There was something touching in the Squire's wistful looks after
Molly as she moved about. A stranger might have imagined her to
be his daughter instead of Mr. Gibson's. The meek, broken-down,
considerate ways of the bereaved father never showed themselves more
strongly than when he called them back to his chair, out of which
he seemed too languid to rise, and said, as if by an after-thought:
"Give my love to Miss Kirkpatrick; tell her I look upon her as quite
one of the family. I shall be glad to see her after--after the
funeral. I don't think I can before."
"He knows nothing of Cynthia's resolution to give up Roger," said Mr.
Gibson as they rode away. "I had a long talk with her last night, but
she was as resolute as ever. From what your mamma tells me, there is
a third lover in London, whom she's already refused. I'm thankful
that you've no lover at all, Molly, unless that abortive attempt of
Mr. Coxe's at an offer, long ago, can be called a lover."
"I never heard of it, papa!" said Molly.
"Oh, no; I forgot. What a fool I was! Why, don't you remember the
hurry I was in to get you off to Hamley Hall, the very first time you
ever went? It was all because I got hold of a desperate love-letter
from Coxe, addressed to you."
But Molly was too tired to be amused, or even interested. She could
not get over the sight of the straight body covered with a sheet,
which yet let the outlines be seen,--all that remained of Osborne.
Her father had trusted too much to the motion of the ride, and the
change of scene from the darkened house. He saw his mistake.
"Some one must write to Mrs. Osborne Hamley," said he. "I believe her
to have a legal right to the name; but whether or no, she must be
told that the father of her child is dead. Shall you do it, or I?"
"Oh, you, please, papa!"
"I will, if you wish. But she may have heard of you as a friend of
her dead husband's; while of me--a mere country doctor--it's very
probable she has never heard the name."
"If I ought, I will do it." Mr. Gibson did not like this ready
acquiescence, given in so few words, too.
"There's Hollingford church-spire," said she presently, as they drew
near the town, and caught a glimpse of the church through the trees.
"I think I never wish to go out of sight of it again."
"Nonsense!" said he. "Why, you've all your travelling to do yet;
and if these new-fangled railways spread, as they say they will, we
shall all be spinning about the world; 'sitting on tea-kettles,' as
Phoebe Browning calls it. Miss Browning wrote such a capital letter
of advice to Miss Hornblower. I heard of it at the Millers'. Miss
Hornblower was going to travel by railroad for the first time; and
Dorothy was very anxious, and sent her directions for her conduct;
one piece of advice was not to sit on the boiler."