SQUIRE HAMLEY'S SORROW.
It very long Mr. Gibson came down. He and with his 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 him he called me and asked me to let you stop. I'm sure I don't know—but one doesn't like to at such a time."
"I wish to stay," said Molly.
"Do you? There's a good girl. But how will you manage?"
"Oh, mind that. I can manage. Papa,"—she paused—"what did Osborne die of?" She asked the question in a low, awe-stricken voice.
"Something about the heart. You wouldn't if I told you. I it for some time; but it's not to talk of such at home. When I saw him on Thursday week, he than I've him for a long time. I told Dr. Nicholls so. But one can in these complaints."
"You saw him on Thursday week? Why, you mentioned it!" said Molly.
"No. I don't talk of my at home. Besides, I didn't want him to me as his doctor, but as a friend. Any about his own health would only have the catastrophe."
"Then didn't he know that he was ill—ill of a complaint, I mean: one that might end as it has done?"
"No; not. He would only have been 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 and in every instance, you are not to judge. We must keep our attention on the in hand now. You sleep here for the of the night, which is more than half-gone already?"
"Yes."
"Promise me to go to 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 of Osborne's, which I promised not to tell; but the last time I saw him I think he must have been of something like this." A fit of came upon her, which her father was would end in hysterics. But she herself, and looked up into his face, and to him.
"I 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 on your mind you won't sleep."
"Osborne was married," said she, her 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 me promise secrecy. I don't think I did wrong."
"Don't worry about right or just now; tell me more about it, at once."
"I no more till six months ago—last November, when you up to Lady Cumnor. Then he called, and gave me his wife's address, but still under promise of secrecy; and, those two times, and once when Roger just to it, I have any one mention the subject. I think he would have told me more that last time, only Miss Phœbe 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 a long of dismay.
"And," Molly, "he spoke of a child. Now you know as much as I do, papa, the address. I have it safe at home."
Forgetting, apparently, what time of night it was, Mr. Gibson down, out his him, put his hands in his pockets, and to think. Molly still without speaking, too 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 out. Poor little face!"—taking it his hands and it; "poor, sweet, little face!" Then he 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 has him too much to be energetic. Send up to him in his own room. I'll be here again ten."
Late as it was he left, he his word.
"Now, Molly," he said, "you and I must tell him the truth us. I don't know how he will take it; it may 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 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 love, and not see Mr. Gibson just then." Robinson added, "It was a long time 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, to Molly as soon as Robinson had left the room. "I ought to be away at twelve; but, if I'm not much mistaken, the of a will make him at the idea of me waiting his pleasure, and will do more to him out of that room into this than any or reasoning." Mr. Gibson was though, they the Squire's on the stairs; he was slowly and unwillingly. He came in almost like one blind, along, and taking of chair or table for support or till he Mr. Gibson. He did not speak when he the doctor by the hand; he only his head, and on a of welcome.
"I'm very low, sir. I it's God's doing; but it comes hard upon me. He was my child." He said this almost as if speaking to a stranger, and him of of which he was ignorant.
"Here's Molly," said Mr. Gibson, a little himself, and pushing her forwards.
"I your pardon; I did not see you at first. My mind is a good just now." He down, and then almost to they were there. Molly 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 of one or two 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 or their looks.
"You will be to have Roger at home as soon as may be, I think, sir. Some months must first; but I'm sure he will return as as possible."
The Squire said something in a very low voice. Both father and their ears to what it was. They it to be, "Roger isn't Osborne!" And Mr. Gibson spoke on that belief. He spoke more than Molly had him do before.
"No! we know that. I wish that anything that Roger do, or that I do, or that any one do, would you; but it is past comfort."
"I do try to say, God's will be done, sir," said the Squire, looking up at Mr. Gibson for the time, and speaking with more life in his voice; "but it's to be than happy people think." They were all for a while. The Squire himself was the to speak again,—"He was my child, sir; my son. And of late years we weren't"—his voice down, but he himself—"we weren't as good friends as be wished; and I'm not sure—not sure that he how I loved him." And now he with an cry.
"Better so!" Mr. Gibson to Molly. "When he's a little calmer, don't be afraid; tell him all you know, as it happened."
Molly began. Her voice high and to herself, as if some one else was speaking, but she her 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 his 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 on reading. Presently, Roger came along the garden-path just the window (which was open). He did not see me in the where I was sitting, and said to Osborne, 'Here's a from your wife!'"
Now the Squire was all attention; for the time his tear-swollen met the of another, and he looked at Molly with anxiety, as he repeated, "His wife! Osborne married!" Molly on:
"Osborne was angry with Roger for speaking out me, and they me promise to mention it to any one; or to to it to either of them again. I 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 on her lips, 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 how it came about, but he spoke to me of his wife for the and only time since the in the library." She looked at her father, as if him as to the of telling the particulars that she knew. The Squire's mouth was and stiff, but he to say, "Tell me all,—everything." And Molly 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 at her father—"she had been a once. That was all; that I have her address at home. He it and gave it me."
