Molly left Hamley Hall.  From time to time her father rode up to the window, and made some little cheerful and apparently careless remark.  When they came within two miles of Hollingford he put spurs to his horse, and rode briskly past the carriage windows, kissing his hand to the occupant as he did so.  He went on to prepare her home for Molly:  when she arrived Mrs. Gibson was ready to greet her.  Mr. Gibson had given one or two of his bright, imperative orders, and Mrs. Gibson was feeling rather lonely without either of her two dear girls at home, as she phrased it, to herself as well as to others.

’Why, my sweet Molly, this is an unexpected pleasure.  Only this morning I said to papa, “When do you think we shall see our Molly back?” He did not say much—­he never does, you know; but I am sure he thought directly of giving me this surprise, this pleasure.  You’re looking a little—­what shall I call it?  I remember such a pretty line of poetry, “Oh, call her fair, not pale!”—­so we’ll call you fair.’

’You’d better not call her anything, but let her get to her own room and have a good rest as soon as possible.  Haven’t you got a trashy novel or two in the house?  That’s the literature to send her to sleep.’

He did not leave her till he had seen her laid on a sofa in a darkened room, with some slight pretence of reading in her hand.  Then he came away, leading his wife, who turned round at the door to kiss her hand to Molly, and make a little face of unwillingness to be dragged away.

‘Now, Hyacinth,’ said he, as he took his wife into the drawing-room, ’she will need much care.  She has been overworked, and I’ve been a fool.  That’s all.  We must keep her from all worry and care,—­but I won’t answer for it that she’ll not have an illness, for all that!’

’Poor thing! she does look worn out.  She is something like me, her feelings are too much for her.  But now she is come home she shall find us as cheerful as possible.  I can answer for myself; and you really must brighten up your doleful face, my dear—­nothing so bad for invalids as the appearance of depression in those around them.  I have had such a pleasant letter from Cynthia to-day.  Uncle Kirkpatrick really seems to make so much of her, he treats her just like a daughter; he has given her a ticket to the Concerts of Ancient Music; and Mr. Henderson has been to call on her, in spite of all that has gone before.’

For an instant, Mr. Gibson thought that it was easy enough for his wife to be cheerful, with the pleasant thoughts and evident anticipations she had in her mind, but a little more difficult for him to put off his doleful looks while his own child lay in a state of suffering and illness which might be the precursor of a still worse malady.  But he was always a man for immediate action as soon as he had resolved on the course to be taken; and he knew that ’some must watch, while some must sleep; so runs the world away.’