MR. CREWE'S CAREER

By Winston Churchill

BOOK 3. 

CHAPTER XXI

ST. GILES OF THE BLAMELESS LIFE

The burden of the valley of vision: woe to the Honourable Adam B. Hunt!Where is he all this time? On the porch of his home in Edmundton, smokingcigars, little heeding the rising of the waters; receiving visits fromthe Honourables Brush Bascom, Nat Billings, and Jacob Botcher, andsigning cheques to the order of these gentlemen for necessary expenses. Be it known that the Honourable Adam was a man of substance in thisworld's goods. To quote from Mr. Crewe's speech at Hull: "TheNortheastern Railroads confer--they do not pay, except in passes. Of lateyears their books may be searched in vain for evidence of the use ofpolitical funds. The man upon whom they choose to confer yourgovernorship is always able to pay the pipers. " (Purposely put in theplural. )

Have the pipers warned the Honourable Adam of the rising tide againsthim? Have they asked him to gird up his loins and hire halls and smitethe upstart hip and thigh? They have warned him, yes, that the expensesmay be a little greater than ordinary. But it is not for him to talk, orto bestir himself in any unseemly manner, for the prize which he was tohave was in the nature of a gift. In vain did Mr. Crewe cry out to himfour times a week for his political beliefs, for a statement of what hewould do if he were elected governor. The Honourable Adam's dignifiedanswer was that he had always been a good Republican, and would die one. Following a time-honoured custom, he refused to say anything, but it wasrumoured that he believed in the gold standard. 

It is August, and there is rejoicing in--Leith. There is no doubt nowthat the campaign of the people progresses; no need any more for the trueaccounts of the meetings, in large print, although these are stillcontinued. The reform rallies resemble matinees no longer, and two realreporters accompany Mr. Crewe on his tours. Nay, the campaign ofeducation has already borne fruit, which the candidate did not hesitateto mention in his talks Edmundton has more trains, Kingston has moretrains, and more cars. No need now to stand up for twenty miles on a hotday; and more cars are building, and more engines; likewise some rateshave been lowered. And editors who declare that the Northeastern givesthe State a pretty good government have, like the guinea pigs, long beensuppressed. 

In these days were many councils at Fairview and in the offices of theHonourable Hilary Vane at Ripton; councils behind closed doors, fromwhich the councillors emerged with smiling faces that men might not knowthe misgivings in their hearts; councils, nevertheless, out of whichleaked rumours of dissension and recrimination conditions hithertounheard of. One post ran to meet another, and one messenger ran to meetanother; and it was even reported--though on doubtful authority--afterthe rally in his town the Honourable Jacob Botcher had made the remarkthat, under certain conditions, he might become a reformer. 

None of these upsetting rumours, however, were allowed by Mr. Bascom andother gentlemen close to the Honourable Adam B. Hunt to reach thatcandidate, who continued to smoke in tranquillity on the porch of hishome until the fifteenth day of August. At eight o'clock that morning thepostman brought him a letter marked personal, the handwriting on which herecognized as belonging to the Honourable Hilary Vane. For some reason, as he read, the sensations of the Honourable Adam were disquieting; thecontents of the letter, to say the least, were peculiar. "To-morrow, atnoon precisely, I shall be driving along the Broad Brook road by theabandoned mill--three miles towards Edmundton from Hull. I hope you willfind it convenient to be there. "

These were the strange words the Honourable Hilary had written, and theHonourable Adam knew that it was an order. At that very instant Mr. Hunthad been reading in the Guardian the account of an overflow meeting inNewcastle, by his opponent, in which Mr. Crewe had made some particularlychoice remarks about him; and had been cheered to the echo. TheHonourable Adam put the paper down, and walked up the street to talk toMr. Burrows, the postmaster whom, with the aid of Congressman Fairplay, he had had appointed at Edmundton. The two racked their brains for threehours; and Postmaster Burrows, who was the fortunate possessor of a pass, offered to go down to Ripton in the interest of his liege lord and seewhat was up. The Honourable Adam, however, decided that he could wait fortwenty-four hours. 

The morning of the sixteenth dawned clear, as beautiful a summer's dayfor a drive as any man could wish. But the spirit of the Honourable Adamdid not respond to the weather, and he had certain vague forebodings ashis horse jogged toward Hull, although these did not take such a definiteshape as to make him feel a premonitory pull of his coat-tails. Theruined mill beside the rushing stream was a picturesque spot, and thefigure of the Honourable Hilary Vane, seated on the old millstone, in thegreen and gold shadows of a beech, gave an interesting touch of life tothe landscape. The Honourable Adam drew up and eyed his friend andassociate of many years before addressing him. 

"How are you, Hilary?"

"Hitch your horse, " said Mr. Vane. 

The Honourable Adam was some time in picking out a convenient tree. Thenhe lighted a cigar, and approached Mr. Vane, and at length let himselfdown, cautiously, on the millstone. Sitting on his porch had not improvedMr. Hunt's figure. 

"This is kind of mysterious, ain't it, Hilary?" he remarked, with a tugat his goatee. 

