What was he to say? He did not fear Jethro, for Bob Worthington had
courage enough; but these things were running in his mind, and he felt
the power of the man before him, as all men did. Bob went to the window
and came back again. He knew that he must speak.

"Mr. Bass," he said at last, "did Cynthia ever mention me to you?"

"No," said Jethro.

"Mr. Bass, I love her. I have told her so, and I have asked her to be my
wife."

There was no need, indeed, to have told Jethro this. The shock of that
revelation had come to him when he had seen the trotters, had been
confirmed when the young man had stood before the portrait. Jethro's face
might have twitched when Bob stood there with his back to him.

Jethro could not speak. Once more there had come to him a moment when he
would not trust his voice to ask a question. He dreaded the answer,
though none might have surmised this. He knew Cynthia. He knew that, when
she had given her heart, it was for all time. He dreaded the answer;
because it might mean that her sorrow was doubled.

"I believe," Bob continued painfully, seeing that Jethro would say
nothing, "I believe that Cynthia loves me. I should not dare to say it or
to hope it, without reason. She has not said so, but--" the words were
very hard for him, yet he stuck manfully to the truth; "but she told me
to write to my father and let him know what I had done, and not to come
back to her until I had his answer. This," he added, wondering that a man