The great log was placed on the after-dinner fire, the hearth swept
up, the ponderous candles snuffed, and then the door was shut and
Molly and the Squire were left to their dessert. She sat at the side
of the table in her old place. That at the head was vacant; yet, as
no orders had been given to the contrary, the plate and glasses and
napkin were always arranged as regularly and methodically as if Mrs.
Hamley would come in as usual. Indeed, sometimes, when the door
by which she used to enter was opened by any chance, Molly caught
herself looking round as if she expected to see the tall, languid
figure in the elegant draperies of rich silk and soft lace, which
Mrs. Hamley was wont to wear of an evening.
This evening, it struck her, as a new thought of pain, that into
that room she would come no more. She had fixed to give her father's
message at this very point of time; but something in her throat
choked her, and she hardly knew how to govern her voice. The Squire
got up and went to the broad fireplace, to strike into the middle of
the great log, and split it up into blazing, sparkling pieces. His
back was towards her. Molly began, "When papa was here to-day, he
bade me tell you he had written to Mr. Roger Hamley to say that--that
he thought he had better come home; and he enclosed a letter to Mr.
Osborne Hamley to say the same thing."
The Squire put down the poker, but he still kept his back to Molly.
"He sent for Osborne and Roger?" he asked, at length.
Molly answered, "Yes."
Then there was a dead silence, which Molly thought would never end.
The Squire had placed his two hands on the high chimney-piece, and
stood leaning over the fire.
"Roger would have been down from Cambridge on the 18th," said he.
"And he has sent for Osborne, too! Did he know,"--he continued,
turning round to Molly, with something of the fierceness she had
anticipated in voice and look. In another moment he had dropped his
voice. "It's right, quite right. I understand. It has come at length.
Come! come! Osborne has brought it on, though," with a fresh access
of anger in his tones. "She might have" (some word Molly could not
hear--she thought it sounded like "lingered") "but for that. I can't
forgive him; I cannot."
And then he suddenly left the room. While Molly sat there still, very
sad in her sympathy with all, he put his head in again:--