Wives and Daughters

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  BUSH-FIGHTING.

  During all the months that had elapsed since Mrs. Hamley's death,Molly had wondered many a time about the secret she had sounwittingly become possessed of that last day in the Hall library. Itseemed so utterly strange and unheard-of a thing to her inexperiencedmind, that a man should be married, and yet not live with hiswife--that a son should have entered into the holy state of matrimonywithout his father's knowledge, and without being recognized as thehusband of some one known or unknown by all those with whom he camein daily contact, that she felt occasionally as if that little tenminutes of revelation must have been a vision in a dream. Rogerhad only slightly referred to it once, and Osborne had kept entiresilence on the subject ever since. Not even a look, or a pause,betrayed any allusion to it; it even seemed to have passed out oftheir thoughts. There had been the great sad event of their mother'sdeath to fill their minds on the next occasion of their meetingMolly; and since then long pauses of intercourse had taken place; sothat she sometimes felt as if both the brothers must have forgottenhow she had come to know their important secret. She even foundherself often entirely forgetting it, but perhaps the consciousnessof it was present to her unawares, and enabled her to comprehend thereal nature of Osborne's feelings towards Cynthia. At any rate, shenever for a moment had supposed that his gentle kind manner towardsCynthia was anything but the courtesy of a friend. Strange to say, inthese latter days Molly had looked upon Osborne's relation to herselfas pretty much the same as that in which at one time she had regardedRoger's; and she thought of the former as of some one as nearly abrother both to Cynthia and herself, as any young man could well be,whom they had not known in childhood, and who was in nowise relatedto them. She thought that he was very much improved in manner, andprobably in character, by his mother's death. He was no longersarcastic, or fastidious, or vain, or self-confident. She did notknow how often all these styles of talk or of behaviour were put onto conceal shyness or consciousness, and to veil the real self fromstrangers.

  Osborne's conversation and ways might very possibly have been justthe same as before, had he been thrown amongst new people; but Mollyonly saw him in their own circle in which he was on terms of decidedintimacy. Still there was no doubt that he was really improved,though perhaps not to the extent for which Molly gave him credit; andthis exaggeration on her part arose very naturally from the fact,that he, perceiving Roger's warm admiration for Cynthia, withdrew alittle out of his brother's way; and used to go and talk to Molly inorder not to intrude himself between Roger and Cynthia. Of the two,perhaps, Osborne preferred Molly; to her he needed not to talk if themood was not on him--they were on those happy terms where silence ispermissible, and where efforts to act against the prevailing mood ofthe mind are not required. Sometimes, indeed, when Osborne was in thehumour to be critical and fastidious as of yore, he used to vex Rogerby insisting upon it that Molly was prettier than Cynthia.

  "You mark my words, Roger. Five years hence the beautiful Cynthia'sred and white will have become just a little coarse, and her figurewill have thickened, while Molly's will only have developed into moreperfect grace. I don't believe the girl has done growing yet; I'msure she's taller than when I first saw her last summer."

  "Miss Kirkpatrick's eyes must always be perfection. I cannot fancyany could come up to them: soft, grave, appealing, tender; and such aheavenly colour--I often try to find something in nature to comparethem to; they are not like violets--that blue in the eyes is too likephysical weakness of sight; they are not like the sky--that colourhas something of cruelty in it."

  "Come, don't go on trying to match her eyes as if you were a draper,and they a bit of ribbon say at once 'her eyes are loadstars,' andhave done with it! I set up Molly's grey eyes and curling blacklashes, long odds above the other young woman's; but, of course, it'sall a matter of taste."

