SCANDAL AND ITS VICTIMS.
When Mr. Gibson returned to Hollingford, he an of waiting for him, and he was much to complain of the of the two days' holiday, which had resulted in over-work for the week to come. He had time to speak to his family, he had so to off to pressing cases of illness. But Molly managed to him in the hall, there with his great out for him to put on, but as she did so—
"Papa! Mr. Osborne Hamley was here to see you yesterday. He looks very ill, and he's about himself."
Mr. Gibson 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 Molly, who had herself that Osborne's was "nervous," by which she meant imaginary. She had upon his looks of at Miss Phœbe's perplexity, and that no one himself to be in have the which he had done; but after the of her father's face, she to the she had on Osborne's appearance. All this time Mrs. Gibson was reading a from Cynthia which Mr. Gibson had from London; for every opportunity of private was upon when was so high; and Cynthia had so many in her packing, that she now sent a list of the which she required. Molly almost that it had not come to her; but she did not the of that was up in Cynthia's mind her. Cynthia herself with the feeling, and to against it by calling herself "ungrateful;" but the truth was, she that she no longer her high place in Molly's and she not help away from one who to her discredit. She was aware of Molly's and action, where action was disagreeable, on her behalf; she that Molly would up the past errors and difficulties; but still the that the good, girl had learnt that Cynthia had been of so much work her regard, and her of intercourse. Reproach herself with as she would, she not help to be away from Molly; it was to speak to her as if nothing had happened; it was to to her about and laces, when their last had been on such different subjects, and had called out such of feeling. So Mrs. Gibson the list in her hand, and read out the small of news that were with of Cynthia's requirements.
"Helen cannot be so very ill," said Molly at length, "or Cynthia would not want her pink and wreath."
"I don't see that that follows, I'm sure," Mrs. Gibson sharply. "Helen would be so selfish as to tie Cynthia to her side, she was. Indeed, I should not have that it was my to let Cynthia go to London at all, if I had she was to be to the of a sick-room. Besides, it must be so good for Helen to have Cynthia in with of the parties she has been to—even if Cynthia I should her to herself and go out as much as she could, for Helen's sake. My idea of nursing is that one should not be always of one's own and wishes, but doing those which will most to the hours of an invalid. But then so people have had to the so as I have done!"
Mrs. Gibson here fit to going on with Cynthia's letter. As as Molly make any out of this epistle, very read to her, Cynthia was pleased, and to be of use and to Helen, but at the same time very to be easily into the small which in her uncle's house in London, at this season of the year. Mrs. Gibson came upon Mr. Henderson's name once, and then on with a "um-um-um" to herself, which very mysterious, but which might as well have been omitted, as all that Cynthia said about him was, "Mr. Henderson's mother has my aunt to a Dr. Donaldson, who is said to be very in such cases as Helen's, but my uncle is not sure of the professional etiquette, &c." Then there came a very affectionate, message to Molly,—implying a good more than was said of for the trouble she had taken on Cynthia's behalf. And that was all; and Molly away a little depressed; she not why.
The operation on Lady Cumnor had been performed, and in a days they to her to the Towers to her in the fresh country air. The case was one which 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 was that he was and to the progress of her recovery; and, as he had much to do in the circle of his Hollingford practice, as well as to to his medical in London, he it difficult to the three or four hours necessary to go over to Hamley to see Osborne. He to him, however, him to reply and detail his symptoms; and from the answer he he did not that the case was pressing. Osborne, too, his over to Hamley for the purpose of him. So the visit was to that "more season" which is so often too late.
