Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2010 witii funding from Dui^e University Libraries Iittp://www.arcliive.org/details/wivesdauglitersev01gask i ' Xv 1 ,/y Molly's New Bonnbt. WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. AN EVERYDAY STORY. BY MRS. GASKELL. WITH EIOHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY OEORGE DU MAURIER /N TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 05, CORN HILL. 186G. [ The right of Translation is rei>erved.'\ CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. rUAr. '""" I. The Dawn ov a Gala Day ^ II. A Novice amongst the Gueat Folk *0 III. Molly Gibson's Ciiildiiood 26 IV. Mr. Gibson's Neiquboubs ^ V. Calf-Love - ■♦* VI. A Visit to the IIamleys - ^^ VII. FoKEsiiAnoM's of Love Perils ~ '2 VIII. Drifting into Danger ^^ IX. The Widower and the Widow 9* X. A Crisis 103 XI. Making Friendship ^21 XII. PRKrABING for THE Wf.DDING '37 XIII. Molly Gibson's New Friends 1*6 XIV. Molly Finds Herself Patronized 157 XV. The New Mamma 171 XVI. The Bripe at Home... 180 XVII. Trolble at Hamley Hall 190 XVIII. Mr. O.snoRNE'9 Secret 202 XIX. Cynthia's Arrival - 215 XX. Mrs. Gibson's Visitors - 226 XXI. The Half-Sisters 235 XXII. The Old Syi iue's Troibles 249 XXIII. Osborne Hamley Ueviews his Positiow 260 XXIV. Mrs. Gibson's Ljttle Dinner 269 XXV. Hollingford in a Bustle 276 XXVI. A Charity Ball ._„ 285 XXVH. Father and Sons 303 XXVHI. Rivalry „ 311 XXIX. Bvsii-FiGHTiNo 323 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Mollt's New Bonnet Frontispiece. A Love Letter To face page 46 ViE ViCTIS The New Mamma Unwelcome Attentions Shakspeare and the Musical Glasses First Impressions Roger is Introduced and Enslaved "Td t'en Repentiras, Colin" " Wht, Osborne, is it You ? " 85 125 162 181 218 240 272 326 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. A\ EVKRY-DAV STORY. CILVPTER I. TIIK DAWX OF A fiALA DAY. To begin with the old rigmarole of cbiklliooil. In a country there was a shii'e, and in that shire there was a town, and in that town there was a house, and in that house there was a room, and in that room there was a bed, and in that bod there lay a little girl ; wide awake and longing to get up, but not daring to do so for fear of the unseen power in the next room ; a certain Betty, whose slumbers must not be disturbed until six o'clock struck, when she wakened of herself " as sure as clockwork," and left the household very little peace aftcr\N-ards. It was a June morning, and early as it was, the room was full of sunny warmth and light. On the drawers opposite to the little white dimity bed in which Molly Gibson lay, was a primitive kind of bonnet-stand on which was hung a bonnet, carefully covered over from any chance of dust with a large cotton handkerchief ; of so heavj* and serviceable a texture that if till" thing underneath it had been a flimsy fabric of gauze and lace and flowers, it would have been altogether " scomfished " (again to quote from Betty's vocabulary). But the bonnet was made of solid straw, and its only trimming was a plain white ribbon put over the crown, and forming the strings. Still, there was a neat little quilling inside, evei7 plait of which Molly knew, for had she not made it herself the evening before, with infinite pains ? and was there not a little blue bow in this quilling, the very first bit of such finen' Molly had ever had the prospect of wearing ? Vol. I. 1 2 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. Six o'clock now ! the pleasant, brisk ringing of the church hells told that ; calling every one to their daily work, as they had done for hundreds of years. Up jumped Molly, and ran with her hare little feet across the room, and lifted off the handkerchief and saw once again the bonnet ; the pledge of the gay bright day to come. Then to the window, and after some tugging she opened the casement, and let in the sweet morning air. The dew^ was already off the flowers in the garden below, but still rising from the long hay- grass in the meadows directly beyond. At one side lay the little town of Holling- ford, into a street of which Mr. Gibson's front door opened ; and delicate column:^, and little puffs of smoke were already beginning to rise from many a cottage chimney where some housewife was already up, and preparing breakfast for the bread-winner of the family. Molly Gibson saw all this, but all slie thought about it was, " Oh ! it will be a fine day ! I vras afraid it never, never would come ; or that, if it ever came, it would be a rainy day ! " Five- and-forty years ago, children's pleasures in a country town were very simple, and Molly had lived for twelve long years without the occur- rence of any event so great as that which was now impending. Poor child ! it is true that she had lost her mother, which was a jar to the "whole tenour of her life ; but that was hardly an event in the sense referred to ; and besides, she had been too young to be conscious of it at the time. The pleasure she was looking forward to to-day was her first share in a kind of aimual festival in Hollingford. The little straggling town faded away into country on one side close to the entrance-lodge of a great park, where lived my Lord and Lady Cumnor: " the earl " and 'Ithe countess," as they vrcre always called by the inhabitants of the town ; where a very pretty amount of feudal feeling still lingered, and showed itself in a number of simple ways, droll enough to look back upon, but serious matters of importance at the time. It was before the passing of the Reform Bill, but a good deal of liberal talk took place occasionally between two or three of the more enlightened freeholders living in Holling- ford ; and there vras a great "Whig family in the county who, from time to time, came forward and contested the election with the rival .Tory family of Cumnor. One would have thought that the above- mentioned liberal-talking inhabitants of Hollingford would have, at least, admitted the possibility of theii- voting for the Hely-Hamson "who represented their own opinions. But no such thing. " The earl " was lord of the manor, and owner of much of the land on THK DAWN OF A fiALA DAY. 8 which IlollinpforJ was built ; ho tind his hduscholil wcro fed, nnd doctored, nnd, to n certain meiisure, clothed by tho good people of the town ; their fathers' grandfathers had always voted for tho eldest son of Cinnnor Towers, and following in tho ancestral track, every man- jack in the place gave his vote to tho liege lord, totally irrespective of snch chimeras as political opinion. This was no unusual instance of the inflnoncc of tho great land- owners over humbler neighbours in those days before railways, and it was well for a place where the powerful family, who thus overshadowed it, wcro of so respectable a character as the Cumnors. They expected to be submitted to, and obeyed ; tho simple worship of tho towns- people was accepted by tho earl and countess as a right ; and they v.