of opportunity. Such was Jethro's torment that morning as he saw her
drive away, the minister in the place where he should have been, at her
side, and he, Jethro Bass, as helpless as though he had indeed been in
the pit among the flames. Had the prudential committee at Brampton
promised the appointment ten times over, he might still have obtained it
for her by a word. And he must not speak even that word. Who shall say
that a large part of the punishment of Jethro Bass did not come to him in
the life upon this earth.

Some such thoughts were running in Cynthia's head as they jingled away to
Brampton that dazzling morning. Perhaps the stage driver, too, who knew
something of men and things and who meddled not at all, had made a guess
at the situation. He thought that Cynthia's spirits seemed lightened a
little, and he meant to lighten them more; so he joked as much as his
respect for his passengers would permit, and told the news of Brampton.
Not the least of the news concerned the first citizen of that place.
There was a certain railroad in the West which had got itself much into
Congress, and much into the newspapers, and Isaac D. Worthington had got
himself into that railroad: was gone West, it was said on that business,
and might not be back for many weeks. And Lem Hallowell remembered when
Mr. Worthington was a slim-cheated young man wandering up and down
Coniston Water in search of health. Good Mr. Satterlee, thinking this a
safe subject, allowed himself to be led into a discussion of the first
citizen's career, which indeed had something fascinating in it.

Thus they jingled into Brampton Street and stopped before the cottage of
Judge Graves--a courtesy title. The judge himself came to the door and
bestowed a pronounced bow on the minister, for Mr. Satterlee was honored
in Brampton. Just think of what Ezra Graves might have looked like, and
you have him. He greeted Cynthia, too, with a warm welcome--for Ezra