All these days the about Molly's with Mr. Preston, her correspondence, the in places, had been strength, and the positive of scandal. The girl, who walked through the without a of being the object of implications, for a time the black sheep of the town. Servants part of what was said in their mistresses' drawing-rooms, and the themselves with the of common with people. Mr. Preston himself aware that her name was being with his, though to the to which the love of and had people's speeches; he over the mistake, but took no pains to it. "It her right," said he to himself, "for with other folk's business," and he himself for the which her of to Lady Harriet had him, and the he had in learning from her plain-speaking lips, how he had been talked over by Cynthia and herself, with personal on the one side, and on the other. Besides, if any of Mr. Preston's up an as to the truth, more might come out of his to Cynthia to keep to her to him than he to have known. He was angry with himself for still Cynthia; her in his own fashion, be it understood. He told himself that many a woman of more position and would be to have him; some of them too. And he asked himself why he was such a as to go on after a girl, who was as as the wind? The answer was enough, logically; but in fact. Cynthia was Cynthia, and not Venus herself have been her substitute. In this one thing Mr. Preston was more true than many men; who, to be married, turn with careless from the to the attainable, and keep their and till they a woman who to be their wife. But no one would be to Mr. Preston what Cynthia had been, and was; and yet he have her in of his moods. So, Molly, who had come him and the object of his desire, was not likely to in his sight, or to obtain from him.
There came a time—not very from the at Mrs. Dawes'—when Molly that people looked at her. Mrs. Goodenough openly her grand-daughter away, when the girl stopped to speak to Molly in the street, and an which the two had for a long walk together was cut very by a very excuse. Mrs. Goodenough her in the manner to some of her friends:—
"You see, I don't think the of a girl for meeting her here and there and everywhere, till she talked about; but then when she does—and Molly Gibson's name is in everybody's mouth—I think it's only to Bessy, who has me with Annabella—not to let her be with a who has managed her so as to set talking about her. My is this,—and it's a very good one, you may on't—women should mind what they're about, and 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 in of the that hard about Molly. Miss Browning was to "have a temper," and by every one who came in with her from that by the against the smallest of those over she spread the ægis of her love. She would and did them herself; she used to that she them: but no one else might touch them with the of a word. But Miss Phœbe no such terror; the great why she did not of the against Molly as early as any one, was that, although she was not the rose, she near the rose. Besides, she was of so a nature that thick-skinned Mrs. Goodenough was to say what would give Miss Phœbe pain; and it was the new-comer Mrs. Dawes, who in all to the town's talk, as to something of which Miss Phœbe must be aware. Then Miss Phœbe her questions, although she protested, with tears, her total in all the she received. It was a small act of on her part to keep all that she then learnt a from her sister Dorothy, as she did for four or five days; till Miss Browning her one with the speech:—
"Phœbe! either you've some for out with sighs, or you've not. If you have a reason, it's your to tell it me directly; and if you haven't a reason, you must of a that is upon you."
"Oh, sister! do you think it is my to tell you? it would be such a comfort; but then I I ought not; it will you so."
"Nonsense. I am so well prepared for by the of its possibility that I I can any news with and resignation. Besides, when you said yesterday at breakfast-time that you meant to give up the day to making your tidy, I was aware that some was impending, though of I not judge of its magnitude. Is the Highchester Bank broken?"
"Oh no, sister!" said Miss Phœbe, moving to a seat close to her sister's on the sofa. "Have you been that! I wish I had told you what I at the very first, if you've been that!"
"Take warning, Phœbe, and learn to have no from me. I did think we must be ruined, from your of going on: no meat at dinner, and continually. And now what is it?"
"I know how to tell you, Dorothy. I don't."
Miss Phœbe to cry; Miss Browning took of her arm, and gave her a little shake.
"Cry as much as you like when you've told me; but don't now, child, when you're me on the tenter-hooks."
"Molly Gibson has her character, sister. That's it."
"Molly Gibson has done no such thing!" said Miss Browning indignantly. "How you repeat such about Mary's child? Never let me you say such 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 a word of it. And I it from you; and I think I should have been if I'd it to myself any longer. Oh, sister! what are you going to do?"
For Miss Browning had without speaking a word, and was the room in a and fashion.
"I'm going to put on my and things, and then I shall call upon Mrs. Dawes, and her with her lies."
"Oh, don't call them lies, sister; it's such a strong, word. Please call them tallydiddles, for I don't 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 as if they might be true."