  And now both Osborne and Roger had left the neighbourhood. In spiteof all that Mrs. Gibson had said about Roger's visits being ill-timedand intrusive, she began to feel as if they had been a very pleasantvariety, now that they had ceased altogether. He brought in a whiffof a new atmosphere from that of Hollingford. He and his brother hadbeen always ready to do numberless little things which only a man cando for women; small services which Mr. Gibson was always too busy torender. For the good doctor's business grew upon him. He thought thatthis increase was owing to his greater skill and experience, and hewould probably have been mortified if he could have known how manyof his patients were solely biassed in sending for him, by the factthat he was employed at the Towers. Something of this sort must havebeen contemplated in the low scale of payment adopted long ago bythe Cumnor family. Of itself the money he received for going to theTowers would hardly have paid him for horse-flesh, but then, as LadyCumnor in her younger days had worded it,--

  "It is such a thing for a man just setting up in practice for himselfto be able to say he attends at this house!"

  So the prestige was tacitly sold and paid for; but neither buyer norseller defined the nature of the bargain.

  On the whole, it was as well that Mr. Gibson spent so much of histime from home. He sometimes thought so himself when he heard hiswife's plaintive fret or pretty babble over totally indifferentthings, and perceived of how flimsy a nature were all her finesentiments. Still, he did not allow himself to repine over the stephe had taken; he wilfully shut his eyes and waxed up his ears to manysmall things that he knew would have irritated him if he had attendedto them; and, in his solitary rides, he forced himself to dwell onthe positive advantages that had accrued to him and his through hismarriage. He had obtained an unexceptionable chaperone, if not atender mother, for his little girl; a skilful manager of his previousdisorderly household; a woman who was graceful and pleasant tolook at for the head of his table. Moreover, Cynthia reckoned forsomething on the favourable side of the balance. She was a capitalcompanion for Molly; and the two were evidently very fond of eachother. The feminine companionship of the mother and daughter wasagreeable to him as well as to his child,--when Mrs. Gibson wasmoderately sensible and not over-sentimental, he mentally added; andthen he checked himself, for he would not allow himself to becomemore aware of her faults and foibles by defining them. At any rate,she was harmless, and wonderfully just to Molly for a stepmother.She piqued herself upon this indeed, and would often call attentionto the fact of her being unlike other women in this respect. Justthen sudden tears came into Mr. Gibson's eyes, as he remembered howquiet and undemonstrative his little Molly had become in her generalbehaviour to him; but how once or twice, when they had met upon thestairs, or were otherwise unwitnessed, she had caught him and kissedhim--hand or cheek--in a sad passionateness of affection. But in amoment he began to whistle an old Scotch air he had heard in hischildhood, and which had never recurred to his memory since; andfive minutes afterwards he was too busily treating a case of whiteswelling in the knee of a little boy, and thinking how to relieve thepoor mother, who went out charring all day, and had to listen to themoans of her child all night, to have any thought for his own cares,which, if they really existed, were of so trifling a nature comparedto the hard reality of this hopeless woe.

  Osborne came home first. He returned, in fact, not long after Rogerhad gone away; but he was languid and unwell, and, though he didnot complain, he felt unequal to any exertion. Thus a week or moreelapsed before any of the Gibsons knew that he was at the Hall; andthen it was only by chance that they became aware of it. Mr. Gibsonmet him in one of the lanes near Hamley; the acute surgeon noticedthe gait of the man as he came near, before he recognized who it was.When he overtook him he said,--

  "Why, Osborne, is it you? I thought it was an old man of fiftyloitering before me! I didn't know you had come back."

  "WHY, OSBORNE, IS IT YOU?"]

  "Yes," said Osborne, "I've been at home nearly ten days. I daresayI ought to have called on your people, for I made a half promise toMrs. Gibson to let her know as soon as I returned; but the fact is,I'm feeling very good-for-n
othing,--this air oppresses me; I couldhardly breathe in the house, and yet I'm already tired with thisshort walk."

  "You'd better get home at once; and I'll call and see you as I comeback from Rowe's."

