GATHERING CLOUDS.
Illustrationrs. Gibson came full of rose-coloured of London. Lady Cumnor had been and affectionate, "so touched by my going up to see her so soon after her return to England," Lady Harriet and to her old governess, Lord Cumnor "just like his dear self;" and as for the Kirkpatricks, no Lord Chancellor's house was than theirs, and the of the Q.C. had over and footmen. Cynthia, too, was so much admired; and as for her dress, Mrs. Kirkpatrick had ball-dresses and wreaths, and and mantles, like a godmother. Mr. Gibson's present of ten into very small with all this munificence.
"And they're so 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 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 home. But, my dear child, you do look so old-fashioned with your all tight, and your all about in curls. Curls are gone out. We must do your differently," she continued, trying to Molly's black into straightness.
"I sent Cynthia an African letter," said Molly, timidly. "Did you anything of what was in it?"
"Oh, yes, child! It her very uneasy, I think; she said she did not to go to Mr. Rawson's ball, which was on that night, and for which Mrs. Kirkpatrick had her the ball-dress. But there was nothing for her to herself about. Roger only said he had had another touch of fever, but was when he wrote. He says every European has to be by 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 man that I know has been for a days in Africa, two months ago, therefore I don't want to go to the to-night.' It would have like of sentiment; and if there's one thing I it is that."
"She would herself," said Molly.
"Oh, yes, but she did. Her dress was white gauze, with lilacs, and she did look—a mother may be allowed a little natural partiality—most lovely. And she every dance, although she was a stranger. I am sure she herself, from her manner of talking about it next morning."
"I wonder if the Squire knows."
"Knows what? Oh, yes, to be sure—you about Roger. I he doesn't, and there's no need to tell him, for I've no it is all right now." And she out of the room to her unpacking.
Molly let her work fall, and sighed. "It will be a year the day after to-morrow since he came here to our going to Hurst Wood, and was so at his calling lunch. I wonder if Cynthia it as well as I do. And now, perhaps— Oh! Roger, Roger! I wish—I pray that you were safe home again! How we all it, if—"
She her with her hands, and to stop thinking. Suddenly she got up, as if by a fancy.
"I don't she loves him as she ought, or she not—could not have gone and danced. What shall I do if she not? What shall I do? I can anything but that."
But she the long as to his health hard to endure. They were not likely to from him for a month at least, and that time had Cynthia would be at home again. Molly learnt to long for her return a of her was over. She had had no idea that tête-à-têtes with Mrs. Gibson could, by any possibility, be so as she them. Perhaps Molly's of health, upon her the last months, her irritable; but often she had to up and the room to herself after to a long series of words, more or in than cheerful, and which at the end no of either the speaker's or feeling. Whenever anything had gone wrong, Mr. Gibson had in anything to which she had objected; the cook had a mistake about the dinner, or the any little article; Molly's was not done to her liking, or her dress did not her, or the of dinner the house, or the came, or the right did not come—in fact, anything wrong, Mr. Kirkpatrick was and over, nay, almost blamed, as if, had he only himself the trouble of living, he have helped it.
"When I look to those happy days, it to me as if I had valued them as I ought. To be sure—youth, love,—what did we for poverty! I dear Mr. Kirkpatrick walking five miles into Stratford to me a I had such a for one after Cynthia was born. I don't to complain of dear papa—but I don't think—but, I ought not to say it to you. If Mr. Kirkpatrick had but taken of that of his; but he was so obstinate! Men always are, I think. And it was selfish of him. Only I he did not the in which I should be left. It came upon me than upon most people, I always was of such an nature. I a little of Mr. Kirkpatrick's, in which he my to a harpstring, to the breeze."
"I a to make them sound," said Molly.
"My dear child, you've no more in you than your father. And as for your hair! it's than ever. Can't you it in water to take those and out of it?"
"It only makes it more and more when it dry," said Molly, into her as a came her like a picture long ago and for years—a mother and her little girl; the half-naked on her knee, and the wet of dark her fingers, and then, in an of fondness, the little head.
