CONISTON

By Winston Churchill

BOOK IV

CHAPTER XI

The next morning Cynthia's heart was heavy as she greeted her new friendsat Miss Sadler's school. Life had made a woman of her long ago, whilethese girls had yet been in short dresses, and now an experience had cometo her which few, if any, of these could ever know. It was of no use forher to deny to herself that she loved Bob Worthington--loved him with thefull intensity of the strong nature that was hers. To how many of thesegirls would come such a love? and how many would be called upon to makesuch a renunciation as hers had been? No wonder she felt out of placeamong them, and once more the longing to fly away to Coniston almostovercame her. Jethro would forgive her, she knew, and stretch out hisarms to receive her, and understand that some trouble had driven her tohim. 

She was aroused by some one calling her name--some one whose voicesounded strangely familiar. Cynthia was perhaps the only person in theschool that day who did not know that Miss Janet Duncan had entered it. Miss Sadler certainly knew it, and asked Miss Duncan very particularlyabout her father and mother and even her brother. Miss Sadler knew, evenbefore Janet's unexpected arrival, that Mr. And Mrs. Duncan had come toBoston after Christmas, and had taken a large house in the Back Bay inorder to be near their son at Harvard. Mrs. Duncan was, in fact, aBostonian, and more at home there than at any other place. 

Miss Sadler observed with a great deal of astonishment the warm embracethat Janet bestowed on Cynthia. The occurrence started in Miss Sadler atrain of thought, as a result of which she left the drawing-room wherethese reunions were held, and went into her own private study to write anote. This she addressed to Mrs. Alexander Duncan, at a certain number onBeacon Street, and sent it out to be posted immediately. In the meantime, Janet Duncan had seated herself on the sofa beside Cynthia, not havingfor an instant ceased to talk to her. Of what use to write a romance, when they unfolded themselves so beautifully in real life! Here was thecountry girl she had seen in Washington already in a fine way to becomethe princess, and in four months! Janet would not have thought itpossible for any one to change so much in such a time. Cynthia listened, and wondered what language Miss Duncan would use if she knew how greatand how complete that change had been. Romances, Cynthia thought sadly, were one thing to theorize about and quite another thing to endure--andsmiled at the thought. But Miss Duncan had no use for a heroine without aheartache. 

It is not improbable that Miss Janet Duncan may appear with Miss SallyBroke in another volume. The style of her conversation is known, andthere is no room to reproduce it here. She, too, had a heart, but she wasa young woman given to infatuations, as Cynthia rightly guessed. Cynthiamust spend many afternoons at her house--lunch with her, drive with her. For one omission Cynthia was thankful: she did not mention BobWorthington's name. There was the romance under Miss Duncan's nose, andshe did not see it. It is frequently so with romancers. 

Cynthia's impassiveness, her complete poise, had fascinated Miss Duncanwith the others. Had there been nothing beneath that exterior, Janetwould never have guessed it, and she would have been quite as happy. Cynthia saw very clearly that Mr. Worthington or no other man or womancould force Bob to marry Janet. 

The next morning, in such intervals as her studies permitted, Janetcontinued her attentions to Cynthia. That same morning she had brought anote from her father to Miss Sadler, of the contents of which Janet knewnothing. Miss Sadler retired into her study to read it, and two newspaperclippings fell out of it under the paper-cutter. This was the note:--

 "My DEAR MISS SADLER:

 "Mrs. Duncan has referred your note to me, and I enclose two clippings which speak for themselves. Miss Wetherell, I believe, stands in the relation of ward to the person to whom they refer, and her father was a sort of political assistant to this person. Although, as you say, we are from that part of the country (Miss Sadler bad spoken of the Duncans as the people of importance there), it was by the merest accident that Miss Wetherell's connection with this Jethro Bass was brought to my notice. 

 "Sincerely yours, "ALEXANDER DUNCAN. "

It is pleasant to know that there were people in the world who could snubMiss Sadler; and there could be no doubt, from the manner in which shelaid the letter down and took up the clippings, that Miss Sadler feltsnubbed: equally, there could be no doubt that the revenge would fall onother shoulders than Mr. Duncan's. And when Miss Sadler proceeded to readthe clippings, her hair would have stood on end with horror had it notbeen so efficiently plastered down. Miss Sadler seized her pen, and begana letter to Mrs. Merrill. Miss Sadler's knowledge of theproprieties--together with other qualifications--had made her school whatit was. No Cynthia Wetherells had ever before entered its sacred portals, or should again. 

The first of these clippings was the article containing the arraignmentof Jethro Bass which Mr. Merrill had shown to his wife, and which hadbeen the excuse for Miss Penniman's call. The second was one which Mr. Duncan had clipped from the Newcastle Guardian of the day before, andgave, from Mr. Worthington's side, a very graphic account of the conflictwhich was to tear the state asunder. The railroads were tired of payingtoll to the chief of a band of thieves and cutthroats, to a man who hadlong throttled the state which had nourished him, to--in short, --toJethro Bass. Miss Sadler was not much interested in the figures andmetaphors of political compositions. Right had found a champion--thearticle continued--in Mr. Isaac D. Worthington of Brampton, president ofthe Truro Road and owner of large holdings elsewhere. Mr. Worthington, backed by other respectable property interests, would fight this monsterof iniquity to the death, and release the state from his thraldom. JethroBass, the article alleged, was already about his abominable work--hadlong been so--as in mockery of that very vigilance which is said to bethe price of liberty. His agents were busy in every town of the state, seeing to it that the slaves of Jethro Bass should be sent to the nextlegislature. 

And what was this system which he had built up among these ruralcommunities? It might aptly be called the System of Mortgages. Themortgage--dread name for a dreadful thing--was the chief weapon of themonster. Even as Jethro Bass held the mortgages of Coniston and Tarletonand round about, so his lieutenants held mortgages in every town andhamlet of the state, What was a poor farmer to do--? His choice was notbetween right and wrong, but between a roof over the heads of his wifeand children and no roof. He must vote for the candidate of Jethro Bassend corruption or become a homeless wanderer. How the gentleman and hisother respectable backers were to fight the system the article did notsay. Were they to buy up all the mortgages? As a matter of fact, theyintended to buy up enough of these to count, but to mention this would beto betray the methods of Mr. Worthington's reform. The first bitterfrontier fighting between the advance cohorts of the new giant and theold--the struggle for the caucuses and the polls--had begun. Miss Sadlercared but little and understood less of all this matter. She lingeredover the sentences which described Jethro Bass as a monster of iniquity, as a pariah with whom decent men would have no intercourse, and in theheat of her passion that one who had touched him had gained admittance tothe most exclusive school for young ladies in the country she wrote aletter. 

Miss Sadler wrote the letter, and three hours later tore it up and wroteanother and more diplomatic one. Mrs. Merrill, though not by any means ofthe same importance as Mrs. Duncan, was not a person to be wantonlyoffended, and might--knowing nothing about the monster--in the goodnessof her heart have taken the girl into her house. Had it been otherwise, surely Mrs. Merrill would not have had the effrontery! She would giveMrs. Merrill a chance. The bell of release from studies was ringing asshe finished this second letter, and Miss Sadler in her haste forgot toenclose the clippings. She ran out in time to intercept Susan Merrill atthe door, and to press into her hands the clippings and the note, with arequest to take both to her mother. 

Although the Duncans dined in the evening, the Merrills had dinner athalf-past one in the afternoon, when the girls returned from school. Mr. Merrill usually came home, but he had gone off somewhere for thisparticular day, and Mrs. Merrill had a sewing circle. The girls sat downto dinner alone. When they got up from the table, Susan suddenlyremembered the note which she had left in her coat pocket. She drew outthe clippings with it. 

"I wonder what Miss Sadler is sending mamma clippings for, " she said. "Why, Cynthia, they're about your uncle. Look!"

And she handed over the article headed "Jethro Bass. " Jane, who hadquicker intuitions than her sister, would have snatched it from Cynthia'shand, and it was a long time before Susan forgave herself for her folly. Thus Miss Sadler had her revenge. 

It is often mercifully ordained that the mightiest blows of misfortuneare tempered for us. During the winter evenings in Coniston, Cynthia hadread little newspaper attacks on Jethro, and scorned them as the cowardlydevices of enemies. They had been, indeed, but guarded and covertallusions--grimaces from a safe distance. Cynthia's first sensation asshe read was anger--anger so intense as to send all the blood in her bodyrushing to her head. But what was this? "Right had found a champion atlast" in--in Isaac D. Worthington! That was the first blow, and none butCynthia knew the weight of it. It sank but slowly into her consciousness, and slowly the blood left her face, slowly but surely: left it at lengthas white as the lace curtain of the window which she clutched in herdistress. Words which somebody had spoken were ringing in her ears. Whatever happens! "Whatever happens I will never desert you, never denyyou, as long as I live. " This, then, was what he had meant by newspapers, and why he had come to her!

The sisters, watching her, cried out in dismay. There was no need to tellthem that they were looking on at a tragedy, and all the love andsympathy in their hearts went out to her. 

"Cynthia! Cynthia! What is it?" cried Susan, who, thinking she wouldfaint, seized her in her arms. "What have I done?"

Cynthia did not faint, being made of sterner substance. Gently, but withthat inexorable instinct of her kind which compels them to look forreliance within themselves even in the direst of extremities, Cynthiareleased herself from Susan's embrace and put a hand to her forehead. 

"Will you leave me here a little while--alone?" she said. 

It was Jane now who drew Susan out and shut the door of the parlor afterthem. In utter misery they waited on the stairs while Cynthia fought outher battle for herself. 

When they were gone she sank down into the big chair under the readinglamp--the very chair in which he had sat only two nights before. She sawnow with a terrible clearness the thing which for so long had been but avague premonition of disaster, and for a while she forgot the clippings. And when after a space the touch of them in her hand brought them back toher remembrance, she lacked the courage to read them through. But not forlong. Suddenly her fear of them gave place to a consuming hatred of theman who had inspired these articles: of Isaac D. Worthington, for sheknew that he must have inspired them. And then she began again to readthem. 

Truth, though it come perverted from the mouth of an enemy, has in itselfa note to which the soul responds, let the mind deny as vehemently as itwill. Cynthia read, and as she read her body was shaken with sobs, thoughthe tears came not. Could it be true? Could the least particle of theleast of these fearful insinuations be true? Oh, the treason of thosewhispers in a voice that was surely not her own, and yet which she couldnot hush! Was it possible that such things could be printed about onewhom she had admired and respected above all men--nay, whom she had sopassionately adored from childhood? A monster of iniquity, a pariah! Thecruel, bitter calumny of those names! Cynthia thought of his goodness andloving kindness and his charity to her and to many others. His charity!The dreaded voice repeated that word, and sent a thought that struckterror into her heart: Whence had come the substance of that charity?Then came another word--mortgage. There it was on the paper, and at sightof it there leaped out of her memory a golden-green poplar shimmeringagainst the sky and the distant blue billows of mountains in the west. She heard the high-pitched voice of a woman speaking the word, and eventhen it had had a hateful sound, and she heard herself asking, "UncleJethro, what is a mortgage?" He had struck his horse with the whip. 

Loyal though the girl was, the whispers would not hush, nor the doubtscease to assail her. What if ever so small a portion of this were true?Could the whole of this hideous structure, tier resting upon tier, havebeen reared without something of a foundation? Fiercely though she toldherself she would believe none of it, fiercely though she hated Mr. Worthington, fervently though she repeated aloud that her love for Jethroand her faith in him had not changed, the doubts remained. Yet theyremained unacknowledged. 

An hour passed. It was a thing beyond belief that one hour could haveheld such a store of agony. An hour passed, and Cynthia came dry-eyedfrom the parlor. Susan and Jane, waiting to give her comfort when she wasrecovered a little from this unknown but overwhelming affliction, werefain to stand mute when they saw her to pay a silent deference to onewhom sorrow had lifted far above them and transfigured. That was the lookon Cynthia's face. She went up the stairs, and they stood in the hall notknowing what to do, whispering in awe-struck voices. They were stillthere when Cynthia came down again, dressed for the street. Jane seizedher by the hand. 

"Where are you going, Cynthia?" she asked. 

"I shall be back by five, " said Cynthia. 

She went up the hill, and across to old Louisburg Square, and up the hillagain. The weather had cleared, the violet-paned windows caught theslanting sunlight and flung it back across the piles of snow. It was aday for wedding-bells. At last Cynthia came to a queerly fashioned littlegreen door that seemed all askew with the slanting street, and rang thebell, and in another moment was standing on the threshold of MissLucretia Penniman's little sitting room. To Miss Lucretia, at her writingtable, one glance was sufficient. She rose quickly to meet the girl, kissed her unresponsive cheek, and led her to a chair. Miss Lucretia wasnever one to beat about the bush, even in the gravest crisis. 

"You have read the articles, " she said. 

Read them! During her walk hither Cynthia had been incapable of thought, but the epithets and arraignments and accusations, the sentences andparagraphs, wars printed now, upon her brain, never, she believed, to beeffaced. Every step of the way she had been unconsciously repeating them. 

"Have you read them?" asked Cynthia. 

"Yes, my dear. "

"Has everybody read them?" Did the whole world, then, know of her shame?

"I am glad you came to me, my dear, " said Miss Lucretia, taking her hand. "Have you talked of this to any one else?"

"No, " said Cynthia, simply. 

Miss Lucretia was puzzled. She had not looked for apathy, but she did notknow all of Cynthia's troubles. She wondered whether she had misjudgedthe girl, and was misled by her attitude. 

"Cynthia, " she said, with a briskness meant to hide emotion for MissLucretia had emotions, "I am a lonely old woman, getting too old, indeed, to finish the task of my life. I went to see Mrs. Merrill the other dayto ask her if she would let you come and live with me. Will you?"

Cynthia shook her head. 

"No, Miss Lucretia, I cannot, " she answered. 

"I won't press it on you now, " said Miss Lucretia. 

"I cannot, Miss Lucretia. I'm going to Coniston. "

"Going to Coniston!" exclaimed Miss Lucretia. 

The name of that place--magic name, once so replete with visions ofhappiness and content--seemed to recall Cynthia's spirit from its flight. Yes, the spirit was there, for it flashed in her eyes as she turned andlooked into Miss Lucretia's face. 

"Are these the articles you read?" she asked; taking the clippings fromher muff. 

Miss Lucretia put on her spectacles. 

"I have seen both of them, " she said. 

"And do you believe what they say about--about Jethro Bass?"

Poor Miss Lucretia! For once in her life she was at a loss. She, too, paid a deference to that face, young as it was. She had robbed herself ofsleep trying to make up her mind what she would say upon such an occasionif it came. A wonderful virgin faith had to be shattered, and was she tobe the executioner? She loved the girl with that strange, intenseaffection which sometimes comes to the elderly and the lonely, and shehad prayed that this cup might pass from her. Was it possible that it washer own voice using very much the same words for which she had rebukedMrs. Merrill?

"Cynthia, " she said, "those articles were written by politicians, in apolitical controversy. No such articles can ever be taken literally. "

"Miss Lucretia, do you believe what it says about Jethro Bass?" repeatedCynthia. 

How was she to avoid those eyes? They pierced into, her soul, even as herown had pierced into Mrs. Merrill's. Oh, Miss Lucretia, who prideyourself on your plain speaking, that you should be caught quibbling!Miss Lucretia blushed for the first time in many, years, and into herface came the light of battle. 

"I am a coward, my dear. I deserve your rebuke. To the best of myknowledge and belief, and so far as I can judge from the inquiries I haveundertaken, Jethro Bass has made his living and gained and held his powerby the methods described in those articles. "

Miss Lucretia took off her spectacles and wiped them. She had committed afine act of courage. 

Cynthia stood up. 

"Thank you, " she said, "that is what I wanted to know. "

"But--" cried Miss Lucretia, in amazement and apprehension, "but what areyou going to do?"

"I am going to Coniston, " said Cynthia, "to ask him if those things aretrue. "

"To ask him!"

"Yes. If he tells me they are true, then I shall believe them. "

"If he tells you?" Miss Lucretia gasped. Here was a courage of which shehad not reckoned. "Do you think he will tell you?"

"He will tell me, and I shall believe him, Miss Lucretia. "

"You are a remarkable girl, Cynthia, " said Miss Lucretia, involuntarily. Then she paused for a moment. "Suppose he tells you they are true? Yousurely can't live with him again, Cynthia. "

"Do you suppose I am going to desert him, Miss Lucretia?" she asked. "Heloves me, and--and I love him. " This was the first time her voice hadfaltered. "He kept my father from want and poverty, and he has brought meup as a daughter. If his life has been as you say, I shall make my ownliving!"

"How?" demanded Miss Lucretia, the practical part of her cominguppermost. 

"I shall teach school. I believe I can get a position, in a place where Ican see him often. I can break his heart, Miss Lucretia, I--I can bringsadness to myself, but I will not desert him. "

Miss Lucretia stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. She perceived that the girl had a spirit as strong as her own: that herplans were formed, her mind made up, and that no arguments could changeher. 

"Why did you come to me?" she asked irrelevantly. 

"Because I thought that you would have read the articles, and I knew ifyou had, you would have taken the trouble to inform yourself of theworld's opinion. "

Again Miss Lucretia stared at her. 

"I will go to Coniston with you, " she said, "at least as far asBrampton. "

Cynthia's face softened a little at the words. 

"I would rather go alone, Miss Lucretia, " she answered gently, but withthe same firmness. "I--I am very grateful to you for your kindness to mein Boston. I shall not forget it--or you. Good-by, Miss Lucretia. "

But Miss Lucretia, sobbing openly, gathered the girl in her arms andpressed her. Age was coming on her indeed, that she should show suchweakness. For a long time she could not trust herself to speak, and thenher words were broken. Cynthia must come to her at the first sign ofdoubt or trouble: this, Miss Lucretia's house, was to be a refuge in anystorm that life might send--and Miss Lucretia's heart. Cynthia promised, and when she went out at last through the little door her own tears werefalling, for she loved Miss Lucretia. 

Cynthia was going to Coniston. That journey was as fixed, as inevitable, as things mortal can be. She would go to Coniston unless she perished onthe way. No loving entreaties, no fears of Mrs. Merrill or her daughters, were of any avail. Mrs. Merrill too, was awed by the vastness of thegirl's sorrow, and wondered if her own nature were small by comparison. She had wept, to be sure, at her husband's confession, and lain awakeover it in the night watches, and thought of the early days of theirmarriage. 

And then, Mrs. Merrill told herself, Cynthia would have to talk with Mr. Merrill. How was he to come unscathed out of that? There was pain andbitterness in that thought, and almost resentment against Cynthia, quivering though she was with sympathy for the girl. For Mrs. Merrill, though the canker remained, had already pardoned her husband and hadasked the forgiveness of God for that pardon. On other occasions, inother crisis, she had waited and watched for him in the parlor window, and to-night she was at the door before his key was in the lock, while hewas still stamping the snow from his boots. She drew him into the roomand told him what had happened. 

"Oh, Stephen, " she cried, "what are you going to say to her?"

What, indeed? His wife had sorrowed, but she had known the obstacles andperils by which he had been beset. But what was he to say to Cynthia? Hervery name had grown upon him, middle-aged man of affairs though he was, until the thought of it summoned up in his mind a figure of purity, andof the strength which was from purity. He would not have believed itpossible that the country girl whom they had taken into their house threemonths before should have wrought such an influence over them all. 

Even in the first hour of her sorrow which she had spent that afternoonin the parlor, Cynthia had thought of Mr. Merrill. He could tell herwhether those accusations were true or false, for he was a friend ofJethro's. Her natural impulse--the primeval one of a creature which ishurt--had been to hide herself; to fly to her own room, and perhaps bynightfall the courage would come to her to ask him the terriblequestions. He was a friend of Jethro's. An illuminating flash revealed toher the meaning of that friendship--if the accusations were true. It wasthen she had thought of Miss Lucretia Penniman, and somehow she had foundthe courage to face the sunlight and go to her. She would spare Mr. Merrill. 

But had she spared him? Sadly the family sat down to supper without her, and after supper Mr. Merrill sent a message to his club that he could notattend a committee meeting there that evening. He sat with his wife inthe little writing room, he pretending to read and she pretending to sew, until the silence grew too oppressive, and they spoke of the matter thatwas in their hearts. It was one of the bitterest evenings in Mr. Merrill's life, and there is no need to linger on it. They talkedearnestly of Cynthia, and of her future. But they both knew why she didnot come down to them. 

"So she is really going to Coniston, " said Mr. Merrill. 

"Yes, " answered Mrs. Merrill, "and I think she is doing right, Stephen. "

Mr. Merrill groaned. His wife rose and put her hand on his shoulder. 

"Come, Stephen, " she said gently, "you will see her in the morning. 

"I will go to Coniston with her, " he said. 

"No, " replied Mrs. Merrily "she wants to go alone. And I believe it isbest that she should. "

CHAPTER XII

Great afflictions generally bring in their train a host of smallersorrows, each with its own little pang. One of these sorrows had been theparting with the Merrill family. Under any circumstance it was not easyfor Cynthia to express her feelings, and now she had found it verydifficult to speak of the gratitude and affection which she felt. Butthey understood--dear, good people that they were: no eloquence wasneeded with them. The ordeal of breakfast over, and the tearful "Godbless you, Miss Cynthia, " of Ellen the parlor-maid, the whole family hadgone with her to the station. For Susan and Jane had spent their last dayat Miss Sadler's school. 

Mr. Merrill had sent for the conductor and bidden him take care of MissWetherell, and recommend her in his name to a conductor on the TruroRoad. The man took off his cap to Mr. Merrill and called him by name andpromised. It was a dark day, and long after the train had pulled outCynthia remembered the tearful faces of the family standing on the dampplatform of the station. As they fled northward through the flatriver-meadows, the conductor would have liked to talk to her of Mr. Merrill; there were few employees on any railroad who did not know thegenial and kindly president of the Grand Gulf and sympathize with histroubles. But there was a look on the girl's face that forbade intrusion. Passengers stared at her covertly, as though fascinated by that look, andsome tried to fathom it. But her eyes were firmly fixed upon a point farbeyond their vision. The car stopped many times, and flew on again, butnothing seemed to break her absorption. 

At last she was aroused by the touch of the conductor on her sleeve. Thepeople were beginning to file out of the car, and the train was under theshadow of the snow-covered sheds in the station of the state capital. Cynthia recognized the place, though it was cold and bare and verydifferent in appearance from what it had been on the summer's eveningwhen she had come into it with her father. That, in effect, had been herfirst glimpse of the world, and well she recalled the thrill it had givenher. The joy of such things was gone now, the rapture of holidays and newsights. These were over, so she told herself. Sorrow had quenched thethrills forever. 

The kind conductor led her to the eating room, and when she would not eathis concern drew greater than ever. He took a strange interest in thisyoung lady who had such a face and such eyes. He pointed her out to hisfriend the Truro conductor, and gave him some sandwiches and fruit whichhe himself had bought, with instructions to press them on her during theafternoon. 

Cynthia could not eat. She hated this place, with its memories. Hated it, too, as a mart where men were bought and sold, for the wording of thosearticles ran in her head as though some priest of evil were chanting themin her ears. She did not remember then the sweeter aspect of the oldtown, its pretty homes set among their shaded gardens--homes full of goodand kindly people. State House affairs were far removed from most ofthese, and the sickness and corruption of the body politic. And thispolitical corruption, had she known it, was no worse than that of theother states in the wide Union: not so bad, indeed, as many, though thiswas small comfort. No comfort at all to Cynthia, who did not think of it. 

After a while she rose and followed the new conductor to the Truro train, glad to leave the capital behind her. She was going to the hills--to themountains. They, in truth, could not change, though the seasons passedover them, hot and cold, wet and dry. They were immutable in theirgoodness. Presently she saw them, the lower ones: the waters of thelittle stream beside her broke the black bonds of ice and raced over therapids; the engine was puffing and groaning on the grade. Then the suncrept out, slowly, from the indefinable margin of vapor that hung massedover the low country. 

Yes, she had come to the hills. Up and up climbed the train, through thelittle white villages in the valley nooks, banked with whiter snow;through the narrow gorges, --sometimes hanging over them, --under steepgranite walls seared with ice-filled cracks, their brows hung withicicles. 

Truro Pass is not so high as the Brenner, but it has a grand, wild lookin winter, remote as it is from the haunts of men. A fitting refuge, itmight be, for a great spirit heavy with the sins of the world below. Sucha place might have been chosen, in the olden time, for a monastery--agray fastness built against the black forest over the crag looking downupon the green clumps of spruces against the snow. Some vague longing forsuch a refuge was in Cynthia's heart as she gazed upon that silent place, and then the waters had already begun to run westward--the waters ofTumble Down brook, which flowed into Coniston Water above Brampton. Thesun still had more than two hours to go on its journey to the hill crestswhen the train pulled into Brampton station. There were but a few peopleon the platform, but the first face she saw as she stepped from the carwas Lem Hallowell's. It was a very red face, as we know, and its ownerwas standing in front of the Coniston stage, on runners now. He stared ather for an instant, and no wonder, and then he ran forward withoutstretched hands. 

"Cynthy--Cynthy Wetherell!" he cried. "Great Godfrey!"

He got so far, he seized her hands, and then he stopped, not knowing why. There were many more ejaculations and welcomes and what not on the end ofhis tongue. It was not that she had become a lady--a lady of a type hehad never before seen. He meant to say that, too, in his own way, but hecouldn't. And that transformation would have bothered Lem but little. What was the change, then? Why was he in awe of her--he, Lem Hallowell, who had never been in awe of any one? He shook his head, as though openlyconfessing his inability to answer that question. He wanted to askothers, but they would not come. 

"Lem, " she said, "I am so glad you are here. "

"Climb right in, Cynthy. I'll get the trunk. " There it lay, the littlerawhide one before him on the boards, and he picked it up in his barehands as though it had been a paper parcel. It was a peculiarity of thestage driver that he never wore gloves, even in winter, so remarkable wasthe circulation of his blood. After the trunk he deposited, apparentlywith equal ease, various barrels and boxes, and then he jumped in besideCynthia, and they drove down familiar Brampton Street, as wide as a wideriver; past the meeting-house with the terraced steeple; past thepostoffice, --Cousin Ephraim's postoffice, --where Lem gave her aquestioning look--but she shook her head, and he did not wait for thedistribution of the last mail that day; past the great mansion of IsaacD. Worthington, where the iron mastiffs on the lawn were up to theirmuzzles in snow. After that they took the turn to the right, which wasthe road to Coniston. 

Well-remembered road, and in winter or summer, Cynthia knew every treeand farmhouse beside it. Now it consisted of two deep grooves in the deepsnow; that was all, save for a curving turnout here and there for team topass team. Well-remembered scene! How often had Cynthia looked upon it inhappier days! Such a crust was on the snow as would bear a heavy man; andthe pasture hillocks were like glazed cakes in the window of a baker'sshop. Never had the western sky looked so yellow through the blackcolumns of the pine trunks. A lonely, beautiful road it was that evening. 

For a long time the silence of the great hills was broken only by thesweet jingle of the bells on the shaft. Many a day, winter and summer, Lem had gone that road alone, whistling, and never before heeding thatsilence. Now it seemed to symbolize a great sorrow: to be in subtleharmony with that of the girl at his side. What that sorrow was he couldnot guess. The good man yearned to comfort her, and yet he felt hiscomfort too humble to be noticed by such sorrow. He longed to speak, butfor the first time in his life feared the sound of his own voice. Cynthiahad not spoken since she left the station, had not looked at him, had notasked for the friends and neighbors whom she had loved so well--had notasked for Jethro! Was there any sorrow on earth to be felt like that? Andwas there one to feel it?

At length, when they reached the great forest, Lem Hallowell knew that hemust speak or cry aloud. But what would be the sound of his voice--aftersuch an age of disuse? Could he speak at all? Broken and hoarse andhideous though the sound might be, he must speak. And hoarse and brokenit was. It was not his own, but still it was a voice. 

"Folks--folks'll be surprised to see you, Cynthy. "

No, he had not spoken at all. Yes, he had, for she answered him. 

"I suppose they will, Lem. "

"Mighty glad to have you back, Cynthy. We think a sight of you. We missedyou. "

"Thank you, Lem. "

"Jethro hain't lookin' for you by any chance, be he?

"No, " she said. But the question startled her. Suppose he had not been athome! She had never once thought of that. Could she have borne to waitfor him?

After that Lem gave it up. He had satisfied himself as to his vocalpowers, but he had not the courage even to whistle. The journey toConiston was faster in the winter, and at the next turn of the road thelittle village came into view. There it was, among the snows. The pain inCynthia's heart, so long benumbed, quickened when she saw it. How writeof the sharpness of that pain to those who have never known it? The sightof every gable brought its agony, --the store with the checker-panedwindows, the harness shop, the meeting-house, the white parsonage on itslittle hill. Rias Richardson ran out of the store in his carpet slippers, bareheaded in the cold, and gave one shout. Lem heeded him not; did notstop there as usual, but drove straight to the tannery house and pulledup under the butternut tree. Milly Skinner ran out on the porch, and gaveone long look, and cried:--

"Good Lord, it's Cynthy!"

"Where's Jethro?" demanded Lem. 

Milly did not answer at once. She was staring at Cynthia. 

"He's in the tannery shed, " she said, "choppin' wood. " But still she kepther eyes on Cynthia's face. "I'll fetch him. "

"No, " said Cynthia, "I'll go to him there. "

She took the path, leaving Millicent with her mouth open, too amazed tospeak again, and yet not knowing why. 

In the tannery shed! Would Jethro remember what happened there almost sixand thirty years before? Would he remember how that other Cynthia hadcome to him there, and what her appeal had been?

Cynthia came to the doors. One of these was open now--both had beenclosed that other evening against the storm of sleet--and she caught aglimpse of him standing on the floor of chips and bark--tan-bark no more. Cynthia caught a glimpse of him, and love suddenly welled up into herheart as waters into a spring after a drought. He had not seen her, notheard the sound of the sleigh-bells. He was standing with his foot uponthe sawbuck and the saw across his knee, he was staring at the woodpile, and there was stamped upon his face a look which no man or woman had everseen there, a look of utter loneliness and desolation, a look as of asoul condemned to wander forever through the infinite, cold spacesbetween the worlds--alone. 

Cynthia stopped at sight of it. What had been her misery and afflictioncompared to this? Her limbs refused her, though she knew not whether shewould have fled or rushed into his arms. How long she stood thus, and hestood, may not be said, but at length he put down his foot and took thesaw from his knee, his eyes fell upon her, and his lips spoke her name. 

"Cynthy!"

Speechless, she ran to him and flung her arms about his neck, and hedropped the saw and held her tightly--even as he had held that otherCynthia in that place in the year gone by. And yet not so. Now he clungto her with a desperation that was terrible, as though to let go of herwould be to fall into nameless voids beyond human companionship and love. But at last he did release her, and stood looking down into her face, asif seeking to read a sentence there. 

And how was she to pronounce that sentence! Though her faith might betaken away, her love remained, and grew all the greater because he neededit. Yet she knew that no subterfuge or pretence would avail her to hidewhy she had come. She could not hide it. It must be spoken out now, though death was preferable. 

And he was waiting. Did he guess? She could not tell. He had spoken noword but her name. He had expressed no surprise at her appearance, askedno reasons for it. Superlatives of suffering or joy or courage are hardto convey--words fall so far short of the feeling. And Cynthia's pain wasso far beyond tears. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she said, "yesterday something--something happened. Icould not stay in Boston any longer. "

He nodded. 

"I had to come to you. I could not wait. "

He nodded again. 

"I--I read something. " To take a white-hot iron and sear herself wouldhave been easier than this. 

"Yes, " he said. 

She felt that the look was coming again--the look which she had surprisedin his face. His hands dropped lifelessly from her shoulders, and heturned and went to the door, where he stood with his back to her, silhouetted against the eastern sky all pink from the reflection ofsunset. He would not help her. Perhaps he could not. The things weretrue. There had been a grain of hope within her, ready to sprout. 

"I read two articles from the Newcastle Guardian about you--about yourlife. "

"Yes, " he said. But he did not turn. 

"How you had--how you had earned your living. How you had gained yourpower, " she went on, her pain lending to her voice an exquisite note ofmany modulations. 

"Yes--Cynthy, " he said, and still stared at the eastern sky. 

She took two steps toward him, her arms outstretched, her fingers openingand closing. And then she stopped. 

"I would believe no one, " she said, "I will believe no one--until--unlessyou tell me. Uncle Jethro, " she cried in agony, "Uncle Jethro, tell methat those things are not true!"

She waited a space, but he did not stir. There was no sound, save thesong of Coniston Water under the shattered ice. 

"Won't you speak to me?" she whispered. "Won't you tell me that they arenot true?"

His shoulders shook convulsively. O for the right to turn to her and tellher that they were lies! He would have bartered his soul for it. What wasall the power in the world compared to this priceless treasure he hadlost? Once before he had cast it away, though without meaning to. Then hedid not know the eternal value of love--of such love as those two womenhad given him. Now he knew that it was beyond value, the one preciousgift of life, and the knowledge had come too late. Could he have savedhis life if he had listened to that other Cynthia?

"Won't you tell me that they are not true?"

Even then he did not turn to her, but he answered. Curious to relate, though his heart was breaking, his voice was steady--steady as it alwayshad been. 

