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Molly's New Bonnbt.

WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

AN EVERY DAY STORY.

BY

MUS. GASKELL.

WITH ElrjIITKEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE DU MAURIER

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON: SMITH. F.LDER AND CO., G6. CORN HILL.

186(J.

[The riqht of Translation is reserved.^

4> 4f -h* ^-

Molly's New Bonnbt.

MmMm^ ^ iti^ ^ ff^^ If "H

WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

AN EVERYDAY STORY.

BY

MRS. GASKELL.

WITH EIOHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY OEORGE DU MAURIER

/N TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON : SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 05, CORN HILL.

186G.

[ The right of Translation is rei>erved.'\

CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.

rUAr. '"""

I. The Dawn ov a Gala Day ^

II. A Novice amongst the Gueat Folk *0

III. Molly Gibson's Ciiildiiood 26

IV. Mr. Gibson's Neiquboubs ^

V. Calf-Love - ■♦*

VI. A Visit to the IIamleys - ^^

VII. FoKEsiiAnoM's of Love Perils ~ '2

VIII. Drifting into Danger ^^

IX. The Widower and the Widow 9*

X. A Crisis 103

XI. Making Friendship ^21

XII. PRKrABING for THE Wf.DDING '37

XIII. Molly Gibson's New Friends 1*6

XIV. Molly Finds Herself Patronized 157

XV. The New Mamma 171

XVI. The Bripe at Home... 180

XVII. Trolble at Hamley Hall 190

XVIII. Mr. O.snoRNE'9 Secret 202

XIX. Cynthia's Arrival - 215

XX. Mrs. Gibson's Visitors - 226

XXI. The Half-Sisters 235

XXII. The Old Syi iue's Troibles 249

XXIII. Osborne Hamley Ueviews his Positiow 260

XXIV. Mrs. Gibson's Ljttle Dinner 269

XXV. Hollingford in a Bustle 276

XXVI. A Charity Ball ._„ 285

XXVH. Father and Sons 303

XXVHI. Rivalry „ 311

XXIX. Bvsii-FiGHTiNo 323

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Mollt's New Bonnet Frontispiece.

A Love Letter To face page 46

ViE ViCTIS

The New Mamma

Unwelcome Attentions

Shakspeare and the Musical Glasses

First Impressions

Roger is Introduced and Enslaved

"Td t'en Repentiras, Colin"

" Wht, Osborne, is it You ? "

85 125 162 181 218 240 272 326

WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

A\ EVKRY-DAV STORY.

CILVPTER I. TIIK DAWX OF A fiALA DAY.

To begin with the old rigmarole of cbiklliooil. In a country there was a shii'e, and in that shire there was a town, and in that town there was a house, and in that house there was a room, and in that room there was a bed, and in that bod there lay a little girl ; wide awake and longing to get up, but not daring to do so for fear of the unseen power in the next room ; a certain Betty, whose slumbers must not be disturbed until six o'clock struck, when she wakened of herself " as sure as clockwork," and left the household very little peace aftcr\N-ards. It was a June morning, and early as it was, the room was full of sunny warmth and light.

On the drawers opposite to the little white dimity bed in which Molly Gibson lay, was a primitive kind of bonnet-stand on which was hung a bonnet, carefully covered over from any chance of dust with a large cotton handkerchief ; of so heavj* and serviceable a texture that if till" thing underneath it had been a flimsy fabric of gauze and lace and flowers, it would have been altogether " scomfished " (again to quote from Betty's vocabulary). But the bonnet was made of solid straw, and its only trimming was a plain white ribbon put over the crown, and forming the strings. Still, there was a neat little quilling inside, evei7 plait of which Molly knew, for had she not made it herself the evening before, with infinite pains ? and was there not a little blue bow in this quilling, the very first bit of such finen' Molly had ever had the prospect of wearing ?

Vol. I. 1

2 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

Six o'clock now ! the pleasant, brisk ringing of the church hells told that ; calling every one to their daily work, as they had done for hundreds of years. Up jumped Molly, and ran with her hare little feet across the room, and lifted off the handkerchief and saw once again the bonnet ; the pledge of the gay bright day to come. Then to the window, and after some tugging she opened the casement, and let in the sweet morning air. The dew^ was already off the flowers in the garden below, but still rising from the long hay- grass in the meadows directly beyond. At one side lay the little town of Holling- ford, into a street of which Mr. Gibson's front door opened ; and delicate column:^, and little puffs of smoke were already beginning to rise from many a cottage chimney where some housewife was already up, and preparing breakfast for the bread-winner of the family.

Molly Gibson saw all this, but all slie thought about it was, " Oh ! it will be a fine day ! I vras afraid it never, never would come ; or that, if it ever came, it would be a rainy day ! " Five- and-forty years ago, children's pleasures in a country town were very simple, and Molly had lived for twelve long years without the occur- rence of any event so great as that which was now impending. Poor child ! it is true that she had lost her mother, which was a jar to the "whole tenour of her life ; but that was hardly an event in the sense referred to ; and besides, she had been too young to be conscious of it at the time. The pleasure she was looking forward to to-day was her first share in a kind of aimual festival in Hollingford.

The little straggling town faded away into country on one side close to the entrance-lodge of a great park, where lived my Lord and Lady Cumnor: " the earl " and 'Ithe countess," as they vrcre always called by the inhabitants of the town ; where a very pretty amount of feudal feeling still lingered, and showed itself in a number of simple ways, droll enough to look back upon, but serious matters of importance at the time. It was before the passing of the Reform Bill, but a good deal of liberal talk took place occasionally between two or three of the more enlightened freeholders living in Holling- ford ; and there vras a great "Whig family in the county who, from time to time, came forward and contested the election with the rival .Tory family of Cumnor. One would have thought that the above- mentioned liberal-talking inhabitants of Hollingford would have, at least, admitted the possibility of theii- voting for the Hely-Hamson "who represented their own opinions. But no such thing. " The earl " was lord of the manor, and owner of much of the land on

THK DAWN OF A fiALA DAY. 8

which IlollinpforJ was built ; ho tind his hduscholil wcro fed, nnd doctored, nnd, to n certain meiisure, clothed by tho good people of the town ; their fathers' grandfathers had always voted for tho eldest son of Cinnnor Towers, and following in tho ancestral track, every man- jack in the place gave his vote to tho liege lord, totally irrespective of snch chimeras as political opinion.

This was no unusual instance of the inflnoncc of tho great land- owners over humbler neighbours in those days before railways, and it was well for a place where the powerful family, who thus overshadowed it, wcro of so respectable a character as the Cumnors. They expected to be submitted to, and obeyed ; tho simple worship of tho towns- people was accepted by tho earl and countess as a right ; and they v.-onld have stood still in amazement, and with a horrid memory of the French sansculottes who were the bugbears of their youth, had any inhabitant of Hollingford ventured to set his will or opinions in opposition to those of the carl. But, yielded all that obeisance, they did a good deal for the town, and were generally condescending, and often thoughtful and kind in their treatment of their vassals. Lord Cumnor was a forbearing landlord ; putting his steward a little on one side sometimes, and taking tho reins into his own hands now and then, much to the annoyance of tho agent, who was, in fact, too rich and independent to care greatly for prcsci-ving a post where his decisions might any day bo overturned by my lord's taking a fancy to go " pottering" (as the agent iiToverently expressed it in the sanctuary of his own home), which, being intcqireted, meant that occasionally the carl asked his own questions of his own tenants, and used his own eyes and ears in tho management of the smaller details of his property. But his tenants liked my lord all the better for this habit of his. Lord Cumnor had certainly a little time for gossip, which he contrived to combine with tho failing of personal intervention between the old land-steward and tho tenantry. But, then, the countess made up by her unapproachable dignity for this weakness of the carl's. Once a year she was condescending. She and tho ladies, her daughters, had set up a school ; not a school after the manner of schools now-a-days, where far better intellectual teaching is given to tho boys and girls of labourers and work-people than often falls to the lot of their betters in worldly estate ; but a school of tho kind we should call " industrial,"' where girls are taught to sew beautifully, to be capital housemaids, and pretty fair cooks, and, above all, to chess neatly in a kind of charity uniform devised by

1—2

4 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

the ladies of Cumuor Towers ; — wliite caps, white tippets, check aprons, hlue gowns, and ready curtseys, and "please, ma'ams," being de r'ujueur.

Now, as the countess was absent from the Towers for a consider- able part of the year, she was glad to enlist the sympathy of the Hollingford ladies in this school, with a view to obtaining their aid as visitors during the many months that she and her daughters were away. And the various unoccupied gentlewomen of the town re- sponded to the call of their liege lady, and gave her their service as required ; and along with it, a great deal of whispered and fussy admiration. " How good of the countess ! So like the dear countess — always thinking of others ! " and so on ; while it was always sup- posed that no strangers had seen Hollingford properly, unless they had been taken to the countess's school, and been duly impressed by the neat little pupils, and the still neater needlework there to be inspected. In return, there was a day of honour set apart every summer, when with much gracious and stately hospitality. Lady Cumnor and her daughters received all the school visitors at the Towers, the great femily mansion standing in aristocratic seclusion in the centre of the large park, of which one of the lodges was close to the little town. The order of this annual festivity was this. About ten o'clock one of the Towers' carriages rolled through the lodge, and drove to different houses, wherein dwelt a woman to be honoured ; picking them up by ones or twos, till the loaded carriage drove back again through the ready portals, bowled along the smooth tree-shaded road, and deposited its covey of smartly-dressed ladies on the great flight of steps leading to the ponderous doors of Cumnor Towers. Back again to the town ; another picking up of womankind in their best clothes, and another return, and so on till the whole party were assembled either in the house or in the really beautiful gardens. After the proper amount of exhibition on the one part, and admira- tion on the other, had been done, there was a collation for the visitors, and some more display and admiration of the treasures inside the house. Towards four o'clock, cofiee was brought round ; and this Avas a signal of the approaching carriage that was to take them back to their own homes ; whither they returned with the happy con- sciousness of a well-spent day, but with some fatigue at the long- continued exertion of behaving their best, and talking on stilts for so many hours. Nor were Lady Cumnor and her daughters free from something of the same self-approbation, and something, too, of the

Tin: DAWN OF A fiALA DAY. 6

finmo fiitiguo ; tho fatigue thiit always follows on conscious efforts to licliavo as will lit'st pleiiso the society yon arc in.

For tho first time in her lifi', Molly Clihson was to bt; included among the guests at tho Towers. She was much too young to bo a visitor nt tho school, so it was not on that account that she was to go ; but it lia«l so liapponed that one day when Lord Cuninor was on a " pottorin;,' ■' expedition, he had nut Mr. Gibson, thr doctor of the noighbourhood, coming out of the farm-house my lord was entering ; and having some small question to ask tho surgeon (Lord Cumnor seldom passed any one of his aciinaintancc without asking a question of some sort — not always attending to the answer ; it was his mode of conversation), he accompanied Mr. Gibson to the out-building, to a ring in tho wall of which the surgeon's horse was fastened. Molly was there too, sitting square and quiet on her rough little pony, waiting for her father. Her grave eyes opened large and wide at the close neighbourhood and evident advance of " the earl ; " for to her little imagination the grey-haired, red-faced, somewhat clumsy man, was a cross between an archangel and a king.

" Your daughter, eh, Gibson ? — nice little girl, how old '? Pony wants grooming though," patting it as he talked. " What's your name, my dear? He is sadly behindhand with his rent, as I was saying, but if he is really ill, I must see after Sheepshanks, who is a hardish man of business. ^Yhat's his complaint ? You'll come to our school-scrimmage on Thursday, little girl — what's-your-name ? Mind you send her, or bring her, Gibson ; and just give a word to your groom, for I'm sure that pony was not singed last year, now, was he ? Don't forget Thursday, little girl — what's-your-name ? — it's a promise between us, is it not ? "' And oft' the earl trottcnl, attracted by the sight of tho farmer's eldest son on the other side of the yard.

Mr. Gibson mounted, and ho and Molly rode olV. They did not speak for some time. Then she said, " May I go, papa '? " in rather an anxious little tone of voice.

" Where, my dear?" said he, wakening up out of his own pro- fessional thonghts.

'• To the Towers — on Thursday, you know. That gentleman " (she was shy of calling him by his title), " asked me."

'* Would you like it, my dear ? It has always seemed to me rather a tiresome piece of gaiety — rather a tiring day, I mean — beginning so early — and the heat, and all that."

b WIVES AND DAUGHTEES.

" Ob, papa ! " said Mollv, reproacMully.

" You'd like to go then, would you ? "

" Yes ; if I may ! — He asked me, you know. Don't you tliink I may ? — he asked me twice over."

" Well ! we'll see — yes ! I think we can manage it, if you wish it so much, Molly."

Then they were silent again. By-and-by, Molly said, —

" Please, papa — I do wish to go, — but I don't care about it."

" That's rather a puzzling speech. But I suppose you mean you don't care to go, if it will be any trouble to get you there. I can easily manage it, however, so you may consider it settled. You'll want a white frock, remember ; you'd better tell Betty you're going, and she'll see after making you tidy."

Now, there v/ere two or thi-ee things to be done by Mr. Gibson, before he could feel quite comfortable about Molly's going to the festival at the Towers, and each of them involved a little trouble on his part. But he was very willing to gratify his little girl ; so the next day he rode over to the Towers, ostensibly to visit some sick housemaid, but, in reality, to throw himself in my lady's way, and get her to ratify Lord Cumnor's invitation to Molly. He chose his time, with a little natural diplomacy ; which, indeed, he had ofteu to exercise in his intercourse v/ith the great family. He rode into the stable-yard about twelve o'clock, a little before luncheon-time, and yet after the worry of opening the post-bag and discussing its con- tents was over. After he had put up his horse, he went in by the back-way to the house ; the " House " on this side, the " Towers" at the fi'ont. He saw his patient, gave his directions to the house- keeper, and then went out, vrith a rare wild-flower in his hand, to find one of the ladies Tranmere in the garden, where, according to his hope and calculation, he came upon Lady Cumnor too, — now talking to her daughter about the contents of an open letter which she held in her hand, now directing a gardener about certain bedding-out plants.

" I was calling to see Nanny, and I took the opportunity of hringing Lady Agnes the plant I was telling her about as growing on Cumnor Moss."

" Thank you, so much, Mr. Gibson. Blamma, look ! this is the Drosera rotundifu!ii( I have been wanting so long."

" Ah ! yes ; very pretty I daresay, only I am uo botanist. Nanny is better, I hope ? We can't have any one laid up next

TUB DAWN OF A G.VLA DAY. 7

wetk, for tlio house will be quite full of people,— ami Uoro arc the Diuibys wiiilins to olVor tlieniselves as well. Ouo cornea down for u foiUii-ht i.l' (luiot, ut Wkitsuutido, ami leaves half one's establish- ment in town, and as soon as people know of our being licrc, we get letters without end, longinj^ for a breath of cnunti7 air, or saymg how lovely the Towoi-s must look iu spring ; and I must own, Lord Cumuor is a great deal to bkimo for it all, for as soon as ever wc arc down here, he rides about to all the ucighboui's, and invites them to come over and spend a few days."

'* We shall go back to town on Friday the Iftth," said Lady Agues, in a consolatory tone.

" Ah, yes ! as soon as we have got over the school visitors' all'air. iUit it is a week to that happy day."

'• By the way ! " said Mr. Gibson, availing himself of the good opening thus presented, " I met my lord at the Cross-trees Farm yesterday, and he was kind enough to ask my little daughter, who was with mo, to bo one of the party here on Thursday ; it would give the Lissic great pleasure, I believe." He paused for Lady Cumnor to speak.

'• Oh, well ! if my lord asked her, I suppose she must come, but I wish he was not so amazingly hospitable ! Not but what the little girl will be quite welcome ; only, you see, he met a younger Miss Browning the other day, of whose existence I had never heard."

" She visits at the school, mamma," said Lady Agues.

" Weil, perhaps she does ; I never said she did not. I knew there was one visitor of the name of Browning ; I never knew there were two, but, of course, as soon as Lord Cumnor heard there was another, he must needs ask her ; so the carriage will have to go backwards and forwai'ds four times now to fetch them all. So your daughter can come quite easily, Mr. Gibson, .ind I shall be veiy glad to see her for your sake. She can sit bodl;iu with the l^.rownings, 1 suppose ? You'll arrange it all with them ; and mind you got Nanny well up to her work next week."

Just as Mr. Gibson was going away, Lady Cumnor called after him, '• Oh ! by-the-by, Clare is hero ; you remember Clai'c, don't you ? She was a patient of yours, long ago."

" Clare," he repeated, in a bewildered tftuc.

" Don't you recollect her '? Miss Clare, our old governess," said Lady Agues. *' About twelve or fourteen years ago, before Lady Cuxhavcn was married."

8 WIYES AND DAUGHTERS.

" Ob, yes! " said lie, "Miss Clare, who had the scarlet fever here ; a very pretty delicate girl. But I thought she was married ! "

*' Yes ! " said Lady Cumuor. " She was a silly little thing, and did not know when she was well off ; we were all very fond of her, I'm sure. She went and married a poor curate, and became a stupid Mrs. Kirkpatrick ; but we always kept on calling her ' Clare.' And now he's dead, and left her a widow, and she is staying here ; and we are racking our brains to find out some way of helping her to a livelihood without parting her from her child. She's some- where about the grounds, if you like to renew your acquaintance with her."

" Thank you, my lady. I am afraid I cannot stop to-day. I have a long round to go ; I have stayed here too long as it is, I am afraid."

Long as his ride had been that day, he called on the Miss Brownings in the evening, to arrange about Molly's accompanying them to the Towers. They were tall handsome women, past their first youth, and inclined to be extremely complaisant to the widowed doctor.

" Eh dear ! Mr. Gibson, but wc shall be delighted to have her with us. You should never have thought of asking us such a thing," said Miss Browning the elder.

" I'm sure I'm hardly sleeping at nights for thinking of it," said Miss Phosbe. " You know I've never been there before. Sister has many a time ; but somehow, though my name has been down on the visitors" list these three years, the countess has never named me in her note ; and you know I could not push myself into notice, and go to such a grand place without being asked ; how could I ? "

"I told Phoebe last yeai-," said her sister, "that I was sure it was only inadvertence, as one may call it, on the part of the countess, and that her ladyship would be as hurt as any one when she did not see Phoebe among the school visitors ; but Phoibe has got a delicate mind, you see, Mr. Gibson, and all I could say she would not go, but stopped here at home ; and it spoilt all my pleasure all that day, I do assure you, to think of Phoebe's face, as I saw it over the window-blinds, as I rode away ; her eyes were full of tears, if you'll believe me." »»

" I had a good cry after you was gone, Sally," said Miss Phoebe; " but for all that I think I was right in stopping away from where I was not asked. Don't you, Mr. Gibson ? "

Tin; DAWN OF A (JAI-A DAY. 9

" Certainly," eaiJ ho. " Ami you sic you aro f,'oing this year; and last year it raiiu'd."

'* Yes ! I ri'iiu'iiilH r ! I set myself to tidy my drawers, to striug myself np, as it Moro ; and I was so takcu up with what 1 was about that I was quito startled when I heard the rain beating against the window-panes. '(Joodness me !' said I to myself, ' whatever will be- eomo of sister's white sntin shoes, if she has to walk about on soppy grass after such rain as this ? ' for, you see, I thought a deal about her having a pair of smart shoes ; and this year sho has gone and got me a white satin pair just as smart as hers, for a suqirise."

" Molly will know she's to put on her best clothes," said Miss Bro^^^Iing. " Wo could perhaps lend her a few beads, or artificials, if she wants them. "

" Molly must go in a cUaii white frock," said Mr. Gibson, rather hastily ; fi)r ho did not luliiiire tho Miss Brownings' taste in dress, and was unwilling to have his child decked up according to their fancy; he esteemed his old servant Betty's as tho more correct, because tho more simple. Miss Bro\niing had just a shade of annoyance in her tone as she drew herself up, and said, " Oh ! veiy well. It's quite right, I'm sure." But Miss Phoebe said, " Molly will look very nice in whatever she puts on, that's certain."

( 10 )

CHAPTER II.

A NOVICE AMOXGST THE GllEAT FOLK.

At ten o'clock ou the eventful Thursday the To^vers' carriage began its work. Molly ^Ya3 ready long before it made its first appearance, although it had been settled that she and the Miss Brownings were not to go until the last, or fourth, time of its coming. Her face had been soaped, scrubbed, and shone brilliantly clean ; her frills, her frock, her ribbons were all snow-white. She had on a black mode cloak that had been her mother's ; it was trimmed round with rich lace, and looked quaint and old-fashioned on the child. For the first time in her life she wore kid gloves ; hitherto she had only had cotton ones. Her gloves were far too large for the little dimpled fingers, but as Betty had told her they wore to last her for years, it Avas all very well. She trembled many a time, and almost turned faint once with the long expectation of the morning. Betty might say what she liked about a watched pot never boiling ; Molly never ceased to watch the approach through the winding street, and after tvi^o hours the carriage came for her at last. She had to sit very for- ward to avoid crushing the Miss Brownings' new dresses ; and yet not too forward, for fear of incommoding fat Mrs. Goodeuough and her niece, who occupied the front seat of the carriage ; so that alto- gether the fact of sitting down at all was rather doubtful, and to add to her discomfort, Molly felt herself to be very conspicuously placed in the centre of the carriage, a mark for all the observation of HoUingford. It was far too much of a gala day for the work of the little town to go forward with its usual regularity. Maid-servants gazed out of upper windows ; shopkeepers' wives stood on the door- steps ; cottagers ran out, with babies in their arms ; and little children, too young to know how to behave respectfully at the sight of an earl's carriage, huzzaed merrily as it bowled along. The

A NOVICE AMONGar TUE OIIEAT 1 OLK.

