do in the world if I had
married. But I have often wondered whether that work was worth the while.
Such a feeling must come over all workers, occasionally. Yes," said Miss
Lucretia, "there have been times when I have been sorry, my dear, though
I have never confessed it to another soul. I am telling you this for your
own good--not mine. If you have the love of a good man, Cynthia, be
careful 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 have
married him, it would have been easier."

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

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

"Isaac Worthington's son?"

"Yes."

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

"Is he a good man?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," said Miss Lucretia, "and you may thank your stars he didn't
succeed. I mistrusted him when he was a young man, and now I know that he
hasn'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 say
that I have been right. My own conscience tells me that it is wrong to
deprive 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 is
scarcely too short to test a man, and you are both young."

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

Miss Lucretia kissed her.

"You