MOLLY GIBSON'S WORTH IS DISCOVERED.
Mr. Gibson came in his hands after his ride. Molly from the look in his that he had been of the present of at the Hall by some one. But he up to and the Squire, and waited to what was said to him. The Squire was at the on the writing-table, and he answered much he it, and to his friend to him, he to the sofa and him the sleeping child, taking the not to it by or sound.
"Well! this is a gentleman," said Mr. Gibson, returning to the fire sooner than the Squire expected. "And you've got the mother here, I understand. Mrs. Osborne Hamley, as we must call her, thing! It's a sad home to her; for I she nothing of his death." He spoke without any one, so that either Molly or the Squire might answer as they liked. The Squire said,—
"Yes! She's it a terrible shock. She's in the best bedroom. I should like you to see her, Gibson, if she'll let you. We must do our by her, for my lad's sake. I wish he have his boy there; I do. I it on him to have to keep it all to himself. He might ha' me, though. He might ha' my was than my bite. It's all over now, though; and God me if I was too sharp. I'm now."
Molly on the mother's behalf.
"Papa, I as if she was very ill; than we think. Will you go and see her at once?"
Mr. Gibson her upstairs, and the Squire came too, that he would do his now, and some self-satisfaction at his to with the child. They into the room where she had been taken. She still in the same position as at first. Her were open and tearless, on the wall. Mr. Gibson spoke to her, but she did not answer; he her hand to her pulse; she noticed.
"Bring me some at once, and order some beef-tea," he said to Molly.
But when he to put the into her mouth as she there on her side, she no to or it, and it ran out upon the pillow. Mr. Gibson left the room abruptly; Molly the little hand; the Squire by in dismay, touched in of himself by the death-in-life of one so young, and who must have been so much beloved.
Mr. Gibson came two steps at a time; he was the half-awakened child in his arms. He did not to him into yet wakefulness—did not to him to and cry. His were on the upon the bed, which at that all through; and when her child was at her back, and to yet closer, Aimée round, and took him in her arms, and him and him with the soft of mother's love.
Before she this consciousness, which was or than thought, Mr. Gibson spoke to her in French. The child's one word of "maman" had him this clue. It was the language sure to be most to her brain; and as it happened,—only Mr. Gibson did not think of that—it was the language in which she had been commanded, and had learnt to obey.
Mr. Gibson's was a little at first, but by-and-by he spoke it with all his old readiness. He from her at first, then longer ones, and from time to time he her with little of wine, until some should be at hand. Molly was by her father's low of and sympathy, although she not what was said to catch the meaning of what passed.
By-and-by, however, when her father had done all that he could, and they were once more downstairs, he told them more about her than they yet knew. The hurry, the of acting in of a prohibition, the over-mastering anxiety, the night, and of the journey, had prepared her for the at last, and Mr. Gibson was for the consequences. She had in her to him; he had that she was wandering, and had great to her senses; but Mr. Gibson that some was on, and stopped late that night, many with Molly and the Squire. One—the only—comfort from her was the that she would be by the morrow—the day of the funeral. Worn out by the of the day, the Squire now unable to look the and trial of the next twelve hours. He with his in his hands, to go to bed, to on the of his grandchild—not three hours ago such a in his eyes. Mr. Gibson gave some to one of the maid-servants as to the watch she was to keep by Mrs. Osborne Hamley, and on Molly's going to bed. When she the of her up, he said,—
"Now, Molly, look how much less trouble the dear old Squire would give if he would orders. He is only adding to by himself. One to grief, however. But you will have to do to all your for days to come; and go to you must now. I only wish I saw my way as through other as I do to your nearest duty. I wish I'd let Roger go off; he'll wish it too, fellow! Did I tell you Cynthia is going off in to her uncle Kirkpatrick's? I a visit to him will in of going out to Russia as a governess."
"I am sure she was in for that."
"Yes, yes! at the time. I've no she she was in to go. But the great thing was to out of the of the present time and place; and uncle Kirkpatrick's will do this as effectually, and more pleasantly, than a at Nishni-Novgorod in an ice-palace."
He had Molly's a turn, which was what he wanted to do. Molly not help Mr. Henderson, and his offer, and all the hints; and wondering, and wishing—what did she wish? or had she been asleep? Before she had this point she was asleep in reality.