11

Woman at tbo lodge held the gate open, and dropped a low curtsey to the liveries. And now tliey were in the Turk ; mid now they were in sight of the Towers, and silence fell upon the curriu>;e-full of ladies, only broken by one fuint remark from Mrs. Goodenough's niece, a stranger to the town, as they drew up before the double semicircle flight of steps which led to the door of the mansion.

"They call that a perron, I believe, don't they '? " she asked. But the only answer she obtained was a simultaneous " hush." It was very awful, as Molly thought, and she half wished herself at homo again. But she lost all consciousness of herself by-aud-by when the party strolled out into the beautiful grounds, the like of which she had never even inurgiucd. Green velvet lawns, bathed in sunshine, stretched away on every side into the finely wooded park ; if there were divisions and ha-has between the soft sunny sweeps of grass, and the dark gloom of the forest-trees beyond, Molly did not see them ; and the melting away of exquisite cultivation into the wilderness had an inexplicable charm to her. Near the house there were walls and fences ; but they were covered with climbing roses, and rare honeysuckles and other creepers just bursting into bloom. Thero were flower-beds, too, scarlet, crimson, blue, orange ; masses of blossom lying on the greensward. Molly held Miss Browning's hand very tight as they loitered about in company with several other ladies, and marshalled by a daughter of the Towers, who seemed half amused at the voluble admiration showered down upon eveiy possible thing and place. Molly said nothing, as became her age and position, but every now and then she relieved her full heart by drawing a deep breath, almost like a sigh. Presently they came to the long glittering range of greenhouses and hothouses, and an attendant gardener was there to admit the party. Molly did not care for this half so much as for the flowers in the open air ; but Lady Agnes had a more scientific taste, she expatiated on the rarity of this plant, and the mode of cultivation required by that, till Molly began to feel verj- tired, and then very faint. She was too shy to speak for some time ; but at length, afraid of making a gi-euter sensation if she began to cry, or if she fell against the stands of precious flowers, she caught at Jliss Browning's hand, and gasped out —

" May I go back, out into the garden '.' 1 can't breathe here ! " ** Oh, yes, to bo sure, love. I daresay it's hard understanding for you, love ; but it's very fine and instructive, and a deal of Latin in it too.''

12 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

She turned hastily rountl not to lose another •word of Lady Agnes' lecture on orchids, and Molly turned back and passed out of the heated atmosphere. She felt better in the fresh air ; and unob- served, and at liberty, went fi-oin one lovely spot to another, now in the open park, now in some shut-in flower-garden, where the song of the birds, and the drip of the central fountain, were the only sounds, and the tree-tops made an enclosing circle in the blue June sky ; she went along without more thought as to her whereabouts than a butterfly has, as it skims from flower to flower, till at length she grew very weary, and wished to return to the house, but did not know how, and felt afraid of encountering all the strangers who would be there, unprotected by cither of the Miss Bi'ownings. The hot sun told upon her head, and it began to ache. She saw a great wide- spreading cedar- tree upon a burst of lawn towards which she was advancing, and the black repose beneath its branches lured her thither. There was a rustic seat in the shadow, and weary Molly sate down there, and presently fell asleep.

She was startled from her slumbers after a time, and jumped to her feet. Two ladies were standing by her, talking about her. They were perfect strangers to her, and with a vague conviction that she had done something wrong, and also because she was worn-out with hunger, fatigue, and the morning's excitement, she began to cry.

" Poor little woman ! She has lost herself; she belongs to some of the people from Hollingford, I have no doubt," said the oldest- looking of the two ladies ; she who appeared to be about forty, though she did not really number more than thirty years. She was plain-featured, and had rather a severe expression on her face ; her dress was as rich as any morning dress could be ; her voice deep and unmodulated, — what in a lower rank of life would have been called grufi'; but that was not a word to apply to Lady Cuxhavcn, the eldest daughter of the earl and countess. The other lady looked much younger, but she was in fact some years the elder; at first sight Molly thought she was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, and she was certainly a very lovely woman. Her voice, too, was soft and plaintive, as she replied to Lady Cuxhaven, —

"Poor little darling! she is overcome by the heat, I have no doubt — such a heavy straw bonnet, too. Let me untie it for you, my dear."

Molly now found voice to say — " I am Molly Gibson, please. I

A NOVICE AMONGST THK ORKAT FOLK, 13

canu» hero, with ^liss iSrowniiigs ; " for her great fcur was that hLo bhuiiKl be taken for an iiuauthori/ed intruder.

" Miss BrowTiings ? " said Lady Cuxhaven to lier companion, an if iniiiiiriuf^ly.

'* I think thoy were the two tall large young women that Lady Agues was talking about."

" Oh, I daresay. I saw she had a number of people in tow ; " then looking again at Mt)lly, she said, "Have you had anything to eat, child, since you came? You look a very white little thing; or is it tlic heat ? "

'• I have had nothing to cat,"' said Molly, rather pitcously ; for, indeed, before she fell asleep she had been very hungry.

The two ladies spoke to each other in a low voice ; then the elder said in a voice of authority, which, indeed, she had always used in speaking to the other, " Sit still here, my dear ; we arc going to the liouse, and Clare shall bring you something to cat before you trj- to walk back ; it must be a quarter of a mile at least." So they went away, and Molly sat upright, waiting for the promised messenger. She did not know who Clare might be, and she did not care much for food now ; but she felt as if she could not walk without some help. At length she saw the pretty lady coming back, followed by a lootman with a small tray.

" Look how kind Lady Cuxhaven is," said she who was called Clare. "She chose you out this little lunch herself ; and now you must try and eat it, and you'll bo quite right when you've had some food, darling — You need not stop, Edwards ; I will bring the tray back with me."

There was some bread, and some cold chicken, and some jelly, and a glass of wine, and a bottle of sparkling water, and a bunch of grapes. Molly put out her trembling little hand for the water ; but slie was too faint to hold it. Clare put it to her mouth, and she took a long draught and was refreshed. I'.ut she could not eat ; she tried, but she could not ; her headache was too bad. Clare looked bewil- dered. " Take some grapes, they will be the best for you ; yon must try and cat something, or I don't know how I shall got you to the house."

" My head aches so," said Molly, lifting her heavy eyes wistfully.

" Oh, dear, how tiresome ! " said Clare, still in her sweet gentle voice, not at all as if she was angry, only expressing an obvious truth. Molly felt very guilty and veiy unhappy. Clare went on.

14 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

with a shade of asperity in her tone : " You see, I don't know what to do with you here if you don't eat enough to enable you to walk home. And I've been out for these three hours trapesing about the grounds till I'm as tired as can be, and missed my lunch and all." Then, as if a new idea had struck her, she said, — " You lie back in that seat for a few minutes, and tiy to eat the bunch of grapes, and I'll wait for you, and just be eating a mouthful meanwhile. You are sure you don't want this chicken ? "

Molly did as she was bid, and leant back, picking languidly at the grapes, and watching the good appetite with which the lady ate up the chicken and jelly, and drank the glass of wine. She was so pretty and so gi'aceiul in her deep mourning, that even her hurry in eating, as if she was afraid of some one coming to surprise her in the act, did not keep her little observer from admiring her in all she did.

" And now, darling, are you ready to go ? " said she, when she had eaten up evcijthing on the tray. " Oh, come ; you have nearly finished your grapes ; that's a good girl. Now, if you will come with me to the side entrance, I will take you up to my own room, and you shall lie down on the bed for an hour or two ; and if you have a good nap your headache will be quite gone."

So they set off, Clare carrying the empty tray, rather to Molly's shame ; but the child had enough work to drag herself along, and was afraid of offering to do anything more. The *' side entrance " was a flight of steps leading up from a private flower-garden into a private matted hall, or ante-room, out of which many doors opened, and in which were deposited the light garden-tools and the bows and arrows of the young ladies of the house. Lady Cuxhaven must have seen their approach, for she met them in this hall as soon as they came in.

" How is she now ?" she asked ; then glancing at the plates and glasses, she added, " Come, I think there can't be much amiss ! You're a good old Clare, but you should have let one of the men fetch that tray in ; life in such weather as this is trouble enough of itself."

Molly could not help wishing that her pretty companion would have told Lady Cuxhaven that she herself had helped to finish up the ample luncheon ; but no such idea seemed to come into her mind. She only said, — " Poor dear ! she is not quite the thing yet ; has got a headache, she says. I am going to put her down on my bed, to see if she can get a little sleep."

A NOVICE AMONGST THE GREAT FOLK. 15

Molly saw Lady Cuxhaven say something in a lialf-laufjliiiig mauucr to " Clari'," as sbo passod her ; and the child could not keep from tormenting herself by fancying that tho words spoken sounded wonderfully like " Over-eaten herself, I suspect." However, she felt too poorly to worr}- herself long ; tho littlo whito bed in tho cool and pretty room had too many attractions for her aching head. The muslin curtains flapped softly from time to time in the scented air that came through tho open windows. Clare covered her up with a light shawl, and darkened the room. As she was going away Molly roused herself to say, " Please, ma'am, don't let them go away without me. Please ask somebody to waken mc if I go to sleep. I am to go back with Miss Brownuigs."

" Don't trouble yourself about it, dear ; I'll tako care," said Clare, turning round at tho door, and kissing her hand to little anxious Molly. And then she went away, and thought no more about it. Tho carriages carao round at half-past four, hunied a little by Lady Cumnor, who had suddenly become tired of the business of entertaining, and annoyed at the repetition of indisciiminating admi- ration.

" "Why cot have both carnages out, mamma, and get rid of them all at once ? " said Lady Cuxhaven. " This going by instalments is the most tiresome thing that could be imagined." So at last there had been a great huri-y and an unmethodical way of packing off ever}- one at once. Miss Bro^vning had gone in the chariot (or "chawyot," as Lady Cumnor called it ; — it rhymed to her daughter. Lady Hawyot — or Harriet, as the name was spelt in the Pecnirfc), and Miss Phoebe had been speeded along with several other guests, away in a great roomy family conveyance, of tho kind which wo should now call an " omnibus." Each thought that Molly Gibson was with the other, and the tnith was, that she lay fast asleep on Mrs. Kirk- patrick's bed — Mrs. Kirkpatrick ne'e Clare.

The housemaids came in to arrange the room. Their talkin"^ aroused Molly, who sat up on tho bed, and tried to push back the hair fi'om her hot forehead, and to remember where she was. She dropped down on her feet by the side of the bed, to the astonish- ment of the women, and said, — "Please, how soon are we going away '? "

" Bless us and save us ! who'd ha' thought of any one being in tho bed ? Are you one of the HoUingford ladies, my dear? They are all gone this hour or more ! "

16 WrV'ES AND DAFGHTEES.

" Oh, clear, what shall I do ? That lady they caU Clare promised to waken me in time. Papa will so wonder where I am, and I don't know what Betty will say."

The child hegan to cry, and the housemaids looked at each other in some dismay and much sympathy. Just then, they heard Mrs. Kirkpatrick's step along the passages, approaching. She was singing some little Italian air in a low musical voice, coming to her bedroom to dress for dinner. One housemaid said to the other, with a knowing look, " Best leave it to her ; " and they passed on to their work in the other rooms.

Mrs. Kirkpatrick opened the door, and stood aghast at the sight of Molly.

" Why, I quite forgot you ! " she said at length, " Nay, don't cry ; you'll make yourself not fit to he seen. Of course I must take the consequences of your over-sleeping yourself, and if I can't manage to get you hack to HoUingford to-night, you shall sleep with me, and we'll do our best to send you home to-morrow morning."

"But papa!" sobbed out Molly. "He always wants me to make tea for him ; and I have no night-things."

" Well, don't go and make a piece of work about what can't be helped now. I'll lend you night-things, and your papa must do without your making tea for him to-night. And another time don't over-sleep j^ourself in a strange house ; you may not always find yourself among such hospitable people as they are here. Why now, if you don't cry and make a figure of yourself, I'll ask if you maj"^ come in to dessert with Master Smythe and the little ladies. You shall go into the nursery, and have some tea with them ; and then you must come back here and brush your hair and make yourself tidy. I think it is a very fine thing for you to be stopping in such a grand house as this ; many a little girl would like nothing better."

During this speech she was arranging her toilette for dinner — taking ofi" her black morning gown ; putting on her dressing-gown ; shaking her long soft auburn hair over her shoulders, and glancing about the room in search of various articles of her dress, — a running flow of easy talk came babbling out all the time.

" I have a little girl of my own, dear ! I don't know what she would not give to be staying here at Lord Cumnor's with me ; but, instead of that, she has to spend her holidays at school ; and yet you are looking as miserable as can be at the thought of stopping for just one night. I really have been as busy as can be with those tiresome

A NOVICE AMONGST THE CHEAT FOLK. 17

— tlioso good Inillcrt, I mean, from HoUingforJ — and ono can't think of everything at a time."

Molly — only child us she was — hud stopped her tears at the montion of that little girl of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's, and now she ven- tured to say, —

" Arc you nianued, lua'am ; I thought she called you Clare ? "

In high good-humour ^Irs. Kirkpatrick made reply : — " I don't look as if I was married, do 1? Kvi-ry one is surprised. And yet I have been a widow for seven months now : and not a grey hair on my head, though Lady Cuxhavcn, who is younger than I, has ever so many. "

" Why do they call you ' Clare ? ' " continued Molly, finding her 80 affable and communicative.

" Because I lived with them when I was Miss Clare. It is a pretty name, isn't it '? I married a Mr. Kirkpatrick ; he was only a curate, poor fellow ; but he was of a ver}' good family, and if three of his relations had died without children I should have been a baronet's wife. But Providence did not see fit to permit it ; and we must always resign ourselves to what is decreed. Two of his cousins married, and had large families; and poor dear Kirkpatrick died, leaving me a widow."

" You have a little girl '?" asked Molly.

" Yes : darling Cynthia ! I wish you could see her ; she is my only comfort now. If I have time I will show you her picture when we come up to bed ; but I must go now. It does not do to keep Lady Cumuor waiting a moment, and she asked mc to be down early, to help with some of the people in the house. Now I shall ring this bell, and when the housemaid comes, ask her to take you into the nursery, and to tell Lady Cuxhaven's nurse who you are. And then you'll have tea with the little ladies, and come in with them to dessert. There ! I'm sorry you've overslept yourself, and are left hero ; but give mc a kiss, and don't cr}* — you really arc rather a pretty child, though you've not got Cynthia's colouring ! Oh, Nanny, would you be so very kind as to take this young lady — (what's your name, my dear? (ribson ?V — Miss Gibson, to Mrs. Dyson, in the nursery, and ask her to allow her to drink tea with the young ladies there ; and to send her in with them to dessert. Ill explain it all to my lady."

Nanny's face brightened out of its gloom when she heard the name Gibson ; and, having ascertained from ilolly that she was

Vol. I. 2

18 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

"tlic doctor's" child, she showed more willingness to comply with Mrs. Kirkpatrick's request than was usual with her.

Molly was an ohligiug girl, and fond of children ; so, as long as she was in the nursery, she got on pretty well, being obedient to the wishes of the supreme power, and eyen very useful to Mrs. Dyson, by playing at tricks, and thus keeping a little one quiet while its brothers aoid sisters were being arrayed in gay attire, — lace and muslin, and velvet, and brilliant broad ribbons.

" Now, miss," said Mrs. Dyson, when her own especial charge were all ready, ' ' what can I do for you ? You have not got another frock here, have you ? " No, indeed, she had not ; nor if she had had one, could it have been of a smarter nature than her present thick white dimity. So she could only wash her face and hands, and submit to the nurse's brushing and perfuming her hair. She thought she would rather have stayed in the park all night long, and slept under the beautiful quiet cedar, than have to undergo the unknown ordeal of " going down to dessert," which was evidently regarded both by children and nurses as the event of the day. At length there was a summons from a footman, and Mrs. Dyson, in a rustling silk gown, marshalled her convoy, and set sail for the dining-room door.

There was a large party of gentlemen and ladies sitting round the decked table, in the brilliantly lighted room. Each dainty little child ran up to its mother, or aunt, or particular friend ; but Molly had no one to go to.

" Who is that tall girl in the thick white frock ? Not one of the children of the house, I think ? "

The lady addressed put up her glass, gazed at Molly, and dropped it in an instant. " A French girl, I should imagine. I know Lady Cuxhaven was inquiring for one to bring up with her little girls, that they might get a good accent early. Poor little woman, she looks wild and strange ! " And the speaker, who sate next to Lord Cum- nor, made a little sign to Molly to come to her ; Molly crept up to her as to the first shelter ; but when the lady began talking to her in French, she blushed violently, and said in a very low voice, —

" I don't understand French. I'm only Molly Gibson, ma'am."

" Molly Gibson ! " said the lady, out loud ; as if that was not much of an explanation.

Lord Cumnor caught the words and the tone.

" Oh, ho ! " said he. "Arc you the little girl who has been sleeping in my bed ?"

A NOVICE A.MOX(;ST TUK OUKAT FOLK.

td

lie imitated tlio deep voice of the fabulous bear, who asks tliis question of the little child iu the story ; but Molly had never read tho ** Three Bears," and fancied that his anger was real ; she trembled a little, and drew nearer to the kind lady who had beckoned her as to a n-fu^'e. Lord C'umnor was very fynd of f,'ettiug hold of what he fancied was a joke, and working his idea threadbare ; so all tlie time the ladies were in the room ho kept on his running fire at Molly, alluding to the Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Sleepers, and any other fiiiuous sleeper that came into his head. He had no idea of the misery his jokes were to the sensitive girl, who ah-eady thought herself a miserable sinner, for having slept on, when she ought to have been awake. If Molly had been iu tho habit of putting two and two together, she might have found an excuse for herself, by re- membering that Mrs. Kirkpatrick had promised faithfully to awaken lior in time ; but all the girl thought of was, how httlc they wanted her in this grand house ; how she must seem like a careless iutrader who had no business there. Once or twice she wondered where her father was. and whether he was missing her ; but the thought of the familiar happiness of home brought such a choking iu her thi-oat, that she felt she must not give way to it, for fear of bursting out crving ; and she had instinct enough to feel that, as she was left at the Towers, the less trouble she gave, the more she kept herself out of observation, tho better.

She followed tho ladies out of tho dining-room, almost hoping that no one would see her. But that was impossible, and she im- niodiately became the subject of conversation between the awful Lady Cumuor and her kind neighbour at dinner.

" Do you know, I thought this young lady was French when I first saw her '? she has got the black hair and eyelashes, and grey eyes, and colourless complexion which one meets with iu some parts of France, and I know Lady Cuxharen was trying to find a well- educated girl who would be a pleasant companion to her children."

" No ! " said Lady Cumuor, looking very stern, as Molly thought. " She is the daughter of our medical man at HoUingford ; she came with the school visitors this morning, and she was overcome by the heat and fell asleep in Clare's room, and somehow managed to over-sleep herself, and did not waken up till all the carriages were gone. We will send her home to-morrow morning, but for to-night she must stay here, and Clare is kind enough to say she may sleep with her."

20 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

There was an implied blame running through this speech, that Molly felt like needle-points all over her. Lady Cuxhaven came up at this moment. Her tone was as deep, her manner of speaking as abrupt and authoritative, as her mother's, but Molly felt the kinder nature underneath.

" How are you now, my dear ? You look better than you did under the cedar-tree. So you're to stop here to-night ? Clare, don't you think we could find some of those books of engravings that would interest Miss Gibson.''

Mrs. Kirkpatrick came gliding up to the place where Molly stood ; and began petting her with pretty words and actions, while Lady Cuxhaven turned over heavy volumes in search of one that might interest the girl.

" Poor darling ! I saw you come into the dining-room, looking so shy ; and I wanted you to come near me, but I could not make a sign to you, because Lord Cuxhaven was speaking to me at the time, telling me about his travels. Ah, here is a nice book — Loihjcs Portraits; now I'll sit by you and tell you who they all are, and all about them. Don't trouble yourself any more, dear Lady Cuxhaven ; I'll take charge of her ; pray leave her to me ! "

Molly grew hotter and hotter as these last words met her ear. If they would only leave her alone, and not labour at being kind to her; would "not trouble themselves" about her! These words of Mrs. Kirkpatrick" s seemed to quench the gratitude she was feeling to Lady Cuxhaven for looking for something to amuse her. But, of course, it was a trouble, and she ought never to have been there.

