If Molly thought that peace dwelt perpetually at Hamley Hall she was sorely mistaken. Something was out of tune in the whole establishment; and, for a very unusual thing, the common irritation seemed to have produced a common bond. All the servants were old in their places, and were told by some one of the family, or gathered, from the unheeded conversation carried on before them, everything that affected master or mistress or either of the young gentlemen. Any one of them could have told Molly that the grievance which lay at the root of everything, was the amount of the bills run up by Osborne at Cambridge, and which, now that all chance of his obtaining a fellowship was over, came pouring down upon the squire. But Molly, confident of being told by Mrs. Hamley herself anything which she wished her to hear, encouraged no confidences from any one else.

She was struck with the change in ‘madam’s’ looks as soon as she caught sight of her in the darkened room, lying on the sofa in her dressing-room, all dressed in white, which almost rivalled the white wanness of her face. The squire ushered Molly in with —

‘Here she is at last!’ and Molly had scarcely imagined that he had so much variety in the tones of his voice — the beginning of the sentence was spoken in a loud congratulatory manner, while the last words were scarcely audible. He had seen the death-like pallor on his wife’s face; not a new sight, and one which had been presented to him gradually enough, but which was now always giving him a fresh shock. It was a lovely tranquil winter’s day; every branch and every twig of the trees and shrubs were glittering with drops of the sun-melted hoarfrost; a robin was perched on a holly-bush, piping cheerily; but the blinds were down, and out of Mrs. Hamley’s windows nothing of all this was to be seen. There was even a large screen placed between her and the wood-fire, to keep off that cheerful blaze. Mrs. Hamley stretched out one hand to Molly, and held hers firm; with the other she shaded her eyes.

‘She is not so well this morning,’ said the squire, shaking his head. ‘But never fear, my dear one; here’s the doctor’s daughter, nearly as good as the doctor himself. Have you had your medicine? Your beef-tea?’ he continued, going about on heavy tiptoe and peeping into every empty cup and glass. Then he returned to the sofa; looked at her for a minute or two, and then softly kissed her, and told Molly he would leave her in charge.

As if Mrs. Hamley was afraid of Molly’s remarks or questions, she began in her turn a hasty system of interrogatories.

‘Now, dear child, tell me all; it’s no breach of confidence, for I shan’t mention it again, and I shan’t be here long. How does it all go on — the new mother, the good resolutions? let me help you if I can. I think with a girl I could have been of use — a mother does not know boys. But tell me anything you like and will; don’t be afraid of details.’

Even with Molly’s small experience of illness she saw how much of restless fever there was in this speech; and instinct, or some such gift, prompted her to tell a long story of many things — the wedding-day, her visit to Miss Brownings’, the new furniture, Lady Harriet, &c., all in an easy flow of talk which was very soothing to Mrs. Hamley, inasmuch as it gave her something to think about beyond her own immediate sorrows. But Molly did not speak of her own grievances, nor of the new domestic relationship. Mrs. Hamley noticed this.

‘And you and Mrs. Gibson get on happily together?’

‘Not always,’ said Molly. ‘You know we didn’t know much of each other before we were put to live together.’

‘I didn’t like what the squire told me last night. He was very angry.’

That sore had not yet healed over; but Molly resolutely kept silence, beating her brains to think of some other subject of conversation.

‘Ah! I see, Molly,’ said Mrs. Hamley; ‘you won’t tell me your sorrows, and yet, perhaps, I could have done you some good.’

‘I don’t like,’ said Molly, in a low voice. ‘I think papa wouldn’t like it. And, besides, you have helped me so much — you and Mr. Roger Hamley. I often, often think of the things he said; they come in so usefully, and are such a strength to me.’

‘Ah, Roger! yes. He is to be trusted. Oh, Molly! I’ve a great deal to say to you myself, only not now. I must have my medicine and try to go to sleep. Good girl! You are stronger than I am, and can do without sympathy.’

Molly was taken to another room; the maid who conducted her to it told her that Mrs. Hamley had not wished her to have her nights disturbed, as they might very probably have been if she had been in her former sleeping-room. In the afternoon Mrs. Hamley sent for her, and with the want of reticence common to invalids, especially to those suffering from long and depressing maladies, she told Molly of the family distress and disappointment.

She made Molly sit down near her on a little stool, and, holding her hand, and looking into her eyes to catch her spoken sympathy from their expression quicker than she could from her words, she said —

‘Osborne has so disappointed us! I cannot understand it yet. And the squire was so terribly angry! I cannot think how all the money was spent — advances through money-lenders, besides bills. The squire does not show me how angry he is now, because he’s afraid of another attack; but I know how angry he is. You see he has been spending ever so much money in reclaiming that land at Upton Common, and is very hard pressed himself. But it would have doubled the value of the estate, and so we never thought anything of economics which would benefit Osborne in the long run. And now the squire says he must mortgage some of the land; and you can’t think how it cuts him to the heart. He sold a great deal of timber to send the two boys to college. Osborne — oh! what a dear, innocent boy he was: he was the heir, you know; and he was so clever, every one said he was sure of honours and a fellowship, and I don’t know what all; and he did get a scholarship, and then all went wrong. I don’t know how. That is the worst. Perhaps the squire wrote too angrily, and that stopped up confidence. But he might have told me. He would have done, I think, Molly, if he had been here, face to face with me. But the squire, in his anger, told him not to show his face at home till he had paid off the debts he had incurred out of his allowance. Out of two hundred and fifty a year to pay off more than nine hundred, one way or another! And not to come home till then! Perhaps Roger will have debts too! He had but two hundred; but, then, he was not the eldest son. The squire has given orders that the men are to be turned off the draining-works; and I lie awake thinking of their poor families this wintry weather. But what shall we do? I’ve never been strong, and, perhaps, I’ve been extravagant in my habits; and there were family traditions as to expenditure, and the reclaiming of this land. Oh! Molly, Osborne was such a sweet little baby, and such a loving boy: so clever, too! You know I read you some of his poetry: now, could a person who wrote like that do anything very wrong? And yet I’m afraid he has.’

