CHAPTER II.
A NOVICE AMONGST THE GREAT FOLK.
At ten o'clock on the eventful Thursday the Towers' carriage beganits work. Molly was ready long before it made its first appearance,although it had been settled that she and the Miss Brownings were notto go until the last, or fourth, time of its coming. Her face hadbeen soaped, scrubbed, and shone brilliantly clean; her frills, herfrock, her ribbons were all snow-white. She had on a black mode cloakthat had been her mother's; it was trimmed round with rich lace, andlooked quaint and old-fashioned on the child. For the first time inher life she wore kid gloves; hitherto she had only had cotton ones.Her gloves were far too large for the little dimpled fingers, but asBetty had told her they were to last her for years, it was all verywell. She trembled many a time, and almost turned faint once with thelong expectation of the morning. Betty might say what she liked abouta watched pot never boiling; Molly never ceased to watch the approachthrough the winding street, and after two hours the carriage camefor her at last. She had to sit very forward to avoid crushing theMiss Brownings' new dresses; and yet not too forward, for fear ofincommoding fat Mrs. Goodenough and her niece, who occupied thefront seat of the carriage; so that altogether the fact of sittingdown at all was rather doubtful, and to add to her discomfort, Mollyfelt herself to be very conspicuously placed in the centre of thecarriage, a mark for all the observation of Hollingford. It was fartoo much of a gala day for the work of the little town to go forwardwith its usual regularity. Maid-servants gazed out of upper windows;shopkeepers' wives stood on the door-steps; cottagers ran out, withbabies in their arms; and little children, too young to know howto behave respectfully at the sight of an earl's carriage, huzzaedmerrily as it bowled along. The woman at the lodge held the gateopen, and dropped a low curtsey to the liveries. And now they werein the Park; and now they were in sight of the Towers, and silencefell upon the carriage-full of ladies, only broken by one faintremark from Mrs. Goodenough's niece, a stranger to the town, as theydrew up before the double semicircle flight of steps which led to thedoor of the mansion.
"They call that a perron, I believe, don't they?" she asked. Butthe only answer she obtained was a simultaneous "hush." It was veryawful, as Molly thought, and she half wished herself at home again.But she lost all consciousness of herself by-and-by when the partystrolled out into the beautiful grounds, the like of which shehad never even imagined. Green velvet lawns, bathed in sunshine,stretched away on every side into the finely wooded park; if therewere divisions and ha-has between the soft sunny sweeps of grass, andthe dark gloom of the forest-trees beyond, Molly did not see them;and the melting away of exquisite cultivation into the wildernesshad an inexplicable charm to her. Near the house there were wallsand fences; but they were covered with climbing roses, and rarehoneysuckles and other creepers just bursting into bloom. There wereflower-beds, too, scarlet, crimson, blue, orange; masses of blossomlying on the greensward. Molly held Miss Browning's hand very tightas they loitered about in company with several other ladies, andmarshalled by a daughter of the Towers, who seemed half amused at thevoluble admiration showered down upon every possible thing and place.Molly said nothing, as became her age and position, but every now andthen she relieved her full heart by drawing a deep breath, almostlike a sigh. Presently they came to the long glittering range ofgreenhouses and hothouses, and an attendant gardener was there toadmit the party. Molly did not care for this half so much as forthe flowers in the open air; but Lady Agnes had a more scientifictaste, she expatiated on the rarity of this plant, and the mode ofcultivation required by that, till Molly began to feel very tired,and then very faint. She was too shy to speak for some time; but atlength, afraid of making a greater sensation if she began to cry, orif she fell against the stands of precious flowers, she caught atMiss Browning's hand, and gasped out--
"May I go back, out into the garden? I can't breathe here!"
"Oh, yes, to be sure, love. I daresay it's hard understanding foryou, love; but it's very fine and instructive, and a deal of Latin init too."
