"Give it me," said the Squire, his voice breaking now, and stretching
forth his eager hand. "'Roger,' that's me, 'Stephen,' that's my poor
old father: he died when he was not so old as I am; but I've always
thought on him as very old. He was main and fond of Osborne, when he
was quite a little one. It's good of the lad to have thought on my
father Stephen. Ay! that was his name. And Osborne--Osborne Hamley!
One Osborne Hamley lies dead on his bed--and t'other--t'other I've
never seen, and never heard on till to-day. He must be called
Osborne, Molly. There is a Roger--there's two for that matter; but
one is a good-for-nothing old man; and there's never an Osborne any
more, unless this little thing is called Osborne; we'll have him
here, and get a nurse for him; and make his mother comfortable for
life in her own country. I'll keep this, Molly. You're a good lass
for finding it. Osborne Hamley! And if God will give me grace, he
shall never hear a cross word from me--never! He shan't be afeard of
me. Oh, _my_ Osborne, _my_ Osborne" (he burst out), "do you know now
how bitter and sore is my heart for every hard word as I ever spoke
to you? Do you know now how I loved you--my boy--my boy?"
From the general tone of the letters, Molly doubted if the mother
would consent, so easily as the Squire seemed to expect, to be parted
from her child; the letters were not very wise, perhaps (though of
this Molly never thought), but a heart full of love spoke tender
words in every line. Still, it was not for Molly to talk of this
doubt of hers just then; but rather to dwell on the probable graces
and charms of the little Roger Stephen Osborne Hamley. She let
the Squire exhaust himself in wondering as to the particulars of
every event, helping him out in conjectures; and both of them, from
their imperfect knowledge of possibilities, made the most curious,
fantastic, and improbable guesses at the truth. And so that day
passed over, and the night came.
There were not many people who had any claim to be invited to the
funeral, and of these Mr. Gibson and the Squire's hereditary man of
business had taken charge. But when Mr. Gibson came, early on the
following morning, Molly referred the question to him, which had
suggested itself to her mind, though apparently not to the Squire's,
what intimation of her loss should be sent to the widow, living
solitary near Winchester, watching and waiting, if not for his coming
who lay dead in his distant home, at least for his letters. One from
her had already come, in her foreign handwriting, to the post-office
to which all her communications were usually sent, but of course they
at the Hall knew nothing of this.