"I don't know but what it is, " admitted Mr. Vane, who did not look asthough the coming episode were to give him unqualified joy. 

"Fine weather, " remarked the Honourable Adam, with a brave attempt atgeniality. 

"The paper predicts rain to-morrow, " said the Honourable Hilary. 

"You don't smoke, do you?" asked the Honourable Adam. 

"No, " said the Honourable Hilary. 

A silence, except for the music of the brook over the broken dam. 

"Pretty place, " said the Honourable Adam; "I kissed my wife here once--before I was married. "

This remark, although of interest, the Honourable Hilary evidentlythought did not require an answer:

"Adam, " said Mr. Vane, presently, "how much money have you spent so far?"

"Well, " said Mr. Hunt, "it has been sort of costly, but Brush and theboys tell me the times are uncommon, and I guess they are. If that crazycuss Crewe hadn't broken loose, it would have been different. Not thatI'm uneasy about him, but all this talk of his and newspaper advertisinghad to be counteracted some. Why, he has a couple of columns a week righthere in the Edmundton Courier. The papers are bleedin' him to death, certain. "

"How much have you spent?" asked the Honourable Hilary. 

The Honourable Adam screwed up his face and pulled his goateethoughtfully. 

"What are you trying to get at, Hilary, " he inquired, sending for me tomeet you out here in the woods in this curious way? If you wanted to seeme, why didn't you get me to go down to Ripton, or come up and sit on myporch? You've been there before. "

"Times, " said the Honourable Hilary, repeating, perhaps unconsciously, Mr. Hunt's words, "are uncommon. This man Crewe's making more headwaythan you think. The people don't know him, and he's struck a popularnote. It's the fashion to be down on railroads these days. "

"I've taken that into account, " replied Mr. Hunt. 

"It's unlucky, and it comes high. I don't think he's got a show for thenomination, but my dander's up, and I'll beat him if I have to mortgagemy house. "

The Honourable Hilary grunted, and ruminated. 

"How much did you say you'd spent, Adam?"

"If you think I'm not free enough, I'll loosen up a little more, " saidthe Honourable Adam. 

"How free have you been?" said the Honourable Hilary. 

For some reason the question, put in this form, was productive ofresults. 

"I can't say to a dollar, but I've got all the amounts down in a book. Iguess somewhere in the neighbourhood of nine thousand would cover it. "

Mr. Vane grunted again. 

"Would you take a cheque, Adam?" he inquired. 

"What for?" cried the Honourable Adam. 

"For the amount you've spent, " said the Honourable Hilary, sententiously. 

The Honourable Adam began to breathe with apparent difficulty, and hisface grew purple. But Mr. Vane did not appear to notice these alarmingsymptoms. Then the candidate turned about, as on a pivot, seized Mr. Vaneby the knee, and looked into his face. 

"Did you come up here with orders for me to get out?" he demanded, withsome pardonable violence. "By thunder, I didn't think that of my oldfriend, Hilary Vane. You ought to have known me better, and Flint oughtto have known me better. There ain't a mite of use of our staying hereanother second, and you can go right back and tell Flint what I said. Flint knows I've been waiting to be governor for eight years, and eachyear it's been just a year ahead. You ask him what he said to me when hesent for me to go to New York. I thought he was a man of his word, and hepromised me that I should be governor this year. "

The Honourable Hilary gave no indication of being moved by this righteousoutburst. 

"You can be governor next year, when this reform nonsense has blownover, " he said. "You can't be this year, even if you stay in the race. "

"Why not?" the Honourable Adam asked pugnaciously. 

"Your record won't stand it--not just now, " said Mr. Vane, slowly. 

"My record is just as good as yours, or any man's, " said the HonourableAdam. 

"I never run for office, " answered Mr. Vane. 

"Haven't I spent the days of my active life in the service of that road--and is this my reward? Haven't I done what Flint wanted always?"

"That's just the trouble, " said the Honourable Hilary; too many folksknow it. If we're going to win this time, we've got to have a man who'snever had any Northeastern connections. "

"Who have you picked?" demanded the Honourable Adam, with alarmingcalmness. 

"We haven't picked anybody yet, " said Mr. Vane, "but the man who goes inwill give you a cheque for what you've spent, and you can be governornext time. "

"Well, if this isn't the d-dest, coldest-blooded proposition ever made, Iwant to know!" cried the Honourable Adam. "Will Flint put up a bond ofone hundred thousand dollars that I'll be nominated and elected nextyear? This is the clearest case of going back on an old friend I eversaw. If this is the way you fellows get scared because a sham reformergets up and hollers against the road, then I want to serve notice on youthat I'm not made of that kind of stuff. When I go into a fight, I go into stay, and you can't pull me out by the coat-tails in favour of a saintwho's never done a lick of work for the road. You tell Flint that. "

"All right, Adam, " said Hilary. 

