Chapter 56 - Page 2

affixed even less truth to it than there really was. The idea of a residence in a new, strange country, among new, strange people, was not without allurement to Cynthia.

'You always look nice, dear; but don't you think you had better put on that pretty lilac silk?'

'I shall not vary a thread or a shred from what I have got on now.'

'You dear wilful creature! you know you always look lovely in whatever you put on.' So, kissing her daughter, Mrs Gibson left the room, intent on the lunch which should impress Mr Henderson at once with an idea of family refinement.

Cynthia went upstairs to Molly; She was inclined to tell her about Mr Henderson, but she found it impossible to introduce the subject naturally, so she left it to time to reveal the future as gradually as it might. Molly was tired with a bad night; and her father, in his flying visit to his darling before going out, had advised her to stay upstairs for the greater part of the morning, and to keep quiet in her own room till after her early dinner, so Time had not a fair chance of telling her what he had in store in his budget. Mrs Gibson sent an apology to Molly for not paying her her usual morning visit, and told Cynthia to give Mr Henderson's probable coming as a reason for her occupation downstairs. But Cynthia did no such thing. She kissed Molly, and sate silently by her, holding her hand; till at length she jumped up, and said, 'You shall be left alone now, little one. I want you to be very well and very bright this afternoon: so rest now.' And Cynthia left her, and went to her own room, locked the door, and began to think.

Some one was thinking about her at the same time, and it was not Mr Henderson. Roger had heard from Mr Gibson that Cynthia had come home, and he was resolving to go to her at once, and have one strong, manly attempt to overcome the obstacles, whatever they might be - and of their nature he was not fully aware - that she had conjured up against the continuance of their relation to each other. He left his father - he left them all - and went off into the woods, to be alone until the time came when he might mount his horse and ride over to put his fate to the touch. He was as careful as ever not to interfere with the morning hours that were tabooed to him of old; but waiting was very hard work when he knew that she was so near, and the time so near at hand.

Yet he rode slowly, compelling himself to quietness and patience when he was once really on the way to her.

'Mrs Gibson at home? Miss Kirkpatrick?' he asked of the servant, Maria, who opened the door. She was confused, but he did not notice it.

'I think so; I am not sure! Will you walk up into the drawing-room, sir? Miss Gibson is there, I know.'

So he went upstairs, all his nerves on one strain for the coming interview with Cynthia. It was either a relief or a disappointment, he was not sure which, to find only Molly in