. Cynthia would got have blamed him if he bad fallen in
love 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's
letters, Cynthia took the other one from her lap, and stared at it in
much perplexity before she tore it open. We have seen its contents over
Mr. Worthington's shoulder, and our hearts will not stop beating--as
Cynthia's did. She read it twice before the full meaning of it came to
her, and after that she could not well mistake it,--the language being so
admirable in every way. She sat very still for a long while, and
presently she heard Ephraim go out. But Cynthia did not move. Mr.
Worthington relented and Bob recalled! The vista of happiness suddenly
opened up, widened and widened until it was too bright for Cynthia's
vision, and she would compel her mind to dwell on another prospect,--that
of the father and son reconciled. Although her temples throbbed, she
tried to analyze the letter. It implied that Mr. Worthington had allowed
Bob to remain away on a sort of probation; it implied that it had been
dictated by a strong paternal love mingled with a strong paternal
justice. And then there was the appeal to her: "You will look with
indulgence upon any acts of mine which sprang from a natural solicitation
for the welfare and happiness of my only child." A terrible insight is
theirs to whom it is given to love as Cynthia loved.

Suddenly there came a knock which frightened her, for her mind was
running on swiftly from point to point: had, indeed, flown as far as
Coniston by now, and she was thinking of that strange look of peace on
Jethro's face which had troubled her. One letter she thrust into her
dress, but the other she laid aside, and her knees trembled under her as
she rose and went into the entry and raised the latch and opened the
door. There was a moon, and the figure in the frock coat and the silk hat
was the one which she expected to see. The silk hat came off very
promptly.

"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 which
Gabriel Post had built, and he carried into it some of the atmosphere of
the walnut and high ceilings of his own mansion. Hi