‘Don’t you know, at all, how the money has gone?’ asked Molly.

‘No! not at all. That’s the sting. There are tailors’ bills, and bills for book-binding and wine and pictures — that come to four or five hundred; and though this expenditure is extraordinary — inexplicable to such simple folk as we are — yet it may be only the luxury of the present day. But the money for which he will give no account — of which, indeed, we only heard through the squire’s London agents, who found out that certain disreputable attorneys were making inquiries as to the entail of the estate — oh! Molly, worse than all — I don’t know how to bring myself to tell you — as to the age and health of the squire, his dear father’—(she began to sob almost hysterically; yet she would go on talking, in spite of Molly’s efforts to stop her)—‘who held him in his arms, and blessed him, even before I had kissed him; and thought always so much of him as his heir and first-born darling. How he has loved him! How I have loved him! I sometimes have thought of late that we’ve almost done that good Roger injustice.’

‘No! I’m sure you’ve not: only look at the way he loves you. Why, you are his first thought: he may not speak about it, but any one may see it. And dear, dear Mrs. Hamley,’ said Molly, determined to say out all that was in her mind now that she had once got the word, ‘don’t you think that it would be better not to misjudge Mr. Osborne Hamley? We don’t know what he has done with the money: he is so good (is he not?) that he may have wanted it to relieve some poor person — some tradesman, for instance, pressed by creditors — some —’

‘You forget, dear,’ said Mrs. Hamley, smiling a little at the girl’s impetuous romance, but sighing the next instant, ‘that all the other bills come from tradesmen, who complain piteously of being kept out of their money.’

Molly was nonplussed for the moment; but then she said —

‘I daresay they imposed upon him. I’m sure I’ve heard stories of young men being made regular victims of by the shopkeepers in great towns.’

‘You’re a great darling, child,’ said Mrs. Hamley, comforted by Molly’s strong partisanship, unreasonable and ignorant though it was.

‘And, besides,’ continued Molly, ‘some one must be acting wrongly in Osborne’s — Mr. Osborne Hamley’s, I mean — I can’t help saying Osborne sometimes, but, indeed, I always think of him as Mr. Osborne —’

‘Never mind, Molly, what you call him; only go on talking. It seems to do me good to have the hopeful side taken. The squire has been so hurt and displeased: strange-looking men coming into the neighbourhood, too, questioning the tenants, and grumbling about the last fall of timber, as if they were calculating on the squire’s death.’

‘That’s just what I was going to speak about. Doesn’t it show that they are bad men? and would bad men scruple to impose upon him, and to tell lies in his name, and to ruin him?’

‘Don’t you see, you only make him out weak, instead of wicked?’

‘Yes; perhaps I do. But I don’t think he is weak. You know yourself, dear Mrs. Hamley, how very clever he really is. Besides, I would rather he was weak than wicked. Weak people may find themselves all at once strong in heaven, when they see things quite clearly; but I don’t think the wicked will turn themselves into virtuous people all at once.’

‘I think I’ve been very weak, Molly,’ said Mrs. Hamley, stroking Molly’s curls affectionately. ‘I’ve made such an idol of my beautiful Osborne; and he turns out to have feet of clay, not strong enough to stand firm on the ground. And that’s the best view of his conduct, too!’

What with his anger against his son, and his anxiety about his wife: the difficulty of raising the money immediately required, and his irritation at the scarce-concealed inquiries made by strangers as to the value of his property, the poor squire was in a sad state. He was angry and impatient with every one who came near him; and then was depressed at his own violent temper and unjust words. The old servants, who, perhaps, cheated him in many small things, were beautifully patient under his upbraidings. They could understand bursts of passion, and knew the cause of his variable moods as well as he did himself. The butler, who was accustomed to argue with his master about every fresh direction as to his work, now nudged Molly at dinner-time to make her eat of some dish which she had just been declining, and explained his conduct afterwards as follows —

‘You see, miss, me and cook had planned a dinner as would tempt master to eat; but when you say, “No, thank you,” when I hand you anything, master never so much as looks at it. But if you takes a thing, and eats with a relish, why first he waits, and then he looks, and by-and-by he smells; and then he finds out as he’s hungry, and falls to eating as natural as a kitten takes to mewing. That’s the reason, miss, as I gave you a nudge and a wink, which no one knows better nor me was not manners.’

Osborne’s name was never mentioned during these tete-a-tete meals. The squire asked Molly questions about Hollingford people, but did not seem much to attend to her answers. He used also to ask her every day how she thought that his wife was; but if Molly told the truth — that every day seemed to make her weaker and weaker — he was almost savage with the girl. He could not bear it; and he would not. Nay, once he was on the point of dismissing Mr. Gibson because he insisted on a consultation with Dr Nicholls, the great physician of the county.

‘It’s nonsense thinking her so ill as that — you know it’s only the delicacy she’s had for years; and if you can’t do her any good in such a s............