She turned hastily round not to lose another word of Lady Agnes'lecture on orchids, and Molly turned back and passed out of theheated atmosphere. She felt better in the fresh air; and unobserved,and at liberty, went from one lovely spot to another, now in the openpark, now in some shut-in flower-garden, where the song of the birds,and the drip of the central fountain, were the only sounds, and thetree-tops made an enclosing circle in the blue June sky; she wentalong without more thought as to her whereabouts than a butterflyhas, as it skims from flower to flower, till at length she grewvery weary, and wished to return to the house, but did not knowhow, and felt afraid of encountering all the strangers who would bethere, unprotected by either of the Miss Brownings. The hot sun toldupon her head, and it began to ache. She saw a great wide-spreadingcedar-tree upon a burst of lawn towards which she was advancing, andthe black repose beneath its branches lured her thither. There wasa rustic seat in the shadow, and weary Molly sate down there, andpresently fell asleep.
She was startled from her slumbers after a time, and jumped to herfeet. Two ladies were standing by her, talking about her. They wereperfect strangers to her, and with a vague conviction that she haddone something wrong, and also because she was worn-out with hunger,fatigue, and the morning's excitement, she began to cry.
"Poor little woman! She has lost herself; she belongs to some of thepeople from Hollingford, I have no doubt," said the oldest-looking ofthe two ladies; she who appeared to be about forty, though she didnot really number more than thirty years. She was plain-featured, andhad rather a severe expression on her face; her dress was as rich asany morning dress could be; her voice deep and unmodulated,--what ina lower rank of life would have been called gruff; but that was not aword to apply to Lady Cuxhaven, the eldest daughter of the earl andcountess. The other lady looked much younger, but she was in factsome years the elder; at first sight Molly thought she was the mostbeautiful person she had ever seen, and she was certainly a verylovely woman. Her voice, too, was soft and plaintive, as she repliedto Lady Cuxhaven,--
"Poor little darling! she is overcome by the heat, I have nodoubt--such a heavy straw bonnet, too. Let me untie it for you, mydear."
Molly now found voice to say--"I am Molly Gibson, please. I came herewith Miss Brownings;" for her great fear was that she should be takenfor an unauthorized intruder.
"Miss Brownings?" said Lady Cuxhaven to her companion, as ifinquiringly.
"I think they were the two tall large young women that Lady Agnes wastalking about."
"Oh, I daresay. I saw she had a number of people in tow;" thenlooking again at Molly, she said, "Have you had anything to eat,child, since you came? You look a very white little thing; or is itthe heat?"
"I have had nothing to eat," said Molly, rather piteously; for,indeed, before she fell asleep she had been very hungry.
The two ladies spoke to each other in a low voice; then the eldersaid in a voice of authority, which, indeed, she had always used inspeaking to the other, "Sit still here, my dear; we are going to thehouse, and Clare shall bring you something to eat before you try towalk back; it must be a quarter of a mile at least." So they wentaway, and Molly sat upright, waiting for the promised messenger. Shedid not know who Clare might be, and she did not care much for foodnow; but she felt as if she could not walk without some help. Atlength she saw the pretty lady coming back, followed by a footmanwith a small tray.
"Look how kind Lady Cuxhaven is," said she who was called Clare. "Shechose you out this little lunch herself; and now you must try and eatit, and you'll be quite right when you've had some food, darling--Youneed not stop, Edwards; I will bring the tray back with me."
There was some bread, and some cold chicken, and some jelly, anda glass of wine, and a bottle of sparkling water, and a bunch ofgrapes. Molly put out her trembling little hand for the water; butshe was too faint to hold it. Clare put it to her mouth, and she tooka long draught and was refreshed. But she could not eat; she tried,but she
could not; her headache was too bad. Clare looked bewildered."Take some grapes, they will be the best for you; you must try andeat something, or I don't know how I shall get you to the house."
"My head aches so," said Molly, lifting her heavy eyes wistfully.