-onld have stood still in amazement, and with a horrid memory of the French sansculottes who were the bugbears of their youth, had any inhabitant of Hollingford ventured to set his will or opinions in opposition to those of the carl. But, yielded all that obeisance, they did a good deal for the town, and were generally condescending, and often thoughtful and kind in their treatment of their vassals. Lord Cumnor was a forbearing landlord ; putting his steward a little on one side sometimes, and taking tho reins into his own hands now and then, much to the annoyance of tho agent, who was, in fact, too rich and independent to care greatly for prcsci-ving a post where his decisions might any day bo overturned by my lord's taking a fancy to go " pottering" (as the agent iiToverently expressed it in the sanctuary of his own home), which, being intcqireted, meant that occasionally the carl asked his own questions of his own tenants, and used his own eyes and ears in tho management of the smaller details of his property. But his tenants liked my lord all the better for this habit of his. Lord Cumnor had certainly a little time for gossip, which he contrived to combine with tho failing of personal intervention between the old land-steward and tho tenantry. But, then, the countess made up by her unapproachable dignity for this weakness of the carl's. Once a year she was condescending. She and tho ladies, her daughters, had set up a school ; not a school after the manner of schools now-a-days, where far better intellectual teaching is given to tho boys and girls of labourers and work-people than often falls to the lot of their betters in worldly estate ; but a school of tho kind we should call " industrial,"' where girls are taught to sew beautifully, to be capital housemaids, and pretty fair cooks, and, above all, to chess neatly in a kind of charity uniform devised by 1—2 4 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. the ladies of Cumuor Towers ; — wliite caps, white tippets, check aprons, hlue gowns, and ready curtseys, and "please, ma'ams," being de r'ujueur. Now, as the countess was absent from the Towers for a consider- able part of the year, she was glad to enlist the sympathy of the Hollingford ladies in this school, with a view to obtaining their aid as visitors during the many months that she and her daughters were away. And the various unoccupied gentlewomen of the town re- sponded to the call of their liege lady, and gave her their service as required ; and along with it, a great deal of whispered and fussy admiration. " How good of the countess ! So like the dear countess — always thinking of others ! " and so on ; while it was always sup- posed that no strangers had seen Hollingford properly, unless they had been taken to the countess's school, and been duly impressed by the neat little pupils, and the still neater needlework there to be inspected. In return, there was a day of honour set apart every summer, when with much gracious and stately hospitality. Lady Cumnor and her daughters received all the school visitors at the Towers, the great femily mansion standing in aristocratic seclusion in the centre of the large park, of which one of the lodges was close to the little town. The order of this annual festivity was this. About ten o'clock one of the Towers' carriages rolled through the lodge, and drove to different houses, wherein dwelt a woman to be honoured ; picking them up by ones or twos, till the loaded carriage drove back again through the ready portals, bowled along the smooth tree-shaded road, and deposited its covey of smartly-dressed ladies on the great flight of steps leading to the ponderous doors of Cumnor Towers. Back again to the town ; another picking up of womankind in their best clothes, and another return, and so on till the whole party were assembled either in the house or in the really beautiful gardens. After the proper amount of exhibition on the one part, and admira- tion on the other, had been done, there was a collation for the visitors, and some more display and admiration of the treasures inside the house. Towards four o'clock, cofiee was brought round ; and this Avas a signal of the approaching carriage that was to take them back to their own homes ; whither they returned with the happy con- sciousness of a well-spent day, but with some fatigue at the long- continued exertion of behaving their best, and talking on stilts for so many hours. Nor were Lady Cumnor and her daughters free from something of the same self-approbation, and something, too, of the Tin: DAWN OF A fiALA DAY. 6 finmo fiitiguo ; tho fatigue thiit always follows on conscious efforts to licliavo as will lit'st pleiiso the society yon arc in. For tho first time in her lifi', Molly Clihson was to bt; included among the guests at tho Towers. She was much too young to bo a visitor nt tho school, so it was not on that account that she was to go ; but it lia«l so liapponed that one day when Lord Cuninor was on a " pottorin;,' ■' expedition, he had nut Mr. Gibson, thr doctor of the noighbourhood, coming out of the farm-house my lord was entering ; and having some small question to ask tho surgeon (Lord Cumnor seldom passed any one of his aciinaintancc without asking a question of some sort — not always attending to the answer ; it was his mode of conversation), he accompanied Mr. Gibson to the out-building, to a ring in tho wall of which the surgeon's horse was fastened. Molly was there too, sitting square and quiet on her rough little pony, waiting for her father. Her grave eyes opened large and wide at the close neighbourhood and evident advance of " the earl ; " for to her little imagination the grey-haired, red-faced, somewhat clumsy man, was a cross between an archangel and a king. " Your daughter, eh, Gibson ? — nice little girl, how old '? Pony wants grooming though," patting it as he talked. " What's your name, my dear? He is sadly behindhand with his rent, as I was saying, but if he is really ill, I must see after Sheepshanks, who is a hardish man of business. ^Yhat's his complaint ? You'll come to our school-scrimmage on Thursday, little girl — what's-your-name ? Mind you send her, or bring her, Gibson ; and just give a word to your groom, for I'm sure that pony was not singed last year, now, was he ? Don't forget Thursday, little girl — what's-your-name ? — it's a promise between us, is it not ? "' And oft' the earl trottcnl, attracted by the sight of tho farmer's eldest son on the other side of the yard. Mr. Gibson mounted, and ho and Molly rode olV. They did not speak for some time. Then she said, " May I go, papa '? " in rather an anxious little tone of voice. " Where, my dear?" said he, wakening up out of his own pro- fessional thonghts. '• To the Towers — on Thursday, you know. That gentleman " (she was shy of calling him by his title), " asked me." '* Would you like it, my dear ? It has always seemed to me rather a tiresome piece of gaiety — rather a tiring day, I mean — beginning so early — and the heat, and all that." b WIVES AND DAUGHTEES. " Ob, papa ! " said Mollv, reproacMully. " You'd like to go then, would you ? " " Yes ; if I may ! — He asked me, you know. Don't you tliink I may ? — he asked me twice over." " Well ! we'll see — yes ! I think we can manage it, if you wish it so much, Molly." Then they were silent again. By-and-by, Molly said, — " Please, papa — I do wish to go, — but I don't care about it." " That's rather a puzzling speech. But I suppose you mean you don't care to go, if it will be any trouble to get you there. I can easily manage it, however, so you may consider it settled. You'll want a white frock, remember ; you'd better tell Betty you're going, and she'll see after making you tidy." Now, there v/ere two or thi-ee things to be done by Mr. Gibson, before he could feel quite comfortable about Molly's going to the festival at the Towers, and each of them involved a little trouble on his