By-and-by, Mrs. Kirkpatrick was called away to accompany Lady Agnes' song ; and then Molly really had a few minutes' enjoyment. She could look round the room, unobserved, and, sure, never was any place out of a king's house so grand and magnificent. Large mirrors, velvet curtains, pictures in their gilded frames, a multitude of dazzling lights decorated the vast saloon, and the floor was studded with groups of ladies and gentlemen, all dressed in gorgeous attire. Suddenly Molly bethought her of the children whom she had accompanied into the dining-room, and to whose ranks she had appeared to belong, — where were they ? Gone to bed an hour before, at some quiet signal from their mother. Molly wondered if she might go, too — if she could ever find her way back to the haven of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's bedroom. But she was at some distance from the door ; a long way from Mrs. Kirkpatrick, to whom she felt her-

A NOYirt: AMON(}ST THK OUEAT FOLK. 21

self to belong more than to any one else. Far, too, from Lady Cux- liavon, and tlio tcrrililo Laily Cumnor, and lur jocoso and f,'ood- naturod lord. So Molly sato on, turning over pictures which she did not SCO ; lier heart growing henvior and heavier in the desolation of all this f^'randcur. Presently a footman entered thi; room, and after a moment's looking about him, he went uj) to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, where she sato at the piano, the centre of the musical portion of the company, ready to accompany any singer, and smiling pleasantly as she willingly acceded to all requests. .She came now towards Molly, in her corner, and said to her, —

" Do you know, darling, your papa has come for you, and brought your pony for you to rido home ; so I shall lose my little bedfellow, for I suppose you must go."

Go ! was there a question of it in IMully's mind, as she stood up quiveriug, sparkling, almost crying out loud. She was brought to her senses, though, by Mrs. Kirkpatrick's next words. *

" You must go and wish Lady Cumnor good-night, you know, my dear, and thank her ladyship for her kindness to you. She is there, near that statue, talking to Mr. Courtenay."

Yes ! she was there — forty feet away — a hundred miles away ! All that blank space had to be crossed ; and then a speech to be made !

" Must I go ? " asked Molly, in the most pitiful and pleading voice possible.

" Yes ; make haste about it ; there is nothing so fonuidable iu it, is there?" replied Mrs. Kirkpatrick, in a sharper voice than before, aware that they were wanting her at the piano, and anxious to get the business iu hand done as soon as possible.

Molly stood still for a minute, then, looking up, she said, softly, —

" Would you mind coming with mo. please ? "

"No! not I!" said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, seeing that her com- pliance was likely to be the most spetdy way of gettiug through the affair ; so she took Molly's, hand, and, on the way, iu passing the group at the piano, she said, smiling, in her pretty genteel manner, —

" Our little friend hero is shy and modest, and wants me to ac- company her to Ijady Cumnor to wish good-night ; her father has ■come for her, and she is going away."

Molly did not know how it was afterwards, but she pulled her

22 WIVES AND DAUGHTEES.

hand out of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's on hearing these words, and going a step or two in advance came up to Lady Cumnor, grand in purple velvet, and dropping a curtsey, almost after the fashion of the school- children, she said, —

" My lady, papa is come, and I am going away ; and, my lady, I wish you good-night, and thank you for your kindness. Your ladyship's kindness, I mean," she said, con-ecting herself as she remembered Miss Browning's particular instructions as to the eti- quette to be observed to earls and countesses, and their honourable progeny, as they were given that morning on the road to the Towers.

She got out of the saloon somehow ; she believed afterwards, on thinking about it, that she had never bidden good-by to Lady Cux- haven, or Mrs. Kirkpatrick, or " all the rest of them," as she irre- verently styled them in her thoughts.

*Mr. Gibson was in the housekeeper's room, when Molly ran in, rather to the stately Mrs. Brown's discomfiture. She threw her arms round her father's neck. " Oh, papa, papa, papa ! I am so glad you have come ; " and then she burst out crying, stroking his face almost hysterically as if to make sure he was there.

"Why, what a noodle you are, Molly! Did you think I was going to give up my little girl to live at the Towers all the rest of her life ? You make as much work about my coming for you, as if you thought I had. Make haste, now, and get on your bonnet. Mrs. Brown, may I ask you for a shawl, or a plaid, or a wrap of some kind to pin about her for a petticoat ? "

He did not mention that he had come home from a long round not half an hour before, a round from which he had returned dinner- less and hungry ; but, on finding that Molly had not come back from the Towers, he had ridden his tired horse round by Miss Brownings', and found them in self- reproachful, helpless dismay. He would not wait to listen to their tearful apologies ; he galloped home, had a fresh horse and Molly's pony saddled, and though Betty called after him with a riding-skirt for the child, when he was not ten yards from his ovm stable-door, he refused to turn back for it, but went off, as Dick the stableman said, " muttering to himself awful."

Mrs. Brown had her bottle of wine out, and her plate of cake, before Molly came back from her long expedition to Mrs. Kirk- patrick's room, " pretty nigh on to a quarter of a mile off,'' ^s the housekeeper informed the impatient father, as he waited for his child

A NOVIC!-: AMONGST TOE CUKAT lOI-K. 23

to como (lowii ftrmyod iu her morning's finery with the gloss of new- ness worn olV. ^Ir. Gibson was a favourito in all the Towers' house- hold, as family doctors penerally aro ; brinj^iug hopes of relief at times of anxiety and distress ; and Mrs. Hrown, who was subject to fjout, especially delighted in potting him whenever ho would allow hor. She oven wont out into the stable-yard to pin Molly up in the nhawl. as she sate upon the ntugh-coated pony, and hazarded the somewhat safe conjecture, —

" I daresay she'll bo happier at home, Mr. Gibson,"' as they rode away.

Once out into the park Molly strack hor pony, and urged him oa as hard as he would go. Mr. Gibson called out at last :

" Molly ! we're coming to the rabbit-holes ; it's not safe to go at such a pace. Stop." And as she drew rein ho rode up alongside of her.

'• We're getting into the shadow of the trees, and it's not safe riding fast here."

" Oh ! i)apa, I never was so glad in all my life. I felt like a lighted candle when they're putting the extinguisher on it."

" Did you ? How d'ye know what the caudle feels ?"

" Oh, I don't know, but I did." And again, after a pause, she said, — ** Oh, I am so glad to be here ! It is so pleasant riding hero in the open free, fresh air, crushing out such a good smell from the dewy grass. Papa ! are you there '? I can't see you."

He rode close up alongside of her : ho was not sure but what she might be afraid of riiliug in the dark shadows, so he laid his hand upon hei-s.

" Oh ! I am so glad to feel you," squeezing his hand hard. " Papa, I should like to get a chain like Ponto's, just as long as your longest round, and then I could fasten us two to each end of it, juid when I wanted you I could pull, and if you did not want to come, you could pull back again ; but I should know you knew I wanted you, and wo could never lose each other."

'' I'm rather lost iu that plan of yours ; the details, as you state them, are a little puzzling ; but if I make them out rightly, I am to go about the couutr}', like the donkeys on the common, with a clog fastened to my hind leg."

" I don't mind your calling mo a clog, if only we were fastened together."

" But I do mind you calling mc a doukcy," he replied.

24 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

" I never did. At least I did not mean to. But it is such a comfort to know that I may be as rude as I like."

" Is that what you've learnt from the grand company you've been keeping to-day ? I expected to find you so polite and cere- monious, that I read a few chapters of Sir Charles Grandisvn, in order to bring myself up to concert pitch."

" Oh, I do hope I shall never be a lord or a lady."

" "Well, to comfort j'ou, I'll tell you this : I'm sure you'll never be a lord ; and I tliink the chances are a thousand to one against your ever being the other, in the sense in which you mean."

" I should lose myself every time I had to fetch my bonnet, or else get tired of long passages and great staircases long before I could go out walking."

" But you'd have your lady's-maid, you know."

" Do you know, papa, I tliink lady's-maids are worse than ladies. I should not mind being a housekeeper so much."

" No ! the jam-cupboards and dessert would lie very conveniently to one's hand," replied her father, meditatively. " But Mrs. Brown tells me that the thought of the dinners often keeps her from sleeping ; there's that anxiety to be taken into consideration. Still, in eveiy condition of life, there are heavy cares and responsibilities."

"Well! I suppose so," said Molly, gravely. "I know Betty says I wear her life out with the green stains I get in my frocks from sitting in the cheny-trce."

" And Miss Browning said she had fretted herself into a headache with thinking how they had left you behind. I'm afraid you'll be as bad as a bill of fare to them to-night. How did it all happen, goosey?"

" Oh, I went by myself to see the gardens; they are so beauti- ful ! and I lost myself, and sat down to rest under a gi'eat tree ; and Lady Cuxhaven and that Mrs. Kirkpatrick came ; and Mrs. Kirk- patrick brought me some lunch, and then put me to sleep on her bed, — and I thought she would waken me in time, and she did not ; and so they'd all gone away ; and when they planned for me to stop till to-morrow, I didn't like saying how very, very much I wanted to go home, — but I kept thinking how you would wonder where I was."

" Then it was rather a dismal day of pleasure, goosey, eh ?"

" Not in the morning. I shall never forget the morning in that garden. But I was never so unhappy in all my life, as I have been all this long afternoon."

A NOVICK AMOK(;ST TIIK (HIKAT lOLK. 25

Mr. (iibsou thought it his duty to ride round by tho Towers, aud pay n visit of iipology iind tlinnks to the fuinily, bi'fure they left for Lundon. He found tliein all on tlie wing, and no one was sulhciently at liberty to listen to his grateful civilities but Mra. Kirkpatrick, who, altli(>uj,'h she was to accompany Tiady Cuxhavcn, and pay a visit to her former pupil, made leisure enough to receive Mr. (iibson, on behalf of tho family ; and assured hira of her faithful remembranco of his great professional attention to her iu former days in the most winuiuii manner.

( 2G_ )

CHAPTER III.

MOLLY GIESOX'S CHILDHOOD.

Sixteen years before this time, all lioUingford had been disturbed to its foundations by the intelligence that Mr. Hall, the skilful doctor, who had attended them all their days, was going to take a partner. It was no use reasoning to them on the subject ; so Mr. Browning the vicar, Mr. Sheepshanks (Lord Cumnor's agent), and Mr. Hall him- self, the masculine reasoners of the little society, left off the attempt, feeling that the Che sarli mm would prove more silencing to the murmurs than many arguments. Mr. Hall had told his faithful patients that, even with the strongest spectacles, his sight was not to be depended upon ; and they might have found out for them- selves that his hearing was very defective, although, on this point, he obstinately adhered to his own opinion, and v/as fi-equently heard to regret the carelessness of people's communication nowadays, "like writing on blotting-paper, all the words running into each other," he would say. And more than once Mr. Hall had had attacks of a, suspicious nature, — "rheumatism" he used to call them ; but he prescribed for himself as if they had been gout, which had prevented his immediate attention to imperative summonses. But, blind and deaf, and rheumatic as he might be, he V!as still Mr. Hall the doctor who could heal all theii- ailments — unless they died meanwhile — and he had no right to speak of growdng old, and taking a partner.

He went very steadily to work all the same ; advertising in medical journals, reading testimonials, sifting character and qualifi- cations ; and just when the elderly maiden ladies of HoUiugford thought that they had convinced their contemporary that he was as young as ever, he startled them by bringing his nev/ partner, Mr. Gibson, to call upon them, and began " slyly," as these ladies said, to introduce him into practice. And "who was this Mr. Gibson '?" they

^ MOIiLY GIBSON'S CHILDHOOD. 27

ftskoil, and echo might nnswcr the qncstion, if she likcil, for no one else (lid. No <tno over in all his life know an}-thinR more of his antc- codouts tlmu the llollini^'ford pcoiilo niifiht liavo found out the first day thi'y saw him : that ho was tall, grave, rather handsome than otherwise ; thin onougli to he called " a very geutcel iigarc," in those days, heforo muscular Christianity had come into vogne ; speaking ^vith a slight Scotch accent ; and, as one good lady oh- scrved, " so very trite iu his conversation," hy which she meant sarcastic. As to liis hirth, parentage, and education, — the favourite conjecture of Hollingford society was, that he was the illegitimate son of a Scotch duke, hy a Frenchwoman ; and the grounds for this conjecture were these : — He spok» with a Scotch accent ; therefore, he nmst ho Scotch. He had a very genteel appearance, an elegant figure, and was apt — so his ill-wishers said — to give himself airs ; therefore, his father must have been some person of quality ; and, that granted, nothing was easier than to mn this supposition up all the notes of the scale of the peerage, — baronet, baron, viscount, carl, marquis, duke. Higher they dared not go, though one old lady, acquainted with English history, hazarded the remark, that " she believed that one or two of the Stuarts — hem — had not always been, — ahem — quite correct in their — conduct; and she fancied such — ahem — things ran in families." But, in popular opinion, Mr. Gibson's father always remained a duke ; nothing more.

Then his mother must have been a Frenchwoman, because his hair was so black ; and he was so sallow ; and because he had been in Paris. All this might be true, or might not ; nobody ever knew, or found out anything more about him than what Mr. Hall told them, namely, that his professional qualifications were as high as hismoml character, and that both were far above the average, as Mr. Hall had taken pains to ascertain before introducing him to his patients. The popularity of this world is as transient as its glory, as 3Ir. Hall found out before the first year of his partnership was over. He had plenty of leisure left to him now to nurse his gout and cherish bis eyesight. The younger doctor had carried the day; nearly every one sent for Mr. Gibson. Even at the gi'cat houses — even at the Towers, that greatest of all, where Mr. Hall had introduced his new partner with fear and trembling, with untold anxiety as to his behaviour, and the impression ho might make on my lord the Earl, and my lady the Countess, Mr. Gibson was received at the end of a twelvemonth with as much welcome respect for bis professional skill as ^Ir. Hall

28 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. *

himself had ever hcen. Nay — and this was a little too much for even the kind old doctor's good temper — Mr. Gibson had even been invited once to dinner at the Towers, to dine with the great Sir Astley, the head of the profession ! To be sure, Mr. Hall had been asked as well ; but he was laid up just then with his gout (since he had had a partner the rheumatism had been allowed to develope itself), and he had not been able to go. Poor Mr. Hall never quite got over this mortification ; after it he allowed himself to become dim of sight and hard of hearing, and kept pretty closely to the house during the two winters that remained of his life. He sent for an orphan grand-niece to keep him company in his old age ; he, the woman-contemning old bachelor, became thankful for the cheerful presence of the pretty, bonny Mary Pearson, who was good and sensible, and nothing more. She formed a close friendship with the daughters of the vicar, Mr. Browning, and Mr. Gibson found time to become very intimate with all three. HoUingford speculated much on which young lady would become Mrs. Gibson, and was rather sorry when the talk about possibilities, and the gossip about proba- bilities, with regard to the handsome young surgeon's marriage, ended in the most natural manner in the world, by his marrying his predecessor's niece. The two Miss Brownings showed no signs of going into a consumption on the occasion, although their looks and manners were carefully watched. On the contrary, they were rather boisterously meriy at the wedding, and poor Mrs. Gibson it was that died of consumption, four or five years after her marriage — three years after the death of her great-uncle, and when her only child, Molly, was just three years old.

Mr. Gibson did not speak much about the grief at the loss of his wife, which it was supposed that he felt. Indeed, he avoided all demonstrations of sympathy, and got up hastily and left the room when Miss Phcebe Browning first saw him after his loss, and burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears, which threatened to end in hysterics. Miss Browning afterwards said she never could forgive liim for his hard-heartedness on that occasion ; but a fortnight after- wards she came to very high words with old Mrs. Goodenough, for gasping out her doubts whether Mr. Gibson was a man of deep feeling ; judging by the narrowness of his crape hat-band, which ought to have covered his hat, whereas there was at least three inches of beaver to be seen. And, in spite of it all. Miss Browning and Miss Phoebe considered themselves as Mr. Gibson's most inti-

MOLLY GIBSON'S CHILDHOOD. 29

mate friends, in right of their regnnl for his (h':ul wife, ami would fain have taken a (luasi-inotherly interest in his little girl, had sho not been guarded hy a watehful dragon in the shapo of Betty, her nurse, who [was jialous of any interfc-renrc Itetwtcn her and her charge ; and especially resentful and disagreeable towards all those ladies who, by suitiihlo nge, rank, or propinquity, she thought capable of " casting sheep's eyes at master."

Several years before the opening of tliis story, Mr. (iibson's position seemed settled for life, both socially and professionally. He was a widower, and likely to remain so ; his domestic affections Were centred on little Molly, but even to her, in their most private moments, ho did not give way to much expression of his feelings ; his most caressing appellation for her was " Goosey," and he took a pleasure in bewildering her infant mind with his badinage. Uo had rather a contempt for demonstrative people, arising from his medical insight into the consequences to health of uncontrolled feeling. He deceived himself into believing that still his reason was lord of all, because he had never fallen into the habit of expression on any other than purely intellectual subjects. Molly, however, had her own intuitions to guide her. Though her papa laughed at her, quizzed her. joked at her, in a way wliich the Miss Brownings called '•really cruel" to each other when they were quite alone, Molly took her little griefs and pleasures, and poured them into her papa's oars, sooner even than into Betty's, that kind-hearted termagant. The child grew to understand her latlicr well, and the two had the most delightful intercourse together — half banter, half seriousness, but altogether confidential friendship. Mr. Gibson kept three ser- vants ; Betty, a cook, and a girl who was supposed to be housemaid, but who was under both the elder two, and had a pretty life of it in consequence. Three servants would not have been requii'cd if it had not been Mr. Gibson's habit, as it had been Mr. Hall's before him, to take two " pupils," as they were called in the genteel language of Hollingford, " aiipreutices," as they were in fact — being bound by indentures, and paying a handsome premium to learn their business. They lived in the house, and occupied an uncomfortable, ambiguous, or, as Miss Browning called it with some truth, "amphibious" position. They had their meals with Mr. Gibson and Mollv, and were felt to be terribly in the way ; Jlr. Gibson not being a man who could make conversation, and hating the duty of talkinf^ uuder restraint. Yet something within him made him wince, as if his

30 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

duties were not riglitly performed, when, as the cloth was drawn, the two awkward lads rose up with joyful alacrity, gave him a nod, which was to he interpreted as a how, knocked against each other in their endeavours to get out of the dining-room quickly ; and then might be heard dashing along a passage which led to the surgery, choking with half-suppressed laughter. Yet the annoyance he felt at this dull sense of imperfectly fulfilled duties only made his sarcasms on their inefficiency, or stupidity, or ill manners, more hitter than before. Beyond direct professional instruction, he did not know what to do with the succession of pairs of young men, whose mission seemed to be, to be plagued by their master consciously, and to plague him unconsciously. Once or twice Mr. Gibson had declined taking a fresh pupil, in the hopes of shaking himself free fi-om the incubus, but his reputation as a clever surgeon had spread so rapidly that his fees which he had thought prohibitory, were willingly paid, in order that the young man might make a start in life, with the prestige of having been a pupil of Gibson of HoUingford. But as Molly grew to be a little girl instead of a child, when she was about eight years old, her father perceived the awkwardness of her having her breakfasts and dinners so often alone with the pupils, without his uncertain pre- sence. To do away with this evil, more than for the actual instruc- tion she could give, he engaged a respectable woman, the daughter of a shopkeeper in the town, who had left a destitute family, to come every morning before breakfast, and to stay with Molly till he came home at night ; or, if he was detained, until the child's bed- time.

" Now, Miss Eyre," said he, summing up his instructions the day before she entered upon her office, " remember this : you are to make good tea for the young men, and see that they have their meals comfortably, and — you are five-and-thiiiy, I think you said ? — tiy and make them talk, — rationally, I am afraid is beyond your or anybody's power ; but make them talk without stammering or giggling. Don't teach Molly too much : she must sew, and read, and write, and do her sums ; but I want to keep her a child, and if I find more learning desirable for her, I'll see about giving it to her myself. After all, I'm not sure that reading or writing is necessaiy. Many a good woman gets married with only a cross instead of her name ; it's rather a diluting of mother-wit, to my fancy ; but, how- ever, we must yield to the prejudices of society, Miss Eyre, and so you may teach the child to read."