After this, long days passed over in a of care; for no one to think of Molly's the Hall the that Mrs. Osborne Hamley. It was not that her father allowed her to take much active part in the nursing; the Squire gave him carte-blanche, and he two hospital to watch over the Aimée; but Molly was needed to the as to her and diet. It was not that she was wanted for the of the little boy; the Squire was too of the child's love for that, and one of the was in the physical of him; but he needed some one to to his of language, when his for his son came uppermost, and also when he had some in that son's child; and again when he was with the of Aimée's long-continued illness. Molly was not so good or so a to ordinary as Cynthia; but where her was her was and unfailing. In this case she only that the Squire that Aimée was not the which he her to be. Not that he would have the fact, if it had been put him in plain words. He against the of what was in his mind; he spoke of patience when no one but himself was impatient; he would often say that when she she must not be allowed to the Hall until she was perfectly strong, when no one was the of her her child, only himself. Molly once or twice asked her father if she might not speak to the Squire, and the of sending her away—the that she would to her boy, and so on; but Mr. Gibson only replied,—
"Wait quietly. Time when nature and have had their chance, and have failed."
It was well that Molly was such a with the old servants; for she had to and to control. To be sure, she had her father's authority to her; and they were aware that where her own comfort, ease, or was she interfered, but submitted to their will. If the Squire had of the want of to which she submitted with the most perfect meekness, as as she herself was the only sufferer, he would have gone into a rage. But Molly of it, so was she to do all she for others, and to the which her father gave her in his daily visits. Perhaps he did not her enough; she was and uncomplaining; but one day after Mrs. Osborne Hamley had "taken the turn," as the called it, when she was weak as a new-born baby, but with her all restored, and her gone,—when were out, and sang merrily,—Molly answered to her father's that she weary; that her heavily, and that she was aware of a of which it a painful to overcome.
"Don't go on," said Mr. Gibson, with a quick of anxiety, almost of remorse. "Lie here—with your to the light. I'll come and see you I go." And off he in search of the Squire. He had a good long walk he came upon Mr. Hamley in a of wheat, where the were weeding, his little to his in the of walks of into the places, which was all his little manage.
"Well, Gibson, and how goes the patient? Better? I wish we her out of doors, such a day as it is. It would make her as soon as anything. I used to my to come out more. Maybe, I him; but the air is the thing for that I know of. Though, perhaps, she'll not in English air as if she'd been here; and she'll not be right till she to her native place, that is."
"I don't know. I to think we shall her here; and I don't know that she be in a place. But it's not about her. May I order the for my Molly?" Mr. Gibson's voice as if he was a little as he said these last words.
"To be sure," said the Squire, setting the child down. He had been him in his arms the last minutes: but now he wanted all his to look into Mr. Gibson's face. "I say," said he, of Mr. Gibson's arm, "what's the matter, man? Don't up your like that, but speak!"
"Nothing's the matter," said Mr. Gibson, hastily. "Only I want her at home, under my own eye;" and he away to go to the house. But the Squire left his and his weeders, and at Mr. Gibson's side. He wanted to speak, but his was so full he did not know what to say. "I say, Gibson," he got out at last, "your Molly is a child of mine than a stranger; and I we've all on us been too hard upon her. You don't think there's much amiss, do you?"
"How can I tell?" said Mr. Gibson, almost savagely. But any of was by the Squire; and he was not offended, though he did not speak again till they the house. Then he to order the carriage, and by while the were being put in. He as if he should not know what to do without Molly; he had her value, he thought, till now. But he on this view of the case; which was a on the part of one who let by-standers see and as much of his as if he had had a window in his breast. He by while Mr. Gibson helped the faintly-smiling, Molly into the carriage. Then the Squire on the step and her hand; but when he to thank her and her, he down; and as soon as he was once more safely on the ground, Mr. Gibson out to the to drive on. And so Molly left Hamley Hall. From time to time her father up to the window, and some little and careless remark. When they came two miles of Hollingford, he put to his horse, and past the windows, his hand to the as he did so. He on to prepare her home for Molly: when she Mrs. Gibson was to her. Mr. Gibson had one or two of his bright, orders, and Mrs. Gibson was "without either of her two dear girls at home," as she phrased it, to herself as well as to others.
