"I've been watching for you, dear. Don't go upstairs into the
drawing-room, love. It might be a little interruption just now. Roger
Hamley is there with Cynthia; and I've reason to think--in fact I did
open the door unawares, but I shut it again softly, and I don't think
they heard me. Isn't it charming? Young love, you know, ah, how sweet
it is!"
"Do you mean that Roger has proposed to Cynthia?" asked Molly.
"Not exactly that. But I don't know; of course I know nothing. Only I
did hear him say that he had meant to leave England without speaking
of his love, but that the temptation of seeing her alone had been too
great for him. It was symptomatic, was it not, my dear? And all I
wanted was to let it come to a crisis without interruption. So I've
been watching for you to prevent your going in and disturbing them."
"But I may go to my own room, mayn't I," pleaded Molly.
"Of course," said Mrs. Gibson, a little testily. "Only I had expected
sympathy from you at such an interesting moment."
But Molly did not hear these last words. She had escaped upstairs,
and shut her door. Instinctively she had carried her leaf full of
blackberries--what would blackberries be to Cynthia now? She felt
as if she could not understand it all; but as for that matter, what
could she understand? Nothing. For a few minutes her brain seemed
in too great a whirl to comprehend anything but that she was being
carried on in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and
trees, with as little volition on her part as if she were dead.
Then the room grew stifling, and instinctively she went to the open
casement window, and leant out, gasping for breath. Gradually the
consciousness of the soft peaceful landscape stole into her mind, and
stilled the buzzing confusion. There, bathed in the almost level rays
of the autumn sunlight, lay the landscape she had known and loved
from childhood; as quiet, as full of low humming life as it had been
at this hour for many generations. The autumn flowers blazed out in
the garden below, the lazy cows were in the meadow beyond, chewing
their cud in the green aftermath; the evening fires had just been
made up in the cottages beyond, in preparation for the husband's
home-coming, and were sending up soft curls of blue smoke into the
still air; the children, let loose from school, were shouting merrily
in the distance, and she-- Just then she heard nearer sounds; an
opened door, steps on the lower flight of stairs. He could not
have gone without even seeing her. He never, never would have done
so cruel a thing--never would have forgotten poor little Molly,
however happy he might be! No! there were steps and voices, and the
drawing-room door was opened and shut once more. She laid down her
head on her arms that rested upon the window-sill, and cried,--she
had been so distrustful as to have let the idea enter her mind that
he could go without wishing her good-by--her, whom his mother had so
loved, and called by the name of his little dead sister. And as she
thought of the tender love Mrs. Hamley had borne her she cried the
more, for the vanishing of such love for her off the face of the
earth. Suddenly the drawing-room door opened, and some one was heard
coming upstairs; it was Cynthia's step. Molly hastily wiped her eyes,
and stood up and tried to look unconcerned; it was all she had time
to do before Cynthia, after a little pause at the closed door, had
knocked; and on an answer being given, had said, without opening
the door,--"Molly! Mr. Roger Hamley is here, and wants to wish you
good-by before he goes." Then she went downstairs again, as if
anxious just at that moment to avoid even so short a tête-à-tête with
Molly. With a gulp and a fit of resolution, as a child makes up its
mind to swallow a nauseous dose of medicine, Molly went instantly
downstairs.