Wives and Daughters: An Every-Day Story - Page 396/572

Molly thought of Roger, and that thought prompted her next speech.

"It must be horrible--I think I'm very brave--but I don't think I

could have--could have accepted even Roger, with a half-cancelled

engagement hanging over me." She blushed as she spoke.

"You forget how I detest Mr. Preston!" said Cynthia. "It was that,

more than any excess of love for Roger, that made me thankful to be

at least as securely pledged to some one else. He did not want to

call it an engagement, but I did; because it gave me the feeling of

assurance that I was free from Mr. Preston. And so I am! all but

these letters. Oh! if you can but make him take back his abominable

money, and get me my letters! Then we would bury it all in oblivion,

and he could marry somebody else, and I would marry Roger, and no one

would be the wiser. After all, it was only what people call 'youthful

folly.' And you may tell Mr. Preston that as soon as he makes my

letters public, shows them to your father or anything, I'll go away

from Hollingford, and never come back."

Loaded with many such messages, which she felt that she should never

deliver, not really knowing what she should say, hating the errand,

not satisfied with Cynthia's manner of speaking about her relations

to Roger, oppressed with shame and complicity in conduct which

appeared to her deceitful, yet willing to bear all and brave all,

if she could once set Cynthia in a straight path--in a clear space,

and almost more pitiful to her friend's great distress and possible

disgrace, than able to give her that love which involves perfect

sympathy, Molly set out on her walk towards the appointed place. It

was a cloudy, blustering day, and the noise of the blowing wind among

the nearly leafless branches of the great trees filled her ears, as

she passed through the park-gates and entered the avenue. She walked

quickly, instinctively wishing to get her blood up, and have no time

for thought. But there was a bend in the avenue about a quarter of a

mile from the lodge; after that bend it was a straight line up to the

great house, now emptied of its inhabitants. Molly did not like going

quite out of sight of the lodge, and she stood facing it, close by

the trunk of one of the trees. Presently she heard a step coming over

the grass. It was Mr. Preston. He saw a woman's figure, half-behind

the trunk of a tree, and made no doubt that it was Cynthia. But

when he came nearer, almost close, the figure turned round, and,

instead of the brilliantly coloured face of Cynthia, he met the pale

resolved look of Molly. She did not speak to greet him; but though

he felt sure from the general aspect of pallor and timidity that

she was afraid of him, her steady gray eyes met his with courageous

innocence.