“Mr. Osborne Hamley may hear of their contents, though he may be too honourable to read them. Nay, even your father may hear whispers; and if I remember them rightly, Miss Cynthia Kirkpatrick does not always speak in the most respectful terms of the lady who is now Mrs. Gibson. There are”——

“Stop,” said Molly. “I won’t hear anything out of these letters, written, when she was almost without friends, to you, whom she looked upon as a friend! But I have thought of what I will do next. I give you fair warning. If I had not been foolish, I should have told my father; but Cynthia made me promise that I would not. So I will tell it all, from beginning to end, to Lady Harriet, and ask her to speak to her father. I feel sure that she will do it; and I don’t think you will dare to refuse Lord Cumnor.”

He felt at once that he should not dare; that, clever land-agent as he was, and high up in the earl’s favour on that account, yet the conduct of which he had been guilty in regard to the letters and the threats which he had held out respecting them, were just what no gentleman, no honourable man, no manly man, could put up with in any one about him. He knew that much, and he wondered how she, the girl standing before him, had been clever enough to find it out. He forgot himself for an instant in admiration of her. There she stood, frightened, yet brave, not letting go her hold on what she meant to do, even when things seemed most against her; and, besides, there was something that struck him most of all perhaps, and which shows the kind of man he was—he perceived that Molly was as unconscious that he was a young man, and she a young woman, as if she had been a pure angel from heaven. Though he felt that he would have to yield, and give up the letters, he was not going to do it at once; and, while he was thinking what to say, so as still to evade making any concession till he had had time to think over it, he, with his quick senses all about him, heard the trotting of a horse crunching quickly along over the gravel of the drive. A moment afterwards, Molly’s perception overtook his. He could see the startled look overspread her face; and in an instant she would have run away; but, before the first rush was made, Mr. Preston laid his hand firmly on her arm.

“Keep quiet. You must be seen. You, at any rate, have done nothing to be ashamed of.”

As he spoke, Mr. Sheepshanks came round the bend of the road and was close upon them. Mr. Preston saw, if Molly did not, the sudden look of intelligence that dawned upon the shrewd ruddy face of the old gentleman—saw, but did not much heed. He went forwards and spoke to Mr. Sheepshanks, who made a halt right before them.

“Miss Gibson! your servant. Rather a blustering day for a young lady to be out—and cold, I should say, for standing still too long; eh, Preston?” poking his whip at the latter in a knowing manner.

“Yes,” said Mr. Preston; “and I’m afraid I’ve kept Miss Gibson too long standing.”

Molly did not know what to say or do; so she only bowed a silent farewell, and turned away to go home, feeling very heavy at heart at the non-success of her undertaking. For she did not know how she had conquered, in fact, although Mr. Preston might not as yet acknowledge it even to himself. Before she was out of hearing, she heard Mr. Sheepshanks say—

“Sorry to have disturbed your tête-à-tête, Preston;” but, though she heard the words, their implied sense did not sink into her mind; she was only feeling how she had gone out glorious and confident, and was coming back to Cynthia defeated.

Cynthia was on the watch for her return, and, rushing downstairs, dragged Molly into the dining-room.

“Well, Molly? Oh! I see you haven’t got them. After all, I never expected it.” She sate down, as if she could get over her disappointment better in that position, and Molly stood like a guilty person before her.

“I am so sorry; I did all I could; we were interrupted at last—Mr. Sheepshanks rode up.”