, and broken, and gone to Coniston. Resolution
came to her as she walked. Arriving home, she wrote a little note and
left it on the table for Ephraim; and going out again, ran by the back
lane to Mr. Sherman's livery stable behind the Brampton House, and in
half an hour was driving along that familiar road to Coniston, alone; for
she had often driven Jethro's horses, and knew every turn of the way. And
as she gazed at the purple mountain through the haze and drank in the
sweet scents of the year's fulness, she was strangely happy. There was
the village green in the cool evening light, and the flagstaff with its
tip silvered by the departing sun. She waved to Rias and Lem and Moses at
the store, but she drove on to the tannery house, and hitched the horse
at the rough granite post, and went in, and through the house, softly, to
the kitchen.

Jethro was standing in the doorway, and did not turn. He may have thought
she was Millicent Skinner. Cynthia could see his face. It was older,
indeed, and lined and worn, but that fearful look of desolation which she
had once surprised upon it, and which she in that instant feared to see,
was not there. Jethro's soul was at peace, though Cynthia could not
understand why it was so. She stole to him and flung her arms about his
neck, and with a cry he seized her and held her against him for I know
not how long. Had it been possible to have held her there always, he
would never have let her go. At last he looked down into her tear-wet
face, into her eyes that were shining with tears.

"D-done wrong, Cynthy."

Cynthia did not answer that, for she remembered how she, too, had exulted
when she had believed him to have accomplished Isaac Worthington's
downfall. Now that he had failed, and she was in his arms, it was not for
her to judge--only to rejoice.

"Didn't look for you to come back--didn't expect it."

"Uncle Jethro!" she faltered. Love for her had made him go, and she would
not say that, either.

"D-don't hate me, Cynthy--don't hate me?"

She shook her head.

"Love me--a little?"

She reached up her hands and brushed back his hair, tenderly, from his
forehead. Such--a loving gesture was her answer.

"You are going to stay here always, now," she said, in a low voice, "you
are never going away again."

"G-goin' to stay always," he answered. Perhaps he was thinking of the
hillside clearing in the forest--who knows! "You'll come-sometime,
Cynthy--sometime?"

"I'll come e