.
When she named this to him after the was over, and they were together in the drawing-room, waiting for the of the of the Hamley carriage, he laughed, and said,—
"I'm over to-morrow to see Mrs. Hamley; and I I shall at their lunch; so you won't have to wait long you've the of the wild feed."
Then they the carriage.
"Oh, papa," said Molly, 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 her in; the door was shut, and she away in grandeur, looking and her hand to her father, who at the gate, in of his of sentiment, as long as the be seen. Then he into the surgery, and Mr. Coxe had had his too, and had, indeed, at the window gazing, moonstruck, at the empty road, up which the lady had disappeared. Mr. Gibson him from his by a sharp, almost venomous, speech about some small neglect of a day or two before. That night Mr. Gibson on by the of a girl were worn-out by many nights to hard-working days.
Molly a little, but her as soon as she how her father would have been at the of them. It was very along in the carriage, through the green lanes, with dog-roses and so and in the hedges, that she once or twice was to ask the to stop till she had a nosegay. She to the end of her little of seven miles; the only to which was, that her was not a true clan-tartan, and a little as to Miss Rose's punctuality. At length they came to a village; the road, an old church on a of green, with the public-house close by it; there was a great tree, with a bench all the trunk, the church gates and the little inn. The stocks were close to the gates. Molly had long passed the limit of her rides, but she this must be the village of Hamley, and that they must be very near to the hall.
They in at the gates of the park in a minutes, and up through meadow-grass, for hay,—it was no deer-park this—to the old red-brick hall; not three hundred yards from the high-road. There had been no sent with the carriage, but a at the door, they up, to the visitor, and take her into the drawing-room where his her.
Mrs. Hamley rose from her sofa to give Molly a welcome; she the girl's hand in hers after she had speaking, looking into her face, as if studying it, and of the she called up on the otherwise cheeks.
"I think we shall be great friends," said she, at length. "I like your face, and I am always by impressions. Give me a kiss, my dear."
It was to be active than this of "swearing friendship," and Molly the sweet up to her.
"I meant to have gone and you myself; but the me, and I did not up to the exertion. I you had a drive?"
"Very," said Molly, with conciseness.
"And now I will take you to your room; I have had you put close to me; I you would like it better, though it was a smaller room than the other."
She rose languidly, and her light her yet figure, the way upstairs. Molly's opened out of Mrs. Hamley's private sitting-room; on the other of which was her own bedroom. She Molly this easy means of communication, and then, telling her visitor she would her in the sitting-room, she closed the door, and Molly was left at to make with her surroundings.
First of all, she to the window to see what was to be seen. A flower-garden right below; a of just beyond, colour in long sweeps, as the soft wind over it; great old forest-trees a little on one side; and, them again, to be only by very close to the of the window-sill, or by her out, if the window was open, the of a mere, about a of a mile off. On the opposite to the trees and the mere, the look-out was by the old and high-peaked of the farm-buildings. The of the early was only by the song of the birds, and the nearer of bees. Listening to these sounds, which the of stillness, and out objects by or shadow, Molly herself, and was into a of the present by a of voices in the next room—some or other speaking to Mrs. Hamley. Molly to her box, and her in the old-fashioned of drawers, which was to her as dressing-table as well. All the in the room was as old-fashioned and as well-preserved as it be. The were Indian of the last century—the almost out, but the itself clean. There was a little of carpeting, but the flooring, thus displayed, was of finely-grained oak, so joined, to plank, that no of make its way into the interstices. There were none of the of modern days; no writing-table, or sofa, or pier-glass. In one of the was a bracket, an Indian with pot-pourri; and that and the the open window the room more than any perfumes. Molly out her white (of last year's date and size) upon the bed, for the (to her new) operation of for dinner, and having her and dress, and taken out her company worsted-work, she opened the door softly, and saw Mrs. Hamley on the sofa.
"Shall we up here, my dear? I think it is than below; and then I shall not have to come again at dressing-time."
"I shall like it very much," Molly.
"Ah! you've got your sewing, like a good girl," said Mrs. Hamley. "Now, I don't much. I live alone a great deal. You see, my boys are at Cambridge, and the is out of doors all day long—so I have almost how to sew. I read a great deal. Do you like reading?"
"It upon the of book," said Molly. "I'm I don't like 'steady reading,' as papa calls it."
"But you like poetry!" said Mrs. Hamley, almost Molly. "I was sure you did, from your face. Have you read this last of Mrs. Hemans? Shall I read it to you?"