MOLLY OIDSON's CHILDHOOD. 81

Miss Eyro listened iu sileuce, pcrploxetl but detcrniincd to bo ubcdieut to tho directions of the doctor, whoso kindness she and her fiimily had pood causo to know. She made stronj:; tea ; hhe helped the young men liberally in Mr. Gibson's absonoo, as well as in his presence, and she found tho way to unloosen their tongues, when- ever thtir master was away, by talkinj^ to them on trivial subjects in her pleasant homely way. She taught Molly to read and write, but tried honestly to keep her back in every other branch of education. It was only by fighting and straggling hard, that bit by bit Molly persuaded her father to let her have French and drawing lessons. Ho was always afraid of her becoming too much educated, though ho need not have been alarmed ; the masters who visited such small country towns as HoUiugford forty years ago, were no such great proficients in their arts. Once a week she joined a dancing class in the assembly-room at the principal inn in the town : tho " Cumnor Arms ; " and, being daunted by her father iu eveiy intellectual attempt, she read everv- book that came iu her way, almost with as much delight as if it had been forbidden. For his station iu life, Sir. Gibson had an unusually good library ; tho medical portion of it was inaccessible to Molly, being kept iu the surgery, but every other book she had either read, or tried to read. Her summer place of study was that seat in the cherry-tree, where she got the gi-een stains on her frock, that have already been mentioned as likely to wear Betty's life out. In spite of this " hidden worm i' th' bud," Betty was to all appearance strong, alert, and flourishing. She was the one crook in Miss Eyre's lot, who was otherwise so happy in having met with a suitable well-paid emplo}'ment just when she needed it most. But Betty, though agreeing in theory with her master when he told her of the necessity of having a goveniess for his little daughter, was vehemently opposed to any division of her authoi-ity and influence over the child who had been her charge, her plagne, and her delight ever since Mrs. Gibson's death. She took up her position as censor of all Miss Eyre's sa}'ings and doings from the verj- first, and did not for one moment condescend to conceal her disapprobation in her heart. She could not help respecting tho patience and painstaking of the good lady, — for a " lady " Miss Eyre was in tho best sense of the word, though in Ilollingford she only took rank as a shopkeeper's daughter. Yet Betty buzzed about her with tho teasing pertinacity of a gnat, always ready to find fault, if not to bite. Miss Eyre's only defence came from the quarter

32 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

whence it might least have been expected — from her pupil ; on whose fancied behalf, as an oppressed little personage, Betty always based her attacks. But very early in the day Molly perceived their injustice, and soon afterwards she began to respect Miss Eyre for her silent endurance of what evidently gave her far more pain than Betty imagined. Mr. Gibson had been a friend in need to her family, so Miss Eyre restrained her complaints, sooner than annoy him. And she had her reward. Betty would offer Molly all sorts of small temptations to neglect Miss Ejtc's wishes ; Molly steadily resisted, and plodded away at her task of sewing or her difficult sum. ]>etty made cumbrous jokes at Miss Eyre's expense. Molly looked up with the utmost gravity, as if requesting the explanation of an unintelligible speech ; and there is nothing so quenching to a wag as to be asked to translate his jest into plain matter-of-fact English, and to show wherein the point lies. Occasionally Betty lost her temper entirely, and spoke impertinently to Miss Eyre ; but when this had been done in Molly's defence, the girl flew out in such a violent passion of words in defence of her silent trembling governess, that even Betty herself was daunted, though she chose to take the child's anger as a good joke, and tried to persuade Miss Eyre herself to join in her amusement.

"Bless the child! one would think I was a hungry pussy-cat, and she a hen-sparrow, with her wings all fluttering, and her little eyes aflame, and her beak ready to peck me just because I happened to look near her nest. Nay, child ! if thou lik'st to be stifled in a nastj' close room, learning things as is of no earthly good when they is learnt, instead o' riding on Job Donkin's hay-cart, it's thy look- out, not mine. She's a little vixen, isn't she '? " smiling at Miss Eyre, as she finished her speech. But the poor governess saw no humour in the aflair ; the comparison of Molly to a hen-sparrow was lost upon her. She was sensitive and conscientious, and knew, from home experience, the evils of an ungovernable temper. So she began to reprove Molly for giving way to her passion, and the child thought it hard to be blamed for what she considered her just anger against Betty. But, after all, these were the small grievances of a very happy childhood.

( 3!J )

CHAPTER IV.

MK. GIBSON'S NEIGIinOURS.

Molly gi*ew up among these quiet people in calm monotony of life, without any greater event than that which has been recorded, — the being left behind at the Towers — until she was nearly seventeen. She had become a visitor at the school, but she had never gone again to the annual festival at tho great house ; it was easy to find some excuse for keeping away, and tho recollection of that day was not a pleasant one on the whole, though she often thought how much she should like to see the gardens again.

Lady Agnes was married ; there was only Lady Hamet remain- ing at home; Lord Ilollingford, the eldest son, had lost his wife, and wa^ a good deal more at the Towers since he had become a widower. He was a tall ungainly man, considered to be as proud as his mother, the countess ; but, in foct, he was only shy, and slow at making commonplace speeches. He did not know what to say to people whose daily habits and interests were not the same as his ; he would have been very thankful for a handbook of small-talk, and would have leanit oft" his sentences with good-humoured diligence. He often envied the fluency of his garrulous father, who delighted in tiUking to cveiybody, and was perfectly unconscious of the inco- herence of his conversation. But, owing to his constitutional re- serve and shyness. Lord Hollingford was not a popular man although his kindness of heart was ver}' great, his simplicity of character extreme, and his scientific acquirements considerable enough to entitle him to much reputation in the European re- public of learned men. Li this respect Hollingford was proud of him. The inhabitants knew that the great, grave, clumsy heir to its fealty was highly esteemed for his wisdom ; and that he had made one or two discoveries, though in what direction they were no Vol. I. »

34 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

quite sure. But it was safe to point him out to strangers visiting tlie little town, as " That's Lord Hollingford — the famous Lord HoUingford, you know ; you must have heard of him, he is so scien- tific." If the strangers knew his name, they also knew his claims to fame ; if they did not, ten to one but they would appear as if they did, and so conceal not only their own ignorance, hut that of their companions, as to the exact nature of the sources of his reputation.

He was left a widower with two or thi-ee boys. They were at a public school ; so that their companionship could make the house in which he had passed his married life but little of a home to him, and he consequently spent much of his time at the Towers ; where his mother was proud of him, and his father very fond, but ever so little afraid of him. His friends were always welcomed by Lord and Lady Cumnor ; the former, indeed, was in the habit of welcoming every- body everywhere ; but it v>"as a proof of Lady Cumnor's real afiection for her distinguished sou, that she allowed him to ask what she called " all sorts of people " to the Towers. " All sorts of people " meant really those who were distinguished for science and learning, without regard to rank : and it must be confessed, without much regard to polished manners likewise.

Mr. Hall, Mr. Gibson's predecessor, had always been received with friendly condescension by my lady, who had found him estab- lished as the family medical man, when first she came to the Towers on her marriage ; but she never thought of interfering with his custom of taking his meals, if he needed refreshment, in the house- keeper's room, not with the housekeeper, hieu cnioiila. The comfort- able, clever, stout, and red-faced doctor would very much have pre- ferred this, even if he had had the choice given him (which he never had) of taking his " snack," as he called it, with my lord and my lady, in the grand dining-room. Of course, if some great surgical gun (like Sir Astley) was brought down from London to bear on the family's health, it was due to him, as well as to the local medical attendant, to ask Mr. Hall to dinner, in a formal ceremonious manner, on which occasion Mr. Hall buried his chin in voluminous folds of white muslin, put on his knee-breeches, vdth bunches of ribbon at the sides, his silk stockings and buckled shoes, and other- wise made himself excessively uncomfortable in his attire, and went forth in state in a post-chaise from the " Cumnor Arms," consoling himself in the private corner of his heart for the discomfort he was enduring with the idea of how well it would sound the next day in

Mil. oiuson's neigudouus. 83

tho oars of tho squires whom ho was iu tho habit of attcudiuK'. «' Yt'stenlay at (liuuor tho carl said," or *' tho counlcs.s remarked," or '' I was surprised to hoar when I was diiiinj^ at tho Towers yes- terday." iJiit somehow things had chaugod Biiico Mr. Gibson had become "tho doctor " par cxcolleuco at llollingford. Miss Browu- ings tlioiight that it was because ho had such au clcgaat figure, ond "such a distinguished manner;" Mrs. Goodcnough, " because of his aristocratic connections " — " tho sou of a Scotch duke, my dear, never miml on which side of tho blanket " — but tho fcict was certain; althougli ho might frequently ask Mrs. IJrown to give him something to oat iu the housekeeper's room — ho had no time for all tho fu3.s and ceremony^ of luncheon with my lady — ho was always welcome to tho grandest circle of visitors in the house. lie might lunch with a duke any day that he chose ; given that a duke was forthcoming at the Towers. His accent was Scotch, not provincial. Ho had not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones ; and leanness goes a great way to gentility. His complexion was sallow, and his hair black ; in those days, the decade after the conclusion of tho great continental war, to bo sallow and black-a-vised was of itself a dis- tinction ; ho was not jovial (as my lord remarked with a sigh, but it was my lady who endorsed the invitations), sparing of his words, intelligent, and slightly sarcastic. Theroforo he was perfectly presentable.

His Scotch blood (for that ho was of Scottish descent there could be no manner of doubt) gave him just the kind of thistly dignity which made every one feel that they must treat him with respect ; so on that head he was assured. Tho grandeur of being au invited guest to dinner at tho Towers from time to time, gave him but littlo pleasure for many years, but it was a form to bo gono through in the way of his profession, without any idea of social gratification.

15ut when Lord IlulUugford returned to mako tho Towers his home, aflairs were altered. Mr. Gibson really heard and learut things that interested him seriously, and that gave fresh flavour to his reading. From time to tim.> ho met tho leaders of the scientific, world ; odd-looking, simple-hearted men, very much in earnest about their own particular subjects, and not having much to say on any other, Mr. Gibson found himself capable of appieciating such persons, and also perceived that they valued his appreciation, as it was honestly and intelligently given. Indeed, by-and-by, ho began

8—2

36 WIVES AKD DAUGHTERS.

to send contributions of his own to the more scientific of the medical journals, and thus partly in receiving, partly in giving out information and accurate thought, a new zest was added to his life. There was not much intercourse between Lord Hollingford and himself; the one was too silent and shy, the other two busy, to seek each other's society with the perseverance required to do away with the social dis- tinction of rank that prevented their frequent meetings. But each was thoroughly pleased to come into contact with the other. Each could rely on the other's respect and sympathy with a security unknown to many who call themselves friends ; and this was a source of happiness to both ; to Mr. Gibson the most so, of course ; for his range of intelligent and cultivated society was the smaller. Indeed, there was no one equal to himself among the men with whom he asso- ciated, and this he had felt as a depressing influence, although he had never recognized the cause of his depression. There was Mr. Ashton, the vicar, who had succeeded Mr. Browning, a thoroughly good and kind-hearted man, but one without an original thought in him ; whose habitual courtesy and indolent mind led him to agree to every opinion, not palpably heterodox, and to utter platitudes in the most gentlemanly manner. Mr. Gibson had once or twice amused himself, by leading the vicar on in his agreeable admissions of arguments "as perfectly convincing," and of statements as "curious but un- doubted," till he had planted the poor clergyman in a bog of heretical bewilderment. But then Mr. Ashton's pain and sufi'ering at suddenly finding out into what a theological predicament he had been brought, his real self-reproach at his previous admissions, were so great that Mr. Gibson lost all sense of fun, and hastened back to the Thirty- nine Articles with all the good-will in life, as the only means of soothing the vicar's conscience. On any other subject, except that of orthodoxy, Mr. Gibson could lead him any lengths ; but then his ignorance on most of them prevented bland acquiescence from arriving at any results which could startle him. He had some private fortune, and was not married, and lived the life of an indolent and refined bachelor ; but though he himself was no very active visitor among his poorer parishioners, he was always willing to relieve their wants in the most liberal, and, considering his habits, occasion- ally in the most self-denying manner, whenever Mr. Gibson, or any one else, made them clearly known to him. " Use my purse as freely as if it was your own, Gibson," he was wont to say. " I'm such a bad one at going about and making talk to poor folk — I daresay I

MR. GinSON'S NEIGIinOURS. 87

don't do onougli in tlmt way— but I nxn most willing to give yoa anjihing for any one you inny conHider in want,"

•' Thank you ; I conic upon you pretty often, I believe, and make very little soruplo about it ; but if you'll allow mo to suggcHt, it is, that you should not try to make talk when you go into the cottages ; but just talk."

" I dont SCO the dilTcrcuco," said the vicar, a little querulously ; " but I daresay there is a dilVorenco, and I have no doubt what you Bay is quite true. I should not make talk, but talk ; and as both arc equally ditlicult to me, you must let mo purchase the privilege of silence by this ton-pound note."

" Thank you. It is not so satisfactoiy to me ; and, I should think, not to yourself. But probably the Joneses and Greens will prefer it."

]\Ir. Ashton would look with plaintive inquiry into Mr. CJibson's face after some such speech, as if asking if a saixasm was intended. On the whole they went on in tho most amiable way ; only beyond the gregarious feeling common to most men, they had very little actual pleasure in each other's society. Perhaps the man of all others to whom Mr. Gibson took tho most kindly — at least, until Lord Holliugford came into the neighbourhood — was a certain Squire Hamley. lie and his ancestors had been called s(iuire as long back as local tradition extended. But there was many a greater laud- owner in the county, for Squire Hamley's estate was not more than eight hundred acres or so. I'>ut his family had been in possession of it long before the Earls of Cumnor had been heard of; before the Hely-Harrisons bad bought Coldstone Park ; no ono in Hollingford knew the time when the Hamloys had not lived at Hamley. '• Ever since the Heptarchy," said the vicar. " Nay," said Miss Browning, " I have heard that there were Hamley s of Hamley before the Romans." The vicar was preparing a polite assent, when Mrs. Goodeuough came in with a still more startling assertion. " I have always heerd," said she, with all the slow authority of an oldest inhabitant, " that there was Hamleys of Hamley aforo the time of the pagans." Mr. Ashton could only bow, and say, " Possibly, very possibly, madam." But he said it in so courteous a manner that Mrs. Goodeuough looked round in a gratilied Avay, as much as to say, " The Church confinns my words ; who now will dare dispute them ? " At any rate, the Hamleys were a very old family, if not aborigines. They had not increased their estate for centuries; they had held

38 WIVES AND DAUGIlTEliS.

their own, if even witli an cflbi-t, and liacl not sold a rood of it for tlio last hundred years or so. But they were not an adventurous race, They never traded, or speculated, or tried agricultural improvements of any kind. They had no capital in any bank ; nor what perhaps* would have been more in character, hoards of gold in any stocking. Their mode of life was simple, and more like that of yeomen than squires. Indeed Squire Hamley, by continuing the primitive manners and customs of his forefathers the squires of the eighteenth centuiy, did live more as a yeoman, when such a class existed, than as a squire of this generation. There was a dignity in this quiet conservatism tliat gained him an immense amount of respect both from high and low ; and ho might have visited at every house in the county had he so chosen. But ho was very indifferent to the charms of society ; and perhaps this was owing to the fact that the squire, Roger Hamley, who at present lived and reigned at Hamley, had not received so good an education as ho ought to have done. His father, Squire Stephen, had been plucked at Oxford, and, with stubborn pride, ho had refused to go up again. Nay more ! he had sworn a great oath, as men did in those days, that none of his children to come should ever know either university by becoming a member of it. He had only one child, the present squire, and he was brought up according to his father's word ; he was sent to a petty provincial school, where he saw much that he liated, and then turned loose upon the estate as its heir. Such a bringing up did not do him all the harm that might have been anticipated. He was imperfectly educated, and ignorant on many points ; but he was aware of his deficiency, and regretted it in theory. He was awkward and ungainly in society, and so kept out of it as much as possible ; and he was obstinate, violent-tempered, and dictatorial in his own immediate circle. On the other side, ho was generous, and true as- steel ; the very soul of honour, in fact. He had so much natural shrewdness, that his conversation was always worth listening to, although he was apt to start by assuming entirely false premises, which he considered as incontrovertible as if they had been mathematically proved ; but, given the correctness of his premises, nobody could bring more natural wit and sense to bear upon the arguments based upon them. He had married a delicate fine London lady ; it was one of those perplexing maniages of which one cannot understand the reasons. Yet they were vei-y happy, though possibly Mrs. Hamley would not have sunk into the condition of a clu'onic invalid, if her husband had cared a little more

Mu. qioson'8 nek: 11 nouns. 89

for her Yftiious tastes, or allowed her the companionshii) of llutsc who (lid. Aftc-r hid nmrriii'^o ho wiis wont to say ho had K'^t I'Jl ^.hat was worth haviu({ out of tlio crowd of liouses they called Loudon. It wan a coiiii>liiiu'ut to his wifo which ho repeated imtil the year of her death ; it charmed her at first, it pleased her up to the last time of her heariii};j it ; but, for all that, hIio used sometimes to wish that ho would recoj^nizo the fact that there nii^'ht still ho something worth heariug aud seeing in the great city. I3ut he never went there again, aud though he did not prohibit her going, yet ho showed so little s^nnpathy with her when sho came back full of what she had done on her visit that sho ceased caring to go. Not but what he was kind and willing in giving his consent, and in furnishing her amply with money. *' There, there, my little woman, take that ! Dress your- self up as line as any on 'em, and buy what you like, for tho credit of Haniley of llamlcy ; and go to the park aud the play, and show off with the best on 'em. I shall be glad to seo thcc back again, I know ; but have thy fling while thou art about it." Then when sho came back it was, " Well, well, it has pleased thee, I suppose, so that's all right. But tho very talking about it tires me, I know, and I can't think how you have stood it all. Come out and see how pretty tho flowers are looking in tho south garden. I've made them sow all tho seeds you like ; aud I went over to Hollingford nursery to buy the cuttings of the plants you admii'cd last year. A breath of fresh air will clear my brain after listcuing to all this talk about tho whirl of London, which is like to have turned mo giddy."

Mrs. Hamley was a great reader, and had considerable literary taste. Sho was gentle aud sentimental ; tender and good. Sho gave up her visits to London ; she gave up her sociable pleasure in tho company of her fellows in education aud position. Her husband, owing to tho deficiencies of his early years, disliked associating with those to whom he ought to have been an equal ; ho was too proud to mingle with his inferiors. Ho loved his wifo all the more dearly for her sacrifices for him ; but, deprived of all her strong interests, she sank into ill-health ; nothiug definite ; only sho never was well. Perhaps if she had had a daughter it would have been better for her : but her two children wore boys, and their father, anxious to give them the advantages of which ho himself had suflcred tho depriva- tion, scut the lads very early to a preparatory school. They were to go on to Paigby and Cambridge ; tho idea of Oxford was hereditarily distasteful in the Ilamley family. Osborne, the eldest — so called

40 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

after his motlier's luaideu name — was full of taste, and liad some taleut. His appearance had all the grace and refinement of his mother's. He was sweet-tempei-ed and aifectionate, almost as demon- strative as a girl. He did well at school, carrying awaj' many prizes ; and was, in a word, the pride and delight of both father and mother ; the confidential friend of the latter, in default of any other. Roger was two years younger than Osborne ; clumsy and heavily built, like his father; his face was square, and the expression grave, and rather immobile. He was good, but dull, his schoolmasters said. He won no prizes, but brought home a favourable report of his conduct. When he caressed his mother, she used laughingly to allude to the fable of the lap-dog and the donkey ; so thereafter he left ofi" all personal demonstration of atfection. It was a great question as to whether he was to follow his brother to college after he left Rugby. Mrs. Hamley thought it would be rather a throwing away of money, as he was so little likely to distinguish himself in intellectual pursuits ; anything practical — such as a civil engineer — would be more the kind of life for him. She thought that it would be too mortifying for him to go to the same college and university as his brother, who was sure to distinguish himself — and, to be repeatedly plucked, to come away wooden-spoon at last. But his father per- severed doggedly, as was his wont, in his intention of giving both his sons the same education ; they should both have the advantages of which he had been deprived. If Roger did not do well at Cambridge it would be his own f\iult. If his father did not send him thither, some day or other he might be regretting the omission, as Squire Stephen had done himself for many a year. So Roger followed his brother Osborne to Trinity, and Mrs. Hamley was again left alone, after the year of indecision as to Roger's destination, which had been brought on by her urgency. She had not been able for many years to walk beyond her garden ; the greater part of her life was spent on a sofa, wheeled to the window in summer, to the fireside in winter. The room which she inhabited was large and pleasant ; four tall windows looked out upon a lawn dotted over with flower-beds, and melting away into a small wood, in the centre of which there was a pond, filled with water-lilies. About this unseen pond in the deep shade Mrs. Hamley had written many a pretty four- versed poem since she lay on her sofa, alternately reading and composing verse. She had a small table by her side on which there were the newest works of poetry and fiction ; a pencil and blotting-book, with loose

Mli. (ilBSON'S NEIGHBOURS. 41

Bhocts of blank paper ; ii vaso of flowers always of her husband's guthorin}:; ; winter nml smninor, she had a sweet fresh nosegay every day. Her iu:iid brouf^'ht her a draught of nudiciuc every three hours, with a glass of clear water and a biscuit ; her husband camo to her as often as his lovo for tho open air and his labours out-of- floors permitted ; but tho event of her day, wlicu her boys were absent, was Mr. Gibson's fre(iuent professional visits.

