"Now, Molly, look how much less trouble the dear old Squire would
give if he would obey orders. He is only adding to anxiety by
indulging himself. One pardons everything to extreme grief, however.
But you will have enough to do to occupy all your strength for days
to come; and go to bed you must now. I only wish I saw my way as
clearly through other things as I do to your nearest duty. I wish I'd
never let Roger go wandering off; he'll wish it too, poor fellow!
Did I tell you Cynthia is going off in hot haste to her uncle
Kirkpatrick's? I suspect a visit to him will stand in lieu of going
out to Russia as a governess."
"I am sure she was quite serious in wishing for that."
"Yes, yes! at the time. I've no doubt she thought she was sincere
in intending to go. But the great thing was to get out of the
unpleasantness of the present time and place; and uncle Kirkpatrick's
will do this as effectually, and more pleasantly, than a situation at
Nishni-Novgorod in an ice-palace."
He had given Molly's thoughts a turn, which was what he wanted to
do. Molly could not help remembering Mr. Henderson, and his offer,
and all the consequent hints; and wondering, and wishing--what did
she wish? or had she been falling asleep? Before she had quite
ascertained this point she was asleep in reality.
After this, long days passed over in a monotonous round of care; for
no one seemed to think of Molly's leaving the Hall during the woeful
illness that befell Mrs. Osborne Hamley. It was not that her father
allowed her to take much active part in the nursing; the Squire gave
him _carte-blanche_, and he engaged two efficient hospital nurses to
watch over the unconscious Aimée; but Molly was needed to receive the
finer directions as to her treatment and diet. It was not that she
was wanted for the care of the little boy; the Squire was too jealous
of the child's exclusive love for that, and one of the housemaids was
employed in the actual physical charge of him; but he needed some one
to listen to his incontinence of language, both when his passionate
regret for his dead son came uppermost, and also when he had
discovered some extraordinary charm in that son's child; and again
when he was oppressed with the uncertainty of Aimée's long-continued
illness. Molly was not so good or so bewitching a listener to
ordinary conversation as Cynthia; but where her heart was interested
her sympathy was deep and unfailing. In this case she only wished
that the Squire could really feel that Aimée was not the encumbrance
which he evidently considered her to be. Not that he would have
acknowledged the fact, if it had been put before him in plain words.
He fought against the dim consciousness of what was in his mind; he
spoke repeatedly of patience when no one but himself was impatient;
he would often say that when she grew better she must not be allowed
to leave the Hall until she was perfectly strong, when no one was
even contemplating the remotest chance of her leaving her child,
excepting only himself. Molly once or twice asked her father if she
might not speak to the Squire, and represent the hardship of sending
her away--the improbability that she would consent to quit her boy,
and so on; but Mr. Gibson only replied,--