"Oh, dear, how tiresome!" said Clare, still in her sweet gentlevoice, not at all as if she was angry, only expressing an obvioustruth. Molly felt very guilty and very unhappy. Clare went on, with ashade of asperity in her tone: "You see, I don't know what to do withyou here if you don't eat enough to enable you to walk home. And I'vebeen out for these three hours trapesing about the grounds till I'mas tired as can be, and missed my lunch and all." Then, as if a newidea had struck her, she said,--"You lie back in that seat for a fewminutes, and try to eat the bunch of grapes, and I'll wait for you,and just be eating a mouthful meanwhile. You are sure you don't wantthis chicken?"
Molly did as she was bid, and leant back, picking languidly at thegrapes, and watching the good appetite with which the lady ate up thechicken and jelly, and drank the glass of wine. She was so pretty andso graceful in her deep mourning, that even her hurry in eating, asif she was afraid of some one coming to surprise her in the act, didnot keep her little observer from admiring her in all she did.
"And now, darling, are you ready to go?" said she, when she had eatenup everything on the tray. "Oh, come; you have nearly finished yourgrapes; that's a good girl. Now, if you will come with me to theside entrance, I will take you up to my own room, and you shall liedown on the bed for an hour or two; and if you have a good nap yourheadache will be quite gone."
So they set off, Clare carrying the empty tray, rather to Molly'sshame; but the child had enough work to drag herself along, and wasafraid of offering to do anything more. The "side entrance" wasa flight of steps leading up from a private flower-garden into aprivate matted hall, or ante-room, out of which many doors opened,and in which were deposited the light garden-tools and the bows andarrows of the young ladies of the house. Lady Cuxhaven must have seentheir approach, for she met them in this hall as soon as they camein.
"How is she now?" she asked; then glancing at the plates and glasses,she added, "Come, I think there can't be much amiss! You're a goodold Clare, but you should have let one of the men fetch that tray in;life in such weather as this is trouble enough of itself."
Molly could not help wishing that her pretty companion would havetold Lady Cuxhaven that she herself had helped to finish up theample luncheon but no such idea seemed to come into her mind. Sheonly said,--"Poor dear! she is not quite the thing yet; has got aheadache, she says. I am going to put her down on my bed, to see ifshe can get a little sleep."
Molly saw Lady Cuxhaven say something in a half-laughing mannerto "Clare," as she passed her; and the child could not keep fromtormenting herself by fancying that the words spoken soundedwonderfully like "Over-eaten herself, I suspect." However, she felttoo poorly to worry herself long; the little white bed in the cooland pretty room had too many attractions for her aching head. Themuslin curtains flapped softly from time to time in the scented airthat came through the open windows. Clare covered her up with a lightshawl, and darkened the room. As she was going away Molly rousedherself to say, "Please, ma'am, don't let them go away without me.Please ask somebody to waken me if I go to sleep. I am to go backwith Miss Brownings."
"Don't trouble yourself about it, dear; I'll take care," said Clare,turning round at the door, and kissing her hand to little anxiousMolly. And then she went away, and thought no more about it.The carriages came round at half-past four, hurried a little byLady Cumnor, who had suddenly become tired of the business ofentertaining, and annoyed at the repetition of indiscriminatingadmiration.
"Why not have both carriages out, mamma, and get rid of them all atonce?" said Lady Cuxhaven. "This going by instalments is the mosttiresome thing that could be imagined." So at last there had been agreat hurry and an unmethodical way of packing off every one at once.Miss Browning had gone in the chariot (or "chawyot," as Lady Cumnorcalled it;--it rhymed to her daughter, Lady Hawyot--or Harriet,as the name was spelt in the _Peerage_), and Miss Phoebe had beenspeeded along with several other guests, away in a great roomy familyconveyance, of the kind which we should now call an "omnibus." Eachthought that Molly Gibson was with the other, and the truth was, thatshe lay fast asleep on Mrs. Kirkpatrick's bed--Mrs. Kirkpatrick _nee_Clare.