Some note in Hilary's voice, as he made this brief answer, suddenlysobered the Honourable Adam, and sent a cold chill down his spine. He hadhad many dealings with Mr. Vane, and he had always been as putty in thechief counsel's hands. This simple acquiescence did more to convince theHonourable Adam that his chances of nomination were in real danger than along and forceful summary of the situation could have accomplished. Butlike many weak men, the Honourable Adam had a stubborn streak, and afatuous idea that opposition and indignation were signs of strength. 

"I've made sacrifices for the road before, and effaced myself. But bythunder, this is too much!"

Corporations, like republics, are proverbially ungrateful. The HonourableHilary might have voiced this sentiment, but refrained. 

"Mr. Flint's a good friend of yours, Adam. He wanted me to say that he'dalways taken care of you, and always would, so far as in his power. Ifyou can't be landed this time, it's common sense for you to get out, andwait--isn't it? We'll see that you get a cheque to cover what you've putout. "

The humour in this financial sacrifice of Mr. Flint's (which the unknownnew candidate was to make with a cheque) struck neither the HonourableAdam nor the Honourable Hilary. The transaction, if effected, wouldresemble that of the shrine to the Virgin built by a grateful Marquis ofMantua--which a Jew paid for. 

The Honourable Adam got to his feet. 

"You can tell Flint, " he said, "that if he will sign a bond of onehundred thousand dollars to elect me next time, I'll get out. That's mylast word. "

"All right, Adam, " replied Mr. Vane, rising also. 

Mr. Hunt stared at the Honourable Hilary thoughtfully; and although thegubernatorial candidate was not an observant man, he was suddenly struckby the fact that the chief counsel was growing old. 

"I won't hold this against you, Hilary, " he said. 

"Politics, " said the Honourable Hilary, "are business matters. "

"I'll show Flint that it would have been good business to stick to me, "said the Honourable Adam. "When he gets panicky, and spends all his moneyon new equipment and service, it's time for me to drop him. You can tellhim so from me. "

"Hadn't you better write him?" said the Honourable Hilary. 

The rumour of the entry of Mr. Giles Henderson of Kingston into thegubernatorial contest preceded, by ten days or so, the actual event. Itis difficult for the historian to unravel the precise circumstances whichled to this candidacy. Conservative citizens throughout the State, it wasunderstood, had become greatly concerned over the trend political affairswere taking; the radical doctrines of one candidate--propounded for veryobvious reasons--they turned from in disgust; on the other hand, it wasevident that an underlying feeling existed in certain sections that anycandidate who was said to have had more or less connection with theNortheastern Railroads was undesirable at the present time. This was notto be taken as a reflection on the Northeastern, which had been the chiefsource of the State's prosperity, but merely as an acknowledgment that apublic opinion undoubtedly existed, and ought to be taken intoconsideration by the men who controlled the Republican party. 

This was the gist of leading articles which appeared simultaneously inseveral newspapers, apparently before the happy thought of bringingforward Mr. Giles Henderson had occurred to anybody. He was mentionedfirst, and most properly, by the editor of the "Kingston Pilot;" and thearticle, with comments upon it, ran like wildfire through the press ofthe State, --appearing even in those sheets which maintained editoriallythat they were for the Honourable Adam B. Hunt first and last and, allthe time. Whereupon Mr. Giles Henderson began to receive visits from thesolid men--not politicians of the various cities and counties. Forinstance, Mr. Silas Tredway of Ripton, made such a pilgrimage and, as acitizen who had voted in 1860 for Abraham Lincoln (showing Mr. Tredwayhimself to have been a radical once), appealed to Mr. Henderson to savethe State. 

At first Mr. Henderson would give no ear to these appeals, but shook hishead pessimistically. He was not a politician--so much the better, wedon't want a politician; he was a plain business man exactly what isneeded; a conservative, level-headed business man wholly lacking in thosesensational qualities which are a stench in the nostrils of goodcitizens. Mr. Giles Henderson admitted that the time had come when a manof these qualities was needed--but he was not the man. Mr. Tredway wasthe man--so he told Mr. Tredway; Mr. Gates of Brampton was the man--so heassured Mr. Gates. Mr. Henderson had no desire to meddle in politics; hislife was a happy and a full one. But was it not Mr. Henderson's duty?Cincinnatus left the plough, and Mr. Henderson should leave the ledger atthe call of his countrymen. 

Mr. Giles Henderson was mild-mannered and blue-eyed, with a scanty beardthat was turning white; he was a deacon of the church, a member of theschool board, president of the Kingston National Bank; the main businessof his life had been in coal (which incidentally had had to betransported over the Northeastern Railroads); and coal rates, for somereason, were cheaper from Kingston than from many points out of the Statethe distances of which were nearer. Mr. Henderson had been able to sellhis coal at a lower price than any other large dealer in the eastern partof the State. Mr. Henderson was the holder of a large amount of stock inthe Northeastern, inherited from his father. Facts of no specialsignificance, and not printed in the weekly newspapers. Mr. Hendersonlived in a gloomy Gothic house on High Street, ate three very plain mealsa day, and drank iced water. He had been a good husband and a goodfather, and had always voted the Republican ticket. He believed in thegold standard, a high tariff, and eternal damnation. At last hisresistance was overcome, and he consented to allow his name to be used. 

