I asked of the wind, but answer made it none,
Save its accustomed sad and solitary moan--
she kept saying to herself, losing her sense of whatever meaning the
words had ever had, in the repetition which had become mechanical.
Suddenly there was the snap of a shutting gate; wheels crackling on
the dry gravel, horses' feet on the drive; a loud cheerful voice
in the house, coming up through the open windows, the hall, the
passages, the staircase, with unwonted fulness and roundness of tone.
The entrance-hall downstairs was paved with diamonds of black and
white marble; the low wide staircase that went in short flights
around the hall, till you could look down upon the marble floor from
the top story of the house, was uncarpeted--uncovered. The Squire
was too proud of his beautifully-joined oaken flooring to cover this
stair-case up unnecessarily; not to say a word of the usual state of
want of ready money to expend upon the decorations of his house. So,
through the undraperied hollow square of the hall and staircase every
sound ascended clear and distinct; and Molly heard the Squire's glad
"Hallo! here he is," and madam's softer, more plaintive voice; and
then the loud, full, strange tone, which she knew must be Roger's.
Then there was an opening and shutting of doors, and only a distant
buzz of talking. Molly began again--
I asked of the wind, but answer made it none.
And this time she had nearly finished learning the poem, when she
heard Mrs. Hamley come hastily into her sitting-room that adjoined
Molly's bedroom, and burst out into an irrepressible half-hysterical
fit of sobbing. Molly was too young to have any complication of
motives which should prevent her going at once to try and give what
comfort she could. In an instant she was kneeling at Mrs. Hamley's
feet, holding the poor lady's hands, kissing them, murmuring soft
words; which, all unmeaning as they were of aught but sympathy with
the untold grief, did Mrs. Hamley good. She checked herself, smiling
sadly at Molly through the midst of her thick-coming sobs.
"It's only Osborne," said she, at last. "Roger has been telling us
about him."
"What about him?" asked Molly, eagerly.
"I knew on Monday; we had a letter--he said he had not done so well
as we had hoped--as he had hoped himself, poor fellow! He said he had
just passed, but was only low down among the _junior optimes_, and
not where he had expected, and had led us to expect. But the Squire
has never been at college, and does not understand college terms, and
he has been asking Roger all about it, and Roger has been telling
him, and it has made him so angry. But the squire hates college
slang;--he has never been there, you know; and he thought poor
Osborne was taking it too lightly, and he has been asking Roger about
it, and Roger--"