Suddenly, through this quiet, there came a ring at the front-door bell that sounded, and went on sounding, through the house, pulled by an ignorant vigorous hand.Molly stopped reading; she and the squire looked at each other in surprised dismay.Perhaps a thought of Roger's sudden (and impossible)return was in the mind of each; but neither spoke.They heard Robinson hurrying to answer the unwonted summons.They listened; but they heard no more.There was little more to hear.When the old servant opened the door, a lady with a child in her arms stood there.She gasped out her ready-prepared English sentence, - 'Can I see Mr Osborne Hamley? He is ill, I know; but I am his wife.' Robinson had been aware that there was some mystery, long suspected by the servants, and come to light at last to the master, - he had guessed that there was a young woman in the case; but when she stood there before him, asking for her dead husband as if he were living, any presence of mind Robinson might have had forsook him; he could not tell her the truth, - he could only leave the door open, and say to her, 'Wait awhile, I'll come back,' and betake himself to the drawing-room where Molly was, he knew.He went up to her in a flutter and a hurry, and whispered something to her which turned her white with dismay.'What is it? What is it?' said the squire, trembling with excitement.'Don't keep it from me.I can bear it.Roger -- ' They both thought he was going to faint; he had risen up and come close to Molly; suspense would be worse than anything.'Mrs Osborne Hamley is here,' said Molly.'I wrote to tell her her husband was very ill, and she has come.' 'She does not know what has happened, seemingly,' said Robinson.'I can't see her - I can't see her,' said the squire, shrinking away into a corner.'You will go, Molly, won't you? You'll go.' Molly stood for a moment or two, irresolute.She, too, shrank from the interview.Robinson put in his word, - 'She looks but a weakly thing, and has carried a big baby, choose how far, I did not stop to ask.' At this instant the door softly opened, and right into the midst of them came the little figure in grey, looking ready to fall with the weight of her child.'You are Molly,' said she, not seeing the squire at once.'The lady who wrote the letter; he spoke of you sometimes.You will let me go to him.' Molly did not answer, except that at such moments the eyes speak solemnly and comprehensively.Aimée read their meaning.All she said was, - 'He is not - oh, my husband - my husband!' Her arms relaxed, her figure swayed, the child screamed and held out his arms for help.That help was given him by his grandfather, just before Aimée fell senseless on the floor.'Maman, maman!' cried the little fellow, now striving and fighting to get back to her, where she lay; he fought so lustily that the squire had to put him down, and he crawled to the poor inanimate body, behind which sate Molly, holding the head; whilst Robinson rushed away for water, wine, and more womankind.'Poor thing, poor thing!' said the squire, bending over her, and crying afresh over her suffering.'She is but young, Molly, and she must ha' loved him dearly.' 'To be sure!' said Molly, quickly.She was untying the bonnet, and taking off the worn, but neatly mended gloves; there was the soft luxuriant black hair, shading the pale, innocent face, - the little notable-looking brown hands, with the wedding-ring for sole ornament.The child clustered his fingers round one of hers, and nestled up against her with his plaintive cry, getting more and more into a burst of wailing: 'Maman, maman!' At the growing acuteness of his imploring, her hand moved, her lips quivered, consciousness came partially back.She did not open her eyes, but great heavy tears stole out from beneath her eyelashes.Molly held her head against her own breast; and they tried to give her wine, - which she shrank from - water, which she did not reject; that was all.At last she tried to speak.
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