Ho knew there was real secret harm going on all this time that people spoke of her as a merely fanciful invalid ; and that one or two accused him of humouring her fancies. But ho only smiled at such accusations. He felt that his visits were a real pleasure and light- cuing of her gi'owing and indescribable discomfort ; ho knew that Squire Hamley would have been only too glad if ho had come every day ; and ho was conscious that by careful watching of her symptoms he might mitigate her bodily pain. Besides all these reasons, ha took great pleasure in the squire's society. Mr. Gibson enjoyed the other's unreasonableness ; his quaintuess ; his strong conservatism in religion, politics, and morals. Mrs. Hamley tried sometimes to apologize for, or to soften away, opinions which she fancied wero otVensive to the doctor, or contradictions which she thought too abrupt ; but at such times her husband would lay his great hand almost caressingly on Mr. Gibson's shoulder, and soothe his wife's anxiety, by saying, " Let us alone, little woman. AVe understand each other, don't we, doctor ? Why, bless your life, he gives mo better than he gets many a time ; only, you see, ho sugars it over, and says a sharp thing, and pretends it's all civility and humility ; but I can tell when he's giving me a pill."

One of Mrs. Hamley's often-expressed wishes had been, that jMolly might come and pay her a visit. Mr. Gibson always refused this re([uest of hers, though he could hardly have given his reasons for these refusals. He did not want to lose the companionship of his child, in fact ; but he put it to himself in quite a dill'erent way. He thought her lessons and her regular course of employment would be interrupted. The life in Mrs. Hamley's heated and scented room would not bo good for the girl ; Osborne and Roger Hamley would bo at home, and he did not wish Molly to bo thrown too exclusively upon them for young society ; or they would not be at home, and it would be rather dull and depressing for his girl to be all the day long with a nervous invalid.

But at length tho day came when Mr. Gibson rode over, and

42 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

volunteeretl a viaifc from Molly ; an offer which Mrs. Hamley received wjth the " open arms of her heart," as she expressed it ; and of which the duration was unspecified. And the cause for this change in Mr. Gihson's wishes v/as as follows : — It has heen mentioned that he took pupils, rather against his inclination, it is true ; but there they were, a Mr. Wynne and Mr. Coxe, " the young gentlemen," as they were called in the household ; " Mr. Gibson's young gentlemen," as they were termed in the town. Mr. Wj-nne was the elder, the more experienced one, who could occasionally take his master's place, and who gained experience by visiting the poor, and the " chronic cases." 3Ir. Gibson used to talk over his practice with Mr. Wynne, and try and elicit his opinions in the vain hope that, some day or another, Mr. Wynne might start an original thought. The young man was cautious and slow ; he would never do any harm by his rashness, but at the same time he would always be a little behind his day. Still Mr. Gibson remembered that he had had far worse "young gentlemen" to deal with; and was content with, if not thankful for, such an elder pupil as Mr. Wynne. Mr. Coxe was a boy of nineteen or so, with brilliant red hair, and a tolerably red face, of both of which he was very conscious and much ashamed. He was the son of an Indian officer, an old acquaintance of Mr. Gib- son's. Major Coxe was at some unpronounceable station in the Punjaub, at the present time ; but the year before he had been in England, and had repeatedly expressed his great satisfaction at having placed his only child as a pupil to his old friend, and had in fact almost charged Mr. Gibson with the guardianship as well as the instruction of his boy, giving him many injunctions which he thought were special in this case ; but which Mr. Gibson with a touch of annoyance assured the major were always attended to in every case, with every pupil. But when the poor major ventured to beg that his boy might be considered as one of the family, and that he might spend his evenings in the drawing-room instead of the surgery, Mr. Gibson turned upon him with a direct refusal.

" He must live like the others. I can't have the pestle and mortar carried into the drawing-room, and the place smelling of aloes."

" Must my boy make pills himself, then ? " asked the major, ruefully.

"To be sure. The youngest apprentice always does. It's not hard work. He'll have the comfort of thinking he won't have to swallow them himself. And he'll have the run of the pomfi-et cakes,

MU. GIBSON'S NKIGIinOUIia. 18

nnd tlio conserve of hips, and on Sundays lio Klmll havo a taste of tamarinds to reward liini for liis weekly labour at pill-making."

!\rajor Coxo was not quite suro whether ^Ir. Gibson was not laughing nt him in his skovo ; but things woro so far arranged, and tho real advantages wcro so great, that ho thought it was best to take no notice, but even to submit to tho indignity of pill-making. He was consoled for all these rubs by Mr. Gibson's manner at last uhen the supremo moment of final parting an*ivcd. The doctor did not say much ; but there was something of real sympathy in his manner that spoke straight to the father's heart, and an implied "you have trusted me with your boy, and I have accepted the trust in full," in each of the few last words.

Mr. Gibson knew his business and human nature too well to dis- tinguish young Coxe by any overt marks of favouritism ; but he could not help showing tho lad occasionally that he regarded him with especial interest as tho son of a friend. Besides this claim upon his regard, there was something about tho young man himself that pleased Mr. Gibson. He was rash and impulsive, apt to speak, hitting the nail on the head sometimes with unconscious cleverness, at other times making gross and startling blunders. Mr. Gibson used to toll him that his motto would always be " kill or cure," and to this Mr. Coxo onco made answer that he thought it was the best motto a doctor could havo ; for if he could not euro the patient, it was surely best to get him out of his misery quietly, and at once. 3Ir. Wynne looked up in suiqiriso, and observed that he should he afraid that such putting out of misery might be looked upon as homi- cide by some people. Mr. Gibson said in a dry tone, that for his part he should not mind the imputation of homicide, but that it would not do to make away with profitable patients in so speedy a manner ; and that he thought that as long as they were willing and able to pay two-and-sixponcc for tho doctor's visit, it was his duty to keep them alive ; of course, when they became paupers the case was ditrerent. Mr. "Wynne pondered over tliis speech ; Mr. Coxo only laughed. At last Mr. "Wynne said, —

" But you go every moniing, sir, before breakH^st to sec old Nancy Grant, and you've ordered her this medicine, sir, which is about the most costly in Corbyn's bill ? "

" Have you not found out how dillicult it is for men to live up to their precepts ? You've a great deal to learn yet, Mr. "Wynne 1 " said ^Ir. Gibson, leaving the surgery- as he spoke.

44 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

" I never can make the governor out," said Mr. "Wynne, in a tone of utter despair. '* What are you Laughing at Coxey ? "

" Oh ! I'm thinking how blest you are in having parents •who have instilled moral principles into your youthful bosom. You'd go and be poisoning all the paupers off, if you hadn't been told that murder was a crime by your mother ; you'd be thinking you were doing as you were bid, and quote old Gibson's words when you came to be tried. ' Please, my lord judge, they were not able to pay for my visits, and so I followed the rules of the profession as taught me by Mr. Gibson, the great surgeon at HoUingford, and poisoned the paupers.' "

" I can't bear that scoffing way of his."

" And I like it. If it wasn't for the governor's fun, and the tamarinds, and something else that I know of, I would run oft' to India. I hate stifling towns, and sick people, and the smell of drugs, and the stink of pills on my hands ; — faugh ! "

( 45 )

CHAPTER V.

CALF-LOVE.

Onf. (l:xy, for some reason or other, Mr. Gibson canio home unex- pectedly. Ho was crossing the hall, having come in by the garden- door — the garden communicated with the stable -yard, where ho had left his horse — when the kitchen door oiicucd, and the girl who was underling in the establishmont, camo quickly into tha hall with a note in her hand, and made as if she was taking it upstairs ; but on seeing her master she gave a little start, and turned back as if to hide herself in the kitchen. If she had not made this movement, so conscious of guilt, Mr. Gibson, who was anything but suspicious, would never have taken any notice of her. As it was, ho stepped quickly forwards, opened the kitchen door, and called out " Bethia " so sharply that she could not delay coming forwards.

" Give me that note," he said. She hesitated a little.

" It's for Miss Molly," she stammered out.

'* Give it to me ! " he repeated more quickly than before. She looked as if she would cry ; but still she kept the note tight held behind her back.

*' He said as I was to give it into her own hands ; and I promised as I would, faithful."

" Cook, go and find Miss Molly. Tell her to come here at once."

He fixed Bethia with his eyes. It was of no use tr^in*^ to escape : she might have thrown it into the fire, but she had not presence of mind enough. She stood immovable, only her eyes looked any way rather than encounter her master's steady gaze. " Molly, my dear! "

•' Papa ! I did not know you were at home," said innocent, wondering Molly.

46 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

" Bethia, keep your word. Here is Miss Molly ; give her the note."

" Indeed, miss, I couldn't help it ! "

Molly took the note, but before she could open it, her father said, — " That's all, my dear; j'ou need not read it. Give it to me- Tell those who sent you, Bethia, that all letters for Miss Molly must pass through my hands. Now be off with you, goosey, and go back to where you came from."

" Papa, I shall make you tell me who my con-espondent is."

" We'll see about that, by-and-by."

She went a little reluctantly, with ungratified curiosity, upstairs to Miss Eyre, who was still her daily companion, if not her governess. He turned into the empty dining-room, shut the door, broke the seal of the note, and began to read it. It was a flaming love-letter from Mr. Coxo ; who professed himself unable to go on seeing her day after day without speaking to her of the passion she had inspired — an " eternal passion," he called it ; on reading which Mr. Gibson laughed a little. Would she not look kindly at him ? would she 'not think of him whose only thought was of her ? and so on, with a very proper admixture of violent compHments to her beauty. She was fair, not pale ; her eyes were loadstars, her dimples marks of Cupid's finger, &c.

Mr. Gibson finished reading it ; and began to think about it in his own mind. " Who would have thought the lad had been so poetical ? but, to be sure, there's a * Shakspeare ' in the surgery library ; I'll take it away and put ' Johnson's Dictionary ' instead. One comfort is the conviction of her perfect innocence — ignorance, I should rather say — for it is easy to see it's the first ' confession of his love,' as he calls it. But it's an awful worry — to begin with lovers so early. Why, she's only just seventeen, — not seventeen, indeed, till July ; not for six weeks yet. Sixteen and three-quarters ! Why, she's quite a baby. To be sure — poor Jeanie was not so old, and how I did love her ! '' (Mrs. Gibson's name was Mary, so he must have been referring to some one else.) Then his thoughts wandered back to other days, though he still held the open note in his hand. By-and-by his eyes fell upon it again, and his mind came back to bear upon the present time. "I'll not be hard upon him. I'll give him a hint ; he is quite sharp enough to take it. Poor laddie ! if I send him away, which would be the wisest coui'se, I do believe he's got no home to go to."

A Lots LsriKK.

CALP-LOVE. 47

After a littlo moro consulcnitiou in tho samo straiu, Mr. Gibson wont ami Put down at tho writiug-tablc auJ wroto tho following formula : —

^faster Coxe.

("That 'master' will touch him to tho quick," naid Mr. Gibson to himself as ho wrote tho word.)

9). Vcrccandi.T ,^i.

i'itli'litatis Domcsticio 31. Kcticciitiif i^T. iij.

M. Cai)iat hiinc dosiiu tor dio iu aquu pura.

E. Gibson, Ch.

Mr. Gibson smiled a littlo sadly as ho rc-rcad bis words. " Poor Jeauie," he said aloud. And then ho choso out an envelope, enclosed the fervid love-letter, and tho above prescription ; sealed it with his own sharply-cut seal-ring, 1\. G., in old English letters, and then paused over tho address.

** He'll not like Mtiftcr Coxc outside ; no need to put him to uuneccssary shame." So tho direction on the envelope was —

Edudid Ciur, Es(j.

Then Jilr. Gibson applied himself, to the professional business which had brought him homo so opportunely and unexpectedly, and afterwards he went back through the garden to tho stables ; and just as he had mounted his horse, ho said to tho stable-man, — " Oh ! by the way, here's a letter for Mr. Coxe. Don't send it through the women ; take it round yourself to the surgery-door, and do it at once."

The slight smile upon his face, as ho rode out of the gates, died away as soon as ho found himself in the solitude of the lanes. Ho slackened his speed, and began to tliiuk. It was ver)- awkward, he considered, to have a motherless girl growing up into womanhood in the same house with two young men, even if she only met them at meal-times ; and all the intercourse they had with each other was merely tho utterance of such words as, " May I help you to potatoes ? " or, as Mr. Wynne would persevere iu saying, " May I assist you to potatoes ? " — a fonn of speech which gi-ated daily more and more upon Mr. Gibson's cars. Yet 3Ir. Coxc, tho ofl'endcr in this atfair which had just occuiTed, had to remain for thi-ce ycai*s more as a pupil in Mi-. Gibson'? family. He should bo the very last of the

48 WIVES AND DAUGHTEES.

race. Still there were three j'ears to be got over ; aud if this stupid passionate calf-love of his lasted, what was to be done ? Sooner or later Molly would become aware of it. The contingencies of the affair were so excessively disagreeable to contemplate, that Mr. Gibson determined to dismiss the subject from his mind by a good strong effort. He put his horse to a gallop, and found that the violent shaking over the lanes — paved as they were with round stones, which had been dislocated by the wear and tear of a hundred years — was the very best thing for the spirits, if not for the bones. He made a long round that afternoon, and came back to his home imagining that the worst was over, and that Mr. Coxe would have taken the hint conveyed in the prescription. All that would be needed was to find a safe place for the unfortunate Bethia, who had displayed such a daring aptitude for intrigue. But Mr. Gibson reckoned without his host. It was the habit of the young men to come in to tea with the family in the dining-room, to swallow two cups, munch their bread and toast, and then disappear. This night Mr. Gibson watched their countenances furtively from under his long eye-lashes, while he tried against his wont to keep up a degage manner, and a brisk conversa- tion on general subjects. He saw that Mr. Wynne was on the point of breaking out into laughter, and that red-haired, red-faced Mr. Coxe was redder and fiercer than ever, while his whole aspect aud ways betrayed indignation and anger.

" He will have it, will he ?" thought Mr. Gibson to himself; and he girded up ,his loins for the battle. He did not follow Molly and Miss Eyre into the drawing-room as he usually did. He remained where he was, pretending to read the newspaper, while Bethia, her face swelled up with crying, and with an aggrieved and offended aspect, removed the tea-things. Not five minutes after the room was cleared, came the expected tap at the door. " May I speak to you, sir ? " said the invisible Mr. Coxe, from outside.

"To be sure. Come in, Mr. Coxe. I was rather wanting to talk to you about that bill of Corbyn's. Pray sit down."

"It is about nothing of that kind, sir, that I wanted — that I wished — No, thank you — I would rather not sit down." He, accord- ingly, stood in offended dignity. "It is about that letter, sir — that letter with the insulting prescription, sir."

" Insulting prescription ! I am surprised at such a word being applied to any prescription of mine — though, to be sure, patients are sometimes offended at being told the nature of their illnesses ; aud,

CALF-LOVE. 49

I ilarosay, they may take offonco nt the mcilicincs which their cases iV(|uin'."

" I ilitl not aslv you to prescribe for ino."

" Oil, uo ! Then you were tho Master Coxo wlio sent the note through Btlliia ! Let nie tell you it has cost her her place, and was ii very silly letter into tho bargain."

" It was not tho conduct of a gentleman, sir, to intercept it, and to open it, and to read words never addressed to you, sir."

" No ! " said Mr. Gibson, with a slight twinkle in his eye and a curl on his lips, not unnoticed by tho indignant Mr. Coxe. " I believe I was once considered tolerably good-looking, and I daresay I was as great a coxcomb as any ono at twenty ; but I don't think that even then I should quite have believed that all those pretty com- pliments were addressed to myself."

" It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir," repeated Mr. Coxe, stammering over his words — lie was going on to say something more, when Mr. Gibson broke in, —

" And let mo tell you, young man," replied Mr. Gibson, with a sudden sternness in his voice, "that what you have done is only fxcusablo in consideration of your j'outh and extreme ignorance of what arc considered tho laws of domestic honour. I receive you into my house as a member of the family — you induce one of my servants — corrupting her with a bribe, I have no doubt "

" Indeed, sir ! I never gave her a penny."

" Then you ought to have done. You should always pay those who do your dirt}- work."

" Just now, sir, you called it corrupting with a bribe," muttered :\Ir. Coxe.

" Mr. Gibson took no notico of this speech, but went on — " Inducing one of my servants to risk her place, without offericg her tho slightest equivalent, by begging her to convey a letter clandes- tinely to my daughter — a mere child."

" Miss Gibson, sir, is nearly seventeen ! I heard you say so only tho other day," said Mr. Coxe, aged twenty. Again Mr. Gibsoa ignored tho remark.

"A letter which yon were unwilling to have seen by her father, v.lio had tacitly trusted to your honour, by receiving you as an inmato of his house. Your father's son — I know Major Coxe well — ought to have come to me, and have said out openly, Mr. Gibson, I love — or I fancy thftt I love — your daughter; I do not think it right to Vol. I. 4

50 AVIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

conceal this from j'ou, altliougli unable to earn a peunj' ; an<l with no prospect of an unassisted livelihood, even for myself, for several years, I s.hall not say a word about my feelings — or fancied feelings — to the very young lady herseE. That is what your father's son ought to have said ; if, indeed, a couple of grains of reticent silence would not have been better still."

" And if I had said it, sir — perhaps I ought to have said it," said Mr. Coxe, in a hurry of anxiety, " what would have been your answer ? Would you have sanctioned my passion, sir ? "

" I would have said, most probably — I will not be certain of my exact words in a suppositious case — that you were a young fool, but not a dishonourable young fool, and I should have told you not to let your thoughts run upon a calf-love until you had magnified it into a passion. And I daresay, to make up for the mortification I should have given you, I should have prescribed your joining the Hollingford Cricket Club, and set you at liberty as often as I could on the Saturday afternoons. As it is, I must write to your father's agent in London, and ask him to remove you out of my household, repay- ing the premium, of course, which will enable you to start afresh in some other doctor's surgery."

" It will so grieve my father," said Mr. Coxe, startled into dismay, if not repentance.

" I see no other course open. It will give Major Coxe some trouble (I shall take care that he is at no extra expense), but what I think will grieve him the most is the betrayal of confidence ; for I trusted you, Robert, like a son of my own ! " There was something in jMr, Gibson's voice when he spoke seriously, especially when he referred to any feeling of his ovrn — he v/ho so rarely betrayed what was passing in his heart — that was irre- sistible to most people : the change from joking and sarcasm to tender gravity.

Mr. Coxe hung his head a little, and meditated.

" I do love Miss Gibson," said he, at length. " Who could help it ? "

** Mr. Wynne, I hope ! " said Mr. Gibson.

" His heart is pre-engaged," replied Mr. Coxe. " Mine was free as air till I saw her."

" Would it tend to cure your — well ! passion, we'll say — if she wore blue spectacles at meal-times ? I observe you dwell much on the beauty of her eyes."

CALF- LOVE. 61

" You iiro riJic'uling my foelinps, Mr. Gibsou. Do you forget thill you yourself wore young once ?"

"Poor Joaaio" rose before Mr. Gibson's eyes; and Lo felt a little rcbukeil.

" Come, Mr. Coxo, lot us see if we cau't muke a b»irgain," said he, afL'r a minute or so of silence. " You have done a really wrong thing, and I hope you arc convinced of it iu your heart, or that you will bo when the heat of this discussion is over, and you come to think a little about it. But I won't lose all respect for your father's Kou. If you will give me your word that, as long as you remain a member of my family — pupil, apprentice, what you will — you won't again tiy to jdiscloso your passion — you see I am careful to take your view of what I should call a mere fancy — by word or writing, looks or acts, in any manner whatever, to my daughter, or to talk about your feelings to any ono else, you shall remain here. If you cannot give me your word, I must follow out the course I named, and ^vrite to your father's agent."

"Mr. Coxe stood irresolute.

" Mr. "\V3-nno knows all I feel for Jliss Gibson, sir. He and I have no secrets from each other."

" Well, I suppose he must represent the reeds. Y^ou know the story of Iving Jlidas's bai'ber, who found out that his royal master had the ears of an ass beneath his hyacinthine curls. So the barber, in default of a Mr. Wynne, went to the reeds that grew on the shores of a neighbouring lake, and whispered to them, ' King Midas has the eai's of an ass.' But he repeated it so often that the reeds learnt the words, and kept on saying them all day long, till at last the secret was no secret at all. K you keep on telling your tale to Mr. Wynne, are you sure he won't repeat it in liis tui-n ?"

"If I pledge my word as a gentleman, sir, I pledge it for Mr. Wynne as well."

"I suppose I must run the risk. But remember how soon a young girl's name may bo breathed upon, and sullied. Molly has no mother, and for that ver}- reason she ought to move among you all, as unharmed as Una herself."

" Mr. Gibsou, if you wish it, I'll swear it on the Bible," cried the excitable young man.

" Nonsense. As if your word, if it's worth anything, was not enough ! We'll shake hands upon it, if you like."

i—2

52 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

Mr. Coxe came forward eagerly, and almost squeezed Mr. Gibson's ring into his finger.

As he was leaving the room, he said, a little uneasily, " May I give Bethia a crown-piece ?"

" No, indeed ! Leave Bethia to me. I hope you won't say another word to her while she is here. I shall see that she gets a respectable place when she goes away."