part. But he was very willing to gratify his little girl ; so the next day he rode over to the Towers, ostensibly to visit some sick housemaid, but, in reality, to throw himself in my lady's way, and get her to ratify Lord Cumnor's invitation to Molly. He chose his time, with a little natural diplomacy ; which, indeed, he had ofteu to exercise in his intercourse v/ith the great family. He rode into the stable-yard about twelve o'clock, a little before luncheon-time, and yet after the worry of opening the post-bag and discussing its con- tents was over. After he had put up his horse, he went in by the back-way to the house ; the " House " on this side, the " Towers" at the fi'ont. He saw his patient, gave his directions to the house- keeper, and then went out, vrith a rare wild-flower in his hand, to find one of the ladies Tranmere in the garden, where, according to his hope and calculation, he came upon Lady Cumnor too, — now talking to her daughter about the contents of an open letter which she held in her hand, now directing a gardener about certain bedding-out plants. " I was calling to see Nanny, and I took the opportunity of hringing Lady Agnes the plant I was telling her about as growing on Cumnor Moss." " Thank you, so much, Mr. Gibson. Blamma, look ! this is the Drosera rotundifu!ii( I have been wanting so long." " Ah ! yes ; very pretty I daresay, only I am uo botanist. Nanny is better, I hope ? We can't have any one laid up next TUB DAWN OF A G.VLA DAY. 7 wetk, for tlio house will be quite full of people,— ami Uoro arc the Diuibys wiiilins to olVor tlieniselves as well. Ouo cornea down for u foiUii-ht i.l' (luiot, ut Wkitsuutido, ami leaves half one's establish- ment in town, and as soon as people know of our being licrc, we get letters without end, longinj^ for a breath of cnunti7 air, or saymg how lovely the Towoi-s must look iu spring ; and I must own, Lord Cumuor is a great deal to bkimo for it all, for as soon as ever wc arc down here, he rides about to all the ucighboui's, and invites them to come over and spend a few days." '* We shall go back to town on Friday the Iftth," said Lady Agues, in a consolatory tone. " Ah, yes ! as soon as we have got over the school visitors' all'air. iUit it is a week to that happy day." '• By the way ! " said Mr. Gibson, availing himself of the good opening thus presented, " I met my lord at the Cross-trees Farm yesterday, and he was kind enough to ask my little daughter, who was with mo, to bo one of the party here on Thursday ; it would give the Lissic great pleasure, I believe." He paused for Lady Cumnor to speak. '• Oh, well ! if my lord asked her, I suppose she must come, but I wish he was not so amazingly hospitable ! Not but what the little girl will be quite welcome ; only, you see, he met a younger Miss Browning the other day, of whose existence I had never heard." " She visits at the school, mamma," said Lady Agues. " Weil, perhaps she does ; I never said she did not. I knew there was one visitor of the name of Browning ; I never knew there were two, but, of course, as soon as Lord Cumnor heard there was another, he must needs ask her ; so the carriage will have to go backwards and forwai'ds four times now to fetch them all. So your daughter can come quite easily, Mr. Gibson, .ind I shall be veiy glad to see her for your sake. She can sit bodl;iu with the l^.rownings, 1 suppose ? You'll arrange it all with them ; and mind you got Nanny well up to her work next week." Just as Mr. Gibson was going away, Lady Cumnor called after him, '• Oh ! by-the-by, Clare is hero ; you remember Clai'c, don't you ? She was a patient of yours, long ago." " Clare," he repeated, in a bewildered tftuc. " Don't you recollect her '? Miss Clare, our old governess," said Lady Agues. *' About twelve or fourteen years ago, before Lady Cuxhavcn was married." 8 WIYES AND DAUGHTERS. " Ob, yes! " said lie, "Miss Clare, who had the scarlet fever here ; a very pretty delicate girl. But I thought she was married ! " *' Yes ! " said Lady Cumuor. " She was a silly little thing, and did not know when she was well off ; we were all very fond of her, I'm sure. She went and married a poor curate, and became a stupid Mrs. Kirkpatrick ; but we always kept on calling her ' Clare.' And now he's dead, and left her a widow, and she is staying here ; and we are racking our brains to find out some way of helping her to a livelihood without parting her from her child. She's some- where about the grounds, if you like to renew your acquaintance with her." " Thank you, my lady. I am afraid I cannot stop to-day. I have a long round to go ; I have stayed here too long as it is, I am afraid." Long as his ride had been that day, he called on the Miss Brownings in the evening, to arrange about Molly's accompanying them to the Towers. They were tall handsome women, past their first youth, and inclined to be extremely complaisant to the widowed doctor. " Eh dear ! Mr. Gibson, but wc shall be delighted to have her with us. You should never have thought of asking us such a thing," said Miss Browning the elder. " I'm sure I'm hardly sleeping at nights for thinking of it," said Miss Phosbe. " You know I've never been there before. Sister has many a time ; but somehow, though my name has been down on the visitors" list these three years, the countess has never named me in her note ; and you know I could not push myself into notice, and go to such a grand place without being asked ; how could I ? " "I told Phoebe last yeai-," said her sister, "that I was sure it was only inadvertence, as one may call it, on the part of the countess, and that her ladyship would be as hurt as any one when she did not see Phoebe among the school visitors ; but Phoibe has got a delicate mind, you see, Mr. Gibson, and all I could say she would not go, but stopped here at home ; and it spoilt all my pleasure all that day, I do assure you, to think of Phoebe's face, as I saw it over the window-blinds, as I rode away ; her eyes were full of tears, if you'll believe me." »» " I had a good cry after you was gone, Sally," said Miss Phoebe; " but for all that I think I was right in stopping away from where I was not asked. Don't you, Mr. Gibson ? " Tin; DAWN OF A (JAI-A DAY. 9 " Certainly," eaiJ ho. " Ami you sic you aro f,'oing this year; and last year it raiiu'd." '* Yes ! I ri'iiu'iiilH r ! I set myself to tidy my drawers, to striug myself np, as it Moro ; and I was so takcu up with what 1 was about that I was quito startled when I heard the rain beating against the window-panes. '(Joodness me !' said I to myself, ' whatever will be- eomo of sister's white sntin shoes, if she has to walk about on soppy grass after such rain as this ? ' for, you see, I thought a deal about her having a pair of smart shoes ; and this year sho has gone and got me a white satin pair just as smart as hers, for a suqirise." " Molly will know she's to put on her best clothes," said Miss Bro^^^Iing. " Wo could perhaps lend her a few beads, or artificials, if she wants them. " " Molly must go in a cUaii white frock," said Mr. Gibson, rather hastily ; fi)r ho did not luliiiire tho Miss Brownings' taste in dress, and was unwilling to have his child decked up according to their fancy; he esteemed his old servant Betty's as tho more correct, because tho more simple. Miss Bro\niing had just a shade of annoyance in her tone as she drew herself up, and said, " Oh ! veiy well. It's quite right, I'm sure." But Miss Phoebe