‘What is it, Molly?  Why, how white you look, child!’

‘Where’s papa?’

‘Gone out.  What’s the matter?’

‘Where?’

’How should I know?  I was asleep; Jenny came upstairs on her way to the bedrooms; she’s a girl who never keeps to her work, and Maria takes advantage of her.’

‘Jenny, Jenny!’ cried Molly, frantic at the delay.

‘Don’t shout, dear,—­ring the bell.  What can be the matter?’

‘Oh, Jenny!’ said Molly, half way up the stairs to meet her, ’who wanted papa?’

Cynthia came to join the group; she too had been looking for traces or tidings of Mr. Gibson.

‘What is the matter?’ said Mrs. Gibson.  ’Can nobody speak and answer a question?’

‘Osborne Hamley is dead!’ said Cynthia, gravely.

’Dead!  Osborne!  Poor fellow!  I knew it would be so, though,—­I was sure of it.  But Mr. Gibson can do nothing if he’s dead.  Poor young man!  I wonder where Roger is now?  He ought to come home.’

Jenny bad been blamed for coming into the drawing-room instead of Maria, whose place it was, and so had lost the few wits she had.  To Molly’s hurried questions her replies had been entirely unsatisfactory.  A man had come to the back door—­she could not see who it was—­she had not asked his name:  he wanted to speak to master,—­master had seemed in a hurry, and only stopped to get his hat.

‘He will not be long away,’ thought Molly, ’or he would have left word where he was going.  But oh! the poor father all alone.’  And then a thought came into her head, which she acted upon straight.  ’Go to James, tell him to put the side-saddle I had in November on Nora Creina.  Don’t cry, Jenny.  There’s no time for that.  No one is angry with you.  Run!’

So down into the cluster of collected women Molly came, equipped in her jacket and skirt; quick determination in her eyes; controlled quivering about the corners of her mouth.

‘Why, what in the world,’ said Mrs. Gibson,—­’Molly, what are you thinking about?’ But Cynthia had understood it at a glance, and was arranging Molly’s hastily assumed dress, as she passed along.

’I am going.  I must go.  I cannot bear to think of him alone.  When papa comes back he is sure to go to Hamley, and if I am not wanted, I can come back with him.’  She heard Mrs. Gibson’s voice following her in remonstrance, but she did not stay for words.  She had to wait in the stable-yard, and she wondered how the messenger could bear to eat and drink the food and beer brought out to him by the servants.  Her coming out had evidently interrupted the eager talk,—­the questions and answers passing sharp to and fro; but she caught the words, ’all amongst the tangled grass,’ and ’the squire would let none on us touch him:  he took him up as if he was a baby; he had to rest many a time, and once he sate him down on the ground; but still he kept him in his arms; but we thought we should ne’er have gotten him up again—­him and the body.’