He brought Mrs. Hamley through this attack; and for a day or two the
Squire's alarm and gratitude made him docile in Mr. Gibson's hands.
Then he returned to the idea of its being a crisis through which his
wife had passed; and that she was now on the way to recovery. But
the day after the consultation with Dr. Nicholls, Mr. Gibson said to
Molly,--
"Molly! I've written to Osborne and Roger. Do you know Osborne's
address?"
"No, papa. He's in disgrace. I don't know if the Squire knows; and
she has been too ill to write."
"Never mind. I'll enclose it to Roger; whatever those lads may be to
others, there's as strong brotherly love as ever I saw, between the
two. Roger will know. And, Molly, they are sure to come home as soon
as they hear my report of their mother's state. I wish you'd tell the
Squire what I've done. It's not a pleasant piece of work; and I'll
tell madam myself in my own way. I'd have told him if he'd been at
home; but you say he was obliged to go to Ashcombe on business."
"Quite obliged. He was so sorry to miss you. But, papa, he will be so
angry! You don't know how mad he is against Osborne."
Molly dreaded the Squire's anger when she gave him her father's
message. She had seen quite enough of the domestic relations of
the Hamley family to understand that, underneath his old-fashioned
courtesy, and the pleasant hospitality he showed to her as a guest,
there was a strong will, and a vehement passionate temper, along with
that degree of obstinacy in prejudices (or "opinions," as he would
have called them) so common to those who have, neither in youth nor
in manhood, mixed largely with their kind. She had listened, day
after day, to Mrs. Hamley's plaintive murmurs as to the deep disgrace
in which Osborne was being held by his father--the prohibition of his
coming home; and she hardly knew how to begin to tell him that the
letter summoning Osborne had already been sent off.
Their dinners were tête-à-tête. The Squire tried to make them
pleasant to Molly, feeling deeply grateful to her for the soothing
comfort she was to his wife. He made merry speeches, which sank
away into silence, and at which they each forgot to smile. He
ordered up rare wines, which she did not care for, but tasted out of
complaisance. He noticed that one day she had eaten some brown beurré
pears as if she liked them; and as his trees had not produced many
this year, he gave directions that this particular kind should be
sought for through the neighbourhood. Molly felt that, in many ways,
he was full of good-will towards her; but it did not diminish her
dread of touching on the one sore point in the family. However, it
had to be done, and that without delay.