The receipt of Cynthia's very events. She did not often, but her were long when they did come, and very in tone. There was mention of many new names, which no idea to Molly, though Mrs. Gibson would try and her by like the following:—
"Mrs. Green! ah, that's Mr. Jones's cousin, who in Russell Square with the 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 man with black whiskers, a of Mr. Kirkpatrick's formerly,—or was he a 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 Cynthia so much, without I was her mother. She was very indeed, in black satin; and the son had a eye, but he was a 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 looking and than ever, dressed, thanks to her own good taste, and her cousin's generosity, full of of the life she had been enjoying, yet not at all out of at having left it her. She home all of and for Molly; a neck-ribbon up in the fashion, a pattern for a tippet, a pair of light gloves, as Molly had before, and many another little of her absence. Yet somehow or other, Molly that Cynthia was in her relation to her. Molly was aware that she had had Cynthia's full confidence, for with all her and naïveté of manner, Cynthia was and reticent. She this much of herself, and had often laughed about it to Molly, and the had by this time out the truth of her friend's assertion. But Molly did not trouble herself much about it. She too that there were many and that through her mind which she should think of telling to any one, perhaps—if they were very much together—to her father. She that Cynthia from her more than and feelings—that she facts. But then, as Molly reflected, these might involve of and suffering—might relate to her mother's neglect—and be of so painful a character, that it would be well if Cynthia her altogether, of it in her mind by the relation of her and troubles. So it was not now by any want of that Molly as it were. It was Cynthia than her companionship; her the straight, serious, look of Molly's; there were on which she speaking, not particularly as as Molly perceive, but it almost as if they on the road to points to be avoided. Molly a of in noticing Cynthia's manner of talking about Roger. She spoke of him now; "poor Roger," as she called him; and Molly that she must be to the which he had mentioned in his last letter. One in the week after Cynthia's return home, just as he was going out, Mr. Gibson ran up into the drawing-room, on, and spurred, and an open her; pointing out a particular passage with his finger, but not speaking a word he the room. His were sparkling, and had an as well as pleased expression. All this Molly noticed, as well as Cynthia's of colour as she read what was thus pointed out to her. Then she pushed it a little on one side, not the book, however, and on with her work.
"What is it? may I see it?" asked Molly, out her hand for the pamphlet, which her reach. But she did not take it until Cynthia had said—
"Certainly; I don't there are any great in a scientific journal, full of reports of meetings." And she gave the book a little push Molly.
"Oh, Cynthia!" said Molly, her as she read, "are you not proud?" For it was an account of an of the Geographical Society, and Lord Hollingford had read a he had from Roger Hamley, from Arracuoba, a in Africa, by any European traveller; and about which Mr. Hamley sent many particulars. The reading of this had been with the interest, and speakers had paid the very high compliments.
But Molly might have Cynthia than to an answer to the that her question. Let Cynthia be so proud, so glad, or so grateful, or indignant, remorseful, or sorry, the very that she was by another to any of these emotions, would have been to prevent her them.
"I'm I'm not as much by the wonder of the thing as you are, Molly. Besides, it is not news to me; at least, not entirely. I about the meeting I left London; it was a good talked about in my uncle's set; to be sure, I didn't all the they say of him there—but then, you know, that's a fashion of speaking, which means nothing; somebody is to pay when a lord takes the trouble to read one of his aloud."
"Nonsense," said Molly. "You know you don't what you are saying, Cynthia."
Cynthia gave that little of her shoulders, which was her for a French shrug, but did not up her from her sewing. Molly 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 about these things, wouldn't some of them have taken you?"
"Perhaps, if I had asked them. But I think they would have been at my turn for science."
"You might have told your uncle how stood, he wouldn't have talked about it if you had him not, I am sure, and he have helped you."
"Once for all, Molly," said Cynthia, now her work, and speaking with quick authority, "do learn to that it is, and always has been my wish, not to have the relation which Roger and I to each other, mentioned or talked about. When the right time comes, I will make it to my uncle, and to it may concern; but I am not going to make mischief, and myself into trouble—even for the of paid to him—by it out the time. If I'm pushed to it, I'd sooner it off at once, and have done with it. I can't be off than I am now." Her angry had into a of she had ended her sentence. Molly looked at her with dismay.
