yet he wanted to prevent any of that heavy silence which he feared might be impending—­with an angry and displeased father, and a timorous and distressed mother.  He only looked upon Molly as a badly-dressed, and rather awkward girl, with black hair and an intelligent face, who might help him in the task he had set himself of keeping up a bright general conversation during the rest of the evening; might help him—­if she would, but she would not.  She thought him unfeeling in his talkativeness; his constant flow of words upon indifferent subjects was a wonder and a repulsion to her.  How could he go on so cheerfully while his mother sate there, scarcely eating anything, and doing her best, with ill success, to swallow down the tears that would keep rising to her eyes; when his father’s heavy brow was deeply clouded, and he evidently cared nothing—­at first at least—­for all the chatter his son poured forth?  Had Mr. Roger Hamley no sympathy in him?  She would show that she had, at any rate.  So she quite declined the part, which he had hoped she would have taken, of respondent, and possible questioner; and his work became more and more like that of a man walking in a quagmire.  Once the squire roused himself to speak to the butler; he felt the need of outward stimulus—­of a better vintage than usual.

‘Bring up a bottle of the Burgundy with the yellow seal.’

He spoke low; he had no spirit to speak in his usual voice.  The butler answered in the same tone.  Molly sitting near them, and silent herself, heard what they said.

’If you please, sir, there are not above six bottles of that seal left; and it is Mr. Osborne’s favourite wine.’

The squire turned round with a growl in his voice.

‘Bring up a bottle of the Burgundy with the yellow seal, as I said.’

The butler went away, wondering.  ‘Mr. Osborne’s’ likes and dislikes had been the law of the house in general until now.  If he had liked any particular food or drink, any seat or place, any special degree of warmth or coolness, his wishes were to be attended to; for he was the heir, and he was delicate, and he was the clever one of the family.  All the out-of-doors men would have said the same; Mr Osborne wished a tree cut down, or kept standing, or had such-and-such a fancy about the game; or had desired something unusual about the horses; and they had all to attend to it as if it were law.  But to-day the Burgundy with the yellow seal was to be brought; and it was brought.  Molly testified with quiet vehemence of action; she never took wine, so she need not have been afraid of the man’s pouring it into her glass; but as an open mark of fealty to the absent Osborne, however little it might be understood, she placed the palm of her small brown hand over the top of the glass, and held it there, till the wine had gone round, and Roger and his father were in full enjoyment of the same.

After dinner, too, the gentlemen lingered long over their dessert, and Molly heard them laughing; and then she saw them loitering about in the twilight out-of-doors; Roger hatless, his hands in his pockets, lounging by his father’s side, who was now able to talk in his usual loud and cheerful way, forgetting Osborne. Voe, victis!