It was used, with a vengeance. Spontaneous praise of Mr. Giles Hendersonbubbled up all over the State, and editors who were for the HonourableAdam B. Hunt suddenly developed a second choice. No man within theborders of the commonwealth had so many good qualities as the newcandidate, and it must have been slightly annoying to one of thatgentleman's shrinking nature to read daily, on coming down to breakfast, a list of virtues attributed to him as long as a rate schedule. How hemust have longed for the record of one wicked deed to make him human!

Who will pick a flaw in the character of the Honourable Giles Henderson?Let that man now stand forth. 

The news of the probable advent of Mr. Giles Henderson on the field, aswell as the tidings of his actual consent to be a candidate, were notslow in reaching Leith. And--Mr. Crewe's Bureau of Information being inperfect working order--the dastardly attempt on the Honourable Adam B. Hunt's coat-tails was known there. More wonders to relate: the HonourableAdam B. Hunt had become a reformer; he had made a statement at last, inwhich he declared with vigour that no machine or ring was behind him; hestood on his own merits, invited the minutest inspection of his record, declared that he was an advocate of good government, and if elected wouldbe the servant of no man and of no corporation. 

Thrice-blessed State, in which there were now three reform candidates forgovernor!

All of these happenings went to indicate confusion in the enemy's camp, and corresponding elation in Mr. Crewe's. Woe to the reputation forpolitical sagacity of the gentleman who had used the words "negligible"and "monumental farce"! The tide was turning, and the candidate fromLeith redoubled his efforts. Had he been confounded by the advent of theHonourable Giles? Not at all. Mr. Crewe was not given to satire; hismethods, as we know, were direct. Hence the real author of the followingpassage in his speech before an overflow meeting in the State capitalremains unknown:

"My friends, " Mr. Crewe had said, "I have been waiting for the time whenSt. Giles of the Blameless Life would be pushed forward, apparently asthe only hope of our so-called 'solid citizens. ' (Prolonged laughter, andaudible repetitions of Mr. Henderson's nickname, which was to stick. ) Iwill tell you by whose desire St. Giles became a candidate, and whosebidding he will do if he becomes governor as blindly and obediently asthe Honourable Adam B. Hunt ever did. (Shouts of "Flint!" and, "TheNortheastern!") I see you know. Who sent the solid citizens to see Mr. Henderson? ("Flint!") This is a clever trick--exactly what I should havedone if I'd been running their campaign--only they didn't do it earlyenough. They picked Mr. Giles Henderson for two reasons: because he livesin Kingston, which is anti-railroad and supported the Gaylord bill, and, because he never in his life committed any positive action, good orbad--and he never will. And they made another mistake--the HonourableAdam B. Hunt wouldn't back out. " (Laughter and cheers. )

CHAPTER XXII

IN WHICH EUPHRASIA TAKES A HAND

Austen had not forgotten his promise to Euphrasia, and he had gone toHanover Street many times since his sojourn at Mr. Jabe Jenney's. Usuallythese visits had taken place in the middle of the day, when Euphrasia, with gentle but determined insistence, had made him sit down before somemorsel which she had prepared against his coming, and which he had notthe heart to refuse. In answer to his inquiries about Hilary, she wouldtoss her head and reply, disdainfully, that he was as comfortable as heshould be. For Euphrasia had her own strict ideas of justice, and to hermind Hilary's suffering was deserved. That suffering was all the moreterrible because it was silent, but Euphrasia was a stern woman. To knowthat he missed Austen, to feel that Hilary was being justly punished forhis treatment of her idol, for his callous neglect and lack ofrealization of the blessings of his life--these were Euphrasia's grimcompensations. 

At times, even, she had experienced a strange rejoicing that she hadpromised Austen to remain with his father, for thus it had been given herto be the daily witness of a retribution for which she had longed duringmany years. Nor did she strive to hide her feelings. Their intercourse, never voluminous, had shrunk to the barest necessities for the use ofspeech; but Hilary, ever since the night of his son's departure, had readin the face of his housekeeper a knowledge of his suffering, anexultation a thousand times more maddening than the little reproaches oflanguage would have been. He avoided her more than ever, and must manytimes have regretted bitterly the fact that he had betrayed himself toher. As for Euphrasia, she had no notion of disclosing Hilary's tortureto his son. She was determined that the victory, when it came, should beAusten's, and the surrender Hilary's. 

"He manages to eat his meals, and gets along as common, " she would reply. "He only thinks of himself and that railroad. "

But Austen read between the lines. 

"Poor old Judge, " he would answer; "it's because he's made that way, Phrasie. He can't help it, any more than I can help flinging law-books onthe floor and running off to the country to have a good time. You know aswell as I do that he hasn't had much joy out of life; that he'd like tobe different, only he doesn't know how. "

"I can't see that it takes much knowledge to treat a wife and son likehuman beings, " Euphrasia retorted; "that's only common humanity. For aman that goes to meetin' twice a week, you'd have thought he'd havelearned something by this time out of the New Testament. He's prayedenough in his life, goodness knows!"

