Chapter 45 - Page 2

perceive it. She only said, 'Indeed I did not. I know from my own feelings how you must dislike meeting a man in public in a different manner from what you have done in private. I shall try not to see Mr Preston again for a long, long time, I'm sure. And Helen Kirkpatrick - But Cynthia, you have not told me one word out of Roger's letter. Please how is he? Has he quite got over his attack of fever?'

'Yes, quite. He writes in very good spirits. A great deal about birds and beasts, as usual, and habits of natives, and things of that kind. You may read from there' - indicating a place in the letter - 'to there, if you can; and I'll tell you what, I'll trust you with it, Molly, while I pack (and that shows my sense of your honour, not but what you might read it all, only you'd find the love-making dull); but make a little account of where he is, and what he is doing, date, and that sort of thing, and send it to his father.'

Molly took the letter down without a word, and began to copy it at the writing-table; often reading over what she was allowed to read; often pausing, her cheek on her hand, her eyes on the letter, and letting her imagination rove to the writer, and all the scenes in which she had either seen him herself, or in which her fancy had painted him. She was startled from her meditations by Cynthia's sudden entrance into the drawing-room, looking the picture of glowing delight. 'No one here! What a blessing! Ah, Miss Molly, you are more eloquent than you believe yourself. Look here!' holding up a large full envelope, and then quickly replacing it in her pocket, as if she was afraid of being seen. 'What's the matter, sweet one?' coming up and caressing Molly. 'Is it worrying itself over that letter? Why, don't you see these are my very own horrible letters, that I am going to burn directly, that Mr Preston has had the grace to send me, thanks to you, little Molly - cuishla ma chree, pulse of my heart, - the letters that have been hanging over my head like somebody's sword for these two years?'

'Oh, I am so glad!' said Molly, rousing up a little. 'I never thought he would have sent them. He is better than I believed him. And now it is all over. I am so glad. You quite think he means to give up all claim over you by this, don't you, Cynthia?'

'He may claim, but I won't be claimed; and he has no proofs now. It is the most charming relief; and I owe it all to you, you precious little lady! Now there is only one thing more to be done; and if you would but do it for me -- ?' (coaxing and caressing while she asked the question).

'Oh, Cynthia, don't ask me; I cannot do any more. You don't know how sick I go when I think of yesterday, and Mr Sheepshanks' look.'

'It is only a very little thing. I won't burden your conscience with telling you how I get my letters, but it is not through a person I can trust with money; and I must force him to take back his twenty-three pounds odd