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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
88
“‘Molly!’
said
he,
‘I
did
not
think
all
this
would
happen.’
He
looked
into
her
face
for
comfort—
her
poor
face
all
wild
and
white;
for
neither
she
nor
my
father
had
dared
to
acknowledge—
much
less
act
upon—
the
terror
that
was
in
their
hearts,
lest
Peter
should
have
made
away
with
himself.
My
father
saw
no
conscious
look
in
his
wife’s
hot,
dreary
eyes,
and
he
missed
the
sympathy
that
she
had
always
been
ready
to
give
him—
strong
man
as
he
was,
and
at
the
dumb
despair
in
her
face
his
tears
began
to
flow.
But
when
she
saw
this,
a
gentle
sorrow
came
over
her
countenance,
and
she
said,
‘Dearest
John!
don’t
cry;
come
with
me,
and
we’ll
find
him,’
almost
as
cheerfully
as
if
she
knew
where
he
was.
And
she
took
my
father’s
great
hand
in
her
little
soft
one,
and
led
him
along,
the
tears
dropping
as
he
walked
on
that
same
unceasing,
weary
walk,
from
room
to
room,
through
house
and
garden.
“Oh,
how
I
wished
for
Deborah!
I
had
no
time
for
crying,
for
now
all
seemed
to
depend
on
me.
I
wrote
for
Deborah
to
come
home.
I
sent
a
message
privately
to
that
same
Mr
Holbrook’s
house—
poor
Mr
Holbrook;—
you
know
who
I
mean.
I
don’t
mean
I
sent
a
message
to
him,
but
I
sent
one
that
I
could
trust
to
know
if
Peter
was
at
his
house.
For
at
one
time
Mr
Holbrook
was
an
occasional
visitor
at
the
rectory—
you
know
he
was
Miss
Pole’s
cousin—
and
he
had
been
very
kind
to
Peter,
and
taught
him
how
to
fish—
he
was
very
kind
to
everybody,
and
I
thought
Peter
might
have
gone
off
there.
But
Mr
Holbrook
was
from
home,
and
Peter
had
never
been
seen.
It
was
night
now;
but
the
doors
were
all
wide
open,
and
my
father
and
mother
walked
on
and
on;
it
was
more
than
an
hour
since
he
had
joined
her,
and
I
don’t
believe
they
had
ever
spoken
all
that
time.
I
was
getting
the
parlour
fire
lighted,
and
one
of
the
servants
was
preparing
tea,
for
I
wanted
them
to
have
something
to
eat
and
drink
and
warm
them,
when
old
Clare
asked
to
speak
to
me.
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