  "No, you mustn't on any account!" said Osborne, hastily; "my fatheris annoyed enough about my going from home, so often, he says, thoughI hadn't been from it for six weeks. He puts down all my languorto my having been away,--he keeps the purse-strings, you know," headded, with a faint smile, "and I'm in the unlucky position of apenniless heir, and I've been brought up so--In fact, I must leavehome from time to time, and, if my father gets confirmed in thisnotion of his that my health is worse for my absences, he'll stop thesupplies altogether."

  "May I ask where you do spend your time when you are not at HamleyHall?" asked Mr. Gibson, with some hesitation in his manner.

  "No!" replied Osborne, reluctantly. "I will tell you this:--Istay with friends in the country. I lead a life which ought to beconducive to health, because it is thoroughly simple, rational, andhappy. And now I've told you more about it than my father himselfknows. He never asks me where I've been; and I shouldn't tell him ifhe did--at least, I think not."

  Mr. Gibson rode on by Osborne's side, not speaking for a moment ortwo.

  "Osborne, whatever scrapes you may have got into, I should adviseyour telling your father boldly out. I know him; and I know he'll beangry enough at first, but he'll come round, take my word for it;and, somehow or another, he'll find money to pay your debts and setyou free, if it's that kind of difficulty; and if it's any otherkind of entanglement, why still he's your best friend. It's thisestrangement from your father that's telling on your health, I'll bebound."

  "No," said Osborne, "I beg your pardon but it's not that; I amreally out of order. I daresay my unwillingness to encounter anydispleasure from my father is the consequence of my indispositionbut I'll answer for it, it is not the cause of it. My instinct tellsme there is something really the matter with me."

  "Come, don't be setting up your instinct against the profession,"said Mr. Gibson, cheerily.

  He dismounted, and throwing the reins of his horse round his arm, helooked at Osborne's tongue and felt his pulse, asking him variousquestions. At the end he said,--

  "We'll soon bring you about, though I should like a little more quiettalk with you, without this tugging brute for a third. If you'llmanage to ride over and lunch with us to-morrow, Dr. Nicholls willbe with us; he's coming over to see old Rowe; and you shall have thebenefit of the advice of two doctors instead of one. Go home now,you've had enough exercise for the middle of a day as hot as this is.And don't mope in the house, listening to the maunderings of yourstupid instinct."

  "What else have I to do?" said Osborne. "My father and I are notcompanions; one can't read and write for ever, especially whenthere's no end to be gained by it. I don't mind telling you--but inconfidence, recollect--that I've been trying to get some of my poemspublished; but there's no one like a publisher for taking the conceitout of one. Not a man among them would have them as a gift."

  "Oho! so that's it, is it, Master Osborne? I thought there was somemental cause for this depression of health. I wouldn't trouble myhead about it, if I were you, though that's always very easily said,I know. Try your hand at prose, if you can't manage to please thepublishers with poetry; but, at any rate, don't go on frettingover spilt milk. But I mustn't lose my time here. Come over to usto-morrow, as I said; and what with the wisdom of two doctors, andthe wit and folly of three women, I think we shall cheer you up abit."

  So saying, Mr. Gibson remounted, and rode away at the long, slingingtrot so well known to the country people as the doctor's pace.

  "I don't like his looks," thought Mr. Gibson to himself at night,as over his daybooks he reviewed the events of the day. "And thenhis pulse. But how often we're all mistaken; and, ten to one, my ownhidden enemy lies closer to me than his does to him--even taking theworse view of the case."

  Osborne made his appearance a considerable time before luncheonthe next morning; and no one objected to the earliness of his call.He was feeling better. There were few signs of the invalid abouthim; and what few there were disappeared under the bright pleasantinfluence of such a welcome as he received from all. Molly andCynthia had much to tell him of the small proceedings since he wentaway, or to relate the conclusions of half-accomplished projects.Cynthia was often on the point of some gay, careless inquiry asto where he had been, and what he had been doing; but Molly, whoconjectured the truth, as often interfered to spare him the pain ofequivocation--a pain that her tender conscience would have felt forhim, much more than he would have felt it for himself.

