"I promise not to disturb it," replied Molly; "you know, Jane, I'm not an exciting sort of person."
"No more you are, my dear; but it frets me to have my arrangements put out by fads. However, off with you to bed now. Dear me, I am famished. If Minerva felt as I do, I pity her, poor soul. I'll have a glass of stout; there's nothing like it when you're worn out. Good night, Molly."
Molly ran eagerly away. She was waylaid by more than one brother and sister on her way upstairs, but at last she found herself in Nell's room.
Nell was sitting on the side of the bed; she had not attempted to undress.
"Oh, come, this will never do," said the practical Molly; "why, you're ready to drop with fatigue, you poor mite. Here, let me undress you, and you can talk while I'm doing it. Now, what's the trouble?"
"It's about father."
"What about him?"
"He came back to-night; he stood under the oak tree at the end of the lawn. I saw him first, because he pressed his face up against one of the windows and looked in, and afterwards he stood under the oak tree; Boris and I ran out to him."
"Yes, yes; go on, Nell."
Molly's fingers were trembling now, but they did not cease their busy task of unfastening Nell's clothes.