"He said his wife was a good woman, and that he loved her dearly;
but she was a French Roman Catholic, and a"--another glance at her
father--"she had been a servant once. That was all; except that I
have her address at home. He wrote it down and gave it me."
"Well, well!" moaned the Squire. "It's all over now. All over. All
past and gone. We'll not blame him,--no; but I wish he'd ha' told
me; he and I to live together with such a secret in one of us. It's
no wonder to me now--nothing can be a wonder again, for one never
can tell what's in a man's heart. Married so long! and we sitting
together at meals--and living together. Why, I told him everything!
Too much, may be, for I showed him all my passions and ill-tempers!
Married so long! Oh, Osborne, Osborne, you should have told me!"
"Yes, he should!" said Mr. Gibson. "But I daresay he knew how much
you would dislike such a choice as he had made. But he should have
told you!"
"You know nothing about it, sir," said the Squire sharply. "You don't
know the terms we were on. Not hearty or confidential. I was cross
to him many a time; angry with him for being dull, poor lad--and he
with all this weight on his mind. I won't have people interfering and
judging between me and my sons. And Roger too! He could know it all,
and keep it from me!"
"Osborne evidently had bound him down to secrecy, just as he bound
me," said Molly; "Roger could not help himself."
"Osborne was such a fellow for persuading people, and winning them
over," said the Squire, dreamily. "I remember--but what's the use of
remembering? It's all over, and Osborne's dead without opening his
heart to me. I could have been tender to him, I could. But he'll
never know it now!"
"But we can guess what wish he had strongest in his mind at the last,
from what we do know of his life," said Mr. Gibson.
"What, sir?" said the Squire, with sharp suspicion of what was
coming.
"His wife must have been his last thought, must she not?"
"How do I know she was his wife? Do you think he'd go and marry a
French baggage of a servant? It may be all a tale trumped up."
"Stop, Squire. I don't care to defend my daughter's truth or
accuracy. But with the dead man's body lying upstairs--his soul with
God--think twice before you say more hasty words, impugning his
character; if she was not his wife, what was she?"