MOLLY GIBSON AT HAMLEY HALL.
The ended there for the time. Wedding-cake and were in, and it was Molly's to them out. But those last of Mrs. Goodenough's in her ears, and she to them to her own in any way but the one. And that, too, was to be confirmed; for directly after Mrs. Goodenough took her leave, Mrs. Gibson Molly to away the to a table close to an open window, where the might be in for any callers; and this open window the path from the house-door to the road. Molly Mrs. Goodenough saying to her grand-daughter,—
"That Mrs. Gibson is a 'un. There's Mr. Roger Hamley as like as not to have the Hall estate, and she sends Molly a-visiting—" and then she passed out of hearing. Molly have out crying, with a full of what Mrs. Goodenough had been to: her of the of Molly's going to visit at the Hall when Roger was at home. To be sure, Mrs. Goodenough was a commonplace, woman. Mrs. Gibson did not to have noticed the allusion. Mr. Gibson took it all as a of that Molly should go to the Hall as now, as she had done before. Roger had spoken of it in so a manner as he had no of its being an impropriety,—this visit,—this visit until now so happy a of anticipation. Molly as if she speak to any one of the idea to which Mrs. Goodenough's had rise; as if she be the to the of impropriety, which what she to think of. Then she to herself by reasoning. If it had been wrong, forward, or indelicate, in the degree, who would have been so as her father to put his upon it? But was of no use after Mrs. Goodenough's had put into Molly's head. The more she these the more they answered her (as Daniel O'Rourke did the man in the moon, when he Dan off his seat on the sickle, and go into empty space):—"The more ye ask us the more we won't stir." One may at a girl's of this kind; but they are very and to her. All that Molly do was to on a single to the dear old Squire, and his and comforts; to try and up any which might have him and Aimée; and to Roger as much as possible. Good Roger! Kind Roger! Dear Roger! It would be very hard to avoid him as much as was with common politeness; but it would be right to do it; and when she was with him she must be as natural as possible, or he might some difference; but what was natural? How much ought she avoid being with him? Would he notice if she was more of her company, more calculating of her words? Alas! the of their was henceforwards! She laws for herself; she to herself to the Squire and to Aimée, and to Mrs. Goodenough's speeches; but her perfect was gone; and with it her chance—that is to say, her would have been over any who had not her before; they would have her and awkward, and to say and then them. But she was so different from her self that Roger noticed the in her as soon as she at the Hall. She had out the days of her visit; they were to be the same number as she had at the Towers. She if she at the Hall a time the Squire might be annoyed. Yet how the place looked in its early as she up! And there was Roger at the hall-door, waiting to her, for her coming. And now he retreated, to his sister-in-law, who came now in her widow's mourning, her boy in her arms as if to protect her shyness; but he down, and ran the carriage, to his friend the coachman, and to obtain a promised ride. Roger did not say much himself; he wanted to make Aimée her place as of the house; but she was too to speak much. And she only took Molly by the hand and her into the drawing-room, where, as if by a of for all the nursing she had her illness, she put her arms Molly and her long and well. And after that they came to be friends.
It was nearly lunch-time, and the Squire always his at that meal, more for the of his eat his dinner than for any of his own. To-day Molly saw the whole of the family affairs. She that had Roger said nothing about them at the Towers, she should have that neither the father the daughter-in-law had as yet the to each other's characters, although they had now been for months in the same house. Aimée to her English in her nervousness; and to watch with the of a mother all the of the Squire her little boy. They were not of the kind, it must be owned; the child the with and for which he saw the others enjoying. Aimée to Molly for her as to what her boy was doing and eating; yet she said nothing. Roger took the end of the table opposite to that at which sat and grandchild. After the boy's wants were the Squire himself to Molly.
"Well! and so you can come here a-visiting though you have been among the folks. I you were going to cut us, Miss Molly, when I you was gone to the Towers. Couldn't any other place to at while father and mother were away, but an earl's, eh?"
"They asked me, and I went," said Molly; "now you've asked me, and I've come here."
"I think you might ha' you'd be always welcome here, without waiting for asking. Why, Molly! I look upon you as a of a more than Madam there!" his voice a little, and that the child's would the of his words.—"Nay, you needn't look at me so pitifully, she doesn't English readily."
"I think she does!" said Molly, in a low voice,—not looking up, however, for of another at Aimée's of and colour. She grateful, as if for a personal favour, when she Roger speaking to Aimée the moment in the of friendliness; and presently these two were in a to allow Molly and the Squire to go on talking.
"He's a chap, isn't he?" said the Squire, the little Roger's head. "And he can four at grandpapa's pipe without being sick, can't he?"
"I s'ant any more puffs," said the boy, resolutely. "Mamma says 'No.' I s'ant."