The housemaids came in to arrange the room. Their talking arousedMolly, who sat up on the bed, and tried to push back the hair fromher hot forehead, and to remember where she was. She dropped down onher feet by the side of the bed, to the astonishment of the women,and said,--"Please, how soon are we going away?"
"Bless us and save us! who'd ha' thought of any one being in the bed?Are you one of the Hollingford ladies, my dear? They are all gonethis hour or more!"
"Oh, dear, what shall I do? That lady they call Clare promised towaken me in time. Papa will so wonder where I am, and I don't knowwhat Betty will say."
The child began to cry, and the housemaids looked at each otherin some dismay and much sympathy. Just then, they heard Mrs.Kirkpatrick's step along the passages, approaching. She was singingsome little Italian air in a low musical voice, coming to her bedroomto dress for dinner. One housemaid said to the other, with a knowinglook, "Best leave it to her;" and they passed on to their work in theother rooms.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick opened the door, and stood aghast at the sight ofMolly.
"Why, I quite forgot you!" she said at length. "Nay, don't cry;you'll make yourself not fit to be seen. Of course I must take theconsequences of your over-sleeping yourself, and if I can't manage toget you back to Hollingford to-night, you shall sleep with me, andwe'll do our best to send you home to-morrow morning."
"But papa!" sobbed out Molly. "He always wants me to make tea forhim; and I have no night-things."
"Well, don't go and make a piece of work about what can't be helpednow. I'll lend you night-things, and your papa must do without yourmaking tea for him to-night. And another time don't over-sleepyourself in a strange house; you may not always find yourself amongsuch hospitable people as they are here. Why now, if you don't cryand make a figure of yourself, I'll ask if you may come in to dessertwith Master Smythe and the little ladies. You shall go into thenursery, and have some tea with them; and then you must come backhere and brush your hair and make yourself tidy. I think it is a veryfine thing for you to be stopping in such a grand house as this; manya little girl would like nothing better."
During this speech she was arranging her toilette for dinner--takingoff her black morning gown; putting on her dressing-gown; shaking herlong soft auburn hair over her shoulders, and glancing about the roomin search of various articles of her dress,--a running flow of easytalk came babbling out all the time.
"I have a little girl of my own, dear! I don't know what she wouldnot give to be staying here at Lord Cumnor's with me; but, insteadof that, she has to spend her holidays at school; and yet you arelooking as miserable as can be at the thought of stopping forjust one night. I really have been as busy as can be with thosetiresome--those good ladies, I mean, from Hollingford--and one can'tthink of everything at a time."
Molly--only child as she was--had stopped her tears at the mentionof that little girl of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's, and now she ventured tosay,--
"Are you married, ma'am; I thought she called you Clare?"
In high good-humour Mrs. Kirkpatrick made reply:--"I don't look asif I was married, do I? Every one is surprised. And yet I have beena widow for seven months now: and not a grey hair on my head, thoughLady Cuxhaven, who is younger than I, has ever so many."
"Why do they call you 'Clare?'" continued Molly, finding her soaffable and communicative.
"Because I lived with them when I was Miss Clare. It is a prettyname, isn't it? I married a Mr. Kirkpatrick; he was only a curate,poor fellow; but he was of a very good family, and if three of hisrelations had died without children I should have been a baronet'swife. But Providence did
not see fit to permit it; and we must alwaysresign ourselves to what is decreed. Two of his cousins married, andhad large families; and poor dear Kirkpatrick died, leaving me awidow."
"You have a little girl?" asked Molly.
"Yes: darling Cynthia! I wish you could see her; she is my onlycomfort now. If I have time I will show you her picture when we comeup to bed; but I must go now. It does not do to keep Lady Cumnorwaiting a moment, and she asked me to be down early, to help withsome of the people in the house. Now I shall ring this bell, and whenthe housemaid comes, ask her to take you into the nursery, and totell Lady Cuxhaven's nurse who you are. And then you'll have tea withthe little ladies, and come in with them to dessert. There! I'm sorryyou've over-slept yourself, and are left here; but give me a kiss,and don't cry--you really are rather a pretty child, though you'venot got Cynthia's colouring! Oh, Nanny, would you be so very kind asto take this young lady--(what's your name, my dear? Gibson?),--MissGibson, to Mrs. Dyson, in the nursery, and ask her to allow her todrink tea with the young ladies there; and to send her in with themto dessert. I'll explain it all to my lady."
