give his attention to his companion, as they passed through the little
wood that separated the gardens from the adjoining fields. Molly, too,
plucked away her thoughts from the seventeenth century; and, somehow or
other, that one question, which had so haunted her before, came out of
her lips before she was aware--a literal impromptu,--

'Who did people think papa would marry? That time--long ago--soon after
mamma died?'

She dropped her voice very soft and low, as she spoke the last words.
The squire turned round upon her, and looked at her face, he knew not
why. It was very grave, a little pale, but her steady eyes almost
commanded some kind of answer.

'Whew,' said he, whistling to gain time; not that he had anything
definite to say, for no one had ever had any reason to join Mr Gibson's
name with any known lady: it was only a loose conjecture that had been
hazarded on the probabilities--a young widower, with a little girl.

'I never heard of any one--his name was never coupled with any lady's--
'twas only in the nature of things that he should marry again; he may
do it yet, for aught I know, and I don't think it would be a bad move
either. I told him so, the last time but one he was here.'

'And what did he say?' asked breathless Molly.

'Oh: he only smiled, and said nothing. You shouldn't take up words so
seriously, my dear. Very likely he may never think of marrying again,
and if he did, it would be a very good thing both for him and for you!'