t man once more-a greater man than ever; and he had, if the persistent rumors were true, accomplished an almost incomprehensible feat, even for Jethro Bass. There was another reason, t

a simple meal-that was all; and fewer had gained ent

ween the orange sky and the orange river, 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 on Coniston Mountain that swings in limitless space, from either end of which a man may step off into eternity. William Wetherell, in one of his l

s in the tannery house-for they were the events of his life now. The triumphs over his opponents and enemies fell away, and t

to her trouble and her sorrow? She had confessed that she loved Isaac Worthington's son, and was not he (Jethro) widening the breach between Cynthia and the son by crushing the father? Jethro had not thought of this. But he had thought of her, night and day, as he had sat in his room directing the battle. Not a day had passed

he river bank toward the little city twinkling on its hill. He crossed the hooded bridge and climbed the slope, stopping for a moment at a little stationery shop; he passed through the groups which were still loudly discuss

lank paper before him. Then he wrote, and sealed the letter-which contained three lines-and pulled the bell cord. The call was answered by a messenger who had been far many years in the service of the Pelican House,

n and give it to him

Mr.

find him, br

the half-hour and midnight, and the noises in the house-the banging of doors and the jangling of keys and the hurrying of feet in the corridors-were hushed. Jethro took no thought of these or of time, and sat gazing at the stars in the depths of the sky above the capital dome

nd nodded his head towar

ed much for which he had labored a life to gain, had told on him, and there were crow's-feet at the corners of, his eyes, and dark circles under them. Isaac Worthington had never lost before, and to destroy the fruits of such a man's ambition is to destroy the man. He was not as yo

ethro Bass took his seat by the window, and remained

me," said Mr. Wor

d, almost im

I suppose you are ready to sell out." He fou

Jethro, "r-rea

room when the gas was low, afraid. Although he would not confess it to himself, he had been in fear of Jethro Bass all his life, and his fear had been greater than ever since

ot to sell?" he

, or you wouldn't

e I that you ha

d at him for

ord," h

to surround this transaction filled him with a nameless dread. The man in the window had been his lifelong enemy: more than this, Jethro Bass, was not like ordinary men-his ways were enshrouded

nd bitterly he wished he had taken Mr. Flint's advice many months before. Denunciation sprang to his lips which he dared n

do you wan

hro looke

ce you can pay

our mind what you want.

up my mind,

Mr. Worthington, "and I

you can pay," s

s nerves could s

hings that belong to other people, and sell them out. I am here to buy. Nothing but necessity brings me here, and nothing but necessity will keep me he

thro did not

e now,"

bill becomes a law. Then I

m, twice, and got his fingers on the brim of his hat, but he did not pick it up. He stood so for a while, knowing full well that if he we

a check, do you?

n't want

I haven't got twenty thousand d

ac Worthington

down-out of sheer as

ation-don't you? Wan

stood over him now, looking down at him

y Wetherell

d been real. The pound of flesh was to be demanded, but st

son," he answered, for his pride

you know

ept that she had intrigued to marry his son. Bob's letter had described her, to be sure, but he could not be expected to believe that: and he had not heard Miss

ing against he

on leaned bac

erell has to do with the pr

e prudential committee had

to act as th

dd to dismiss h

owledge in Brampton, having le

discuss this," sa

n't if I

do you

Levi Dodd to dismi

ngton had lost in self-est

st? Wahn't she capabl

ng against Miss Wetherell's cha

ch-wahn't she

s since qualified

n't fit to marry

from his chair. He grew white to his lips with an

e is not ruinous. Let us confine ourselves to that. My affairs and my son's affairs are n

ney will

ha

e." There was yet room for Isaac Worthington to be ama

price?" he a

my price,"

left not to walk out of the door. But presently habit asserted itself in him, too, and he began to reflect and calculate in spite of his anger. It is strange that memory plays so small a part in such a man. Before he allowed his min

for it was a revelation. For this girl's sake Jethro was willing to forego his revenge, was willing at the end o

he had quarrelled with his son, and driven him away, and threatened disinheritance. The price was indeed heavy-the heaviest he could pay. But the alternative-was not that heavier? To relinquish his dream of power

ttle. A terrible war, that, between ambition and pride-a war to the knife. The issue may ye

e marry him wit

eye is an incomparable weapon, and armed men have been cowed by those who p

understand if I was

ndow again, perhaps to compose h

consent to this marriage, we are to have Bixby and the govern

id Jethro, taking

to be given when th

ow. T-to

n as far as the door, and sudden

I con

ded toward

paper ther

me to do?" demande

-write to Cynth

te the letters to-morrow morning." It was intolerable that he, the f

now. W-want

hey will be written and sent

Jethro; "sit down

r. Worthington picked up the pen. The clock struck two as he wrote the date, as though to 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, and his rage came on again like a gust of wind, and he felt that he would rather beg in the streets than write

was to write first: to his son, who had defied him and who (the father knew in his heart) condemned him? or to the schoolteacher, who was responsible for all his misery; who-Mr. Worthington believed-had taken advantage of his son's youth by feminine wiles of no mean order so as to gain possession of him. I can

persistently refused to accept him because I have withheld that consent, and I take this opportunity of expressing my admiration of this praiseworthy resolution on your part." (If this be irony, it is sublime! Perhaps Isaac Worthington has a little of the artist in him, and now that he is in the heat of creation has forgotten the circumstances under which he is composing.) "My son's happiness and career in life are of such moment to me that, until the present, I could not give my sanction to what I at first regarded as a youthful fancy. Now that, my son, for your sake, has shown his

r, and I doubt whether Talleyrand or Napoleon or even Machiavelli himself could have surpassed it. The second letter, now that Mr. Worthington had got into the swing, was more easily written. "My dear Robert" (it said), "I have made up my mind to give my consent to your marriage to Miss Wetherell, and I am ready to welcome you home, where I trust I s

and generous action: into believing that in the course of a very few days-or weeks, at the most, he would have recalled his erring son and have given Cynthia his blessing. He would, he told himself, have been forced eventually to yield when that paragon of inflexibility, Bob, dictated terms to him at the head of the locomotive works. Better let the generosity be on his (Mr. Worthington's) side. At all events, victory had

le. I would that I had a pen able to describe Jethro's sensations when he read them. Unfortunately, he is a man with few facial expressions. But I believe that he was art

r once, in a little well-deserved praise. "Hain't underdone it, and hain't overdone it a mite h

n those letters I have merely anticipated a very little my intentions in the matter. My so

do it anyw

so dete

you was high-min

int of giving a tart reply to

e matter as settled?" he

to becom

pped him with a word. He had no facial expressions, but he had an eye, as we have seen-an eye that for the second ti

went back to his chair by the window, but it is to be recorded th

that you are talki

nswered Jethro

e men he had ruled, of the victories he had gained from that place which would know him no more. He had won the last and the greatest of his victories there, compared to which the others had indeed been as vanities. Perhaps he looked back over the highway of h

found Mr. Duncan in that room with Somers, his son, who had just returned from a seaside place, and they were discussing a very grave event. Miss Janet Duncan had that day eloped with a gentleman who-to judge from t