  Mrs. Gibson's talk was desultory, complimentary, and sentimental,after her usual fashion but still, on the whole, though Osbornesmiled to himself at much that she said, it was soothing andagreeable. Presently, Dr. Nicholls and Mr. Gibson came in; the formerhad had some conference with the latter on the subject of Osborne'shealth; and, from time to time, the skilful old physician's sharp andobservant eyes gave a comprehensive look at Osborne.

  Then there was lunch, when every one was merry and hungry, exceptingthe hostess, who was trying to train her midday appetite intothe genteelest of all ways, and thought (falsely enough) that Dr.Nicholls was a good person to practise the semblance of ill-healthupon, and that he would give her the proper civil amount ofcommiseration for her ailments, which every guest ought to bestowupon a hostess who complains of her delicacy of health. The olddoctor was too cunning a man to fall into this trap. He would keeprecommending her to try the coarsest viands on the table; and, atlast, he told her if she could not fancy the cold beef to try alittle with pickled onions. There was a twinkle in his eye as he saidthis, that would have betrayed his humour to any observer; but Mr.Gibson, Cynthia, and Molly were all attacking Osborne on the subjectof some literary preference he had expressed, and Dr. Nicholls hadMrs. Gibson quite at his mercy. She was not sorry when luncheon wasover to leave the room to the three gentlemen; and ever afterwardsshe spoke of Dr. Nicholls as "that bear."

  Presently, Osborne came upstairs, and, after his old fashion, beganto take up new books, and to question the girls as to their music.Mrs. Gibson had to go out and pay some calls, so she left the threetogether; and after a while they adjourned into the garden, Osbornelounging on a chair, while Molly employed herself busily in tying upcarnations, and Cynthia gathered flowers in her careless, gracefulway.

  "I hope you notice the difference in our occupations, Mr. Hamley.Molly, you see, devotes herself to the useful, and I to theornamental. Please, under what head do you class what you are doing?I think you might help one of us, instead of looking on like theGrand Seigneur."

  "I don't know what I can do," said he, rather plaintively. "I shouldlike to be useful, but I don't know how; and my day is past forpurely ornamental work. You must let me be, I'm afraid. Besides, I'mreally rather exhausted by being questioned and pulled about by thosegood doctors."

  "Why, you don't mean to say they have been attacking you sincelunch!" exclaimed Molly.

  "Yes; indeed, they have; and they might have gone on till now if Mrs.Gibson had not come in opportunely."

  "I thought mamma had gone out some time ago!" said Cynthia, catchingwafts of the conversation as she flitted hither and thither among theflowers.

  "She came into the dining-room not five minutes ago. Do you want her,for I see her crossing the hall at this very moment?" and Osbornehalf rose.

  "Oh, not at all!" said Cynthia. "Only she seemed to be in such ahurry to go out, I fancied she had set off long ago. She had someerrand to do for Lady Cumnor, and she thought she could manage tocatch the housekeeper, who is always in the town on Thursday."

  "Are the family coming to the Towers this autumn?"

  "I believe so. But I don't know, and I don't much care. They don'ttake kindly to me," continued Cynthia, "and so I suppose I'm notgenerous enough to take kindly to them."

  "I should have thought that such a very unusual blot in theirdiscrimina
tion would have interested you in them as extraordinarypeople," said Osborne, with a little air of conscious gallantry.

  "Isn't that a compliment?" said Cynthia, after a pause of mockmeditation. "If any one pays me a compliment, please let it be shortand clear. I'm very stupid at finding out hidden meanings."

  "Then such speeches as 'you are very pretty,' or 'you have charmingmanners,' are what you prefer. Now, I pique myself on wrapping up mysugar-plums delicately."

  "Then would you please to write them down, and at my leisure I'llparse them."

  "No! It would be too much trouble. I'll meet you half-way, and studyclearness next time."

  "What are you two talking about?" said Molly, resting on her lightspade.