said, " Molly will look very nice in whatever she puts on, that's certain." ( 10 ) CHAPTER II. A NOVICE AMOXGST THE GllEAT FOLK. At ten o'clock ou the eventful Thursday the To^vers' carriage began its work. Molly ^Ya3 ready long before it made its first appearance, although it had been settled that she and the Miss Brownings were not to go until the last, or fourth, time of its coming. Her face had been soaped, scrubbed, and shone brilliantly clean ; her frills, her frock, her ribbons were all snow-white. She had on a black mode cloak that had been her mother's ; it was trimmed round with rich lace, and looked quaint and old-fashioned on the child. For the first time in her life she wore kid gloves ; hitherto she had only had cotton ones. Her gloves were far too large for the little dimpled fingers, but as Betty had told her they wore to last her for years, it Avas all very well. She trembled many a time, and almost turned faint once with the long expectation of the morning. Betty might say what she liked about a watched pot never boiling ; Molly never ceased to watch the approach through the winding street, and after tvi^o hours the carriage came for her at last. She had to sit very for- ward to avoid crushing the Miss Brownings' new dresses ; and yet not too forward, for fear of incommoding fat Mrs. Goodeuough and her niece, who occupied the front seat of the carriage ; so that alto- gether the fact of sitting down at all was rather doubtful, and to add to her discomfort, Molly felt herself to be very conspicuously placed in the centre of the carriage, a mark for all the observation of HoUingford. It was far too much of a gala day for the work of the little town to go forward with its usual regularity. Maid-servants gazed out of upper windows ; shopkeepers' wives stood on the door- steps ; cottagers ran out, with babies in their arms ; and little children, too young to know how to behave respectfully at the sight of an earl's carriage, huzzaed merrily as it bowled along. The A NOVICE AMONGar TUE OIIEAT 1 OLK. 11 Woman at tbo lodge held the gate open, and dropped a low curtsey to the liveries. And now tliey were in the Turk ; mid now they were in sight of the Towers, and silence fell upon the curriu>;e-full of ladies, only broken by one fuint remark from Mrs. Goodenough's niece, a stranger to the town, as they drew up before the double semicircle flight of steps which led to the door of the mansion. "They call that a perron, I believe, don't they '? " she asked. But the only answer she obtained was a simultaneous " hush." It was very awful, as Molly thought, and she half wished herself at homo again. But she lost all consciousness of herself by-aud-by when the party strolled out into the beautiful grounds, the like of which she had never even inurgiucd. Green velvet lawns, bathed in sunshine, stretched away on every side into the finely wooded park ; if there were divisions and ha-has between the soft sunny sweeps of grass, and the dark gloom of the forest-trees beyond, Molly did not see them ; and the melting away of exquisite cultivation into the wilderness had an inexplicable charm to her. Near the house there were walls and fences ; but they were covered with climbing roses, and rare honeysuckles and other creepers just bursting into bloom. Thero were flower-beds, too, scarlet, crimson, blue, orange ; masses of blossom lying on the greensward. Molly held Miss Browning's hand very tight as they loitered about in company with several other ladies, and marshalled by a daughter of the Towers, who seemed half amused at the voluble admiration showered down upon eveiy possible thing and place. Molly said nothing, as became her age and position, but every now and then she relieved her full heart by drawing a deep breath, almost like a sigh. Presently they came to the long glittering range of greenhouses and hothouses, and an attendant gardener was there to admit the party. Molly did not care for this half so much as for the flowers in the open air ; but Lady Agnes had a more scientific taste, she expatiated on the rarity of this plant, and the mode of cultivation required by that, till Molly began to feel verj- tired, and then very faint. She was too shy to speak for some time ; but at length, afraid of making a gi-euter sensation if she began to cry, or if she fell against the stands of precious flowers, she caught at Jliss Browning's hand, and gasped out — " May I go back, out into the garden '.' 1 can't breathe here ! " ** Oh, yes, to bo sure, love. I daresay it's hard understanding for you, love ; but it's very fine and instructive, and a deal of Latin in it too.'' 12 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. She turned hastily rountl not to lose another •word of Lady Agnes' lecture on orchids, and Molly turned back and passed out of the heated atmosphere. She felt better in the fresh air ; and unob- served, and at liberty, went fi-oin one lovely spot to another, now in the open park, 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 the tree-tops made an enclosing circle in the blue June sky ; she went along without more thought as to her whereabouts than a butterfly has, as it skims from flower to flower, till at length she grew very weary, and wished to return to the house, but did not know how, and felt afraid of encountering all the strangers who would be there, unprotected by cither of the Miss Bi'ownings. The hot sun told upon her head, and it began to ache. She saw a great wide- spreading cedar- tree upon a burst of lawn towards which she was advancing, and the black repose beneath its branches lured her thither. There was a rustic seat in the shadow, and weary Molly sate down there, and presently fell asleep. She was startled from her slumbers after a time, and jumped to her feet. Two ladies were standing by her, talking about her. They were perfect strangers to her, and with a vague conviction that she had done 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 the people from Hollingford, I have no doubt," said the oldest- looking of the two ladies ; she who appeared to be about forty, though she did not really number more than thirty years. She was plain-featured, and had rather a severe expression on her face ; her dress was as rich as any morning dress could be ; her voice deep and unmodulated, — what in a lower rank of life would have been called grufi'; but that was not a word to apply to Lady Cuxhavcn, the eldest daughter of the earl and countess. The other lady looked much younger, but she was in fact some years the elder; at first sight Molly thought she was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, and she was certainly a very lovely woman. Her voice, too, was soft and plaintive, as she replied to Lady Cuxhaven, — "Poor little darling! she is overcome by the heat, I have no doubt — such a heavy straw bonnet, too. Let me untie it for you, my dear." Molly now found voice to say — " I am Molly Gibson, please. I A NOVICE AMONGST THK ORKAT FOLK, 13 canu» hero, with ^liss iSrowniiigs ; " for her great fcur was that hLo bhuiiKl be taken for an iiuauthori/ed intruder. " Miss BrowTiings ? " said Lady Cuxhaven to lier companion, an if iniiiiiriuf^ly. '* I think thoy were the two tall large young women that Lady Agues was talking about." " Oh, I daresay. I saw she had a number of people in tow ; " then looking again at Mt)lly, she said, "Have you had anything to eat, child, since you came? You look a very