’No！’saidCynthia。’Notnow。Iambusy。Leavemealone。Idon’twanttohearwhatyouhavegottosay。Idonotwanttoseeyou。By—and—byweshallmeet，andthen——’Mollystoodquitequietly，wonderingwhatnewwordsofmorepersuasionshecoulduse。InaminuteortwoCynthiacalledout，’Areyoutherestill，Molly？’andwhenMollyanswered’Yes，’andhopedforarelenting，thesamehardmetallicvoice，tellingofresolutionandrepression，spokeout，’Goaway。Icannotbearthefeelingofyourbeingthere—waitingandlistening。Godownstairs—outofthehouse—anywhereaway。Itisthemostyoucandoforme，now。’
EndofPartFivechapter51ELIZABETHGASKELLWIVESANDDAUGHTERSPARTVI（ChaptersLI—LX）CHAPTERLI’TROUBLESNEVERCOMEALONE’Mollyhadherout—of—doorthingson，andshecreptawayasshewasbidden；
sheliftedherheavyweightofheartandbodyalongtillshecametoafield，notsoveryfaroff，—whereshehadsoughtthecomfortoflonelinesseversinceshewasachild；andthere，underthehedge—bank，shesatedown，buryingherfaceinherhands，andquiveringalloverasshethoughtofCynthia’smisery，thatshemightnottrytotouchorassuage。Sheneverknewhowlongshesatethere，butitwaslongpastlunch—timewhenonceagainshestoleuptoherroom。Thedooroppositewasopenwide，—Cynthiahadquittedthechamber。Mollyarrangedherdressandwentdownintothedrawing—room。Cynthiaandhermothersatethereinthesternreposeofanarmedneutrality。Cynthia’sfacelookedmadeofstone，forcolourandrigidity；butshewasnettingawayasifnothingunusualhadoccurred。
NotsoMrsGibson：herfaceboreevidentmarksoftears，andshelookedupandgreetedMolly’sentrancewithafaintsmilingnotice。Cynthiawentonasthoughshehadneverheardtheopeningofthedoor，orfelttheapproachingsweepofMolly’sdress。Mollytookupabook，—nottoread，buttohavethesemblanceofsomeemploymentwhichshouldnotnecessitateconversation。Therewasnomeasuringthedurationofthesilencethatensued。Mollygrewtofancyitwassomeoldenchantmentthatweighedupontheirtonguesandkeptthemstill。AtlengthCynthiaspoke，butshehadtobeginagainbeforeherwordscameclear，—’IwishyoubothtoknowthathenceforwardallisatanendbetweenmeandRogerHamley。’Molly’sbookwentdownuponherknees；withopeneyesandlipsshestrovetodrawinCynthia’smeaning。MrsGibsonspokequerulously，asifinjured，—’Icouldhaveunderstoodthisifithadhappenedthreemonthsago，—whenyouwereinLondon；butnowit’sjustnonsense，Cynthia，andyouknowyoudon’tmeanit！’Cynthiadidnotreply；nordidtheresolutelookonherfacechangewhenMollyspokeatlast，—’Cynthia—thinkofhim！Itwillbreakhisheart！’’No！’saidCynthia，’itwillnot。Butevenifitdid，Icannothelpit。’’Allthistalkwillsoonpassaway！’saidMolly；’andwhenheknowsthetruthfromyourownself——’’Frommyownselfheshallneverhearit。Idonotlovehimwellenoughtogothroughtheshameofhavingtoexcusemyself，—topleadthathewillreinstatemeinhisgoodopinion。Confessionmaybe—well！Icanneverbelieveitpleasant—butitmaybeaneaseofmindifonemakesittosomepeople，—tosomeperson，—anditmaynotbeamortificationtosueforforgiveness。Icannottell。AllIknowis，—andIknowitclearly，andwillactuponitinflexibly—that——’Andthereshestoppedshort。’Ithinkyoumightfinishyoursentence，’saidhermother，afterasilenceoffiveseconds。’IcannotbeartoexculpatemyselftoRogerHamley。Iwillnotsubmittohisthinkinglesswellofmethanhehasdone，—howeverfoolishhisjudgmentmayhavebeen。Iwouldratherneverseehimagain，forthesetworeasons。
Andthetruthis，Idonotlovehim。Ilikehim，Irespecthim；butIwillnotmarryhim。Ihavewrittentotellhimso。Thatwasmerelyasarelieftomyself，forwhenorwheretheletterwillreachhim——AndIhavewrittentooldMrHamley。Thereliefistheonegoodthingcomeoutofitall。