"I--I've seen it comin', Cynthy, " he said. "I never knowed anything I wasafraid of before--but I was afraid of this. I knowed what your notions ofright and wrong was--your--your mother had them. They're the principlesof good people. I--I knowed the day would come when you'd ask, but Iwanted to be happy as long as I could. I hain't been happy, Cynthy. Butyou was right when you said I'd tell you the truth. S-so I will. I guessthem things which you speak about are true--the way I got where I am, andthe way I made my livin'. They--they hain't put just as they'd ought tobe, perhaps, but that's the way I done it in the main. "

It was thus that Jethro Bass met the supreme crisis of his life. And whoshall say he did not meet it squarely and honestly? Few men of finerfibre and more delicate morals would have acquitted themselves as well. That was a Judgment Day for Jethro; and though he knew it not, he spokethrough Cynthia to his Maker, confessing his faults freely and humbly, and dwelling on the justness of his punishment; putting not forward anygood he may have done; nor thinking of it; nor seeking excuse because ofthe light that was in him. Had he been at death's door in the face ofnameless tortures, no man could have dragged such a confession from him. But a great love had been given him, and to that love he must speak thetruth, even at the cost of losing it. 

But he was not to lose it. Even as he was speaking a thrill of admirationran through Cynthia, piercing her sorrow. The superb strength of the manwas there in that simple confession, and it is in the nature of woman toadmire strength. He had fought his fight, and gained, and paid the pricewithout a murmur, seeking no palliation. Cynthia had not come to thattrial--so bitter for her--as a judge. If the reader has seen youth andinnocence sitting in the seat of justice, with age and experience at thebar, he has mistaken Cynthia. She came to Coniston inexorable, it istrue, because hers was a nature impelled to do right though it perish. She did not presume to say what Jethro's lights and opportunities mighthave been. Her own she knew, and by them she must act accordingly. 

When he had finished speaking, she stole silently to his side and slippedher hand in his. He trembled violently at her touch. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she said in a low tone, "I love you. "

At the words he trembled more violently still. 

"No, no, Cynthy, " he answered thickly, "don't say that--I--I don't expectit, Cynthy, I know you can't--'twouldn't be right, Cynthy. I hain't fitfor it. "

"Uncle Jethro, " she said, "I love you better than I have ever loved youin my life. "

Oh, how welcome were the tears! and how human! He turned, pitifullyincredulous, wondering that she should seek by deceit to soften the blow;he saw them running down her cheeks, and he believed. Yes, he believed, though it seemed a thing beyond belief. Unworthy, unfit though he were, she loved him. And his own love as he gazed at her, sevenfold increasedas it had been by the knowledge of losing her, changed in texture fromhomage to worship--nay, to adoration. His punishment would still beheavy; but whence had come such a wondrous gift to mitigate it?

"Oh, don't you believe me?" she cried, "can't you see that it is true?"

And yet he could only hold her there at arm's length with that new andstrange reverence in his face. He was not worthy to touch her, but stillshe loved him. 

The flush had faded from the eastern sky, and the faintest border ofyellow light betrayed the ragged outlines of the mountain as they walkedtogether to the tannery house. 

Millicent, in the kitchen, was making great preparations--for Millicent. Miss Skinner was a person who had hitherto laid it down as a principle oflife to pay deference or do honor to no human made of mere dust, likeherself. Millicent's exception; if Cynthia had thought about it, was atribute of no mean order. Cynthia, alas, did not think about it: she didnot know that, in her absence, the fire had not been lighted in theevening, Jethro supping on crackers and milk and Milly partaking of theevening meal at home. Moreover, Miss Skinner had an engagement with ayoung man. Cynthia saw the fire, and threw off her sealskin coat whichMr. And Mrs. Merrill had given her for Christmas, and took down thesaucepan from the familiar nail on which it hung. It was a miraculousfact, for which she did not attempt to account, that she was almosthappy: happy, indeed, in comparison to that which had been her statesince the afternoon before. Millicent snatched the saucepan angrily fromher hand. 

"What be you doin', Cynthy?" she demanded. 

Such was Miss Skinner's little way of showing deference. Though deferenceis not usually vehement, Miss Skinner's was very real, nevertheless. 

"Why, Milly, what's the matter?" exclaimed Cynthia, in astonishment. 

"You hain't a-goin' to do any cookin', that's all, " said Milly, very redin the face. 

"But I've always helped, " said Cynthia. "Why not?"

Why not? A tribute was one thing, but to have to put the reasons for thattribute, into words was quite another. 

"Why not?" cried Milly, "because you hain't a-goin' to, that's all. "

Strange deference! But Cynthia turned and looked at the girl with alittle, sad smile of comprehension and affection. She took her by theshoulders and kissed her. 

Whereupon a most amazing thing happened--Millicent burst intotears--wild, ungovernable tears they were. 

"Because you hain't a-goin' to, " she repeated, her words interspersedwith violent sobs. "You go 'way, Cynthy, " she cried, "git out!"

"Milly, " said Cynthia, shaking her head, "you ought to be ashamed ofyourself. " But they were not words of reproof. She took a little lampfrom the shelf, and went up the narrow stairs to her own room in thegable, where Lemuel had deposited the rawhide trunk. 

Though she had had nothing all day, she felt no hunger, but for Milly'ssake she tried hard to eat the supper when it came. Before it had fairlybegun Moses Hatch had arrived, with Amandy and Eben; and Rias Richardsoncame in, and other neighbors, to say a word of welcome to hear (if thetruth be not too disparaging to their characters) the reasons for hersudden appearance, and such news of her Boston experiences as she mightchoose to give them. They had learned from Lem Hallowell that Cynthia hadreturned a lady: a real lady, not a sham one who relied on airs andgraces, such as had come to Coniston the summer before to look for asummer place on the painter's recommendation. Lem was not a gossip, inthe disagreeable sense of the term, and he had not said a word to hisneighbors of his feelings on that terrible drive from Brampton. Knowingthat some blow had fallen upon Cynthia, he would have spared her thesevisits if he could. But Lem was wise and kind, so he merely said that shehad returned a lady. 

And they had found a lady. As they stood or sat around the kitchen (Ebenand Rias stood), Cynthia talked to them--about Coniston: rather, be itsaid, that they talked about Coniston in answer to her questions. Thesledding had been good; Moses had hauled so many thousand feet of lumberto Brampton; Sam Price's woman (she of Harwich) had had a spell ofsciatica; Chester Perkins's bull had tossed his brother-in-law, come fromIowy on a visit, and broke his leg; yes, Amandy guessed her dyspepsy wassomewhat improved since she had tried Graham's Golden Remedy--it made herfeel real lighthearted; Eben (blushing furiously) was to have the BrookFarm in the spring; there was a case of spotted fever in Tarleton. 

Yes, Lem Hallowell had been right, Cynthia was a lady, but not a mitestuck up. What was the difference in her? Not her clothes, which she woreas if she had been used to them all her life. Poor Cynthia, the clotheswere simple enough. Not her manner, which was as kind and sweet as ever. What was it that compelled their talk about themselves, that made themrefrain from asking those questions about Boston, and why she had comeback? Some such query was running in their minds as they talked, whileJethro, having finished his milk and crackers, sat silent at the end ofthe table with his eyes upon her. He rose when Mr. Satterlee came in. 

Mr. Satterlee looked at her, and then he went quietly across the room andkissed her. But then Mr. Satterlee was the minister. Cynthia thought hishair a little thinner and the lines in his face a little deeper. And Mr. Satterlee thought perhaps he was the only one of the visitors who guessedwhy she had come back. He laid his thin hand on her head, as though inbenediction, and sat down beside her. 

"And how is the learning, Cynthia?" he asked. 

Now, indeed, they were going to hear something at last. An intuitionimpelled Cynthia to take advantage of that opportunity. 

"The learning has become so great, Mr. Satterlee, " she said, "that I havecome back to try to make some use of it. It shall be wasted no more. "

She did not dare to look at Jethro, but she was aware that he had satdown abruptly. What sacrifice will not a good woman make to ease theburden of those whom she loves! And Jethro's burden would be heavyenough. Such a woman will speak almost gayly, though her heart be heavy. But Cynthia's was lighter now than it had been. 

"I was always sure you would not waste your learning, Cynthia, " said Mr. Satterlee, gravely; "that you would make the most of the advantages Godhas given you. "

"I am going to try, Mr. Satterlee. I cannot be content in idleness. I waswasting time in Boston, and I--I was not happy so far away from youall--from Uncle Jethro. Mr. Satterlee, I am going to teach school. I havealways wanted to, and now I have made up my mind to do it. "

This was Jethro's punishment. But had she not lightened it for him alittle by choosing this way of telling him that she could not eat hisbread or partake of his bounty? Though by reason of that bounty she waswhat she was, she could not live and thrive on it longer, coming as itdid from such a source. Mr. Satterlee might perhaps surmise the truth, but the town and village would think her ambition a very natural one, certainly no better time could have been chosen to announce it. 

"To teach school. " She was sure now that Mr. Satterlee knew and approved, and perceived something, at least, of her little ruse. He was a man whosetalents fitted him for a larger flock than he had at Coniston, but hepossessed neither the graces demanded of city ministers nor the power ofpushing himself. Never was a more retiring man. The years she had spentin his study had not gone for nothing, for he who has cherished the budcan predict what the flower will be, and Mr. Satterlee knew herspiritually better than any one else in Coniston. He had heard of herreturn, and had walked over to the tannery house, full of fears, theremembrance of those expressions of simple faith in Jethro coming back tohis mind. Had the revelation which he had so long expected come at last?and how had she taken it? would it embitter her? The good man believedthat it would not, and now he saw that it had not, and rejoicedaccordingly. 

"To teach school, " he said. "I expected that you would wish to, Cynthia. It is a desire that most of us have, who like books and what is in them. I should have taught school if I had not become a minister. It is a highcalling, and an absorbing one, to develop the minds of the young. " Mr. Satterlee was often a little discursive, though there was reason for iton this occasion, and Moses Hatch half closed his eyes and bowed his heada little out of sheer habit at the sound of the minister's voice. But heraised it suddenly at the next words. "I was in Brampton yesterday, andsaw Mr. Graves, who is on the prudential committee of that district. Youmay not have heard that Miss Goddard has left. They have not yetsucceeded in filling her place, and I think it more than likely that youcan get it. "

Cynthia glanced at Jethro, but the habit of years was so strong in himthat he gave no sign. 

"Do you think so, Mr. Satterlee?" she said gratefully. "I had heard ofthe place, and hoped for it, because it is near enough for me to spendthe Saturdays and Sundays with Uncle Jethro. And I meant to go toBrampton tomorrow to see about it. "

"I will go with you, " said the minister; "I have business in Bramptonto-morrow. " He did not mention that this was the business. 

When at length they had all departed, Jethro rose and went about thehouse making fast the doors, as was his custom, while Cynthia sat staringthrough the bars at the dying embers in the stove. He knew now, and itwas inevitable that he should know, what she had made up her mind to do. It had been decreed that she, who owed him everything, should be made topass this most dreadful of censures upon his whole life. Oh, the crueltyof that decree!

How, she mused, would it affect him? Had the blow been so great that hewould relinquish those practices which had become a lifelong habit withhim? Would he (she caught her breath at this thought) would he abandonthat struggle with Isaac D. Worthington in which he was striving tomaintain the mastery of the state by those very practices? Cynthia hatedMr. Worthington. The term is not too strong, and it expresses herfeeling. But she would have got down on her knees on the board floor ofthe kitchen that very night and implored Jethro to desist from thatcontest, if she could. She remembered how, in her innocence, she hadbelieved that the people had given Jethro his power, --in those days whenshe was so proud of that very power, --now she knew that he had wrested itfrom them. What more supreme sacrifice could he make than to relinquishit! Ah, there was a still greater sacrifice that Jethro was to make, hadshe known it. 

He came and stood over her by the stove, and she looked up into his facewith these yearnings in her eyes. Yes, she would have thrown herself onher knees, if she could. But she could not. Perhaps he would abandon thatstruggle. Perhaps--perhaps his heart was broken. And could a man with abroken heart still fight on? She took his hand and pressed it against herface, and he felt that it was wet with her tears. 

"B-better go to bed now, Cynthy, " he said; "m-must be worn out--m-must beworn out. "

He stooped and kissed her on the forehead. It was thus that Jethro Bassaccepted his sentence. 

CHAPTER XIII

At sunrise, in that Coniston hill-country, it is the western hills whichare red; and a distant hillock on the meadow farm which was soon to beEden's looked like the daintiest conical cake with pink icing as Cynthiasurveyed the familiar view the next morning. There was the mountain, thepastures on the lower slopes all red, too, and higher up the dark massesof bristling spruce and pine and hemlock mottled with white where thesnow-covered rocks showed through. 

Sunrise in January is not very early, and sunrise at any season is notearly for Coniston. Cynthia sat at her window, and wondered whether thatbeautiful landscape would any longer be hers. Her life had grown up onit; but now her life had changed. Would the beauty be taken from it, too?Almost hungrily she gazed at the scene. She might look upon itagain--many times, perhaps--but a conviction was strong in her that itsdaily possession would now be only a memory. 

Mr. Satterlee was as good as his word, for he was seated in the stagewhen it drew up at the tannery house, ready to go to Brampton. And asthey drove away Cynthia took one last look at Jethro standing on theporch. It seemed to her that it had been given her to feel all things, and to know all things: to know, especially, this strange man, JethroBass, as none other knew him, and to love him as none other loved him. The last severe wrench was come, and she had left him standing therealone in the cold, divining what was in his heart as though it were inher own. How worthless was this mighty power which he had gained, howhateful, when he could not bestow the smallest fragment of it upon onewhom he loved? Someone has described hell as disqualification in the faceof opportunity. Such was Jethro's torment that morning as he saw herdrive away, the minister in the place where he should have been, at herside, and he, Jethro Bass, as helpless as though he had indeed been inthe pit among the flames. Had the prudential committee at Bramptonpromised the appointment ten times over, he might still have obtained itfor her by a word. And he must not speak even that word. Who shall saythat a large part of the punishment of Jethro Bass did not come to him inthe life upon this earth. 

Some such thoughts were running in Cynthia's head as they jingled away toBrampton that dazzling morning. Perhaps the stage driver, too, who knewsomething of men and things and who meddled not at all, had made a guessat the situation. He thought that Cynthia's spirits seemed lightened alittle, and he meant to lighten them more; so he joked as much as hisrespect for his passengers would permit, and told the news of Brampton. Not the least of the news concerned the first citizen of that place. There was a certain railroad in the West which had got itself much intoCongress, and much into the newspapers, and Isaac D. Worthington had gothimself into that railroad: was gone West, it was said on that business, and might not be back for many weeks. And Lem Hallowell remembered whenMr. Worthington was a slim-cheated young man wandering up and downConiston Water in search of health. Good Mr. Satterlee, thinking this asafe subject, allowed himself to be led into a discussion of the firstcitizen's career, which indeed had something fascinating in it. 

Thus they jingled into Brampton Street and stopped before the cottage ofJudge Graves--a courtesy title. The judge himself came to the door andbestowed a pronounced bow on the minister, for Mr. Satterlee was honoredin Brampton. Just think of what Ezra Graves might have looked like, andyou have him. He greeted Cynthia, too, with a warm welcome--for EzraGraves, --and ushered them into a best parlor which was reserved forministers and funerals and great occasions in general, and actuallyraised the blinds. Then Mr. Satterlee, with much hemming and hawing, stated the business which had brought them, while Cynthia looked out ofthe window. 

Mr. Graves sat and twirled his lean thumbs. He went so far as to say thathe admired a young woman who scorned to live in idleness, who wished toimpart the learning with which she had been endowed. Fifteen applicantswere under consideration for the position, and the prudential committeehad so far been unable to declare that any of them were completelyqualified. (It was well named, that prudential committee?) Mr. Graves, furthermore, volunteered that he had expressed a wish to Colonel Prescott(Oh, Ephraim, you too have got a title with your new honors!), to ColonelPrescott and others, that Miss Wetherell might take the place. The middleterm opened on the morrow, and Miss Bruce, of the Worthington FreeLibrary, had been induced to teach until a successor could be appointed, although it was most inconvenient for Miss Bruce. 

Could Miss Wetherell start in at once, provided the committee agreed?Cynthia replied that she would like nothing better. There would be anexamination before Mr. Errol, the Brampton Superintendent of Schools. Inshort, owing to the pressing nature of the occasion, the judge would takethe liberty of calling the committee together immediately. Would Mr. Satterlee and Miss Wetherell make themselves at home in the parlor?

It very frequently happens that one member of a committee is the brain, and the other members form the body of it. It was so in this case. EzraGraves typified all of prudence there was about it, which, it must beadmitted, was a great deal. He it was who had weighed in the balance thefifteen applicants and found them wanting. Another member of thecommittee was that comfortable Mr. Dodd, with the tuft of yellow beard, the hardware dealer whom we have seen at the baseball game. Mr. Dodd wasnot a person who had opinions unless they were presented to him fromcertain sources, and then he had been known to cling to them tenaciously. It is sufficient to add that, when Cynthia Wetherell's name was mentionedto him, he remembered the girl to whom Bob Worthington had paid suchmarked attentions on the grand stand. He knew literally nothing elseabout Cynthia. Judge Graves, apparently, knew all about her; this wassufficient, at that time, for Mr. Dodd; he was sick and tired of thewhole affair, and if, by the grace of heaven, an applicant had been sentwho conformed with Judge Graves's multitude of requirements, he wasdevoutly thankful. The other member, Mr. Hill, was a feed and lumberdealer, and not a very good one, for he was always in difficulties;certain scholarly attainments were attributed to him, and therefore hehad been put on the committee. They met in Mr. Dodd's little office backof the store, and in five minutes Cynthia was a schoolmistress, subjectto examination by Mr. Errol. 

Just a word about Mr. Errol. He was a retired lawyer, with some means, who took an interest in town affairs to occupy his time. He had a verydelicate wife, whom he had been obliged to send South at the beginning ofthe winter. There she had for a while improved, but had been taken illagain, and two days before Cynthia's appointment he had been summoned toher bedside by a telegram. Cynthia could go into the school, and herexamination would take place when Mr. Errol returned. 

All this was explained by the judge when, half an hour after he had leftthem, he returned to the best parlor. Miss Wetherell would, then, beprepared to take the school the following morning. Whereupon the judgeshook hands with her, and did not deny that he had been instrumental inthe matter. 

"And, Mr. Satterlee, I am so grateful to you, " said Cynthia, when theywere in the street once more. 

"My dear Cynthia, I did nothing, " answered the minister, quite bewilderedby the quick turn affairs had taken; "it is your own good reputation thatgot you the place. "

Nevertheless Mr. Satterlee had done his share in the matter. He had knownMr. Graves for a long time, and better than any other person in Brampton. Mr. Graves remembered Cynthia Ware, and indeed had spoken to Cynthia thatday about her mother. Mr. Graves had also read poor William Wetherell'scontributions to the Newcastle Guardian, and he had not read that papersince they had ceased. From time to time Mr. Satterlee had mentioned hispupil to the judge, whose mind had immediately flown to her when thevacancy occurred. So it all came about. 

"And now, " said Mr. Satterlee, "what will you do, Cynthia? We've got thegood part of a day to arrange where you will live, before the stagereturns. "

"I won't go back to-night, I think, " said Cynthia, turning her head away;"if you would be good enough to tell Uncle Jethro to send my trunk andsome other things. "

"Perhaps that is just as well, " assented the minister, understandingperfectly. "I have thought that Miss Bruce might be glad to board you, "he continued, after a pause. "Let us go to see her. "

"Mr. Satterlee, " said Cynthia, "would you mind if we went first to seeCousin Ephraim?"

"Why, of course, we must see Ephraim, " said Mr. Satterlee, briskly. Sothey walked on past the mansion of the first citizen, and the new blockof stores which the first citizen had built, to the old brick buildingwhich held the Brampton post-office, and right through the door of thepartition into the sanctum of the postmaster himself, which some one hadnicknamed the Brampton Club. On this occasion the postmaster was seatedin his shirt sleeves by the stove, alone, his listeners beingconspicuously absent. Cynthia, who had caught a glimpse of him throughthe little mail-window, thought he looked very happy and comfortable. 

"Great Tecumseh!" he cried, --an exclamation he reserved for extraordinaryoccasions, "if it hain't Cynthy!"

He started to hobble toward her, but Cynthia ran to him. 

"Why, " said he, looking at her closely after the greeting was over, "yoube changed, Cynthy. Mercy, I don't know as I'd have dared done that ifI'd seed you first. What have you b'en doin' to yourself? You must haveseed a whole lot down there in Boston. And you're a full-blown lady, too. "

"Oh, no, I'm not, Cousin Eph, " she answered, trying to smile. 

"Yes, you be, " he insisted, still scrutinizing her, vainly trying toaccount for the change. Tact, as we know, was not Ephraim's strong point. Now he shook his head. "You always was beyond me. Got a sort of air aboutyou, and it grows on you, too. Wouldn't be surprised, " he declared, speaking now to the minister, "wouldn't be a mite surprised to see her inthe White House, some day. "

"Now, Cousin Eph, " said Cynthia, coloring a little, "you mustn't talknonsense. What have you done with your coat? You have no business to gowithout it with your rheumatism. "

"It hain't b'en so bad since Uncle Sam took me over again, Cynthy, " heanswered, "with nothin' to do but sort letters in a nice hot room. " Theroom was hot, indeed. "But where did you come from?"

"I grew tired of being taught, Cousin Eph. I--I've always wanted toteach. Mr. Satterlee has been with me to see Mr. Graves, and they'vegiven me Miss Goddard's place. I'm coming to Brampton to live, to-day. "

"Great Tecumseh!" exclaimed Ephraim again, overpowered by the yews. "Iwant to know! What does Jethro say to that?"

"He--he is willing, " she replied in a low voice. 

"Well, " said Ephraim, "I always thought you'd come to it. It's in theblood, I guess--teachin'. Your mother had it too. I'm kind of sorry forJethro, though, so I be. But I'm glad for myself, Cynthy. So you'recomin' to Brampton to live with me!

"I was going to ask Miss Bruce to take me in, " said Cynthia. 

"No you hain't, anything of the kind, " said Ephraim, indignantly. "I'vegot a little house up the street, and a room all ready for you. "

"Will you let me share expenses, Cousin Eph?"

"I'll let you do anything you want, " said he, "so's you come. Don't youthink she'd ought to come and take care of an old man, Mr. Satterlee?"

Mr. Satterlee turned. He had been contemplating, during thisconversation, a life-size print of General Grant under two crossed flags, that was hung conspicuously on the wall. 

"I do not think you could do better, Cynthia, " he answered, smiling. Theminister liked Ephraim, and he liked a little joke, occasionally. He feltthat one would not be, particularly out of place just now; so herepeated, "I do not think you could do better than to accept the offer ofColonel Prescott. "

Ephraim grew very red, as was his wont when twitted about his new title. He took things literally. 

"I hain't a colonel, no more than you be, Mr. Satterlee. But the boysdown here will have it so. "

Three days later, by the early train which leaves the state capital at anunheard-of hour in the morning, a young man arrived in Brampton. His jawseemed squarer than ever to the citizens who met the train out ofcuriosity, and to Mr. Dodd, who was expecting a pump; and there was a setlook on his face like that of a man who is going into a race or a fight. Mr. Dodd, though astonished, hastened toward him. 

"Well, this is unexpected, Bob, " said he. "How be you? Harvard Collegefailed up?"

For Mr. Dodd never let slip a chance to assure a member of theWorthington family of his continued friendship. 

"How are you, Mr. Dodd?" answered Bob, nodding at him carelessly, andpassing on. Mr. Dodd did not dare to follow. What was young Worthingtondoing in Brampton, and his father in the West on that railroad business?Filled with curiosity, Mr. Dodd forgot his pump, but Bob was alreadystriding into Brampton Street, carrying his bag. If he had stopped for afew moments with the hardware dealer, or chatted with any of the dozenpeople who bowed and stared at him, he might have saved himself a gooddeal of trouble. He turned in at the Worthington mansion, and rang thebell, which was answered by Sarah, the housemaid. 

"Mr. Bob!" she exclaimed. 

"Where's Mrs. Holden?" he asked. 

Mrs. Holden was the elderly housekeeper. She had gone, unfortunately, tovisit a bereaved relative; unfortunately for Bob, because she, too, mighthave told him something. 

"Get me some breakfast, Sarah. Anything, " he commanded, "and tell Silasto hitch up the black trotters to my cutter. "

Sarah, though in consternation, did as she was bid. The breakfast wasforthcoming, and in half an hour Silas had the black trotters at thedoor. Bob got in without a word, seized the reins, the cutter flew downBrampton Street (observed by many of the residents thereof) and turnedinto the Coniston road. Silas said nothing. Silas, as a matter of fact, never did say anything. He had been the Worthington coachman for five andtwenty years, and he was known in Brampton as Silas the Silent. Young Mr. Worthington had no desire to talk that morning. 

The black trotters covered the ten miles in much quicker time than LemHallowell could do it in his stage, but the distance seemed endless toBob. It was not much more than half an hour after he had left BramptonStreet, however, that he shot past the store, and by the time RiasRichardson in his carpet slippers reached the platform the cutter was infront of the tannery house, and the trotters, with their sides smoking, were pawing up the snow under the butternut tree. 

Bob leaped out, hurried up the path, and knocked at the door. It wasopened by Jethro Bass himself!

"How do you do, Mr. Bass, " said the young man, gravely, and he held outhis hand. Jethro gave him such a scrutinizing look as he had given many aman whose business he cared to guess, but Bob looked fearlessly into hiseyes. Jethro took his hand. 

"C-come in, " he said. 

Bob went into that little room where Jethro and Cynthia had spent so manynights together, and his glance flew straight to the picture on thewall, --the portrait of Cynthia Wetherell in crimson and seed pearls, sostrangely set amidst such surroundings. His glance went to the portrait, and his feet followed, as to a lodestone. He stood in front of it formany minutes, in silence, and Jethro watched him. At last he turned. 

"Where is she?" he asked. 

It was a queer question, and Jethro's answer was quite as lacking inconvention. 

"G-gone to Brampton--gone to Brampton. "

"Gone to Brampton! Do you mean to say--? What is she doing there?" Bobdemanded. 

"Teachin' school, " said Jethro; "g-got Miss Goddard's place. "

Bob did not reply for a moment. The little schoolhouse was the onlybuilding in Brampton he had glanced at as he came through. Mrs. Merrillhad told him that she might take that place, but he had little imaginedshe was already there on her platform facing the rows of shining littlefaces at the desks. He had deemed it more than possible that he might seeJethro at Coniston, but he had not taken into account that which he mightsay to him. Bob had, indeed, thought of nothing but Cynthia, and of theblow that had fallen upon her. He had tried to realize the, multiplephases of the situation which confronted him. Here was the man who, bythe conduct of his life, had caused the blow; he, too, was herbenefactor; and again, this same man was engaged in the bitterest ofconflicts with his father, Isaac D. Worthington, and it was this conflictwhich had precipitated that blow. Bob could not have guessed, by lookingat Jethro Bass, how great was the sorrow which had fallen upon him. ButBob knew that Jethro hated his father, must hate him now, because ofCynthia, with a hatred given to few men to feel. He thought that Jethrowould crush Mr. Worthington and ruin him if he could; and Bob believed hecould. 

What was he to say? He did not fear Jethro, for Bob Worthington hadcourage enough; but these things were running in his mind, and he feltthe power of the man before him, as all men did. Bob went to the windowand came back again. He knew that he must speak. 

"Mr. Bass, " he said at last, "did Cynthia ever mention me to you?"

"No, " said Jethro. 

"Mr. Bass, I love her. I have told her so, and I have asked her to be mywife. "

There was no need, indeed, to have told Jethro this. The shock of thatrevelation had come to him when he had seen the trotters, had beenconfirmed when the young man had stood before the portrait. Jethro's facemight have twitched when Bob stood there with his back to him. 

Jethro could not speak. Once more there had come to him a moment when hewould not trust his voice to ask a question. He dreaded the answer, though none might have surmised this. He knew Cynthia. He knew that, whenshe had given her heart, it was for all time. He dreaded the answer;because it might mean that her sorrow was doubled. 

"I believe, " Bob continued painfully, seeing that Jethro would saynothing, "I believe that Cynthia loves me. I should not dare to say it orto hope it, without reason. She has not said so, but--" the words werevery hard for him, yet he stuck manfully to the truth; "but she told meto write to my father and let him know what I had done, and not to comeback to her until I had his answer. This, " he added, wondering that a mancould listen to such a thing without a sign, "this was before--before shehad any idea of coming home. "

Yes, Cynthia, did love him. There was no doubt about it in Jethro's mind. She would not have bade Bob write to his father if she had not loved him. Still Jethro did not speak, but by some intangible force compelled Bob togo on. 

"I shall write to my father as soon as he comes back from the West, but Iwish to say to you, Mr. Bass, that whatever his answer contains, I meanto marry Cynthia. Nothing can shake me from that resolution. I tell youthis because my father is fighting you, and you know what he will say. "(Jethro knew Dudley Worthington well enough to appreciate that this wouldmake no particular difference in his opposition to the marriage except tomake that opposition more vehement. ) "And because you do not know me, "continued Bob. "When I say a thing, I mean it. Even if my father cuts meoff and casts me out, I will marry Cynthia. Good-by, Mr. Bass. "

Jethro took the young man's hand again. Bob imagined that he even pressedit--a little--something he had never done before. 

"Good-by, Bob. "

Bob got as far as the door. 

"Er--go back to Harvard, Bob?"

"I intend to, Mr. Bass. "

"Er--Bob?"

"Yes?"

"D-don't quarrel with your father--don't quarrel with your father. "

"I shan't be the one to quarrel, Mr. Bass. "

"Bob--hain't you pretty young--pretty young?"

"Yes, " said Bob, rather unexpectedly, "I am. " Then he added, "I know myown mind. "

"P-pretty young. Don't want to get married yet awhile--do you?"

"Yes, I do, " said Bob, "but I suppose I shan't be able to. "

"Er--wait awhile, Bob. Go back to Harvard. W-wouldn't write that letterif I was you. "

"But I will. I'll not have him think I'm ashamed of what I've done. I'mproud of it, Mr. Bass. "

In the eyes of Coniston, which had been waiting for his reappearance, BobWorthington jumped into the sleigh and drove off. He left behind himJethro Bass, who sat in his chair the rest of the morning with his headbent in revery so deep that Millicent had to call him twice to his simpledinner. Bob left behind him, too, a score of rumors, sprung full growninto life with his visit. Men and women an incredible distance away heardthem in an incredible time: those in the village found an immediatepretext for leaving their legitimate occupation and going to the store, and a gathering was in session there when young Mr. Worthington drovepast it on his way back. Bob thought little about the rumors, and notthinking of them it did not occur to him that they might affect Cynthia. The only person then in Coniston whom he thought about was Jethro Bass. Bob decided that his liking for Jethro had not diminished, but ratherincreased; he admired Jethro for the advice he had given, although he didnot mean to take it. And for the first time he pitied him. 

Bob did not know that rumor, too, was spreading in Brampton. He had hisdinner in the big walnut dining room all alone, and after it he smokedhis father's cigars and paced up and down the big hall, watching theclock. For he could not go to her in the school hours. At length he puton his hat and hurried out, crossing the park-like enclosure in themiddle of the street; bowed at by Mr. Dodd, who always seemed to be onhand, and others, and nodding absently in return. Concealment was not inBob Worthington's nature. He reached the post-office, where the partitiondoor was open, and he walked right into a comparatively full meeting ofthe Brampton Club. Ephraim sat in their midst, and for once he was nottelling war stories. He was silent. And the others fell suddenly silent, too, at Bob's entrance. 

"How do you do, Mr. Prescott?" he said, as Ephraim struggled to his feet. "How is the rheumatism?"

"How be you, Mr. Worthington?" said Ephraim; "this is a kind of asurprise, hain't it?" Ephraim was getting used to surprises. "Well, it isgood-natured of you to come in and shake hands with an old soldier. "

"Don't mention it, Mr. Prescott, " answered honest Bob, a little abashed, "I should have done so anyway, but the fact is, I wanted to speak to youa moment in private. "

"Certain, " said Ephraim, glancing helplessly around him, "jest come outfront. " That space, where the public were supposed to be, was the onlyprivate place in the Brampton post-office. But the members of theBrampton Club could take a hint, and with one consent began to makeexcuses. Bob knew them all from boyhood and spoke to them all. Some ofthem ventured to ask him if Harvard had bust up. 

"Where does Cynthia-live?" he demanded, coming straight to the point. 

Ephraim stared at him for a moment in a bewildered fashion, and then alight began to dawn on him. 

"Lives with me, " he answered. He was quite as ashamed, for Bob's sake, asif he himself had asked the question, and he went on talking to coverthat embarrassment. "It's made some difference, too, sence she come. House looks like a different place. Afore she, come I cooked with a kit, same as I used to in the harness shop. I l'arned it in the army. Cynthy'sgot a stove. "

It was not the way Ephraim would have gone about a love affair, had hehad one. Sam Price's were the approved methods in that section of thecountry, though Sam had overdone them somewhat. It was an unheard-ofthing to ask a man right out like that where a girl lived. 

"Much obliged, " said Bob, and was gone. Ephraim raised his hands indespair, and hobbled to the little window to get a last look at him. Where were the proprieties in these days? The other aspect of the affair, what Mr. Worthington would think of it when he returned, did not occur tothe innocent mind of the old soldier until people began to talk about itthat afternoon. Then it worried him into another attack of rheumatism. 

