CONFIDENCES.
All the of that day Molly was and not well. Having anything to was so unusual—almost so a with her that it upon her in every way.
It was a that she not shake off; she did so wish to it all, and yet every little to her of it. The next morning's post letters; one from Roger for Cynthia, and Molly, herself, looked at Cynthia as she read it, with sadness. It appeared to Molly as though Cynthia should have no in these letters, until she had told him what was her exact position with Mr. Preston; yet Cynthia was and up as she always did at any of praise, or admiration, or love. But Molly's and Cynthia's reading were by a little from Mrs. Gibson, as she pushed a she had just to her husband, with a—
"There! I must say I that!" Then, to Cynthia, she explained—"It is a from uncle Kirkpatrick, love. So kind, you to go and with them, and help them to up Helen; Helen! I am she is very from well. But we not have had her here, without dear papa in his consulting-room; and, though I have my dressing-room—he—well! so I said in my how you were grieved—you above all of us, you are such a friend of Helen's, you know—and how you to be of use,—as I am sure you do—and so now they want you to go up directly, for Helen has set her upon it."
Cynthia's sparkled. "I shall like going," said she—"all but you, Molly," she added, in a tone, as if with some compunction.
"Can you be to go by the 'Bang-up' to-night?" said Mr. Gibson; "for, enough, after more than twenty years of at Hollingford, I am up to-day for the time to a in London to-morrow. I'm Lady Cumnor is worse, my dear."
"You don't say so? Poor dear lady! What a it is to me! I'm so I've had some breakfast. I not have anything."
"Nay, I only say she is worse. With her complaint, being may be only a to being better. Don't take my for more than their meaning."
"Thank you. How and dear papa always is! About your gowns, Cynthia?"
"Oh, they're all right, mamma, thank you. I shall be 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 to away from a place by that man; but I'm you I was to you; and I am not." There was a little of "protesting too much" about this; but Molly did not it. She only said, "Indeed I did not. I know from my own how you must 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 got over his attack of fever?"
"Yes, quite. He in very good spirits. A great about and beasts, as usual, of natives, and 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 my of your honour—not but what you might read it all, only you'd the love-making dull; but make a little account of where he is, and what he is doing, date, and that of thing, and send it to his father."
Molly took the without a word, and to copy it at the writing-table; often reading over what she was allowed to read; often pausing, her on her hand, her on the letter, and her to the writer, and all the in which she had either him herself, or in which her had painted him. She was from her by Cynthia's entrance into the drawing-room, looking the picture of delight. "No one here? What a blessing! Ah, Miss Molly, you are more than you yourself. Look here!" up a large full envelope, and then it in her pocket, as if she was of being seen. "What's the matter, sweet one?" up and Molly. "Is it itself over that letter? Why, don't you see these are my very own letters, that I am going to directly, that Mr. Preston has had the to send me, thanks to you, little Molly—cuishla ma chree, of my heart,—the that have been over my like somebody's for these two years?"
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Molly, up a little. "I he would have sent them. He is than I him. And now it is all over. I am so glad! You think he means to give up all 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 relief; and I it all to you, you little lady! Now there's only one thing more to be done; and if you would but do it for me—" (coaxing and while she asked the question).
"Oh, Cynthia, don't ask me; I cannot do any more. You don't know how I go when I think of yesterday, and Mr. Sheepshanks' look."
"It is only a very little thing. I won't your with telling you how I got my letters, but it is not through a person I can trust with money; and I must him to take his twenty-three odd shillings. I have put it together at the of five cent., and it's sealed up. Oh, Molly, I should go off with such a light if you would only try to it safely to him. It's the last thing; there would be no hurry, you know. You might meet him by in a shop, in the street, 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 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 comes out— But you've done a great for me already, and I won't you now for to do any more!"
"I do so having these with him," Molly.
"Underhand! just him a from me! If I left a note for Miss Browning, should you it to her?"
"You know that's very different. I do it openly."
"And yet there might be in that; and there wouldn't be a line with the money. It would only be the winding-up—the honourable, winding-up of an which has 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 into a scrape, why, keep it till I come again. He shall have it then, he will or no!"
Molly looked to her two days alone with Mrs. Gibson with very different from those with which she had the with her father. In the place, there was no the travellers to the from which the coach started; leave-taking in the market-place was out of the of Mrs. Gibson's of propriety. Besides this, it was a gloomy, rainy evening, and had to be in at an early hour. There would be no for six hours—no music, no reading; but the two ladies would at their work, away at small-talk, with not the of dinner; for, to the of those who were leaving, they had already early. But Mrs. Gibson meant to make Molly happy, and to be an companion, only Molly was not well, and was about many and troubles—and at such hours of as she was then through, take the shape of certainties, in our paths. Molly would have a good to have off all these feelings, to her; but the very house and furniture, and rain-blurred landscape, with associations, most of them from the last days.
"You and I must go on the next journey, I think, my dear," said Mrs. Gibson, almost in with Molly's wish that she 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 of is so for the young! But I think the travellers will be themselves at home by this fireside. 'There's no place like home,' as the says. 'Mid and although I may roam,' it begins, and it's very and very true. It's a great to have such a dear little home as this, is not it, Molly?"
"Yes," said Molly, drearily, having something of the "toujours perdrix" at the moment. If she but have gone away with her father, just for two days, how it would have been.
"To be sure, love, it would be very for you and me to go a little all by ourselves. You and I. No one else. If it were not such weather we would have gone off on a little tour. I've been for something of the for some weeks; but we live such a restricted of life here! I sometimes I of the very of the chairs and tables that I know so well. And one the others too! It so and without them!"
"Yes! We are very to-night; but I think it's to the weather!"