white little thing; or is it tlic heat ? " '• I have had nothing to cat,"' said Molly, rather pitcously ; for, indeed, before she fell asleep she had been very hungry. The two ladies spoke to each other in a low voice ; then the elder said in a voice of authority, which, indeed, she had always used in speaking to the other, " Sit still here, my dear ; we arc going to the liouse, and Clare shall bring you something to cat before you trj- to walk back ; it must be a quarter of a mile at least." So they went away, and Molly sat upright, waiting for the promised messenger. She did not know who Clare might be, and she did not care much for food now ; but she felt as if she could not walk without some help. At length she saw the pretty lady coming back, followed by a lootman with a small tray. " Look how kind Lady Cuxhaven is," said she who was called Clare. "She chose you out this little lunch herself ; and now you must try and eat it, and you'll bo quite right when you've had some food, darling — You need not stop, Edwards ; I will bring the tray back with me." There was some bread, and some cold chicken, and some jelly, and a glass of wine, and a bottle of sparkling water, and a bunch of grapes. Molly put out her trembling little hand for the water ; but slie was too faint to hold it. Clare put it to her mouth, and she took a long draught and was refreshed. I'.ut she could not eat ; she tried, but she could not ; her headache was too bad. Clare looked bewil- dered. " Take some grapes, they will be the best for you ; yon must try and cat something, or I don't know how I shall got 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 gentle voice, not at all as if she was angry, only expressing an obvious truth. Molly felt very guilty and veiy unhappy. Clare went on. 14 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. with a shade of asperity in her tone : " You see, I don't know what to do with you here if you don't eat enough to enable you to walk home. And I've been out for these three hours trapesing about the grounds till I'm as tired as can be, and missed my lunch and all." Then, as if a new idea had struck her, she said, — " You lie back in that seat for a few minutes, and tiy 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 want this chicken ? " Molly did as she was bid, and leant back, picking languidly at the grapes, and watching the good appetite with which the lady ate up the chicken and jelly, and drank the glass of wine. She was so pretty and so gi'aceiul in her deep mourning, that even her hurry in eating, as if she was afraid of some one coming to surprise her in the act, did not keep her little observer from admiring her in all she did. " And now, darling, are you ready to go ? " said she, when she had eaten up evcijthing on the tray. " Oh, come ; you have nearly finished your grapes ; that's a good girl. Now, if you will come with me to the side entrance, I will take you up to my own room, and you shall lie down on the bed for an hour or two ; and if you have a good nap your headache will be quite gone." So they set off, Clare carrying the empty tray, rather to Molly's shame ; but the child had enough work to drag herself along, and was afraid of offering to do anything more. The *' side entrance " was a flight of steps leading up from a private flower-garden into a private matted hall, or ante-room, out of which many doors opened, and in which were deposited the light garden-tools and the bows and arrows of the young ladies of the house. Lady Cuxhaven must have seen their approach, for she met them in this hall as soon as they came in. " 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 good old 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 have told Lady Cuxhaven that she herself had helped to finish up the ample luncheon ; but no such idea seemed to come into her mind. She only said, — " Poor dear ! she is not quite the thing yet ; has got a headache, she says. I am going to put her down on my bed, to see if she can get a little sleep." A NOVICE AMONGST THE GREAT FOLK. 15 Molly saw Lady Cuxhaven say something in a lialf-laufjliiiig mauucr to " Clari'," as sbo passod her ; and the child could not keep from tormenting herself by fancying that tho words spoken sounded wonderfully like " Over-eaten herself, I suspect." However, she felt too poorly to worr}- herself long ; tho littlo whito bed in tho cool and pretty room had too many attractions for her aching head. The muslin curtains flapped softly from time to time in the scented air that came through tho open windows. Clare covered her up with a light shawl, and darkened the room. As she was going away Molly roused herself to say, " Please, ma'am, don't let them go away without me. Please ask somebody to waken mc if I go to sleep. I am to go back with Miss Brownuigs." " Don't trouble yourself about it, dear ; I'll tako care," said Clare, turning round at tho door, and kissing her hand to little anxious Molly. And then she went away, and thought no more about it. Tho carriages carao round at half-past four, hunied a little by Lady Cumnor, who had suddenly become tired of the business of entertaining, and annoyed at the repetition of indisciiminating admi- ration. " "Why cot have both carnages out, mamma, and get rid of them all at once ? " said Lady Cuxhaven. " This going by instalments is the most tiresome thing that could be imagined." So at last there had been a great huri-y and an unmethodical way of packing off ever}- one at once. Miss Bro^vning had gone in the chariot (or "chawyot," as Lady Cumnor called it ; — it rhymed to her daughter. Lady Hawyot — or Harriet, as the name was spelt in the Pecnirfc), and Miss Phoebe had been speeded along with several other guests, away in a great roomy family conveyance, of tho kind which wo should now call an " omnibus." Each thought that Molly Gibson was with the other, and the tnith was, that she lay fast asleep on Mrs. Kirk- patrick's bed — Mrs. Kirkpatrick ne'e Clare. The housemaids came in to arrange the room. Their talkin"^ aroused Molly, who sat up on tho bed, and tried to push back the hair fi'om her hot forehead, and to remember where she was. She dropped down on her feet by the side of the bed, to the astonish- ment 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 tho bed ? Are you one of the HoUingford ladies, my dear? They are all gone this hour or more ! " 16 WrV'ES AND DAFGHTEES. " Oh, clear, what shall I do ? That lady they caU Clare promised to waken me in time. Papa will so wonder where I am, and I don't know what Betty will say." The child hegan to cry, and the housemaids looked at each other in some dismay and much sympathy. Just then, they heard Mrs. Kirkpatrick's step along the passages, approaching. She was singing some little Italian air in a low musical voice, coming to her bedroom to dress for dinner. One housemaid said to the other, with a knowing look, " Best leave it to her ; " and they passed on to their work in the other rooms. Mrs. Kirkpatrick opened the door, and stood aghast at the sight of Molly. " Why, I quite forgot you ! " she said at length, " Nay, don't cry ; you'll make yourself not fit to he seen. Of course I must take the consequences of your over-sleeping yourself, and if I can't manage to get you hack to HoUingford to-night, you shall sleep with me, and we'll do our best to send you home to-morrow morning." "But papa!" sobbed out Molly. "He always wants me to make tea for