Half of Brampton must have seen Bob Worthington march up to the littleyellow house which Ephraim had rented from John Billings. It had fourrooms around the big chimney in the middle, and that was all. Simple asit was, an architect would have said that its proportions were nearlyperfect. John Billings had it from his Grandfather Post, who built it, and though Brampton would have laughed at the statement, Isaac D. Worthington's mansion was not to be compared with it for beauty. The oldcherry furniture was still in it, and the old wall papers and thepanelling in the little room to the right which Cynthia had made into asitting room. 

Half of Brampton, too, must have seen Cynthia open the door and Bob walkinto the entry. Then the door was shut. But it had been held open for anappreciable time, however, --while you could count twenty, --becauseCynthia had not the power to close it. For a while she could only lookinto his eyes, and he into hers. She had not seen him coming, she had butanswered the knock. Then, slowly, the color came into her cheeks, and sheknew that she was trembling from head to foot. 

"Cynthia, " he said, "mayn't I come in?"

She did not answer, for fear her voice would tremble, too. And she couldnot send him away in the face of all Brampton. She opened the door alittle wider, a very little, and he went in. Then she closed it, and fora moment they stood facing each other in the entry, which was lightedonly by the fan-light over the door, Cynthia with her back against thewall. He spoke her name again, his voice thick with the passion which hadovertaken him like a flood at the sight of her--a passion to seize her inhis arms, and cherish and comfort and protect her forever and ever. Allthis he felt and more as he looked into her face and saw the traces ofher great sorrow there. He had not thought that that face could be morebeautiful in its strength and purity, but it was even so. 

"Cynthia-my love!" he cried, and raised his arms. But a look as of agreat fear came into her eyes, which for one exquisite moment had yieldedto his own; and her breath came quickly, as though she were spent--asindeed she was. So far spent that the wall at her back was grateful. 

"No!" she said; "no--you must not--you must not--you must not!" Again andagain she repeated the words, for she could summon no others. They were amandate--had he guessed it--to herself as to him. For the time her brainrefused its functions, and she could think of nothing but the fact thathe was there, beside her, ready to take her in his arms. How she longedto fly into them, none but herself knew--to fly into them as into arefuge secure against the evil powers of the world. It was not reasonthat restrained her then, but something higher in her, that restrainedhim likewise. Without moving from the wall she pushed open the door ofthe sitting room. 

"Go in there, " she said. 

He went in as she bade him and stood before the flickering logs in thewide and shallow chimney-place--logs that seemed to burn on the veryhearth itself, and yet the smoke rose unerring into the flue. No stovehad ever desecrated that room. Bob looked into the flames and waited, andCynthia stood in the entry fighting this second great battle which hadcome upon her while her forces were still spent with that other one. Woman in her very nature is created to be sheltered and protected; andthe yearning in her, when her love is given, is intense as nature itselfto seek sanctuary in that love. So it was with Cynthia leaning againstthe entry wall, her arms full length in front of her, and her handsclasped as she prayed for strength to withstand the temptation. At lastshe grew calmer, though her breath still came deeply, and she went intothe sitting room. 

Perhaps he knew, vaguely, why she had not followed him at once. He hadgrown calmer himself, calmer with that desperation which comes to a manof his type when his soul and body are burning with desire for a woman. He knew that he would have to fight for her with herself. He knew nowthat she was too strong in her position to be carried by storm, and theinterval had given him time to collect himself. He did not dare at firstto look up from the logs, for fear he should forget himself and bedefeated instantly. 

"I have been to Coniston, Cynthia, " he said. 

"Yes. "

"I have been to Coniston this morning, and I have seen Mr. Bass, and Ihave told him that I love you, and that I will never give you up. I toldyou so in Boston, Cynthia, " he said; "I knew that this this trouble wouldcome to you. I would have given my life to have saved you from it--fromthe least part of it. I would have given my life to have been able to say'it shall not touch you. ' I saw it flowing in like a great sea betweenyou and me, and yet I could not tell you of it. I could not prepare youfor it. I could only tell you that I would never give you up, and I canonly repeat that now. "

"You must, Bob, " she answered, in a voice so low that it was almost awhisper; "you must give me up. "

"I would not, " he said, "I would not if the words were written on all therocks of Coniston Mountain. I love you. "

"Hush, " she said gently. "I have to say some things to you. They will bevery hard to say, but you must listen to them. "

"I will listen, " he said doggedly; "but they will not affect mydetermination. "

"I am sure you do not wish to drive me away from Brampton, " shecontinued, in the same low voice, "when I have found a place to earn myliving near-near Uncle Jethro. "

These words told him all he had suspected--almost as much as though hehad been present at the scene in the tannery shed in Coniston. She knewnow the life of Jethro Bass, but he was still "Uncle Jethro" to her. Itwas even as Bob had supposed, --that her affection once given could not betaken away. 

"Cynthia, " he said, "I would not by an act or a word annoy or troubleyou. If you bade me, I would go to the other side of the world to-morrow. You must know that. But I should come back again. You must know, that, too. I should come back again for you. "

"Bob, " she said again, and her voice faltered a very little now, "youmust know that I can never be your wife. "

"I do not know it, " he exclaimed, interrupting her vehemently, "I willnot know it. "

"Think, " she said, "think! I must say what I, have to say, however ithurts me. If it had not been for--for your father, those things neverwould have been written. They were in his newspaper, and they express hisfeelings toward--toward Uncle Jethro. "

Once the words were out, she marvelled that she had found the courage topronounce them. 

"Yes, " he said, "yes, I know that, but listen--"

"Wait, " she went on, "wait until I have finished. I am not speaking ofthe pain I had when I read these things, I--I am not speaking of thetruth that may be in them--I have learned from them what I should haveknown before, and felt, indeed, that your father will never consentto--to a marriage between us. "

"And if he does not, " cried Bob, "if he does not, do you think that Iwill abide by what he says, when my life's happiness depends upon you, and my life's welfare? I know that you are a good woman, and a truewoman, that you will be the best wife any man could have. Though he is myfather, he shall not deprive me of my soul, and he shall not take my lifeaway from me. "

As Cynthia listened she thought that never had words sounded sweeter thanthese--no, and never would again. So she told herself as she let them runinto her heart to be stored among the treasures there. She believed inhis love--believed in it now with all her might. (Who, indeed, wouldnot?) She could not demean herself now by striving to belittle it ordoubt its continuance, as she had in Boston. He was young, yes; but hewould never be any older than this, could never love again like this. Somuch was given her, ought she not to be content? Could she expect more?

She understood Isaac Worthington, now, as well as his son understood him. She knew that, if she were to yield to Bob Worthington, his father woulddisown and disinherit him. She looked ahead into the years as a womanwill, and allowed herself for the briefest of moments to wonder whetherany happiness could thrive in spite of the violence of that schism--anyhappiness for him. She would be depriving him of his birthright, and itmay be that those who are born without birthrights often value them themost. Cynthia saw these things, and more, for those who sit at the feetof sorrow soon learn the world's ways. She saw herself pointed out as thewoman whose designs had beggared and ruined him in his youth, and(agonizing and revolting thought!) the name of one would be spoken fromwhom she had learned such craft. Lest he see the scalding tears in hereyes, she turned away and conquered them. What could she do? Where shouldshe hide her love that it might not be seen of men? And how, in truth, could she tell him these things?

"Cynthia, " he went on, seeing that she did not answer, and taking heart, "I will not say a word against my father. I know you would not respect meif I did. We are different, he and I, and find happiness in differentways. " Bob wondered if his father had ever found it. "If I had never metyou and loved you, I should have refused to lead the life my fatherwishes me to lead. It is not in me to do the things he will ask. I shallhave to carve out my own life, and I feel that I am as well able to do itas he was. Percy Broke, a classmate of mine and my best friend, has aposition for me in a locomotive works in which his father is largelyinterested. We are going in together, the day after we graduate; it isall arranged, and his father has agreed. I shall work very hard, and in afew years, Cynthia, we shall be together, never to part again. Oh, Cynthia, " he cried, carried away by the ecstasy of this dream which hehad, summoned up, "why do you resist me? I love you as no man has everloved, " he exclaimed, with scornful egotism and contempt of those who hadmade the world echo with that cry through the centuries, "and you loveme! Ah, do you think I do not see it--cannot feel it? You love me--tellme so. "

He was coming toward her, and how was she to prevent his taking her bystorm? That was his way, and well she knew it. In her dreams she had feltherself lifted and borne off, breathless in his arms, to Elysium. Herbreath was going now, her strength was going, and yet she made him pauseby the magic of a word. A concession was in that word, but one could notstruggle so piteously and concede nothing. 

"Bob, " she said, "do you love me?"

Love her! If there was a love that acknowledged no bounds, that wasconfined by no superlatives, it was his. He began to speak, but sheinterrupted him with a wild passion that was new to her. As he sat in thetrain on his way back to Cambridge through the darkening afternoon, thenote of it rang in his ears and gave him hope--yes, and through manymonths afterward. 

"If you love me I beg, I implore, I beseech you in the name of thatlove--for your, sake and my sake, to leave me. Oh, can you not see whyyou must go?"

He stopped, even as he had before in the parlor in Mount Vernon Street. He could but stop in the face of such an appeal--and yet the blood beatin his head with a mad joy. 

"Tell me that you love me, --once, " he cried, --"once, Cynthia. "

"Do-do not ask me, " she faltered. "Go. "

Her words were a supplication, not a command. And in that they were asupplication he had gained a victory. Yes, though she had striven withall her might to deny, she had bade him hope. He left her without so muchas a touch of the hand, because she had wished it. And yet she loved him!Incredible fact! Incredible conjury which made him doubt that his feettouched the snow of Brampton Street, which blotted, as with a goldenglow, the faces and the houses of Brampton from his sight. He saw no one, though many might have accosted him. That part of him which was clay, which performed the menial tasks of his being, had kindly taken uponitself to fetch his bag from the house to the station, and to board thetrain. 

Ah, but Brampton had seen him!

CHAPTER XIV

Great events, like young Mr. Worthington's visit to Brampton, are allvery well for a while, but they do not always develop with sufficientrapidity to satisfy the audiences of the drama. Seven days were aninterlude quite long enough in which to discuss every phase and bearingof this opening scene, and after that the play in all justice ought tomove on. But there it halted--for a while--and the curtain obstinatelyrefused to come up. If the inhabitants of Brampton had only known thatthe drama, when it came, would be well worth waiting for, they might havebeen less restless. 

It is unnecessary to enrich the pages of this folio with all thefootnotes and remarks of, the sages of Brampton. These can be condensedinto a paragraph of two--and we can ring up the curtain when we like onthe next scene, for which Brampton had to wait considerably over a month. There is to be no villain in this drama with the face of an Abbe Maurylike the seven cardinal sins. Comfortable looking Mr. Dodd of theprudential committee, with his chin-tuft of yellow beard, is cast for thepart of the villain, but will play it badly; he would have been bettersuited to a comedy part. 

Young Mr. Worthington left Brampton on the five o'clock train, and at sixMr. Dodd met his fellow-member of the committee, Judge Graves. 

"Called a meetin'?" asked Mr. Dodd, pulling the yellow tuft. 

"What for?" said the judge, sharply. 

"What be you a-goin' to do about it?" said Mr. Dodd. 

"Do about what?" demanded the judge, looking at the hardware dealer fromunder his eyebrows. 

Mr. Dodd knew well enough that this was not ignorance on the part of Mr. Graves, whose position in the matter dad been very well defined in thetwo sentences he had spoken. Mr. Dodd perceived that the judge was tryingto get him to commit himself, and would then proceed to annihilate him. He, Levi Dodd, had no intention of walking into such a trap. 

"Well, " said he, with a final tug at the tuft, "if that's the way youfeel about it. "

"Feel about what?" said the judge, fiercely. 

"Callate you know best, " said Mr. Dodd, and passed on up the street. Buthe felt the judge's gimlet eyes boring holes in his back. The judge'sposition was very fine, no doubt for the judge. All of which tends toshow that Levi Dodd had swept his mind, and that it was ready now for thereception of an opinion. 

Six weeks or more, as has been said, passed before the curtain roseagain, but the snarling trumpets of the orchestra played a fittingprelude. Cynthia's feelings and Cynthia's life need not be gone intoduring this interval knowing her character, they may well be imagined. They were trying enough, but Brampton had no means of guessing them. During the weeks she came and went between the little house and thelittle school, putting all the strength that was in her into her duties. The Prudential Committee, which sometimes sat on the platform, could findno fault with the performance of these duties, or with the capability ofthe teacher, and it is not going too far to state that the children grewto love her better than Miss Goddard had been loved. It may be declaredthat children are the fittest citizens of a republic, because they areapt to make up their own minds on any subject without regard to publicopinion. It was so with the scholars of Brampton village lower school:they grew to love the new teacher, careless of what the attitude of theirelders might be, and some of them could have been seen almost any daywalking home with her down the street. 

As for the attitude of the elders--there was none. Before assuming onethey had thought it best, with characteristic caution, to await the nextact in the drama. There were ladies in Brampton whose hearts promptedthem, when they called on the new teacher, to speak a kindly word ofwarning and advice; but somehow, when they were seated before her in thelittle sitting room of the John Billings house, their courage failedthem. There was something about this daughter of the Coniston storekeeperand ward of Jethro Bass that made them pause. So much for the ladies ofBrampton. What they said among themselves would fill a chapter, and more. 

There was, at this time, a singular falling-off in the attendance of theBrampton Club. Ephraim sat alone most of the day in his Windsor chair bythe stove, pretending to read newspapers. But he did not mention thisfact to Cynthia. He was more lonesome than ever on the Saturdays andSundays which she spent with Jethro Bass. 

Jethro Bass! It is he who might be made the theme of the music of thesnarling trumpets. What was he about during those six weeks? That is whatthe state at large was beginning to wonder, and the state at large waslooking on at a drama, too. A rumor reached the capital and radiatedthence to every city and town and hamlet, and was followed by otherrumors like confirmations. Jethro Bass, for the first time in a long lifeof activity, was inactive: inactive, too, at this most critical period ofhis career, the climax of it, with a war to be waged which for bitternessand ferocity would have no precedent; with the town meetings at hand, where the frontier fighting was to be done, and no quarter given. Lieutenants had gone to Coniston for further orders and instructions, andhad come back without either. Achilles was sulking in the tanneryhouse--some said a broken Achilles. Not a word could be got out of him, or the sign of an intention. Jake Wheeler moped through the days in RiasRichardson's store, too sore at heart to speak to any man, and could havewept if tears had been a relief to him. No more blithe errands over themountain to Clovelly and elsewhere, though Jake knew the issue now anditched for the battle, and the vassals of the hill-Rajah under a jubilantBijah Bixby were arming cap-a-pie. Lieutenant-General-and-Senator PelegHartington of Brampton, in his office over the livery stable, shook hishead like a mournful stork when questioned by brother officers from afar. Operations were at a standstill, and the sinews of war relaxed. Ruralgivers of mortgages, who had not had the opportunity of selling them orhad feared to do so, began (mirabile dictu) to express opinions. Mostominous sign of all--the proprietor of the Pelican Hotel had confessedthat the Throne Room had not been engaged for the coming session. 

Was it possible that Jethro Bass lay crushed under the weight of theaccusations which had been printed, and were still being printed, in theNewcastle Guardian? He did not answer them, or retaliate in othernewspapers, but Jethro Bass had never made use of newspapers in this way. Still, nothing ever printed about him could be compared with thosearticles. Had remorse suddenly overtaken him in his old age? Such werethe questions people we're asking all over the state--people, at least, who were interested in politics, or in those operations which went by thename of politics: yes, and many private citizens--who had participated inpolitics only to the extent of voting for such candidates as Jethro inhis wisdom had seen fit to give them, read the articles and began to saythat boss domination was at an end. A new era was at hand, which theyfondly (and very properly) believed was to be a golden era. It was, indeed, to be a golden era--until things got working; and then the goldwould cease. The Newcastle Guardian, with unconscious irony, proclaimedthe golden era; and declared that its columns, even in other days andunder other ownership, had upheld the wisdom of Jethro Bass. And he wasstill a wise man, said the Guardian, for he had had sense enough to giveup the fight. 

Had he given up the fight? Cynthia fervently hoped and prayed that hehad, but she hoped and prayed in silence. Well she knew, if the event inthe tannery shed had not made him abandon his affairs, no appeal could doso. Her happiest days in this period were the Saturdays and Sundays spentwith him in Coniston, and as the weeks went by she began to believe thatthe change, miraculous as it seemed, had indeed taken place. He had givenup his power. It was a pleasure that made the weeks bearable for her. What did it matter--whether he had made the sacrifice for the sake of hislove for her? He had made it. 

On these Saturdays and Sundays they went on long drives together over thehills, while she talked to him of her life in Brampton or the books shewas reading, and of those she had chosen for him to read. Sometimes theydid not turn homeward until the delicate tracery of the branches on thesnow warned them of the rising moon. Jethro was often silent for hours ata time, but it seemed to Cynthia that it was the silence of peace--of apeace he had never known before. There came no newspapers to the tanneryhouse now: during the mid-week he read the books of which she had spokenWilliam Wetherell's books; or sat in thought, counting, perhaps; the daysuntil she should come again. And the boy of those days for him was morepathetic than much that is known to the world as sorrow. 

And what did Coniston think? Coniston, indeed, knew not what to think, when, little by little, the great men ceased to drive up to the door ofthe tannery house, and presently came no more. Coniston sank then fromits proud position as the real capital of the state to a lonely hamletamong the hills. Coniston, too, was watching the drama, and had had abetter view of the stage than Brampton, and saw some reason presently forthe change in Jethro Bass. Not that Mr. Satterlee told, but such evidencewas bound, in the end, to speak for itself. The Newcastle Guardian hadbeen read and debated at the store--debated with some heat by ChesterPerkins and other mortgagors; discussed, nevertheless, in a politicalrather than a moral light. Then Cynthia had returned home; her face hadawed them by its sorrow, and she had begun to earn her own living. Thenthe politicians had ceased to come. The credit belongs to Rias Richardsonfor hawing been the first to piece these three facts together, causinghim to burn his hand so severely on the stove that he had to carry itbandaged in soda for a week. Cynthia Wetherell had reformed Jethro. 

Though the village loved and revered Cynthia, Coniston as a whole did notrejoice in that reform. The town had fallen from its mighty estate, andthere were certain envious ones who whispered that it had remained for ayoung girl who had learned city ways to twist Jethro around her finger;that she had made him abandon his fight with Isaac D. Worthington becauseMr. Worthington had a son--but there is no use writing such scandal. Stripped of his power--even though he stripped himself--Jethro began tolose their respect, a trait tending to prove that the human race may havehad wolves for ancestors as well as apes. People had small opportunity, however, of showing a lack of respect to his person, for in these days henoticed no one and spoke to none. 

When the lion is crippled, the jackals begin to range. A jackalreconnoitered the lair to see how badly the lion was crippled, andconceived with astounding insolence the plan of capturing the lion'squarry. This jackal, who was an old one, well knew how to round up aquarry, and fled back over the hills to consult with a bigger jackal, hismaster. As a result, two days before March town-meeting day, Mr. BijahBixby paid a visit to the Harwich bank and went among certain Conistonfarmers looking over the sheep, his clothes bulging out in places when hebegan, and seemingly normal enough when he had finished. History repeatsitself, even among lions and jackals. Thirty-six years before there hadbeen a town-meeting in Coniston and a surprise. Established Church, decent and orderly selectmen and proceedings had been toppled over thatday, every outlying farm sending its representative through the sleet todo it. And now retribution was at hand. This March-meeting day was mild, the grass showing a green color on the south slopes where the snow hadmelted, and the outlying farmers drove through mud-holes up to the axles. Drove, albeit, in procession along the roads, grimly enough, and thesheds Jock Hallowell had built around the meeting-house could not holdthe horses; they lined the fences and usurped the hitching posts of thevillage street, and still they came. Their owners trooped with muddyboots into the meeting-house, and when the moderator rapped for order theChairman of the Board of Selectmen, Jethro Bass, was not in his place;never, indeed, would be there again. Six and thirty years he had beensupreme in that town--long enough for any man. The beams and king postswould know him no more. Mr. Amos Cuthbert was elected Chairman, notwithout a gallant and desperate but unsupported fight of a minority ledby Mr. Jake Wheeler, whose loyalty must be taken as a tribute to hisspecies. Farmer Cuthbert was elected, and his mortgage was notforeclosed! Had it been, there was more money in the Harwich bank. 

There was no telegraph to Coniston in these days, and so Mr. Sam Price, with his horse in a lather, might have been seen driving with unseemlyhaste toward Brampton, where in due time he arrived. Half an hour laterthere was excitement at Newcastle, sixty-five miles away, in the officeof the Guardian, and the next morning the excitement had spread over thewhole state. 

Jethro Bass was dethroned in Coniston--discredited in his own town!

And where was Jethro? Did his heart ache, did he bow his head as hethought of that supremacy, so hardly won, so superbly held, gone forever?Many were the curious eyes on the tannery house that day, and for daysafter, but its owner gave no signs of concern. He read and thought andchopped wood in the tannery shed as usual. Never, I believe, did man, shorn of power, accept his lot more quietly. His struggle was over, hisbattle was fought, a greater peace than he had ever thought to hope forwas won. For the opinion and regard of the world he had never cared. Agreater reward awaited him, greater than any knew--the opinion and regardand the praise of one whom he loved beyond all the world. On Friday shecame to him, on Friday at sunset, for the days were growing longer, andthat was the happiest sunset of his life. She said nothing as she raisedher face to his and kissed him and clung to him in the little parlor, buthe knew, and he had his reward. So much for earthly power Cynthia broughtthe little rawhide trunk this time, and came to Coniston for the Marchvacation--a happy two weeks that was soon gone. Happy by comparison, thatis, with what they both had suffered, and a haven of rest after thestruggle and despair of the wilderness. The bond between them had, intruth, never been stronger, for both the young girl and the old man haddenied themselves the thing they held most dear. Jethro had taken refugeand found comfort in his love. But Cynthia! Her greatest love had nowbeen bestowed elsewhere. 

If there were letters for the tannery house, Milly Skinner, who made it apoint to meet the stage, brought them. And there were letters duringCynthia's sojourn, --many of them, bearing the Cambridge postmark. Oneevening it was Jethro who laid the letter on the table beside her as shesat under the lamp. He did not look at her or speak, but she felt that heknew her secret--felt that he deserved to have from her own lips what hehad been too proud--yes--and too humble to ask. Whose sympathy could shebe sure of, if not of his? Still she had longed to keep this treasure toherself. She took the letter in her hand. 

"I do not answer them, Uncle Jethro, but--I cannot prevent his writingthem, " she faltered. She did not confess that she kept them, every one, and read them over and over again; that she had grown, indeed, to lookforward to them as to a sustenance. "I--I do love him, but I will notmarry him. "

Yes, she could be sure of Jethro's sympathy, though he could not expressit in words. Yet she had not told him for this. She had told him, much asthe telling had hurt her, because she feared to cut him more deeply byher silence. 

It was a terrible moment for Jethro, and never had he desired the gift ofspeech as now. Had it not been for him; Cynthia might have been RobertWorthington's wife. He sat down beside her and put his hand over hersthat lay on the letter in her lap. It was the only answer he could make, but perhaps it was the best, after all. Of what use were words at such atime!

Four days afterward, on a Monday morning, she went back to Brampton tobegin the new term. 

That same Monday a circumstance of no small importance took place inBrampton--nothing less than the return, after a prolonged absence in theWest and elsewhere, of its first citizen. Isaac D. Worthington was againin residence. No bells were rung, indeed, and no delegation of citizensas such, headed by the selectmen, met him at the station; and otherfeudal expressions of fealty were lacking. No staff flew Mr. Worthington's arms; nevertheless the lord of Brampton was in his castleagain, and Brampton felt that he was there. He arrived alone, wearing thesilk hat which had become habitual with him now, and stepping into hisbarouche at the station had been driven up Brampton Street behind hisgrays, looking neither to the right nor left. His reddish chop whiskersseemed to cling a little more closely to his face than formerly, and longyears of compression made his mouth look sterner than ever. A hawk-likeman, Isaac Worthington, to be reckoned with and feared, whether in afrock coat or in breastplate and mail. 

His seneschal, Mr. Flint, was awaiting him in the library. Mr. Flint waslarge and very ugly, big-boned, smooth-shaven, with coarse features allaskew, and a large nose with many excrescences, and thick lips. He wasforty-two. From a foreman of the mills he had risen, step by step, to hispresent position, which no one seemed able to define. He was, indeed, aseneschal. He managed the mills in his lord's absence, and--if the truthbe told--in his presence; knotty questions of the Truro Railroad werebrought to Mr. Flint and submitted to Mr. Worthington, who decided them, with Mr. Flint's advice; and, within the last three months, Mr. Flint hadinvaded the realm of politics, quietly, as such a man would, under thecover of his patron's name and glory. Mr. Flint it was who had bought theNewcastle Guardian, who went occasionally to Newcastle and spoke a feweffective words now and then to the editor; and, if the truth will out, Mr. Flint had largely conceived that scheme about the railroads which wasto set Mr. Worthington on the throne of the state, although the schemewas not now being carried out according to Mr. Flint's wishes. Mr. Flintwas, in a sense, a Bismarck, but he was not as yet all powerful. Sometimes his august master or one of his fellow petty sovereigns wouldsweep Mr. Flint's plans into the waste basket, and then Mr. Flint wouldbe content to wait. To complete the character sketch, Mr. Flint was notabove hanging up his master's hat and coat, Which he did upon the presentoccasion, and went up to Mr. Worthington's bedroom to fetch a pockethandkerchief out of the second drawer. He even knew where thehandkerchiefs were kept. Lucky petty sovereigns sometimes possess Mr. Flints to make them emperors. 

The august personage seated himself briskly at his desk. 

"So that scoundrel Bass is actually discredited at last, " he said, blowing his nose in the pocket handkerchief Mr. Flint had brought him. "Ilose patience when I think how long we've stood the rascal in this state. I knew the people would rise in their indignation when they learned thetruth about him. "

Mr. Flint did not answer this. He might have had other views. 

"I wonder we did not think of it before, " Mr. Worthington continued. "Avery simple remedy, and only requiring a little courage and--and--" (Mr. Worthington was going to say money, but thought better of it) "and thechimera disappears. I congratulate you, Flint. "

"Congratulate yourself, " said Mr. Flint; "that would not have been myway. "

"Very well, I congratulate myself, " said the august personage, who was intoo good a humor to be put out by the rejection of a compliment. "Youremember what I said: the time was ripe, just publish a few biographicalarticles telling people what he was, and Jethro Bass would snuff out likea candle. Mr. Duncan tells me the town-meeting results are very good allover the state. Even if we hadn't knocked out Jethro Bass, we'd have afair majority for our bill in the next legislature. "

"You know Bass's saying, " answered Mr. Flint, "You can hitch that kind ofa hoss, but they won't always stay hitched. "

"I know, I know, " said Mr. Worthington; "don't croak, Flint. We can buymore hitch ropes, if necessary. Well, what's the outlay up to thepresent? Large, I suppose. Well, whatever it is, it's small compared towhat we'll get for it. " He laughed a little and rubbed his hands, andthen he remembered that capacity in which he stood before the world. Yes, and he stood before himself in the same capacity. Isaac Worthington mayhave deceived himself, but he may or may not have been a hero to hisseneschal. "We have to fight fire with fire, " he added, in a painedvoice. "Let me see the account. "

"I have tabulated the expense in the different cities and towns, "answered Mr. Flint; "I will show you the account in a little while. Theexpenses in Coniston were somewhat greater than the size of the townjustified, perhaps. But Sutton thought--"

"Yes, yes, " interrupted Mr. Worthington, "if it had cost as much to carryConiston as Newcastle, it would have been worth it--for the moral effectalone. "

Moral effect! Mr. Flint thought of Mr. Bixby with his bulging pocketsgoing about the hills, and smiled at the manner in which moral effectsare sometimes obtained. 

"Any news, Flint?"

No news yet, Mr. Flint might have answered. In a few minutes there mightbe news, and plenty of it, for it lay ready to be hatched under Mr. Worthington's eye. A letter in the bold and upright hand of his son wason the top of the pile, placed there by Mr. Flint himself, who hadexamined Mr. Worthington's face closely when he came in to see how muchhe might know of its contents. He had decided that Mr. Worthington was intoo good a humor to know anything of them. Mr. Flint had not steamed theletter open, and read the news; but he could guess at them prettyshrewdly, and so could have the biggest fool in Brampton. That lettercontained the opening scene of the next act in the drama. 

Mr. Worthington cut the envelope and began to read, and while he did soMr. Flint, who was not afraid of man or beast, looked at him. It was amanly and straight forward letter, and Mr. Worthington, no matter whathis opinions on the subject were, should have been proud of it. Bobannounced, first of all, that he was going to marry Cynthia Wetherell;then he proceeded with praiseworthy self-control (for a lover) todescribe Cynthia's character and attainments: after which he stated thatCynthia had refused him--twice, because she believed that Mr. Worthingtonwould oppose the marriage, and had declared that she would never be thecause of a breach between father and son. Bob asked for his father'sconsent, and hoped to have it, but he thought it only right to add thathe had given his word and his love, and did not mean to retract either. He spoke of his visit to Brampton, and explained that Cynthia wasteaching school there, and urged his father to see her before he made adecision. Mr. Worthington read it through to the end, his lips closingtighter and tighter until his mouth was but a line across his face. Therewas pain in the face, too, the kind of pain which anger sends, and whichcomes with the tottering of a pride that is false. Of what gratificationnow was the overthrow of Jethro Bass?

He stared at the letter for a moment after he had finished it, and hisface grew a dark red. Then he seized the paper and tore it slowly, deliberately, into bits. 

Dudley Worthington was not thinking then--not he!--of the young man inthe white beaver who had called at the Social Library many years beforeto see a young woman whose name, too, had been Cynthia. --He was thinking, in fact, for he was a man to think in anger, whether it were not possibleto remove this Cynthia from the face of the earth--at least to a placebeyond his horizon and that of his son. Had he worn the chain mailinstead of the frock coat he would have had her hung outside the townwalls. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed. And the words sounded profane indeed as hefixed his eyes upon Mr. Flint. "You knew that Robert had been toBrampton. "

"Yes, " said Flint, "the whole village knew it. "

"Good God!" cried Mr. Worthington again, "why was I not informed of this?Why was I not warned of this? Have I no friends? Do you pretend to lookafter my interests and not take the trouble to write me on such asubject. "

"Do you think I could have prevented it?" asked Mr. Flint, very calmly. 

"You allow this--this woman to come here to Brampton and teach school ina place where she can further her designs? What were you about?"

"When the prudential committee appointed her, nothing of this was known, Mr. Worthington. "

"Yes, but now--now! What are you doing, what are they doing to allow herto remain? Who are on that committee?"

Mr. Flint named the men. They had been reelected, as usual, at the recenttown-meeting. Mr. Errol, who had also been reelected, had returned buthad not yet issued the certificate or conducted the examination. 

"Send for them, have them here at once, " commanded Mr. Worthington, without listening to this. 

"If you take my advice, you will do nothing of the kind, " said Mr. Flint, who, as usual, had the whole situation at his fingers' ends. He had takenthe trouble to inform himself about the girl, and he had discovered, shrewdly enough, that she was the kind which might be led, but notdriven. If Mr. Flint's advice had been listened to, this story might havehad quite a different ending. But Mr. Flint had not reached the stagewhere his advice was always listened to, and he had a maddened man todeal with now. At that moment, as if fate had determined to intervene, the housemaid came into the room. 

"Mr. Dodd to see you, sir, " she said. 

"Show him in, " shouted Mr. Worthington; "show him in!"

Mr. Dodd was not a man who could wait for a summons which he had felt inhis bones was coming. He was ordinarily, as we have seen, officious. Butnow he was thoroughly frightened. He had seen the great man in thebarouche as he drove past the hardware store, and he had made up his mindto go up at once, and have it over with. His opinions were formed now, Heput a smile on his face when he was a foot outside of the library door. 

"This is a great pleasure, Mr. Worthington, a great pleasure, to see youback, " he said, coming forward. "I callated--"

But the great man sat in his chair, and made no attempt to return thegreeting. 

"Mr. Dodd, I thought you were my friend, " he said. 

Mr. Dodd went all to pieces at this reception. 

"So I be, Mr. Worthington--so I be, " he cried. "That's why I'm here now. I've b'en a friend of yours ever since I can remember--never fluctuated. I'd rather have chopped my hand off than had this happen--so I would. IfI could have foreseen what she was, she'd never have had the place, assure as my name's Levi Dodd. "

If Mr. Dodd had taken the trouble to look at the seneschal's face, hewould have seen a well-defined sneer there. 

"And now that you know what she is, " cried Mr. Worthington, rising andsmiting the pile of letters on his desk, "why do you keep her there aninstant?"

Mr. Dodd stopped to pick up the letters, which had flown over the floor. But the great man was now in the full tide of his anger. 

"Never mind the letters, " he shouted; "tell me why you keep her there. "

"We callated we'd wait and see what steps you'd like taken, " said thetrembling townsman. 

"Steps! Steps! Good God! What kind of man are you to serve in such aplace when you allow the professed ward of Jethro Bass--of Jethro Bass, the most notoriously depraved man in this state, to teach the children ofthis town. Steps! How soon can you call your committee together?"

