loyalty to the heir, if indeed it had been he that was coming.  After luncheon, Mrs. Hamley went to rest, in preparation for Roger’s return; and Molly also retired to her own room, feeling that it would be better for her to remain there until dinner-time, and so to leave the father and mother to receive their boy in privacy.  She took a book of MS. poems with her; they were all of Osborne Hamley’s composition; and his mother had read some of them aloud to her young visitor more than once.  Molly had asked permission to copy one or two of those which were her greatest favourites; and this quiet summer afternoon she took this copying for her employment, sitting at the pleasant open window, and losing herself in dreamy out-looks into the gardens and woods, quivering in the noontide heat.  The house was so still, in its silence it might have been the ‘moated grange;’ the booming buzz of the blue flies, in the great staircase window, seemed the loudest noise in-doors.  And there was scarcely a sound out-of-doors but the humming of bees, in the flower-beds below the window.  Distant voices from the far-away fields in which they were making hay—­the scent of which came in sudden wafts distinct from that of the nearer roses and honey-suckles—­these merry piping voices just made Molly feel the depth of the present silence.  She had left off copying, her hand weary with the unusual exertion of so much writing, and she was lazily trying to learn one or two of the poems off by heart.

    ’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 cranching 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 staircase 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 ‘Hollo! 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.’