him ; and I have no night-things." " Well, don't go and make a piece of work about what can't be helped now. I'll lend you night-things, and your papa must do without your making tea for him to-night. And another time don't over-sleep j^ourself in a strange house ; you may not always find yourself among such hospitable people as they are here. Why now, if you don't cry and make a figure of yourself, I'll ask if you maj"^ come in to dessert with Master Smythe and the little ladies. You shall go into the nursery, and have some tea with them ; and then you must come back here and brush your hair and make yourself tidy. I think it is a very fine thing for you to be stopping in such a grand house as this ; many a little girl would like nothing better." During this speech she was arranging her toilette for dinner — taking ofi" her black morning gown ; putting on her dressing-gown ; shaking her long soft auburn hair over her shoulders, and glancing about the room in search of various articles of her dress, — a running flow of easy talk came babbling out all the time. " I have a little girl of my own, dear ! I don't know what she would not give to be staying here at Lord Cumnor's with me ; but, instead of that, she has to spend her holidays at school ; and yet you are looking as miserable as can be at the thought of stopping for just one night. I really have been as busy as can be with those tiresome A NOVICE AMONGST THE CHEAT FOLK. 17 — tlioso good Inillcrt, I mean, from HoUingforJ — and ono can't think of everything at a time." Molly — only child us she was — hud stopped her tears at the montion of that little girl of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's, and now she ven- tured to say, — " Arc you nianued, lua'am ; I thought she called you Clare ? " In high good-humour ^Irs. Kirkpatrick made reply : — " I don't look as if I was married, do 1? Kvi-ry one is surprised. And yet I have been a widow for seven months now : and not a grey hair on my head, though Lady Cuxhavcn, who is younger than I, has ever so many. " " Why do they call you ' Clare ? ' " continued Molly, finding her 80 affable and communicative. " Because I lived with them when I was Miss Clare. It is a pretty name, isn't it '? I married a Mr. Kirkpatrick ; he was only a curate, poor fellow ; but he was of a ver}' good family, and if three of his relations had died without children I should have been a baronet's wife. But Providence did not see fit to permit it ; and we must always resign ourselves to what is decreed. Two of his cousins married, and had large families; and poor dear Kirkpatrick died, leaving me a widow." " You have a little girl '?" asked Molly. " Yes : darling Cynthia ! I wish you could see her ; she is my only comfort now. If I have time I will show you her picture when we come up to bed ; but I must go now. It does not do to keep Lady Cumuor waiting a moment, and she asked mc to be down early, to help with some of the people in the house. Now I shall ring this bell, and when the housemaid comes, ask her to take you into the nursery, and to tell Lady Cuxhaven's nurse who you are. And then you'll have tea with the little ladies, and come in with them to dessert. There ! I'm sorry you've overslept yourself, and are left hero ; but give mc a kiss, and don't cr}* — you really arc rather a pretty child, though you've not got Cynthia's colouring ! Oh, Nanny, would you be so very kind as to take this young lady — (what's your name, my dear? (ribson ?V — Miss Gibson, to Mrs. Dyson, in the nursery, and ask her to allow her to drink tea with the young ladies there ; and to send her in with them to dessert. Ill explain it all to my lady." Nanny's face brightened out of its gloom when she heard the name Gibson ; and, having ascertained from ilolly that she was Vol. I. 2 18 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. "tlic doctor's" child, she showed more willingness to comply with Mrs. Kirkpatrick's request than was usual with her. Molly was an ohligiug girl, and fond of children ; so, as long as she was in the nursery, she got on pretty well, being obedient to the wishes of the supreme power, and eyen very useful to Mrs. Dyson, by playing at tricks, and thus keeping a little one quiet while its brothers aoid sisters were being arrayed in gay attire, — lace and muslin, and velvet, and brilliant broad ribbons. " Now, miss," said Mrs. Dyson, when her own especial charge were all ready, ' ' 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 it have 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's brushing and perfuming her hair. She thought she would rather have stayed in the park all night long, and slept under the beautiful quiet cedar, than have to undergo the unknown ordeal of " going down to dessert," which was evidently regarded both by children and nurses as the event of the day. At length there was a summons from a footman, and Mrs. Dyson, in a rustling silk gown, marshalled her convoy, and set sail for the dining-room door. There was a large party of gentlemen and ladies sitting round the decked table, in the brilliantly lighted room. Each dainty little child ran up to its mother, or aunt, or particular friend ; but Molly had no one to go to. " Who is that tall girl in the thick white frock ? Not one of the children of the house, I think ? " The lady addressed put up her glass, gazed at Molly, and dropped it in an instant. " A French girl, I should imagine. I know Lady Cuxhaven was inquiring for one to bring up with her little girls, that they might get a good accent early. Poor little woman, she looks wild and strange ! " And the speaker, who sate next to Lord Cum- nor, made a little sign to Molly to come to her ; Molly crept up to her as to the first shelter ; but when the lady began talking to her in French, she blushed 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 of an explanation. Lord Cumnor caught the words and the tone. " Oh, ho ! " said he. "Arc you the little girl who has been sleeping in my bed ?" A NOVICE A.MOX(;ST TUK OUKAT FOLK. td lie imitated tlio deep voice of the fabulous bear, who asks tliis question of the little child iu the story ; but Molly had never read tho ** Three Bears," and fancied that his anger was real ; she trembled a little, and drew nearer to the kind lady who had beckoned her as to a n-fu^'e. Lord C'umnor was very fynd of f,'ettiug hold of what he fancied was a joke, and working his idea threadbare ; so all tlie time the ladies were in the room ho kept on his running fire at Molly, alluding to the Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Sleepers, and any other fiiiuous sleeper that came into his head. He had no idea of the misery his jokes were to the sensitive girl, who ah-eady thought herself a miserable sinner, for having slept on, when she ought to have been awake. If Molly had been iu tho habit of putting two and two together, she might have found an excuse for herself, by re- membering that Mrs. Kirkpatrick had promised faithfully to awaken lior in time ; but all the girl thought of was, how httlc they wanted her in this grand house ; how she must seem like a careless iutrader who had no business there. Once or twice she wondered where her father was. and whether he was missing her ; but the thought of the familiar happiness of home brought such a choking iu her thi-oat, that she felt she must not give way to it, for fear of bursting out crving ; and she had instinct enough to feel