Isaac Worthington got up and went to the window and stood looking out above the black mass of trees at the dome outlined against the star-flecked sky. At first his anger choked him, and he could not think; he had just enough reason left not to walk out of the door. But presently habit asserted itself in him, too, and he began to reflect and calculate in spite of his anger. It is strange that memory plays so small a part in such a man. Before he allowed his mind to dwell on the fearful price, he thought of his ambitions gratified; and yet he did not think then of the woman to whom he had once confided those ambitions--the woman who was the girl's mother. Perhaps Jethro was thinking of her. It may have been--I know not--that Isaac Worthington wondered at this revelation of the character of Jethro Bass, for it was a revelation. For this girl's sake Jethro was willing to forego his revenge, was willing at the end of his days to allow the world to believe that he had sold out to his enemy, or that he had been defeated by him. But when he thought of the marriage, Isaac Worthington ground his teeth. A certain sentiment which we may call pride was so strong in him that he felt ready to make almost any sacrifice to prevent it. To hinder it he had quarrelled with his son, and driven him away, and threatened disinheritance. The price was indeed heavy--the heaviest he could pay. But the alternative--was not that heavier? To relinquish his dream of power, to sink for a while into a crippled state; for he had spent large sums, and one of those periodical depressions had come in the business of the mills, and those Western investments were not looking so bright now. So, with his hands opening and closing in front of him, Isaac Worthington fought out his battle. A terrible war, that, between ambition and pride--a war to the knife. The issue may yet have been undecided when he turned round to Jethro with a sneer which he could not resist. “Why doesn't she marry him without my consent?” In a moment Mr. Worthington knew he had gone too far. A certain kind of an eye is an incomparable weapon, and armed men have been cowed by those who possess it, though otherwise defenceless. Jethro Bass had that kind of an eye. “G-guess you wouldn't understand if I was to tell you,” he said. Mr. Worthington walked to the window again, perhaps to compose himself, and then came back again. “Your proposition is,” he said at length, “that if I give my consent to this marriage, we are to have Bixby and the governor, and the Consolidation Bill will become a law. Is that it?” “Th-that's it,” said Jethro, taking his accustomed seat. “And this consent is to be given when the bill becomes a law?” “Given now. T-to-night.” Mr. Worthington took another turn as far as the door, and suddenly came and stood before Jethro. “Well, I consent.” Jethro nodded toward the table. “Er--pen and paper there,” he said. “What do you want me to do?” demanded Mr. Worthington.