Nanny's face brightened out of its gloom when she heard the nameGibson and, having ascertained from Molly that she was "thedoctor's" child, she showed more willingness to comply with Mrs.Kirkpatrick's request than was usual with her.
Molly was an obliging girl, and fond of children; so, as long as shewas in the nursery, she got on pretty well, being obedient to thewishes of the supreme power, and even very useful to Mrs. Dyson, byplaying at tricks, and thus keeping a little one quiet while itsbrothers and sisters were being arrayed in gay attire,--lace andmuslin, and velvet, and brilliant broad ribbons.
"Now, miss," said Mrs. Dyson, when her own especial charge were allready, "what can I do for you? You have not got another frock here,have you?" No, indeed, she had not; nor if she had had one, could ithave been of a smarter nature than her present thick white dimity.So she could only wash her face and hands, and submit to the nurse'sbrushing and perfuming her hair. She thought she would rather havestayed in the park all night long, and slept under the beautifulquiet cedar, than have to undergo the unknown ordeal of "goingdown to dessert," which was evidently regarded both by children andnurses as the event of the day. At length there was a summons froma footman, and Mrs. Dyson, in a rustling silk gown, marshalled herconvoy, and set sail for the dining-room door.
There was a large party of gentlemen and ladies sitting round thedecked table, in the brilliantly lighted room. Each dainty littlechild ran up to its mother, or aunt, or particular friend; but Mollyhad no one to go to.
"Who is that tall girl in the thick white frock? Not one of thechildren of the house, I think?"
The lady addressed put up her glass, gazed at Molly, and dropped itin an instant. "A French girl, I should imagine. I know Lady Cuxhavenwas inquiring for one to bring up with her little girls, that theymight get a good accent early. Poor little woman, she looks wildand strange!" And the speaker, who sate next to Lord Cumnor, made alittle sign to Molly to come to her; Molly crept up to her as to thefirst shelter; but when the lady began talking to her in French, sheblushed violently, and said in a very low voice,--
"I don't understand French. I'm only Molly Gibson, ma'am."
"Molly Gibson!" said the lady, out loud; as if that was not much ofan explanation.
Lord Cumnor caught the words and the tone.
"Oh, ho!" said he. "Are you the little girl who has been sleeping inmy bed?"
He imitated the deep voice of the fabulous bear, who asks thisquestion of the little child in the story; but Molly had never readthe "Three Bears," and fancied that his anger was real; she trembleda little, and drew nearer to the kind lady who had beckoned her asto a refuge. Lord Cumnor was very fond of getting hold of what hefancied was a joke, and working his idea threadbare; so all the timethe ladies were in the room he kept on his running fire at Molly,alluding to the Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Sleepers, and any otherfamous sleeper that came into his head. He had no idea of the miseryhis jokes were to the sensitive girl, who already thought herselfa miserable sinner, for having slept on, when she ought to havebeen awake. If Molly had been in the habit of putting two and twotogether, she might have found an excuse for herself, by rememberingthat Mrs. Kirkpatrick had promised faithfully to awaken her in time;but all the girl thought of was, how little they wanted her in thisgrand house; how she must seem like a careless intruder who had nobusiness there. Once or twice she wondered where her father was, andwhether he was missing her; but the thought of the familiar happinessof home brought such a choking in her throat, that she felt she mustnot give way to it, for fear of bursting out crying; and she hadinstinct enough to feel that, as she was left at the Towers, the lesstrouble she gave, the more she kept herself out of observation, thebetter.