Now Euphrasia's ordinarily sharp eyes were sharpened an hundred fold byaffection; and of late, at odd moments during his visits, Austen hadsurprised them fixed on him with a penetration that troubled him. 

"You don't seem to fancy the tarts as much as you used to, " she wouldremark. "Time was when you'd eat three and four at a sittin'. "

"Phrasie, one of your persistent fallacies is, that I'm still a boy. "

"You ain't yourself, " said Euphrasia, ignoring this pleasantry, "and youain't been yourself for some months. I've seen it. I haven't brought youup for nothing. If he's troubling you, don't you worry a mite. He ain'tworth it. He eats better than you do. "

"I'm not worrying much about that, " Austen answered, smiling. "The Judgeand I will patch it up before long--I'm sure. He's worried now over thesepeople who are making trouble for his railroad. "

"I wish railroads had never been invented, " cried Euphrasia. "It seems tome they bring nothing but trouble. My mother used to get along prettywell in a stage-coach. "

One evening in September, when the summer days were rapidly growingshorter and the mists rose earlier in the valley of the Blue, Austen, whohad stayed late at the office preparing a case, ate his supper at theRipton House. As he sat in the big dining room, which was almost empty, the sense of loneliness which he had experienced so often of late cameover him, and he thought of Euphrasia. His father, he knew, had gone toKingston for the night, and so he drove up Hanover Street and hitchedPepper to the stone post before the door. Euphrasia, according to aninvariable custom, would be knitting in the kitchen at this hour; and atthe sight of him in the window, she dropped her work with a little, joyful cry. 

"I was just thinking of you!" she said, in a low voice of tendernesswhich many people would not have recognized as Euphrasia's; as though herthoughts of him were the errant ones of odd moments! "I'm so glad youcome. It's lonesome here of evenings, Austen. "

He entered silently and sat down beside her, in a Windsor chair which hadbelonged to some remote Austen of bygone days. 

"You don't have as good things to eat up at Mis' Jenney's as I give you, "she remarked. "Not that you appear to care much for eatables any more. Austen, are you feeling poorly?"

"I can dig more potatoes in a day than any other man in Ripton, " hedeclared. 

"You'd ought to get married, " said Euphrasia, abruptly. "I've told youthat before, but you never seem to pay any attention to what I say. "

"Why haven't you tried it, Phrasie?" he retorted. 

He was not prepared for what followed. Euphrasia did not answer at once, but presently her knitting dropped to her lap, and she sat staring at theold clock on the kitchen shelf. 

"He never asked me, " she said, simply. 

Austen was silent. The answer seemed to recall, with infinite pathos, Euphrasia's long-lost youth, and he had not thought of youth as a qualitywhich could ever have pertained to her. She must have been young once, and fresh, and full of hope for herself; she must have known, long ago, something of what he now felt, something of the joy and pain, somethingof the inexpressible, never ceasing yearning for the fulfilment of adesire that dwarfed all others. Euphrasia had been denied thatfulfilment. And he--would he, too, be denied it?

Out of Euphrasia's eyes, as she gazed at the mantel-shelf, shone thelight of undying fires within--fires which at a touch could blaze forthafter endless years, transforming the wrinkled face, softening thesterner lines of character. And suddenly there was a new bond between thetwo. So used are the young to the acceptance of the sacrifice of the oldthat they lose sight of that sacrifice. But Austen saw now, in a flash, the years of Euphrasia's self-denial, the years of memories, the years ofregrets for that which might have been. 

"Phrasie, " he said, laying a hand on hers, which rested on the arm of thechair, I was only joking, you know. "

"I know, I know, " Euphrasia answered hastily, and turned and looked intohis face searchingly. Her eyes were undimmed, and the light was still inthem which revealed a soul of which he had had no previous knowledge. 

"I know you was, dear. I never told that to a living being except yourmother. He's dead now--he never knew. But I told her--I couldn't help it. She had a way of drawing things out of you, and you just couldn't resist. I'll never forget that day she came in here and looked at me and took myhand--same as you have it now. She wasn't married then. I'll never forgetthe sound of her voice as she said, 'Euphrasia, tell me about it. '" (HereEuphrasia's own voice trembled. ) "I told her, just as I'm tellingyou, --because I couldn't help it. Folks, had to tell her things. "

She turned her hand and clasped his tightly with her own thin fingers. 

"And oh, Austen, " she cried, "I want so that you should be happy! She wasso unhappy, it doesn't seem right that you should be, too. "

"I shall be, Phrasie, " he said; "you mustn't worry about that. "

For a while the only sound in the room was the ticking of the old clockwith the quaint, coloured picture on its panel. And then, with a movementwhich, strangely, was an acute reminder of a way Victoria had, Euphrasiaturned and searched his face once more. 

"You're not happy, " she said. 

He could not put this aside--nor did he wish to. Her own confidence hadbeen so simple, so fine, so sure of his sympathy, that he felt it wouldbe unworthy to equivocate; the confessions of the self-reliant are sacredthings. Yes, and there had been times when he had longed to unburdenhimself; but he had had no intimate on this plane, and despite the greatsympathy between them--that Euphrasia might understand had never occurredto him. She had read his secret. 