"Why, my sweet Molly, this is an pleasure. Only this I said to papa, 'When do you think we shall see our Molly back?' He did not say much—he does, you know; but I am sure he directly of me this surprise, this pleasure. You're looking a little—what shall I call it? I such a line of poetry, 'Oh, call her fair, not pale!'—so we'll call you fair."
"You'd not call her anything, but let her to her own room and have a good as soon as possible. Haven't you got a or two in the house? That's the to send her to sleep."
He did not her till he had her on a sofa in a room, with some of reading in her hand. Then he came away, leading his wife, who at the door to her hand to Molly, and make a little of to be away.
"Now, Hyacinth," said he, as he took his wife into the drawing-room, "she will need much care. She has been overworked, and I've been a fool. That's all. We must keep her from all worry and care,—but I won't answer for it that she'll not have an illness, for all that!"
"Poor thing! she look out. She is something like me, her are too much for her. But now she is come home she shall us as as possible. I can answer for myself; and you must up your face, my dear—nothing so for as the of in those around them. I have had such a from Cynthia to-day. Uncle Kirkpatrick to make so much of her, he her just like a daughter; he has her a ticket to the Concerts of Ancient Music; and Mr. Henderson has been to call on her, in of all that has gone before."
For an instant, Mr. Gibson that it was easy for his wife to be cheerful, with the and she had in her mind, but a little more difficult for him to put off his looks while his own child in a of and which might be the of a still malady. But he was always a man for action as soon as he had on the to be taken; and he that "some must watch, while some must sleep; so the world away."
The which he came upon Molly; not or acutely, so that there was any to be dreaded; but making a long upon her strength, which to day by day, until at last her father that she might a permanent invalid. There was nothing very or to tell Cynthia, and Mrs. Gibson the dark from her in her letters. "Molly was the weather;" or "Molly had been a good with her at the Hall, and was resting;" such little told nothing of Molly's state. But then, as Mrs. Gibson said to herself, it would be a to Cynthia's by telling her much about Molly; indeed, there was not much to tell, one day was so like another. But it so that Lady Harriet,—who came she to with Molly, at against Mrs. Gibson's will, and with her full consent,—for of her own, Lady Harriet a to Cynthia, to which she was by Mrs. Gibson. It out in this manner:—One day, when Lady Harriet was in the drawing-room for a minutes after she had been with Molly, she said,—
"Really, Clare, I so much time in your house that I'm going to a work-basket here. Mary has me with her notability, and I'm going to work a footstool. It is to be a surprise; and so if I do it here she will know nothing about it. Only I cannot match the gold I want for the in this dear little town; and Hollingford, who send me and if I asked him, I make no doubt, no more match than—"
"My dear Lady Harriet! you Cynthia! Think what a it would be to her to do anything for you."
"Would it? Then she shall have of it; but mind, it is you who have answered for her. She shall me some too; how good I am to so much on a fellow-creature! But seriously, do you think I might and give her a commissions? Neither Agnes Mary are in town—"
"I am sure she would be delighted," said Mrs. Gibson, who also took into the of that would upon Cynthia if she had a from Lady Harriet while at Mr. Kirkpatrick's. So she gave the address, and Lady Harriet wrote. All the part of the was taken up with and commissions; but then, but that Cynthia was aware of Molly's state, she on to say—
"I saw Molly this morning. Twice I have been admittance, as she was too to see any one out of her own family. I wish we to a for the better; but she looks more every time, and I Mr. Gibson it a very case."
The day but one after this was despatched, Cynthia walked into the drawing-room at home with as much as if she had left it not an hour before. Mrs. Gibson was dozing, but herself to be reading; she had been with Molly the part of the morning, and now after her lunch, and the invalid's of early dinner, she herself to some repose. She started up as Cynthia came in:
"Cynthia! Dear child, where have you come from? Why in the world have you come? My nerves! My is fluttering; but, to be sure, it's no wonder with all this I have to undergo. Why have you come back?"
"Because of the you speak of, mamma. I knew,—you told me how Molly was."
"Nonsense! I your pardon, my dear, but it's nonsense. Molly's is only nervous, Mr. Gibson says. A fever; but you must nerves are fancy, and she's better. Such a for you to have left your uncle's. Who told you about Molly?"