She followed the ladies out of the dining-room, almost hoping thatno one would see her. But that was impossible, and she immediatelybecame the subject of conversation between the awful Lady Cumnor andher kind neighbour at dinner.
"Do you know, I thought this young lady was French when I first sawher? she has got the black hair and eyelashes, and grey eyes, andcolourless complexion which one meets with in some parts of France,and I know Lady Cuxhaven was trying to find a well-educated girl whowould be a pleasant companion to her children."
"No!" said Lady Cumnor, looking very stern, as Molly thought. "Sheis the daughter of our medical man at Hollingford; she came withthe school visitors this morning, and she was overcome by the heatand fell asleep in Clare's room, and somehow managed to over-sleepherself, and did not waken up till all the carriages were gone. Wewill send her home to-morrow morning, but for to-night she must stayhere, and Clare is kind enough to say she may sleep with her."
There was an implied blame running through this speech, that Mollyfelt like needle-points all over her. Lady Cuxhaven came up at thismoment. Her tone was as deep, her manner of speaking as abrupt andauthoritative, as her mother's, but Molly felt the kinder natureunderneath.
"How are you now, my dear? You look better than you did under thecedar-tree. So you're to stop here to-night? Clare, don't you thinkwe could find some of those books of engravings that would interestMiss Gibson."
Mrs. Kirkpatrick came gliding up to the place where Molly stood; andbegan petting her with pretty words and actions, while Lady Cuxhaventurned over heavy volumes in search of one that might interest thegirl.
"Poor darling! I saw you come into the dining-room, looking so shy;and I wanted you to come near me, but I could not make a sign to you,because Lord Cuxhaven was speaking to me at the time, telling meabout his travels. Ah, here is a nice book--_Lodge's Portraits_; nowI'll sit by you and tell you who they all are, and all about them.Don't trouble yourself any more, dear Lady Cuxhaven; I'll take chargeof her; pray leave her to me!"
Molly grew hotter and hotter as these last words met her ear. Ifthey would only leave her alone, and not labour at being kind toher; would "not trouble themselves" about her! These words of Mrs.Kirkpatrick's seemed to quench the gratitude she was feeling to LadyCuxhaven for looking for something to amuse her. But, of course, itwas a trouble, and she ought never to have been there.
By-and-by, Mrs. Kirkpatrick was called away to accompany Lady Agnes'song; and then Molly really had a few minutes' enjoyment. She couldlook round the room, unobserved, and, sure, never was any place outof a king's house so grand and magnificent. Large mirrors, velvetcurtains, pictures in their gilded frames, a multitude of dazzlinglights decorated the vast saloon, and the floor was studded withgroups of ladies and gentlemen, all dressed in gorgeous attire.Suddenly Molly bethought her of the children whom she had accompaniedinto the dining-room, and to whose ranks she had appeared tobelong,--where were they? Gone to bed an hour before, at some quietsignal from their mother. Molly wondered if she might go, too--ifshe could ever find her way back to the haven of Mrs. Kirkpatrick'sbedroom. But she was at some distance from the door; a long way fromMrs. Kirkpatrick, to whom she felt herself to belong mo
re than to anyone else. Far, too, from Lady Cuxhaven, and the terrible Lady Cumnor,and her jocose and good-natured lord. So Molly sate on, turning overpictures which she did not see; her heart growing heavier and heavierin the desolation of all this grandeur. Presently a footman enteredthe room, and after a moment's looking about him, he went up to Mrs.Kirkpatrick, where she sate at the piano, the centre of the musicalportion of the company, ready to accompany any singer, and smilingpleasantly as she willingly acceded to all requests. She came nowtowards Molly, in her corner, and said to her,--
"Do you know, darling, your papa has come for you, and brought yourpony for you to ride home; so I shall lose my little bedfellow, forI suppose you must go?"
Go! was there a question of it in Molly's mind, as she stood upquivering, sparkling, almost crying out loud. She was brought to hersenses, though, by Mrs. Kirkpatrick's next words.