"I can't you, Cynthia," she said at length.
"No; I you can't," said Cynthia, looking at her with in her eyes, and very tenderly, as if in for her late vehemence. "I am afraid—I you will."
In a moment, Molly's arms were her. "Oh, Cynthia," she murmured, "have I been you? Have I you? Don't say you're of my you. Of you've your faults, has, but I think I love you the for them."
"I don't know that I am so very bad," said Cynthia, a little through the that Molly's and had to overflow from her eyes. "But I have got into scrapes. I'm in a now. I do sometimes I shall always be in scrapes, and if they come to light, I shall to be than I am; and I know your father will me off, and I—no, I won't be 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 he will of it. I don't see why he should, for in a little while I shall be clear again. It all came about without my I was doing wrong. I've a great mind to tell you all about it, Molly."
Molly did not like to it, though she to know, and to see if she not offer help; but while Cynthia was hesitating, and perhaps, to say the truth, that she had this her confidence, Mrs. Gibson came in, full of some manner of a of hers, so as to make it into the fashion of the day, as she had it her visit to London. Cynthia to her and her troubles, and to her whole into millinery.
Cynthia's on with her London cousins, according to the of in those days. Indeed, Mrs. Gibson was occasionally to complain of the of Helen Kirkpatrick's letters; for the post came in, the had to pay the of letters; and eleven-pence-halfpenny three times a week came, according to Mrs. Gibson's mode of when annoyed, to a "between three and four shillings." But these were only for the family; they saw the of the tapestry. Hollingford in general, Miss Brownings in particular, of "dear Helen's for Cynthia," and of "the it was to such news—relays of news indeed—from London. It was almost as good as there!"
"A great I should think," said Miss Browning with some severity. For she had got many of her of the from the British Essayists, where town is so often as the centre of dissipation, country and squires' daughters, and them for all their by the of its not always pleasures. London was a of pitch, which touch and not be defiled. Miss Browning had been on the watch for the of in Cynthia's since her return home. But, in a number of and articles of dress, there was no great for the to be perceived. Cynthia had been "in the world," had "beheld the and and of London," yet had come to Hollingford as as to place a chair for Miss Browning, or to flowers for a for Miss Phœbe, or to her own clothes. But all this was set to the of Cynthia, not to the of London-town.
"As as I can judge of London," said Miss Browning, her against the place, "it's no than a and a up in the of folk. I should like to know where my Lord Hollingford was bred, and Mr. Roger Hamley. Your good husband me that report of the meeting, Mrs. Gibson, where so much was said about them both, and he was as proud of their as if he had been to them, and Phœbe read it to me, for the print was too small for my eyes; she was a good with all the new names of places, but I said she had them all, for we had of them and should of them again, but she read out the they said of my lord, and Mr. Roger, and I put it to you, where were they and bred? Why, 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 of in London, and the people up there that it is such an to know, and all the time I know it's only shops and the play that's the attraction. But that's neither here there. We all put our best foremost, and if we have a to give that looks we speak it out like men, and say anything about the we are to our hearts. But I ask you again, where this come from, and these wise men, and these travellers? Why, out of country like this! London 'em all up, and herself with them, and then calls out loud to the she's robbed, and says, 'Come and see how I am.' Fine, indeed! I've no patience with London: Cynthia is much 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 her."
"But she may live in London some of these days, Miss Browning," Mrs. Gibson.
"Time then to be of London. I wish her an country husband with to live upon, and a little to by, and a good to boot. Mind that, Molly," said she, upon the 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 away upon any one life isn't clear and above-board, you may upon it!"
This last speech like a bomb into the little drawing-room, it was delivered with such vehemence. Miss Browning, in her heart, meant it as a against the she that Molly had with Mr. Preston; but as it that Molly had of any such intimacy, the girl not why such of speech should be 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), the that Miss Browning's speech by saying, plaintively,—
"I'm sure, Miss Browning, you are very much if you think that any mother take more of Molly than I do. I don't—I can't think there is any need for any one to 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 my feelings, it does; for Molly can tell you there is not a thing or a that Cynthia has, that she has not. And as for not taking 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 did it for Cynthia when she was at in France; and her is just like Cynthia's, and I let her wear my red she likes—she might have it if she would. I can't think what you mean, Miss Browning."
