The message returned was, "The Squire's kind love, and could not see
Mr. Gibson just then." Robinson added, "It was a long time before
he'd answer at all, sir."
"Go up again, and tell him I can wait his convenience. Now that's a
lie," Mr. Gibson said, turning round to Molly as soon as Robinson had
left the room. "I ought to be far enough away at twelve; but, if I'm
not much mistaken, the innate habits of a gentleman will make him
uneasy at the idea of keeping me waiting his pleasure, and will do
more to bring him out of that room into this than any entreaties or
reasoning." Mr. Gibson was growing impatient though, before they
heard the Squire's footstep on the stairs; he was evidently coming
slowly and unwillingly. He came in almost like one blind, groping
along, and taking hold of chair or table for support or guidance till
he reached Mr. Gibson. He did not speak when he held the doctor by
the hand; he only hung down his head, and kept on a feeble shaking of
welcome.
"I'm brought very low, sir. I suppose it's God's doing; but it comes
hard upon me. He was my firstborn child." He said this almost as if
speaking to a stranger, and informing him of facts of which he was
ignorant.
"Here's Molly," said Mr. Gibson, choking a little himself, and
pushing her forwards.
"I beg your pardon; I did not see you at first. My mind is a good
deal occupied just now." He sate heavily down, and then seemed almost
to forget they were there. Molly wondered what was to come next.
Suddenly her father spoke,--
"Where's Roger?" said he. "Is he not likely to be soon at the Cape?"
He got up and looked at the directions of one or two unopened letters
brought by that morning's post; among them was one in Cynthia's
handwriting. Both Molly and he saw it at the same time. How long it
was since yesterday! But the Squire took no notice of their
proceedings or their looks.
"You will be glad to have Roger at home as soon as may be, I think,
sir. Some months must elapse first; but I'm sure he will return as
speedily as possible."
The Squire said something in a very low voice. Both father and
daughter strained their ears to hear what it was. They both believed
it to be, "Roger isn't Osborne!" And Mr. Gibson spoke on that belief.
He spoke more quietly than Molly had ever heard him do before.
"No! we know that. I wish that anything that Roger could do, or that
I could do, or that any one could do, would comfort you; but it is
past human comfort."