Then Mr. Gibson rang for his horse, and went out on the last visits of the day. He used to reckon that he rode the world around in the course of the year. There were not many surgeons in the county who had so wide a range of practice as he ; he went to lonely cottages on the borders of great commons ; to farm-houses at the end of narrow countiy lanes that led to nowhere else, and were over- shadowed by the elms and beeches overhead. He attended all the gentry within a circle of fifteen miles round Hollingford ; and was the appointed doctor to the still greater families who went up to London every February — as the fashion then was — and returned to their acres in the early weeks of July. He was, of necessity, a great deal from home, and on this soft and pleasant summer evening he felt the absence as a great evil. He was startled into discovering that his little one was growing flist into a woman, and already the passive object of some of the strong interests that affect a woman's life ; and he — her mother as well as her father — so much away that he could not guard her as he would have wished. The end of his cogi- tations was that ride to Hamley the next morning, when he proposed to allow his daughter to accept Mrs. Hamley's last invitation — an invitation that had been declined at the time.

" You may quote against me the proverb, 'He that will not when he may, when he will he shall have nay.' And I shall have no reason to complain," he had said.

But Mrs. Hamley was only too much charmed with the prospect of having a young girl for a visitor ; one whom it would not be a trouble to entertain ; who might be sent out to ramble in the gardens, or told to read when the invalid was too much fatigued for conversa- tion ; and yet one whose youth and freshness would bring a charm, like a waffc of sweet summer air, into her lonely shut-up life. Nothing could be pleasanter, and so Molly's visit to Hamley was easily settled.

" I only wish Osborne and Roger had been at home," said Mrs. Hamley, in her low soft voice. " She may find it dull, being

CALi'-Lovi;. 68

with dill people, like the t;quiro ami mc, iVoiu morning till night. When can she conic ".' tlio durliug — I um bcgiuuiug to lovo her already 1"

Mr. Gibson was very glad in Lis heart that the young men of tho houso woro out of tho way ; ho did not want his little Molly to bo passing from Scylla to Charybilis ; and, as he aftcnvards scoffed at himself for thinking, ho had got an idea that all young men were wolves in chase of his ono ewe-lamb.

" Siio knows nothing of the pleasure in store for her," he replied ; " and I am sure I don't know what feminine preparations she may think necessary, or how long they may take. You'll remember she is a little ignoramus, and has had no ... . training in etiquette ; our ways at home are rather rough for a girl, I'm afraid. But I know I could not send her into a kinder atmosphere than this."

AVhen tho squire heard from his wife of Mr. Gibson's proposal, ho was as much pleased as she at the prospect of their youthful visitor ; for he was a man of a hearty hospitality, when his pride did not interfere with its gratiiicatiou ; and he was delighted to think of his sick wife's having such an agreeable companion in her hours of loneliness. After a while he said, — " It's as well the lads are at Cambridge ; we might have been having a love-affau* if they had been at home."

" Well — and if wc had?" asked his more romantic wife.

" It would not have done," said the squire, decidedly. "Osbomo will have had a first-rate education — as good as any man in the county— he'll have this property, and he's a Hamley of Hamley ; not a family in tho shire is as old as wo are, or settled on their ground so well. Osbonie may marry wlieu ho likes. If Lord Hol- lingford had a daughter, Osborne would have been as good a match as she could have required. It would never do for him to fall in lovo with Gibson's daughter — I should not allow it. So it's as well he's out of tho way."

" Well ! perhaps Osborne had better look higher."

" Perhaps ! I say he must." The squire brought his hand down with a thump on tho table, near him, which made his wife's heart beat hard for some minutes. " And as for Roger," he con- tinued, unconscious of tho flutter ho had put her into, " he'll have to make his own way, and eani his own bread ; and, I'm afraid, he's not getting on very brilliantly at Cambridge. Ho must not think of falling in love for these ton vears."

54 WIVES AND- DAUGHTERS.

" Unless he marries a foi-tune," said Mrs. Hamley, more by way of concealing her palpitation than anything else ; for she was unworldly and romantic to a fault.

" No son of mine shall ever marry a wife who is richer than himself with my good will," said the squire again, with emphasis, but without a thump.

" I don't say but what if lioger is gaining five hundred a year by the time he's thirty, he shall not choose a 'wife with ten thousand pounds down ; but I do say, if a boy of mine, with only two hundred a year — which is all Roger will have from us, and that not for a long time — goes and marries a woman with fifty thousand to her portion, I will diso-\\Ti him — it would be just disgusting."

" Not if they loved each other, and their v.hole happiness de- pended upon their marrying each other," put in Mrs. Hamley, mildly.

" Pooh ! away with love ! Nay, my dear, we loved each other so dearly we should never have been happy with any one else ; but that's a different thing. People are not like what they were when we were young. All the love nowadays is just silly fancy, and sentimental romance, as far as I can see."

Mr. Gibson thought that he had settled everything about Molly's going to Hamley befoi-e he spoke to her about it, which he did not do, until the morning of the day on which Mrs. Hamley expected her. Then he said, — " By the way, Molly ! you are to go to Hamley this afternoon ; Mrs. Hamley wants you to go to her for a week or two, and it suits me capitally that you should accept her invitation just now."

"Go to Hamley ! This afternoon ! Papa, you've got some odd reasons at the back of your head — some mystery, or something. Please, tell me what it is. Go to Hamley for a week or two ! "Why, I never was from home before this without you in all my life."

" Perhaps not. I don't think you ever walked before you put your feet to the ground. Eveiything must have a beginning."

" It has something to do with that letter that was directed to me, but that you took out of my hands before I could even see the writing of the direction." She fixed her grey eyes on her father's face, as if she meant to pluck out his secret.

He only smiled and said, — " You're a witch, goosey!"

" Then it had ! But if it was a note from Mrs. Hamley, why might I not see it ? I have been wondering if you had some plan

CALK-LOVK. 65

in yonr head ever since that Jay. — Tlinrsday, was not it ? You've gone about in a kind of thoughtful, perplexed way, just like a con- spirator. Tell mo, papa " — ooniing up at the time, and puttin<; on a beseeching manner — " why might not I see that note? and why um I to go to Ilamloy all on a sudden ?"

" Don't yoa like to go ? Would you rather not ?" If she had said that she did not want to go ho would have been rather pleased than otlu rwiso, although it would have put him into a great per- plexity; but ho was beginning to dread the parting from her even lor so short a time. Ilowever, ^ho replied directly, —

" I don't know — I daresay I shall like it when I have thought a little more about it. Just now I am so startled by the suddenness of the affair, I haven't considered whether I shall like it or not. I shan't like going away from you, I know. Why am I to go, papa ? "

" There are three old ladies sitting somewhere, and thinking about you just at this verj- minute ; one has a distaff in her hand.?, and is spinning a thread ; she has come to a knot in it, and is puzzled what to do with it. Her sister has a great pair of scissors in her hands, and wants — as she always does, wlieu any ditficulty arises in the smoothness of the thread — to cut it off short ; but the third, who has the most head of the three, plans how to undo the knot ; and she it is who has decided that you are to go to Hamley. The othei*s are quite convinced by her argiaments ; so, as the Fates have decreed that this visit is to be paid, there is nothing left for you and me but to submit."

" That ia all nonsense, papa, and you are only making me more curious to find out this hidden reason."

Mr. Gibson changed his tone, and spoke gravely now. " There is a reason, Molly, and one which I do not wish to give. When I tell you this much, I expect you to be an honourable girl, and to try and not even conjecture what the reason may be, — much less en- deavour to put little discoveries together till very likely you may find out what 1 want to conceal."

" Papa, I won't even think about your reason again. But then I shall havo to plague you with another question. I have had no new gown this year, and I havo outgrown all my last summer frocks. I have only three that I can wear at all. Betty was saying only yesterday that I ought to have some more."

" That'll do that you havo got on, won't it ? It's a very pretty colour."

56 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

" Yes ; but, papa " (holding "it out as if slie was going to dance), " it's made of woollen, and so hot and heavy ; and every day it will he getting wanner."

" I wish girls could dress like hoys," said Mr. Gibson, with a little impatience. " How is a man to know when his^ daughter wants clothes ? and how is he to rig her out when he finds it out, just when she needs them most and hasn't got them ? "

" Ah, that's the question ! " said Molly, in some despair. " Can't you go to Miss Rose's ? Doesn't she keep ready-made frocks for girls of your age ? "

" Miss Rose ! I never had anything from her in my life," replied Molly, in some surprise ; for Miss Rose was the great dressmaker and milliner of the little town, and hitherto Betty had made the girl's frocks.

" Well, but it seems people consider 5-ou as a young woman now, and so I suppose you must run up milliners' bills like the rest of your kind. Not that you're to get anything anywhere that you can't l^ay for down in ready money. Here's a ten-pound note ; go to Miss Rose's, or Miss anybody's, and get what you want at once. The Hamlcy carriage is to come for you at two, and anything that isn't quite ready, can easily be sent by their cart on Saturday, when some of their people always come to market. Nay, don't thank me ! I don't want to have the money spent, and I don't want you to go and leave me : I shall miss you, I know ; it's only hard necessity that drives me to send you a-visiting, and to throw avray ten pounds on your clothes. There, go away; you're a plague, and I mean to leave off loving joix as fast as I can."

"Papa! " holding up her finger as in warning, " you're getting mysterious again ; and though my honourableuess is very strong, I won't promise that it shall not yield to my curiosity if you go on hinting at untold secrets."

" Go away and spend your ten pounds. What did I give it you for but to keep you quiet ? "

Miss Rose's ready-made resources and Molly's taste combined, did not arrive at a very great success. She bought a lilac print, because it would wash, and would be cool and pleasant for the mornings ; and this Betty could make at home before Saturday. And for high-days and holidays — by which was understood after- noons and Sundays — Miss Rose persuaded her to order a gay- coloured flimsy plaid silk, which she assured her was quite the latest

CALF-LOVE. 57

fashion in Loiulou, auil which Molly thought would plcaso her fiithor's Scotch blood. Hut whcu ho saw tlio scrap which nho had brought homo as a pattern, ho cried out that tho plaid belonged to no clan in existence, and that Molly ought to havo known this by instinct. It was too lato to change it, however, for Miss Koso had promised to cut the dress out as soon as ^lolly left her shop.

Mr. Gibson had hung about tho town all tho morning instead of going away ou his usual distant rides. lie passed his daughter onco or twice in tho street, but ho did not cross over when he was on tho opposite side — only gave her a look or a nod, and went ou his way, scolding himself for his weakness in feeling so much pain at tho thought of her absence for a fortnight or so.

"And, after all," thought he, " I'm only where I was when she comes back ; at least, if that foolish fellow goes on with his imagi- nating fancy. She'll have to como back some time, and if ho chooses to imagine himself constant, there's still the devil to pay." Presently ho began to hum the aii* out of the " Beggar's Opera " —

I wonder niiy man alive

Should ever rear a daii;rhtcr.

( 58 )

CHAPTER YI.

A VISIT TO THE HAilLEYS.

Of course the news of Miss Gibson's approaehiug departure had spread through the household befor^e the one o'clock dinner-time came ; and Mr. Coxe's dismal countenance was a source of much inward irritation to Mr. Gibson, Avho kept giving the youth shai^p glances of savage reproof for his melancholy face, and want of appetite ; which he trotted out, with a good deal of sad ostentation ; all of which was lost upon Molly, who was too full of her own per- sonal concerns to have any thought or observation to spare from them, excepting once or twice when she thought of the many days that must pass over before she should again sit do^^•n to dinner with her father.

When she named this to him after the meal was done, and they were sitting together in the drawing-room, waiting for the sound of the wheels of the Hamley carriage, he laughed, and said, —

" I'm coming over to-morrow to see Mrs. Hamley ; and I dare- say I shall dine at their lunch ; so you won't have to wait long before you've the treat of seeing the wdld beast feed."

Then they heard the approaching carriage.

" Oh, papa," said Molly, catching at his hand, " I do so wish I was not going, now that the time is come."

"Nonsense; don't let us have any sentiment. Have you got your keys ? that's more to the purpose."

"Yes; she had got her keys, and her purse ; and her little box was put up on the seat by the coachman ; and her father handed her in ; the door was shut, and she drove away in solitary grandeur, looking back and kissing her hand to her father, who stood at the gate, in spite of his dislike of sentiment, as long as the carriage could be seen. Then he turned into the surgery, and found Mr.

A VISIT TO TlIK 1IAMLEV8. 69

' Coxe bad luul his watching too, aud had, iudocd, remained at the window f^tiziuf,', moonstrack, nt the empty road, u[) which llie young lady Iiiul disiij)[U'iired. Mr. Ctibsou stiirtled him from his reverio by a sharp, almost venomous, speech about some small neglect of duty n day or two before. That night Mr. Gibson inaislcd on passing by tlie bedside of a poor girl whoso parents wcro vroru-out by many wakeful anxious nights succeeding to hard-working days.

Molly cried a little, but checked her tears as soon as she remem- bered how annoyed her father would have been at the bight of them. It was \evy pleasant driving quickly along in the luxurious carriage, through the pretty green lanes, with dog-roses and honeysuckles so plentiful aud fresh iu the hedges, that she once or twice was tempted to ask the coachman to stop till she had gathered a nosegay. She began to dread the end of her little journey of seven miles ; the only drawback to which was, that her silk was not a true clan-tartan, and a little uucci-tainty as to Miss Rose's punctuality. At length they came to a village ; straggling cottages lined the road, an old church stood on a kind of gi*een, with the public-house close by it ; there was a gi-eat tree, with a bench all round the trunk, midway between the church gates and the little inn. The wooden stocks were close to the gates. Molly had long passed the limit of her rides, but she knew this must be the village of Hamley, and they must be very near to the hall.

They swung in at the gates of the park in a few minutes, and drove up through meadow-grass, ripening for hay, — it was no grand aristocratic deer-park this — to the old red-brick hall ; not three hundred yards from the high-road. There had been no footman sent with the carriage, but a respectable servant stood at the door, even before they drew up, ready to receive the expected visitor, and take her into the drawing-room where his mistress lay awaiting her.

Mrs. Uamley rose from her sofa to give Molly a gentle welcome ; she kept the girl's hand in hers after she had finished speaking, looking into her face, as if studying it, and unconscious of the faint blush she called up on the otlierwise colourless cheeks.

*' I think we shall be great friends," said she, at length. '• I like your face, and I am always guided by first impressions. Give me a kiss, my dear."

It was far easier to be active than passive during this process of *' swearing eternal friendship," and Molly willingly kissed the sweet pale face held up to her.

60 WIVES AND DAUGHTEES.

" I meant to have gone and fotclied you mj'self ; but the heat oppresses me, and I did not feel up to the exertion. I hope you had a pleasant drive ? "

" Very," said Molly, \vith shy conciseness.

" And now I will take you to your room ; I have had j'ou pat close to me ; I thought you would like it better, even though it was a smaller room than the other.

She rose languidly, and wrapping her light shawl round her yet elegant figure, led the way upstairs. Molly's bedroom opened out of Mrs. Hamley's private sitting-room ; on the other side of which was her own bedroom. She showed Molly this easy means of communi- cation, and then, telling her visitor she would await her in the sitting-room, she closed the door, and Molly was left at leisure to make acquaintance \vitli her surroundings.

First of all, she went to the window to see what was to be seen. A flower-garden right below ; a meadow of ripe grass just beyond, changing colour in long sweeps, as the soft wind blew over it ; great old forest-trees a little on one side ; and, beyond them again, to be seen only by standing very close to the side of the window-sill, or by putting her head out, if the window was open, the silver shimmer of a mere, about a quarter of a mile ofi\ On the opposite side to the trees and the mere, the look-out was bounded by the old walls and high-peaked roofs of the extensive farm-buildings. The delicious- ness of the early summer silence was only broken by the song of the birds, and the nearer hum of bees. Listening to these sounds, which enhanced the exquisite sense of stillness, and puzzling out objects obscured by distance or shadow, Molly forgot herself, and was suddenly startled into a sense of the present by a sound of voices in the next room — some servant or other speaking to Mrs. Hamloy. !Molly hurried to unpack her box, and arrange her few clothes in the pretty old-fashioned chest of di'awers, which was to serve her as dressing-table as well. All the furniture in the room was as old-fashioned and as well-preseiTed as it could be. The chintz curtains were Indian calico of the last centuiy — the colours almost washed out, but the stuft" itself exquisitely clean. There was a little strip of bedside cai-petiug, but the wooden flooring, thus liberally displayed, Avas of finely-grained oak, so firmly joined, plank to plank, that no grain of dust could make its way into the inter- stices. There were none of the luxuries of modern days ; no writing-table, or sofa, or pier-glass. lu one corner of the walls was

A VISIT TO Tin: HAMLKYS. 01

a bracket, holdiiij:* an Iiuliiin jar lilli'd with pot-pourri ; ninl that and Iho oliiiihin;^ htnicysiu-klt' oiitsido tho open window scented tlio room more exquisitely than any toilotto perfumes. Molly laid out her white gown (of last year's date and si/e) upon the bed, ready.for tho (ti) her now) operation of dressing for dinner, and liavin^; arranged her hair and dress, and taken out her company worsted-work, she opened tho door softly, and saw Mrs. Hamley lying on tho sofa.

" Shall wo stay up licre, my dear ? I think it is pleusantcr than down below ; and then I shall not have to come upstairs again at dressing-time."

" I shall like it very mucl)," replied Molly.

" Ah ! you've got your sewing, like a good girl," said ^Irs. Hamley. " Now, I don't sew much. I livo alono a gi-eut deal. You see, both my boys are at Cambridge, and the squire is out of loors all day long — so I have almost forgotten how to sew. I read 1 great deal. Do you like reading ? "

"It depends upon tho kind of book," said I\IoIly. " I'm afraid I Jon't liko ' steady reading,' as papa calls it."

" Rut you like poetry!" said Mrs. Hamloy, almost interrupting Rlolly. " I was sure you did, from your face. Have you read this iast poem of Mrs. Hemans ? Shall I read it aloud to you ? "

So she began. ]Molly was not so much absorbed in listening but that she could glance round tho room. Tho character of tho furniture was much the same as in her own. Old-fashioned, of aandsorao material, and faultlessly clean ; the age and the foreign ippoarancc of it gave an aspect of comfort and pictui'esqueness to die whole apartment. On tho walls there hung some crayon sketches — portraits. She thought she could make out that one of them was i likeness of Mrs. Hamley, in her beautiful youth. And then she jecame interested in the poem, and dropped her work, and listened n a manner that was after Mrs. Hamley 's own heart. ^Yhen the •eading of the poem was ended, ^Irs. Hamley replied to some of Molly's words of admiration, by saying.

''Ah! I think I must read you some of Osborne's poetry some lay ; under seal of secrecy, remember ; but I really fancy they are dmost as good as Mrs. Hemans'."

To bo nearly as good as Mr. Hemans' was saying as much to he young ladies of that day, as saying that poetry is nearly as ;ood as Tennyson's would be in this. Molly looked up with eager ntcrest.

62

WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

" Mr. Osborne Hamley ? Does your son write poetry ? "

" Yes. I really think I may say he is a poet. He is a very brilliant, clever young man, and he quite hopes to get a fellowship at Trinity. He says he is sure to be high up among the wranglers, and that he expects to get one of the Chancellor's medals. That is ! his likeness — the one hanging against the wall behind you."

Molly turned round, and saw''oue of the crayon sketches — repre- senting two boys, in the most youthful kind of jackets and trousers, and falling collars. The elder was sitting down, reading intently. The younger was standing by him, and evidently trying to call the attention of the reader off to some object out of doors — out of the window of the very room in which they were sitting, as Molly dis- covered when she began to recognize the articles of furniture faintly indicated in the picture.

" I like their faces ! " said Molly. " I suppose it is so long ago now, that I may speak of their likenesses to you as if they were somebody else ; may not I ? "

" Certainly," said Mrs. Hamley, as soon as she understood what Molly meant. " Tell me just what you think of them, my dear ; it will amuse me to compare your impressions with what they really are."

" Oh ! but I did not mean to guess at their characters. I could not do it ; and it would be impertinent, if I could. I can only speak about their faces as I see them in the picture.

" Well ! tell me what you think of them ! "

" The eldest — the reading boy — is very beautiful ; but I can't quite make out his face yet, because his head is down, and I can't see the eyes. That is the Mr. Osborne Hamley who writes poetry."

" Yes. He is not quite so handsome now ; but he was a beauti- ful boy. Koger was never to be compared with him."

*' No ; he is not handsome. And yet I like his face. I can see his eyes. They are grave and solemn-looking ; but all the rest of his face is rather merry than otherwise. It looks too steady and sober, too good a face, to go tempting his brother to leave his lesson."

" Ah ! but it was not a lesson. I remember the painter, Mr. Green, once saw Osborne reading some poetry, while Roger was trying to persuade him to come out and have a ride in the hay-cart — that was the ' motive ' of the picture, to speak artistically. Eoger is not much of a reader ; at least, he doesn't care for poetry, and

A VISIT TO THE IIAMLEYH. 03

I books of romance, or Ronlimcnt. IIo is so fnnJ of natnml history ; ami that takes him, like the squire, a groat deal out of doore ; and wlicu lie is in, lio is always reading scientific books that hear upon ' his jiursuits. He is a good, steady fi How, thougli, and gives us great Falisfaetion, but he is ilbt likely to have such a brilliant career as Osborne."