"Well, well!" the Squire. "It's all over now. All over. All past and gone. We'll not him,—no; but I wish he'd ha' told me; he and I to live together with such a in one of us. It's no wonder to me now—nothing can be a wonder again, for one can tell what's in a man's heart. Married so long! and we together at meals—and together. Why, I told him everything! Too much, may be, for I him all my and ill-tempers! Married so long! Oh, Osborne, Osborne, you should have told me!"
"Yes, he should!" said Mr. Gibson. "But I he how much you would 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 or confidential. I was to him many a time; angry with him for being dull, lad—and he with all this weight on his mind. I won't have people and me and my sons. And Roger too! He know it all, and keep it from me!"
"Osborne had him to secrecy, just as he me," said Molly; "Roger not help himself."
"Osborne was such a for people, and them over," said the Squire, dreamily. "I remember—but what's the use of remembering? It's all over, and Osborne's without opening his to me. I have been to him, I could. But he'll know it now!"
"But we can what wish he had in his mind at the last, from what we do know of his life," said Mr. Gibson.
"What, sir?" said the Squire, with 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 a French of a servant? It may be all a up."
"Stop, Squire. I don't to my daughter's truth or accuracy. But with the man's upstairs—his with God—think twice you say more words, his character; if she was not his wife, what was she?"
"I your pardon. I know what I'm saying. Did I Osborne? Oh, my lad, my lad—thou might have old dad! He used to call me his 'old dad' when he was a little not than this," a with his hand. "I meant to say he was not—not what one would wish to think him now—his 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," Molly to her father. Low as the was, it on the Squire's ear.
"What?" said he, to her suddenly, "—child? You named that? Is there a child? Husband and father, and I knew! God Osborne's child! I say, God it!" He up reverently, and the other two rose. He closed his hands as if in prayer. Then he 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," he. "I the whole story; but I think there must be some of it, which ought to be at once, we act. Most this is to be among Osborne's papers. Will you look over them at once? Molly shall return with me, and the address that Osborne gave her, while you are busy—"
"She'll come again?" said the Squire eagerly. "You—she won't me to myself?"
"No! She shall come this evening. I'll manage to send her somehow. But she has no but the she came in, and I want my that she away upon."
"Take the carriage," said the Squire. "Take anything. I'll give orders. You'll come again, too?"
"No! I'm not, to-day. I'll come to-morrow, early. Molly shall return this evening, it you to send for her."
"This afternoon; the shall be at your house at three. I not look at Osborne's—at the papers without one of you with me; and yet I shall till I know more."
"I'll send the in by Robinson I leave. And—can you give me some I go?"
Little by little he the Squire to eat a or so of food; and so, him physically, and him mentally, Mr. Gibson that he would his Molly's absence.
There was something in the Squire's looks after Molly as she moved about. A might have her to be his of Mr. Gibson's. The meek, broken-down, of the father themselves more than when he called them to his chair, out of which he too to rise, and said, as if by an after-thought: "Give my love to Miss Kirkpatrick; tell her I look upon her as one of the family. I shall be to see her after—after the funeral. I don't think I can before."
"He nothing of Cynthia's to give up Roger," said Mr. Gibson as they away. "I had a long talk with her last night, but she was as as ever. From what your tells me, there is a third lover in London, she's already refused. I'm that you've no lover at all, Molly, unless that attempt of Mr. Coxe's at an offer, long ago, can be called a lover."
"I of it, papa!" said Molly.
"Oh, no; I forgot. What a I was! Why, don't you the I was in to you off to Hamley Hall, the very time you went? It was all I got of a love-letter from Coxe, to you."
But Molly was too to be amused, or interested. She not over the of the with a sheet, which yet let the be seen,—all that of Osborne. Her father had too much to the motion of the ride, and the of from the house. He saw his mistake.
"Some one must to Mrs. Osborne Hamley," said he. "I her to have a legal right to the name; but 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 of you as a friend of her husband's; while of me—a country doctor—it's very she has the name."
"If I ought, I will do it." Mr. Gibson did not like this acquiescence, in so words, too.
"There's Hollingford church-spire," said she presently, as they near the town, and a of the church through the trees. "I think I wish to go out of of it again."
"Nonsense!" said he. "Why, you've all your to do yet; and if these new-fangled railways spread, as they say they will, we shall all be about the world; 'sitting on tea-kettles,' as Phœbe Browning calls it. Miss Browning such a of to Miss Hornblower. I of it at the Millers'. Miss Hornblower was going to travel by for the time; and Dorothy was very anxious, and sent her for her conduct; one piece of was not to on the boiler."
