Mr. Gibson came in rubbing his hands after his frosty ride. Molly
judged from the look in his eye that he had been fully informed of the
present state of things at the Hall by some one. But he simply went up
to and greeted the squire, and waited to hear what was said to him. The
squire was fumbling at the taper on the writing-table, and before he
answered much he lighted it, and signing to his friend to follow him, he went softly to the sofa and showed him the sleeping child, taking the utmost care not to arouse it by flare or sound.
'Well! this is a fine young gentleman,' said Mr. Gibson, returning to
the fire rather sooner than the squire expected. 'And you've got the
mother here, I understand. Mrs. Osborne Hamley, as we must call her, poor thing! It's a sad coming home to her, for I hear she knew nothing of his death.' He spoke without exactly addressing any one, so that either Molly or the squire might answer as they liked. The squire said,—
'Yes! She has felt it a terrible shock. She's upstairs in the best
bedroom. I should like you to see her, Gibson, if she'll let you. We
must do our duty by her, for my poor lad's sake. I wish he could have
seen his boy lying there; I do. I daresay it preyed on him to have to
keep it all to himself. He might ha' known me, though. He might ha'
known my bark was waur than my bite. It's all over now, though; and God
forgive me if I was too sharp. I'm punished now.'
Molly grew impatient on the mother's behalf.
'Papa, I feel as if she was very ill; perhaps worse than we think. Will
you go and see her at once?'
Mr. Gibson followed her upstairs, and the squire came too, thinking
that he would do his duty now, and even feeling some self-satisfaction
at conquering his desire to stay with the child. They went into the
room where she had been taken. She lay quite still in the same position
as at first. Her eyes were open and tearless, fixed on the wall. Mr. Gibson spoke to her, but she did not answer; he lifted her hand to feel her pulse; she never noticed.
'Bring me some wine at once, and order some beef-tea,' he said to
Molly.
But when he tried to put the wine into her mouth as she lay there on
her side, she made no effort to receive or swallow it, and it ran out
upon the pillow. Mr. Gibson left the room abruptly; Molly chafed the
little inanimate hand; the squire stood by in dumb dismay, touched in
spite of himself by the death-in-life of one so young, and who must
have been so much beloved.
Mr. Gibson came back two steps at a time; he was carrying the half-
awakened child in his arms. He did not scruple to rouse him into yet
further wakefulness—did not grieve to hear him begin to wail and cry. His eyes were on the figure upon the bed, which at that sound quivered all through; and when her child was laid at her back, and began caressingly to scramble yet closer, Aimee turned round, and took him to her arms, and lulled him and soothed him with the soft wont of mother's love.
Before she lost this faint consciousness, which was habit or instinct
rather than thought, Mr. Gibson spoke to her in French. The child's one
word of 'maman' had given him this clue. It was the language sure to be
most intelligible to her dulled brain; and as it happened,—only Mr. Gibson did not think of that—it was the language in which she had been commanded, and had learnt to obey.
Mr. Gibson's tongue was a little stiff at first, but by-and-by he spoke
it with all his old readiness. He extorted from her short answers at
first, then longer ones, and from time to time he plied her with little
drops of wine, until some further nourishment should be at hand. Molly
was struck by her father's low tones of comfort and sympathy, although
she could not follow what was said quickly enough to catch the meaning
of what passed.