In that instant Euphrasia, with the instinct which love lends to her sex, had gone farther; indignation seized her--and the blame fell upon thewoman. Austen's words, unconsciously, were an answer to her thoughts. 

"It isn't anybody's fault but my own, " he said. 

Euphrasia's lips were tightly closed. Long ago the idol of her youth hadfaded into the substance of which dreams are made--to be recalled bydreams alone; another worship had filled her heart, and Austen Vane hadbecome--for her--the fulness and the very meaning of life itself; one tobe admired of all men, to be desired of all women. Visions of Austen'scourtship had at times risen in her mind, although Euphrasia would nothave called it a courtship. When the time came, Austen would confer; andso sure of his judgment was Euphrasia that she was prepared to take therecipient of the priceless gift into her arms. And now! Was it possiblethat a woman lived who would even hesitate? Curiosity seized Euphrasiawith the intensity of a passion. Who was this woman? When and where hadhe seen her? Ripton could not have produced her--for it wascharacteristic of Euphrasia that no girl of her acquaintance was worthyto be raised to such a height; Austen's wife would be an unknown of idealappearance and attainments. Hence indignation rocked Euphrasia, anddoubts swayed her. In this alone she had been an idealist, but she mighthave known that good men were a prey to the unworthy of the opposite sex. 

She glanced at Austen's face, and he smiled at her gently, as though hedivined something of her thoughts. 

"If it isn't your fault, that you're not happy, then the matter's easilymended, " she said. 

He shook his head at her, as though in reproof. 

"Was yours--easily mended?" he asked. 

Euphrasia was silent a moment. 

"He never knew, " she repeated, in a low voice. 

"Well, Phrasie, it looks very much as if we were in the same boat, " hesaid. 

Euphrasia's heart gave a bound. 

"Then you haven't spoke!" she cried; "I knew you hadn't. I--I was awoman--but sometimes I've thought I'd ought to have given him some sign. You're a man, Austen; thank God for it, you're a man. If a man loves awoman, he's only got to tell her so. "

"It isn't as simple as that, " he answered. 

Euphrasia gave him a startled glance. 

"She ain't married?" she exclaimed. 

"No, " he said, and laughed in spite of himself. 

Euphrasia breathed again. For Sarah Austen had had a morality of her own, and on occasions had given expression to extreme views. 

"She's not playin' with you?" was Euphrasia's next question, and her toneboded ill to any young person who would indulge in these tactics withAusten. 

He shook his head again, and smiled at her vehemence. 

"No, she's not playing with me--she isn't that kind. I'd like to tellyou, but I can't--I can't. It was only because you guessed that I saidanything about it. " He disengaged his hand, and rose, and patted her onthe cheek. "I suppose I had to tell somebody, " he said, "and you seemed, somehow, to be the right person, Phrasie. "

Euphrasia rose abruptly and looked up intently into his face. He thoughtit strange afterwards, as he drove along the dark roads, that she had notanswered him. 

Even though the matter were on the knees of the gods, Euphrasia wouldhave taken it thence, if she could. Nor did Austen know that she sharedwith him, that night, his waking hours. 

The next morning Mr. Thomas Gaylord, the younger, was making his waytowards the office of the Gaylord Lumber Company, conveniently situatedon Willow Street, near the railroad. Young Tom was in a particularlyjovial frame of mind, despite the fact that he had arrived in Ripton, onthe night express, as early as five o'clock in the morning. He had beentouring the State ostensibly on lumber business, but young Tom had alarge and varied personal as well as commercial acquaintance, and he hadthe inestimable happiness of being regarded as an honest man, while hisrough and genial qualities made him beloved. For these reasons and othersof a more material nature, suggestions from Mr. Thomas Gaylord were aptto be well received--and Tom had been making suggestions. 

Early as he was at his office--the office-boy was sprinkling the floor--young Tom had a visitor who was earlier still. Pausing in the doorway, Mr. Gaylord beheld with astonishment a prim, elderly lady in a stiff, black dress sitting upright on the edge of a capacious oak chair whichseemed itself rather discomfited by what it contained, --for itshospitality had hitherto been extended to visitors of a very differentsort. 

"Well, upon my soul, " cried young Tom, "if it isn't Euphrasia!"

"Yes, it's me, " said Euphrasia; "I've been to market, and I had a notionto see you before I went home. "

Mr. Gaylord took the office-boy lightly by the collar of his coat andlifted him, sprinkling can and all, out of the doorway and closed thedoor. Then he drew his revolving chair close to Euphrasia, and sat down. They were old friends, and more than once in a youth far from model Tomhad experienced certain physical reproof at her hands, for which he boreno ill-will. There was anxiety on his face as he asked:--"There hasn'tbeen any accident, has there, Euphrasia?"

"No, " she said. 

"No new row?" inquired Tom. 