  "It's only a discussion on the best way of administeringcompliments," said Cynthia, taking up her flower-basket again, butnot going out of the reach of the conversation.

  "I don't like them at all in any way," said Molly. "But, perhaps,it's rather sour grapes with me," she added.

  "Nonsense!" said Osborne. "Shall I tell you what I heard of you atthe ball?"

  "Or shall I provoke Mr. Preston," said Cynthia, "to begin upon you?It's like turning a tap, such a stream of pretty speeches flows outat the moment." Her lip curled with scorn.

  "For you, perhaps," said Molly; "but not for me."

  "For any woman. It's his notion of making himself agreeable. If youdare me, Molly, I'll try the experiment, and you'll see with whatsuccess."

  "No, don't, pray!" said Molly, in a hurry. "I do so dislike him!"

  "Why?" said Osborne, roused to a little curiosity by her vehemence.

  "Oh! I don't know. He never seems to know what one is feeling."

  "He wouldn't care if he did know," said Cynthia. "And he might knowhe is not wanted."

  "If he chooses to stay, he cares little whether he is wanted or not."

  "Come, this is very interesting," said Osborne. "It is like thestrophe and anti-strophe in a Greek chorus. Pray, go on."

  "Don't you know him?" asked Molly.

  "Yes, by sight, and I think we were once introduced. But, you know,we are much farther from Ashcombe, at Hamley, than you are here, atHollingford."

  "Oh! but he's coming to take Mr. Sheepshanks' place, and then he'lllive here altogether," said Molly.

  "Molly! who told you that?" said Cynthia, in quite a different toneof voice from that in which she had been speaking hitherto.

  "Papa,--didn't you hear him? Oh, no! it was before you were down thismorning. Papa met Mr. Sheepshanks yesterday, and he told him it wasall settled: you know we heard a rumour about it in the spring!"

  Cynthia was very silent after this. Presently, she said that she hadgathered all the flowers she wanted, and that the heat was so greatshe would go indoors. And then Osborne went away. But Molly had setherself a task to dig up such roots as had already flowered, and toput down some bedding-out plants in their stead. Tired and heated asshe was she finished it, and then went upstairs to rest, and changeher dress. According to her wont, she sought for Cynthia; there wasno reply to her soft knock at the bedroom-door opposite to her own,and, thinking that Cynthia might have fallen asleep, and be lyinguncovered in the draught of the open window, she went in softly.Cynthia was lying upon the bed as if she had thrown herself down onit without caring for the ease or comfort of her position. She wasvery still; and Molly took a shawl, and was going to place it overher, when she opened her eyes, and spoke,--

  "Is that you, dear? Don't go. I like to know that you are there."

  She shut her eyes again, and remained quite quiet for a few minuteslonger. Then she started up into a sitting posture, pushed her hairaway from her forehead and burning eyes, and gazed intently at Molly.

  "Do you know what I've been thinking, dear?" said she. "I think I'vebeen long enough here, and that I had better go out as a governess."

  "Cynthia! what do you mean?" asked Molly, aghast. "You've beenasleep--you've been dreaming. You're over-tired," continued she,sitting down on the bed, and taking Cynthia's passive hand, andstroking it softly--a mode of caressing that had come down to herfrom her mother--whether as an hereditary instinct, or as a lingeringremembrance of the tender ways of the dead woman, Mr. Gibson oftenwondered within himself when he observed it.

  "Oh, how good you are, Molly! I wonder, if I had been brought up likeyou, whether I should have been as good. But I've been tossed aboutso."

  "Then, don't go and be tossed about any more," said Molly, softly.

  "Oh, dear! I had better go. But, you see, no one ever loved me likeyou, and, I think, your father--doesn't he, Molly? And it's hard tobe driven out."

  "Cynthia, I am sure you're not well, or else you're not half awake."

  Cynthia sate with her arms encircling her knees, and looking atvacancy.