"What things?" said Miss Browning, still with of position in the middle of the floor.
"Why—one was that Molly had him a letter."
"Who's him? How am I to a told in that way?" Miss Browning sat on the nearest chair, and up her mind to be patient if she could.
"Him is Mr. Preston. And that must be true; I missed her from my when I wanted to ask her if she would look green by candlelight, as the man said it would, and she had across the street, and Mrs. Goodenough was just going into the shop, just as she said she was."
Miss Browning's was her anger; so she only said, "Phœbe, I think you'll drive me mad. Do tell me what you from Mrs. Dawes in a and manner, for once in your life."
"I'm sure I'm trying with all my might to tell you just as it happened."
"What did you from Mrs. Dawes?"
"Why, that Molly and Mr. Preston were company just as if she was a maid-servant and he was a gardener: meeting at all of times and places, and away in his arms, and out at night together, and to each other, and their 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 across the to Grinstead's, where he was, for we had just left him there; with a in her hand, too, which was not there when she came all and blushing. But I anything of it at the time; but now all the town is talking about it, and shame, and saying they ought to be married." Miss Phœbe into again; but was by a good box on her ear. Miss Browning was over her almost with passion.
"Phœbe, if I you say such 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," Miss Phœbe, and meekly. "Dorothy, you should not have done that."
"Never mind I should or I shouldn't. That's not the 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 some are true; though I to their being false when Mrs. Dawes told me of them."
"If I go to Mrs. Dawes, and she them to me, I shall her or box her ears I'm afraid, for I couldn't being told of Mary's daughter, as if they were just a piece of news like James Horrocks' pig with two heads," said Miss Browning, aloud. "That would do of good. Phœbe, I'm sorry I your ears, only I should do it again if you said the same things." Phœbe by her sister, and took of one of her hands, and it, which was her way of her sister's of regret. "If I speak to Molly, the child will it, if she's 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 her, she any one else. No; Mrs. Dawes, who told you, shall tell me, and I'll tie my hands together my muff, and myself over to keep the peace. And when I've what is to be heard, I'll put the into Mr. Gibson's hands. That's what I'll do. So it's no use your saying anything against it, Phœbe, for I shan't to you."
Miss Browning to Mrs. Dawes' and to make the reports in Hollingford about Molly and Mr. Preston; and Mrs. Dawes into the snare, and told all the and of the in circulation, of the that was and to upon her as soon as she stopped speaking. But she had not the long of for Miss Browning which would have so many Hollingford ladies from themselves if she fault. Mrs. Dawes up for herself and her own veracity, out fresh scandal, which she said she did not believe, but that many did; and so much as to the truth of what she had said and did believe, that Miss Browning was almost quelled, and and at the end of Mrs. Dawes' of herself.
"Well!" she said at length, up from her chair as she spoke, "I'm very sorry I've till this day; it's a to me just as if I had of such goings-on in my own and blood. I I ought to to you, Mrs. Dawes, for what I said; but I've no to do it to-day. I ought not to have spoken as I did; but that's nothing to this affair, you see."
"I you do me the to that I only what I had on good authority, Miss Browning," said Mrs. Dawes in reply.
"My dear, don't repeat on any authority unless you can do some good by speaking about it," said Miss Browning, her hand on Mrs. Dawes' shoulder. "I'm not a good woman, but I know what is good, and that is. And now I think I can tell you that I your for out upon you so; but God what pain you were me to. You'll me, won't you, my dear?" Mrs. Dawes the hand on her shoulder, and saw the of Miss Browning's mind, so it was not difficult for her to the forgiveness. Then Miss Browning home, and said but a to Phœbe, who saw well that her sister had the reports confirmed, and needed no of the of scarcely-tasted dinner, and replies, and looks. Presently Miss Browning and a note. Then she the bell, and told the little who answered it to take it to Mr. Gibson, and if he was out to see that it was to him as soon as he came home. And then she and put on her Sunday cap; and Miss Phœbe that her sister had to ask Mr. Gibson to come and be told of the his daughter. Miss Browning was sadly at the she had received, and the that her; she was to herself and to Miss Phœbe, and the netting-cotton she was using and from the of her hands. When the at the door was heard,—the well-known doctor's knock,—Miss Browning took off her spectacles, and them on the carpet, them as she did so; and then she Miss Phœbe the room, as if her presence had the evil-eye, and the misfortune. She wanted to look natural, and was at she him or standing.
