forth on a printed page, and
this letter is one of those things. Try as she would, she could not find
it in her heart at such a time to destroy his hope,--or her own. The hope
which she would not acknowledge, and the love which she strove to conceal
from him seeped up between the words of her letter like water through
grains of sand. Words, indeed, are but as grains of sand to conceal
strong feelings, and as Cynthia read the letter over she felt that every
line betrayed her, and knew that she could compose no lines which would
not.

She said nothing of the summons which she had received that morning, or
of her answer; and her account of the matter of the dismissal and
reinstatement was brief and dignified, and contained no mention of Mr.
Worthington's name or agency. It was her duty, too, to rebuke Bob for the
quarrel with his father, to point out the folly of it, and the wrong, and
to urge him as strongly as she could to retract, though she felt that all
this was useless. And then--then came the betrayal of hope. She could not
ask him never to see her again, but she did beseech him for her sake, and
for the sake of that love which he had declared, not to attempt to see
her: not for a year, she wrote, though the word looked to her like
eternity. Her reasons, aside from her own scruples, were so obvious,
while she taught in Brampton, that she felt that he would consent to
banishment--until the summer holidays in July, at least: and then she
would be in Coniston,--and would have had time to decide upon future
steps. A reprieve was all she craved,--a reprieve in which to reflect,
for she was in no condition to reflect now. Of one thing she was sure,
that it would not be right at this time to encourage him although she had
a guilty feeling that the letter had given him encouragement in spite of
all the prohibitions it contained. "If, in the future years," thought
Cynthia, as she sealed the envelope, "he persists in his determination,
what then?" You, Miss Lucretia, of all people in the world, have planted
the seeds with your talk about Genesis!

The letter was signed "One who will always remain your friend, Cynthia
Wetherell." And she posted it herself.

When Ephraim came home to supper that evening, he brought the Brampton
Clarion, just out, and in it was an account of Miss Lucretia Penniman's
speech at the mass meeting, and of her visit, and of her career. It was
written in Mr. Page's best vein, and so laudatory was it