"Lady Harriet. She about some wool—"
"I know,—I know. But you might have she always things. Not but what I have been almost out with nursing. Perhaps, after all, it is a very good thing you have come, my dear; and now you shall come into the dining-room and have some lunch, and tell me all the Hyde Park Street news—into my room,—don't go into yours yet—Molly is so to noise!"
While Cynthia ate her lunch, Mrs. Gibson on questioning. "And your aunt, how is her cold? And Helen, again? Margaretta as as ever? The boys are at Harrow, I suppose? And my old favourite, Mr. Henderson?" She not manage to in this last naturally; in of herself there was a of tone, an of eagerness. Cynthia did not reply on the instant; she herself out some water with great deliberation, and then said,—
"My aunt is well; Helen is as as she is, and Margaretta very pretty. The boys are at Harrow, and I that Mr. Henderson is his health, for he was to at my uncle's to-day."
"Take care, Cynthia. Look how you are that tart," said Mrs. Gibson, with annoyance; not by Cynthia's present action, although it gave for a little of temper. "I can't think how you come off in this of way; I am sure it must have your uncle and aunt. I they'll ask you again."
"On the contrary, I am to go there as soon as I can be easy to Molly."
"'Easy to Molly.' Now that is nonsense, and to me, I must say: nursing her as I have been doing, daily, and almost nightly; for I have been times out of number by Mr. Gibson up, and going to see if she had had her medicine properly."
"I'm she has been very ill?" asked Cynthia.
"Yes, she has, in one way; but not in another. It was what I call more a tedious, than an illness. There was no danger, but she much in the same from day to day."
"I wish I had known!" Cynthia. "Do you think I might go and see her now?"
"I'll go and prepare her. You'll her a good than she has been. Ah; here's Mr. Gibson!" He came into the dining-room, voices. Cynthia that he looked much older.
"You here!" said he, to shake hands. "Why, how did you come?"
"By the 'Umpire.' I Molly had been so ill, or I would have come directly." Her were full of tears. Mr. Gibson was touched; he her hand again, and murmured, "You're a good girl, Cynthia."
"She's one of dear Lady Harriet's accounts," said Mrs. Gibson, "and come off. I tell her it's very foolish, for Molly is a great now."
"Very foolish," said Mr. Gibson, his wife's words, but at Cynthia. "But sometimes one people for their folly, than wise people for their wisdom."
"I am always me," said his wife. "However, Cynthia is here, and what is done, is done."
"Very true, my dear. And now I'll up and see my little girl, and tell her the good news. You'd me in a of minutes." This to Cynthia.
Molly's at her itself in a happy tears; and then in soft and of love. Once or twice she began, "It is such a pleasure," and there she stopped short. But the of these five into Cynthia's heart. She had returned just at the right time, when Molly wanted the of the of a fresh and yet a familiar person. Cynthia's her or silent, or grave, as the of Molly required. She listened, too, with the semblance, if not the reality, of interest, to Molly's to all the time of and at Hamley Hall, and to the which had then so themselves upon her nature. Cynthia that the of all these painful would the memory, which to on anything but what had at a time of of health. So she Molly, as Mrs. Gibson had so done, with—"You told me all that before, my dear. Let us talk of something else;" or, "Really I cannot allow you to be always on painful thoughts. Try and be a little more cheerful. Youth is gay. You are young, and therefore you ought to be gay. That is put in a famous of speech; I what it is called."
So Molly's health and after Cynthia's return: and although she was likely to many of her the summer, she was able to take drives, and the weather; it was only her as yet that a little management. All the Hollingford people that they had of her as a of the town; and each in his or her way in her father's child. Miss Browning and Miss Phœbe it a that they were allowed to see her a or three any one else; Mrs. Goodenough, on nose, in a for Molly's benefit; the Towers sent books, and fruit, and new caricatures, and and poultry; of "the doctor," as Mr. Gibson was termed, left the they in their gardens, with "their for Miss."
And last of all, though in regard, most in interest, came Squire Hamley himself. When she was at the worst, he over every day to the smallest detail, Mrs. Gibson (his abomination) if her husband was not at home, to ask and hear, and ask and hear, till the were his cheeks. Every of his heart, or his house, or his lands was and tried, if it a moment's to her; and it might be that came from him, at her very time, it out a upon her face.
