when the carriage was announced, and Molly was preparing to go downstairs, Cynthia said—“I’m not going to thank you, Molly, or to tell you how I love you.”

“Don’t,” said Molly, “I can’t bear it.”

“Only you know you are to be my first visitor; and, if you wear brown ribbons to a green gown, I’ll turn you out of the house!” So they parted. Mr. Gibson was there in the hall, to hand Molly in. He had ridden hard; and was now giving her two or three last injunctions as to her health.

“Think of us on Thursday,” said he. “I declare I don’t know which of her three lovers she mayn’t summon at the very last moment to act the part of bridegroom. I’m determined to be surprised at nothing, and will give her away with a good grace to whoever comes.”

They drove away; and, until they were out of sight of the house, Molly had enough to do to keep returning the kisses of the hand wafted to her by her stepmother out of the drawing-room window, while at the same time her eyes were fixed on a white handkerchief, fluttering out of the attic from which she herself had watched Roger’s departure nearly two years before. What changes time had brought!

When Molly arrived at the Towers, she was convoyed into Lady Cumnor’s presence by Lady Harriet. It was a mark of respect to the lady of the house, which the latter knew that her mother would expect; but she was anxious to get it over, and take Molly up into the room which she had been so busy arranging for her. Lady Cumnor was, however, very kind, if not positively gracious.

“You are Lady Harriet’s visitor, my dear,” said she, “and I hope she will take good care of you. If not, come and complain of her to me.” It was as near an approach to a joke as Lady Cumnor ever perpetrated, and from it Lady Harriet knew that her mother was pleased by Molly’s manners and appearance.

“Now, here you are in your own kingdom; and into this room I shan’t venture to come without express permission. Here’s the last new Quarterly, and the last new novel, and the last new essay. Now, my dear, you needn’t come down again to-day, unless you like it. Parkes shall bring you everything and anything you want. You must get strong as fast as you can, for all sorts of great and famous people are coming to-morrow and the next day, and I think you’ll like to see them. Suppose for to-day you only come down to lunch and, if you like it, in the evening. Dinner is such a wearily long meal, if one isn’t strong; and you wouldn’t miss much, for there’s only my cousin Charles in the house now, and he’s the personification of sensible silence.”

Molly was only too glad to allow Lady Harriet to decide everything for her. It had begun to rain, and was altogether a gloomy day for August; and there was a small fire of scented wood burning cheerfully in the sitting-room appropriated to her. High up, it commanded a wide and pleasant view over the park, and from it could be seen the spire of Hollingford Church, which gave Molly a pleasant idea of neighbourhood to home. She was left alone, lying on the sofa—books near her, wood cracking and blazing, wafts of wind bringing the beating rain against the window, and so enhancing the sense of indoor comfort by the outdoor contrast. Parkes was unpacking for her. Lady Harriet had introduced Parkes to Molly by saying, “Now, Molly, this is Mrs. Parkes, the only person I am ever afraid of. She scolds me, if I dirty myself with my paints, just as if I was a little child; and she makes me go to bed, when I want to sit up,”— Parkes was smiling grimly all the time—“so, to get rid of her tyranny, I give her you as victim. Parkes, rule over Miss Gibson with a rod of iron; make her eat and drink, and rest and sleep, and dress as you think wisest and best.”

Parkes had begun to reign by putting Molly on the sofa, and saying, “If you will give me your keys, Miss, I will unpack your things, and let you know when it is time for me to arrange your hair, preparatory to luncheon.” For, if Lady Harriet used familiar colloquialisms from time to time, she certainly had not learnt it from Parkes, who piqued herself on the correctness of her language.