Does my father always live upstairs in my mother's rooms, Miss Gibson?' 'He has done since her last attack.I believe he reproaches himself for not having been enough alarmed before.' 'You heard all the words he said to me: they were not much of a welcome, were they? And my dear mother, who always - whether I was to blame or not -- I suppose Roger is sure to come home to-night?' 'Quite sure.' 'You are staying here, are you not? Do you often see my mother, or does this omnipotent nurse keep you out too?, 'Mrs Hamley hasn't asked for me for three days now, and I don't go into her room unless she asks.I'm leaving on Friday, I believe.' 'My mother was very fond of you, I know.' After a while he said, in a voice that had a great deal of sensitive pain in its tone, - 'I suppose - do you know whether she is quite conscious - quite herself?' 'Not always conscious,' said Molly, tenderly.'She has to take so many opiates.But she never wanders, only forgets, and sleeps.' 'Oh, mother, mother!' said he, stopping suddenly, and hanging over the fire, his hands on the chimney-piece.When Roger came home, Molly thought it time to retire.Poor girl! it was getting to be time for her to leave this scene of distress in which she could be of no use.She sobbed herself to sleep this Tuesday night.Two days more, and it would be Friday; and she would have to wrench up the roots she had shot down into this ground.The weather was bright the next morning; and morning and sunny weather cheer up young hearts.Molly sate in the dining-room ****** tea for the gentlemen as they came down.She could not help hoping that the squire and Osborne might come to a better understanding before she left; for after all, in the discussion between father and son, lay a bitterer sting than in the illness sent by God.But though they met at the breakfast-table, they purposely avoided addressing each other.Perhaps the natural subject of conversation between the two, at such a time, would have been Osborne's long journey the night before;but he had never spoken of the place he had come from, whether north, south, east, or west, and the squire did not choose to allude to anything that might bring out what his son wished to conceal.Again, there was an unexpressed idea in both their minds that Mrs Hamley's present illness was much aggravated, if not entirely brought on, by the discovery of Osborne's debts; so, many inquiries and answers on that head were tabooed.In fact, their attempts at easy conversation were limited to local subjects, and principally addressed to Molly or Roger.Such intercourse was not productive of pleasure, or even of friendly feeling, though there was a thin outward surface of politeness and peace.Long before the day was over, Molly wished that she had acceded to her father's proposal, and gone home with him.No one seemed to want her.Mrs Jones, the nurse, assured her time after time that Mrs Hamley had never named her name; and her small services in the sickroom were not required since there was a regular nurse.Osborne and Roger seemed all in all to each other; and Molly now felt how much the short conversations she had had with Roger had served to give her something to think about, all during the remainder of her solitary days.Osborne was extremely polite, and even expressed his gratitude to her for her attentions to his mother in a very pleasant manner; but he appeared to be unwilling to show her any of the deeper feelings of his heart, and almost ashamed of his exhibition of emotion the night before.He spoke to her as any agreeable young man speaks to any pleasant young lady; but Molly almost resented this.It was only the squire who seemed to make her of any account.He gave her letters to write, small bills to reckon up; and she could have kissed his hands for thankfulness.The last afternoon of her stay at the Hall came.Roger had gone out on the squire's business.Molly went into the garden, thinking over the last summer, when Mrs Hamley's sofa used to be placed under the old cedar-tree on the lawn, and when the warm air seemed to be scented with roses and sweetbrier.Now, the trees were leafless, - there was no sweet odour in the keen frosty air; and looking up at the house, there were the white sheets of blinds, shutting out the pale winter sky from the invalid's room.
Then she thought of the day her father had brought her the news of his second marriage: the thicket was tangled with dead weeds and rime and hoarfrost;and the beautiful fine articulation of branches and boughs and delicate twigs were all intertwined in leafless distinctness against the sky.Could she ever be so passionately unhappy again? Was it goodness, or was it numbness, that made her feel as though life was too short to be troubled much about anything? death seemed the only reality.She had neither energy nor heart to walk far or briskly; and turned back towards the house.The afternoon sun was shining brightly on the windows; and, stirred up to unusual activity by some unknown cause, the housemaids had opened the shutters and windows of the generally unused library.The middle window was also a door; the white-painted wood went half-way up.Molly turned along the little flag-paved path that led past the library windows to the gate in the white railings at the front of the house, and went in at the opened doors.She had had leave given to choose out any books she wished to read, and to take them home with her; and it was just the sort of half-dawdling employment suited to her taste this afternoon.She mounted on the ladder to get to a particular shelf high up in dark corner of the room; and finding there some volume that looked interesting, she sate down on the step to read part of it.
There she sate, in her bonnet and cloak, when Osborne suddenly came in.
He did not see her at first; indeed, he seemed in such a hurry that he probably might not have noticed her at all, if she had not spoken.'Am I in your way? I only came here for a minute to look for some books.'
