“To teach school,” he said.  “I expected that you would wish to, Cynthia.  It is a desire that most of us have, who like books and what is in them.  I should have taught school if I had not become a minister.  It is a high calling, and an absorbing one, to develop the minds of the young.”  Mr. Satterlee was often a little discursive, though there was reason for it on this occasion, and Moses Hatch half closed his eyes and bowed his head a little out of sheer habit at the sound of the minister’s voice.  But he raised it suddenly at the next words.  “I was in Brampton yesterday, and saw Mr. Graves, who is on the prudential committee of that district.  You may not have heard that Miss Goddard has left.  They have not yet succeeded in filling her place, and I think it more than likely that you can get it.”

Cynthia glanced at Jethro, but the habit of years was so strong in him that he gave no sign.

“Do you think so, Mr. Satterlee?” she said gratefully.  “I had heard of the place, and hoped for it, because it is near enough for me to spend the Saturdays and Sundays with Uncle Jethro.  And I meant to go to Brampton tomorrow to see about it.”

“I will go with you,” said the minister; “I have business in Brampton to-morrow.”  He did not mention that this was the business.

When at length they had all departed, Jethro rose and went about the house making fast the doors, as was his custom, while Cynthia sat staring through the bars at the dying embers in the stove.  He knew now, and it was inevitable that he should know, what she had made up her mind to do.  It had been decreed that she, who owed him everything, should be made to pass this most dreadful of censures upon his whole life.  Oh, the cruelty of that decree!

How, she mused, would it affect him?  Had the blow been so great that he would relinquish those practices which had become a lifelong habit with him?  Would he (she caught her breath at this thought) would he abandon that struggle with Isaac D. Worthington in which he was striving to maintain the mastery of the state by those very practices?  Cynthia hated Mr. Worthington.  The term is not too strong, and it expresses her feeling.  But she would have got down on her knees on the board floor of the kitchen that very night and implored Jethro to desist from that contest, if she could.  She remembered how, in her innocence, she had believed that the people had given Jethro his power,—­in those days when she was so proud of that very power,—­now she knew that he had wrested it from them.  What more supreme sacrifice could he make than to relinquish it!  Ah, there was a still greater sacrifice that Jethro was to make, had she known it.

He came and stood over her by the stove, and she looked up into his face with these yearnings in her eyes.  Yes, she would have thrown herself on her knees, if she could.  But she could not.  Perhaps he would abandon that struggle.  Perhaps—­perhaps his heart was broken.  And could a man with a broken heart still fight on?  She took his hand and pressed it against her face, and he felt that it was wet with her tears.