"Right away, " answered Mr. Dodd, breathlessly. He would have gone on toexculpate himself, but Mr. Worthington's inexorable finger was pointingat the door. 

"If you are a friend of mine, " said that gentleman, "and if you have anyregard for the fair name of this town, you will do so at once. "

Mr. Dodd departed precipitately, and Mr. Worthington began to pace theroom, clasping his hands now in front of him, now behind him, in hisagony: repeating now and again various appellations which need not beprinted here, which he applied in turn to the prudential committee, tohis son, and to Cynthia Wetherell. 

"I'll run her out of Brampton, " he said at last. 

"If you do, " said Mr. Flint, who had been watching him apparentlyunmoved, "you may have Jethro Bass on your back. "

"Jethro Bass?" shouted Mr. Worthington, with a laugh that was notpleasant to hear, "Jethro Bass is as dead as Julius Caesar. "

It was one thing for Mr. Dodd to promise so readily a meeting of thecommittee, and quite another to decide how he was going to get throughthe affair without any more burns and scratches than were absolutelynecessary. He had reversed the usual order, and had been in the fire--nowhe was going to the frying-pan. He stood in the street for some time, pulling at his tuft, and then made his way to Mr. Jonathan Hill's feedstore. Mr. Hill was reading "Sartor Resartus" in his little office, thetemperature of which must have been 95, and Mr. Dodd was perspiring whenhe got there. 

"It's come, " said Mr. Dodd, sententiously. 

"What's come?" inquired Mr. Hill, mildly. 

"Isaac D. 's come, that's what, " said Mr. Dodd. "I hain't b'en sleepin'well of nights, lately. I can't think what we was about, Jonathan, puttin' that girl in the school. We'd ought to've knowed she wahn't fit. "

"What's the matter with her?" inquired Mr. Hill. 

"Matter with her!" exclaimed his fellow-committeeman, "she lives withJethro Bass--she's his ward. "

"Well, what of it?" said Mr. Hill, who never bothered himself aboutgossip or newspapers, or indeed about anything not between the covers ofa book, except when he couldn't help it. 

"Good God!" exclaimed Mr. Dodd, "he's the most notorious, depraved man inthe state. Hain't we got to look out for the fair name of Brampton?"

Mr. Hill sighed and closed his book. 

"Well, " he said; "I'd hoped we were through with that. Let's go up andsee what Judge Graves says about it. "

"Hold on, " said Mr. Dodd, seizing the feed dealer by the coat, "we've gotto get it fixed in our minds what we're goin' to do, first. We can'tallow no notorious people in our schools. We've got to stand up to thejedge, and tell him so. We app'inted her on his recommendation, youknow. "

"I like the girl, " replied Mr. Hill. "I don't think we ever had a betterteacher. She's quiet, and nice appearin', and attends to her business. "

Mr. Dodd pulled his tuft, and cocked his head. 

"Mr. Worthington holds a note of yours, don't he, Jonathan?"

Mr. Hill reflected. He said he thought perhaps Mr. Worthington did. 

"Well, " said Mr. Dodd, "I guess we might as well go along up to the jedgenow as any time. "

But when they got there Mr. Dodd's knock was so timid that he had torepeat it before the judge came to the door and peered at them over hisspectacles. 

"Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?" he asked, severely, though heknew well enough. He had not been taken by surprise many times during thelast forty years. Mr. Dodd explained that they wished a little meeting ofthe committee. The judge ushered them into his bedroom, the parlor beingtoo good for such an occasion. 

"Now, gentlemen, " said he, "let us get down to business. Mr. Worthingtonarrived here to-day, he has seen Mr. Dodd, and Mr. Dodd has seen Mr. Hill. Mr. Worthington is a political opponent of Jethro Bass, and wishesMiss Wetherell dismissed. Mr. Dodd and Mr. Hill have agreed, for variousreasons which I will spare you, that Miss Wetherell should be dismissed. Have I stated the case, gentlemen, or have I not?"

Mr. Graves took off his spectacles and wiped them, looking from one tothe other of his very uncomfortable fellow-members. Mr. Hill did notattempt to speak; but Mr. Dodd, who was not sure now that this was notthe fire and the other the frying-pan, pulled at his tuft until wordscame to him. 

"Jedge, " he said finally, "I must say I'm a mite surprised. I must sayyour language is unwarranted. "

"The truth is never unwarranted, " said the judge. 

"For the sake of the fair name of Brampton, " began Mr. Dodd, "we cannotallow--"

"Mr. Dodd, " interrupted the judge, "I would rather have Mr. Worthington'sarguments from Mr. Worthington himself, if I wanted them at all. There isno need of prolonging this meeting. If I were to waste my breath untilsix o'clock, it would be no use. I was about to say that your opinionswere formed, but I will alter that, and say that your minds are fixed. You are determined to dismiss Miss Wetherell. Is it not so?"

"I wish you'd hear me, Jedge, " said Mr. Dodd, desperately. 

"Will you kindly answer me yes or no to that question, " said the judge;"my time is valuable. "

"Well, if you put it that way, I guess we are agreed that she hadn'tought to stay. Not that I've anything against her personally--"

"All right, " said the judge, with a calmness that made them tremble. Theyhad never bearded him before. "All right, you are two to one and nocertificate has been issued. But I tell you this, gentlemen, that youwill live to see the day when you will bitterly regret this injustice toan innocent and a noble woman, and Isaac D. Worthington will live toregret it. You may tell him I said so. Good day, gentlemen. "

They rose. 

"Jedge, " began Mr. Dodd again, "I don't think you've been quite fair withus. "

"Fair!" repeated the judge, with unutterable scorn. "Good day, gentlemen. " And he slammed the door behind them. 

They walked down the street some distance before either of them spoke. 

"Goliah, " said Mr. Dodd, at last, "did you ever hear such talk? He's gotthe drattedest temper of any man I ever knew, and he never callates tomake a mistake. It's a little mite hard to do your duty when a man talksthat way. "

"I'm not sure we've done it, " answered Mr. Hill. 

"Not sure!" ejaculated the hardware dealer, for he was now far enoughaway from the judge's house to speak in his normal tone, "and sheconnected with that depraved--"

"Hold on, " said Mr. Hill, with an astonishing amount of spirit for him, "I've heard that before. "

Mr. Dodd looked at him, swallowed the wrong way and began to choke. 

"You hain't wavered, Jonathan?" he said, when he got his breath. 

"No, I haven't, " said Mr. Hill, sadly; "but I wish to hell I had. "

Mr. Dodd looked at him again, and began to choke again. It was the firsttime he had known Jonathan Hill to swear. 

"You're a-goin' to stick by what you agreed--by your principles?"

"I'm going to stick by my bread and butter, " said Mr. Hill, "not by myprinciples. I wish to hell I wasn't. "

And so saying that gentleman departed, cutting diagonally across thestreet through the snow, leaving Mr. Dodd still choking and pulling athis tuft. This third and totally-unexpected shaking-up had caused him tofeel somewhat deranged internally, though it had not altered the opinionsnow so firmly planted in his head. After a few moments, however, he hadcollected himself sufficiently to move on once more, when he discoveredthat he was repeating to himself, quite unconsciously, Mr. Hill'sprofanity "I wish to hell I wasn't. " The iron mastiffs glaring at himangrily out of the snow banks reminded him that he was in front of Mr. Worthington's door, and he thought he might as well go in at once andreceive the great man's gratitude. He certainly deserved it. But as heput his hand on the bell Mr. Worthington himself came out of the house, and would actually have gone by without noticing Mr. Dodd if he had notspoken. 

"I've got that little matter fixed, Mr. Worthington, " he said, "calledthe committee, and we voted to discharge the--the young woman. " No, hedid not deliver Judge Graves's message. 

"Very well, Mr. Dodd, " answered the great man, passing on so that Mr. Dodd was obliged to follow him in order to hear, "I'm glad you've come toyour senses at last. Kindly step into the library and tell Miss Brucefrom me that she may fill the place to-morrow. "

"Certain, " said Mr. Dodd, with his hand to his chin. He watched the greatman turn in at his bank in the new block, and then he did as he was bid. 

By the time school was out that day the news had leaped across BramptonStreet and spread up and down both sides of it that the new teacher hadbeen dismissed. The story ran fairly straight--there were enough clews, certainly. The great man's return, the visit of Mr. Dodd, the call onJudge Graves, all had been marked. The fiat of the first citizen had goneforth that the ward of Jethro Bass must be got rid of; the designingyoung woman who had sought to entrap his son must be punished for heramazing effrontery. 

Cynthia came out of school happily unaware that her name was on the lipsof Brampton: unaware, too, that the lord of the place had come intoresidence that day. She had looked forward to living in the same townwith Bob's father as an evil which was necessary to be borne, as one ofthe things which are more or less inevitable in the lives of those whohave to make their own ways in the world. The children trooped aroundher, and the little girls held her hand, and she talked and laughed withthem as she came up the street in the eyes of Brampton, --came up thestreet to the block of new buildings where the bank was. Stepping out ofthe bank, with that businesslike alertness which characterized him, wasthe first citizen--none other. He found himself entangled among theromping children and--horror of horrors he bumped into the schoolmistressherself! Worse than this, he had taken off his hat and begged her pardonbefore he looked at her and realized the enormity of his mistake. And theschoolmistress had actually paid no attention to him, but with merelyheightened color had drawn the children out of his way and passed onwithout a word. The first citizen, raging inwardly, but trying to appearunconcerned, walked rapidly back to his house. On the street of his owntown, before the eyes of men, he had been snubbed by a school-teacher. And such a schoolteacher!

Mr. Worthington, as he paced his library burning with the shame of thisoccurrence, remembered that he had had to glance at her twice before itcame over him who she was. His first sensation had been astonishment. Andnow, in spite of his bitter anger, he had to acknowledge that the facehad made an impression on him--a fact that only served to increase hisrage. A conviction grew upon him that it was a face which his son, or anyother man, would not be likely to forget. He himself could not forget it. 

In the meantime Cynthia had reached her home, her cheeks still smarting, conscious that people had stared at her. This much, of course, sheknew--that Brampton believed Bob Worthington to be in love with her: andthe knowledge at such times made her so miserable that the thought ofJethro's isolation alone deterred her from asking Miss Lucretia Pennimanfor a position in Boston. For she wrote to Miss Lucretia about her lifeand her reading, as that lady had made her promise to do. She sat downnow at the cherry chest of drawers that was also a desk, to write: not topour out her troubles, for she never had done that, --but to calm her mindby drawing little character sketches of her pupils. But she had onlywritten the words, "My dear Miss Lucretia, " when she looked out of thewindow and saw Judge Graves coming up the path, and ran to open the doorfor him. 

"How do you do, Judge?" she said, for she recognized Mr. Graves as one ofher few friends in Brampton. "I have sent to Boston for the new reader, but it has not come. "

The judge took her hand and pressed it and led her into the littlesitting room. His face was very stern, but his eyes, which had flung fireat Mr. Dodd, looked at her with a vast compassion. Her heart misgave her. 

"My dear, " he said, --it was long since the judge had called any woman "mydear, "--"I have bad news for you. The committee have decided that youcannot teach any longer in the Brampton school. "

"Oh, Judge, " she answered, trying to force back the tears which wouldcome, "I have tried so hard. I had begun to believe that I could fill theplace. "

"Fill the place!" cried the judge, startling her with his sudden anger. "No woman in the state can fill it better than you. "

"Then why am I dismissed?" she asked breathlessly. 

The judge looked at her in silence, his blue lips quivering. Sometimeseven he found it hard to tell the truth. And yet he had come to tell it, that she might suffer less. He remembered the time when Isaac D. Worthington had done him a great wrong. 

"You are dismissed, " he said, "because Mr. Worthington has come home, andbecause the two other members of the committee are dogs and cowards. " Mr. Graves never minced matters when he began, and his voice shook withpassion. "If Mr. Errol had examined you, and you had your certificate, itmight have been different. Errol is not a sycophant. Worthington does nothold his mortgage. "

"Mortgage!" exclaimed Cynthia. The word always struck terror to her soul. 

"Mr. Worthington holds Mr. Hill's mortgage, " said Mr. Graves, more thanever beside himself at the sight of her suffering. "That man's tyranny isnot to be borne. We will not give up, Cynthia. I will fight him in thismatter if it takes my last ounce of strength, so help me God!"

Mortgage! Cynthia sank down in the chair by the desk. In spite of themisery the news had brought, the thought that his father, too, who wasfighting Jethro Bass as a righteous man, dealt in mortgages and coercedmen to do his will, was overwhelming. So she sat for a while staring atthe landscape on the old wall paper. 

"I will go to Coniston to-night, " she said at last. 

"No, " cried the judge, seizing her shoulder in his excitement, "no. Doyou think that I have been your friend--that I am your friend?"

"Oh, Judge Graves--"

"Then stay here, where you are. I ask it as a favor to me. You need notgo to the school to-morrow--indeed, you cannot. But stay here for a dayor two at least, and if there is any justice left in a free country, weshall have it. Will you stay, as a favor to me?"

"I will stay, since you ask it, " said Cynthia. "I will do what you thinkright. "

Her voice was firmer than he expected--much firmer. He glanced at herquickly, with something very like admiration in his eye. 

"You are a good woman, and a brave woman, " he said, and with thissomewhat surprising tribute he took his departure instantly. 

Cynthia was left to her thoughts, and these were harassing and sorrowfulenough. One idea, however, persisted through them all. Mr. Worthington, whose power she had lived long enough in Brampton to know, was an unjustman and a hypocrite. That thought was both sweet and bitter: sweet, as aretribution; and bitter, because he was Bob's father. She realized, now, that Bob knew these things, and she respected and loved him the more, ifthat were possible, because he had refrained from speaking of them toher. And now another thought came, and though she put it resolutely fromher, persisted. Was she not justified now in marrying him? The reasoningwas false, so she told herself. She had no right to separate Bob from hisfather, whatever his father might be. Did not she still love Jethro Bass?Yes, but he had renounced his ways. Her heart swelled gratefully as shespoke the words to herself, and she reflected that he, at least, hadnever been a hypocrite. 

Of one thing she was sure, now. In the matter of the school she had righton her side, and she must allow Judge Graves to do whatever he thoughtproper to maintain that right. If Isaac D. Worthington's character hadbeen different, this would not have been her decision. Now she would notleave Brampton in disgrace, when she had done nothing to merit it. Notthat she believed that the judge would prevail against such mighty odds. So little did she think so that she fell, presently, into a despondencywhich in all her troubles had not overtaken her--the despondency whichcomes even to the pure and the strong when they feel the unjust strengthof the world against them. In this state her eyes fell on the letter shehad started to Miss Lucretia Penniman, and in desperation she began towrite. 

It was a short letter, reserved enough, and quite in character. It wasright that she should defend herself, which she did with dignity, sayingthat she believed the committee had no fault to find with her duties, butthat Mr. Worthington had seen fit to bring influence to bear upon thembecause of her connection with Jethro Bass. 

It was not the whole truth, but Cynthia could not bring herself to writeof that other reason. At the end she asked, very simply, if Miss Lucretiacould find her something to do in Boston in case her dismissal becamecertain. Then she put on her coat, and walked to the postoffice to postthe letter, for she resolved that there could be no shame without reasonfor it. There was a little more color in her cheeks, and she held herhead high, preparing to be slighted. But she was not slighted, and gotmore salutations, if anything, than usual. She was, indeed, in the rightnot to hide her head, and policy alone would have forbade it, had Cynthiathought of policy. 

CHAPTER XV

Public opinion is like the wind--it bloweth where it listeth. It whistledaround Brampton the next day, whirling husbands and wives apart, andfamilies into smithereens. Brampton had a storm all to itself--save for asympathetic storm raging in Coniston--and all about a school-teacher. 

Had Cynthia been a certain type of woman, she would have had all the menon her side and all of her own sex against her. It is a decided point tobe recorded in her favor that she had among her sympathizers as manywomen as men. But the excitement of a day long remembered in Bramptonbegan, for her, when a score or more of children assembled in front ofthe little house, tramping down the snow on the grass plots, shouting forher to come to school with them. Children give no mortgages, or keep nohardware stores. 

Cynthia, trying to read in front of the fire, was all in a tremble at thesound of the high-pitched little voices she had grown to love, and shelonged to go out and kiss them, every one. Her nature, however, shrankfrom any act which might appear dramatic or sensational. She could notresist going to the window and smiling at them, though they appeared butdimly--little dancing figures in a mist. And when they shouted, the moreshe shook her head and put her finger to her lips in reproof and vanishedfrom their sight. Then they trooped sadly on to school, resolved to makematters as disagreeable as possible for poor Miss Bruce, who had notoffended in any way. 

Two other episodes worthy of a place in this act of the drama occurredthat morning, and one had to do with Ephraim. Poor Ephraim! His way hadever been to fight and ask no questions, and in his journey through theworld he had gathered but little knowledge of it. He had limped home thenight before in a state of anger of which Cynthia had not believed himcapable, and had reappeared in the sitting room in his best suit of blue. 

"Where are you going, Cousin Eph?" Cynthia had asked suspiciously. 

"Never you mind, Cynthy. "

"But I do mind, " she said, catching hold of his sleeve. "I won't let yougo until you confess. "

"I'm a-goin' to tell Isaac Worthington what I think of him, that's wharI'm a-goin', " cried Ephraim "what I always hev thought of him sence hesent a substitute to the war an' acted treasonable here to home talkin'ag'in' Lincoln. "

"Oh, Cousin Eph, you mustn't, " said Cynthia, clinging to him with all herstrength in her dismay. It had taken every whit of her influence topersuade him to relinquish his purpose. Cynthia knew very well thatEphraim meant to lay hands on Mr. Worthington, and it would indeed havebeen a disastrous hour for the first citizen if the old soldier had evergot into his library. Cynthia pointed out, as best she might, that itwould be an evil hour for her, too, and that her cause would be greatlyinjured by such a proceeding; she knew very well that it would ruinEphraim, but he would not have listened to such an argument. 

The next thing he wished to do was to go to Coniston and rouse Jethro. Cynthia's heart stood still when he proposed this, for it touched uponher greatest fear, --which had impelled her to go to Coniston. But she hadhoped and believed that Jethro, knowing her feelings, would donothing--since for her sake he had chosen to give up his power. Now anacute attack of rheumatism had come to her rescue, and she succeeded ingetting Ephraim off to bed, swathed in bandages. 

The next morning he had insisted upon hobbling away to the postoffice, where in due time he was discovered by certain members of the BramptonClub nailing to the wall a new engraving of Abraham Lincoln, and drapingit with a little silk flag he had bought in Boston. By which it will beseen that a potion of the Club were coming back to their old haunt. Thisportion, it may be surmised, was composed of such persons alone as werelikely to be welcomed by the postmaster. Some of these had grievancesagainst Mr. Worthington or Mr. Flint; others, in more prosperouscircumstances, might have been moved by envy of these gentlemen; stillothers might have been actuated largely by righteous resentment at whatthey deemed oppression by wealth and power. These members who came thatmorning comprised about one-fourth of those who formerly had been in thehabit of dropping in for a chat, and their numbers were a fair indicationof the fact that those who from various motives took the part of theschoolteacher in Brampton were as one to three. 

It is not necessary to repeat their expressions of indignation andsympathy. There was a certain Mr. Gamaliel Ives in the town, belonging toan old Brampton family, who would have been the first citizen if thatother first citizen had not, by his rise to wealth and power, socompletely overshadowed him. Mr. Ives owned a small mill on ConistonWater below the town. He fairly bubbled over with civic pride, and he wasan authority on all matters pertaining to Brampton's history. He knewthe "Hymn to Coniston" by heart. But we are digressing a little. Mr. Ives, like that other Gamaliel of old, had exhorted his fellow-townsmento wash their hands of the controversy. But he was an intimate of JudgeGraves, and after talking with that gentleman he became a partisanovernight; and when he had stopped to get his mail he had been luredbehind the window by the debate in progress. He was in the midst of someimpromptu remarks when he recognized a certain brisk step behind him, andIsaac D. Worthington himself entered the sanctum!

It must be explained that Mr. Worthington sometimes had an importantletter to be registered which he carried to the postoffice with his ownhands. On such occasions--though not a member of the Brampton Club--hewalked, as an overlord will, into any private place he chose, andrecognized no partitions or barriers. Now he handed the letter (addressedto a certain person in Cambridge, Massachusetts) to the postmaster. 

"You will kindly register that and give me a receipt, Mr. Prescott, " hesaid. 

Ephraim turned from his contemplation of the features of the martyredPresident, and on his face was something of the look it might have wornwhen he confronted his enemies over the log-works at Five Forks. No, forthere was a vast contempt in his gaze now, and he had had no contempt forthe Southerners, and would have shaken hands with any of them the momentthe battle was over. Mr. Worthington, in spite of himself, recoiled alittle before that look, fearing, perhaps, physical violence. 

"I hain't a-goin' to hurt you, Mr. Worthington, " Ephraim said, "but I ama-goin' to ask you to git out in front, and mighty quick. If you hev anybusiness with the postmaster, there's the window, " and Ephraim pointed toit with his twisted finger. "I don't allow nobody but my friends here, Mr. Worthington, and people I respect. "

Mr. Worthington looked--well, eye-witnesses give various versions as tohow he looked. All agree that his lip trembled; some say his eyeswatered: at any rate, he quailed, stood a moment undecided, and thenswung on his heel and walked to the partition door. At this safe distancehe turned. 

"Mr. Prescott, " he said, his voice quivering with passion and perhapsanother emotion, "I will make it my duty to report to thepostmaster-general the manner in which this office is run. Instead ofattending to your business, you make the place a resort for loafers andidlers. Good morning, sir. "

Ten minutes later Mr. Flint himself came to register the letter. But itwas done at the window, and the loafers and idlers were still there. 

The curtain had risen again, indeed, and the action was soon fast enoughfor the most impatient that day. No sooner had the town heard with batedbreath of the expulsion of the first citizen from the inner sanctuary ofthe post-office, than the news of another event began to go the rounds. Mr. Worthington had other and more important things to think about thanminor postmasters, and after his anger and--yes, and momentary fear hadsubsided, he forgot the incident except to make a mental note to rememberto deprive Mr. Prescott of his postmastership, which he believed could bedone readily enough now that Jethro Bass was out of the way. Then he hadstepped into the bank, which he had come to regard as his own bank, as heregarded most institutions in Brampton. He had, in the old days, beenpresident of it, as we know. He stepped into the bank, and then--hestepped out again. 

Most people have experienced that sickly feeling of the diaphragm whichsometimes comes from a sadden shock. Mr. Worthington had it now as hehurried up the street, and he presently discovered that he was walking inthe direction opposite to that of his own home. He crossed the street, made a pretence of going into Mr. Goldthwaite's drug store, and hurriedback again. When he reached his own library, he found Mr. Flint busythere at his desk. Mr. Flint rose. Mr. Worthington sat down and began topull the papers about in a manner which betrayed to his seneschal (whoknew every mood of his master) mental perturbation. 

"Flint, " he said at last, striving his best for an indifferent accent, "Jethro Bass is here--I ran across him just now drawing money in thebank. "

"I could have told you that this morning, " answered Mr. Flint. "Wheeler, who runs errands for him in Coniston, drove him in this morning, and he'sbeen with Peleg Hartington for two hours over Sherman's livery stable. "

An interval of silence followed, during which Mr. Worthington shuffledwith his letters and pretended to read them. 

"Graves has called a mass meeting to-night, I understand, " he remarked inthe same casual way. "The man's a demagogue, and mad as a loon. I believehe sent back one of our passes once, didn't he? I suppose Bass has comein to get Hartington to work up the meeting. They'll be laughed out ofthe town hall, or hissed out. "

"I guess you'll find Bass has come down for something else, " said Mr. Flint, looking up from a division report. 

"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Worthington, changing his attitude toone of fierceness. But he was well aware that whatever tone he took withhis seneschal, he never fooled him. 

"I mean what I told you yesterday, " said Flint, "that you've stirred upthe dragon. "

Even Mr. Flint did not know how like a knell his words sounded in IsaacWorthington's ears. 

"Nonsense!" he cried, "you're talking nonsense, Flint. We maimed him toothoroughly for that. He hasn't power enough left to carry his own town. "

"All right, " said the seneschal. 

"What do you mean by that?" said his master, with extreme irritation. 

"I mean what I said yesterday, that we haven't maimed him at all. He hadhis own reasons for going into his hole, and he never would have come outagain if you hadn't goaded him. Now he's out, and we'll have to steparound pretty lively, I can tell you, or he'll maim us. "

All of which goes to show that Mr. Flint had some notion of men andaffairs. He became, as may be predicted, the head of many material thingsin later days, and he may sometime reappear in company with othercharacters in this story. 

The sickly feeling in Mr. Worthington's diaphragm had now returned. 

"I think you will find you are mistaken, Flint, " he said, attemptingdignity now. "Very much mistaken. "

"Very well, " said Flint, "perhaps I am. But I believe you'll find he leftfor the capital on the eleven o'clock, and if you take the trouble toinquire from Bedding you will probably learn that the Throne Room isbespoken for the session. "

All of that which Mr, Flint had predicted turned out to be true. Thedragon had indeed waked up. It all began with the news Milly Skinner hadgot from the stage driver, imparted to Jethro as he sat reading aboutHiawatha. And terrible indeed had been that awakening. This dragon didnot bellow and roar and lash his tail when he was roused, but he stoodup, and there seemed to emanate from him a fire which frightened poorMilly Skinner, upset though she was by the news of Cynthia's dismissal. O, wondrous and paradoxical might of love, which can tame the mostpowerful of beasts, and stir them again into furies by a touch!

Coniston was the first to tremble, as though the forces stretchingthemselves in the tannery house were shaking the very ground, and thename of Jethro Bass took on once more, as by magic, a terrible meaning. When Vesuvius is silent, pygmies may make faces on the very lip of thecrater, and they on the slopes forget the black terror of the fiery hail. Jake Wheeler himself, loyal as he was, did not care to look into thecrater now that he was summoned; but a force pulled him all the way tothe tannery house. He left behind him an awe-stricken gathering at thestore, composed of inhabitants who had recently spoken slightingly of thevolcano. 

We are getting a little mixed in our metaphors between lions and dragonsand volcanoes, and yet none of them are too strong to represent JethroBass when he heard that Isaac Worthington had had the teacher dismissedfrom Brampton lower school. He did not stop to reason then that actionmight distress her. The beast in him awoke again; the desire forvengeance on a man whom he had hated most of his life, and who now haddared to cause pain to the woman whom he loved with all his soul, andeven idolize, was too great to resist. He had no thought of resisting it, for the waters of it swept over his soul like the Atlantic over a lostcontinent. He would crush Isaac Worthington if it took the last breathfrom his body. 

Jake went to the tannery house and received his orders--orders of whichhe made a great mystery afterward at the store, although they consistedsimply of directions to be prepared to drive Jethro to Brampton the nextmorning. But the look of the man had frightened Jake. He had never seenvengeance so indelibly written on that face, and he had never beforerealized the terrible power of vengeance. Mr. Wheeler returned from thatmeeting in such a state of trepidation that he found it necessary toaccompany Rias to a certain keg in the cellar; after which he found histongue. His description of Jethro's appearance awed his hearers, and Jakedeclared that he would not be in Isaac Worthington's shoes for all ofIsaac Worthington's money. There were others right here in Coniston, Jakehinted, who might now find it convenient to emigrate to the far West. 

Jethro's face had not changed when Jake drove him out of Coniston thenext morning. Good Mr. Satterlee saw it, and felt that the visit he hadwished to make would have been useless; Mr. Amos Cuthbert and Mr. SamPrice saw it, from a safe distance within the store, and it is a factthat Mr. Price seriously thought of taking Mr. Wheeler's advice about aresidence in the West; Mr. Cuthbert, of a sterner nature, made up hismind to be hung and quartered. A few minutes before Jethro walked intohis office over the livery stable, Senator Peleg Hartington would havedenied, with that peculiar and mournful scorn of which he was master, that Jethro Bass could ever again have any influence over him. Peleg was, indeed, at that moment preparing, in his own way, to make overtures tothe party of Isaac D. Worthington. Jethro walked into the office, leavingJake below with Mr. Sherman; and Senator Hartington was very glad he hadnot made the overtures. And when he accompanied Jethro to the stationwhen he left for the capital, the senator felt that the eyes of men wereupon him. 

And Cynthia? Happily, Cynthia passed the day in ignorance that Jethro hadgone through Brampton. Ephraim, though he knew of it, did not speak of itwhen he came home to his dinner; Mr. Graves had called, and informed herof the meeting in the town hall that night. 

"It is our only chance, " he said obdurately, in answer to her protests. "We must lay the case before the people of Brampton. If they have not thecourage to right the wrong, and force your reinstatement through publicopinion, there is nothing more to be done. "

To Cynthia, the idea of having a mass meeting concerning herself wasparticularly repellent. 

"Oh, Judge Graves!" she cried, "if there isn't any other way, please dropthe matter. There are plenty of teachers who will--be acceptable toeverybody. "

"Cynthia, " said the judge, "I can understand that this publicity is verypainful to you. I beg you to remember that we are contending for aprinciple. In such cases the individual must be sacrificed to the commongood. "

"But I cannot go to the meeting--I cannot. "

"No, " said the judge; "I don't think that will be necessary. "

After he was gone, she could think of nothing but the horror of havingher name--yes, and her character--discussed in that public place; and itseemed to her, if she listened, she could hear a clatter of tonguesthroughout the length of Brampton Street, and that she must fain stop herears or go mad. The few ladies who called during the day out of kindnessor curiosity, or both, only added to her torture. She was not one whocould open her heart to acquaintances: the curious ones got but littlesatisfaction, and the kind ones thought her cold, and they did notperceive that she was really grateful for their little attentions. Gratitude, on such occasions, does not always consist in pouring outone's troubles in the laps of visitors. 

So the visitors went home, wondering whether it were worth while afterall to interest themselves in the cause of such a self-contained andself-reliant young woman. In spite of all her efforts, Cynthia had neverwholly succeeded in making most of the Brampton ladies believe that shedid not secretly deem herself above them. They belonged to a reservedrace themselves; but Cynthia had a reserve which was even different fromtheir own. 

As night drew on the predictions of Mr. Worthington seemed likely to befulfilled, and it looked as if Judge Graves would have a useless bill topay for gas in the new town hall. The judge had never been a man whocould compel a following, and he had no magnetism with which to lead acause: the town tradesmen, especially those in the new brick block, wouldbe chary as to risking the displeasure of their best customer. Athalf-past seven Mr. Graves: came in, alone, and sat on the platformstaring grimly at his gas. Is there a lecturer, or, a playwright, or apolitician, who has not, at one time or another, been in the judge'splace? Who cannot sympathize with him as he watched the thin andhesitating stream of people out of the corner of his eye as they came inat the door? The judge despised them with all his soul, but it is humannature not to wish to sit in a hall or a theatre that is three-quartersempty. 

At sixteen minutes to eight a mild excitement occurred, an incident ofsome significance which served to detain many waverers. Senator PelegHartington walked up the aisle, and the judge rose and shook him by thehand, and as Deacon Hartington he was invited to sit on the platform. Thesenator's personal influence was not to be ignored; and it had sufficedto carry his district in the last election against the Worthingtonforces, in spite of the abdication of Jethro Bass. Mr. Page, the editorof the Clarion, Senator Hartington's organ, was also on the platform. Butwhere was Mr. Ives? Where was that Gamaliel who had been such a warmpartisan in the postoffice that morning?

"Saw him outside the hall--wahn't but ten minutes ago, " said DeaconHartington, sadly; "thought he was a-comin' in. "

Eight o'clock came, and no Mr. Ives; ten minutes past--fifteen minutespast. If the truth must be told, Mr. Ives had been on the very thresholdof the hall, and one glance at the poor sprinkling of people there haddecided him. Mr. Ives had a natural aversion to being laughed at, and ashe walked back on the darker side of the street he wished heartily thathe had stuck to his original Gamaliel-advocacy of no interference, ofallowing the Supreme Judge to decide. Such opinions were inevitably just, Mr. Ives was well aware, though not always handed down immediately. If hewere to humble the first citizen, Mr. Ives reflected that a betteropportunity might present itself. The whistle of the up-train served tostrengthen his resolution, for he was reminded thereby that his milloften had occasion to ask favors of the Truro Railroad. 

In the meantime it was twenty minutes past eight in the town hall, andMr. Graves had not rapped for order. Deacon Hartington sat as motionlessas a stork on the borders of a glassy lake at sunrise, the judge hadbegun seriously to estimate the gas bill, and Mr. Page had chewed up theend of a pencil. There was one, at least, in the audience of whom thejudge could be sure. A certain old soldier in blue sat uncompromisinglyon the front bench with his hands crossed over the head of his stick; butthe ladies and gentlemen nearest the door were beginning to vanish, oneby one, silently as ghosts, when suddenly the judge sat up. He would haverubbed his eyes, had he been that kind of a man. Four persons had enteredthe hall--he was sure of it--and with no uncertain steps as if frightenedby its emptiness. No, they came boldly. And after them trooped others, and still others were heard in the street beyond, not whispering, buttalking in the unmistakable tones of people who had more coming behindthem. Yes, and more came. It was no illusion, or delusion: there theywere filling the hall as if they meant to stay, and buzzing withexcitement. The judge was quivering with excitement now, but he, too, wasonly a spectator of the drama. And what a drama, with a miracle-play forBrampton!