So she began. Molly was not so much in but that she the room. The of the was much the same as in her own. Old-fashioned, of material, and clean, the age and the of it gave an of and to the whole apartment. On the there some sketches—portraits. She she make out that one of them was a of Mrs. Hamley, in her youth. And then she in the poem, and her work, and in a manner that was after Mrs. Hamley's own heart. When the reading of the was ended, Mrs. Hamley to some of Molly's of admiration, by saying:
"Ah! I think I must read you some of Osborne's some day; under seal of secrecy, remember; but I they are almost as good as Mrs. Hemans'."
To be nearly as good as Mrs. Hemans' was saying as much to the ladies of that day, as saying that is nearly as good as Tennyson's would be in this. Molly looked up with interest.
"Mr. Osborne Hamley? Does your son poetry?"
"Yes. I think I may say he is a poet. He is a very brilliant, man, and he to a at Trinity. He says he is sure to be high up among the wranglers, and that he to one of the Chancellor's medals. That is his likeness—the one against the you."
Molly round, and saw one of the sketches—representing two boys, in the most of and trousers, and collars. The was down, reading intently. The was by him, and 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 when she to the articles of in the picture.
"I like their faces!" said Molly. "I it is so long ago now, that I may speak of their to you as if they were somebody else; may not I?"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Hamley, as soon as she what Molly meant. "Tell me just what you think of them, my dear; it will me to your with what they are."
"Oh! but I did not to at their characters. I not do it; and it would be impertinent, if I could. I can only speak about their 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 make out his yet, his is down, and I can't see the eyes. That is the Mr. Osborne Hamley who poetry."
"Yes. He is not so now; but he was a boy. Roger was to be with him."
"No; he is not handsome. And yet I like his face. I can see his eyes. They are and solemn-looking; but all the of his is than otherwise. It looks too and sober, too good a face, to go his to his lesson."
"Ah! but it was not a lesson. I the painter, Mr. Green, once saw Osborne reading some poetry, while Roger was trying to him to come out and have a 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 for poetry, and books of romance, or sentiment. He is so of natural history; and that takes him, like the squire, a great out of doors; and when he is in, he is always reading scientific books that upon his pursuits. He is a good, fellow, though, and us great satisfaction, but he is not likely to have such a career as Osborne."
Molly to out in the picture the of the two boys, as they were now to her by their mother; and in questions and about the the room the time passed away until the dressing-bell for the six o'clock dinner.
Molly was by the offers of the Mrs. Hamley had sent to her. "I am they me to be very smart," she to herself. "If they do, they'll be disappointed; that's all. But I wish my had been ready."
She looked at herself in the with some anxiety, for the time in her life. She saw a slight, figure, promising to be tall; a than cream-coloured, although in a year or two it might have that tint; black hair, up in a with a rose-coloured ribbon; long, almond-shaped, soft eyes, above and by black eyelashes.
"I don't think I am pretty," Molly, as she away from the glass; "and yet I'm not sure." She would have been sure, if, of herself with such solemnity, she had her own sweet smile, and called out the of her teeth, and the of her dimples.
She her way into the drawing-room in good time; she look about her, and learn how to at home in her new quarters. The room was forty-feet long or so, up with yellow at some period; high spindle-legged chairs and pembroke-tables abounded. The was of the same date as the curtains, and was thread-bare in many places; and in others was with drugget. Stands of plants, great of flowers, old Indian and gave the room the it had. And to add to it, there were five high, long on one of the room, all opening to the of flower-garden in the grounds—or what was as such—brilliant-coloured, geometrically-shaped beds, to a sun-dial in the midst. The Squire came in abruptly, and in his dress; he at the door, as if at the white-robed in of his hearth. Then, himself, but not Molly had to very hot, he said—
"Why, God my soul, I'd you; you're Miss Gibson, Gibson's daughter, aren't you? Come to pay us a visit? I'm sure I'm very to see you, my dear."
By this time, they had met in the middle of the room, and he was Molly's hand with friendliness, to make up for his not her at first.
"I must go and dress, though," said he, looking at his gaiters. "Madam it. It's one of her London ways, and she's me into it at last. Very good plan, though, and right to make fit for ladies' society. Does your father dress for dinner, Miss Gibson?" He did not to wait for her answer, but away to perform his toilette.
They at a small table in a great large room. There were so articles of in it, and the itself was so vast, that Molly for the of the home dining-room; nay, it is to be that, the dinner at Hamley Hall came to an end, she the chairs and tables, the of eating, the quick manner in which to their as fast as possible, and to return to the work they had left. She to think that at six o'clock all the of the day was ended, and that people might if they chose. She the from the to the table with her eye, and for the men who had to and forwards; but, all the same, this dinner appeared to her a business, the Squire liked it, for Mrs. Hamley out. She ate less than Molly, and sent for and smelling-bottle to herself with, until at length the table-cloth was away, and the was put upon a table, like a looking-glass.