"You must go and wish Lady Cumnor good-night, you know, my dear, andthank her ladyship for her kindness to you. She is there, near thatstatue, talking to Mr. Courtenay."
Yes! she was there--forty feet away--a hundred miles away! All thatblank space had to be crossed; and then a speech to be made!
"Must I go?" asked Molly, in the most pitiful and pleading voicepossible.
"Yes; make haste about it; there is nothing so formidable in it, isthere?" replied Mrs. Kirkpatrick, in a sharper voice than before,aware that they were wanting her at the piano, and anxious to get thebusiness in hand done as soon as possible.
Molly stood still for a minute, then, looking up, she said, softly,--
"Would you mind coming with me, please?"
"No! not I!" said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, seeing that her compliance waslikely to be the most speedy way of getting through the affair; soshe took Molly's hand, and, on the way, in passing the group at thepiano, she said, smiling, in her pretty genteel manner,--
"Our little friend here is shy and modest, and wants me to accompanyher to Lady Cumnor to wish good-night; her father has come for her,and she is going away."
Molly did not know how it was afterwards, but she pulled her hand outof Mrs. Kirkpatrick's on hearing these words, and going a step ortwo in advance came up to Lady Cumnor, grand in purple velvet, anddropping a curtsey, almost after the fashion of the school-children,she said,--
"My lady, papa is come, and I am going away; and, my lady, I wishyou good-night, and thank you for your kindness. Your ladyship'skindness, I mean," she said, correcting herself as she rememberedMiss Browning's particular instructions as to the etiquette to beobserved to earls and countesses, and their honourable progeny, asthey were given that morning on the road to the Towers.
She got out of the saloon somehow; she believed afterwards, onthinking about it, that she had never bidden good-by to LadyCuxhaven, or Mrs. Kirkpatrick, or "all the rest of them," as sheirreverently styled them in her thoughts.
Mr. Gibson was in the housekeeper's room, when Molly ran in, ratherto the stately Mrs. Brown's discomfiture. She threw her arms roundher father's neck. "Oh, papa, papa, papa! I am so glad you havecome;" and then she burst out crying, stroking his face almosthysterically as if to make sure he was there.
"Why, what a noodle you are, Molly! Did you think I was going to giveup my little girl to live at the Towers all the rest of her life? Youmake as much work about my coming for you, as if you thought I had.Make haste, now, and get on your bonnet. Mrs. Brown, may I ask youfor a shawl, or a plaid, or a wrap of some kind to pin about her fora petticoat?"
He did not mention that he had come home from a long round not halfan hour before, a round from which he had returned dinnerless andhungry; but, on finding that Molly had not come back from the Towers,he had ridden his tired horse round by Miss Brownings', and foundthem in self-reproachful, helpless dismay. He would not wait tolisten to their tearful apologies; he galloped home, had a freshhorse and Molly's pony saddled, and though Betty called after himwith a riding-skirt for the child, when he was not ten yards from hisown stable-door, he refused to turn back for it, but went off, asDick the stableman said, "muttering to himself awful."
Mrs. Brown had her bottle of wine out, and her plate of cake, beforeMolly came back from her long expedition to Mrs. Kirkpatrick's room,"pretty nigh on to a quarter of a mile off," as the housekeeperinformed the impatient father, as he waited for his child to comedown arrayed in her morning's finery with the gloss of newness wornoff. Mr. Gibson was a favourite in all the Towers' household, asfamily doctors generally are; bringing hopes of relief at timesof anxiety and distress; and Mrs. Brown, who was subject to gout,especially delighted in petting him whenever he would allow her. Sheeven went out into the stable-yard to pin Molly up in the shawl, asshe sate upon the rough-coated pony, and hazarded the somewhat safeconjecture,--
"I daresay she'll be happier at home, Mr. Gibson," as they rode away.
Once out into the park Molly struck her pony, and urged him on ashard as he would go. Mr. Gibson called out at last:
"Molly! we're coming to the rabbit-holes; it's not safe to go at sucha pace. Stop." And as she drew rein he rode up alongside of her.