Mr. Page rose from his chair and leaned over the edge of the platformthat something might be whispered in his ear. The news, whatever it was, was apparently electrifying, and after the first shock he turned toimpart it to Mr. Graves; but turned too late, for the judge had alreadyrapped for order and was clearing his throat. He could not account forthis extraordinary and unlooked-for audience, among whom he spied manywho had thought it wiser not to protest against the dictum of the firstcitizen, and many who had professed to believe that the teacher'sconnection with Jethro Bass was a good and sufficient reason fordismissal. The judge was prepared to take advantage of the tide, whateverits cause. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he said, "I take the liberty of calling thismeeting to order. And before a chairman be elected, I mean to ask yourindulgence to explain my purposes in requesting the use of this hallto-night. In our system of government, the inalienable and most preciousgift--"

Whatever the gift was, the judge never explained. He paused at the words, and repeated them, and stopped altogether because no one was paying anyattention to him. The hall was almost full, the people had risen, with ahum, and as one man had turned toward the door. Mr. Gamaliel Ives wastriumphantly marching down the aisle, and with him was--well, anotherperson. Nay, personage would perhaps be the better word. 

Let us go back for a moment. There descended from that train of which wehave heard the whistle a lady with features of no ordinary moulding, withcurls and a string bonnet and a cloak that seemed strangely to harmonizewith the lady's character. She had the way of one in authority, and Mr. Sherman himself ran to open the door of his only closed carriage, and thedriver galloped off with her all the way to the Brampton House. Oncethere, the lady seized the pen as a soldier seizes the sword, and wroteher name in most uncompromising characters on the register, Miss LucretiaPenniman, Boston. Then she marched up to her room. 

Miss Lucretia Penniman, author of the "Hymn to Coniston, " in thereflected glory of whose fame Brampton had shone for thirty years! Whosename was lauded and whose poem was recited at every Fourth of Julycelebration, that the very children might learn it and honor itscomposer! Stratford-on-Avon is not prouder of Shakespeare than Bramptonof Miss Lucretia, and now she was come back, unheralded, to herbirthplace. Mr. Raines, the clerk, looked at the handwriting on the book, and would not believe his own sight until it was vouched for by sundrycitizens who had followed the lady from the station--on foot. And thenthere was a to-do. 

Send for Mr. Gamaliel Ives; send for Miss Bruce, the librarian; send forMr. Page, editor of the Clarion, and notify the first citizen. He, indeed, could not be sent for, but had he known of her coming he wouldundoubtedly have had her met at the portals and presented with the keysin gold. Up and down the street flew the news which overshadowed andblotted out all other, and the poor little school-teacher was forgotten. 

One of these notables was at hand, though he did not deserve to be. Mr. Gamaliel Ives sent up his card to Miss Lucretia, and was showndeferentially into the parlor, where he sat mopping his brow and growinghot and cold by turns. How would the celebrity treat him? The celebrityherself answered the question by entering the room in such stately manneras he had expected, to the rustle of the bombazine. Whereupon Mr. Ivesbounced out of his chair and bowed, though his body was not formed tobend that way. 

"Miss Penniman, " he exclaimed, "what an honor for Brampton! And what apleasure, the greater because so unexpected! How cruel not to have givenus warning, and we could have greeted you as your great fame deserves!You could never take time from your great duties to accept theinvitations of our literary committee, alas! But now that you are here, you will find a warm welcome, Miss Penniman. How long it has been--thirtyyears, --you see I know it to a day, thirty years since you left us. Thirty years, I may say, we have kept burning the vestal fire in yourworship, hoping for this hour. "

Miss Lucretia may have had her own ideas about the propriety of thereference to the vestal fire. 

"Gamaliel, " she said sharply, "straighten up and don't talk nonsense tome. I've had you on my knee, and I knew your mother and father. "

Gamaliel did straighten up, as though Miss Lucretia had applied a lump ofice to the small of his back. So it is when the literary deities, vestalor otherwise, return to their Stratfords. There are generally surprisesin store for the people they have had on their knees, and for others. 

"Gamaliel, " said Miss Lucretia, "I want to see the prudential committeefor the village district. "

"The prudential committee!" Mr. Ives fairly shrieked the words in hisastonishment. 

"I tried to speak plainly, " said Miss Lucretia. "Who are on thatcommittee?"

"Ezra Graves, " said Mr. Ives, as though mechanically compelled, for hishead was spinning round. "Ezra Graves always has run it, until now. Buthe's in the town hall. "

"What's he doing there?"

Mr. Ives was no fool. Some inkling of the facts began to shoot throughhis brain, and he saw his chance. 

"He called a mass meeting to protest against the dismissal of a teacher. "

"Gamaliel, " said Miss Lucretia, "you will conduct me to that meeting. Iwill get my cloak. "

Mr. Ives wasted no time in the interval, and he fairly ran out into theoffice. Miss Lucretia Penniman was in town, and would attend the massmeeting. Now, indeed, it was to be a mass meeting. Away flew the tidings, broadcast, and people threw off their carpet slippers and dressing gowns, and some who had gone to bed got up again. Mr. Dodd heard it, and changedhis shoes three times, and his intentions three times three. Should hego, or should he not? Already he heard in imagination the first distantnote of the populace, and he was not of the metal to defend a Bastille ora Louvre for his royal master with the last drop of his blood. 

In the meantime Gamaliel Ives was conducting Miss Lucretia toward, thetown hall, and speaking in no measured tones of indignation of thecringing, truckling qualities of that very Mr. Dodd. The injustice toMiss Wetherell, which Mr. Ives explained as well as he could, made hisblood boil: so he declared. 

And note we are back again at the meeting, when the judge, with his handon his Adam's apple, is pronouncing the word "gift. " Mr. Ives istriumphantly marching down the aisle, escorting the celebrity of Bramptonto the platform, and quite aware of the heart burnings of hisfellow-citizens on the benches. And Miss Lucretia, with that sterncomposure with which celebrities accept public situations, follows up thesteps as of right and takes the chair he assigns her beside the chairman. The judge, still grasping his Adam's apple, stares at the newcomer inamazement, and recognizes her in spite of the years, and trembles. MissLucretia Penniman! Blucher was not more welcome to Wellington, orLafayette to Washington, than was Miss Lucretia to Ezra Graves as heturned his back on the audience and bowed to her deferentially. Then heturned again, cleared his throat once more to collect his senses, and wasabout to utter the familiar words, "We have with us tonight, " when theywere taken out of his mouth--taken out of his mouth by one who had in allconscience stolen enough thunder for one man, --Mr. Gamaliel Ives. 

"Mr. Chairman, " said Mr. Ives, taking a slight dropping of the judge'slower jaw for recognition, "and ladies and gentlemen of Brampton. It isour great good fortune to have with us to-night, most unexpectedly, oneof whom Brampton is, and for many years has been, justly proud. "(Cheers. ) "One whose career Brampton has followed with a mother's eyesand with a mother's heart. One who has chosen a broader field for theexercise of those great powers with which Nature endowed her thanBrampton could give. One who has taken her place among the luminaries ofliterature of her time. " (Cheers. ) "One who has done more than any otherwoman of her generation toward the uplifting of the sex which shehonors. " (Cheers and clapping of hands. ) "And one who, though her lot hasfallen among the great, has not forgotten the home of her childhood. Forhas she not written those beautiful lines which we all know by heart?

 'Ah, Coniston! Thy lordly form I see Before mine eyes in exile drear. '

"Mr. Chairman and fellow-townsmen and women, I have the extreme honor ofintroducing to you one whom we all love and revere, the author of the'Hymn to Coniston, ' the editor of the Woman's Hour, Miss LucretiaPenniman. '" (Loud and long-continued applause. )

Well might Brampton be proud, too, of Gamaliel Ives, president of itsliterary club, who could make such a speech as this on such short notice. If the truth be told, the literary club had sent Miss Lucretia no lessthan seven invitations, and this was the speech Mr. Ives had intended tomake on those seven occasions. It was unquestionably a neat speech, andJudge Graves or no other chairman should cheat him out of making it. Mr. Ives, with a wave of his hand toward the celebrity, sat down by no meansdissatisfied with himself. What did he care how the judge glared. He didnot see how stiffly Miss Lucretia sat in her chair. She could not takehim on her knee then, but she would have liked to. 

Miss Lucretia rose, and stood quite as stiffly as she had sat, and thejudge rose, too. He was very angry, but this was not the time to get evenwith Mr. Ives. As it turned out, he did not need to bother about gettingeven. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " said he, "in the absence of any other chairman Itake pleasure in introducing to you Miss Lucretia Penniman. "

More applause was started, but Miss Lucretia put a stop to it by thelifting of a hand. Then there was a breathless silence. Then she cast hereyes around the hall, as though daring any one to break that silence, andfinally they rested upon Mr. Ives. 

"Mr. Chairman, " she said, with an inclination toward the judge, "myfriends--for I hope you will be my friends when I have finished" (MissLucretia made it quite clear by her tone that it entirely depended uponthem whether they would be or not), "I understood when I came here thatthis was to be a mass meeting to protest against an injustice, and not afeast of literature and oratory, as Gamaliel Ives seems to suppose. "

She paused, and when the first shock of amazement was past an audibletitter ran through the audience, and Mr. Ives squirmed visibly. 

"Am I right, Mr. Chairman?" asked Miss Lucretia. 

"You are unquestionably right, Miss Penniman, " answered the chairman, rising, "unquestionably. "

"Then I will proceed, " said Miss Lucretia. "I wrote the Hymn to Coniston'many years ago, when I was younger, and yet it is true that I have alwaysremembered Brampton with kindly feelings. The friends of our youth aredear to us. We look indulgently upon their failings, even as they do onours. I have scanned the faces here in the hall to-night, and there aresome that have not changed beyond recognition in thirty years. EzraGraves I remember, and it is a pleasure to see him in that chair. " (Mr. Graves inclined his head, reverently. None knew how the inner manexulted. ) "But there was one who was often in Brampton in those days, "Miss Lucretia continued, "whom we all loved and with whom we found nofault, and I confess that when I have thought of Brampton I have oftenestthought of her. Her name, " said Miss Lucretia, her hand now in thereticule, "her name was Cynthia Ware. "

There was a decided stir among the audience, and many leaned forward tocatch every word. 

"Even old people may have an ideal, " said Miss Lucretia, "and you willforgive me for speaking of mine. Where should I speak of it, if not inthis village, among those who knew her and among their children? CynthiaWare, although she was younger than I, has been my ideal, and is still. She was the daughter of the Rev. Samuel Ware of Coniston, and adescendant of Captain Timothy Prescott, whom General Stark called 'HonestTim. ' She was, to me, all that a woman should be, in intellect, in herscorn of all that is ignoble and false, and in her loyalty to herfriends. " Here the handkerchief came out of the reticule. "She went toBoston to teach school, and some time afterward I was offered a positionin New York, and I never saw her again. But she married in Boston a manof learning and literary attainments, though his health was feeble and hewas poor, William Wetherell. " (Another stir. ) "Mr. Wetherell was agentleman--Cynthia Ware could have married no other--and he came of goodand honorable people in Portsmouth. Very recently I read a collection ofletters which he wrote to the Newcastle Guardian, which some of you mayknow. I did not trust my own judgment as to those letters, but I tookthem to an author whose name is known wherever English is spoken, butwhich I will not mention. And the author expressed it as his opinion, inwriting to me, that William Wetherell was undoubtedly a genius of a highorder, and that he would have been so recognized if life had given him achance. Mr. Wetherell, after his wife died, was taken in a dyingcondition to Coniston, where he was forced, in order to earn his living, to become the storekeeper there. But he took his books with him, andfound time to write the letters of which I have spoken, and to give hisdaughter an early education such as few girls have. 

"My friends, I am rejoiced to see that the spirit of justice and thesense of right are as strong in Brampton as they used to be--strongenough to fill this town hall to overflowing because a teacher has beenwrongly--yes, and iniquitously--dismissed from the lower school. " (Herethere was a considerable stir, and many wondered whether Miss Lucretiawas aware of the irony in her words. ) "I say wrongly and iniquitously, because I have had the opportunity in Boston this winter of learning toknow and love that teacher. I am not given to exaggeration, my friends, and when I tell you that I know her, that her character is as high andpure as her mother's, I can say no more. I am here to tell you thisto-night because I do not believe you know her as I do. During theseventy years I have lived I have grown to have but little faith inoutward demonstration, to believe in deeds and attainments rather thanexpressions. And as for her fitness to teach, I believe that even theprudential committee could find no fault with that. " (I wonder whetherMr. Dodd was in the back of the hall. ) "I can find no fault with it. I amconstantly called upon to recommend teachers, and I tell you I shouldhave no hesitation in sending Cynthia Wetherell to a high school, youngas she is. "

"And now, my friends, why was she dismissed? I have heard the facts, though not from her. Cynthia Wetherell does not know that I have come toBrampton, unless somebody has told her, and did not know that I wascoming. I have heard the facts, and I find it difficult to believe thatso great a wrong could be attempted against a woman, and if the name ofCynthia Wetherell had meant no more to me than the letters in it I shouldhave travelled twice as far as Brampton, old as I am, to do my utmost toright that wrong. I give you my word of honor that I have never been soindignant in my life. I do not come here to stir up enmities among you, and I will mention no more names. I prefer to believe that the prudentialcommittee of this district has made a mistake, the gravity of which theymust now realize, and that they will reinstate Cynthia Wetherellto-morrow. And if they should not of their own free will, I have only tolook around this meeting to be convinced that they will be compelled to. Compelled to, my friends, by the sense of justice and the righteousindignation of the citizens of Brampton. "

Miss Lucretia sat down, her strong face alight with the spirit that wasin her. Not the least of the compelling forces in this world is righteousanger, and when it is exercised by a man or a woman whose life has been acontinual warfare against the pests of wrong, it is well-nighirresistible. While you could count five seconds the audience sat silent, and then began such tumult and applause as had never been seen inBrampton--all started, so it is said, by an old soldier in the front rowwith his stick. Isaac D. Worthington, sitting alone in the library of hismansion, heard it, and had no need to send for Mr. Flint to ask what itwas, or who it was had fired the Third Estate. And Mr. Dodd heard it. Hemay have been in the hall, but now he sat at home, seeing visions of thelantern, and he would have fled to the palace had he thought to get anysympathy from his sovereign. No, Mr. Dodd did not hold the Bastille oreven fight for it. Another and a better man gave up the keys, for heroesare sometimes hidden away in meek and retiring people who wear spectaclesand have a stoop to their shoulders. Long before the excitement died awaya dozen men were on their feet shouting at the chairman, and among themwas the tall, stooping man with spectacles. He did not shout, but JudgeGraves saw him and made up his mind that this was the man to speak. Thechairman raised his hand and rapped with his gavel, and at length he hadobtained silence. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he said, "I am going to recognize Mr. Hill of theprudential committee, and ask him to step up on the platform. "

There fell another silence, as absolute as the first, when Mr. Hillwalked down the aisle and climbed the steps. Indeed, people werestupefied, for the feed dealer was a man who had never opened his mouthin town-meeting; who had never taken an initiative of any kind; who hadallowed other men to take advantage of him, and had never resented it. And now he was going to speak. Would he defend the prudential committee, or would he declare for the teacher? Either course, in Mr. Hill's case, required courage, and he had never been credited with any. If Mr. Hillwas going to speak at all, he was going to straddle. 

He reached the platform, bowed irresolutely to the chairman, and thenstood awkwardly with one knee bent, peering at his audience over hisglasses. He began without any address whatever. 

"I want to say, " he began in a low voice, "that I had no intention ofcoming to this meeting. And I am going to confess--I am going to confessthat I was afraid to come. " He raised his voice a little defiantly a thewords, and paused. One could almost hear the people breathing. "I wasafraid to come for fear that I should do the very thing I am going to donow. And yet I was impelled to come. I want to say that my conscience hasnot been clear since, as a member of the prudential committee, I gave myconsent to the dismissal of Miss Wetherell. I know that I was influencedby personal and selfish considerations which should have had no weight. And after listening to Miss Penniman I take this opportunity to declare, of my own free will, that I will add my vote to that of Judge Graves toreinstate Miss Wetherell. "

Mr. Hill bowed slightly, and was about to descend the steps when thechairman, throwing parliamentary dignity to the winds, arose and seizedthe feed dealer's hand. And the people in the hall almost as one mansprang to their feet and cheered, and some--Ephraim Prescott amongthese--even waved their hats and shouted Mr. Hill's name. A New Englandaudience does not frequently forget itself, but there were few presentwho did not understand the heroism of the man's confession, who were notcarried away by the simple and dramatic dignity of it. He had no need tomention Mr. Worthington's name, or specify the nature of his obligationsto that gentleman. In that hour Jonathan Hill rose high in the respect ofBrampton, and some pressed into the aisle to congratulate him on his wayback to his seat. Not a few were grateful to him for another reason. Hehad relieved the meeting of the necessity of taking any further action:of putting their names, for instance, in their enthusiasm to a paperwhich the first citizen might see. 

Judge Graves, whose sense of a climax was acute, rapped for order. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he said, in a voice not wholly free from emotion, "you will all wish to pay your respects to the famous lady, who is withus. I see that the Rev. Mr. Sweet is present, and I suggest that weadjourn, after he has favored us with a prayer. "

As the minister came forward, Deacon Hartington dropped his head andbegan to flutter his eyelids. The Rev. Mr. Sweet prayed, and so wasbrought to an end the most exciting meeting ever held in Brampton townhall. 

But Miss Lucretia did not like being called "a famous lady. "

CHAPTER XVI

While Miss Lucretia was standing, unwillingly enough, listening to thespeeches that were poured into her ear by various members of theaudience, receiving the incense and myrrh to which so great a celebritywas entitled, the old soldier hobbled away to his little house as fast ashis three legs would carry him. Only one event in his life had eclipsedthis in happiness--the interview in front of the White House. He rappedon the window with his stick, thereby frightening Cynthia half out of herwits as she sat musing sorrowfully by the fire. 

"Cousin Ephraim, " she said, taking off his corded hat, "what in theworld's the matter with you?"

"You're a schoolmarm again, Cynthy. "

"Do you mean to say?"

"Miss Lucretia Penniman done it. "

"Miss Lucretia Penniman!" Cynthia began to think his rheumatism wasdriving him out of his mind. 

"You bet. 'Long toward the openin' of the engagement there wahn'tscarcely anybody thar but me, and they was a-goin'. But they come fastenough when they l'arned she was in town, and she blew 'em up higher'nthe Petersburg crater. Great Tecumseh, there's a woman! Next to GeneralGrant, I'd sooner shake her hand than anybody's livin'. "

"Do you mean to say that Miss Lucretia is in Brampton and spoke at themass meeting?"

"Spoke!" exclaimed Ephraim, "callate she did--some. Tore 'em all up. They'd a hung Isaac D. Worthington or Levi Dodd if they'd a had 'emthar. "

Cynthia, striving to be calm herself, got him into a chair and took hisstick and straightened out his leg, and then Ephraim told her the story, and it lost no dramatic effect in his telling. He would have talked allnight. But at length the sound of wheels was heard in the street, Cynthiaflew to the door, and a familiar voice came out of the darkness. 

"You need not wait, Gamaliel. No, thank you, I think I will stay at thehotel. "

Gamaliel was still protesting when Miss Lucretia came in and seizedCynthia in her arms, and the door was closed behind her. 

"Oh, Miss Lucretia, why did you come?" said Cynthia, "if I had known youwould do such a thing, I should never have written that letter. I havebeen sorry to-day that I did write it, and now I'm sorrier than ever. "

"Aren't you glad to see me?" demanded Miss Lucretia. 

"Miss Lucretia!"

"What are friends for?" asked Miss Lucretia, patting her hand. "If youhad known how I wished to see you, Cynthia, and I thought a little tripwould be good for such a provincial Bostonian as I am. Dear, dear, Iremember this house. It used to belong to Gabriel Post in my time, andright across from it was the Social Library, where I have spent so manypleasant hours with your mother. And this is Ephraim Prescott. I thoughtit was, when I saw him sitting in the front row, and I think he must havebeen very lonesome there at one time. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said Ephraim, giving her his gnarled fingers; "I was justsayin' to Cynthy that I'd ruther shake your hand than anybody's livin'exceptin' General Grant. "

"And I'd rather shake yours than the General's, " said Miss Lucretia, forthe Woman's Hour had taken the opposition side in a certain recent publicquestion concerning women. 

"If you'd a fit with him, you wouldn't say that, Miss Lucrety. "

"I haven't a word to say against his fighting qualities, " she replied. 

"Guess the General might say the same of you, " said Ephraim. "If you'd ab'en a man, I callate you'd a come out of the war with two stars on yourshoulder. Godfrey, Miss Lucrety, you'd ought to've b'en a man. "

"A man!" cried Miss Lucretia, "and 'stars on my shoulder'! I think thiskind of talk has gone far enough, Ephraim Prescott. "

"Cousin Eph, " said Cynthia, laughing, "you're no match for Miss Lucretia, and it's long past your bedtime. "

"A man!" repeated Miss Lucretia, after he had retired, and after Cynthiahad tried to express her gratitude and had been silenced. They sat sideby side in front of the chimney. "I suppose he meant that as acompliment. I never yet saw the man I couldn't back down, and I haven'tany patience with a woman who gives in to them. " Miss Lucretia pokedvigorously a log which had fallen down, as though that were a man, too, and she was putting him back in his proper place. 

Cynthia, strange to say, did not reply to this remark. 

"Cynthia, " said Miss Lucretia, abruptly, "you don't mean to say that youare in love!"

Cynthia drew a long breath, and grew as red as the embers. 

"Miss Lucretia!" she exclaimed, in astonishment and dismay. 

"Well, " Miss Lucretia said, "I should have thought you could have gottenalong, for a while at least, without anything of that kind. My dear, " shesaid leaning toward Cynthia, "who is he?"

Cynthia turned away. She found it very hard to speak of her troubles, even to Miss Lucretia, and she would have kept this secret even fromJethro, had it been possible. 

"You must let him know his place, " said Miss Lucretia, "and I hope he isin some degree worthy of you. "

"I do not intend to marry him, " said Cynthia, with head still turnedaway. 

It was now Miss Lucretia who was silent. 

"I came near getting married once, " she said presently, withcharacteristic abruptness. 

"You!" cried Cynthia, looking around in amazement. 

"You see, I am franker than you, my dear--though I never told any oneelse. I believe you can keep a secret. "

"Of course I can. Who--was it anyone in Brampton, Miss Lucretia?" Thequestion was out before Cynthia realized its import. She was turning thetables with a vengeance. 

"It was Ezra Graves, " said Miss Lucretia. 

"Ezra Graves!" And then Cynthia pressed Miss Lucretia's hand in silence, thinking how strange it was that both of them should have been herchampions that evening. 

Miss Lucretia poked the fire again. 

"It was shortly after that, when I went to Boston, that I wrote the 'Hymnto Coniston. ' I suppose we must all be fools once or twice, or we shouldnot be human. "

"And--weren't you ever--sorry?" asked Cynthia. 

Again there was a silence. 

"I could not have done the work I have had to do in the world if I hadmarried. But I have often wondered whether that work was worth the while. Such a feeling must come over all workers, occasionally. Yes, " said MissLucretia, "there have been times when I have been sorry, my dear, thoughI have never confessed it to another soul. I am telling you this for yourown good--not mine. If you have the love of a good man, Cynthia, becareful what you do with it. "

The tears had come into Cynthia's eyes. 

"I should have told you, Miss Lucretia, " she faltered. "If I could havemarried him, it would have been easier. "

"Why can't you marry him?" demanded Miss Lucretia, sharply--to hide herown emotion. 

"His name, " said Cynthia, "is Bob Worthington:"

"Isaac Worthington's son?"

"Yes. "

Another silence, Miss Lucretia being utterly unable to say anything for aspace. 

"Is he a good man?"

Cynthia was on the point of indignant-protest, but she stopped herself intime. 

"I will tell you what he has done, " she answered, "and then you shalljudge for yourself. "

And she told Miss Lucretia, simply, all that Bob had done, and all thatshe herself had done. 

"He is like his mother, Sarah Hollingsworth; I knew her well, " said MissLucretia. "If Isaac Worthington were a man, he would be down on his kneesbegging you to marry his son. He tried hard enough to marry your ownmother. "

"My mother!" exclaimed Cynthia, who had never believed that rumor. 

"Yes, " said Miss Lucretia, "and you may thank your stars he didn'tsucceed. I mistrusted him when he was a young man, and now I know that hehasn't changed. He is a coward and a hypocrite. "

Cynthia could not deny this. 

"And yet, " she said, after a moment's silence, "I am sure you will saythat I have been right. My own conscience tells me that it is wrong todeprive Bob of his inheritance, and to separate him from his father, whatever his father--may be. "

"We shall see what happens in five years, " said Miss Lucretia. 

"Five years!" said Cynthia, in spite of herself. 

"Jacob served seven for Rachel, " answered Miss Lucretia; "that period isscarcely too short to test a man, and you are both young. "

"No, " said Cynthia, "I cannot marry him, Miss Lucretia. The world wouldaccuse me of design, and I feel that I should not be happy. I am surethat he would never reproach me, even if things went wrong, but--the daymight come when--when he would wish that it had been otherwise. "

Miss Lucretia kissed her. 

"You are very young, my dear, " she repeated, "and none of us may say whatchanges time may bring forth. And now I must go. "

Cynthia insisted upon walking with her friend down the street to thehotel--an undertaking that was without danger in Brampton. And it wasonly a step, after all. A late moon floated in the sky, throwing inrelief the shadow of the Worthington mansion against the white patches ofsnow. A light was still burning in the library. 

The next morning after breakfast Miss Lucretia appeared at the littlehouse, and informed Cynthia that she would walk to school with her. 

"But I have not yet been notified by the Committee, " said Cynthia. Therewas a knock at the door, and in walked Judge Ezra Graves. Miss Lucretiamay have blushed, but it is certain that Cynthia did. Never had she seenthe judge so spick and span, and he wore the broadcloth coat he usuallyreserved for Sundays. He paused at the threshold, with his hand on hisAdam's apple. 

"Good morning, ladies, " he said, and looked shyly at Miss Lucretia andcleared his throat, and spoke with the elaborate decorum he used onoccasions, "Miss Penniman, I wish to thank you again for your nobleaction of last evening. "

"Don't 'Miss Penniman' me, Ezra Graves, " retorted Miss Lucretia; "theonly noble action I know of was poor Jonathan Hill's--unless it waspaying for the gas. "

This was the way in which Miss Lucretia treated her lover after thirtyyears! Cynthia thought of what the lady had said to her a few hourssince, by this very fire, and began to believe she must have dreamed it. Fires look very differently at night--and sometimes burn brighter then. The judge parted his coat tails, and seated himself on the wooden edge ofa cane-bottomed chair. 

"Lucretia, " he said, "you haven't changed. "

"You have, Ezra, " she replied, looking at the Adam's apple. 

"I'm an old man, " said Ezra Graves. 

Cynthia could not help thinking that he was a very different man, in MissLucretia's presence, than when at the head of the prudential committee. 

"Ezra, " said Miss Lucretia, "for a man you do very well. "

The judge smiled. 

"Thank you, Lucretia, " said he. He seemed to appreciate the full extentof the compliment. 

"Judge Graves, " said Cynthia, "I can tell you how good you are, at least, and thank you for your great kindness to me, which I shall never forget. "

She took his withered hands from his knees and pressed them. He returnedthe pressure, and then searched his coat tails, found a handkerchief, andblew his nose violently. 

"I merely did my duty, Miss Wetherell, " he said. "I would not wilfullysubmit to a wrong. "

"You called me Cynthia yesterday. "

"So I did, " he answered, "so I did. " Then he looked at Miss Lucretia. 

"Ezra, " said that lady, smiling a little, "I don't believe you havechanged, after all. "

What she meant by that nobody knows. 

"I had thought, Cynthia, " said the judge, "that it might be morecomfortable for you to have me go to the school with you. That is thereason for my early call. "

"Judge Graves, I do appreciate your kindness, " said Cynthia; "I hope youwon't think I'm rude if I say I'd rather go alone. "

"On the contrary, my dear, " replied the judge, "I think I can understandand esteem your feeling in the matter, and it shall be as you wish. "

"Then I think I had better be going, " said Cynthia. The judge rose inalarm at the words, but she put her hand on his shoulder. "Won't you sitdown and stay, " she begged, "you haven't seen Miss Lucretia for how manyyears, --thirty, isn't it?"

Again he glanced at Miss Lucretia, uncertainly. "Sit down, Ezra, " shecommanded, "and for goodness' sake don't be afraid of the cane bottom. You won't go through it. I should like to talk to you, and most of thegossips of our day are dead. I shall stay in Brampton to-day, Cynthia, and eat supper with you here this evening. "

Cynthia, as she went out of the door, wondered what they would talkabout. Then she turned toward the school. It was not the March wind thatburned her cheeks; as she thought of the mass meeting the night before, which was all about her, she wished she might go to school that morningthrough the woods and pasture lots rather than down Brampton Street. What--what would Bob say when he heard of the meeting? Would he comeagain to Brampton? If he did, she would run away to Boston with MissLucretia. Every day it had been a trial to pass the Worthington house, but she could not cross the wide street to avoid it. She hurried alittle, unconsciously, when she came to it, for there was Mr. Worthingtonon the steps talking to Mr. Flint. How he must hate her now, Cynthiareflected! He did not so much as look up when she passed. 

The other citizens whom she met made up for Mr. Worthington's coldness, and gave her a hearty greeting, and some stopped to offer theircongratulations. Cynthia did not pause to philosophize: she was learningto accept the world as it was, and hurried swiftly on to the littleschoolhouse. The children saw her coming, and ran to meet her andescorted her triumphantly in at the door. Of their welcome she could besure. Thus she became again teacher of the lower school. 

How the judge and Miss Lucretia got along that morning, Cynthia neverknew. Miss Lucretia spent the day in her old home, submitting tohero-worship, and attended an evening party in her honor at Mr. GamalielIves's house--a mansion not so large as the first citizen's, though ithad two bay-windows and was not altogether unimposing. The first citizen, needless to say, was not there, but the rest of the elite attended. Mr. Ives will tell you all about the entertainment if you go to Brampton, butthe real reason Miss Lucretia consented to go was to please Lucy Baird, who was Gamaliel's wife, and to chat with certain old friends whom shehad not seen. The next morning she called at the school to bid Cynthiagood-by, and to whisper something in her ear which made her very redbefore all the scholars. She shook her head when Miss Lucretia said it, for it had to do with an incident in the 29th chapter of Genesis. 

While Jonathan Hill was being made a hero of in the little two-by-fouroffice of the feed store the morning after the mass meeting (thoughnobody offered to take over his mortgage), Mr. Dodd was complaining tohis wife of shooting pains, and "callated" he would stay at home thatday. 

"Shootin' fiddlesticks!" said Mrs. Dodd. "Get along down to the store andface the music, Levi Dodd. You'd have had shootin' pains if you'd a wentto the meetin'. "

"I might stop by at Mr. Worthington's house and explain how powerless Iwas--"

"For goodness' sake git out, Levi. I guess he knows how powerless you arewith your shootin' pains. If you only could forget Isaac D. Worthingtonfor three minutes, you wouldn't have 'em. "

Mr. Dodd's two clerks saw him enter the store by the back door and he wasvery much interested in the new ploughs which were piled up in cratesoutside of it. Then he disappeared into his office and shut the door, andsupposedly became very much absorbed in book-keeping. If any one called, he was out--any one. Plenty of people did call, but he was notdisturbed--until ten o'clock. Mr. Dodd had a very sensitive ear, and hecould often recognize a man by his step, and this man he recognized. 

"Where's Mr. Dodd?" demanded the owner of the step, indignantly. 

"He's out, Mr. Worthington. Anything I can do for you, Mr. Worthington?"

"You can tell him to come up to my house the moment he comes in. "

Unfortunately Mr. Dodd in the office had got into a strained position. Hefound it necessary to move a little; the day-book fell heavily to thefloor, and the perspiration popped out all over his forehead. Come out, Levi Dodd. The Bastille is taken, but there are other fortresses still inthe royal hands where you may be confined. 

"Who's in the office?"

"I don't know, sir, " answered the clerk, winking at his companion, whowas sorting nails. 

In three strides the great man had his hand on the office door and hadflung it open, disclosing the culprit cowering over the day-book on thefloor. 

"Mr. Dodd, " cried the first citizen, "what do you mean by--?"

Some natures, when terrified, are struck dumb. Mr. Dodd's was the kindwhich bursts into speech. 

"I couldn't help it, Mr. Worthington, " he cried, "they would have it. Idon't know what got into 'em. They lost their senses, Mr. Worthington, plumb lost their senses. If you'd a b'en there, you might have brought'em to. I tried to git the floor, but Ezry Graves--"

"Confound Ezra Graves, and wait till I have done, can't you, " interruptedthe first citizen, angrily. "What do you mean by putting a bath-tub intomy house with the tin loose, so that I cut my leg on it?"

Mr. Dodd nearly fainted from sheer relief. 

"I'll put a new one in to-day, right now, " he gasped. 

