, and gained, and
paid the price without a murmur, seeking no palliation. Cynthia had not
come to that trial--so bitter for her--as a judge. If the reader has
seen youth and innocence sitting in the seat of justice, with age and
experience at the bar, he has mistaken Cynthia. She came to Coniston
inexorable, it is true, because hers was a nature impelled to do right
though it perish. She did not presume to say what Jethro's lights and
opportunities might have been. Her own she knew, and by them she must
act accordingly.

When he had finished speaking, she stole silently to his side and
slipped her 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
expect it, Cynthy, I know you can't--'twouldn't be right, Cynthy. I
hain't fit for it."

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

Oh, how welcome were the tears! and how human! He turned, pitifully
incredulous, 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
increased as it had been by the knowledge of losing her, changed in
texture from homage to worship--nay, to adoration. His punishment would
still be heavy; 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 and
strange reverence in his face. He was not worthy to touch her, but still
she loved him.

The flush had faded from the eastern sky, and the faintest border of
yellow light betrayed the ragged outlines of the mountain as they walked
together 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
of life to pay deference or do honor to no human made of mere dust, like
herself. Millicent's exception; if Cynthia had thought about it, was a
tribute of no mean order. Cynthia, alas, did not think about it: she
did not know that, in her absence, the fire had not been lighted in the
evening, Jethro supping on crackers and milk and Mill