"We're getting into the shadow of the trees, and it's not safe ridingfast here."
"Oh! papa, I never was so glad in all my life. I felt like a lightedcandle when they're putting the extinguisher on it."
"Did you? How d'ye know what the candle feels?"
"Oh, I don't know, but I did." And again, after a pause shesaid,--"Oh, I am so glad to be here! It is so pleasant riding here inthe open, free, fresh air, crushing out such a good smell from thedewy grass. Papa! are you there? I can't see you."
He rode close up alongside of her: he was not sure but what she mightbe afraid of riding in the dark shadows, so he laid his hand uponhers.
"Oh! I am so glad to feel you," squeezing his hand hard. "Papa, Ishould like to get a chain like Ponto's, just as long as your longestround, and then I could fasten us two to each end of it, and when Iwanted you I could pull, and if you didn't want to come, you couldpull back again; but I should know you knew I wanted you, and wecould never lose each other."
"I'm rather lost in that plan of yours; the details, as you statethem, are a little puzzling; but if I make them out rightly, I am togo about the country, like the donkeys on the common, with a clogfastened to my hind leg."
"I don't mind your calling me a clog, if only we were fastenedtogether."
"But I do mind you calling me a donkey," he replied.
"I never did. At least I didn't mean to. But it is such a comfort toknow that I may be as rude as I like."
"Is that what you've learnt from the grand company you've beenkeeping to-day? I expected to find you so polite and ceremonious,that I read a few chapters of _Sir Charles Grandison_, in order tobring myself up to concert pitch."
"Oh, I do hope I shall never be a lord or a lady."
"Well, to comfort you, I'll tell you this: I'm sure you'll never be alord; and I think the chances are a thousand to one against your everbeing the other, in the sense in which you mean."
"I should lose myself every time I had to fetch my bonnet, or elseget tired of long passages and great staircases long before I couldgo out walking."
"But you'd have your lady's-maid, you know."
"Do you know, papa, I think lady's-maids are worse than ladies. Ishould not mind being a housekeeper so much."
"No! the jam-cupboards and dessert would lie very conveniently toone's hand," replied her father, meditatively. "But Mrs. Brown tellsme that the thought of the dinners often keeps her from sleeping;there's that anxiety to be taken into consideration. Still, in everycondition of life, there are heavy cares and responsibilities."
"Well! I suppose so," said Molly, gravely. "I know Betty says I wearher life out with the green stains I get in my frocks from sitting inthe cherry-tree."
"And Miss Browning said she had fretted herself into a headache withthinking how they had left you behind. I'm afraid you'll be as bad asa bill of fare to them to-night. How did it all happen, goosey?"
/> "Oh, I went by myself to see the gardens; they are so beautiful! andI lost myself, and sat down to rest under a great tree; and LadyCuxhaven and that Mrs. Kirkpatrick came; and Mrs. Kirkpatrick broughtme some lunch, and then put me to sleep on her bed,--and I thoughtshe would waken me in time, and she didn't; and so they'd all goneaway; and when they planned for me to stop till to-morrow, I didn'tlike saying how very, very much I wanted to go home,--but I keptthinking how you would wonder where I was."
"Then it was rather a dismal day of pleasure, goosey, eh?"
"Not in the morning. I shall never forget the morning in that garden.But I was never so unhappy in all my life, as I have been all thislong afternoon."
Mr. Gibson thought it his duty to ride round by the Towers, and paya visit of apology and thanks to the family, before they left forLondon. He found them all on the wing, and no one was sufficientlyat liberty to listen to his grateful civilities but Mrs. Kirkpatrick,who, although she was to accompany Lady Cuxhaven, and pay a visitto her former pupil, made leisure enough to receive Mr. Gibson, onbehalf of the family; and assured him of her faithful remembrance ofhis great professional attention to her in former days in the mostwinning manner.
Wives and Daughters Page 4