Molly tiiod to find out in the i>i('tiire the characteristics of the two boys, as they wore now explained to her by their mother ; and in questions and answers about the various drawings hung round the room the iimo passed away until the drcssiug-bcU rang for the six o'clock dinner.

]Molly was rather dismayed by tho offers of the maid whom Mrs. llaniley had sent to assist her, " I am afraid they expect me to be vory smart," she kojit thinking to herself. *' If they do, they'll be disappointed ; that's all. But I wish my plaid silk gown had been ready."

She looked at herself in tho glass witli some anxiety, for tho first time in her life. She saw a slight, lean figure, promising to be tall; a complexion browner than cream-coloured, although in a year or two it might have that tint ; plentiful curly black hair, tied up in a bunch behind with a rose-coloured ribbon ; h)ng, almond-shaped, soft gray eyes, shaded both above and below by curling black eyelashes.

" I don't think I am pretty," thought Molly, as she turned away from the glass; " and yet I am not sure." She would have been sure, if, instead of inspecting herself with such solemnity, she had smiled her o^vn sweet men-y smilo, and called out the gleam of her teeth, and the charm of her dimples.

She found her way downstairs into the drawing-room in good time ; she could look about her, and learn how to feel at home in her new quarters. The room was forty-feet long or so, fitted up with yellow satin at some distant period ; high spindle-legged chairs and penibrokc-tables abounded. The carpet was of the same date as the curtains, and was thread-bare in many places ; and in others was covered with drugget. Stands of plants, great jars of flowers, old Indian china and cabinets gave the room the pleasant aspect it cei'tainly had. And to add to it, there were five high, long windows on one side of the room, all opening to the prettiest bit of flowcr- gai'dcn in the grounds — or what was considered as such — brilliant- coloured, geometrically-shaped beds, converging to a sun-dial in tho midst. The squire came in abx'uptly, and in his morning dress ; he

64 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

stood at the door, as if sui-prised at the wliite-robed stranger iu possession of his hearth. Then, suddenly remembering himself, hut not before Molly had begun to feel very hot, he said —

" Why, God bless my soul, I'd quite forgotten you ; you're Miss Gibson, Gibson's daughter, aren't you ? Come to pay us a visit ? I'm sure I'm very glad to see you, my dear."

By this time, they had met in the middle of the room, and he was shaking Molly's hand with vehement friendliness, intended to mate up for his not knowing her at first.

" I must go and dress, though," said he, looking at his soiled gaiters. " Madam likes it. It's one of her fine Loudon ways, and she's broken me into it at last. Veiy good plan, though, and quite right to make oneself fit for ladies' society. Does your father dress for dinner. Miss Gibson ? " He did not stay to wait for her answer, but hastened away to perform his toilette.

They dined at a small table in a great large room. There were so few articles of furniture in it, and the apartment itself was so vast, that Molly longed for the suugness of the home dining-room ; nay, it is to be feared that, before the stately dinner at Hamley Hall came to an end, she even regretted the crowded chairs and tables, the huri'y of eating, the quick uuformal manner iu which everybody seemed to finish their meal as fast as possible, and to return to the work they had left. She tried to think that at six o'clock all the business of the day was eiided, and that people might linger if they chose. She measured the distance from the sideboard to the table with her eye, and made allowances for the men who had to carrj- things backwards and forwards ; but, all the same, this dinner appeared to her a wearisome business, prolonged because the squire liked it, for Mrs. Hamley seemed tired out. She ate even less than Molly, and sent for fan and smelling-bottle to amuse herself with, until at length the table-cloth was cleared away, and the dessert was put upon a mahogany table, polished like a looking-glass.

The squire had hitherto been too busy to talk, except about the immediate concerns of the table, and one or two of the greatest breaks to the usual monotony of his days ; a monotony in which he delighted, but which sometimes became oppressive to his wife. Now, however, peeling his orange, he turned to Molly —

" To-morrow, you'll have to do this for me, Miss Gibson."

" Shall I ? I'll do it to-day, if you like, sir." " No ; to-day I shall treat you as a visitor, with all proper

A VISIT TO TUE UAMLEY8. C.>

ceremony. To-monow I shall send you errands, and call you by year Christian name."

" I shall liko that," said Molly.

" I was wanting to call you something less fonnal than Miss Gibson," Hui 1 Mrs. Ilamley.

*' My name is Molly. It is an old-fashioned name, and I was christened Marj*. But papa likes Molly."

" That's right. Keep to tho good old fashions, my dear."

" Well, I must say I think Mary is prettier than Molly, and quito as old a name, too," said Mrs. Ilamley.

*' I think it was," said Molly, lowering her voice, and dropping her eyes, '* because mamma was Muiy, and I was called ilolly while she lived."

" Ah, poor thing," said the squire, not perceiving his wife's signs to change the subject, " I remember how sorry every one was when she died ; no one thought she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour, till all at once sho popped off, as one may say."

" It must have been a terrible blow to your father," said Mrs. Hamley, seeing that Molly did not know what to answer,

*' Ay, ay. It came so sudden, so soon after they were married."

" I thought it was nearly four years," said Molly.

" And four years is soon — is a short time to a couplo who look to spending their lifotinio together. Eveiy one thought Gibson would have married again."

" Hush," said Mrs. Ilamley, seeing in Molly's eyes and change of colour how completely this was a new idea to her. But tho squire was not so easily stopped.

" Well — I'd perhaps better not have said it, but it's the truth ; they did. He's not likely to marr}' now, so one may say it out. Why, your father is past forty, isn't he ? "

" Forty-three. I don't believe ho ever thought of marrying again," said Molly, recurring to tho idea, as one does to that of danger which has passed by, without one's being aware of it.

" No ! I don't believe ho did, my dear. Uo looks to me just liko a man who would be constant to the memory of his wife. You must not mind what the squire says."

" Ah ! you'd better go away, if you're going to teach Miss 3ibson such treason as that against the master of the bouse."

Molly went into the drawing-room with Mrs. Hamley, but her houghts did not change with the room. Sho could not help dwelling Vol. I. 6

66 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

on the danger -which she fancied she had escaped, and was astonished at her c^ti stupidity at never having imagined such a possibility as her father's second marriage. She felt that she was answering Mrs. Hamley's remarks in a very unsatisfactory manner.

" There is papa, with the squire ! " she suddenly exclaimed. There they were coming across the flower-garden from the stable- yard, her father switching his boots with his riding whip, in order to make them presentable in Mrs. Hamley's drawing-room. He looked so exactly like his usual self, his home-self, that the seeing him in the flesh was the most efficacious way of dispelling the phantom fears of a second wedding, which were beginning to harass his daughter's mind ; and the pleasant conviction that he could not rest till he had come over to see how she was going on in her new home, stole into her heart, although he spoke but Httle to her, and that little was all in a joking tone. After he had gone away, the squire undertook to teach her cribbage, and she was happy enough now to give him all her attention. He kept on prattling while they played ; sometimes in relation to the cards ; at others telling her of small occurrences which he thought might interest her.

" So you don't know; my boys, even by sight. I should have thought you would have done, for they're fond enough of riding into HoUingford ; and I know Koger has often enough been to borrow books from your father. Eoger is a scientific sort of a fellow. Osborne is clever, like his mother. I shouldn't wonder if he published a book some day. You're not counting right. Miss Gibson. "Why, I could cheat you as easily as possible." And so on, till the butler came in with a solemn look, placed a large prayer-book before his master, who huddled the cards away in a huriy, as if caught in an incongiTious employment ; and then the maids and men trooped in to prayers — the windows were still open, and the sounds of the solitary corncrake, and the owl hooting in the trees, mingling with the words spoken. Then to bed ; and so ended the day.

Molly looked out of her chamber window— leaning on the sill, and snuffing up the night odours of the honeysuckle. The soft velvet darkness hid everything that was at any distance from her ; although she was as conscious of then- presence as if she had seen them.

** I think I shall be very happy here," was in Molly's thoughts, as she turned away at length, and began to prepare for bed. Before long the squire's words, relating to her father's second marriage,

A VISIT TO TUE UAMLEY8. 67

came across her, aud spoilt the sweet poaco of her final thoaghts. " Who coulil ho hiivo ini\rrio(l '? " sho asked herself. " Miss Eyre ? Miss Browuin^ '? Miss Phceho '? Miss Goodonaugh \> " Ouo hy oao, each of these was rejected for sufficient reasons. Yet tho unsatisfied question rankled in her mind, and darted out of ambush to distuih her dreams.

Mrs. Hamley did not como down to breakfast ; and Molly found out, with a little dismay, thut tho squire and she were to have it Ute-a-tet,-. On this first morning he put aside his newspapers — one an old established Tory journal, with all tho local and country news, which was the most interesting to him ; tho other tho Morning Chronicle, which ho ciUled his doso of bitters, aud which called out many a strong expression aud tolerably pungent oath. To-day, however, he was *' on his manners," as he afterwards explained to Molly ; and ho plunged about, trying to find ground for a conversa- tion. Ho could talk of his wife and his sous, his estate, aud his mode of fiu-ming ; his tenants, and the mismanagement of tho last county election. Molly's interests wore her father, Miss Eyre^ her garden aud pony ; in a fainter degree ]\Iis3 Brownings, the Cumnor Charity School, and the new gown that was to como from Miss Roso's ; into the midst of which the one gi'cat question, " Who was it that people thought it was possible papa might marry ? " kept popping up into her mouth, like a troublesome Jack-in-the-box. For the present, however, tho lid was snapped down upon the iu- trader as often as he showed his head bctwceu her toeth. They were ver}- polite to each other during tho meal ; and it was not a little tii'L'Some to both. When it was ended the squiro withdrew into his study to read the untasted newspapers. It was tho custom to call the room in which Squire Hamley kept his coats, boots, and gaiters, his difi'erent sticks and fiivourite spud, his gun and fishing- rods, " the study." There was a bureau in>it,- aud al tlu^e-comered arm-chair, but no hooks were visible. Tho greater part of them were kept in a large, musty-smelliug room, in an unfrequented part of the house ; so unfrequented that tho housemaid often neglected to open the window- shutters, which looked into a part of the grounds over-groAra with tho luxuriant growth of shrubs. Indeed, it was a tradition in the soiTauts' hall that, in the late squire's time — he who had been plucked at college — the library windows had been boarded up to avoid paying the window-tax. And when the " young gentle- men " were at home the housemaid, without a single direction to

0 — 2

68 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

that effect, was regular in her charge of this room ; ojjened the windows and lighted fires daily, and dusted the handsomely-bound volumes, which were really a very fair collection of the standard literature in the middle of the last century. All the books that had been purchased since that time were held in small book-cases be- tween each two of the drawing-room windows, and in Mrs. Hamley's own sitting-room upstairs. Those in the drawing-room were quite enough to employ Molly ; indeed she was so deep in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels that she jumped as if she had been shot, when an hour or so after breakfast the squire came to the gravel-path outside one of the windows, and called to ask her if she would like to come out of doors and go about the garden and home-fields with him.

" It must be a little dull for you, my girl, all by yourself, with nothing but books to look at, in the mornings here ; but you see, madam has a fancy for being quiet in the mornings : she told your father about it, and so did I, but I felt soriy for you all the same, when I saw you sitting on the ground all alone in the drawing-room." Molly had been in the very middle of the Bride of Lammennoor, and would gladly have stayed in-doors to finish it, but she felt the squire's kindness all the same. They went in and out of old- fashioned green-houses, over trim lawns, the squire unlocked the great walled kitchen-garden, and went about giving du-ections to gardeners ; and all the time Molly followed him like a little dog, her mind quite full of " Ravenswood" and " Lucy Ashton." Presently, every place near the house had been inspected and regulated, and the squire was more at liberty to give his attention to his companion, as they passed through the little wood that separated the gardens from the adjoining fields. Molly, too, plucked away her thoughts from the seventeenth century ; and, somehow or other, that question, which had so haunted her before, came out of her lips before she was aware — a literal impromptu, —

" Who did people think papa would marry ? That time — long ago — soon after mamma died ? "

She dropped her voice very soft and low, as she spoke the last words. The squire turned round upon her, and looked at her face, he knew not why. It was very grave, a little pale, but her steady eyes almost commanded some kind of answer.

" Whew," said he, whistling to gain time ; not that he had any- thing definite to say, for no one had ever had any reason to join Mr. Gibson's name with any known lady : it was only a loose con-

A VISIT TO THE IIAMLEY8. 69

jocturo that liatl boon Imzardod on tlio probabilities — a yoang wiilower, with a littlo girl.

" I never heard of nuy one — his name was never coupled with any lady's — 'twas only iu the nataro of things that he should marry again ; ho may do it yet, for aught I know, and I don't think it would bo a bad move cither. I told him so, the last time but one he was here."

" And what did he say ? " asked breathless Molly.

" Oh : ho only smiled and said nothing. You shouldn't take up words so seriously, my dear. Tory likely ho may never think of marr}-ing again, and if he did, it would be a very good thing both for him and for you ! "

Molly muttered something, as if to herself, but the squire might have heard it if ho had chosen. As it was, ho wisely turned the current of the conversation.

" Look at that ! " ho said, as they suddenly came upon the mere, or large pond. There was a small island in the middle of the glassy water, on which grow tall trees, dark Scotch firs in the centre, silvery shimmering willows close to the water's edge. " We must get )"ou punted over there, some of these days. I'm not fond of using tho boat at this time of the year, because the young birds are still in tho nests among the reeds and water-plants ; but we'll go. There aro coots and gi'ebes."

" Oh, look, there's a swan ! "

" Yes ; there are two pair of them here. And in those trees there's both a rookery and a heronry ; the herons ought to be hero by now, for they're off to the sea in August, but I have not seen one yet. Stay ! is not that one — that fellow on a stone, with his long neck bent down, looking into tho water ? "

" Yes ! I think so. I have never seen a heron, only pictures of them."

" They and tho rooks aro always at war, which does not do for such near neighbours. If both herons leave the nest they are build- ing, the rooks come and tear it to pieces ; and onco Roger showed me a long straggling fellow of a heron, with a flight of rooks after him, with no friendly purpose in their minds. 111 be bound. Iloger knows a deal of natural history, and finds out queer things some- times. He'd have been off a dozen times during this walk of ours, if he'd been here : his eyes aro always wandering about, and see twenty things whero I only see one. Why ! I've known him bolt

70 WIVES AND DAUGHTEES.

into a copse because he saw sometliing fifteen yards off — some plant, maybe, which he'd tell me was very rare, though I should say I'd seen its marrow at every turn in the woods ; and, if we came upon such a thing as this," touching a delicate film of a cobweb upon a leaf with his stick, as he spoke, " why, he could tell you what insect or spider made it, and if it lived in rotten fir- wood, or in a cranny of good sound timber, or deep down in the ground, or up in the sky, or anywhere. It's a pity they don't take honours in Natural History at Cambridge. Eoger would be safe enough if they did."

" Mr. Osborne Hamley is very clever, is he not ? " Molly asked, timidly.

" Oh, yes. Osborne's a bit of a genius. His mother looks for great things from Osbome. I'm rather proud of him myself. He'll get a Trinity fellowship, if they play him fair. As I was saying at the magistrates' meeting yesterday, ' I've got a son who will make a noise at Cambridge, or I'm veiy much mistaken.' Now, isn't it a queer quip of Nature," continued the squire, turning his honest face towards Molly, as if he was going to impart a new idea to her, "that I, a Hamley of Hamley, straight in descent from nobody knows where — the Heptarchy, they say — What's the date of the Heptarchy ? "

" I don't know," said Molly, startled at being thus appealed to.

*' Well ! it was some time before King Alfred, because he was the King of all Eugland, you know ; but, as I was saying, here am I, of as good and as old a descent as any man in England, and I doubt if a stranger, to look at me, would take me for a gentleman, with my red face, great hands and feet, and thick figure, fourteen stone, and never less than twelve even when I was a young man ; and there's Osborne, who takes after his mother, who couldn't tell her great-grandfather from Adam, bless her; and Osborne has a girl's delicate face, and a slight make, and hands and feet as small as a lady's. He takes after madam's side, who, as I said, can't tell who was their grandfather. Now, Koger is like me, a Hamley of Hamley, and no one who sees him in the street will ever think that red-brown, big-boned, clumsy chap is of gentle blood. Yet all those Cumnor people, you make such ado of in Holliugford, are mere muck of yesterday. I was talking to madam the other day about Osborne's marrying a daughter of Lord Hollingford's — that's to say, if he had a daughter — he's only got boys, as it happens ; but I'm not sure if I should consent to it. I really am not sure ; for you

A VISIT TO THE UAMLEYS. 71

SCO Osbonio will Imvo liml ft first-rato cilucfttion, ami liis family <latc9 from the Uoptarchy, while I shouUl bo glad to know where tho Ciimuor folk wero in tho time of QuccuAuuo?" IIo walked on, pondering tho question of whether ho could have given his consent to this impossible marriago ; and after some time, and when Mi)lly had quite forgotten tho subject to which ho alluded, ho broke out with — " No ! I'm sure I should have looked higher. So, perhaps, it's as well my Lord llolliugford has only boj'S."

After a while, ho thanked Molly for her companionship, with old-fashioned courtesy ; and told her that ho thought, by this time, madam would bo up and dressed, and glad to have her young visitor with her. Ho pointed out tho deep puq)lc house, with its stone facings, as it was seen at some distance between the trees, and watched her protectingly on her way along tho field-paths.

"That's a nico girl of Gibson's," quoth ho to himself. "Bat what a tight hold the wench got of the notion of his marrj-ing again I One had need bo on one's guard as to what one says before her. To tliink of her never having thought of the chance of a stepmother. To bo sure, a stepmother to a girl is a different thing to a second wife to a man 1 "

( 72 )

CHAPTER VII.

FORESHADOWS OF LOVE PERILS.

If Squire Hamley had been unable to tell Molly who had ever been thought of as her father's second wife, fate was all this time pre- paring an answer of a pretty positive kind to her wondering curiosity. But fate is a cunning hussy, and builds up her plans as impercep- tibly as a bird builds her nest ; and with much the same kind of unconsidered trifles. The first "trifle" of an event was the dis- turbance which Jenny (Mr. Gibson's cook) chose to make at Bethia's being dismissed. Bethia was a distant relation and protegee of Jenny's, and she chose to say it was Mr. Coxe the tempter who ought to have " been sent packing," not Bethia the tempted, the victim. In this view there was quite enough plausibility to make Mr. Gibson feel that he had been rather unjust. He had, however, taken care to provide Bethia with another situation, to the full as good as that which she held in his family. Jenny, nevertheless, chose to give warning ; and though Mr. Gibson knew full well from former experience that her warnings wei*e words, not deeds, he hated the discomfort, the uncertainty, — the entire disagreeableness of meeting a woman at any time in his house, who wore a grievance and an injury upon her face as legibly as Jenny took care to do.

Down into the middle of this small domestic trouble came another, and one of greater consequence. Miss Eyre had gone with her old mother, and her orphan nephews and nieces, to the sea-side, during Molly's absence, which was only intended at first to last for a fortnight. After about ten days of this time had elapsed, Mr. Gibson received a beautifully written, beautifully worded, admirably folded, and most neatly sealed letter from Miss Eyre. Her eldest nephew had fallen ill of scarlet fever, and there was every probability that the younger children would be attacked by the same complaint. It

F0UESUAD0W8 OF LOVE PEUILS. 73

was ilislrossinp enough for poor Miss Eyre — this ftcMitioual expense, this rtiixioty — the long ilotoutiou from homo which the illness iuvolveJ. liut she Biiiil not a word of any inconvenience to herself; she only apologized with huniblo sincerity for her iniihility to return at the appointed time to her charge in Mr. Gibson's family ; meekly adding, that perhaps it was as well, for Molly had never had tho scarlet fcvor, and even if IMiss Kyro had been able to leave tho oqihau children to retuni to her employments, it might not have been a safe or a pmdent step.

" To bo sure not," said Jlr. Gibson, tearing the letter in two, and throwing it into tho hearth, where ho soon saw it bunit to ashes. '' I wish I'd a five-pound house and not a woman within ten miles of me. I might have some peace then." Apparently, ho forgot Mr. Coxo's powers of making mischief; but indeed he might have traced that evil back to tho unconscious Molly. The martyr-cook's entrance to take away tho breakfast things, which she announced by a heavy sigh, roused Mr. Gibson from thought to action.

'* Molly must stay a little longer at Hamley," he resolved. " They've often asked for her, and now they'll have enough of her, I think. But I can't have her back here just yet ; and so the best I can do for her is to leave her where she is. Mrs. Hamley seems very fond of her, and the child is looking happy, and stronger in health, I'll ride round by Hamley to-day at any rate, and see how I the land lies."

He found Mrs. Hamley lying on a sofa placed under the shadow of the gi-cat cedar-tree on the lawn. Molly was flitting about her, gar- idening away under her directions ; tying up the long sea-green stalks of bright budded carnations, snipping otf dead roses.

"Oh! here's papa!" she cried out, joyfully, as he rode up to the white paling which separated the trim [h\vra and trimmer flower- garden from the rough park-like ground in front of the house.

