‘But why? When did you begin to dislike him? You seem to have taken it very passively all this time.’
‘I don’t know. It was growing upon me before I went to that school at Boulogne. He made me feel as if I was in his power; and by too often reminding me of my engagement to him, he made me critical of his words and ways. There was an insolence in his manner to mamma, too. Ah! you’re thinking that I’m not too respectful a daughter—and perhaps not; but I couldn’t bear his covert sneers at her faults, and I hated his way of showing what he called his “love” for me. Then, after I had been a semestredn at Mdme. Lefebre’s, a new English girl came—a cousin of his, who knew but little of me. Now, Molly, you must forget as soon as I’ve told you what I’m going to say; and she used to talk so much and perpetually about her cousin Robert—he was the great man of the family, evidently—and how he was so handsome, and every lady of the land in love with him,—a lady of title into the bargain——’
‘Lady Harriet! I dare say,’ said Molly, indignantly.
‘I don’t know,’ said Cynthia, wearily. ‘I didn’t care at the time, and I don’t care now; for she went on to say there was a very pretty widow too, who made desperate love to him. He had often laughed with them at all her little advances, which she thought he didn’t see through. And, oh! and this was the man I had promised to marry, and gone into debt to, and, written love-letters to! So now you understand it all, Molly!’
‘No, I don’t yet. What did you do on hearing how he had spoken about your mother?’
‘There was but one thing to do. I wrote and told him I hated him, and would never, never marry him, and would pay him back his money and the interest on it as soon as ever I could.’
‘Well?’
‘And Mdme. Lefebre brought me back my letter, unopened, I will say; and told me that she didn’t allow letters to gentlemen to be sent by the pupils of her establishment unless she had previously seen their contents. I told her he was a family friend, the agent who managed mamma’s affairs—I really could not stick at the truth; but she wouldn’t let it go; and I had to see her burn it, and to give her my promise I wouldn’t write again, before she would consent not to tell mamma. So I had to calm down and wait till I came home.’
‘But you didn’t see him then; at least, not for some time?’
‘No, but I could write; and I began to try and save up my money to pay him.’
‘What did he say to your letter?’
‘Oh, at first he pretended not to believe I could be in earnest; he thought it was only pique, or a temporary offence to be apologized for and covered over with passionate protestations.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘He condescended to threats; and, what is worse, then I turned coward. I couldn’t bear to have it all known and talked about, and my silly letters shown—oh, such letters! I cannot bear to think of them, beginning, “My dearest Robert,” to that man—’
‘But, oh, Cynthia, how could you go and engage yourself to Roger?’ asked Molly.
‘Why not?’ said Cynthia, sharply turning round upon her. ‘I was free—I am free; it seemed a way of assuring myself that I was quite free; and I did like Roger—it was such a comfort to be brought into contact with people who could be relied upon; and I was not a stock or a stone that I could fail to be touched with his tender, unselfish love, so different to Mr. Preston’s. I know you don’t think me good enough for him; and, of course, if all this comes out, he won’t think me good enough either’ (falling into a plaintive tone very touching to hear); ‘and sometimes I think I’ll give him up, and go off to some fresh life amongst strangers; and once or twice I’ve thought I would marry Mr. Preston out of pure revenge, and have him for ever in my power—only I think I should have the worst of it; for he is cruel in his very soul—tigerish, with his beautiful striped skin and relentless heart. I have so begged and begged him to let me go without exposure.’
‘Never mind the exposure,’ said Molly. ‘It will recoil far more on him than harm you.’
Cynthia went a little paler. ‘But I said things in those letters about mamma. I was quick-eyed enough to all her faults, and hardly understood the force of her temptations; and he says he will show those letters to your father, unless I consent to acknowledge our engagement.’
‘He shall not!’ said Molly, rising up in her indignation, and standing before Cynthia almost as resolutely fierce as if she were in the very presence of Mr. Preston himself ‘I am not afraid of him. He dare not insult me, or if he does I do not care. I will ask him for those letters, and see if he will dare to refuse me.’
‘You don’t know him,’ said Cynthia, shaking her head. ‘He has made many an appointment with me, just as if he would take back the money—which has been sealed up ready for him this four months; or as if he would give me back my letters. Poor, poor Roger! How little he thinks of all this. When I want to write words of love to him I pull myself up, for I have written words as affectionate to that other man. And if Mr. Preston ever guessed that Roger and I were engaged, he would manage to be revenged on both him and me, by giving us as much pain as he could with those unlucky letters—written when I was not sixteen, Molly,—only seven of them! They are like a mine under my feet, which may blow up any day; and down will come father and mother and all.’ She ended bitterly enough, though her words were so light.
‘How can I get them?’ said Molly, thinking: ‘for get them I will. With papa to back me, he dare not refuse.’
‘Ah! But that’s just the thing. He knows I’m afraid of your father’s hearing of it all, more than of any one else.’
‘And yet he thinks he loves you!’
‘It is his way of loving. He says often enough, he doesn’t care what he does so he gets me to be his wife; and that after that he is sure he can make me love him.’ Cynthia began to cry, out of weariness of body and despair of mind. Molly’s arms were round her in a minute, and she pressed the beautiful head to her bosom, and laid her own cheek upon it, and hushed her up with lulling words, just as if she were a little child.
‘Oh, it is such a comfort to have told you all!’ murmured Cynthia. And Molly made reply,—‘I am sure we have right on our side; and that makes me certain he must and shall give up the letters.’
‘And take the money?’ added Cynthia, lifting her head, and looking eagerly into Molly’s face. ‘He must take the money. Oh, Molly, you can never manage it all without its coming out to your father! And I would far rather go out to Russia as a governess. I almost think I would rather—no, not that,’ said she, shuddering away from what she was going to say. ‘But he must not know—please, Molly, he must not know. I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know what I might not do. You’ll promise me never to tell him—or mamma?’
‘I never will. You do not think I would for anything short of saving—’ She was going to have said, ‘saving you and Roger from pain.’ But Cynthia broke in—
‘For nothing. No reason whatever must make you tell your father. If you fail, you fail, and I will love you for ever for trying; but I shall be no worse than before. Better, indeed; for I shall have the comfort of your sympathy. But promise me not to tell Mr. Gibson.’
‘I have promised once,’ said Molly, ‘but I promise again; so now do go to bed, and try and rest. You are looking as white as a sheet; you’ll be ill if you don’t get some rest; and it’s past two o’clock, and you’re shivering with cold.’
So they wished each other good-night. But when Molly got into her room all her spirit left her; and she threw herself down on her bed, dressed as she was, for she had no heart left for anything. If Roger ever heard of it all by any chance, she felt how it would disturb his love for Cynthia. And yet was it right to conceal it from him? She must try and persuade Cynthia to tell it all straight out to him as soon as he returned to England. A full confession on her part would wonderfully lessen any pain he might have on first hearing of it. She lost herself in thoughts of Roger—how he would feel, what he would say, how that meeting would come to pass, where he was at that very time, and so on, till she suddenly plucked herself up, and recollected what she herself had offered and promised to do. Now that the first furor was over, she saw the difficulties clearly; and the foremost of all was how she was to manage to have an interview with Mr. Preston. How had Cynthia managed? and the letters that had passed between them too? Unwillingly, Molly was compelled to perceive that there must have been a good deal of underhand work going on beneath Cynthia’s apparent openness of behaviour; and still more unwillingly she began to be afraid that she herself might be led into the practice. But she would try and walk in a straight path; and if she did wander out of it, it should only be to save pain to those whom she loved.