  "Well!" said she, at last, heaving a great sigh; but, then, smilingas she caught Molly's anxious face, "I suppose there's no escapingone's doom; and anywhere else I should be much more forlorn andunprotected."

  "What do you mean by your doom?"

  "Ah, that's telling, little one," said Cynthia, who seemed now tohave recovered her usual manner. "I don't mean to have one, though. Ithink that, though I am an arrant coward at heart, I can show fight."

  "With whom?" asked Molly, really anxious to probe the mystery--if,indeed, there was one--to the bottom, in the hope of some remedybeing found for the distress Cynthia was in when first Molly entered.

  Again Cynthia was lost in thought; then, catching the echo of Molly'slast words in her mind, she said,--

  "'With whom?'--oh! show fight with whom?--why, my doom, to be sure.Am not I a grand young lady to have a doom? Why, Molly, child, howpale and grave you look!" said she, kissing her all of a sudden. "Youought not to care so much for me; I'm not good enough for you toworry yourself about me. I've given myself up a long time ago as aheartless baggage!"

  "Nonsense! I wish you wouldn't talk so, Cynthia!"

  "And I wish you wouldn't always take me 'at the foot of the letter,'as an English girl at school used to translate it. Oh, how hot itis! Is it never going to get cool again? My child! what dirty handsyou've got, and face too; and I've been kissing you--I daresay I'mdirty with it, too. Now, isn't that like one of mamma's speeches?But, for all that, you look more like a delving Adam than a spinningEve." This had the effect that Cynthia intended; the daintily cleanMolly became conscious of her soiled condition, which she hadforgotten while she had been attending to Cynthia, and she hastilywithdrew to her own room. When she had gone, Cynthia noiselesslylocked the door; and, taking her purse out of her desk, she began tocount over her money. She counted it once--she counted it twice, asif desirous of finding out some mistake which should prove it to bemore than it was; but the end of it all was a sigh.

  "What a fool!--what a fool I was!" said she, at length. "But even ifI don't go out as a governess, I shall make it up in time."

  Some weeks after the time he had anticipated when he had spoken ofhis departure to the Gibsons, Roger returned back to the Hall. Onemorning when he called, Osborne told them that his brother had beenat home for two or three days.

  "And why has he not come here, then?" said Mrs. Gibson. "It is notkind of him not to come and see us as soon as he can. Tell him I sayso--pray do."

  Osborne had gained one or two ideas as to her treatment of Roger thelast time he had called. Roger had not complained of it, or evenmentioned it, till that very morning; when Osborne was on the pointof starting, and had urged Roger to accompany him, the latter hadtold him something of what Mrs. Gibson had said. He spoke rather asif he was more amused than annoyed; but Osborne could read that hewas chagrined at those restrictions placed upon calls which were thegreatest pleasure of his life. Neither of them let out the suspicionwhich had entered both their minds--the well-grounded suspicionarising from the fact that Osborne's visits, be they paid early orlate, had never yet been met with a repulse.

  Osborne now reproached himself with having done Mrs. Gibsoninjustice. She was evidently a we
ak, but probably a disinterested,woman; and it was only a little bit of ill-temper on her part whichhad caused her to speak to Roger as she had done.

  "I daresay it was rather impertinent of me to call at such anuntimely hour," said Roger.

  "Not at all; I call at all hours, and nothing is ever said about it.It was just because she was put out that morning. I'll answer for itshe's sorry now, and I'm sure you may go there at any time you likein the future."

  Still, Roger did not choose to go again for two or three weeks, andthe consequence was that the next time he called the ladies were out.Once again he had the same ill-luck, and then he received a littlepretty three-cornered note from Mrs. Gibson:--

  MY DEAR SIR,

  How is it that you are become so formal all on a sudden, leaving cards, instead of awaiting our return? Fie for shame! If you had seen the faces of disappointment that I did when the horrid little bits of pasteboard were displayed to our view, you would not have borne malice against me so long; for it is really punishing others as well as my naughty self. If you will come to-morrow--as early as you like--and lunch with us, I'll own I was cross, and acknowledge myself a penitent.--Yours ever,

  HYACINTH C. K. GIBSON.