"That's just like her!" said the Squire, his voice this time however. "As if it do the child any harm!"
Molly a point of the from all personal after this, and the Squire talking about the progress of his the of lunch. He offered to take her to see it; and she to the proposal, thinking, meantime, how little she need have the being too with Roger, who to himself to his sister-in-law. But, in the evening, when Aimée had gone to put her boy to bed, and the Squire was asleep in his easy-chair, a of memory Mrs. Goodenough's again to her mind. She was tête-à-tête with Roger, as she had been of times before, but now she not help an air of constraint; her did not meet his in the old way; she took up a book at a pause in the conversation, and left him puzzled and at the in her manner. And so it on all the time of her visit. If sometimes she forgot, and let herself go into all her old naturalness, by-and-by she herself, and cold and reserved. Roger was at all this—more day after day; more to the cause. Aimée, too, noticed how different Molly in Roger's presence. One day she not help saying to Molly,—
"Don't you like Roger? You would, if you only how good he is! He is learned, but that is nothing: it is his that one and loves."
"He is very good," said Molly. "I have him long to know that."
"But you don't think him agreeable? He is not like my husband, to be sure; and you him well, too. Ah! tell me about him once again. When you him? When his mother was alive?"
Molly had very of Aimée; when the was at her she had very and attaching ways; but in her position in the Squire's house, she was almost to him; and he, too, put on his to her. Roger was most to them together, and had with Molly as to the best means of this end. As long as they talked upon this subject, she spoke to him in the manner which she from her father; but when their on this point were ended, she into her of reserve. It was very difficult for her to maintain this manner, when once or twice she that it gave him pain; and she would go into her own room and into on these occasions, and wish that her visit was ended, and that she was once again in the of her own home. Yet presently her changed, and she to the hours, as if she would still the of each. For, unknown to her, Roger was himself to make her visit pleasant. He was not to appear as the of all the little plans for each day, for he as if, somehow, he did not the same place in her as formerly. Still, one day Aimée a expedition—another day they gave little Roger the unheard-of of tea out-of-doors—there was something else for a third; and it was Roger who all these pleasures—such as he Molly would enjoy. But to her he only appeared as the of Aimée's devices. The week was nearly gone, when one the Squire Roger in the old library—with a book him, it is true, but so in that he was by his father's entrance.
"I I should here, my lad! We'll have the old room done up again winter; it enough, and yet I see it's the place for thee! I want to go with me the five-acre. I'm of it in grass. It's time for you to be into the fresh air, you look over books, books, books; there was a thing like 'em for a man's health out of him!"
So Roger out with his father, without saying many till they were at some from the house. Then he out a with such that he his father for the start the had him a of an hour before.
"Father, you I'm going out again to the Cape next month! You spoke of doing up the library. If it is for me, I shall be away all the winter."
"Can't you off it?" his father. "I maybe you'd all about it."
"Not likely!" said Roger, smiling.
"Well, but they might have another man to up your work."
"No one can it but myself. Besides, an is an engagement. When I to Lord Hollingford to tell him I must come home, I promised to go out again for another six months."
"Ay. I know. And it will put it out of mind. It will always be hard on me to part from thee. But I it's best for you."
Roger's colour deepened. "You are to—to Miss Kirkpatrick—Mrs. Henderson, I mean. Father, let me tell you once for all, I think that was a affair. I'm sure now that we were not to each other. I was when I got her letter—at the Cape I mean—but I it was for the best."
"That's right. That's my own boy," said the Squire and hands with his son with vehemence. "And now I'll tell you what I the other day, when I was at the magistrates' meeting. They were all saying she had Preston."
"I don't want to anything against her; she may have her faults, but I can how I once loved her."
"Well, well! Perhaps it's right. I was not so about it, was I, Roger? Poor Osborne need not ha' been so with me. I asked your Miss Cynthia out here—and her mother and all—my is than my bite. For, if I had a wish on earth, it was to see Osborne married as one of an old stock, and he and out this French girl, of no family at all, only a—"
"Never mind what she was; look at what she is! I wonder you are not more taken with her and sweetness, father!"
"I don't call her pretty," said the Squire uneasily, for he a of the which Roger had often used to make him give Aimée her proper of and position. "Now your Miss Cynthia was pretty, I will say that for her, the baggage! And to think that when you two right in your father's face, and out girls you in rank and family, you should neither of you have set your on my little Molly there. I I should ha' been angry at the time, but the would ha' her way to my heart, as this French lady, t' other one, ha' done."
Roger did not answer.
"I don't see why you mightn't put up for her still. I'm now, and you're not as Osborne was who married a servant-maid. Don't you think you turn your upon Molly Gibson, Roger?"