that, as she was left at the Towers, the less trouble she gave, the more she kept herself out of observation, tho better. She followed tho ladies out of tho dining-room, almost hoping that no one would see her. But that was impossible, and she im- niodiately became the subject of conversation between the awful Lady Cumuor and her kind neighbour at dinner. " Do you know, I thought this young lady was French when I first saw her '? she has got the black hair and eyelashes, and grey eyes, and colourless complexion which one meets with iu some parts of France, and I know Lady Cuxharen was trying to find a well- educated girl who would be a pleasant companion to her children." " No ! " said Lady Cumuor, looking very stern, as Molly thought. " She is the daughter of our medical man at HoUingford ; she came with the school visitors this morning, and she was overcome by the heat and fell asleep in Clare's room, and somehow managed to over-sleep herself, and did not waken up till all the carriages were gone. We will send her home to-morrow morning, but for to-night she must stay here, and Clare is kind enough to say she may sleep with her." 20 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. There was an implied blame running through this speech, that Molly felt like needle-points all over her. Lady Cuxhaven came up at this moment. Her tone was as deep, her manner of speaking as abrupt and authoritative, as her mother's, but Molly felt the kinder nature underneath. " How are you now, my dear ? You look better than you did under the cedar-tree. So you're to stop here to-night ? Clare, don't you think we could find some of those books of engravings that would interest Miss Gibson.'' Mrs. Kirkpatrick came gliding up to the place where Molly stood ; and began petting her with pretty words and actions, while Lady Cuxhaven turned over heavy volumes in search of one that might interest the girl. " 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 me about his travels. Ah, here is a nice book — Loihjcs Portraits; now I'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 charge of her ; pray leave her to me ! " Molly grew hotter and hotter as these last words met her ear. If they would only leave her alone, and not labour at being kind to her; would "not trouble themselves" about her! These words of Mrs. Kirkpatrick" s seemed to quench the gratitude she was feeling to Lady Cuxhaven for looking for something to amuse her. But, of course, it was 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 could look round the room, unobserved, and, sure, never was any place out of a king's house so grand and magnificent. Large mirrors, velvet curtains, pictures in their gilded frames, a multitude of dazzling lights decorated the vast saloon, and the floor was studded with groups of ladies and gentlemen, all dressed in gorgeous attire. Suddenly Molly bethought her of the children whom she had accompanied into the dining-room, and to whose ranks she had appeared to belong, — where were they ? Gone to bed an hour before, at some quiet signal from their mother. Molly wondered if she might go, too — if she could ever find her way back to the haven of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's bedroom. But she was at some distance from the door ; a long way from Mrs. Kirkpatrick, to whom she felt her- A NOYirt: AMON(}ST THK OUEAT FOLK. 21 self to belong more than to any one else. Far, too, from Lady Cux- liavon, and tlio tcrrililo Laily Cumnor, and lur jocoso and f,'ood- naturod lord. So Molly sato on, turning over pictures which she did not SCO ; lier heart growing henvior and heavier in the desolation of all this f^'randcur. Presently a footman entered thi; room, and after a moment's looking about him, he went uj) to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, where she sato at the piano, the centre of the musical portion of the company, ready to accompany any singer, and smiling pleasantly as she willingly acceded to all requests. .She came now towards Molly, in her corner, and said to her, — " Do you know, darling, your papa has come for you, and brought your pony for you to rido home ; so I shall lose my little bedfellow, for I suppose you must go." Go ! was there a question of it in IMully's mind, as she stood up quiveriug, sparkling, almost crying out loud. She was brought to her senses, though, by Mrs. Kirkpatrick's next words. * " You must go and wish Lady Cumnor good-night, you know, my dear, and thank her ladyship for her kindness to you. She is there, near that statue, talking to Mr. Courtenay." Yes ! she was there — forty feet away — a hundred miles away ! All that blank space had to be crossed ; and then a speech to be made ! " Must I go ? " asked Molly, in the most pitiful and pleading voice possible. " Yes ; make haste about it ; there is nothing so fonuidable iu it, is there?" replied Mrs. Kirkpatrick, in a sharper voice than before, aware that they were wanting her at the piano, and anxious to get the business iu hand done as soon as possible. Molly stood still for a minute, then, looking up, she said, softly, — " Would you mind coming with mo. please ? " "No! not I!" said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, seeing that her com- pliance was likely to be the most spetdy way of gettiug through the affair ; so she took Molly's, hand, and, on the way, iu passing the group at the piano, she said, smiling, in her pretty genteel manner, — " Our little friend hero is shy and modest, and wants me to ac- company her to Ijady 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 22 WIVES AND DAUGHTEES. hand out of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's on hearing these words, and going a step or two in advance came up to Lady Cumnor, grand in purple velvet, and dropping 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 wish you good-night, and thank you for your kindness. Your ladyship's kindness, I mean," she said, con-ecting herself as she remembered Miss Browning's particular instructions as to the eti- quette to be observed to earls and countesses, and their honourable progeny, as they were given that morning on the road to the Towers. She got out of the saloon somehow ; she believed afterwards, on thinking about it, that she had never bidden good-by to Lady Cux- haven, or Mrs. Kirkpatrick, or " all the rest of them," as she irre- verently styled them in her thoughts. *Mr. Gibson was in the housekeeper's room, when Molly ran in, rather to the stately Mrs. Brown's discomfiture. She threw her arms round her father's neck. " Oh, papa, papa, papa ! I am so glad you have come ; " and then she burst out crying, stroking his face almost hysterically as if to make sure he was there. "Why, what a noodle you are, Molly! Did you think I was going to give up my little girl to live at the Towers all the rest of her life ? You make 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 you for a shawl, or a plaid, or a wrap of some kind to pin about her for a petticoat ? " He did not mention that he had come home from a long round not half an hour before, a round from which he had returned dinner- less and hungry ; but, on finding that Molly had not come back from the Towers, he had ridden his tired horse round by Miss Brownings', and found them in self- reproachful, helpless dismay. He would not wait to listen to their tearful apologies ; he galloped home, had a fresh horse and Molly's pony saddled, and though Betty called after him with a riding-skirt for the child, when he was not ten yards from his ovm stable-door, he refused to turn back for it, but went off, as Dick the stableman said, " muttering to himself awful." Mrs. Brown had her bottle of wine out, and her plate of cake, before Molly came back from her long expedition to Mrs. Kirk- patrick's room, " pretty nigh on to a quarter of a mile off,'' ^s the housekeeper informed the impatient father, as he waited for his child A NOVIC!