The Squire had been too to talk, about the of the table, and one or two of the to the of his days; a in which he delighted, but which sometimes to his wife. Now, however, his orange, he 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 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 than Miss Gibson," said Mrs. Hamley.
"My name is Molly. It is an old-fashioned name, and I was Mary. But papa Molly."
"That's right. Keep to the good old fashions, my dear."
"Well, I must say I think Mary is than Molly, and as old a name, too," said Mrs. Hamley.
"I think it was," said Molly, her voice, and her eyes, "because was Mary, and I was called Molly while she lived."
"Ah, thing," said the squire, not his wife's to the subject, "I how sorry every one was when she died; no one she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour, till all at once she off, as one may say."
"It must have been a terrible to your father," said Mrs. Hamley, that Molly did not know what to answer.
"Ay, ay. It came so sudden, so soon after they were married."
"I it was nearly four years," said Molly.
"And four years is soon—is a time to a who look to their lifetime together. Every one Gibson would have married again."
"Hush," said Mrs. Hamley, in Molly's and of colour how this was a new idea to her. But the was not so easily stopped.
"Well—I'd not have said it, but it's the truth; they did. He's not likely to now, so one may say it out. Why, your father is past forty, isn't he?"
"Forty-three. I don't he of marrying again," said Molly, to the idea, as one to that of which has passed by, without one's being aware of it.
"No! I don't he did, my dear. He looks to me just like a man who would be to the memory of his wife. You must not mind what the says."
"Ah! you'd go away, if you're going to teach Miss Gibson such as that against the master of the house."
Molly into the drawing-room with Mrs. Hamley, but her did not with the room. She not help on the which she she had escaped, and was at her own at having such a possibility as her father's second marriage. She that she was Mrs. Hamley's in a very manner.
"There is papa, with the Squire!" she exclaimed. There they were across the flower-garden from the stable-yard, her father his with his whip, in order to make them in Mrs. Hamley's drawing-room. He looked so like his self, his home-self, that the him in the was the most way of the of a second wedding, which were to his daughter's mind; and the that he not till he had come over to see how she was going on in her new home, 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 to teach her cribbage, and she was happy now to give him all her attention. He on while they played; sometimes in relation to the cards; at others telling her of small which he might her.
"So you don't know my boys, by sight. I should have you would have done, for they're of into Hollingford; and I know Roger has often been to borrow books from your father. Roger is a scientific of a fellow. Osborne is clever, like his mother. I shouldn't wonder if he published a book some day. You're not right, Miss Gibson. Why, I you as easily as possible." And so on, till the came in with a look, a large prayer-book his master, who the cards away in a hurry, as if in an employment; and then the and men in to prayers—the were still open, and the of the corncrake, and the in the trees, with the spoken. Then to bed; and so ended the day.
Molly looked out of her window—leaning on the sill, and up the night of the honeysuckle. The soft that was at any from her; although she was as of their presence as if she had them.
"I think I shall be very happy here," was in Molly's thoughts, as she away at length, and to prepare for bed. Before long the Squire's words, to her father's second marriage, came across her, and the sweet peace of her final thoughts. "Who he have married?" she asked herself. "Miss Eyre? Miss Browning? Miss Phœbe? Miss Goodenough?" One by one, each of these was rejected for reasons. Yet the question in her mind, and out of to her dreams.
Mrs. Hamley did not come to breakfast; and Molly out with a little dismay, that the Squire and she were to have it by themselves. On this he put his newspapers—one an old Tory journal, with all the local and news, which was the most to him; the other the Morning Chronicle, which he called his of bitters, and which called out many a and oath. To-day, however, he was "on his manners," as he to Molly; and he about, trying to ground for a conversation. He talk of his wife and his sons, his estate, and his mode of farming; his tenants, and the of the last election. Molly's were her father, Miss Eyre, her garden and pony; in a Miss Brownings, the Cumnor Charity School, and the new that was to come from Miss Rose's; into the of which the one great question, "Who was it that people it was possible papa might marry?" up into her mouth, like a Jack-in-the-box. For the present, however, the was upon the as often as he his her teeth. They were very to each other the meal; and it was not a little to both. When it was ended the Squire into his study to read the newspapers. It was the to call the room in which Squire Hamley his coats, boots, and gaiters, his different and spud, his gun and fishing-rods, "the study." There was a in it, and a three-cornered arm-chair, but no books were visible. The part of them were in a large, musty-smelling room, in an part of the house; so that the often neglected to open the window-shutters, which looked into a part of the over-grown with the of shrubs. Indeed, it was a in the servants' that, in the late squire's time—he who had been at college—the library had been 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 of this room; opened the and daily, and the handsomely-bound volumes, which were a very of the in the middle of the last century. All the books that had been purchased since that time were in small book-cases each two of the drawing-room windows, and in Mrs. Hamley's own sitting-room upstairs. Those in the drawing-room were to Molly; indeed, she was so in one of Sir Walter Scott's that she jumped as if she had been shot, when an hour or so after the Squire came to the gravel-path 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 for you, my girl, all by yourself, with nothing but books to look at, in the here; but you see, has a for being in the mornings: she told your father about it, and so did I, but I sorry for you all the same, when I saw you on the ground all alone in the drawing-room."
