‘Quite sure.’

’You are staying here, are you not?  Do you often see my mother, or does this omnipotent nurse keep you out too?’

’Mrs. Hamley hasn’t asked for me for three days now, and I don’t go into her room unless she asks.  I’m leaving on Friday, I believe.’

‘My mother was very fond of you, I know.’

After a while he said, in a voice that had a great deal of sensitive pain in its tone,—­

‘I suppose—­do you know whether she is quite conscious—­quite herself?’

‘Not always conscious,’ said Molly, tenderly.  ’She has to take so many opiates.  But she never wanders, only forgets, and sleeps.’

‘Oh, mother, mother!’ said he, stopping suddenly, and hanging over the fire, his hands on the chimney-piece.

When Roger came home, Molly thought it time to retire.  Poor girl! it was getting to be time for her to leave this scene of distress in which she could be of no use.  She sobbed herself to sleep this Tuesday night.  Two days more, and it would be Friday; and she would have to wrench up the roots she had shot down into this ground.  The weather was bright the next morning; and morning and sunny weather cheer up young hearts.  Molly sate in the dining-room making tea for the gentlemen as they came down.  She could not help hoping that the squire and Osborne might come to a better understanding before she left; for after all, in the discussion between father and son, lay a bitterer sting than in the illness sent by God.  But though they met at the breakfast-table, they purposely avoided addressing each other.  Perhaps the natural subject of conversation between the two, at such a time, would have been Osborne’s long journey the night before; but he had never spoken of the place he had come from, whether north, south, east, or west, and the squire did not choose to allude to anything that might bring out what his son wished to conceal.  Again, there was an unexpressed idea in both their minds that Mrs. Hamley’s present illness was much aggravated, if not entirely brought on, by the discovery of Osborne’s debts; so, many inquiries and answers on that head were tabooed.  In fact, their attempts at easy conversation were limited to local subjects, and principally addressed to Molly or Roger.  Such intercourse was not productive of pleasure, or even of friendly feeling, though there was a thin outward surface of politeness and peace.  Long before the day was over, Molly wished that she had acceded to her father’s proposal, and gone home with him.  No one seemed to want her.  Mrs Jones, the nurse, assured her time after time that Mrs. Hamley had never named her name; and her small services in the sickroom were not required since there was a regular nurse.  Osborne and Roger seemed all in all to each other; and Molly now felt how much the short conversations she had had with Roger had served to give her something to think about, all during the remainder of her solitary days.