"No, " said Euphrasia. She was a direct person, as we know, but truedescendants of the Puritans believe in the decency of preliminaries, andhere was certainly an affair not to be plunged into. Euphrasia was aspinster in the strictest sense of that formidable and highly descriptiveterm, and she intended ultimately to discuss with Tom a subject of whichshe was supposed by tradition to be wholly ignorant, the mere mention ofwhich still brought warmth to her cheeks. Such a delicate matter shouldsurely be led up to delicately. In the meanwhile Tom was mystified. 

"Well, I'm mighty glad to see you, anyhow, " he said heartily. "It wasfond of you to call, Euphrasia. I can't offer you a cigar. "

"I should think not, " said Euphrasia. 

Tom reddened. He still retained for her some of his youthful awe. 

"I can't do the honours of hospitality as I'd wish to, " he went on; "Ican't give you anything like the pies you used to give me. "

"You stole most of 'em, " said Euphrasia. 

"I guess that's so, " said young Tom, laughing, "but I'll never taste pieslike 'em again as long as I live. Do you know, Euphrasia, there were tworeasons why those were the best pies I ever ate?"

"What were they?" she asked, apparently unmoved. 

"First, " said Tom, "because you made 'em, and second, because they werestolen. "

Truly, young Tom had a way with women, had he only been aware of it. 

"I never took much stock in stolen things, " said Euphrasia. 

"It's because you never were tempted with such pie as that, " replied theaudacious Mr. Gaylord. 

"You're gettin' almighty stout, " said Euphrasia. 

As we see her this morning, could she indeed ever have had a love affair?

"I don't have to use my legs as much as I once did, " said Tom. And thisremark brought to an end the first phase of this conversation, --broughtto an end, apparently, all conversation whatsoever. Tom racked his brainfor a new topic, opened his roll-top desk, drummed on it, looked up atthe ceiling and whistled softly, and then turned and faced again theimperturbable Euphrasia. 

"Euphrasia, " he said, you're not exactly a politician, I believe. "

"Well, " said Euphrasia, "I've be'n maligned a good many times, but nobodyever went that far. "

Mr. Gaylord shook with laughter. 

"Then I guess there's no harm in confiding political secrets to you, " hesaid. "I've been around the State some this week, talking to people Iknow, and I believe if your Austen wasn't so obstinate, we could make himgovernor. "

"Obstinate?" ejaculated Euphrasia. 

"Yes, " said Tom, with a twinkle in his eye, "obstinate. He doesn't seemto want something that most men would give their souls for. "

"And why should he dirty himself with politics?" she demanded. "In theyears I've lived with Hilary Vane I've seen enough of politicians, goodness knows. I never want to see another. "

"If Austen was governor, we'd change some of that. But mind, Euphrasia, this is a secret, " said Tom, raising a warning finger. "If Austen hearsabout it now, the jig's up. "

Euphrasia considered and thawed a little. 

"They don't often have governors that young, do they?" she asked. 

"No, " said Tom, forcibly, "they don't. And so far as I know, they haven'thad such a governor for years as Austen would make. But he won't pushhimself. You know, Euphrasia, I have always believed that he will bePresident some day. "

Euphrasia received this somewhat startling prediction complacently. Shehad no doubt of its accuracy, but the enunciation of it raised young Tomin her estimation, and incidentally brought her nearer her topic. 

"Austen ain't himself lately, " she remarked. 

"I knew that he didn't get along with Hilary, " said Tom, sympathetically, beginning to realize now that Euphrasia had come to talk about her idol. 

"It's Hilary doesn't get along with him, " she retorted indignantly. "He'sresponsible--not Austen. Of all the narrow, pig-headed, selfish men theLord ever created, Hilary Vane's the worst. It's Hilary drove him out ofhis mother's house to live with strangers. It's Austen that comes aroundto inquire for his father--Hilary never has a word to say about Austen. "A trace of colour actually rose under Euphrasia's sallow skin, and shecast her eyes downward. "You've known him a good while, haven't you, Tom?"

"All my life, " said Tom, mystified again, "all my life. And I, think moreof him than of anybody else in the world. "

"I calculated as much, " she said; "that's why I came. " She hesitated. Artful Euphrasia! We will let the ingenuous Mr. Gaylord be the first tomention this delicate matter, if possible. "Goodness knows, it ain'tHilary I came to talk about. I had a notion that you'd know if anythingelse was troubling Austen. "

"Why, " said Tom, "there can't be any business troubles outside of thoseHilary's mixed up in. Austen doesn't spend any money to speak of, exceptwhat he gives away, and he's practically chief counsel for our company. "

Euphrasia was silent a moment. 

"I suppose there's nothing else that could bother him, " she remarked. Shehad never held Tom Gaylord's powers of comprehension in high estimation, and the estimate had not risen during this visit. But she had undervaluedhim; even Tom could rise to an inspiration--when the sources of all otherinspirations were eliminated. 

"Why, " he exclaimed, with a masculine lack of delicacy, "he may be inlove--"

"That's struck you, has it?" said Euphrasia. 