"I did not to you, but I meant just to give Molly a hint. She what I mean."
"I'm sure I don't," said Molly, boldly. "I haven't a what you meant, if you were to anything more than you said out,—that you do not wish me to 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 character, by every means in your power. I'm not of marrying; I don't want to at all; but if I did, and he were not a good man, I should thank you for and me of it."
"I shall not on you, Molly. I shall the in church, if need be," said Miss Browning, of the clear truth of what Molly had said—blushing all over, it is true, but with her on Miss Browning's 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 what I have said, Molly; there's no in that, at any rate. I'm sorry I your feelings, Mrs. Gibson. As go, I think you try and do your duty. Good morning. Good-by to you both, and God you."
If Miss Browning that her final would secure peace in the room she was leaving, she was very much mistaken; Mrs. Gibson out with,—
"Try and do my duty, indeed! I should be much to you, Molly, if you would take not to in such a manner as to upon me such as I have just been from Miss Browning."
"But I don't know what her talk as she did, mamma," said Molly.
"I'm sure I don't know, and I don't either. But I know that I was spoken to as if I was trying to do my before,—'trying' indeed! always that I did it, without talking about it my in that manner. I've that about that I think it ought only to be talked about in church, and in such places as that; not to have a common one with it, though she was an early friend of your mother's. And as if I didn't look after you as much as I look after Cynthia! Why, it was only yesterday I up into Cynthia's room and her reading a that she put away in a as soon as I came in, and I didn't ask her who it was from, and I'm sure I should have you tell me."
Very likely. Mrs. Gibson from any with Cynthia, sure that she would be in the end; while Molly submitted sooner than have any for her own will.
Just then Cynthia came in.
"What's the matter?" said she quickly, that something was wrong.
"Why, Molly has been doing something which has set that Miss Browning off into me on trying to do my duty! If your father had but lived, Cynthia, I should have been spoken to as I have been. 'A trying to do her duty,' indeed! That was Miss Browning's expression."
Any to her father took from Cynthia all of irony. She came forward, and again asked Molly what was the matter.
Molly, herself ruffled, answer,—
"Miss Browning to think I was likely to some one was objectionable—"
"You, Molly?" said Cynthia.
"Yes—she once spoke to me,—I she has got some about Mr. Preston in her head—"
Cynthia suddenly. Molly on: "And she spoke as if did not look after me,—I think she was provoking—"
"Not rather, but very—very impertinent," said Mrs. Gibson, a little by Molly's of her grievance.
"What have put it into her head?" said Cynthia, very quietly, taking up her as she spoke.
"I don't know," said her mother, to the question after her own fashion. "I'm sure I don't always approve of Mr. Preston; but if it was him she was about, he's more than she is; and I had much have him to call than an old like her any day."
"I don't know that it was Mr. Preston she was about," said Molly. "It was only a guess. When you were in London she spoke about him,—I she had something about you and him, Cynthia." Unseen by her mother Cynthia looked up at Molly, her full of prohibition, her full of angry colour. Molly stopped suddenly. After that look she was at the with which Cynthia said, almost immediately,—
"Well, after all, it is only your that she was to Mr. Preston, so we had not say any more about him; and as for her to to look after you better, Miss Molly, I'll for your good behaviour; for and I know you're the last person to do any in that way. And now don't let us talk any more about it. I was to tell you that Hannah Brand's little boy has been burnt, and his sister is for old linen."
Mrs. Gibson was always to people, and she got up and to her stores to search for the article wanted.
Cynthia to Molly.
"Molly, pray don't to anything me and Mr. Preston,—not to mamma, to any one. Never do! I've a for it,—don't say anything more about it, ever."
Mrs. Gibson came at this moment, and Molly had to stop again on the of Cynthia's confidence; this time, she would have been told anything more, and only sure that she had Cynthia a good deal.
But the time was when she would know all.
