One day, for some reason or other, Mr. Gibson came home unexpectedly.
He was crossing the hall, having come in by the garden-door--the
garden communicated with the stable-yard, where he had left his
horse--when the kitchen door opened, and the girl who was underling
in the establishment, came quickly into the hall with a note in her
hand, and made as if she was taking it upstairs; but on seeing her
master she gave a little start, and turned back as if to hide herself
in the kitchen. If she had not made this movement, so conscious of
guilt, Mr. Gibson, who was anything but suspicious, would never have
taken any notice of her. As it was, he stepped quickly forwards,
opened the kitchen door, and called out "Bethia" so sharply that she
could not delay coming forwards.
"Give me that note," he said. She hesitated a little.
"It's for Miss Molly," she stammered out.
"Give it to me!" he repeated more quickly than before. She looked as
if she would cry; but still she kept the note tight held behind her
back.
"He said as I was to give it into her own hands; and I promised as I
would, faithful."
"Cook, go and find Miss Molly. Tell her to come here at once."
He fixed Bethia with his eyes. It was of no use trying to escape: she
might have thrown it into the fire, but she had not presence of mind
enough. She stood immovable, only her eyes looked any way rather than
encounter her master's steady gaze. "Molly, my dear!"
"Papa! I did not know you were at home," said innocent, wondering
Molly.
"Bethia, keep your word. Here is Miss Molly; give her the note."
"Indeed, miss, I couldn't help it!"
Molly took the note, but before she could open it, her father
said,--"That's all, my dear; you needn't read it. Give it to me. Tell
those who sent you, Bethia, that all letters for Miss Molly must pass
through my hands. Now be off with you, goosey, and go back to where
you came from."
"Papa, I shall make you tell me who my correspondent is."
"We'll see about that, by-and-by."
She went a little reluctantly, with ungratified curiosity, upstairs
to Miss Eyre, who was still her daily companion, if not her
governess. He turned into the empty dining-room, shut the door,
broke the seal of the note, and began to read it. It was a flaming
love-letter from Mr. Coxe; who professed himself unable to go on
seeing her day after day without speaking to her of the passion she
had inspired--an "eternal passion," he called it; on reading which
Mr. Gibson laughed a little. Would she not look kindly at him? would
she not think of him whose only thought was of her? and so on, with a
very proper admixture of violent compliments to her beauty. She was
fair, not pale; her eyes were loadstars, her dimples marks of Cupid's
finger, &c.