He who has tried to write a note—­the simplest note when his mind was harassed, will understand something of Isaac Worthington’s sensations.  He would no sooner get an inkling of what his opening sentence was to be than the flames of his anger would rise and sweep it away.  He could not even decide which letter he was to write first:  to his son, who had defied him and who (the father knew in his heart) condemned him? or to the schoolteacher, who was responsible for all his misery; who—­Mr. Worthington believed—­had taken advantage of his son’s youth by feminine wiles of no mean order so as to gain possession of him.  I can almost bring myself to pity the first citizen of Brampton as he sits there with his pen poised over the paper, and his enemy waiting to read those tender epistles of forgiveness which he has yet to write.  The clock has almost got round to the half-hour again, and there is only the date—­and a wrong one at that.

“My dear Miss Wetherell,—­Circumstances (over which I have no control?)”—­ought he not to call her Cynthia?  He has to make the letter credible in the eyes of the censor who sits by the window.  “My dear Miss Wetherell, I have come to the conclusion”—­two sheets torn up, or thrust into Mr. Worthington’s pocket.  By this time words have begun to have a colorless look.  “My dear Miss Wetherell,—­Having become convinced of the sincere attachment which my son Robert has for you, I am writing him to-night to give my full consent to his marriage.  He has given me to understand that you have hitherto persistently refused to accept him because I have withheld that consent, and I take this opportunity of expressing my admiration of this praiseworthy resolution on your part.”  (If this be irony, it is sublime!  Perhaps Isaac Worthington has a little of the artist in him, and now that he is in the heat of creation has forgotten the circumstances under which he is composing.) “My son’s happiness and career in life are of such moment to me that, until the present, I could not give my sanction to what I at first regarded as a youthful fancy.  Now that, my son, for your sake, has shown his determination and ability to make his own way in the world,” (Isaac Worthington was not a little proud of this) “I have determined that it is wise to withdraw my opposition, and to recall Robert to his proper place, which is near me.  I am sure that my feelings in this matter will be clear to you, and that you will look with indulgence upon any acts of mine which sprang from a natural solicitation for the welfare and happiness of my only child.  I shall be in Brampton in a day or two, and I shall at once give myself the pleasure of calling on you.  Sincerely yours, Isaac D. Worthington.”