Chapter 40 - Page 2

afraid he'll expect me to be always as good as he fancies me now, and I shall have to walk on tip-toe all the rest of my life.'

'But you are good, Cynthia,' put in Molly.

'No, I'm not. You're just as much mistaken as he is; and some day I shall go down in your opinions with a run, just like the hall clock the other day when the spring broke.'

'I think he'll love you just as much,' said Molly.

'Could you? Would you be my friend if - if it turned out ever that I had done very wrong things? Would you remember how very difficult it has sometimes been to me to act rightly' (she took hold of Molly's hand as she spoke). 'We won't speak of mamma, for your sake as much as mine or hers; but you must see she is not one to help a girl with much good advice, or good -- Oh, Molly, you don't know how I was neglected just at a time when I wanted friends most. Mamma does not know it; it is not in her to know what I might have been if I had only fallen into wise, good hands. But I know it; and what's more,' continued she, suddenly ashamed of her unusual exhibition of feeling, 'I try not to care, which I daresay is really the worst of all; but I could worry myself to death if I once took to serious thinking.'

'I wish I could help you, or even understand you,' said Molly, after a moment or two of sad perplexity.

'You can help me,' said Cynthia, changing her manner abruptly. 'I can trim bonnets, and make head-dresses; but somehow my hands can't fold up gowns and collars, like your deft little fingers. Please will you help me to pack? That's a real, tangible piece of kindness, and not sentimental consolation for sentimental distresses, which are, perhaps, imaginary after all.'

In general, it is the people who are left behind stationary, who give way to low spirits at any parting; the travellers, however bitterly they may feel the separation, find something in the change of scene to soften regret in the very first hour of separation. But as Molly walked home with her father from seeing Mrs Gibson and Cynthia off to London by the 'Umpire' coach, she almost danced along the street.

'Now, papa!' said she, 'I'm going to have you all to myself for a whole week. You must be very obedient.'

'Don't be tyrannical, then. You are walking me out of breath, and we are cutting Mrs Goodenough, in our hurry.'

So they crossed over the street to speak to Mrs Goodenough.

'We've just been seeing my wife and her daughter off to London. Mrs Gibson has gone up for a week!'

'Deary, deary, to London, and only for a week! Why, I can remember its being a three days' journey! It will be very lonesome for you, Miss Molly, without your young companion!'

'Yes!' said Molly, suddenly feeling as if she ought to have taken this view of the case. 'I shall miss Cynthia very much.'

'And you, Mr Gibson; why, it will be like being a widower over again! You