"Well!" said he, in cheerfully, and his cold hands as he to the fire, "and what is the with us? It's Phœbe, I suppose? I none of those old spasms? But, after all, a or two will set that to rights."
"Oh! Mr. Gibson, I wish it was Phœbe, or me either!" said Miss Browning, more and more.
He by her patiently, when he saw her agitation, and took her hand in a kind, manner.
"Don't yourself,—take your time. I it's not so as you fancy; but we'll see about it. There's a great of help in the world, much as we it."
"Mr. Gibson," said she, "it's your Molly I'm so about. It's out now, and God help us both, and the child too, for I'm sure she's been astray, and not gone by her own free will!"
"Molly!" said he, against her words. "What's my little Molly been doing or saying?"
"Oh! Mr. Gibson, I don't know how to tell you. I would have named it, if I had not been convinced, sorely, against my will."
"At any rate, you can let me what you've heard," said he, his on the table, and his with his hand. "Not that I'm a of anything you can about my girl," he. "Only in this little 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, his hand from his eyes. "I'm not going to it, so don't be afraid!"
"But I you must it. I would not if I help it. She's been on a with Mr. Preston!—"
"Mr. Preston!" he.
"And meeting him at all of 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 again, and he no sign; so Miss Browning on, adding touch to touch. "Mr. Sheepshanks saw them together. They have notes in Grinstead's shop; she ran after him there."
"Be quiet, can't you?" said Mr. Gibson, taking his hand away, and his set face. "I've enough. Don't go on. I said I shouldn't it, and I don't. I I must thank you for telling me; but I can't yet."
"I don't want your thanks," said Miss Browning, almost crying. "I you ought to know; for though you're married again, I can't you were dear Mary's husband once upon a time; and Molly's her child."
"I'd not speak any more about it just at present," said he, not at all to Miss Browning's last speech. "I may not myself as I ought. I only wish I meet Preston, and him an of his life. I wish I'd the of these gossips. I'd make their still for a while. My little girl! What has she done them all, that they should go and her name?"
"Indeed, Mr. Gibson, I'm it's all true. I would not have sent for you if I hadn't into it. Do the truth you do anything violent, such as or poisoning."
With all the inconséquence of a man in a passion, Mr. Gibson laughed out, "What have I said about or poisoning? Do you think I'd have Molly's name about the in with any act of 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 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 steps, laughing laughs from time to time. "Really what will they say next? 'Satan some still for to do.'"
"Don't talk of Satan, please, in this house. No one what may happen, if he's spoken about," Miss Browning.
He on, without noticing her, talking to himself,—"I've a great mind to the place;—and what food for that piece of would give to!" Then he was for a time; his hands in his pockets, his on the ground, as he his quarter-deck march. Suddenly he stopped close to Miss Browning's chair: "I'm to you, for as true a mark of as you've to me. True or false, it was right I should know the that was being circulated; and it couldn't have been for you to tell it me. Thank you from the of my heart."
"Indeed, Mr. Gibson, if it was false I would have named it, but let it die away."
"It's not true, though!" said he, doggedly, the hand he had taken in his of gratitude.
She her head. "I shall always love Molly for her mother's sake," she said. And it was a great from the Miss Browning. But her father did not it as such.
"You ought to love her for her own. She has done nothing to herself. I shall go home, and into the truth."
"As if the girl who has been away into already would much at going on in falsehood," was Miss Browning's on this last speech of Mr. Gibson's; but she had not to make it until he was well out of hearing.
