power? By crushing him, had he not added 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 that he had not looked for a letter, hoping against
hope. If she had written to him once, if she had come to him once, would
he have desisted? He could not say--the fires of hatred had burned so
fiercely, and still burned so fiercely, that he clenched his fists when
it 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 he
rose up and took from his coat a silver locket and opened it and held it
to the fading light. Presently he closed it again, and walked slowly
along the 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 discussing this thing he had done, and gained his room and locked
the door. Men came to it and knocked and got no answer. The room was in
darkness, and the night breeze stirred among the trees in the park and
blew 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, though
not without a struggle; and he sat for a long while looking at the blank
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, and who knew many secrets of the gods. The man actually grew pale
when he saw the address on the envelope which was put in his hand and
read the denomination of the crisp note under it that was the price of
silence.

"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 his
chair 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 clock
boomed out eleven solemn strokes. Twice the clock struck again, at the
half-hour and midnight, a