  There was no resisting this, even if there had not been stronginclination to back up the pretty words. Roger went, and Mrs. Gibsoncaressed and petted him in her sweetest, silkiest manner. Cynthialooked lovelier than ever to him for the slight restriction thathad been laid for a time on their intercourse. She might be gayand sparkling with Osborne; with Roger she was soft and grave.Instinctively she knew her men. She saw that Osborne was onlyinterested in her because of her position in a family with whom hewas intimate; that his friendship was without the least touch ofsentiment; and that his admiration was only the warm criticism ofan artist for unusual beauty. But she felt how different Roger'srelation to her was. To him she was _the_ one, alone, peerless. Ifhis love was prohibited, it would be long years before he couldsink down into tepid friendship; and to him her personal lovelinesswas only one of the many charms that made him tremble into passion.Cynthia was not capable of returning such feelings; she had had toolittle true love in her life, and perhaps too much admiration to doso; but she appreciated this honest ardour, this loyal worship thatwas new to her experience. Such appreciation, and such respect forhis true and affectionate nature, gave a serious tenderness to hermanner to Roger, which allured him with a fresh and separate grace.Molly sate by, and wondered how it would all end, or, rather, howsoon it would all end, for she thought that no girl could resist suchreverent passion and on Roger's side there could be no doubt--alas!there could be no doubt. An older spectator might have looked farahead, and thought of the question of pounds, shillings, and pence.Where was the necessary income for a marriage to come from? Rogerhad his Fellowship now, it is true; but the income of that would belost if he married; he had no profession, and the life interest ofthe two or three thousand pounds that he inherited from his mother,belonged to his father. This older spectator might have been a littlesurprised at the _empressement_ of Mrs. Gibson's manner to a youngerson, always supposing this said spectator to have read to the depthsof her worldly heart. Never had she tried to be more agreeable toOsborne; and though her attempt was a great failure when practisedupon Roger, and he did not know what to say in reply to the delicateflatteries which he felt to be insincere, he saw that she intendedhim to consider himself henceforward free of the house; and he wastoo glad to avail himself of this privilege to examine over-closelyinto what might be her motives for her change of manner. He shut hiseyes, and chose to believe that she was now desirous of making up forher little burst of temper on his previous visit.

  The result of Osborne's conference with the two doctors had beencertain prescriptions which appeared to have done him much good,and which would in all probability have done him yet more, could hehave been free of the recollection of the little patient wife inher solitude near Winchester. He went to her whenever he could; and,thanks to Roger, money was far more plentiful with him now than ithad been. But he still shrank, and perhaps even more and more, fromtelling his father of his marriage. Some bodily instinct made himdread all agitation inexpressibly. If he had not had this money fromRoger, he might have been compelled to tell his father all, and toask for the necessary funds to provide for the wife and the comingchild. But with enough in hand, and a secret, though remorseful,conviction that as long as Roger had a penny his brother was sure tohave half of it, made him more reluctant than ever to irritate hisfather by a revelation of his secret. "Not just yet, not just atpresent," he kept saying both to Roger and to himself. "By-and-by, ifwe have a boy, I will call it Roger"--and then visions of poeticaland romantic reconciliations brought about between father and son,through the medium of a child, the offspring of a forbidden marriage,became still more vividly possible to him, and at any rate it was astaving-off of an unpleasant thing. He atoned to himself for takingso much of Roger's Fellowship money by reflecting that, if Rogermarried, he would lose this source of revenue; yet Osborne wasthrowing no impediment in the way of this event, rather forwarding itby promoting every possible means of his brother's seeing the lady ofhis love. Osborne ended his reflections by convincing himself of hisown generosity.