Mollytooktheletterdownwithoutaword，andbegantocopyitatthewriting—table；oftenreadingoverwhatshewasallowedtoread；oftenpausing，hercheekonherhand，hereyesontheletter，andlettingherimaginationrovetothewriter，andallthescenesinwhichshehadeitherseenhimherself，orinwhichherfancyhadpaintedhim。ShewasstartledfromhermeditationsbyCynthia’ssuddenentranceintothedrawing—room，lookingthepictureofglowingdelight。’Noonehere！Whatablessing！Ah，MissMolly，youaremoreeloquentthanyoubelieveyourself。Lookhere！’holdingupalargefullenvelope，andthenquicklyreplacingitinherpocket，asifshewasafraidofbeingseen。’What’sthematter，sweetone？’comingupandcaressingMolly。’Isitworryingitselfoverthatletter？Why，don’tyouseethesearemyveryownhorribleletters，thatIamgoingtoburndirectly，thatMrPrestonhashadthegracetosendme，thankstoyou，littleMolly—cuishlamachree，pulseofmyheart，—thelettersthathavebeenhangingovermyheadlikesomebody’sswordforthesetwoyears？’
’Oh，Iamsoglad！’saidMolly，rousingupalittle。’Ineverthoughthewouldhavesentthem。HeisbetterthanIbelievedhim。Andnowitisallover。Iamsoglad。Youquitethinkhemeanstogiveupallclaimoveryoubythis，don’tyou，Cynthia？’
’Hemayclaim，butIwon’tbeclaimed；andhehasnoproofsnow。Itisthemostcharmingrelief；andIoweitalltoyou，youpreciouslittlelady！Nowthereisonlyonethingmoretobedone；andifyouwouldbutdoitforme——？’（coaxingandcaressingwhilesheaskedthequestion）。
’Oh，Cynthia，don’taskme；Icannotdoanymore。Youdon’tknowhowsickIgowhenIthinkofyesterday，andMrSheepshanks’look。’
’Itisonlyaverylittlething。Iwon’tburdenyourconsciencewithtellingyouhowIgetmyletters，butitisnotthroughapersonIcantrustwithmoney；andImustforcehimtotakebackhistwenty—threepoundsoddshillings。Ihaveputittogetherattherateoffivepercent。，andit’ssealedup。Oh，Molly，Ishouldgooffwithsuchalightheartifyouwouldonlytrytogetitsafelytohim。It’sthelastthing；therewouldbenoimmediatehurry，youknow。Youmightmeethimbychanceinashop，inthestreet，evenataparty—andifyouonlyhaditwithyouinyourpocket，therewouldbenothingsoeasy。’