Molly had been in the very middle of the Bride of Lammermoor, and would have in-doors to it, but she the squire's all the same. They in and out of old-fashioned greenhouses, over lawns, the Squire the great kitchen-garden, and about to gardeners; and all the time Molly him like a little dog, her mind full of "Ravenswood" and "Lucy Ashton." Presently, every place near the house had been and regulated, and the Squire was more at to give his attention to his companion, as they passed through the little that the gardens from the fields. Molly, too, away her from the seventeenth century; and, somehow or other, that one question, which had so her before, came out of her she was aware—a impromptu,—
"Who did people think papa would marry? That time—long ago—soon after died?"
She her voice very soft and low, as she spoke the last words. The Squire upon her, and looked at her face, he not why. It was very grave, a little pale, but her almost some of answer.
"Whew," said he, to time; not that he had anything to say, for no one had had any to join Mr. Gibson's name with any lady: it was only a that had been on the probabilities—a widower, with a little girl.
"I of any one—his name was with any lady's—'twas only in the nature of that he should again; he may do it yet, for I know, and I don't think it would be a move either. I told him so, the last time but one he was here."
"And what did he say?" asked Molly.
"Oh: he only and said nothing. You shouldn't take up so seriously, my dear. Very likely he may think of marrying again, and if he did, it would be a very good thing for him and for you!"
Molly something, as if to herself, but the Squire might have it if he had chosen. As it was, he the of the conversation.
"Look at that!" he said, as they came upon the mere, or large pond. There was a small in the middle of the water, on which tall trees, dark Scotch in the centre, close to the water's edge. "We must you over there, some of these days. I'm not of using the at this time of the year, the are still in the among the and water-plants; but we'll go. There are and grebes."
"Oh, look, there's a swan!"
"Yes; there are two pair of them here. And in those trees there's a and a heronry; the ought to be here by now, for they're off to the sea in August, but I've not one yet. Stay! isn't that one—that on a stone, with his long down, looking into the water?"
"Yes! I think so. I have a heron, only pictures of them."
"They and the are always at war, which doesn't do for such near neighbours. If the they are building, the come and tear it to pieces; and once Roger me a long of a heron, with a of after him, with no purpose in their minds, I'll be bound. Roger a of natural history, and out sometimes. He'd have been off a dozen times this walk of ours, if he'd been here: his are always about, and see twenty where I only see one. Why! I've him into a he saw something fifteen yards off—some plant, maybe, which he'd tell me was very rare, though I should say I'd its at every turn in the woods; and, if we came upon such a thing as this," a of a upon a with his stick, as he spoke, "why, he tell you what or it, and if it in fir-wood, or in a of good timber, or in the ground, or up in the sky, or anywhere. It's a they don't take in Natural History at Cambridge. Roger would be safe if they did."
"Mr. Osborne Hamley is very clever, is he not?" Molly asked, timidly.
"Oh, yes. Osborne's a of a genius. His mother looks for great from Osborne. I'm proud of him myself. He'll 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 of Nature," the squire, his Molly, as if he was going to a new idea to her, "that I, a Hamley of Hamley, in from nobody where—the Heptarchy, they say—What's the date of the Heptarchy?"
"I don't know," said Molly, at being thus to.
"Well! it was some time King Alfred, he was the King of all England, you know; but, as I was saying, here am I, of as good and as old a as any man in England, and I 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 less than twelve when I was a man; and there's Osborne, who takes after his mother, who couldn't tell her great-grandfather from Adam, her; and Osborne has a girl's face, and a make, and hands and 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 will think that red-brown, big-boned, is of blood. Yet all those Cumnor people, you make such of in Hollingford, are of yesterday. I was talking to the other day about Osborne's marrying a 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 to it. I am not sure; for you see Osborne will have had a first-rate education, and his family from the Heptarchy, while I should be to know where the Cumnor were in the time of Queen Anne?" He walked on, the question of he have his to this marriage; and after some time, and when Molly had the to which he alluded, he 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, would be up and dressed, and to have her visitor with her. He pointed out the house, with its facings, as it was at some the trees, and her on her way along the field-paths.
"That's a girl of Gibson's," he to himself. "But what a tight the got of the of his marrying again! One had need be on one's as to what one says her. To think of her having of the of a stepmother. To be sure, a to a girl is a different thing to a second wife to a man!"