"Nonsense, dear. I can't have you in to the of being by weather. Poor dear Mr. Kirkpatrick used to say, 'a makes its own sunshine.' He would say it to me, in his way, I was a little low—for I am a complete barometer—you may judge of the of the weather by my spirits, I have always been such a creature! It is well for Cynthia that she not it; I don't think her easily in any way, do you?"
Molly for a minute or two, and then replied—"No, she is not easily affected—not I should say."
"Many girls, for instance, would have been touched by the she excited—I may say the she when she was at her uncle's last summer."
"At Mr. Kirkpatrick's?"
"Yes. There was Mr. Henderson, that lawyer; that's to say, he is studying law, but he has a good private and is likely to have more, so he can only be what I call playing at law. Mr. Henderson was over and ears in love with her. It is not my fancy, although I mothers are partial: Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick noticed it; and in one of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's letters, she said that Mr. Henderson was going into Switzerland for the long vacation, to try and Cynthia; but she he would it only 'dragging at each remove a chain.' I it such a quotation, and so prettily. You must know aunt Kirkpatrick some day, Molly, my love; she is what I call a woman of a mind."
"I can't help it was a 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 what you by 'it.' You should always try to intelligibly. It is one of the of the English language. In fact, might ask what is language us for at all, if it is not that we may make our meaning understood?"
"But there is something 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 your name with that of any man; it is so difficult to teach you delicacy, child. Perhaps one may say there is a relation dear Cynthia and Roger, but it is very difficult to it; I have no that is the she from speaking about it. For, ourselves, Molly, I sometimes think it will come to nothing. He is so long away, and, privately speaking, Cynthia is not very, very constant. I once her very much taken before—that little is gone by; and she was very to Mr. Henderson, in her way; I she it, for when I was a girl I was by lovers, and in my to shake them off. You have not dear papa say anything of the old Squire, or dear Osborne, have you? It so long since we have or anything of Osborne. But he must be well, I think, or we should have of it."
"I he is 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 than he had done for years."
"Indeed! I am to it. I always was of Osborne; and, do you know, I took to Roger? I him and all that, of course; but to him with Mr. Henderson! Mr. Henderson is so and well-bred, and all his from Houbigant!"
It was true that they had not 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 Mr. Gibson's that Mrs. Gibson one of the notes, not so common now as formerly, from the family in town, her to go over to the Towers, and a book, or a manuscript, or something or other that Lady Cumnor wanted with all an invalid's impatience. It was just the of she for an on a day, and it put her into a good immediately. There was a about it, and it was a variety, and it gave her the drive in a up the avenue, and the of being the temporary of all the rooms once so familiar to her. She asked Molly to her, out of an of kindness, but was not at all sorry when Molly herself and 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 on the at the Towers, for there was no one else to see or to be by.
"I shall not be at home until the afternoon, my dear! But I you will not 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 has it."
Molly the house to herself as much as Mrs. Gibson would having the Towers to herself. She on having her upon a into the drawing-room, so that she might eat her sandwiches while she on with her book. In the middle, Mr. Osborne Hamley was announced. He came in, looking in of Mrs. Goodenough's report of his healthy appearance.
"This call is not on you, Molly," said he, after the were over. "I was in I might have your father at home; I lunch-time was the best hour." He had down, as if of the rest, and into a position, as if it had so natural to him that no of what were good manners to him now.
"I you did not want to see him professionally?" said Molly, if she was wise in to his health, yet to it by her anxiety.
"Yes, I did. I I may help myself to a biscuit and a of wine? No, don't ring for more. I not eat it if it was here. But I just want a mouthful; this is enough, thank you. When will your father be back?"
"He was up to London. Lady Cumnor is worse. I there is some operation going on; but I don't know. He will be to-morrow night."
"Very well. Then I must wait. Perhaps I shall be by that time. I think it's 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 on patients, isn't he, Molly?"
Molly that if he saw Osborne's looks just then he would think him fanciful, or be to be severe. But she only said,—"Papa a joke at everything, you know. It is a after all the he sees."
"Very true. There is a great of 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 her again. Poor old Roger! He loves her very dearly, Molly," he said. Molly how to answer him in all this; she was so by the in voice and manner.
"Mamma has gone to the Towers," she began, at length. "Lady Cumnor wanted that 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 you."
"I think I've careless; I've often so and that it was all I do to keep up a my father."
"Why did you not come and see papa?" said Molly; "or to him?"
"I cannot tell. I on, sometimes better, and sometimes worse, till to-day I up pluck, and came to 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 he returns."
"He must not my father, remember, Molly," said Osborne, himself by the arms of his chair into an position and speaking for the moment. "I wish to God Roger was at home!" said he, into the old posture.
"I can't help you," said Molly. "You think very ill; but isn't it that you are just now?" She was not sure if she ought to have what was in his mind; but as she did, she not help speaking a true reply.
"Well, sometimes I do think I'm very ill; and then, again, I think it's only the life sets me and exaggerating." He was for some time. Then, as if he had taken a resolution, he spoke again. "You see, there are others upon me—upon my health. You haven't what you that day in the library at home? No, I know you haven't. I have the of it in your 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 us; I will go on with my sewing; when you want to say anything more I shall be listening." For she was at the that had come over his face.
"Thank you." After a time he himself, and to speak very quietly, as if on an of fact.
"The name of my wife is Aimée. Aimée Hamley, of course. She 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 good woman. I must not say how dear she is to me. I not. I meant once to have told Cynthia, but she didn't to me as a brother. Perhaps she was of a new relation; but you'll give my love to her, all the same. It is a 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 already, now I that some one else the of my wife and child."
"Child!" said Molly, surprised. But he reply, Maria had announced, "Miss Phœbe Browning."
"Fold up that paper," said he, quickly, something into her hands. "It is only for yourself."