Molly laughed a little, as she was 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 of the girl, in her way, and sorry to see her looks.
"To think of it all being so at last! Not but what I always it! And so provoking! Just when Cynthia had up Roger! If she had only waited a day! What the Squire say to it all?"
"He is with grief," Molly.
"Indeed! I should not have he had liked the so much."
"What engagement?"
"Why, Roger to Cynthia, to be sure. I asked you how the Squire took her letter, announcing the of it off?"
"Oh—I a mistake. He hasn't opened his to-day. I saw Cynthia's among them."
"Now that I call positive disrespect."
"I don't know. He did not it for such. Where is Cynthia?"
"Gone out into the meadow-garden. She'll be in directly. I wanted her to do some for me, but she to go into the town. I am she her badly. But she won't allow me to interfere. I to look at such in a spirit, but it is to see her over two such good matches. First Mr. Henderson, and now Roger Hamley. When the Squire Roger? Does he think he will come sooner for dear Osborne's death?"
"I don't know. He to think of anything but Osborne. He to me to have almost every one else. But the news of Osborne's being married, and of the child, may him up."
Molly had no that Osborne was and married, had she any idea that her father had the of which she had told him on the previous night, to his wife or Cynthia. But Mr. Gibson had been of the full of the marriage, and had not to speak of it to his wife until that had been one way or another. So Mrs. Gibson exclaimed, "What do you mean, child? Married! Osborne married! Who says so?"
"Oh, dear! I I ought not to have named it. I'm very 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 to go about as a single man, and be married all the time! If there is one thing that 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 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 to have told anything of what her father it to keep secret. Just then Cynthia came into the room with a careless, look in her face, which Molly noticed at once. She had not of Molly's arrival, and had no idea that she was returned until she saw her 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 us such news too!" said Mrs. Gibson. "I'm almost you to the Squire yesterday, for if you had waited till to-day—I you were in too great a at the time—he might have you had some for up your engagement. Osborne Hamley was married all this time unknown to everybody, and has got a child too."
"Osborne married!" Cynthia. "If a man looked a bachelor, he did. Poor Osborne! with his elegance,—he looked so and boyish!"
"Yes! it was a great piece of deceit, and I can't easily him for it. Only think! If he had paid either of you any particular attention, and you had in love with him! Why, he might have your heart, or Molly's either. I can't him, though he is dead, fellow!"
"Well, as he did pay either of us any particular attention, and as we neither of us did in love with him, I think I only sorry that he had all the trouble and worry of concealment." Cynthia spoke with a of how much trouble and worry her had cost her.
"And now of it is a son, and will be the heir, and Roger will just be as off as ever. I you'll take and let the Squire know Cynthia was of these new that have come out when she those letters, Molly? I should not like a of to upon any one with I had any concern."
"He hasn't read Cynthia's yet. Oh, do let me it home unopened," said Molly. "Send another to Roger—now—at once; it will him at the same time; he will when he at the Cape, and make him which is the last—the one. Think! he will of Osborne's death at the same time—two such sad things! Do, Cynthia!"
"No, my dear," said Mrs. Gibson. "I not allow that, if Cynthia for it. Asking to be re-engaged to him! At any rate, she must wait now until he again, and we see how turn out."
But Molly her on Cynthia.
"No!" said Cynthia firmly, but not without consideration. "It cannot be. I've more this last night than I've done for past. I'm to be free. I Roger's goodness, and learning, and all that. It was not in my way, and I don't I should have married him, without of all these ill-natured that are about me, and which he would of, and me to explain, and be sorry for, and and humble. I know he not have me happy, and I don't he would have been happy with me. It must as it is. I would be a than married to him. I should 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 any one to love you like him!"
"Very well. I must take my chance. And too much love is to me, I believe. I like a great deal, spread about; not all to one lover."
"I don't you," said Molly. "But don't let us talk any more about it. It is best as it is. I thought—I almost sure you would be sorry this morning. But we will it alone now." She looking out of the window, her stirred, she how or why. But she not have spoken. Most likely she would have to if she had spoken. Cynthia up to her after a while.
"You are with me, Molly," she in a low voice. But Molly round:
"I! I have no at all in the affair. It is for you to judge. Do what you think right. I you have done right. Only I don't want to discuss it, and it over with talk. I'm very much tired, dear"—gently now she spoke—"and I 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 as yet. And I was always of Osborne, in my way, you know."
"I cannot tell; I have no right to say," Molly, Cynthia's motives, which, after all, were only in this case. "Papa would be able to judge; I think, perhaps, you had 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 as any one's, Molly," said Cynthia.
"Oh, then, don't! I am to-day with 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 a time."
"Very well!" said Cynthia, half-glad that her offer was declined; for, as she said, to herself, "It would have been after all." So Molly in the alone, how she should the Squire; what he had among Osborne's papers, and at what he would have arrived.