" Come in — come here — through tho drawing-room window," said Mrs. Hamley, raising herself on her elbow. " We've got a rose-tree to show you that Molly has budded all by herself. "We are both so proud of it."

So Mr. Gibson rode round to the stables, left his horse there, and made his way through the house to the open-air summer-parlour under tho cedar-tree, wl^ere there were chaii*s, table, books, and tangled work. Somehow, ho rather disliked asking for Molly to prolong her visit ; so he determined to swallow his bitter first, and

74 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

then take the pleasure of the delicious day, the sweet repose, the murmurous, scented air. Molly stood by him, her hand on his shoulder. He sate opposite to Mrs. Hamley.

" I've come here to-day to ask for a favour," he began.

*' Granted before you name it. Am not I a bold woman ? "

He smiled and bowed, but went straight on with his speech.

" Miss Eyre, who has been Molly's governess, I suppose I must call her — for many years, writes to-day to say that one of the little nephews she took with her to Newport while Molly was staying here, has caught the scarlet fever."

" I guess your request. I make it before you do. I beg for dear little Molly to stay on here. Of com-se Miss Eyre can't come back to you ; and of course Molly must stay here ! "

" Thank you ; thank you very much. That was my request."

Molly's hand stole down to his, and nestled in that firm compact grasp.

•' Papa ! — Mrs. Hamley ! — I know you'll both understand me — but mayn't I go home ? I am very happy here ; but — oh papa ! I think I should like to be at home with you best."

An uncomfortable suspicion flashed across his mind. Ho pulled her round, and looked straight and piercingly into her innocent face. Her colour came at his unwonted scrutiny, but her sweet eyes were filled with wonder, rather than with any feeling which he dreaded to find. For 'an instant he had doubted whether young red-headed Mr. Cose's love might not have called out a response in his daughter's breast ; but he was quite clear now.

" Molly, you're rude to begin with. I don't know how you're to make your peace with Mrs. Hamley, I'm sure. And in the next place, do you think you're wiser than I am ; or that I don't want you at home, if all other things were conformable ? Stay where you are, and be thankful."

Molly knew him well enough to be certain that the prolongation of her visit at Hamley was quite a decided affixii* in his mind ; and then she was smitten with a sense of ingratitude. She left her father, and went to Mrs. Hamley, and bent over her and kissed her ; but she did not speak. Mrs. Hamley took hold of her hand, and made room on the sofa for her.

" I was going to have asked for a longer visit the nest time you came, Mr. Gibson. We are such happy friends, are not we, Molly ? and now, that this good little nephew of Miss Ej^e's "

rOIlEBHADOWS OF LOVE PEEILS. 75

" I ^isb he was whipped," said llr, Gibson.

" — hap ^von us 8uch u capitnl reason, I shall keep Molly for a real loug visitatiou. You must come over aud see us vciy often. There's a room hero for you always, you know ; and I don't see why you should uot start on your rounds from Ilamlcy cvcrj- moniing, just as well as from Hollingford."

" Thank you. If you hadn't been so kind to my little girl, I might bo tempted to say something mdo in answer to your last speech."

" Pray say it. You won't bo easy till you have given it out, I know."

" Mrs. Hamley has found out from whom I get my nideness," said Molly, triumphantly. " It's an hereditary qnaUty."

'•■ I was going to say that proposal of yours that I should sleep at

Hamley was just like a woman's idea — all kindness, and no common

sense. How in the world would my patients find me out, seven

• mUes from my accustomed place ? They'd be sure to send for some

' other doctor, and I should be ruined in a month."

** Could not they send on here ? A messenger costs verj* little."

" Fancy old Goody Hcnbury straggling up to my surgery, groaning at everj' step, and then being told to just step on seven miles fartlicr ! Or take the other end of society : — I don't think my Lady Cumnor's smart groom would thank me for having to ride on to Hamley evciy time his mistress wants me."'

" Well, well, I submit. I am a woman. Molly, thon art a woman ! Go and order some strawben-ies aud cream for this father of yours. Such humble offices fall within the province of women. Btrawberries and cream arc all kindness and no common sense, for they'll give him a horrid fit of indigestion."

" Please speak for yourself, Mrs. Hamley," said Mollv. men-ily. " I ate — oh, such a great basketful yesterday, and the squire went himself to the dairy and brought out a great bowl of cream, when he found me at my busy work. And I'm as well as ever I was, to-day, and never had n touch of indigestion near me."

" She's a good girl," said her father, when she had danced out of hearing. The words were not quite an inquiry, ho was so certain of his answer. There was a mixture of teudcniess and trast in his eyes, as he awaited the reply, which came in a moment.

" She's a darling. I cannot tell you how fond the squire and I are of her ; both of us. I am so delighted to think she is not to go

76 WIVES AND DAUGHTEllS.

away for a long time. The first thing I thought of this nioming when I wakened up, was that she would soon have to return to you, unless I could jjersuade you into leaving her with me a little longer. And now she must stay — oh, two months at least."

It was quite true that the squire had become vei-y fond of Molly. The chance of having a young girl dancing and singing inarticulate ditties about the house and garden, was indescribable in its novelty to him. And then Molly was so willing and so wise ; ready both to talk and to listen at the right times. Mrs. Hamley was quite right in speaking of her husband's fondness for Molly. But either she herself chose a wrong time for telling him of the prolongation of the girl's visit, or one of the fits of temper to which he was liable, but which he generally strove to check in the presence of his wife, was upon him ; at any rate, he received the news in anything but a gracious frame of mind.

" Stay longer ! Did Gibson ask for it ? "

" Yes ! I don't see what else is to become of her ; Miss Eyre away and all. It's a very awkward position for a motherless girl like her to be at the head of a household with two young men in it."

" That's Gibson's look-out ; he should have thought of it before taking pupils, or apprentices, or whatever he calls them."

" My dear squire ! why, I thought you'd be as glad as I was — as I am to keep Molly. I asked her to stay for an indefinite time ; two months at least."

" And to be in the house with Osborne ! Roger, too, will be at home."

By the cloud in the squire's eyes, Mrs. Hamley read his mind.

" Oh, she's not at all the sort of girl young men of their age would take to. We like her because we see what she really is ; but lads of one and two and twenty want all the accessories of a young woman."

" Want what ? " growled the squire.

" Such things as becoming dress, style of manner. They would not at their age even see that she is pretty ; their ideas of beauty would include colour."

" I suppose all that's very clever ; but I don't understand it. All I know is, that it's a very dangerous thing to shut two young men of one and three and twenty up in a country-house like this with a girl of seventeen — choose what her gowns may be like, or her hair, or her eyes. And I told you particularly I didn't want Osborne,

FORESUAUOWH OF LOVE PERILS. 77

or cither of iliom, indeed, to bo falling in lovo with her. I'm very much anuovcd."

Mrs. Ilttinlcy's fiico fell ; she became a little pale.

" Shall wo make arrauj^eincnts for thuir stopping away while she id hero ; staying up at Caiubritlgo, or reading with somo one ? going abroad for a month or two ? "

" No ; you've been reckoning this ever so long on their coming home. I've seen the marks of the weeks on your almanack. I'd sooner speak to Gibson, and tell him ho must tako his daughter away, for it's not convenient to us "

" ^ly dear Roger ! I beg you will do no such thing. It will bo BO unkind ; it will give the lie to all I said yesterday. Don't, please, do that. For my sake, don't speak to Mr. Gibson ! "

" Well, well, don't put yourself in a flutter," for he was afraid of her becoming hysterical; " I'll speak to Osborne when ho comes home, and tell him how much I should dislike anything of the kind."

" And Roger is always far too full of his natural history and comparative anatomy, and messes of that sort, to be thinking of fall- ing in love with Venus herself. He has not the sentiment and imagination of Osborne."

•'Ah, you don't know; you never can be sure about a young man ! But with Roger it wouldn't so much signify. Ho would know he couldn't many for years to come."

All that afternoon the squire tried to steer clear of Jlolly, to whom he felt himself to have been an inhospitable traitor. But she was so perfectly unconscious of his shyness of her, and so merrj' and sweet in her behaviour as a welcome guest, never distrusting him for a moment, however gruff he might be, that by the next morning she bad completely won him round, and they were quite on the old terms again. At breakfast this very morning, a letter was passed from the squire to his ^^■ife, and back again, without a word as to its contents; but—

" Fortunate ! "

"Yes ! very ! "

Little did Molly apply these expressions to the piece of news Mrs. Hamley told her in the course of the day ; namely, that her son OsboiTio had received an invitation to stay with a friend in the neighbourhood of Cambridge, and perhaps to make a tour on the Continent with him subsequently ; and that, consequently, he would not accompany his brother when Roger came home.

73 WIVES AND .DAUGHTERS.

Molly was very sympathetic.

" Oil, dear ! I am so sorry ! "

Mrs. Hamley was thankful her husband was not present, Molly spoke the words so heartily.

" You have been thinking so long of his coming home. I am afraid it is a great disappointment."

Mrs. Hamley smiled — reheved.

"Yes! it is a disappointment certainly, but we must think of Osborne's pleasure. And with his poetical mind, he will wiite us such delightful travelling letters. Poor fellow ! he must be going into the examination to-day ! Both his father and I feel sure, though, that he will be a high wrangler. Only — I should like to have seen him, my own dear boy. But it is best as it is."

Molly was a little puzzled by this speech, but soon put it out of her head. It was a disappointment to her, too, that she should not see this beautiful, brilliant young man, his mother's hero. From time to time her maiden fancy had dwelt upon what he would be like ; how the lovely boy of the picture in Mrs. Hamley's di'essing- room would have changed in the ten years that had elapsed since the likeness was taken ; if he would read poetry aloud ; if he would ever read his own poetiy. However, in the never-ending feminine business of the day, she soon forgot her own disappointment ; it only came back to her on first wakening the next morning, as a vague something that was not quite so pleasant as she had anticipated, and then was banished as a subject of regret. Her days at Hamley were well filled up with the small duties that would have belonged to a daughter of the house had there been one. She made bi'eakfast for the lonely squire, and would willingly have carried up madame's, but that daily piece of work belonged to the squire, and was jealously guarded by him. She read the smaller print of the newspapers aloud to him, city articles, money and corn markets included. She strolled about the gardens with him, gathering fresh flowers, mean- while, to deck the drawing-room against Mrs. Hamley should come down. She was her companion when she took her drives in the close carriage ; they read poetry and mild literature together in Mrs. Hamley's sitting-room upstairs. She was quite clever at crib- bage now, and could beat the squire if she took pains. Besides these things, there were her own independent ways of employing herself. She used to try to practise a daily hour on the old grand piano in the solitary drawing-room, because sho had promised Miss

FORESIIADOWS OF LOVE TEEILS. 79

EjTO sho would ilo 80. And she had found her way into the library, and used to undo the heavy bars of the shutters if tbo housemaid had fdij^'otteu this duty, and mount tho ladder, sitting ou the steps, for an hour at a time, deep iu some book of tho old English classics. Tho summer days were very short to this happy girl of seveutcen.

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CHAPTER VIII.

DRIFTING ;iNTO DANGER.

On Thursday, the quiet country household was stirred through all its fibres with the thought of Roger's coming home. Mrs. Hamley had not seemed quite so well, or quite in such good spirits for two or three days before ; and the squire himself had appeared to be put out without any visible cause. They had not chosen to tell Molly that Osborne's name had only appeared veiy low down in the mathe- ' matical tripos. So all that their visitor knew was that something was out of tune, and she hoped that Roger's coming home would set it to rights, for it was beyond the power of her small cares and wiles.

On Thursday, the housemaid apologized to her for some slight negligence in her bedroom, by saying she had been busy scouring Mr. Roger's rooms. " Not but what they were as clean as could be beforehand ; but mistress would always have the young gentlemen's rooms cleaned afresh before they came home. If it had been Mr. Osborne, the whole house would have had to be done ; but to be sure he was the eldest son, so it was but likely." Molly was amused at this testimony to the rights of heirship ; but somehow she herself had fallen into the family manner of thinking that nothing was too great or too good for *' the eldest son." In his father's eyes, Osborne was the representative of the ancient house of Hamley of Hamley, the future owner of the land which had been theirs for a thousand j^ears. His mother clung to him because they two were cast in the same mould, both physically and mentally — because he bore her maiden name. She had indoctrinated Molly with her faith, and, in spite of her amusement at the housemaid's speech, the girl visitor would have been as anxious as any one to show her feudal loyalty to the heir, if indeed it had been he that was coming. After

DUimXO INTO D.VXGKR. 81

luncheon, Mrs. Ilamk'y went to lost, in preparation for Rogcr'H return ; ftnil Molly also retired to her own room, feeling that it would Lo better for hor to remain there until dinncr-tinio, and so to K-avo tlu> fiithor and nu)tlicr to rcccivo their boy in privacy. She took n book of MS. poems with her ; they wore all of Osbomo Ilamloy's composition ; and his mother had read some of them aloud to her youuf^ visitor nu)re than once. Molly had asked permission to copy one or two of those which were her greatest favourites ; and this quiet summer afternoon she took this copying for her employ- ment, sittinj,' at the pleasant open window, and losing herself in dreamy out-looks into the gardens and woods, quivering in the noon- tide heat. The house was so still, in its silence it might have been the " moated grange ; " tho bomming buzz of the blue flies, in tho great staircase window, seemed the loudest noiso in- doors. And there was scarcely a sound out-of-doors but the humming of bees, in the flower-beds below the window. Distant voices from tho far-away fields where they were making hay — the scent of which came in sudden wafts distinct from that of tho nearer roses and honeysuckles — these merry piping voices just made Molly feel the depth of tho present silence. She had left off copying, her hand weary with tho unusual exertion of so much writing, and she was lazily trying to leai'u one or two of the poems off" by heart.

I asked of the wind, hut answer made it none, Save its accustomed sad and solitary moan —

she kept saying to herself, losing her sense of whatever meaning tho words had ever had, in tho repetition which had become mechanical. Suddenly there was the snap of a shutting gate ; wheels crackling on tho dry gravel, horses' feet on the drive ; a loud cheerful voice in tho house, coming up through tho open wmdows, tho hall, tho passages, tho staircase, with unwonted fulness and roundness of tone. Tho oiitrancc-hall downstairs was paved with diamonds of black and white marble ; the low wide staircase that went in short flights around tho hall, till you could look dovra upon the marble floor from tho top stor}- of the house, was uncaqietcd — uncovered. The squire was too proud of his beautifully -joined oaken flooring to cover this stair- case up unnecessarily ; not to say a word of tho usual state of want of ready money to expend upon tho decorations of his house. So, through the uudraporied hollow square of tho hall and staircase every sound ascended clear and distinct; and Molly heard tho squire's glad " Hallo ! hero ho is," and madamc's softer, more Vol. I. G

82 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.

plaintive voice ; and then the loud, full, strange tone, whicli 'slie knew must be Roger's. Then there was an opening and shutting of doors, and only a distant buzz of talking. Molly began again — I asked of the wind, but answer made it none.

And this time she had nearly finished learning the poem, when she heard Mrs. Hamley come hastily into her sitting-room that adjoined Molly's bedroom, and burst out into an irrepressible half-hysterical fit of sobbing. Molly was too young to have any complication of motives vrhich should prevent her going at once to try and give what comfort she could. In an instant she vras kneeling at Mrs. Hamley's feet, holding the poor lady's hands, kissing them, murmuring soft words ; vrhich, all unmeaning as they were of aught but sympathy with the untold grief, did Mrs. Hamley good. She checked herself, smiling sadly at Molly through the midst of her thick-coming sobs.

" It's only Osborne," said she, at last. " Eoger has been telling us about him."

" What about him ? " asked Molly, eagerly. " I knew on Monday ; we had a letter — he said he had not done so well as we had hoped — as he had hoped himself, poor fellow ! He said he had just passed, but was only low down among the junior optimcs, and not where he had expected, and had led us to expect. But the squire has never been at college, and does not understand college terms, and he has been asking Eoger all about it, and Roger has been telling him, and it has made him so angry. But the squire hates college slang ; — he has never been there, you know ; and he thought poor Osborne was taking it too lightly, and he has been

asking Roger about it, and Roger "

There was a fresh fit of the sobbing crying. Molly burst out, — " I don't think Mr. Roger should have told ; he had no need to begin so soon about his brother's failure. Why, he hasn't been in the house an hour ! "

" Hush, hush, love ! " said Mrs. Hamley. " Roger is so good. You don't understand. The squire would begin and ask questions before Roger had tasted food — as soon as ever we had got into the dining-room. And all he said — to me, at any rate — was that Osborne was nervous, and that if he could only have gone in for the Chancellor's medals, he would have carried all before him. But Roger said that after failing like this, ho is not very likely to get a fellow- ship, which the squire had placed his hopes on. Osborne himself seemed so sure of it, that the squire can't understand it, and is

DRIFTING INTO DANUEU. 88

Bcriouslv angry, and growing moro so tho more he talks about it. IIo has kept it in two or tbrco days, and that never suits him. Ho is always better when ho is aiigrj- about a thing at once, and does not let it smoulder in his mind. Poor, poor Osborne ! I did wish ho had boon coming straight homo, instead of going to these friends of his ; I thought I could havo comforted him. But now I'm glad, for it will bo better to let his father's anger cool first."

So talking out what was in her heart, 'Mm. Haralcy became moro composed ; and at length she dismissed Molly to dress for dinner, with a kiss, sa}'iug, —

" You're a real blessing to mothers, child ! You givo one such pleasant spnpathy, both in one's gladness and in one's sorrow ; in one's pride (for I was so proud last week, so confident), and in one's disappointment. And now your being a fourth at dinner will keep us ofl' that sore subject ; there arc times when a stranger in tho house- hold is a wonderful help."

IMolly thought over all that she had heard, as she was dressing and putting on tho terrible, over- smart plaid gown in honour of the new arrival. Her unconscious fealty to Osborne was not in the least shaken by his having come to grief at Cambridge. Only she was indignant — with or without reason — against Roger, who seemed to have brought the reality of bad news as an ofiering of fii-st-fruits on his return home.

She went down into the drawing-room with anything but a welcome to him in her heart. He was standing by his mother ; tho squire had not yet made his appearance. Molly thought that the two were hand in hand when she first opened the door, but she could not bo quite sure. Mrs. Hamley came a little forwards to meet her, and introduced her in so fondly intimate a way to her son, that Molly, innocent and simple, knowing nothing but Hollingford manners, which woro anything but formal, half put out her hand to shake hands with one of whom she had heard fo much — tho son of such kind friends. She could only hope he had not seen the movement, for he made no attempt to respond to it ; only bowed.

Ho was a tall powerfully- made young man, giving the impression of strength more than elegance. His fixco was rather square, ruddy- coloured (as his father had said), hair and eyes brown — the latter rather dccp-sct beneath his thick eyebrows ; and ho had a trick of wrinkling up his eyelids when ho wanted particularly to observe any- thing, which made his eyes look even smaller still at such times. He

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84 WIVES AND DAU.GHTERS.

had a large mouth, with excessively mobile lips ; ami another trick of his was, that when he was amused at anything, he resisted the impulse to laugh, by a droll manner of twitching and puckering up his mouth, till at length the sense of humour had its way, and his features relaxed, and he broke into a broad sunny smile ; his beautiful teeth — his only beautiful feature — breaking out with a white gleam upon the red-brown countenance. These two tricks of his — of crumpling up the eyelids, so as to concentrate the power of sight, which made him look stem and thoughtful ; and the odd twitching of the lips that was preliminary to a smile, which made him look intensely merr}- — gave the varying expressions of his face a greater range " from grave to gay, from lively to severe," than is common to most men. To Molly, who was not finely discriminative in her glances at the stranger this first night, he simply appeared " heavy- looking, clumsy," and " a person she was sure she should never get on with." He certainly did not seem to care much what impression he made upon his mother's visitor. He was at that age when young men admire a formed beauty more than a face with any amount of future capability of loveliness, and when thej" are morbidlj- conscious of the difficulty of finding subjects of conversation in talking to girls in a state of feminine hobbledehoyhood. Besides, his thoughts were full of other subjects, which he did not intend to allow to ooze out in words, yet he wanted to prevent any of that heavy silence which he feared might be impending — with an angry and displeased father, and a timorous and distressed mother. He only looked upon Molly as a badly-dressed, and rather awkward girl, with black hair and an intelligent face, who might help him in the task he had set himself of keeping up a bright general conversation during the rest of the evening ; might help him — if she would, but she would not. She thought him unfeeling in his talkativeness ; his constant flow of words upon indifferent subjects was a wonder and a repulsion to her. How could he go on so cheerfully while his mother sat there, scarcely eating anything, and doing her best, with ill-success, to swallow down the tears that would keep rising to her eyes ; when his father's hea\y brow was deeply clouded, and he evidently cared nothing — at first at least— for all the chatter his son poured forth ? Had Mr. Roger Haniley no sympathy in him ? She would show that she had some, at any rate. So she quite declined the part, which he had hoped she would have taken, of respondent, and possible questioner ; and his work became more and more like that of a man walking in a