And now it was late June; and to Molly's and her father's extreme
urgency in pushing, and Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick's affectionate
persistency in pulling, Cynthia had yielded, and had gone back to
finish her interrupted visit in London, but not before the bruit of
her previous sudden return to nurse Molly had told strongly in her
favour in the fluctuating opinion of the little town. Her affair with
Mr. Preston was thrust into the shade; while every one was speaking
of her warm heart. Under the gleam of Molly's recovery everything
assumed a rosy hue, as indeed became the time when actual roses were
fully in bloom.
One morning Mrs. Gibson brought Molly a great basket of flowers, that
had been sent from the Hall. Molly still breakfasted in bed, but she
had just come down, and was now well enough to arrange the flowers
for the drawing-room, and as she did so with these blossoms, she made
some comments on each.
"Ah! these white pinks! They were Mrs. Hamley's favourite flower;
and so like her! This little bit of sweet briar, it quite scents the
room. It has pricked my fingers, but never mind. Oh, mamma, look
at this rose! I forget its name, but it is very rare, and grows up
in the sheltered corner of the wall, near the mulberry-tree. Roger
bought the tree for his mother with his own money when he was quite a
boy; he showed it me, and made me notice it."
"I daresay it was Roger who got it now. You heard papa say he had
seen him yesterday."
"No! Roger! Roger come home!" said Molly, turning first red, then
very white.
"Yes. Oh, I remember you had gone to bed before papa came in, and he
was called off early to tiresome Mrs. Beale. Yes, Roger turned up at
the Hall the day before yesterday."
But Molly leaned back against her chair, too faint to do more at the
flowers for some time. She had been startled by the suddenness of the
news. "Roger come home!"
It happened that Mr. Gibson was unusually busy on this particular
day, and he did not come home till late in the afternoon. But Molly
kept her place in the drawing-room all the time, not even going to
take her customary siesta, so anxious was she to hear everything
about Roger's return, which as yet appeared to her almost incredible.
But it was quite natural in reality; the long monotony of her illness
had made her lose all count of time. When Roger left England, his
idea was to coast round Africa on the eastern side until he reached
the Cape; and thence to make what further journey or voyage might
seem to him best in pursuit of his scientific objects. To Cape Town
all his letters had been addressed of late; and there, two months
before, he had received the intelligence of Osborne's death, as well
as Cynthia's hasty letter of relinquishment. He did not consider
that he was doing wrong in returning to England immediately, and
reporting himself to the gentlemen who had sent him out, with a
full explanation of the circumstances relating to Osborne's private
marriage and sudden death. He offered, and they accepted his offer,
to go out again for any time that they might think equivalent to the
five months he was yet engaged to them for. They were most of them
gentlemen of property, and saw the full importance of proving the
marriage of an eldest son, and installing his child as the natural
heir to a long-descended estate. This much information, but in a more
condensed form, Mr. Gibson gave to Molly, in a very few minutes. She
sat up on her sofa, looking very pretty with the flush on her cheeks,
and the brightness in her eyes.