Something, however, had changed him now: something that had arisen at the time of Cynthia's engagement; he had become nervously sensitive to his wife's failings, and his whole manner had grown dry and sarcastic, not merely to her, but sometimes to Cynthia, - and even - but this very rarely, to Molly herself.He was not a man to go into passions, or ebullitions of feeling: they would have relieved him, even while degrading him in his own eyes; but he became hard, and occasionally bitter in his speeches and ways.Molly now learnt to long after the vanished blindness in which her father had passed the first year of his marriage; yet there were no outrageous infractions of domestic peace.Some people might say that Mr Gibson 'accepted the inevitable;' he told himself in more homely phrase 'that it was no use crying over spilt milk;' and he, from principle, avoided all actual dissensions with his wife, preferring to cut short a discussion by a sarcasm, or by leaving the room.Moreover, Mrs Gibson had a very tolerable temper of her own, and her cat-like nature purred and delighted in smooth ways, and pleasant quietness.She had no great facility for understanding sarcasm;it is true it disturbed her, but as she was not quick at deciphering any depth of meaning, and felt it to be unpleasant to think about it, she forgot it as soon as possible.Yet she saw she was often in some kind of disfavour with her husband, and it made her uneasy.She resembled Cynthia in this;she liked to be liked; and she wanted to regain the esteem which she did not perceive she had lost for ever.Molly sometimes took her stepmother's part in secret; she felt as if she herself could never have borne her father's hard speeches so patiently: they would have cut her to the heart, and she must either have demanded an explanation, and probed the sore to the bottom, or sate down despairing and miserable.Instead of which Mrs Gibson, after her husband had left the room on these occasions, would say in a manner more bewildered than hurt, - 'I think dear papa seems a little put out to-day; we must see that he has a dinner that he likes when he comes home.I have often perceived that everything depends on making a man comfortable in his own house.' And thus she went on, groping about to find the means of reinstating herself in his good graces - really trying, according to her lights, till Molly was often compelled to pity her in spite of herself, and although she saw that her stepmother was the cause of her father's increased astringency of disposition.For indeed he had got into that kind of exaggerated susceptibility with regard to his wife's faults, which may be best typified by the state of bodily irritation that is produced by the constant recurrence of any particular noise: those who are brought within hearing of it, are apt to be always on the watch for the repetition, if they are once made to notice it, and are in an irritable state of nerves.So that poor Molly had not passed a cheerful winter, independently of any private sorrows that she might have in her own heart.She did not look well, either; she was gradually falling into low health, rather than bad health.Her heart beat more feebly and slower; the vivifying stimulant of hope - even unacknowledged hope - was gone out of her life.It seemed as if there was not, and never could be in this world, any help for the dumb discordancy between her father and his wife.Day after day, month after month, year after year, would Molly have to sympathize with her father, and pity her stepmother, feeling acutely for both, and certainly more than Mrs Gibson felt for herself.Molly could not imagine how she had at one time wished for her father's eyes to be opened, and how she could ever have fancied that if they were, he would be able to change things in Mrs Gibson's character.It was all hopeless, and the only attempt at a remedy was to think about it as little as possible.Then Cynthia's ways and manners about Roger gave Molly a great deal of uneasiness.She did not believe that Cynthia cared enough for him; at any rate, not with the sort of love that she herself would have bestowed, if she had been so happy - no, that was not ii - if she had been in Cynthia's place.She felt as if she should have gone to him both hands held out, full and brimming over with tenderness, and been grateful for every word of precious confidence bestowed on her.
Yet Cynthia received his letters with a kind of carelessness, and read them with a strange indifference, while Molly sate at her feet, so to speak, looking up with eyes as wistful as a dog's waiting for crumbs, and such chance beneficences.She tried to be patient on these occasions, but at last she must ask, -'Where is he, Cynthia? What does he say?' By this time Cynthia had put down the letter on the table by her, smiling a little from time to time, as she remembered the loving compliments it contained.'Where? Oh, I did not look exactly - somewhere in Abyssinia - Huon.' Ican't read the word, and it does not much signify, for it would give me no idea.' 'Is he well?' asked greedy Molly.'Yes, now.He has had a slight touch of fever, he says; but it's all over now, and he hopes he is getting acclimatized.' 'Of fever! - and who took care of him? he would want nursing - and so far from home.Oh, Cynthia!' 'Oh, I don't fancy he had any nursing, poor fellow! One does not expect nursing, and hospitals, and doctors in Abyssinia; but he had plenty of quinine with him, and I suppose that is the best specific.At any rate, he says he is quite well now!' Molly sate silent for a minute or two.'What is the date of the letter, Cynthia?' 'I did not look.December the - December the 10th.' 'That's nearly two months ago,' said Molly.'Yes; but I determined I would not worry myself with useless anxiety, when he went away.If anything did - go wrong, you know,' said Cynthia, using an euphuism' for death, as most people do (it is an ugly word to speak plain out in the midst of life), 'it would be all over before I even heard of his illness, and I could be of no use to him - could I, Molly?' 'No.I daresay it is all very true; only I should think the squire could not take it so easily.' 'I always write him a little note when I hear from Roger, but I don't think I'll name this touch of fever - shall I, Molly?' 'I don't know,' said Molly.'People say one ought, but I almost wish Ihad not heard it.Please, does he say anything else that I may hear?' 'Oh, lovers' letters are so silly, and I think this is sillier than usual,'
said Cynthia, looking over her letter again.'Here's a piece you may read, from that line to that,' indicating two places.'I have not read it myself for it looked dullish - all about Aristotle and Pliny - and I want to get this bonnet-cap made up before we go out to pay our calls.' Molly took the letter, the thought crossing her mind that he had touched it, had had his hands upon it, in those far-distant desert lands, where he might be lost to sight and to any human knowledge of his fate; even now her pretty brown fingers almost caressed the flimsy paper with their delicacy of touch as she read.She saw references made to books, which, with a little trouble, would be accessible to her here in Hollingford.
Perhaps the details and the references would make the letter dull and dry to some people, but not to her, thanks to his former teaching and the interest he had excited in her for his pursuits.But, as he said in apology, what had he to write about in that savage land, but his love, and his researches, and travels? There was no society, no gaiety, no new books to write about, no gossip in Abyssinian wilds.Molly was not in strong health, and perhaps this made her a little fanciful;but certain it is that her thoughts by day and her dreams by night were haunted by the idea of Roger lying ill and untended in those savage lands.
Her constant prayer, 'O my Lord! give her the living child, and in no wise slay it,' came from a heart as true as that of the real mother in King Solomon's judgment.'Let him live, let him live, even though I may never set eyes upon him again.Have pity upon his father! Grant that he may come home safe, and live happily with her whom he loves so tenderly - so tenderly, O God.' And then she would burst into tears, and drop asleep at last, sobbing.
