'I hope you did not want to see him professionally?' said Molly, wondering if she was wise in alluding to his health, yet urged to it by her real anxiety.
'Yes, I did.I suppose I may help myself to a biscuit and a glass of wine? No, don't ring for more.I could not eat it if it was here.But Ijust want a mouthful; this is quite enough, thank you.When will your father be back?'
'He was summoned up to London.Lady Cumnor is worse.I fancy there is some operation going on; but I don't know.He will be back to-morrow night.'
'Very well.Then I must wait.Perhaps I shall be better by that time.
I think it's half fancy; but I should like your father to tell me so.He will laugh at me, I daresay; but I don't think I shall mind that.He always is severe on fanciful patients, is not he, Molly?'
Molly thought that if he saw Osborne's looks just now he would hardly think him fanciful, or be inclined to be severe.But she only said, - 'Papa enjoys a joke at everything, you know.It is a relief after all the sorrow he sees.'
'Very true.There is a great deal of sorrow in the world.I don't think it's a very happy place after all.So Cynthia is gone to London,' he added, after a pause, 'I think I should like to have seen her again.Poor old Roger! He loves her very dearly, Molly,' he said.Molly hardly knew how to answer him in all this; she was so struck by the change in both voice and manner.
'Mamma has gone to the Towers,' she began, at length.'Lady Cumnor wanted several things that mamma only can find.She will be sorry to miss you.
We were speaking of you only yesterday, and she said how long it was since we had seen you.'
'I think I've grown careless; I have often felt so weary and ill that it was all I could do to keep up a brave face before my father.'
'Why did you not come and see papa?' said Molly; 'or write to him?'
'I cannot tell.I drifted on sometimes better, and sometimes worse, till to-day I mustered up pluck, and came to hear what your father has got to tell me: and all for no use it seems.'
'I am very sorry.But it is only for two days.He shall go and see you as soon as ever he returns.'
'He must not alarm my father, remember, Molly,' said Osborne, lifting himself by the arms of his chair into an upright position and speaking eagerly for the moment.'I wish to God Roger was at home,' said he, falling back into the old posture.
'I can't help understanding you,' said Molly.'You think yourself very ill; but is not it that you are tired just now?' She was not sure if she ought to have understood what was passing in his mind; but as she did, she could not help speaking a true reply.
'Well, sometimes I do think I'm very ill; and then, again, I think it's only the moping life sets me fancying and exaggerating.' He was silent for some time.Then, as if he had taken a sudden resolution, he spoke again.
'You see there are others depending upon me - upon my health.You have not forgotten what you heard that day in the library at home? No, I know you have not.I have seen the thought of it in your eyes often since then.
I did not know you at that time.I think I do now.'
'Don't go on talking so fast,' said Molly.'Rest.No one will interrupt us; I will go on with my sewing; when you want to say anything more I shall be listening.' For she had been alarmed at the strange pallor that had come over his face.
'Thank you.' After a time he roused himself, and began to speak very quietly, as if on an indifferent matter of fact.
'The name of my wife is Aimée.Aimée Hamley of course.
She lives at Bishopsfield, a village near Winchester.Write it down, but keep it to yourself.She is a Frenchwoman, a Roman Catholic, and was a servant.She is a thoroughly good woman.I must not say how dear she is to me.I dare not.I mean.t once to have told Cynthia, but she did not seem quite to consider me as a brother.Perhaps she was shy of a new relation, but you'll give my love to her, all the same.It is a relief to think that some one else has my secret; and you are like one of us, Molly.I can trust you almost as I can trust Roger.I feel better already now I feel that some one else knows the whereabouts of my wife and child.'
'Child!' said Molly, surprised.But before he could reply, Maria had announced, -'Miss Phoebe Browning.'
'Fold up that paper,' said he, quickly, putting something into her hands.
'It is only for yourself.'