CYNTHIA'S CONFESSION.
"You said I might come," said Molly, "and that you would tell me all."
"You know all, I think," said Cynthia, heavily. "Perhaps you don't know what I have, but at any you know what a I am in."
"I've been a great deal," said Molly, and doubtfully. "And I can't help if you told papa—"
Before she go on, Cynthia had up.
"No!" said she. "That I won't. Unless I'm to here at once. And you know I have not another place to go to—without warning, I mean. I my uncle would take me in; he's a relation, and would be to by me in I might be; or I might a governess's situation—a I should be!"
"Pray, please, Cynthia, don't go off into such wild talking. I don't you've done so very wrong. You say you have not, and I you. That man has managed to you in some way; but I am sure papa set it to rights, if you would only make a friend of him, and tell him all—"
"No, Molly," said Cynthia, "I can't, and there's an end of it. You may if you like, only let me the house first; give me that much time."
"You know I would tell anything you me not to tell, Cynthia," said Molly, hurt.
"Would you not, darling?" said Cynthia, taking her hand. "Will you promise me that? a promise?—for it would be such a to me to tell you all, now you know so much."
"Yes! I'll promise not to tell. You should not have me," said Molly, still a little sorrowfully.
"Very well. I trust to you. I know I may."
"But do think of telling papa, and him to help you," Molly.
"Never," said Cynthia, resolutely, but more than before. "Do you think I what he said at the time of that Mr. Coxe; how he was, and how long I was in disgrace, if I'm out of it now? I am one of those people, as says sometimes—I cannot live with who don't think well of me. It may be a weakness, or a sin,—I'm sure I don't know, and I don't care; but I cannot be happy in the same house with any one who my faults, and thinks that they are than my merits. Now you know your father would do that. I have often told you that he (and you too, Molly,) had a higher than I had known. Oh, I couldn't it; if he were to know he would be so angry with me—he would over it, and I have so liked him! I do so like him!"
"Well, mind, dear; he shall not know," said Molly, for Cynthia was again hysterical,—"at least, we'll say no more about it now."
"And you'll say any more—never—promise me," said Cynthia, taking her hand eagerly.
"Never till you give me leave. Now do let me see if I cannot help you. Lie on the bed, and I'll by you, and let us talk it over."
But Cynthia sat again in the chair by the dressing-table.
"When did it all begin?" said Molly, after a long pause of silence.
"Long ago—four or five years. I was such a child to be left all to myself. It was the holidays, and was away visiting, and the Donaldsons asked me to go with them to the Worcester Festival. You can't how it all sounded, to me. I had been up in that great house at Ashcombe, where had her school; it to Lord Cumnor, and Mr. Preston as his agent had to see it all painted and papered; but, that, he was very with us; I thought—no, I'm not sure about that, and I have to at her door, to prevent my telling you anything that may be only fancy—"
Then she paused and still for a minute or two, the past. Molly was by the and which had taken temporary of the and face; she see from that how much Cynthia must have from this trouble of hers.
"Well! at any we were with him, and he came a great about the house, and as much as any one of mamma's affairs, and all the and of her life. I'm telling you this in order that you may how natural it was for me to answer his questions when he came one day and me, not crying, for you know I'm not much to that, in of to-day's of myself; but and because, though had word I might go with the Donaldsons, she had said how I was to any money for the journey, much less for anything of dress, and I had all my last year's frocks, and as for and boots—in short, I had for church—"
"Why didn't you to her and tell her all this?" said Molly, of appearing to by her very natural question.
"I wish I had her to you; you must have some of mamma's letters, though; don't you know how she always to out just the point of every fact? In this case she on the she was having, and the she was receiving, and her wish that I have been with her, and her that I too was going to have some pleasure; but the only thing that would have been of use to me she left out, and that was where she was going to next. She mentioned that she was the house she was stopping at the day after she wrote, and that she should be at home by a date; but I got the on a Saturday, and the the next Tuesday—"
"Poor Cynthia!" said Molly. "Still, if you had written, your might have been forwarded. I don't to be hard, only I do so the of your having a friend of that man."
"Ah!" said Cynthia, sighing. "How easy it is to judge after one sees what comes from wrongly! I was only a girl, more than a child, and he was a friend to us then—excepting mamma, the only friend I knew; the Donaldsons were only and good-natured acquaintances."
"I am sorry," said Molly, humbly, "I have been so happy with papa. I can how different it must have been with you."