"See that you do, " said the first citizen, "and if I lose my leg, I'llsue you for a hundred thousand dollars. "

"I was a-goin' to explain about them losin' their heads at the massmeetin'--"

"Damn their heads!" said the first citizen. "And yours, too, " he may haveadded under his breath as he stalked out. It was not worth a swing of theexecutioner's axe in these times of war. News had arrived from the statecapital that morning of which Mr. Dodd knew nothing. Certain feudalchiefs from the North Country, of whose allegiance Mr. Worthington hadfelt sure, had obeyed the summons of their old sovereign, Jethro Bass, and had come South to hold a conclave under him at the Pelican. Thosechiefs of the North Country, with their clans behind them as one man, what a power they were in the state! What magnificent qualities they had, in battle or strategy, and how cunning and shrewd was their generalship!Year after year they came down from their mountains and fought shoulderto shoulder, and year after year they carried back the lion's share ofthe spoils between them. The great South, as a whole, was powerless toresist them, for there could be no lasting alliance between Harwich andBrampton and Newcastle and Gosport. Now their king had come back, and theNorth Country men were rallying again to his standard. No wonder thatLevi Dodd's head, poor thing that it was, was safe for a while. 

"Organize what you have left, and be quick about it, " said Mr. Flint, when the news had come, and they sat in the library planning a newcampaign in the face of this evident defection. There was no time to cryover spilt milk or reinstated school-teachers. The messages flew far andwide to the manufacturing towns to range their guilds into line for therailroads. The seneschal wrote the messages, and sent the summons to thesleek men of the cities, and let it be known that the coffers were fulland not too tightly sealed, that the faithful should not lack for thesinews of war. Mr. Flint found time, too, to write some carefully wordedbut nevertheless convincing articles for the Newcastle Guardian, verydamaging to certain commanders who had proved unfaithful. 

"Flint, " said Mr. Worthington, when they had worked far into the night, "if Bass beats us, I'm a crippled man. "

"And if you postpone the fight now that you have begun it? What then?"

The answer, Mr. Worthington knew, was the same either way. He did notrepeat it. He went to his bed, but not to sleep for many hours, and whenhe came down to his breakfast in the morning, he was in no mood to readthe letter from Cambridge which Mrs. Holden had put on his plate. But hedid read it, with what anger and bitterness may be imagined. There wasthe ultimatum, --respectful, even affectionate, but firm. "I know that youwill, in all probability, disinherit me as you say, and I tell youhonestly that I regret the necessity of quarrelling with you more than Ido the money. I do not pretend to say that I despise money, and I likethe things that it buys, but the woman I love is more to me than all thatyou have. "

Mr. Worthington laid the letter down, and there came irresistibly to hismind something that his wife had said to him before she died, shortlyafter they had moved into the mansion. "Dudley, how happy we used to betogether before we were rich!" Money had not been everything to SarahWorthington, either. But now no tender wave of feeling swept over him ashe recalled those words. He was thinking of what weapon he had to preventthe marriage beyond that which was now useless--disinheritance. He woulddisinherit Bob, and that very day. He would punish his son to the utmostof his power for marrying the ward of Jethro Bass. He wondered bitterly, in case a certain event occurred, whether he would have much to alienate. 

When Mr. Flint arrived, fresh as usual in spite of the work he hadaccomplished and the cigars he had smoked the night before, Mr. Worthington still had the letter in his hand, and was pacing his libraryfloor, and broke into a tirade against his son. 

"After all I have done for him, building up for him a position and afortune that is only surpassed by young Duncan's, to treat me in thisway, to drag down the name of Worthington in the mire. I'll never forgivehim. I'll send for Dixon and leave the money for a hospital in Brampton. Can't you suggest any way out of this, Flint?"

"No, " said Flint, "not now. The only chance you have is to ignore thething from now on. He may get tired of her--I've known such things tohappen. "

"When she hears that I've disinherited him, she will get tired of him, "declared Mr. Worthington. 

"Try it and see, if you like, " said Flint. 

"Look here, Flint, if the woman has a spark of decent feeling, as youseem to think, I'll send for her and tell her that she will ruin Robertif she marries him. " Mr. Worthington always spoke of his son as "Robert. "

"You ought to have thought of that before the mass meeting. Perhaps itwould have done some good then. "

"Because this Penniman woman has stirred people up--is that what youmean? I don't care anything about that. Money counts in the long run. "

"If money counted with this school-teacher, it would be a simple matter. I think you'll find it doesn't. "

"I've known you to make some serious mistakes, " snapped Mr. Worthington. 

"Then why do you ask for my advice?"

"I'll send for her, and appeal to her better nature, " said Mr. Worthington, with an unconscious and sublime irony. 

Flint gave no sign that he heard. Mr. Worthington seated himself at hisdesk, and after some thought wrote on a piece of note-paper the followinglines: "My dear Miss Wetherell, I should be greatly obliged if you wouldfind it convenient to call at my house at eight o'clock this evening, "and signed them, "Sincerely Yours. " He sealed them up in an envelope andaddressed it to Miss Wetherell, at the schoolhouse; and handed it to Mr. Flint. That gentleman got as far as the door, and then he hesitated andturned. 

"There is just one way out of this for you, that I can see, Mr. Worthington, " he said. "It's a desperate measure, but it's worth thinkingabout. "

"What's that?"

It took some courage for Mr. Flint, to make the suggestion. "The girl's agood girl, well educated, and by no means bad looking. Bob might do athousand times worse. Give your consent to the marriage, and Jethro Basswill go back to Coniston. "

It was wisdom such as few lords get from their seneschals, but Isaac D. Worthington did not so recognize it. His anger rose and took away hisbreath as he listened to it. 

"I will never give my consent to it, never--do you hear?--never. Sendthat note!" he cried. 

Mr. Flint walked out, sent the note, and returned and took his placesilently at his own table. He was a man of concentration, and he put hismind on the arguments he was composing to certain political leaders. Mr. Worthington merely pretended to work as he waited for the answer to comeback. And presently, when it did come back, he tore it open and read itwith an expression not often on his lips. He flung the paper at Mr. Flint. 

"Read that, " he said. 

This is what Mr. Flint read: "Miss Wetherell begs to inform Mr. Isaac D. Worthington that she can have no communication or intercourse with himwhatsoever. "

Mr. Flint handed it back without a word. His opinion of theschool-teacher had risen mightily, but he did not say so. Mr. Worthingtontook the note, too, without a word. Speech was beyond him, and he crushedthe paper as fiercely as he would have liked to have crushed Cynthia, hadshe been in his hands. 

One accomplishment which Cynthia had learned at Miss Sadler's school wasto write a letter in the third person, Miss Sadler holding that therewere occasions when it was beneath a lady's dignity to write a directnote. And Cynthia, sitting at her little desk in the schoolhouse duringher recess, had deemed this one of the occasions. She could not bringherself to write, "My dear Mr. Worthington. " Her anger, when the note hadbeen handed to her, was for the moment so great that she could not go onwith her classes; but she had controlled it, and compelled Silas to standin the entry until recess, when she sat with her pen in her hand untilthat happy notion of the third person occurred to her. And after Silashad gone she sat still; though trembling a little at intervals, picturingwith some satisfaction Mr. Worthington's appearance when he received heranswer. Her instinct told her that he had received his son's letter, andthat he had sent for her to insult her. By sending for her, indeed, hehad insulted her irrevocably, and that is why she trembled. 

Poor Cynthia! her troubles came thick and fast upon her in those days. When she reached home, there was the letter which Ephraim had left on thetable addressed in the familiar, upright handwriting, and when Cynthiasaw it, she caught her hand sharply at her breast, as if the pain therehad stopped the beating of her heart. Well it was for Bob's peace of mindthat he could not see her as she read it, and before she had come to theend there were drops on the sheets where the purple ink had run. Howprecious would have been those drops to him! He would never give her up. No mandate or decree could separate them--nothing but death. And he washappier now so he told her--than he had been for months: happy in thethought that he was going out into the world to win bread for her, asbecame a man. Even if he had not her to strive for, he saw now that suchwas the only course for him. He could not conform. 

It was a manly letter, --how manly Bob himself never knew. But Cynthiaknew, and she wept over it and even pressed it to her lips--for therewas no one to see. Yes, she loved him as she would not have believed itpossible to love, and she sat through the afternoon reading his words andrepeating them until it seemed that he were there by her side, speakingthem. They came, untrammelled and undefiled, from his heart into hers. 

And now that he had quarrelled with his father for her sake, and was bentwith all the determination of his character upon making his own way inthe world, what was she to do? What was her duty? Not one letter of thetwoscore she had received (so she kept their count from day to day)--notone had she answered. His faith had indeed been great. But she mustanswer this: must write, too, on that subject of her dismissal, lest itshould be wrongly told him. He was rash in his anger, and fearless; thisshe knew, and loved him for such qualities as he had. 

She must stay in Brampton and do her work, --so much was clearly her duty, although she longed to flee from it. And at last she sat down and wroteto him. Some things are too sacred to be set forth on a printed page, andthis letter is one of those things. Try as she would, she could not findit in her heart at such a time to destroy his hope, --or her own. The hopewhich she would not acknowledge, and the love which she strove to concealfrom him seeped up between the words of her letter like water throughgrains of sand. Words, indeed, are but as grains of sand to concealstrong feelings, and as Cynthia read the letter over she felt that everyline betrayed her, and knew that she could compose no lines which wouldnot. 

She said nothing of the summons which she had received that morning, orof her answer; and her account of the matter of the dismissal andreinstatement was brief and dignified, and contained no mention of Mr. Worthington's name or agency. It was her duty, too, to rebuke Bob for thequarrel with his father, to point out the folly of it, and the wrong, andto urge him as strongly as she could to retract, though she felt that allthis was useless. And then--then came the betrayal of hope. She could notask him never to see her again, but she did beseech him for her sake, andfor the sake of that love which he had declared, not to attempt to seeher: not for a year, she wrote, though the word looked to her likeeternity. Her reasons, aside from her own scruples, were so obvious, while she taught in Brampton, that she felt that he would consent tobanishment--until the summer holidays in July, at least: and then shewould be in Coniston, --and would have had time to decide upon futuresteps. A reprieve was all she craved, --a reprieve in which to reflect, for she was in no condition to reflect now. Of one thing she was sure, that it would not be right at this time to encourage him although she hada guilty feeling that the letter had given him encouragement in spite ofall the prohibitions it contained. "If, in the future years, " thoughtCynthia, as she sealed the envelope, "he persists in his determination, what then?" You, Miss Lucretia, of all people in the world, have plantedthe seeds with your talk about Genesis!

The letter was signed "One who will always remain your friend, CynthiaWetherell. " And she posted it herself. 

When Ephraim came home to supper that evening, he brought the BramptonClarion, just out, and in it was an account of Miss Lucretia Penniman'sspeech at the mass meeting, and of her visit, and of her career. It waswritten in Mr. Page's best vein, and so laudatory was it that we shallhave to spare Miss Lucretia in not repeating it here: yes, and omit theencomiums, too, on the teacher of the Brampton lower school. Mr. Worthington was not mentioned, and for this, at least, Cynthia drew alongbreath of relief, though Ephraim was of the opinion that the firstcitizen should have been scored as he deserved, and held up to thecontempt of his fellow-townsmen. The dismissal of the teacher, indeed, was put down to a regrettable misconception on the part of "one of theprudential committee, " who had confessed his mistake in "a manly andaltogether praiseworthy speech. " The article was as near the truth, perhaps, as the Clarions may come on such matters--which is not verynear. Cynthia would have been better pleased if Mr. Page had spared hisreaders the recital of her qualities, and she did not in the leastrecognize the paragon whom Miss Lucretia had befriended and defended. Shewas thankful that Mr. Page did pot state that the celebrity had come upfrom Boston on her account. Miss Penniman had been "actuated by a suddendesire to see once more the beauties of her old home, to look into thefaces of the old friends who had followed her career with such pardonablepride. " The speech of the president of the literary club, you may besure, was printed in full, for Mr. Ives himself had taken the trouble towrite it out for the editor--by request, of course. 

Cynthia turned over the sheet, and read many interesting items: oneconcerning the beauty and fashion and intellect which attended the partyat Mr. Gamaliel Ives's; in the Clovelly notes she saw that Miss JudyHatch, of Coniston, was visiting relatives there; she learned the outputof the Worthington Mills for the past week. Cynthia was about to fold upthe paper and send it to Miss Lucretia, whom she thought it would amuse, when her eyes were arrested by the sight of a familiar name. 

 "Jethro Bass come to life again. From the State Tribune. "

That was the heading. "One of the greatest political surprises in manyyears was the arrival in the capital on Wednesday of Judge Bass, whom itwas thought, had permanently retired from politics. This, at least, seemsto have been the confident belief of a faction in the state who have atheart the consolidation of certain lines of railroads. Judge Bass wasfound by a Tribune reporter in the familiar Throne Room at the Pelican, but, as usual, he could not be induced to talk for publication. He was inconference throughout the afternoon with several well-known leaders fromthe North Country. The return of Jethro Bass to activity seriouslycomplicates the railroad situation, and many prominent politicians arefreely predicting to-night that, in spite of the town-meeting returns, the proposed bill for consolidation will not go through. Judge Bass is aman of such remarkable personality that he has regained at a stroke muchof the influence that he lost by the sudden and unaccountable retirementwhich electrified the state some months since. His reappearance, the newsof which was the one topic in all political centres yesterday, is equallyunaccountable. It is hinted that some action on the part of Isaac D. Worthington has brought Jethro Bass to life. They are known to be bitterenemies, and it is said that Jethro Bass has but one object in returningto the field--to crush the president of the Truro Railroad. Anothertheory is that the railroads and interests opposed to the consolidationhave induced Judge Bass to take charge of their fight for them. Allindications point to the fiercest struggle the state has ever seen inJune, when the Legislature meets. The Tribune, whose sentiments are wellknown to be opposed to the iniquity of consolidation, extends a heartywelcome to the judge. No state, we believe, can claim a party leader of ahigher order of ability than Jethro Bass. "

Cynthia dropped the paper in her lap, and sat very still. This, then, waswhat happened when Jethro had heard of her dismissal--he had leftConiston without writing her a word and passed through Brampton withoutseeing her. He had gone back to that life which he had abandoned for hersake; the temptation had been too strong, the desire for vengeance toogreat. He had not dared to see her. And yet the love for her which hadbeen strong enough to make him renounce the homage of men, and even incurtheir ridicule, had incited him to this very act of vengeance. 

What should she do now, indeed? Had those peaceful and happy Saturdaysand Sundays in Coniston passed away forever? Should she follow him to thecapital and appeal to him? Ah no, she felt that were a useless pain tothem both. She believed, now, that he had gone away from her for alltime, that the veil of limitless space was set between, them. Silentlyshe arose, --so silently that Ephraim, dozing by the fire, did not awake. She went into her own room and wept, and after many hours fell into adreamless sleep of sheer exhaustion. 

The days passed, and the weeks; the snow ran from the brown fields, andmelted at length even in the moist crotches under the hemlocks of thenorthern slopes; the robin and bluebird came, the hillsides were mottledwith exquisite shades of green, and the scent of fruit blossom and balmof Gilead was in the air. June came as a maiden and grew into womanhood. But Jethro Bass did not return to Coniston. 

CHAPTER XVII

The legends which surround the famous war which we are about to touchupon are as dim as those of Troy or Tuscany. Decorous chronicles andbiographies and monographs and eulogies exist, bound in leather andstamped in gold, each lauding its own hero: chronicles written in reallybeautiful language, and high-minded and noble, out of which the heroescome unstained. Horatius holds the bridge, and not a dent in his armor;and swims the Tiber without getting wet or muddy. Castor and Pollux fightin the front rank at Lake Regillus, in the midst of all that gore andslaughter, and emerge all white and pure at the end of the day--but theyare gods. 

Out of the classic wars to which we have referred sprang the great RomanRepublic and Empire, and legend runs into authentic and written history. Just so, parva componere magnis, out of the cloud-wrapped conflicts ofthe five railroads of which our own Gaul is composed, emerged oneimperial railroad, authentically and legally written down on the statutebooks, for all men to see. We cannot go behind that statute except tocollect the legends and write homilies about the heroes who held thebridges. 

If we were not in mortal terror of the imperial power, and a littlefearful, too, of tiring our readers, we would write out all the legendswe have collected of this first fight for consolidation, and show theblood, too. 

In the statute books of a certain state may be found a number of lawssetting forth the various things that a railroad or railroads may do, andon the margin of these pages is invariably printed a date, that being theparticular year in which these laws were passed. By a singularcoincidence it is the very year at which we have now arrived in ourstory. We do not intend to give a map of the state, or discuss the meritsor demerits of the consolidation of the Central and the Northwestern andthe Truro railroads. Such discussions are not the province of a novelist, and may all be found in the files of the Tribune at the State Library. There were, likewise, decisions without number handed down by the variouscourts before and after that celebrated session, --opinions on thevalidity of leases, on the extension of railroads, on the rights ofindividual stockholders--all dry reading enough. 

At the risk of being picked to pieces by the corporation lawyers who mayread these pages, we shall attempt to state the situation and with allmodesty and impartiality--for we, at least, hold no brief. When Mr. IsaacD. Worthington obtained that extension of the Truro Railroad (which wehave read about from the somewhat verdant point of view of WilliamWetherell), that railroad then formed a connection with another roadwhich ran northward from Harwich through another state, and with which wehave nothing to do. Having previously purchased a line to the southwardfrom the capital, Mr. Worthington's railroad was in a position to competewith Mr. Duncan's (the "Central") for Canadian traffic, and also to cutinto the profits of the "Northwestern, " Mr. Lovejoy's road. In brief, theTruro Railroad found itself very advantageously placed, as Mr. Worthington and Mr. Flint had foreseen. There followed a period ofbickering and recrimination, of attempts of the other two railroads tosecure representation in the Truro directorate, of suits and injunctionsand appeals to the Legislature and I know not what else--in all of whichaffairs Mr. Bijah Bixby and other gentlemen we could name found bothpleasure and remuneration. 

Oh, that those halcyon days of the little wars would come again, when acaptain could ride out almost any time at the held of his band ofmercenaries and see honest fighting and divide honest spoils! There wasmuch knocking about of men and horses, but very little bloodshed, so weare told. Mr. Bixby will sit on the sunny side of his barns in Clovellyand tell you stories of that golden period with tears in his eyes, whenhe went to conventions with a pocketful of proxies from the river towns, and controlled in the greatest legislative year of all a "block" whichincluded the President of the Senate, for which he got the fabulous sumof----. He will tell you, but I won't. Mr. Bixby's occupation is gonenow. We have changed all that, and we are ruled from imperial Rome. Ifyou don't do right, they cut off your (political) head, and it is of nouse to run away, because there is no one to run to. 

It was Isaac D. Worthington--or shall we say Mr. Flint?--who wasresponsible for this pernicious change for the worse, who conceived thenotion of leasing for the Truro the Central and the Northwestern, --thusmaking one railroad out of the three. If such a gigantic undertakingcould be got through, Mr. Worthington very rightly deemed that the otherrailroads of the state would eventually fall like ripe fruit into theircaps--owning the ground under the tree, as they would. A movement, whichwe need not go unto, was first made upon the courts, and for a whileadverse decisions came down like summer rain. A genius by the name ofJethro Bass had for many years presided (in the room of the governor andcouncil at the State House) at the political birth of justices of theSupreme Court. None of them actually wore livery, but we have seen one ofthem--along time ago--in a horse blanket. None of them were favorable tothe plans of Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan. 

We have listened to the firing on the skirmish lines for a long time, andnow the real battle is at hand. It is June, and the Legislature ismeeting, and Bijah Bixby has come down to the capital at the head of hisregiment of mercenaries, of which Mr. Sutton is the honorary colonel; theclans are here from the north, well quartered and well fed; the ThroneRoom, within the sacred precincts of which we have been before, isoccupied. But there is another headquarters now, too, in the PelicanHouse--a Railroad Room; larger than the Throne Room, with a bath-roomleading out of it. Another old friend of ours, Judge Abner Parkinson ofHarwich, he who gave the sardonic laugh when Sam Price applied for thepost of road agent, may often be seen in that Railroad Room from now on. The fact is that the judge is about to become famous far beyond theconfines of Harwich; for he, and none other, is the author of theConsolidation Bill itself. 

Mr. Flint is the generalissimo of the allied railroads, and sits in hisheadquarters early and late, going over the details of the campaign withhis lieutenants; scanning the clauses of the bill with Judge Parkinsonfor the last time, and giving orders to the captains of mercenaries as tothe disposition of their forces; writing out passes for the deserving andthe true. For these latter, also, and for the wavering there is aclaw-hammer on the marble-topped mantel wielded by Mr. Bijah Bixby, protem chief of staff--or of the hammer, for he is self-appointed and veryuseful. He opens the mysterious packing cases which come up to theRailroad Room thrice a week, and there is water to be had in thebath-room--and glasses. Mr. Bixby also finds time to do some of thescouting about the rotunda and lobbies, for which he is justlycelebrated, and to drill his regiment every day. The Honorable HethSutton, M. C. , --who held the bridge in the Woodchuck Session, --is therealso, sitting in a corner, swelled with importance, smoking big Florizelcigars which come from--somewhere. There are, indeed, many great andbattle-scarred veterans who congregate in that room--too numerous andgreat to mention; and saunterers in the Capitol Park opposite know when acouncil of war is being held by the volumes of smoke which pour out ofthe window, just as the Romans are made cognizant by the smoking of achimney of when another notable event takes place. 

Who, then, are left to frequent the Throne Room? Is that ancient seat ofpower deserted, and does Jethro Bass sit there alone behind the curtains, in his bitterness, thinking of other bright June days that are gone?

Of all those who had been amazed when Jethro Bass suddenly emerged fromhis retirement and appeared in the capital some months before, none weremore thunderstruck than certain gentlemen who had been to Conistonrepeatedly, but in vain, to urge him to make this very fight. The mostimportant of these had been Mr. Balch, president of the "Down East" Road, and the representatives of two railroads of another state. They had atlast offered Jethro fabulous sums to take charge of their armies in thefield--sums, at least, that would seem fabulous to many people, and hadseemed so to them. When they heard that the lion had roused and shakenhimself and had unaccountably come forth of his own accord, they hastenedto the state capital to renew their offers. Another shock, but of adifferent kind, was in store for them. Mr. Balch had not actually driventhe pack-mules, laden with treasure, to the door of the Pelican House, where Jethro might see them from his window; but he requested a privateaudience, and it was probably accidental that the end of his personalcheck-book protruded a little from his pocket. He was a big, coarse-grained man, Mr. Balch, who had once been a brakeman, and hadrisen by what is known as horse sense to the presidency of his road. There was a wonderful sunset beyond the Capitol, but Mr. Balch did nottalk about the sunset, although Jethro was watching it from behind thecurtains. 

"If you are willing to undertake this fight against consolidation, " saidMr. Balch, "we are ready to talk business with you. "

"D-don't know what you're going to, do, " answered Jethro; "I'm going toprevent consolidation, if I can. "

"All right, " said Balch, smiling. He regarded this reply as one ofJethro's delicate euphemisms. "We're prepared to give that same littleretainer. "

Jethro did not look up. Mr. Balch went to the table and seized a pen andfilled out a check for an amount that shall be nameless. 

"I have made it payable to bearer, as usual, " he said, and he handed itto Jethro. 

Jethro took it, and absently tore it into little pieces, and threw thepieces on the floor. Mr. Balch watched him in consternation. He began tothink the report that Jethro had reached his second childhood was true. 

"What in Halifax are you doing, Bass?" he cried. 

"W-want to stop this consolidation, don't you--want' to stop it?"

"Certainly I do. "

"G-goin' to do all you can to stop it hain't you?"

"Certainly I am. "

"I-I'll help you, " said Jethro. 

"Help us!" exclaimed Balch. "Great Scott, we want you to take charge ofit. "

"I-I'll do all I can, but I won't guarantee it--w-won't guarantee it, "said Jethro. 

"We don't ask you to guarantee it. If you'll do all you can, that'senough. You won't take a retainer?"

"W-won't take anything, " said Jethro. 

"You mean to say you don't want anything for your for your time and yourservices if the bill is defeated?"

"T-that's about it, Ed. Little p-private matter with both of us. Youdon't want consolidation, and I don't. I hain't offered to give you aretainer--have I?"

"No, " said the astounded Mr. Balch. He scratched his head and fingeredthe leaves of his check-book. The captains over the tens and the captainsover the hundreds would want little retainers--and who was to pay these?"How about the boys?" asked Mr. Balch. 

"S-still got the same office in the depot--hain't you, Ed, s-sameoffice?"

"Yes. "

"G-guess the boys hev b'en there before, " said Jethro. 

Mr. Balch went away, meditating upon those sayings, and took the trainfor Boston. If he had waked up of a fine morning to find himself at thehead of some benevolent and charitable organization, instead of the "DownEast" Railroad, he could not have been more astonished than he had beenat the unaccountable change of heart of Jethro Bass. He did not know whatto make of it, and told his colleagues so; and at first they feared oneof two things, --treachery or lunacy. But a little later a rumor reachedMr. Balch's ears that Jethro's hatred of Isaac D. Worthington was at thebottom of his reappearance in public life, although Jethro himself nevermentioned Mr. Worthington's name. Jethro sat in the Throne Room, consulting, directing day after day, and when the Legislature assembled, "the boys" began to call at Mr. Balch's office. But Mr. Balch never againbroached the subject of money to Jethro Bass. 

We have to sing the song of sixpence for the last time in these pages;and as it is an old song now, there will be no encores. If you can buyone member of the lower house for ten dollars, how many members can youbuy for fifty? It was no such problem in primary arithmetic that Mr. Balch and his associates had to solve--theirs was in higher mathematics, in permutations and combinations, and in least squares. No wonder the oldcampaigners speak with tears in their eyes of the days of that evermemorable summer. There were spoils to be picked up in the very streetsricher than the sack of the thirty cities; and as the session wore on itis affirmed by men still living that money rained down in the CapitolPark and elsewhere like manna from the skies, if you were one of a chosenband. If you were, all you had to do was to look in your vest pocketswhen you took your clothes off in the evening and extract enough legaltender to pay your bill at the Pelican for a week. Mr. Lovejoy havingbeen overheard one day to make a remark concerning the diet of hogs, thenext morning certain visitors to the capital were horrified to discovertrails of corn leading from the Pelican House to their doorways. Men whohad never seen a receiving teller opened bank accounts. No, it was not aproblem in simple arithmetic, and Mr. Balch and Mr. Flint, and even Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington, covered whole sheets with figures during thestifling days in July. Some men are so valuable that they can be boughttwice, or even three times, and they make figuring complicated. 

Jethro Bass did no calculating. He sat behind the curtains, and he musthave kept the figures in his head. 

The battle had closed in earnest, and for twelve long, sultry weeks itraged with unabated fierceness. Consolidation had a terror for the ruralmind, and the state Tribune skilfully played its stream upon theconstituents of those gentlemen who stood tamely at the Worthingtonhitching-posts, and the constituents flocked to the capital; that ablenewspaper, too, found space to return, with interest, the attacks of Mr. Worthington's organ, the Newcastle Guardian. These amenities are much toopersonal to reproduce here, now that the smoke of battle has rolled away. An epic could be written upon the conflict, if there were space: CantoOne, the first position carried triumphantly, though at some expense, bythe Worthington forces, who elect the Speaker. That had been a crucialtime before the town meetings, when Jethro abdicated. The WorthingtonSpeaker goes ahead with his committees, and it is needless to say thatMr. Chauncey Weed is not made Chairman of the Committee on Corporations. As an offset to this, the Jethro forces gain on the extreme right, wherethe Honorable Peleg Hartington is made President of the Senate, etc. 

For twelve hot weeks, with a public spirit which is worthy of the highestpraise, the Committee sit in their shirt sleeves all day long and listento arguments for and against consolidation; and ask learned questionsthat startle rural witnesses; and smoke big Florizel cigars (a majorityof them). Judge Abner Parkinson defends his bill, quoting from theConstitution and the Declaration of Independence and the Bible; acelebrated lawyer from the capital riddles it, using the sameauthorities, and citing the Federalist and the Golden Rule in addition. The Committee sit open-minded, listening with laudable impartiality; itdoes not become them to arrive at a hasty decision on a question of suchmagnitude. In the meantime the House passes an important bill dealingwith the bounty on hedgehogs, and there are several card games going onin the cellar, where it is cool. 

The governor of the state is a free lance, and may be seen any afternoonwalking through the park, consorting with no one. He may be recognizedeven at a distance by his portly figure, his silk hat, and his dignifiedmien. Yes, it is an old and valued friend, the Honorable Alva Hopkins, patron of the drama, and sometimes he has a beautiful young woman (stillunattached) by his side. He lives in a suite of rooms at the Pelican. Itis a well-known fact (among Mr. Worthington's supporters) that theHonorable Alva promised in January, when Mr. Bass retired, to sign theConsolidation Bill, and that he suddenly became open-minded in March, andhas remained open-minded ever since, listening gravely to arguments, andgiving much study to the subject. He is an executive now, although it isthe last year of his term, and of course he is never seen either in theThrone Room or the Railroad Room. And besides, he may become a senator. 

August has come, and the forces are spent and panting, and neither sidedares to risk the final charge. The reputation of Jethro Bass is atstake. Should he risk and lose, he must go back to Coniston a beaten man, subject to the contempt of his neighbors and his state. People do notknow that he has nothing now to go back to, and that he cares nothing forcontempt. As he sits in his window day after day he has only one thoughtand one wish, --to ruin Isaac D. Worthington. And he will do it if he can. Those who know--and among them is Mr. Balch himself--say that Jethro hasnever conducted a more masterly campaign than this, and that all theothers have been mere childish trials of strength compared to it. So hesits there through those twelve weeks while the session slips by, whilehis opponents grumble, and while even his supporters, eager for thecharge, complain. The truth is that in all the years of his activity behas never had such an antagonist as Mr. Flint. Victory hangs in thebalance, and a false move will throw it to either side. 

Victory hangs now, to be explicit, upon two factors. The first and mostimmediate of these is a certain canny captain of many wars whose regimentis still at the disposal of either army--for a price, a regiment whichhas hitherto remained strictly neutral. And what a regiment it is! Ablock of river towns and a senator, and not a casualty since they marchedboldly into camp twelve weeks ago. Mr. Batch is getting very much worriedabout this regiment, and beginning to doubt Jethro's judgment. 

"I tell you, Bass, " he said one evening, "if you allow him to run aroundloose much longer, we're lost, that's all there is to it!" (Mr. Batchreferred to the captain in question. ) "They'll buy up his block at hisfigure--see, if they don't. They're getting desperate. Don't you thinkI'd better bid him in?"

"B-bid him in if you've a mind to; Ed. "

"Look here, Jethro, " said Mr. Batch, savagely biting off the end of acigar, "I'm beginning to think you don't care a continental about thisbusiness. Which side are you on, anyway?" The heat and the length and theuncertainty of the struggle were telling on the nerves of the railroadpresident. "You sit there from morning till night and won't say anything;and now, when there's only one block out, you won't give the word to buyit. "

"N-never told you to buy anything, did I--Ed?"

"No, " answered Mr. Batch, "you haven't. I don't know what the devil's gotinto you. "

"D-done all the payin' without consultin' me, hain't you, Ed?"

"Yes; I have. What are you driving at?"

"D-done it if I hadn't b'en here, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, and more too, " said Mr. Batch. 

"W-wouldn't make much difference to you if I wasn't here--would it?"

"Great Scott, Jethro, what do you mean?" cried the railroad president, ingenuine alarm; "you're not going to pull out, are you?"

"W-wouldn't make much odds if I did--would it, Ed?"

"The devil it wouldn't!" exclaimed Mr. Balch. "If you pulled out, we'dlose the North Country, and Peleg, and Gosport, and nobody can tell whichway Alva Hopkins will swing. I guess you know what he'll do--you're sod--d secretive I can't tell whether you do or not. If you pulled out, they'd have their bill on Friday. "

"H-hain't under any obligations to you, Ed--am I?"

"No, " said Mr. Batch, "but I don't see why you keep harping on that. "

"J-dust wanted to have it clear, " said Jethro, and relapsed into silence. 

There was a fireproof carpet on the Throne Room, and Mr. Batch flung downhis cigar and stamped on it and went out. No wonder he could notunderstand Jethro's sudden scruples about money and obligations--aboutrailroad money, that is. Jethro was spending some of his own, but not inthe capital, and in a manner which was most effective. In short, at thevery moment when Mr. Batch stamped on his cigar, Jethro had the victoryin his hands--only he did not choose to say so. He had had a mysterioustelegram that day from Harwich, signed by Chauncey Weed, and Mr. Weedhimself appeared at the door of Number 7, fresh from his travels, shortlyafter Mr. Batch had gone out of it. Mr. Weed closed the door gently, andlocked it, and sat down in a rocking chair close to Jethro and put hishand over his mouth. We cannot hear what Mr. Weed is saying. All ismystery here, and in order to preserve that mystery we shall delay for alittle the few words which will explain Mr. Weed's successful mission. 

Mr. Batch, angry and bewildered, descended into the rotunda, where heshortly heard two astounding pieces of news. The first was that theHonorable Heth Sutton had abandoned the Florizel cigars and had gone hometo Clovelly. The second; that Mr. Bijah Bixby had resigned theclaw-hammer and had ceased to open the packing cases in the RailroadRoom. Consternation reigned in that room, so it was said (and this wastrue). Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan and Mr. Lovejoy were closeted therewith Mr. Flint, and the door was locked and the transom shut, and smokewas coming out of the windows. 

