It was afternoon. Molly had gone out for a walk. Mrs. Gibson had been
paying some calls. Lazy Cynthia had declined accompanying either. A
daily walk was not a necessity to her as it was to Molly. On a lovely
day, or with an agreeable object, or when the fancy took her, she
could go as far as any one; but these were exceptional cases; in
general, she was not disposed to disturb herself from her in-door
occupations. Indeed, not one of the ladies would have left the house,
had they been aware that Roger was in the neighbourhood; for they
were aware that he was to come down but once before his departure,
and that his stay at home then would be but for a short time, and
they were all anxious to wish him good-by before his long absence.
But they had understood that he was not coming to the Hall until
the following week, and therefore they had felt themselves at full
liberty this afternoon to follow their own devices.
Molly chose a walk that had been a favourite with her ever since she
was a child. Something or other had happened just before she left
home that made her begin wondering how far it was right for the sake
of domestic peace to pass over without comment the little deviations
from right that people perceive in those whom they live with. Or
whether, as they are placed in families for distinct purposes, not by
chance merely, there are not duties involved in this aspect of their
lot in life,--whether by continually passing over failings, their own
standard is not lowered,--the practical application of these thoughts
being a dismal sort of perplexity on Molly's part as to whether her
father was quite aware of her stepmother's perpetual lapses from
truth; and whether his blindness was wilful or not. Then she felt
bitterly enough that although she was sure as could be that there
was no real estrangement between her and her father, yet there were
perpetual obstacles thrown in the way of their intercourse; and she
thought with a sigh that if he would but come in with authority, he
might cut his way clear to the old intimacy with his daughter, and
that they might have all the former walks and talks, and quips and
cranks, and glimpses of real confidence once again; things that her
stepmother did not value, yet which she, like the dog in the manger,
prevented Molly's enjoying. But after all Molly was a girl, not so
far removed from childhood; and in the middle of her grave regrets
and perplexities, her eye was caught by the sight of some fine
ripe blackberries flourishing away high up on the hedge-bank among
scarlet hips and green and russet leaves. She did not care much for
blackberries herself; but she had heard Cynthia say that she liked
them; and besides there was the charm of scrambling and gathering
them; so she forgot all about her troubles, and went climbing up the
banks, and clutching at her almost inaccessible prizes, and slipping
down again triumphant, to carry them back to the large leaf which was
to serve her as a basket. One or two of them she tasted, but they
were as vapid to her palate as ever. The skirt of her pretty print
gown was torn out of the gathers, and even with the fruit she had
eaten "her pretty lips with blackberries were all besmeared and
dyed," when having gathered as many and more than she could possibly
carry, she set off home, hoping to escape into her room and mend her
gown before it had offended Mrs. Gibson's neat eye. The front door
was easily opened from the outside, and Molly was out of the clear
light of the open air and in the shadow of the hall, when she saw a
face peep out of the dining-room before she quite recognized whose it
was; and then Mrs. Gibson came softly out, sufficiently at least to
beckon her into the room. When Molly had entered Mrs. Gibson closed
the door. Poor Molly expected a reprimand for her torn gown and
untidy appearance, but was soon relieved by the expression of Mrs.
Gibson's face--mysterious and radiant.