"Different! I should think so. The worry about money me of my life. We might not say we were poor, it would have the school; but I would have and if and I had got on as together as we might have done—as you and Mr. Gibson do. It was not the poverty; it was that she to to have me with her. As soon as the came she was off to some great house or another; and I I was at a very age to have me about in the drawing-room when came. Girls at the age I was then are so at out motives, and in their questions as to the little and and of conversation; they've no of what are the and of life. At any rate, I was very much in mamma's way, and I it. Mr. Preston to it too for me; and I was very to him for and looks—crumbs of which would have under your table unnoticed. So this day, when he came to see how the were on, he me in the schoolroom, looking at my and some old I had been sponging, and half-worn-out gloves—a of rag-fair spread out on the table. I was in a regular with only looking at that shabbiness. He said he was so to I was going to this with the Donaldsons; old Betty, our servant, had told him the news, I believe. But I was so about money, and my was so put out about my dress, that I was in a pet, and said I shouldn't go. He on the table, and little by little he me tell him all my troubles. I do sometimes think he was very in those days. Somehow I as if it was or or anything to accept his offer of money at the time. He had twenty in his pocket, he said, and didn't know what to do with it,—shouldn't want it for months; I it, or could, when it her. She must have I should want money, and most likely I should apply to him. Twenty wouldn't be too much, I must take it all, and so on. I knew—at least I I knew—that I should twenty pounds; but I I give him what I didn't want, and so—well, that was the beginning! It doesn't so very wrong, it, Molly?"
"No," said Molly, hesitatingly. She did not wish to make herself into a hard judge, and yet she did so Mr. Preston. Cynthia on,—
"Well, what with and gloves, and a and a mantle, and a white gown, which was for me I left on Tuesday, and a that to the Donaldsons', and my journeys, and all, there was very little left of the twenty pounds, when I I must a ball-dress in Worcester, for we were all to go to the Ball. Mrs. Donaldson gave me my ticket, but she looked at my idea of going to the Ball in my white muslin, which I had already two at their house. Oh dear! how it must be to be rich! You know," Cynthia, a very little, "I can't help being aware that I'm pretty, and that people me very much. I it out at the Donaldsons'. I to think I did look in my new clothes, and I saw that other people so too. I was the of the house, and it was very to my power. The last day or two of that week Mr. Preston joined our party. The last time he had me was when I was in too small for me, half-crying in my solitude, neglected and penniless. At the Donaldsons' I was a little queen; and as I said, make birds, and all the people were making much of me; and at that Ball, which was the night he came, I had more partners than I what to do with. I he did in love with me then. I don't think he had done so before. And then I to how it was to be in his debt. I couldn't give myself to him as I did to others. Oh! it was so and uncomfortable! But I liked him, and him as a friend all the time. The last day I was walking in the garden along with the others, and I I would tell him how much I had myself, and how happy I had been, all thanks to his twenty (I was to like Cinderella when the clock was twelve), and to tell him it should be to him as soon as possible, though I at the of telling mamma, and of our to how very difficult it would be to up the money. The end of our talk came very soon; for, almost to my terror, he to talk love to me, and to me to promise to him. I was so frightened, that I ran away to the others. But that night I got a from him, for me, his offer, his for a promise of marriage, to be at any date I would to name—in fact, a most urgent love-letter, and in it a to my unlucky debt, which was to be a no longer, only an of the money to be mine if only— You can it all, Molly, than I can it to tell it you."
"And what did you say?" asked Molly, breathless.
"I did not answer it at all until another came, for a reply. By that time had come home, and the old daily pressure and of had come on. Mary Donaldson to me often, the of Mr. Preston as as if she had been to do it. I had him a very popular man in their set, and I liked him well enough, and to him. So I and gave him my promise to him when I was twenty, but it was to be a till then. And I to I had money of him, but somehow as soon as I to him I to him. I couldn't his of if he me alone; and to suspect, I think. I cannot tell you all the and outs; in fact, I didn't them at the time, and I don't how it all now. But I know that Lady Cuxhaven sent some money to be to my education, as she called it; and very much put out and in very low spirits, and she and I didn't on at all together. So, of course, I to name the twenty to her, but on trying to think that if I was to Mr. Preston, it need be paid—very and wicked, I daresay; but oh, Molly, I've been for it, for how I that man."
"But why? When did you to him? You to have taken it very all this time."
"I don't know. It was upon me I to that at Boulogne. He me as if I was in his power; and by too often me of my to him, he me of his and ways. There was an in his manner to mamma, too. Ah! you're that I'm not too a daughter—and not; but I couldn't his at her faults, and I his way of what he called his 'love' for me. Then, after I had been a at Mdme. Lefevre's, a new English girl came—a of his, who but little of me. Now, Molly, you must as soon as I've told you what I'm going to say; and she used to talk so much and about her 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 daresay," said Molly, indignantly.