"No!" said Roger, shortly. "It's too late—too late. Don't let us talk any more of my marrying. Isn't this the five-acre field?" And soon he was the relative of meadow, and land with his father, as as if he had Molly, or loved Cynthia. But the was not in such good spirits, and but into the discussion. At the end of it he said àpropos de bottes,—
"But don't you think you like her if you tried, Roger?"
Roger perfectly well to what his father was alluding, but for an he was on the point of to misunderstand. At length, however, he said, in a low voice,—
"I shall try, father. Don't let us talk any more about it. As I said before, it's too late."
The Squire was like a child to some toy has been refused; from time to time the of his in this to his mind; and then he took to Cynthia as the of Roger's present to womankind.
It so that on Molly's last at the Hall, she her from Cynthia—Mrs. Henderson. It was just breakfast-time; Roger was out of doors, Aimée had not as yet come down; Molly was alone in the dining-room, where the table was already laid. She had just reading her when the Squire came in, and she and told him what the had to her. But when she saw the Squire's face, she have her out for having named Cynthia's name to him. He looked and depressed.
"I wish I might of her again—I do. She's been the of my Roger, that's what she has. I haven't slept the night, and it's all her fault. Why, there's my boy saying now that he has no for marrying, lad! I wish it had been you, Molly, my had taken a for. I told Roger so t'other day, and I said that for all you were what I to see them marry,—well—it's of no use—it's too late, now, as he said. Only let me that baggage's name again, that's all, and no to you either, lassie. I know you love the wench; but if you'll take an old man's word, you're a score of her. I wish men would think so too," he as he to the side-table to the ham, while Molly out the tea—her very all the time, and for a space. It was with the that she keep of from falling. She in a position in that house, which had been like a home to her until this last visit. What with Mrs. Goodenough's remarks, and now this speech of the Squire's, implying—at least to her imagination—that his father had her as a wife to Roger, and that she had been rejected—she was more than she express, or think, that she was going home this very morning. Roger came in from his walk while she was in this of feeling. He saw in an that something had Molly; and he to have the old right of her what it was. But she had him at too great a the last days for him to at to speak to her in the old way; now, when he her to her feelings, and the way in which she her tea in haste, and only to it about her plate, untouched. It was all that he do to make talk under these circumstances; but he up her as well as he until Aimée came down, and anxious: her boy had not had a good night, and did not well; he had into a sleep now, or she not have left him. Immediately the whole table was in a ferment. The Squire pushed away his plate, and eat no more; Roger was trying to a detail or a out of Aimée, who to give way to tears. Molly that the carriage, which had been ordered to take her home at eleven, should come immediately—she had packed up, she said,—and her father at once. By directly, she said, it was they might catch him after he had returned from his visits in the town, and he had set off on his more round. Her was to, and she to put on her things. She came all into the drawing-room, to Aimée and the Squire there; but her word had been to the mother and that the child had up in a panic, and had up to their darling. But Roger was in the drawing-room Molly, with a large of the flowers.
"Look, Molly!" said he, as she was on the point of the room again, on him there alone. "I these flowers for you breakfast." He came to meet her advance.
"Thank you!" said she. "You are very kind. I am very much to you."
"Then you must do something for me," said he, not to notice the of her manner, and making the re-arrangement of the flowers which she a of link them, so that she not her impulse, and the room.
"Tell me,—honestly as I know you will if you speak at all,—haven't I done something to you since we were so happy at the Towers together?"
His voice was so and true,—his manner so yet wistful, that Molly would have been to tell him all. She that he have helped her more than any one to how she ought to rightly; he would have her fancies,—if only he himself had not at the very and centre of all her and dismay. How she tell him of Mrs. Goodenough's her modesty? How she repeat what his father had said that morning, and him that she, no more than he, that their old should be by the of a nearer relationship?
"No, you me in my whole life, Roger," said she, looking at him for the time for many days.
"I you, you say so. I have no right to ask further. Molly, will you give me one of those flowers, as a of what you have said?"
"Take you like," said she, him the whole to choose from.
"No; you must choose, and you must give it me."
Just then the Squire came in. Roger would have been if Molly had not gone on so to the for the flower in his father's presence; but she exclaimed:
"Oh, please, Mr. Hamley, do you know which is Roger's flower?"
"No. A rose, I daresay. The is at the door, and, Molly my dear, I don't want to you, but—"
"I know. Here, Roger,—here is a rose!
("And red as a rose was she.")
I will papa as soon as I home. How is the little boy?"
"I'm he's of some of a fever."
And the Squire took her to the carriage, talking all the way of the little boy; Roger following, and what he was doing in the answer to the question he himself: "Too late—or not? Can she that my love was to one so different?"
While she, as the rolled away, saying to herself,—"We are friends again. I don't he will what the dear Squire took it into his to for many days. It is so to be on the old terms again! and what flowers!"
