If Molly thought that peace dwelt perpetually at Hamley Hall she was sorely mistaken. Something was out of tune¹ in the whole establishment; and, for a very unusual thing, the common irritation² seemed to have produced a common bond. All the servants were old in their places, and were told by some one of the family, or gathered, from the unheeded conversation carried on before them, everything that affected³ master or mistress or either of the young gentlemen. Any one of them could have told Molly that the grievance⁴ which lay at the root of everything, was the amount of the bills run up by Osborne at Cambridge, and which, now that all chance of his obtaining a fellowship was over, came pouring down upon the squire⁵. But Molly, confident of being told by Mrs. Hamley herself anything which she wished her to hear, encouraged no confidences from any one else.

She was struck with the change in ‘madam’s’ looks as soon as she caught sight of her in the darkened room, lying on the sofa in her dressing-room, all dressed in white, which almost rivalled the white wanness⁶ of her face. The squire ushered⁷ Molly in with —

‘Here she is at last!’ and Molly had scarcely imagined that he had so much variety in the tones of his voice — the beginning of the sentence was spoken in a loud congratulatory manner, while the last words were scarcely audible. He had seen the death-like pallor on his wife’s face; not a new sight, and one which had been presented to him gradually enough, but which was now always giving him a fresh shock. It was a lovely tranquil⁸ winter’s day; every branch and every twig⁹ of the trees and

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