-: AMONGST TOE CUKAT lOI-K. 23 to como (lowii ftrmyod iu her morning's finery with the gloss of new- ness worn olV. ^Ir. Gibson was a favourito in all the Towers' house- hold, as family doctors penerally aro ; brinj^iug hopes of relief at times of anxiety and distress ; and Mrs. Hrown, who was subject to fjout, especially delighted in potting him whenever ho would allow hor. She oven wont out into the stable-yard to pin Molly up in the nhawl. as she sate upon the ntugh-coated pony, and hazarded the somewhat safe conjecture, — " I daresay she'll bo happier at home, Mr. Gibson,"' as they rode away. Once out into the park Molly strack hor pony, and urged him oa as hard 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 such a pace. Stop." And as she drew rein ho rode up alongside of her. '• We're getting into the shadow of the trees, and it's not safe riding fast here." " Oh ! i)apa, I never was so glad in all my life. I felt like a lighted candle when they're putting the extinguisher on it." " Did you ? How d'ye know what the caudle feels ?" " Oh, I don't know, but I did." And again, after a pause, she said, — ** Oh, I am so glad to be here ! It is so pleasant riding hero in the open free, fresh air, crushing out such a good smell from the dewy grass. Papa ! are you there '? I can't see you." He rode close up alongside of her : ho was not sure but what she might be afraid of riiliug in the dark shadows, so he laid his hand upon hei-s. " Oh ! I am so glad to feel you," squeezing his hand hard. " Papa, I should like to get a chain like Ponto's, just as long as your longest round, and then I could fasten us two to each end of it, juid when I wanted you I could pull, and if you did not want to come, you could pull back again ; but I should know you knew I wanted you, and wo could never lose each other." '' I'm rather lost iu that plan of yours ; the details, as you state them, are a little puzzling ; but if I make them out rightly, I am to go about the couutr}', like the donkeys on the common, with a clog fastened to my hind leg." " I don't mind your calling mo a clog, if only we were fastened together." " But I do mind you calling mc a doukcy," he replied. 24 WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. " I never did. At least I did not mean to. But it is such a comfort to know that I may be as rude as I like." " Is that what you've learnt from the grand company you've been keeping to-day ? I expected to find you so polite and cere- monious, that I read a few chapters of Sir Charles Grandisvn, in order to bring myself up to concert pitch." " Oh, I do hope I shall never be a lord or a lady." " "Well, to comfort j'ou, I'll tell you this : I'm sure you'll never be a lord ; and I tliink the chances are a thousand to one against your ever being the other, in the sense in which you mean." " I should lose myself every time I had to fetch my bonnet, or else get tired of long passages and great staircases long before I could go out walking." " But you'd have your lady's-maid, you know." " Do you know, papa, I tliink lady's-maids are worse than ladies. I should not mind being a housekeeper so much." " No ! the jam-cupboards and dessert would lie very conveniently to one's hand," replied her father, meditatively. " But Mrs. Brown tells me that the thought of the dinners often keeps her from sleeping ; there's that anxiety to be taken into consideration. Still, in eveiy condition of life, there are heavy cares and responsibilities." "Well! I suppose so," said Molly, gravely. "I know Betty says I wear her life out with the green stains I get in my frocks from sitting in the cheny-trce." " And Miss Browning said she had fretted herself into a headache with thinking how they had left you behind. I'm afraid you'll be as bad as a 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 beauti- ful ! and I lost myself, and sat down to rest under a gi'eat tree ; and Lady Cuxhaven and that Mrs. Kirkpatrick came ; and Mrs. Kirk- patrick brought me some lunch, and then put me to sleep on her bed, — and I thought she would waken me in time, and she did not ; and so they'd all gone away ; and when they planned for me to stop till to-morrow, I didn't like saying how very, very much I wanted to go home, — but I kept thinking 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 this long afternoon." A NOVICK AMOK(;ST TIIK (HIKAT lOLK. 25 Mr. (iibsou thought it his duty to ride round by tho Towers, aud pay n visit of iipology iind tlinnks to the fuinily, bi'fure they left for Lundon. He found tliein all on tlie wing, and no one was sulhciently at liberty to listen to his grateful civilities but Mra. Kirkpatrick, who, altli(>uj,'h she was to accompany Tiady Cuxhavcn, and pay a visit to her former pupil, made leisure enough to receive Mr. (iibson, on behalf of tho family ; and assured hira of her faithful remembranco of his great professional attention to her iu former days in the most winuiuii manner. ( 2G_ ) CHAPTER III. MOLLY GIESOX'S CHILDHOOD. Sixteen years before this time, all lioUingford had been disturbed to its foundations by the intelligence that Mr. Hall, the skilful doctor, who had attended them all their days, was going to take a partner. It was no use reasoning to them on the subject ; so Mr. Browning the vicar, Mr. Sheepshanks (Lord Cumnor's agent), and Mr. Hall him- self, the masculine reasoners of the little society, left off the attempt, feeling that the Che sarli mm would prove more silencing to the murmurs than many arguments. Mr. Hall had told his faithful patients that, even with the strongest spectacles, his sight was not to be depended upon ; and they might have found out for them- selves that his hearing was very defective, although, on this point, he obstinately adhered to his own opinion, and v/as fi-equently heard to regret the carelessness of people's communication nowadays, "like writing on blotting-paper, all the words running into each other," he would say. And more than once Mr. Hall had had attacks of a, suspicious nature, — "rheumatism" he used to call them ; but he prescribed for himself as if they had been gout, which had prevented his immediate attention to imperative summonses. But, blind and deaf, and rheumatic as he might be, he V!as still Mr. Hall the doctor who could heal all theii- ailments — unless they died meanwhile — and he had no right to speak of growdng old, and taking a partner. He went very steadily to work all the same ; advertising in medical journals, reading testimonials, sifting character and qualifi- cations ; and just when the elderly maiden ladies of HoUiugford thought that they had convinced their contemporary that he was as young as ever, he startled them by bringing his nev/ partner, Mr. Gibson, to call upon them, and began " slyly," as these ladies said, to introduce him into practice. And "who was this Mr. Gibson '?" they ^ MOIiLY GIBSON'S CHILDHOOD. 27 ftskoil, and echo might nnswcr the qncstion, if she likcil, for no one else (lid. No