"What is it? What is it?" said the Squire, trembling with excitement.
"Don't keep it from me. I can bear it. Roger--"
They both thought he was going to faint; he had risen up and come
close to Molly; suspense would be worse than anything.
"Mrs. Osborne Hamley is here," said Molly. "I wrote to tell her her
husband was very ill, and she has come."
"She does not know what has happened, seemingly," said Robinson.
"I can't see her--I can't see her," said the Squire, shrinking away
into a corner. "You will go, Molly, won't you? You'll go."
Molly stood for a moment or two, irresolute. She, too, shrank from
the interview. Robinson put in his word: "She looks but a weakly
thing, and has carried a big baby, choose how far, I didn't stop to
ask."
At this instant the door softly opened, and right into the midst of
them came the little figure in grey, looking ready to fall with the
weight of her child.
"You are Molly," said she, not seeing the Squire at once. "The lady
who wrote the letter; he spoke of you sometimes. You will let me go
to him."
Molly did not answer, except that at such moments the eyes speak
solemnly and comprehensively. Aimée read their meaning. All she said
was,--"He is not--oh, my husband--my husband!" Her arms relaxed, her
figure swayed, the child screamed and held out his arms for help.
That help was given him by his grandfather, just before Aimée fell
senseless on the floor.
"Maman, maman!" cried the little fellow, now striving and fighting to
get back to her, where she lay; he fought so lustily that the Squire
had to put him down, and he crawled to the poor inanimate body,
behind which sat Molly, holding the head; whilst Robinson rushed away
for water, wine, and more womankind.
"Poor thing, poor thing!" said the Squire, bending over her, and
crying afresh over her suffering. "She is but young, Molly, and she
must ha' loved him dearly."
"To be sure!" said Molly, quickly. She was untying the bonnet, and
taking off the worn, but neatly mended gloves; there was the soft
luxuriant black hair, shading the pale, innocent face,--the little
notable-looking brown hands, with the wedding-ring for sole ornament.
The child clustered his fingers round one of hers, and nestled up
against her with his plaintive cry, getting more and more into a
burst of wailing: "Maman, maman!" At the growing acuteness of his
imploring, her hand moved, her lips quivered, consciousness came
partially back. She did not open her eyes, but great heavy tears
stole out from beneath her eyelashes. Molly held her head against
her own breast; and they tried to give her wine,--which she shrank
from--water, which she did not reject; that was all. At last she
tried to speak. "Take me away," she said, "into the dark. Leave me
alone."