"Nonsense, my dear! he would justly consider me a lunatic, were I to write to him in such a strain. I shall simply tell him that I wish to make use of the talent that has been given me, and ask him for his advice how best to proceed. Don't you think something like that would answer? Come now, Letty," cheerfully and coaxingly, kneeling down before Mrs. Massereene, "say you are pleased with my plan, and all will be well."
"What would become of me without you?" says Letitia, irrelevantly, kissing her; and Molly, taking this for consent, enters into a long and animated discussion of the subject of her intended début as a public singer.
CHAPTER XXX.
"Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
Can neither feel nor pity pain."
—Byron.
True to her promise, the next day Molly wraps herself up warmly and takes her way toward the wood that adjoins but does not belong to Brooklyn.
At first, from overmuch inactivity and spiritless brooding, a sort of languor—a trembling of the limbs—oppresses her; but presently, as the cold, crisp air creeps into her young blood, she quickens her steps, and is soon walking with a brisk and healthy motion toward the desired spot.
Often her eyes fill with unbidden tears, as many a well-remembered place is passed, and she thinks of a kindly word or a gay jest uttered here by lips now cold and mute.