"Do you think I might go with you, and help you? I might have done
yesterday; and you say he hasn't opened my letter, so he has not
heard as yet. And I was always fond of poor Osborne, in my way, you
know."
"I cannot tell; I have no right to say," replied Molly, scarcely
understanding Cynthia's motives, which, after all, were only impulses
in this case. "Papa would be able to judge; I think, perhaps, you had
better not. But don't go by my opinion; I can only tell what I should
wish to do in your place."
"It was as much for your sake as any one's, Molly," said Cynthia.
"Oh, then, don't! I am tired to-day with sitting up; but to-morrow
I shall be all right; and I should not like it, if, for my sake, you
came into the house at so solemn a time."
"Very well!" said Cynthia, half-glad that her impulsive offer was
declined; for, as she said, thinking to herself, "It would have
been awkward after all." So Molly went back in the carriage alone,
wondering how she should find the Squire; wondering what discoveries
he had made among Osborne's papers, and at what conviction he would
have arrived.