"Papa," said Molly, "if you knew all you wouldn't speak so to
Cynthia. I wish she would tell you herself all that she has told me."
"I am ready to hear whatever she has to say," said he. But Cynthia
said,--
"No! you have prejudged me; you have spoken to me as you had no right
to speak. I refuse to give you my confidence, or accept your help.
People are very cruel to me"--her voice trembled for a moment--"I did
not think you would have been. But I can bear it."
And then, in spite of Molly, who would have detained her by force,
she tore herself away, and hastily left the room.
"Oh, papa!" said Molly, crying, and clinging to him, "do let me
tell you all." And then she suddenly recollected the awkwardness of
telling some of the details of the story before Mrs. Gibson, and
stopped short.
"I think, Mr. Gibson, you have been very very unkind to my poor
fatherless child," said Mrs. Gibson, emerging from behind her
pocket-handkerchief. "I only wish her poor father had been alive,
and all this would never have happened."
"Very probably. Still I cannot see of what either she or you have to
complain. Inasmuch as we could, I and mine have sheltered her! I have
loved her; I do love her almost as if she were my own child--as well
as Molly, I do not pretend to do."
"That's it, Mr. Gibson! you do not treat her like your own child."
But in the midst of this wrangle Molly stole out, and went in search
of Cynthia. She thought she bore an olive-branch of healing in the
sound of her father's just spoken words: "I do love her almost as if
she were my own child." But Cynthia was locked into her room, and
refused to open the door.
"Open to me, please," pleaded Molly. "I have something to say to
you--I want to see you--do open!"
"No!" said Cynthia. "Not now. I am busy. Leave me alone. I don't want
to hear what you have got to say. I don't want to see you. By-and-by
we shall meet, and then--" Molly stood quite quietly, wondering
what new words of more persuasion she could use. In a minute or two
Cynthia called out, "Are you there still, Molly?" and when Molly
answered "Yes," and hoped for a relenting, the same hard metallic
voice, telling of resolution and repression, spoke out, "Go away. I
cannot bear the feeling of your being there--waiting and listening.
Go downstairs--out of the house--anywhere away. It is the most you
can do for me now."