"I don't know," said Cynthia, wearily. "I didn't at the time, and I don't now; for she on to say there was a very too, who love to him. He had often laughed with them at all her little advances, which she he didn't see through. And, oh! and this was the man I had promised to marry, and gone into to, and love-letters to! So now you it all, Molly."
"No, I don't yet. What did you do on how he had spoken about your mother?"
"There was but one thing to do. I and told him I him, and would never, him, and would pay him his money and the on it as soon as I could."
"Well?"
"And Mdme. Lefevre me my letter,—unopened, I will say; and told me that she didn't allow to to be sent by the of her unless she had their contents. I told her he was a family friend, the agent who managed mamma's affairs—I not at the truth; but she wouldn't let it go; and I had to see her it, and to give her my promise I wouldn't again she would not to tell mamma. So I had to and wait till I came home."
"But you didn't see him then; at least, not for some time?"
"No, but I write; and I to try and save up my money to pay him."
"What did he say to your letter?"
"Oh, at he not to I be in earnest; he it was only pique, or a temporary to be for and over with protestations."
"And afterwards?"
"He to threats; and, what is worse, then I coward. I couldn't to have it all and talked about, and my shown—oh, such letters! I cannot to think of them, beginning, 'My Robert,' to that man—"
"But, oh, Cynthia, how you go and to Roger?" asked Molly.
"Why not?" said Cynthia, upon her. "I was free—I am free; it a way of assuring myself that I was free; and I did like Roger—it was such a to be into with people who be upon; and I was not a stock or a that I fail to be touched with his tender, love, so different to Mr. Preston's. I know you don't think me good for him; and, of course, if all this comes out, he won't think me good either" (falling into a very to hear); "and sometimes I think I'll give him up, and go off to some fresh life strangers; and once or twice I've I would Mr. Preston out of pure revenge, and have him for in my power—only I think I should have the of it; for he is in his very soul—tigerish, with his skin and heart. I have so and him to let me go without exposure."
"Never mind the exposure," said Molly. "It will more on him than you."
Cynthia a little paler. "But I said in those about mamma. I was quick-eyed to all her faults, and the of her temptations; and he says he will those to your father, unless I to our engagement."
"He shall not!" said Molly, up in her indignation, and Cynthia almost as as if she were in the very presence of Mr. Preston himself. "I am not of him. He not me, or if he I don't care. I will ask him for those letters, and see if he will to me."
"You don't know him," said Cynthia, her head. "He has many an with me, just as if he would take the money—which has been sealed up for him this four months; or as if he would give me my letters. Poor, Roger! How little he thinks of all this! When I want to of love to him I myself up, for I have as to that other man. And if Mr. Preston that Roger and I were engaged, he would manage to be on him and me, by us as much pain as he 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 up any day; and will come father and mother and all." She ended enough, though her were so light.
"How can I them?" said Molly, thinking: "for them I will. With papa to me, he not refuse."
"Ah! But that's just the thing. He I'm of your father's 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 he doesn't what he so that he me to be his wife; and that after that he is sure he can make me love him." Cynthia to cry, out of of and of mind. Molly's arms were her in a minute, and she pressed the to her bosom, and her own upon it, and her up with words, just as if Cynthia were a little child.
"Oh, it is such a to have told you all!" Cynthia. And Molly reply,—"I am sure we have right on our side; and that makes me he must and shall give up the letters."
"And take the money?" added Cynthia, her head, and looking into Molly's face. "He must take the money. Oh, Molly, you can manage it all without its out to your father! And I would go out to Russia as a governess. I almost think I would rather—no, not that," said she, away from what she was going to say. "But he must not know—please, Molly, he must not know. I couldn't it. I don't know what I might not do. You'll promise me to tell him,—or mamma?"
"I will. You do not think I would for anything of saving—" She was going to have said, "saving you and Roger from pain." But Cynthia in,—
"For nothing. No must make you tell your father. If you fail, you fail, and I will love you for for trying; but I shall be no off than before. Better, indeed; for I shall have the 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 if you don't some rest; and it's past two o'clock, and you're with cold."
So they each other good-night. But when Molly got into her room all her left her; and she herself on her bed, as she was, for she had no left for anything. If Roger of it all by any chance, she how it would his love for Cynthia. And yet was it right to it from him? She must try and Cynthia to tell it all out to him as soon as he returned to England. A full on her part would any pain he might have on of it. She herself in 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 herself up, and what she herself had offered and promised to do. Now that the was over, she saw the clearly; and the of all was how she was to manage to have an with Mr. Preston. How had Cynthia managed? and the that had passed them too? Unwillingly, Molly was to that there must have been a great of work going on Cynthia's of behaviour; and still more she to be that she herself might be into the practice. But she would try and walk in a path; and if she did out of it, it should only be to save pain to those she loved.