Yes, Mr. Bijah Bixby is the canny captain of whom Mr. Balch spoke: he itis who owns that block of river towns, intact, and the one senator. Impossible! We have seen him opening the packing cases, we have seen himworking for the Worthington faction for the last two years. Mr. Bixby wasvery willing to open boxes, and to make himself useful and agreeable; butit must be remembered that a good captain of mercenaries owes a sacredduty to his followers. At first Mr. Flint had thought he could count onMr. Bixby; after a while he made several unsuccessful attempts to talkbusiness with him; a particularly difficult thing to do, even for Mr. Flint, when Mr. Bixby did not wish to talk business. Mr. Balch had foundit quite as difficult to entice Mr. Bixby away from the boxes and theRailroad Room. The weeks drifted on, until twelve went by, and then Mr. Bixby found himself, with his block of river towns and one senator, inthe incomparable position of being the arbiter of the fate of theConsolidation Bill in the House and Senate. No wonder Mr. Balch wanted tobuy the services of that famous regiment at any price!

But Mr. Bixby, for once in his life, had waited too long. 

When Mr. Balch, rejoicing, but not a little indignant at not having beentaken into confidence, ascended to the Throne Room after supper toquestion Jethro concerning the meaning of the things he had heard, hefound Senator Peleg Hartington seated mournfully on the bed, talking atintervals, and Jethro listening. 

"Come up and eat out of my hand, " said the senator. 

"Who?" demanded Mr. Balch. 

"Bije, " answered the senator. 

"Great Scott, do you mean to say you've got Bixby?" exclaimed therailroad president. He felt as if he would like to shake the senator, whowas so deliberate and mournful in his answers. "What did you pay him?"

Mr. Hartington appeared shocked by the question. 

"Guess Heth Sutton will settle with him, " he said. 

"Heth Sutton! Why the--why should Heth pay him?"

"Guess Heth'd like to make him a little present, under the circumstances. I was goin' through the barber shop, " Mr. Hartington continued, speakingto Jethro and ignoring the railroad president, "and I heard somebodywhisperin' my name. Sound came out of that little shampoo closet; went inthere and found Bije. 'Peleg, ' says he, right into my ear, 'tell Jethroit's all right--you understand. We want Heth to go back--break his heartif he didn't--you understand. If I'd knowed last winter Jethro meantbusiness, I wouldn't hev' helped Gus Flint out. Tell Jethro he can have'em--you know what I mean. ' Bije waited a little mite too long, " said thesenator, who had given a very fair imitation of Mr. Bixby's nasal voiceand manner. 

"Well, I'm d--d!" ejaculated Mr. Balch, staring at Jethro. "How did youwork it?"

"Sent Chauncey through the deestrict, " said Mr. Hartington. 

Mr. Chauncey Weed had, in truth, gone through a part of the congressionaldistrict of the Honorable Heth Sutton with a little leather bag. Mr. Weedhad been able to do some of his work (with the little leather bag) in thecapital itself. In this way Mr. Bixby's regiment, Sutton was the honorarycolonel, had been attacked in the rear and routed. Here was to be acongressional convention that autumn, and a large part of Mr. Sutton'sdistrict lay in the North Country, which, as we have seen, was loyal toJethro to the back bone. The district, too, was largely rural, andtherefore anti-consolidation, and the inability of the Worthington forcesto get their bill through had made it apparent that Jethro Bass was aspowerful as ever. Under these circumstances it had not been verydifficult for a gentleman of Mr. Chauncey Weed's powers of persuasion toinduce various lieutenants in the district to agree to send delegates tothe coming convention who would be conscientiously opposed to Mr. Sutton's renomination: hence the departure from the capital of Mr. Sutton; hence the generous offer of Mr. Bixby to put his regiment at thedisposal of Mr. Bass--free of charge. 

The second factor on which victory hung (we can use the past tense now)was none other than his Excellency Alva Hopkins, governor of the state. The bill would never get to his Excellency now--so people said; wouldnever get beyond that committee who had listened so patiently to thetwelve weeks of argument. These were only rumors, after all, for therotunda never knows positively what goes on in high circles; but therotunda does figuring, too, when at length the problem is reduced to asimple equation, with Bijah Bixby as x. If it were true that Bijah hadgone over to Jethro Bass, the Consolidation Bill was dead. 

CHAPTER XVIII

When Jethro Bass walked out of the hotel that evening men looked at him, and made way for him, but none spoke to him. There was something in hisface that forbade speech. He was a great man once more--a greater manthan ever; and he had, if the persistent rumors were true, accomplishedan almost incomprehensible feat, even for Jethro Bass. There was anotherreason, too, why they stared at him. In all those twelve weeks of thatmost trying of all sessions he had not once gone into the street, and hehad been less than ever common in the eyes of men. Twice a day he haddescended to the dining room for a simple meal--that was all; and fewerhad gained entrance to Room Number 7 this session than ever before. 

There is a river that flows by the capital, a wide and gentle riverbordered by green meadows and fringed with willows; higher up, if you gofar enough, a forest comes down to the water on the western side. Jethrowalked through the hooded bridge, and up the eastern bank until he couldsee the forest like a black band between the orange sky and the orangeriver, and there he sat down upon a fallen log on the edge of the bank. But Jethro was thinking of another scene, --of a granite-ribbed pasture onConiston Mountain that swings in limitless space, from either end ofwhich a man may step off into eternity. William Wetherell, in one of hisletters, had described that place as the Threshold of the NamelessWorlds, and so it had seemed to Jethro in the years of his desolation. Hewas thinking of it now, even as it had been in his mind that winter'sevening when Cynthia had come to Coniston and had surprised him with thatlook of terrible loneliness on his face. 

Yes, and he was thinking of Cynthia. When, indeed, had he not beenthinking of her? How many tunes had he rehearsed the events in thetannery house--for they were the events of his life now. The triumphsover his opponents and enemies fell away, and the pride of power. Suchhad not been his achievements. She had loved him, and no man had reacheda higher pinnacle than that. 

Why he had forfeited that love for vengeance, he could not tell. Theembers of a man's passions will suddenly burst into flame, and he willfiddle madly while the fire burns his soul. He had avenged her as well ashimself; but had he avenged her, now that he held Isaac Worthington inhis power? By crushing him, had he not added to her trouble and hersorrow? She had confessed that she loved Isaac Worthington's son, and wasnot he (Jethro) widening the breach between Cynthia and the son bycrushing the father? Jethro had not thought of this. But he had thoughtof her, night and day, as he had sat in his room directing the battle. Not a day had passed that he had not looked for a letter, hoping againsthope. If she had written to him once, if she had come to him once, wouldhe have desisted? He could not say--the fires of hatred had burned sofiercely, and still burned so fiercely, that he clenched his fists whenit came over him that Isaac Worthington was at last in his power. 

A white line above the forest was all that remained of the sunset when herose up and took from his coat a silver locket and opened it and held itto the fading light. Presently he closed it again, and walked slowlyalong the river bank toward the little city twinkling on its hill. Hecrossed the hooded bridge and climbed the slope, stopping for a moment ata little stationery shop; he passed through the groups which were stillloudly discussing this thing he had done, and gained his room and lockedthe door. Men came to it and knocked and got no answer. The room was indarkness, and the night breeze stirred among the trees in the park andblew in at the window. 

At last Jethro got up and lighted the gas and paused at the centre table. He was to violate more than one principle of his life that night, thoughnot without a struggle; and he sat for a long while looking at the blankpaper before him. Then he wrote, and sealed the letter--which containedthree lines--and pulled the bell cord. The call was answered by amessenger who had been far many years in the service of the PelicanHouse, and who knew many secrets of the gods. The man actually grew palewhen he saw the address on the envelope which was put in his hand andread the denomination of the crisp note under it that was the price ofsilence. 

"F-find the gentleman and give it to him yourself. Er--John?"

"Yes, Mr. Bass?"

"If you don't find him, bring it--back. "

When the man had gone, Jethro turned down the gas and went again to hischair by the window. For a while voices came up to him from the street, but at length the groups dispersed, one by one; and a distant clockboomed out eleven solemn strokes. Twice the clock struck again, at thehalf-hour and midnight, and the noises in the house--the banging of doorsand the jangling of keys and the hurrying of feet in the corridors--werehushed. Jethro took no thought of these or of time, and sat gazing at thestars in the depths of the sky above the capital dome until a shadowemerged from the black mass of the trees opposite and crossed the street. In a few minutes there were footsteps in the corridor, --stealthyfootsteps--and a knock on the door. Jethro got up and opened it, andclosed it again and locked it. Then he turned up the gas. 

"S-sit down, " he said, and nodded his head toward the chair by the table. 

Isaac Worthington laid his silk hat on the table, and sat down. He lookedvery haggard and worn in that light, very unlike the first citizen whohad entered Brampton in triumph on his return from the West not manymonths before. The long strain of a long fight, in which he had riskedmuch for which he had labored a life to gain, had told on him, and therewere crow's-feet at the corners of, his eyes, and dark circles underthem. Isaac Worthington had never lost before, and to destroy the fruitsof such a man's ambition is to destroy the man. He was not as young as hehad once been. But now, in the very hour of defeat, hope had rekindledthe fire in the eyes and brought back the peculiar, tight-lipped, mockingsmile to the mouth. An hour ago, when he had been pacing AlexanderDuncan's library, the eyes and the mouth had been different. 

Long habit asserts itself at the strangest moments. Jethro Bass took hisseat by the window, and remained silent. The clock tolled the half-hourafter midnight. 

"You wanted to see me, " said Mr. Worthington, finally. 

Jethro nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

"I suppose, " said Mr. Worthington, slowly, "I suppose you are ready tosell out. " He found it a little difficult to control his voice. 

"Yes, " answered Jethro, "r-ready to sell out. "

Mr. Worthington was somewhat taken aback by this simple admission. Heglanced at Jethro sitting motionless by the window, and in his heart hefeared him: he had come into that room when the gas was low, afraid. Although he would not confess it to himself, he had been in fear ofJethro Bass all his life, and his fear had been greater than ever sincethe March day when Jethro had left Coniston. And could he have known, now, the fires of hatred burning in Jethro's breast, Isaac Worthingtonwould have been in terror indeed. 

"What have you got to sell?" he demanded sharply. 

"G-guess you know, or you wouldn't have come here. "

"What proof have I that you have it to sell?"

Jethro looked at him for an instant. 

"M-my word, " he said. 

Isaac Worthington was silent for a while: he was striving to calmhimself, for an indefinable something had shaken him. The strangestillness of the hour and the stranger atmosphere which seemed tosurround this transaction filled him with a nameless dread. The man inthe window had been his lifelong enemy: more than this, Jethro Bass, wasnot like ordinary men--his ways were enshrouded in mystery, and when hestruck, he struck hard. There grew upon Isaac Worthington a sense thatthis midnight hour was in some way to be the culmination of the longyears of hatred between them. 

He believed Jethro: he would have believed him even if Mr. Flint had notinformed him that afternoon that he was beaten, and bitterly he wished hehad taken Mr. Flint's advice many months before. Denunciation sprang tohis lips which he dared not utter. He was beaten, and he must pay--thepound of flesh. Isaac Worthington almost thought it would be a pound offlesh. 

"How much do you want?" he said. 

Again Jethro looked at him. 

"B-biggest price you can pay, " he answered. 

"You must have made up your mind what you want. You've had time enough. "

"H-have made up my mind, " said Jethro. 

"Make your demand, " said Mr. Worthington, "and I'll give you my answer. "

"B-biggest price you can pay, " said Jethro, again. 

Mr. Worthington's nerves could stand it no longer. 

"Look here, " he cried, rising in his chair, "if you've brought me here totrifle with me, you've made a mistake. It's your business to get controlof things that belong to other people, and sell them out. I am here tobuy. Nothing but necessity brings me here, and nothing but necessity willkeep me here a moment longer than I have to stay to finish thisabominable affair. I am ready to pay you twenty thousand dollars the daythat bill becomes a law. "

This time Jethro did not look at him. 

"P-pay me now, " he said. 

"I will pay you the day the bill becomes a law. Then I shall know where Istand. "

Jethro did not answer this ultimatum in any manner, but remainedperfectly still looking out of the window. Mr. Worthington glanced athim, twice, and got his fingers on the brim of his hat, but he did notpick it up. He stood so for a while, knowing full well that if he wentout of that room his chance was gone. Consolidation might come in otheryears, but he, Isaac Worthington, would not be a factor in it. 

"You don't want a check, do you?" he said at last. 

"No--d-don't want a check. "

"What in God's name do you want? I haven't got twenty thousand dollars incurrency in my pocket. "

"Sit down, Isaac Worthington, " said Jethro. 

Mr. Worthington sat down--out of sheer astonishment, perhaps. 

"W-want the consolidation--don't you? Want it bad--don't you?"

Mr. Worthington did, not answer. Jethro stood over him now, looking downat him from the other side of the narrow table. 

"Know Cynthy Wetherell?" he said. 

Then Isaac Worthington understood that his premonitions had been real. The pound of flesh was to be demanded, but strangely enough, he did notyet comprehend the nature of it. 

"I know that there is such a person, " he answered, for his pride wouldnot permit him to say more. 

"W-what do you know about her?"

Isaac Worthington was bitterly angry--the more so because he washelpless, and could not question Jethro's right to ask. What did he knowabout her? Nothing, except that she had intrigued to marry his son. Bob'sletter had described her, to be sure, but he could not be expected tobelieve that: and he had not heard Miss Lucretia Penniman's speech. Andyet he could not tell Jethro that he knew nothing about her, for he wasshrewd enough to perceive the drift of the next question. 

"Kn-know anything against her?" said Jethro. 

Mr. Worthington leaned back in his chair. 

"I can't see what Miss Wetherell has to do with the present occasion, " hereplied. 

"H-had her dismissed by the prudential committee had herdismissed--didn't you?"

"They chose to act as they saw fit. "

"T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her--didn't you?"

That was a matter of common knowledge in Brampton, having leaked outthrough Jonathan Hill. 

"I must decline to discuss this, " said Mr. Worthington. 

"W-wouldn't if I was you. "

"What do you mean?"

"What I say. T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. " Isaac Worthington had lost in self-esteem by not saying sobefore. 

"Why? Wahn't she honest? Wahn't she capable? Wahn't she a lady?"

"I can't say that I know anything against Miss Wetherell's character, ifthat's what you mean. "

"F-fit to teach--wahn't she--fit to teach?"

"I believe she has since qualified before Mr. Errol. "

"Fit to teach--wahn't fit to marry your son--was she?"

Isaac Worthington clutched the table and started from his chair. He grewwhite to his lips with anger, and yet he knew that he must controlhimself. 

"Mr. Bass, " he said, "you have something to sell, and I have something tobuy--if the price is not ruinous. Let us confine ourselves to that. Myaffairs and my son's affairs are neither here nor there. I ask you again, how much do you want for this Consolidation Bill?"

"N-no money will buy it. "

"What!"

"C-consent to this marriage, c-consent to this marriage. " There was yetroom for Isaac Worthington to be amazed, and for a while he stared up atJethro, speechless. 

"Is that your price?" he asked at last. 

"Th-that's my price, " said Jethro. 

Isaac Worthington got up and went to the window and stood looking outabove the black mass of trees at the dome outlined against thestar-flecked sky. At first his anger choked him, and he could not think;he had just enough reason left not to walk out of the door. But presentlyhabit asserted itself in him, too, and he began to reflect and calculatein spite of his anger. It is strange that memory plays so small a part insuch a man. Before he allowed his mind to dwell on the fearful price, hethought of his ambitions gratified; and yet he did not think then of thewoman to whom he had once confided those ambitions--the woman who was thegirl's mother. Perhaps Jethro was thinking of her. 

It may have been--I know not--that Isaac Worthington wondered at thisrevelation of the character of Jethro Bass, for it was a revelation. Forthis girl's sake Jethro was willing to forego his revenge, was willing atthe end of his days to allow the world to believe that he had sold out tohis enemy, or that he had been defeated by him. 

But when he thought of the marriage, Isaac Worthington ground his teeth. A certain sentiment which we may call pride was so strong in him that hefelt ready to make almost any sacrifice to prevent it. To hinder it hehad quarrelled with his son, and driven him away, and threateneddisinheritance. The price was indeed heavy--the heaviest he could pay. But the alternative--was not that heavier? To relinquish his dream ofpower, to sink for a while into a crippled state; for he had spent largesums, and one of those periodical depressions had come in the business ofthe mills, and those Western investments were not looking so bright now. 

So, with his hands opening and closing in front of him, Isaac Worthingtonfought out his battle. A terrible war, that, between ambition andpride--a war to the knife. The issue may yet have been undecided when heturned round to Jethro with a sneer which he could not resist. 

"Why doesn't she marry him without my consent?"

In a moment Mr. Worthington knew he had gone too far. A certain kind ofan eye is an incomparable weapon, and armed men have been cowed by thosewho possess it, though otherwise defenceless. Jethro Bass had that kindof an eye. 

"G-guess you wouldn't understand if I was to tell you, " he said. 

Mr. Worthington walked to the window again, perhaps to compose himself, and then came back again. 

"Your proposition is, " he said at length, "that if I give my consent tothis marriage, we are to have Bixby and the governor, and theConsolidation Bill will become a law. Is that it?"

"Th-that's it, " said Jethro, taking his accustomed seat. 

"And this consent is to be given when the bill becomes a law?"

"Given now. T-to-night. "

Mr. Worthington took another turn as far as the door, and suddenly cameand stood before Jethro. 

"Well, I consent. "

Jethro nodded toward the table. 

"Er--pen and paper there, " he said. 

"What do you want me to do?" demanded Mr. Worthington. 

"W-write to Bob--write to Cynthy. Nice letters. "

"This is carrying matters with too high a hand, Mr. Bass. I will writethe letters to-morrow morning. " It was intolerable that he, the firstcitizen of Brampton, should have to submit to such humiliation. 

"Write 'em now. W-want to see 'em. "

"But if I give you my word they will be written and sent to you to-morrowafternoon?"

"T-too late, " said Jethro; "sit down and write 'em now. "

Mr. Worthington went irresolutely to the table, stood for a minute, anddropped suddenly into the chair there. He would have given anything(except the realization of his ambitions) to have marched out of the roomand to have slammed the door behind him. The letter paper and envelopeswhich Jethro had bought stood in a little pile, and Mr. Worthingtonpicked up the pen. The clock struck two as he wrote the date, as thoughto remind him that he had written it wrong. If Flint could see him now!Would Flint guess? Would anybody guess? He stared at the white paper, andhis rage came on again like a gust of wind, and he felt that he wouldrather beg in the streets than write such a thing. And yet--and yet hesat there. Surely Jethro Bass must have known that he could have taken nomore exquisite vengeance than this, to compel a man--and such a man--tosit down in the white heat of passion--and write two letters offorgiveness! Jethro sat by the window, to all appearances oblivious tothe tortures of his victim. 

He who has tried to write a note--the simplest note when his mind washarassed, will understand something of Isaac Worthington's sensations. Hewould no sooner get an inkling of what his opening sentence was to bethan the flames of his anger would rise and sweep it away. He could noteven decide which letter he was to write first: to his son, who haddefied him and who (the father knew in his heart) condemned him? or tothe schoolteacher, who was responsible for all his misery; who--Mr. Worthington believed--had taken advantage of his son's youth by femininewiles of no mean order so as to gain possession of him. I can almostbring myself to pity the first citizen of Brampton as he sits there withhis pen poised over the paper, and his enemy waiting to read those tenderepistles of forgiveness which he has yet to write. The clock has almostgot round to the half-hour again, and there is only the date--and a wrongone at that. 

"My dear Miss Wetherell, --Circumstances (over which I have nocontrol?)"--ought he not to call her Cynthia? He has to make the lettercredible in the eyes of the censor who sits by the window. "My dear MissWetherell, I have come to the conclusion"--two sheets torn up, or thrustinto Mr. Worthington's pocket. By this time words have begun to have acolorless look. "My dear Miss Wetherell, --Having become convinced of thesincere attachment which my son Robert has for you, I am writing himto-night to give my full consent to his marriage. He has given me tounderstand that you have hitherto persistently refused to accept himbecause I have withheld that consent, and I take this opportunity ofexpressing my admiration of this praiseworthy resolution on your part. "(If this be irony, it is sublime! Perhaps Isaac Worthington has a littleof the artist in him, and now that he is in the heat of creation hasforgotten the circumstances under which he is composing. ) "My son'shappiness and career in life are of such moment to me that, until thepresent, I could not give my sanction to what I at first regarded as ayouthful fancy. Now that, my son, for your sake, has shown hisdetermination and ability to make his own way in the world, " (IsaacWorthington was not a little proud of this) "I have determined that it iswise to withdraw my opposition, and to recall Robert to his proper place, which is near me. I am sure that my feelings in this matter will be clearto you, and that you will look with indulgence upon any acts of minewhich sprang from a natural solicitation for the welfare and happiness ofmy only child. I shall be in Brampton in a day or two, and I shall atonce give myself the pleasure of calling on you. Sincerely yours, IsaacD. Worthington. "

Perhaps a little formal and pompous for some people, but an admirable andconciliatory letter for the first citizen of Brampton. Written under suchtrying circumstances, with I know not how many erasures and false starts, it is little short of a marvel in art: neither too much said, nor toolittle, for a relenting parent of Mr. Worthington's character, and Idoubt whether Talleyrand or Napoleon or even Machiavelli himself couldhave surpassed it. The second letter, now that Mr. Worthington had gotinto the swing, was more easily written. "My dear Robert" (it said), "Ihave made up my mind to give my consent to your marriage to MissWetherell, and I am ready to welcome you home, where I trust I shall seeyou shortly. I have not been unimpressed by the determined manner inwhich you have gone to work for yourself, but I believe that your placeis in Brampton, where I trust you will show the same energy in learningto succeed me in the business which I have founded there as you haveexhibited in Mr. Broke's works. Affectionately, your Father. "

A very creditable and handsome letter for a forgiving father. When Mr. Worthington had finished it, and had addressed both the envelopes, hisshame and vexation had, curious to relate, very considerably abated. Notto go too deeply into the somewhat contradictory mental and cardiacprocesses of Mr. Worthington, he had somehow tricked himself by thatmagic exercise of wielding his pen into thinking that he was doing anoble and generous action: into believing that in the course of a veryfew days--or weeks, at the most, he would have recalled his erring sonand have given Cynthia his blessing. He would, he told himself, have beenforced eventually to yield when that paragon of inflexibility, Bob, dictated terms to him at the head of the locomotive works. Better let thegenerosity be on his (Mr. Worthington's) side. At all events, victory hadnever been bought more cheaply. Humiliation, in Mr. Worthington's eyes, had an element of publicity in it, and this episode had had none of thatelement; and Jethro Bass, moreover, was a highwayman who had held apistol to his head. In such logical manner he gradually bolstered upagain his habitual poise and dignity. Next week, at the latest, men wouldpoint to him as the head of the largest railroad interests in the state. 

He pushed back his chair, and rose, merely indicating the result of hislabors by a wave of his hand. And he stood in the window as Jethro Bassgot up and went to the table. I would that I had a pen able to describeJethro's sensations when he read them. Unfortunately, he is a man withfew facial expressions. But I believe that he was artist enough himselfto appreciate the perfections of the first citizen's efforts. After amuch longer interval than was necessary for their perusal, Mr. Worthington turned. 

"G-guess they'll do, " said Jethro, as he folded them up. He was toogenerous not to indulge, for once, in a little well-deserved praise. "Hain't underdone it, and hain't overdone it a mite hev you? M-man ofresource. Callate you couldn't hev beat that if you was to take a week toit. "

"I think it only fair to tell you, " said Mr. Worthington, picking up hissilk hat, "that in those letters I have merely anticipated a very littlemy intentions in the matter. My son having proved his earnestness, I wasabout to consent to the marriage of my own accord. "

"G-goin' to do it anyway--was you?"

"I had so determined. "

"A-always thought you was high-minded, " said Jethro. 

Mr. Worthington was on the point of giving a tart reply to this, butrestrained himself. 

"Then I may look upon the matter as settled?" he said. "The ConsolidationBill is to become a law?"

"Yes, " said Jethro, "you'll get your bill. " Mr. Worthington had got hishand on the knob of the door when Jethro stopped him with a word. He hadno facial expressions, but he had an eye, as we have seen--an eye thatfor the second time appeared terrible to his visitor. "IsaacWorthington, " he said, "a-act up to it. No trickery--or look out--lookout. "

Then, the incident being closed so far as he was concerned, Jethro wentback to his chair by the window, but it is to be recorded that IsaacWorthington did not answer him immediately. Then he said:--

"You seem to forget that you are talking to a gentleman. "

"That's so, " answered Jethro, "so you be. "

He sat where he was long after the sky had whitened and the stars hadchanged from gold to silver and gone out, and the sunlight had begun toglance upon the green leaves of the park. Perhaps he was thinking of thelife he had lived, which was spent now: of the men he had ruled, of thevictories he had gained from that place which would know him no more. Hehad won the last and the greatest of his victories there, compared towhich the others had indeed been as vanities. Perhaps he looked back overthe highway of his life and thought of the woman whom he had loved, andwondered what it had been if she had trod it by his side. Who will judgehim? He had been what he had been; and as the Era was, so was he. Verily, one generation passeth away, and another generation cometh. 

When Mr. Isaac Worthington arrived at Mr. Duncan's house, where he wasstaying, at three o'clock in the morning, he saw to his surprise lightfrom the library windows lying in bars across the lawn under the trees. He found Mr. Duncan in that room with Somers, his son, who had justreturned from a seaside place, and they were discussing a very graveevent. Miss Janet Duncan had that day eloped with a gentleman who--tojudge from the photograph Somers held--was both handsome andromantic-looking. He had long hair and burning eyes, and a title not tobe then verified, and he owned a castle near some place on the peninsulaof Italy not on the map. 

CHAPTER XIX

We are back in Brampton, owning, as we do, an annual pass over the TruroRailroad. Cynthia has been there all the summer, and as it is now thefirst of September, her school has begun again. I do not by any meansintend to imply that Brampton is not a pleasant place to spend thesummer: the number of its annual visitors is a refutation of that; but toCynthia the season had been one of great unhappiness. Several times LemHallowell had stopped the stage in front of Ephraim's house to beg her togo to Coniston, and Mr. Satterlee had come himself; but she could nothave borne to be there without Jethro. Nor would she go to Boston, thoughurged by Miss Lucretia; and Mrs. Merrill and the girls had implored herto join them at a seaside place on the Cape. 

Cynthia had made a little garden behind Ephraim's house, and she spentthe summer there with her flowers and her books, many of which Lem hadfetched from Coniston. Ephraim loved to sit there of an evening and smokehis pipe and chat with Ezra Graves and the neighbors who dropped in. Among these were Mr. Gamaliel Ives, who talked literature with Cynthia;and Lucy Baird, his wife, who had taken Cynthia under her wing. I wish Ihad time to write about Lucy Baird. And Mr. Jonathan Hill came--hismortgage not having been foreclosed, after all. When Cynthia was alonewith Ephraim she often read to him, --generally from books of a martialflavor, --and listened with an admirable hypocrisy to certain narrativeswhich he was in the habit of telling. 

They never spoke of Jethro. Ephraim was not a casuist, and his sense ofright and wrong came largely through his affections. It is safe to saythat he never made an analysis of the sorrow which he knew was afflictingthe girl, but he had had a general and most sympathetic understanding ofit ever since the time when Jethro had gone back to the capital; andEphraim never brought home his Guardian or his Clarion now, but read themat the office, that their contents might not disturb her. 

No wonder that Cynthia was unhappy. The letters came, almost every day, with the postmark of the town in New Jersey where Mr. Broke's locomotiveworks were; and she answered them now (but oh, how scrupulously!), thoughnot every day. If the waters of love rose up through the grains of sand, it was, at least, not Cynthia's fault. Hers were the letters of a friend. She was reading such and such a book--had he read it? And he must notwork too hard. How could her letters be otherwise when Jethro Bass, herbenefactor, was at the capital working to defeat and perhaps to ruinBob's father? when Bob's father had insulted and persecuted her? Sheought not to have written at all; but the lapses of such a heroine arevery rare, and very dear. 

Yes, Cynthia's life was very bitter that summer, with but little hope onthe horizon of it. Her thoughts were divided between Bob and Jethro. Manya night she lay awake resolving to write to Jethro, even to go to him, but when morning came she could not bring herself to do so. I do notthink it was because she feared that he might believe her appeal would bemade in behalf of Bob's father. Knowing Jethro as she did, she felt thatit would be useless, and she could not bear to make it in vain; if thememory of that evening in the tannery shed would not serve, nothing wouldserve. And again--he had gone to avenge her. 

It was inevitable that she should hear tidings from the capital. IsaacWorthington's own town was ringing with it. And as week after week ofthat interminable session went by, the conviction slowly grew uponBrampton that its first citizen had been beaten by Jethro Bass. Somethingof Mr. Worthington's affairs was known: the mills, for instance, were notbeing run to their full capacity. And then had come the definite newsthat Mr. Worthington was beaten, a local representative having arrivedstraight from the rotunda. Cynthia overheard Lem Hallowell telling it toEphraim, and she could not for the life of her help rejoicing, though shedespised herself for it. Isaac Worthington was humbled now, and Jethrohad humbled him to avenge her. Despite her grief over his return to thatlife, there was something to compel her awe and admiration in the way hehad risen and done this thing after men had fallen from him. Her motherhad had something of these same feelings, without knowing why. 

People who had nothing but praise for him before were saying hard thingsabout Isaac Worthington that night. When the baron is defeated, the serfscome out of their holes in the castle rock and fling their curses acrossthe moat. Cynthia slept but little, and was glad when the day came totake her to her scholars, to ease her mind of the thoughts which torturedit. 

And then, when she stopped at the post-office to speak to Ephraim on herway homeward in the afternoon, she heard men talking behind thepartition, and she stood, as one stricken, listening beside the window. Other tidings had come in the shape of a telegram. The first rumor hadbeen false. Brampton had not yet received the details, but theConsolidation Bill had gone into the House that morning, and would be alaw before the week was out. A part of it was incomprehensible toCynthia, but so much she had understood. She did not wait to speak toEphraim, and she was going out again when a man rushed past her andthrough the partition door. Cynthia paused instinctively, for sherecognized him as one of the frequenters of the station and a bearer ofnews. 

"Jethro's come home, boys, " he shouted; "come in on the four o'clock, andwent right off to Coniston. Guess he's done for, this time, for certain. Looks it. By Godfrey, he looks eighty! Callate his day's over, from theway the boys talked on the train. "

Cynthia lingered to hear no more, and went out, dazed, into the Septembersunshine: Jethro beaten, and broken, and gone to Coniston. Resolutioncame to her as she walked. Arriving home, she wrote a little note andleft it on the table for Ephraim; and going out again, ran by the backlane to Mr. Sherman's livery stable behind the Brampton House, and inhalf an hour was driving along that familiar road to Coniston, alone; forshe had often driven Jethro's horses, and knew every turn of the way. Andas she gazed at the purple mountain through the haze and drank in thesweet scents of the year's fulness, she was strangely happy. There wasthe village green in the cool evening light, and the flagstaff with itstip silvered by the departing sun. She waved to Rias and Lem and Moses atthe store, but she drove on to the tannery house, and hitched the horseat the rough granite post, and went in, and through the house, softly, tothe kitchen. 

Jethro was standing in the doorway, and did not turn. He may have thoughtshe was Millicent Skinner. Cynthia could see his face. It was older, indeed, and lined and worn, but that fearful look of desolation which shehad once surprised upon it, and which she in that instant feared to see, was not there. Jethro's soul was at peace, though Cynthia could notunderstand why it was so. She stole to him and flung her arms about hisneck, and with a cry he seized her and held her against him for I knownot how long. Had it been possible to have held her there always, hewould never have let her go. At last he looked down into her tear-wetface, into her eyes that were shining with tears. 

"D-done wrong, Cynthy. "

Cynthia did not answer that, for she remembered how she, too, had exultedwhen she had believed him to have accomplished Isaac Worthington'sdownfall. Now that he had failed, and she was in his arms, it was not forher to judge--only to rejoice. 

"Didn't look for you to come back--didn't expect it. "

"Uncle Jethro!" she faltered. Love for her had made him go, and she wouldnot say that, either. 

"D-don't hate me, Cynthy--don't hate me?"

She shook her head. 

"Love me--a little?"

She reached up her hands and brushed back his hair, tenderly, from hisforehead. Such--a loving gesture was her answer. 

"You are going to stay here always, now, " she said, in a low voice, "youare never going away again. "

"G-goin' to stay always, " he answered. Perhaps he was thinking of thehillside clearing in the forest--who knows! "You'll come-sometime, Cynthy--sometime?"

"I'll come every Saturday and Sunday, Uncle Jethro, " she said, smiling upat him. "Saturday is only two days away, now. I can hardly wait. "

"Y-you'll come sometime?"

"Uncle Jethro, do you think I'll be away from you, except--except when Ihave to?"

"C-come and read to me--won't you--come and read?"

"Of course I will!"

"C-call to mind the first book you read to me, Cynthy?"

"It was 'Robinson Crusoe, '" she said. 

"'R-Robinson Crusoe. ' Often thought of that book. Know some of it byheart. R-read it again, sometime, Cynthy?"

She looked up at him a little anxiously. His eyes were on the great hillopposite, across Coniston Water. 

"I will, indeed, Uncle Jethro, if we can find it, " she answered. 

"Guess I can find it, " said Jethro. "R-remember when you saw him makin' aship?"

"Yes, " said Cynthia, "and I had my feet in the pool. "

The book had made a profound impression upon Jethro, partly becauseCynthia had first read it to him, and partly for another reason. Theisolation of Crusoe; depicted by Defoe's genius, had been comparable tohis own isolation, and he had pondered upon it much of late. Yes, andupon a certain part of another book which he had read earlier in life:Napoleon had ended his days on St. Helena. 

They walked out under the trees to the brook-side and stood listening tothe tinkling of the cowbells in the wood lot beyond. The light fadedearly on these September evenings, and the smoky mist had begun to risefrom the water when they turned back again. The kitchen windows werealready growing yellow, and through them the faithful Millicent could beseen bustling about in her preparations for supper. But Cynthia, havingaccomplished her errand, would not go in. She could not have borne tohave any one drive back with her to Brampton then, and she must not belate upon the road. 

"I will come Friday evening, Uncle Jethro, " she said, as she kissed himand gave one last, lingering look at his face. Had it been possible, shewould not have left him, and on her way to Brampton through the gatheringdarkness she mused anxiously upon that strange calmness he had shownafter defeat. 

She drove her horse on to the floor of Mr. Sherman's stable, thatgentleman himself gallantly assisting her to alight, and walked homewardthrough the lane. Ephraim had not yet returned from the postoffice, whichdid not close until eight, and Cynthia smiled when she saw the utensilsof his cooking-kit strewn on the hearth. In her absence he invariablyunpacked and used it, and of course Cynthia at once set herself tocleaning and packing it again. After that she got her own supper--a verysimple affair--and was putting the sitting room to rights when Ephraimcame thumping in. 

"Well, I swan!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "I didn't look for you tocome back so soon, Cynthy. Put up the kit--hev you?" He stood in front ofthe fireplace staring with apparent interest at the place where the kithad been, and added in a voice which he strove to make quite casual, "Howbe Jethro?"

"He looks older, Cousin Eph, " she answered, after a pause, "and I thinkhe is very tired. But he seems he seems more tranquil and contented thanI hoped to find him. "

"I want to know, " said Ephraim. "I am glad to hear it. Glad you went up, Cynthy--you done right to go. 

"I'd have gone with you, if you'd only told me. I'll git a chance to goup Sunday. "

There was an air of repressed excitement about the veteran which did notescape Cynthia. He held two letters in his hand, and, being a postmaster, he knew the handwriting on both. One had come from that place in NewJersey, and drew no comment. But the other! That one had been postmarkedat the capital, and as he had sat at his counter at the post-officewaiting for closing time he bad turned it over and over with manyejaculations and futile guesses. Past master of dissimulation that hewas, he had made up his mind--if he should find Cynthia at home--to laythe letters indifferently on the table and walk into his bedroom. Thiscampaign he now proceeded to carry out. 

Cynthia smiled again when he was gone, and shook her head and picked upthe letters: Bob's was uppermost and she read that first, without athought of the other one. And she smiled as she read for Bob had had apromotion. He was not yet at the head of the locomotive works, hehastened to add, for fear that Cynthia might think that Mr. Broke hadresigned the presidency in his favor; and Cynthia never failed to laughat these little facetious asides. He was now earning the princely sum ofninety dollars a month--not enough to marry on, alas! On Saturday nightshe and Percy Broke scrubbed as much as possible of the grime from theirhands and faces and went to spend Sunday at Elberon, the Broke place onthe Hudson; from whence Miss Sally Broke, if she happened to be at home, always sent Cynthia her love. As Cynthia is still a heroine, I shall notdescribe how she felt about Sally Broke's love. There was plenty of Bob'sown in the letter. Cynthia would got have blamed him if he bad fallen inlove with Miss Broke. It seemed to her little short of miraculous that, amidst such surroundings, he could be true to her. 

After a period which was no briefer than that usually occupied by Bob'sletters, Cynthia took the other one from her lap, and stared at it inmuch perplexity before she tore it open. We have seen its contents overMr. Worthington's shoulder, and our hearts will not stop beating--asCynthia's did. She read it twice before the full meaning of it came toher, and after that she could not well mistake it, --the language being soadmirable in every way. She sat very still for a long while, andpresently she heard Ephraim go out. But Cynthia did not move. Mr. Worthington relented and Bob recalled! The vista of happiness suddenlyopened up, widened and widened until it was too bright for Cynthia'svision, and she would compel her mind to dwell on another prospect, --thatof the father and son reconciled. Although her temples throbbed, shetried to analyze the letter. It implied that Mr. Worthington had allowedBob to remain away on a sort of probation; it implied that it had beendictated by a strong paternal love mingled with a strong paternaljustice. And then there was the appeal to her: "You will look withindulgence upon any acts of mine which sprang from a natural solicitationfor the welfare and happiness of my only child. " A terrible insight istheirs to whom it is given to love as Cynthia loved. 

Suddenly there came a knock which frightened her, for her mind wasrunning on swiftly from point to point: had, indeed, flown as far asConiston by now, and she was thinking of that strange look of peace onJethro's face which had troubled her. One letter she thrust into herdress, but the other she laid aside, and her knees trembled under her asshe rose and went into the entry and raised the latch and opened thedoor. There was a moon, and the figure in the frock coat and the silk hatwas the one which she expected to see. The silk hat came off verypromptly. 

"I hope I am not disturbing you, Miss Wetherell, " said the owner of it. 

"No, " answered Cynthia, faintly. 

"May I come in?"

Cynthia held open the door a little wider, and Mr. Worthington walked in. He seemed very majestic and out of place in the little house whichGabriel Post had built, and he carried into it some of the atmosphere ofthe walnut and high ceilings of his own mansion. His manner of laying hishat, bottom up, on the table, and of unbuttoning his coat, subtlyindicated the honor which he was conferring upon the place. And he eyedCynthia, standing before him in the lamplight, with a modification of thehawk-like look which was meant to be at once condescending andconciliatory. He did not imprint a kiss upon her brow, as someprospective fathers-in-law would have done. But his eyes, perhapsinvoluntarily, paid a tribute to her personal appearance which heightenedher color. She might not, after all, be such a discredit to theWorthington family. 

"Won't you sit down?" she asked. 

"Thank you, Cynthia, " he said; "I hope I may now be allowed to call youCynthia?"

She did not answer him, but sat down herself, and he followed herexample; with his eyes still upon her. 

"You have doubtless received my letter, " began Mr. Worthington. "I onlyarrived in Brampton an hour ago, but I thought it best to come to you atonce, under the circumstances. "

"Yes, " replied Cynthia, "I received the letter. "

"I am glad, " said Mr. Worthington. He was beginning to be a little takenaback by her calmness and her apparent absence of joy. It was scarcelythe way in which a school-teacher should receive the advances of thefirst citizen, come to give a gracious consent to her marriage with hisson. Had he known it, Cynthia was anything but calm. "I am glad, " hesaid, "because I took pains to explain the exact situation in thatletter, and to set forth my own sentiments. I hope you understood them. "

"Yes, I understood them, " said Cynthia, in a low tone. 

This was enigmatical, to say the least. But Mr. Worthington had come withsuch praiseworthy intentions that he was disposed to believe that thegirl was overwhelmed by the good fortune which had suddenly overtakenher. He was therefore disposed to be a little conciliatory. 

"My conduct may have appeared harsh to you, " he continued. "I will notdeny that I opposed the matter at first. Robert was still in college, andhe has a generous, impressionable nature which he inherits from his poormother--the kind of nature likely to commit a rash act which would ruinhis career. I have since become convinced that he has--ahem--inheritedlikewise a determination of purpose and an ability to get on in the worldwhich I confess I had underestimated. My friend, Mr. Broke, has writtenme a letter about him, and tells me that he has already promoted him. "

"Yes, " said Cynthia. 

"You hear from him?" inquired Mr. Worthington, giving her a quick glance. 

"Yes, " said Cynthia, her color rising a little. 

"And yet, " said Mr. Worthington, slowly, "I have been under theimpression that you have persistently refused to marry him. "

"That is true, " she answered. 

"I cannot refrain from complimenting you, Cynthia, upon such rareconduct, " said he. "You will be glad to know that it has contributed morethan anything else toward my estimation of your character, and hasstrengthened me in my resolution that I am now doing right. It may bedifficult for you to understand a father's feelings. The completeseparation from my only son was telling on me severely, and I could notforget that you were the cause of that separation. I knew nothing aboutyou, except--" He hesitated, for she had turned to him. 

"Except what?" she asked. 

Mr. Worthington coughed. Mr. Flint had told him, that very morning, ofher separation from Jethro, and of the reasons which people believed hadcaused it. Unfortunately, we have not time to go into that conversationwith Mr. Flint, who had given a very good account of Cynthia indeed. After all (Mr. Worthington reflected), he had consented to the marriage, and there was no use in bringing Jethro's name into the conversation. Jethro would be forgotten soon. 

"I will not deny to You that I had other plans for my son, " he said. "Ihad hoped that he would marry a daughter of a friend of mine. You must bea little indulgent with parents, Cynthia, " he added with a little smile, "we have our castles in the air, too. Sometimes, as in this case, by awise provision of providence they go astray. I suppose you have heard ofMiss Duncan's marriage. "

"No, " said Cynthia. 

"She ran off with a worthless Italian nobleman. I believe, on the whole, "he said, with what was an extreme complaisance for the first citizen, "that I have reason to congratulate myself upon Robert's choice. I havemade inquiries about you, and I find that I have had the pleasure ofknowing your mother, whom I respected very much. And your father, Iunderstand, came of very good people, and was forced by circumstances toadopt the means of livelihood he did. My attention has been called to theletters he wrote to the Guardian, which I hear have been highly praisedby competent critics, and I have ordered a set of them for the files ofthe library. You yourself, I find, are highly thought of in Brampton" (a, not unimportant factor, by the way); "you have been splendidly educated, and are a lady. In short, Cynthia, I have come to give my formal consentto your engagement to my son Robert. "

"But I am not engaged to him, " said Cynthia. 

"He will be here shortly, I imagine, " said Mr. Worthington. 

Cynthia was trembling more than ever by this time. She was very angry, and she had found it very difficult to repress the things which she hadbeen impelled to speak. She did not hate Isaac Worthington now--shedespised him. He had not dared to mention Jethro, who had been herbenefactor, though he had done his best to have her removed from theschool because of her connection with Jethro. 

"Mr. Worthington, " she said, "I have not yet made up my mind whether Ishall marry your son. "

To say that Mr. Worthington's breath was taken away when he heard thesewords would be to use a mild expression. He doubted his senses. 

"What?" he exclaimed, starting forward, "what do you mean?"

Cynthia hesitated a moment. She was not frightened, but she was trying tochoose her words without passion. 

"I refused to marry him, " she said, "because you withheld your consent, and I did not wish to be the cause of a quarrel between you. It was notdifficult to guess your feelings toward me, even before certain thingsoccurred of which I will not speak. I did my best, from the very first, to make Bob give up the thought of marrying me, although I loved andhonored him. Loving him as I do, I do not want to be the cause ofseparating him from his father, and of depriving him of that which isrightfully his. But something was due to myself. If I should ever make upmy mind to marry him, " continued Cynthia, looking at Mr. Worthingtonsteadfastly, "it will not be because your consent is given or withheld. "

"Do you tell me this to my face?" exclaimed Mr. Worthington, now in arage himself at such unheard-of presumption. 

"To your face, " said Cynthia, who got more self-controlled as he grewangry. "I believe that that consent, which you say you have given freely, was wrung from you. "

It was unfortunate that the first citizen might not always have Mr. Flintby him to restrain and caution him. But Mr. Flint could have no commandover his master's sensations, and anger and apprehension goaded Mr. Worthington to indiscretion. 

"Jethro Bass told you this!" he cried out. 

"No, " Cynthia answered, not in the least surprised by the admission, "hedid not tell me--but he will if I ask him. I guessed it from your letter. I heard that he had come back to-day, and I went to Coniston to see him, and he told me--he had been defeated. "

Tears came into her eyes at the remembrance of the scene in the tanneryhouse that afternoon, and she knew now why Jethro's face had worn thatlook of peace. He had made his supreme sacrifice--for her. No, he hadtold her nothing, and she might never have known. She sat thinking of themagnitude of this thing Jethro had done, and she ceased to speak, and thetears coursed down her cheeks unheeded. 

Isaac Worthington had a habit of clutching things when he was in a rage, and now he clutched the arms of the chair. He had grown white. He wasfurious with her, furious with himself for having spoken that which mightbe construed into a confession. He had not finished writing the lettersbefore he had stood self-justified, and he had been self-justified eversince. Where now were these arguments so wonderfully plausible? Wherewere the refutations which he had made ready in case of a barely possibleneed? He had gone into the Pelican House intending to tell Jethro of hisdetermination to agree to the marriage. That was one. He had doneso--that was another--and he had written the letters that Jethro might beconvinced of his good will. There were still more, involving Jethro'scharacter for veracity and other things. Summoning these, he waited forCynthia to have done speaking, but when she had finished--he saidnothing. He looked a her, and saw the tears on her face, and he saw thatshe had completely forgotten his presence. 

For the life of him, Isaac Worthington could not utter a word. He was aman, as we know, who did not talk idly, and he knew that Cynthia wouldnot hear what he said; and arguments and denunciations lose their effectwhen repeated. Again, he knew that she would not believe him. Never inhis life had Isaac Worthington been so ignored, so put to shame, as bythis school-teacher of Brampton. Before, self-esteem and sophistry hadalways carried him off between them; sometimes, in truth, with awound--the wound had always healed. But he had a feeling, to-night, thatthis woman had glanced into his soul, and had turned away from it. As helooked at her the texture of his anger changed; he forgot for the firsttime that which he had been pleased to think of as her position in life, and he feared her. He had matched his spirit against hers. 

Before long the situation became intolerable to him, for Cynthia stillsat silent. She was thinking of how she had blamed Jethro for going backto that life, even though his love for her had made him do it. But IsaacWorthington did not know of what she was thinking--he thought only ofhimself and his predicament. He could not remain, and yet he could notgo--with dignity. He who had come to bestow could not depart like awhipped dog. 

Suddenly a fear transfixed him: suppose that this woman, from whom hecould not hide the truth, should tell his son what he had done. Bob wouldbelieve her. Could he, Isaac Worthington, humble his pride and ask her tokeep her suspicions to herself? He would then be acknowledging that theywere more than suspicions. If he did so, he would have to appear toforgive her in spite of what she had said to him. And Bob was cominghome. Could he tell Bob that he had changed his mind and withdrawn hisconsent to the marriage? There world be the reason, and again Bob wouldbelieve her. And again, if he withdrew his consent, there was Jethro toreckon with. Jethro must have a weapon still, Mr. Worthington thought, although he could not imagine what it might be. As Isaac Worthington satthere, thinking, it grew clear, to him at last that there was but oneexit out of a, very desperate situation. 

He glanced at Cynthia again, this time appraisingly. She had dried hereyes, but she made no effort to speak. After all, she would make such awife for his son as few men possessed. He thought of Sarah Hollingsworth. She had been a good woman, but there had been many times when he haddeplored--especially in his travels the lack of other qualities in hiswife. Cynthia, he thought, had these qualities, --so necessary for thewife of one who would succeed to power--though whence she had got themIsaac Worthington could not imagine. She would become a personage; shewas a woman of whom they had no need to be ashamed at home or abroad. Having completed these reflections, he broke the silence. 

"I am sorry that you should have been misled into thinking such a thingas you have expressed, Cynthia, " he said, "but I believe that I canunderstand something of the feelings which prompted you. It is naturalthat you should have a resentment against me after everything that hashappened. It is perhaps natural, too, that I should lose my temper underthe circumstances. Let us forget it. And I trust that in the future weshall grow into the mutual respect and affection which our nearerrelationship will demand. "

He rose, and took up his hat, and Cynthia rose too. There was somethingvery fine, he thought, about her carriage and expression as she stood infront of him. 

"There is my hand, " he said, --"will you take it?"

"I will take it, " Cynthia answered, "because you are Bob's father. "

And then Mr. Worthington went away. 

CHAPTER XX

I am able to cite one notable instance, at least, to disprove the sayinga part of which is written above, and I have yet to hear of a case inwhich a gentleman ever hesitated a single instant on account of the firstletter of a lady's last name. I know, indeed, of an occasion whenlocomotives could not go fast enough, when thirty miles an hour seemed asnail's pace to a young main who sat by the open window of a train thatcrept northward on a certain hazy September morning up the beautifulvalley of a broad river which we know. 

It was after three o'clock before he caught sight of the familiar crestof Farewell Mountain, and the train ran into Harwich. How glad he was tosee everybody there, whether he knew them or not! He came near huggingthe conductor of the Truro accommodation; who, needless to say, did notask him for a ticket, or even a pass. And then the young man went forwardand almost shook the arms off of the engineer and the fireman, andclimbed into the cab, and actually drove the engine himself as far asBrampton, where it arrived somewhat ahead of schedule, having taken someof the curves and bridges at a speed a little beyond the law. Theengineer was richer by five dollars, and the son of a railroad presidentis a privileged character, anyway. 

Yes, here was Brampton, and in spite of the haze the sun had never shoneso brightly on the terraced steeple of the meeting-house. He leaped outof the cab almost before the engine had stopped, and beamed uponeverybody on the platform, --even upon Mr. Dodd, who chanced to be there. In a twinkling the young man is in Mr. Sherman's hack, and Mr. Shermangalloping his horse down Brampton Street, the young man with his head outof the window, smiling; grinning would be a better word. Here are theiron mastiffs, and they seem to be grinning, too. The young man flingsopen the carriage door and leaps out, and the door is almost broken fromits hinges by the maple tree. He rushes up the steps and through thehall, and into the library, where the first citizen and his seneschal aresitting. 

"Hello, Father, you see I didn't waste any time, " he cried; grasping hisfather's hand in a grip that made Mr. Worthington wince. "Well, you are atrump, after all. We're both a little hot-headed, I guess, and do thingswe're sorry for, --but that's all over now, isn't it? I'm sorry. I mighthave known you'd come round when you found out for yourself what kind ofa girl Cynthia was. Did you ever see anybody like her?"

Mr. Flint turned his back, and started to walk out of the room. 

"Don't go, Flint, old boy, " Bob called out, seizing Mr. Flint's hand, too. "I can't stay but a minute, now. How are you?"

"All right, Bob, " answered Mr. Flint, with a curious, kindly look in hiseyes that was not often there. "I'm glad to see you home. I have to go tothe bank. "

"Well, Father, " said Bob, "school must be out, and I imagine you knowwhere I'm going. I just thought I'd stop in to--to thank you, and get abenediction. "

"I am very happy to have you back, Robert, " replied Mr. Worthington, andit was true. It would have been strange indeed if some tremor ofsentiment had not been in his voice and some gleam of pride in his eye ashe looked upon his son. 

"So you saw her, and couldn't resist her, " said Bob. "Wasn't that how ithappened?"

Mr. Worthington sat down again at the desk, and his hand began to strayamong the papers. He was thinking of Mr. Flint's exit. 

"I do not arrive at my decisions quite in that way, Robert, " he answered. 

"But you have seen her?"

"Yes, I have seen her. "

There was a hesitation, an uneasiness in his father's tone for which Bobcould not account, and which he attributed to emotion. He did not guessthat this hour of supreme joy could hold for Isaac Worthington anothersensation. 

"Isn't she the finest girl in the world?" he demanded. "How does sheseem? How does she look?"

"She looks extremely well, " said Mr. Worthington, who had now schooledhis voice. "In fact, I am quite ready to admit that Cynthia Wetherellpossesses the qualifications necessary for your wife. If she had not, Ishould never have written you. "

Bob walked to the window. 

"Father;" he said, speaking with a little difficulty, "I can't tell youhow much I appreciate your--your coming round. I wanted to do the rightthing, but I just couldn't give up such a girl as that. "

"We shall let bygones be bygones, Robert, " answered Mr. Worthington, clearing his throat. 

"She never would have me without your consent. By the way, " he cried, turning suddenly, "did she say she'd have me now?"

"I believe, " said Mr. Worthington, clearing his throat again, "I believeshe reserved her decision. "

"I must be off, " said Bob, "she goes to Coniston on Fridays. I'll driveher out. Good-by, Father. "

He flew out of the room, ran into Mrs. Holden, whom he astonished bysaluting on the cheek, and astonished even more by asking her to tellSilas to drive his black horses to Gabriel Post's house--as the cottagewas still known in Brampton. And having hastily removed some of thecinders, he flew out of the door and reached the park-like space in themiddle of Brampton Street. Then he tried to walk decorously, but it washard work. What if she should not be in?

The door and windows of the little house were open that balmy afternoon, and the bees were buzzing among the flowers which Cynthia had planted oneither side of the step. Bob went up the path, and caught a glimpse ofher through the entry standing in the sitting room. She was, indeed, waiting for the Coniston stage, and she did not see him. Shall I destroythe mental image of the reader who has known her so long by trying totell what she looked like? Some heroines grow thin and worn by thetroubles which they are forced to go through. Cynthia was not this kindof a heroine. She was neither tall nor short, and the dark blue gownwhich she wore set off (so Bob thought) the curves of her figure toperfection. Her face had become a little more grave--yes, and more noble;and the eyes and mouth had an indescribable, womanly sweetness. 

He stood for a moment outside the doorway gazing at her; hesitating todesecrate that revery, which seemed to him to have a touch of sadness init. And then she turned her head, slowly, and saw him, and her lipsparted, and a startled look came into her eyes, but she did not move. Hecame quickly into the room and stopped again, quivering from head to footwith the passion which the sight of her never failed to unloose withinhim. Still she did not speak, but her lip trembled, and the love leapingin his eyes kindled a yearning in hers, --a yearning she was powerless toresist. He may by that strange power have drawn her toward him--he neverknew. Neither of them could have given evidence on that marvellousinstant when the current bridged the space between them. He could not saywhether this woman whom he had seized by force before had shown alikevitality in her surrender. He only knew that her arms were woven abouthis neck, and that the kiss of which he had dreamed was again on hislips, and that he felt once more her wonderful, supple body pressedagainst his, and her heart beating, and her breast heaving. And he knewthat the strength of the love in her which he had gained was beyondestimation. 

Thus for a time they swung together in ethereal space, breathless withthe motion of their flight. The duration of such moments is--inwords--limitless. Now he held her against him, and again he held her awaythat his eyes might feast upon hers until she dropped her lashes and thecrimson tide flooded into her face and she hid it again in the refuge shehad longed for, --murmuring his name. But at last, startled by some soundwithout and so brought back to earth, she led him gently to the window atthe side and looked up at him searchingly. He was tanned no longer. 

"I was afraid you had been working too hard, " she said. 

"So you do love me?" was Bob's answer to this remark. 

Cynthia smiled at him with her eyes: gravely, if such a thing may be saidof a smile. 

"Bob, how can you ask?"

"Oh, Cynthia, " he cried, "if you knew what I have been through, youwouldn't have held out, I know it. I began to think I should never haveyou. "

"But you have me now, " she said, and was silent. 

"Why do you look like that?" he asked. 

She smiled up at him again. 

"I, too, have suffered, Bob, " she said. "And I have thought of you nightand day. "

"God bless you, sweetheart, " he cried, and kissed her again, --many times. "It's all right now, isn't it? I knew my father would give his consentwhen he found out what you were. "

The expression of pain which had troubled him crossed her face again, andshe put her hand on his shoulder. 

"Listen, dearest, " she said, "I love you. I am doing this for you. Youmust understand that. "

"Why, yes, Cynthia, I understand it--of course I do, " he answered, perplexed. "I understand it, but I don't deserve it. "

"I want you to know, " she continued in a low voice, "that I should havemarried you anyway. I--I could not have helped it. "

"Cynthia!"

"If you were to go back to the locomotive works' tomorrow, I would marryyou. "

"On ninety dollars a month?" exclaimed Bob. 

"If you wanted me, " she said. 

"Wanted you! I could live in a log cabin with you the rest of my life. "

She drew down his face to hers, and kissed him. 

"But I wished you to be reconciled with your father, " she said; "I couldnot bear to come between you. You--you are reconciled, aren't you?"

"Indeed, we are, " he said. 

"I am glad, Bob, " she answered simply. "I should not have been happy if Ihad driven you away from the place where you should be, which is yourhome. "

"Wherever you are will be my home; sweetheart, " he said, and pressed herto him once more. 

At length, looking past his shoulder into the street, she saw LemHallowell pulling up the Brampton stage before the door. 

"Bob, " she said, "I must go to Coniston and see Uncle Jethro. I promisedhim. "

Bob's answer was to walk into the entry, where he stood waving the mostjoyous of greetings at the surprised stage driver. 

"I guess you won't get anybody here, Lem, " he called out. 

"But, Bob, " protested Cynthia, from within, afraid to show her face justthen, "I have to go, I promised. And--and I want to go, " she added whenhe turned. 

"I'm running a stage to Coniston to-day myself, Lem, " said he "and I'mgoing to steal your best passenger. "

Lemuel immediately flung down his reins and jumped out of the stage andcame up the path and into the entry, where he stood confronting Cynthia. 

"Hev you took him, Cynthy?" he demanded. 

"Yes, Lem, " she answered, "won't you congratulate me?"

The warm-hearted stage driver did congratulate her in a most unmistakablemanner. 

"I think a sight of her, Bob, " he said after he had shaken both of Bob'shands and brushed his own eyes with his coat sleeve. "I've knowed her solong--" Whereupon utterance failed him, and he ran down the path andjumped into his stage again and drove off. 

And then Cynthia sent Bob on an errand--not a very long one, and while hewas gone, she sat down at the table and tried to realize her happiness, and failed. In less than ten minutes Bob had come back with CousinEphraim, as fast as he could hobble. He flung his arms around her, stickand all, and he was crying. It is a fact that old soldiers sometimes cry. But his tears did not choke his utterance. 

"Great Tecumseh!" said Cousin Ephraim, "so you've went and done it, Cynthy. Siege got a little mite too hot. I callated she'd capitulate inthe end, but she held out uncommon long. "

"That she did, " exclaimed Bob, feelingly. 

"I--I was tellin' Bob I hain't got nothin' against him, " continuedEphraim. 

"Oh, Cousin Eph, " said Cynthia, laughing in spite of herself, andglancing at Bob, "is that all you can say?"

"Cousin Eph's all right, " said Bob, laughing too. "We understand eachother. "

"Callate we do, " answered Ephraim. "I'll go so far as to say there hain'tnobody I'd ruther see you marry. Guess I'll hev to go back to the kit, now. What's to become of the old pensioner, Cynthy?"

"The old pensioner needn't worry, " said Cynthia. 

Then drove up Silas the Silent, with Bob's buggy and his black trotters. All of Brampton might see them now; and all of Brampton did see them. Silas got out, --his presence not being required, --and Cynthia was helpedin, and Bob got in beside her, and away they went, leaving Ephraim wavinghis stick after them from the doorstep. 

It is recorded against the black trotters that they made very poor timeto Coniston that day, though I cannot discover that either of them waslame. Lem Hallowell, who was there nearly an hour ahead of them, declaresthat the off horse had a bunch of branches in his mouth. Perhaps Bob heldthem in on account of the scenery that September afternoon. Incomparablescenery! I doubt if two lovers of the renaissance ever wandered through amore wondrous realm of pleasance--to quote the words of the poet. Spotsin it are like a park, laid out by that peerless landscape gardener, nature: dark, symmetrical pine trees on the sward, and maples in thefulness of their leaf, and great oaks on the hillsides, and, coppices;and beyond, the mountain, the evergreens massed like cloud-shadows on itsslopes; and all-trees and coppice and mountain--flattened by the hazeuntil they seemed woven in the softest of blues and blue greens into oneexquisite picture of an ancient tapestry. I, myself, have seen thesepictures in that country, and marvelled. 

So they drove on through that realm, which was to be their realm, andcame all too soon to Coniston green. Lem Hallowell had spread thewell-nigh incredible news, that Cynthia Wetherell was to marry the son ofthe mill-owner and railroad president of Brampton, and it seemed toCynthia that every man and woman and child of the village was gathered atthe store. Although she loved them, every one, she whispered something toBob when she caught sight of that group on the platform, and he spoke tothe trotters. Thus it happened that they flew by, and were at the tanneryhouse before they knew it; and Cynthia, all unaided, sprang out of thebuggy and ran in, alone. She found Jethro sitting outside of the kitchendoor with a volume on his knee, and she saw that the print of it waslarge, and she knew that the book was "Robinson Crusoe. "

Cynthia knelt down on the grass beside him and caught his hands in hers. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she said, "I am going to marry Bob Worthington. "

"Yes, Cynthy, " he answered. And taking the initiative for the first timein his life, he stooped down and kissed her. 

"I knew--you would be happy--in my happiness, " she said, the tearsbrimming in her eyes. 

"N-never have been so happy, Cynthy, --never have. "

"Uncle Jethro, I never will desert you. I shall always take care of you. "

"R-read to me sometimes, Cynthy--r-read to me?"

But she could not answer him. She was sobbing on the pages of that bookhe had given her--long ago. 

I like to dwell on happiness, and I am reluctant to leave these peoplewhom I have grown to love. Jethro Bass lived to take Cynthia's childrendown by the brook and to show them the pictures, at least, in thatwonderful edition of "Robinson Crusoe. " He would never depart from thetannery house, but Cynthia went to him there, many times a week. There isa spot not far from the Coniston road, and five miles distant alike fromBrampton and Coniston, where Bob Worthington built his house, and wherehe and Cynthia dwelt many years; and they go there to this day, in thesummer-time. It stands in the midst of broad lands, and the ground infront of it slopes down to Coniston Water, artificially widened here by astone dam into a little lake. From the balcony of the summer-house whichoverhangs the lake there is a wonderful view of Coniston Mountain, andCynthia Worthington often sits there with her sewing or her book, listening to the laughter of her children, and thinking, sometimes, ofbygone days. 

AFTERWORD

The reality of the foregoing pages has to the author, at least, become sovivid that he regrets the necessity of having to add an afterword. Everynovel is, to some extent, a compound of truth and fiction, and he hasdone his best to picture conditions as they were, and to make the spiritof his book true. Certain people who were living in St. Louis during theCivil War have been mentioned as the originals of characters in "TheCrisis, " and there are houses in that city which have been pointed out asfitting descriptions in that novel. An author has, frequently, people, houses, and localities in mind when he writes; but he changes them, sometimes very materially, in the process of literary construction. 

It is inevitable, perhaps, that many people of a certain New Englandstate will recognize Jethro Bass. There are different opinions extantconcerning the remarkable original of this character; ardent defendersand detractors of his are still living, but all agree that he was astrange man of great power. The author disclaims any intention of writinga biography of him. Some of the things set down in this book he did, andothers he did not do. Some of the anecdotes here related concerning himare, in the main, true, and for this material the author acknowledges hisindebtedness particularly to Colonel Thomas B. Cheney of Ashland, NewHampshire, and to other friends who have helped him. Jethro Bass wastypical of his Era, and it is of the Era that this book attempts totreat. 

Concerning the locality where Jethro Bass was born and lived, it will andwill not be recognized. It would have been the extreme of bad taste tohave put into these pages any portraits which might have offendedfamilies or individuals, and in order that it may be known that theauthor has not done so he has written this Afterword. Nor has heparticularly chosen for the field of this novel a state of which he is acitizen, and for which he has a sincere affection. The conditions heredepicted, while retaining the characteristics of the locality, hebelieves to be typical of the Era over a large part of the United States. 

Many of the Puritans who came to New England were impelled to emigratefrom the old country, no doubt, by an aversion to pulling the forelock aswell as by religious principles, and the spirit of these men prevailedfor a certain time after the Revolution was fought. Such men lived andruled in Coniston before the rise of Jethro Bass. 

Self-examination is necessary for the moral health of nations as well asmen, and it is the most hopeful of signs that in the United States we areto-day going through a period of self-examination. 

We shall do well to ascertain the causes which have led us gradually tostray from the political principles laid down by our forefathers for allthe world to see. Some of us do not even know what those principles were. I have met many intelligent men, in different states of the Union, whocould not even repeat the names of the senators who sat for them inCongress. Macaulay said, in 1852, "We now know, by the clearest of allproof, that universal suffrage, even united with secret voting, is nosecurity, against the establishment of arbitrary power. " To quote JamesRussell Lowell, writing a little later: "We have begun obscurely torecognize that . . . Popular government is not in itself a panacea, is nobetter than any other form except as the virtue and wisdom of the peoplemake it so. "

As Americans, we cannot but believe that our political creed goes down inits foundations to the solid rock of truth. One of the best reasons forour belief lies in the fact that, since 1776, government after governmenthas imitated our example. We have, by our very existence and rise topower, made any decided retrogression from these doctrines impossible. Somany people have tried to rule themselves, and are still trying, that onebegins to believe that the time is not far distant when the UnitedStates, once the most radical, will become the most conservative ofnations. 

Thus the duty rests to-day, more heavily than ever, upon each Americancitizen to make good to the world those principles upon which hisgovernment was built. To use a figure suggested by the calamity which haslately befallen one of the most beloved of our cities, there is a theorythat earthquakes are caused by a necessary movement on the part of theglobe to regain its axis. Whether or not the theory be true, it has itspolitical application. In America to-day we are trying--whatever thecost--to regain the true axis established for us by the founders of ourRepublic. 

HARLAKENDEN HOUSE, May 7, 1906.