But Tom appeared to be thinking; he was, in truth, engaged in collectinghis cumulative evidence: Austen's sleigh-ride at the capital, which hehad discovered; his talk with Victoria after her fall, when she hadbetrayed an interest in Austen which Tom had thought entirely natural;and finally Victoria's appearance at Mr. Crewe's rally in Ripton. YoungMr. Gaylord had not had a great deal of experience in affairs of theheart, and he was himself aware that his diagnosis in such a matter wouldnot carry much weight. He had conceived a tremendous admiration forVictoria, which had been shaken a little by the suspicion that she mightbe intending to marry Mr. Crewe. Tom Gaylord saw no reason why AustenVane should not marry Mr. Flint's daughter if he chose--or any otherman's daughter; partaking, in this respect, somewhat of Euphrasia's view. As for Austen himself, Tom had seen no symptoms; but then, he reflected, he would not be likely to see any. However, he perceived the object nowof Euphrasia's visit, and began to take the liveliest interest in it. 

"So you think Austen's in love?" he demanded. 

Euphrasia sat up straighter, if anything. 

"I didn't say anything of the kind, " she returned. 

"He wouldn't tell me, you know, " said Tom; "I can only guess at it. "

"And the--lady?" said Euphrasia, craftily. 

"I'm up a tree there, too. All I know is that he took her sleigh-ridingone afternoon at the capital, and wouldn't tell me who he was going totake. And then she fell off her horse down at East Tunbridge Station--"

"Fell off her horse!" echoed Euphrasia, an accident comparable in hermind to falling off a roof. What manner of young woman was this who felloff horses?

"She wasn't hurt, " Tom continued, "and she rode the beast home. He was awild one, I can tell you, and she's got pluck. That's the first time Iever met her, although I had often seen her and thought she was a stunnerto look at. She talked as if she took an interest in Austen. "

An exact portrayal of Euphrasia's feelings at this description of theobject of Austen's affections is almost impossible. A young woman who wasa stunner, who rode wild horses and fell off them and rode them again, was beyond the pale not only of Euphrasia's experience but of herimagination likewise. And this hoyden had talked as though she took aninterest in Austen! Euphrasia was speechless. 

"The next time I saw her, " said Tom, "was when she came down here tolisten to Humphrey Crewe's attacks on the railroad. I thought that was asort of a queer thing for Flint's daughter to do, but Austen didn't seemto look at it that way. He talked to her after the show was over. "

At this point Euphrasia could contain herself no longer, and in herexcitement she slipped off the edge of the chair and on to her feet. 

"Flint's daughter?" she cried; "Augustus P. Flint's daughter?"

Tom looked at her in amazement. 

"Didn't you know who it was?" he stammered. But Euphrasia was notlistening. 

"I've seen her, " she was saying; "I've seen her ridin' through Ripton inthat little red wagon, drivin' herself, with a coachman perched up besideher. Flint's daughter!" Euphrasia became speechless once more, thecomplications opened up being too vast for intelligent comment. Euphrasia, however, grasped some of the problems which Austen had had toface. Moreover, she had learned what she had come for, and the obviousthing to do now was to go home and reflect. So, without further ceremony, she walked to the door and opened it, and turned again with her hand onthe knob. "Look here, Tom Gaylord, " she said, "if you tell Austen I washere, I'll never forgive you. I don't believe you've got any more sensethan to do it. "

And with these words she took her departure, ere the amazed Mr. Gaylordhad time to show her out. Half an hour elapsed before he opened hisletters. 

When she arrived home in Hanover Street it was nine o'clock--an hour wellon in the day for Euphrasia. Unlocking the kitchen door, she gave aglance at the stove to assure herself that it had not been misbehaving, and went into the passage on her way up-stairs to take off her gownbefore sitting down to reflect upon the astonishing thing she had heard. Habit had so crystallized in Euphrasia that no news, however amazing, could have shaken it. But in the passage she paused; an unwonted, orrather untimely, sound reached her ears, a sound which came from thefront of the house--and at nine o'clock in the morning! Had Austen beenat home, Euphrasia would have thought nothing of it. In her remembranceHilary Vane, whether he returned from a journey or not, had never beeninside the house at that hour on a week-day; and, unlike the gentleman in"La Vie de Boheme, " Euphrasia did not have to be reminded of the Sabbath. 

Perhaps Austen had returned! Or perhaps it was a burglar! Euphrasia, undaunted, ran through the darkened front hall to where the gracefulbanister ended in a curve at the foot of the stairs, and there, on thebottom step, sat a man with his head in his hands. Euphrasia shrieked. Helooked up, and she saw that it was Hilary Vane. She would have shrieked, anyway. 

"What in the world's the matter with you?" she cried. 

"I--I stumbled coming down the stairs, " he said. 

"But what are you doing at home in the middle of the morning?" shedemanded. 

He did not answer her. The subdued light which crept under the porch andcame in through the fan shaped window over the door fell on his face. 

"Are you sick?" said Euphrasia. In all her life she had never seen himlook like that. 

He shook his head, but did not attempt to rise. A Hilary Vane withoutvigour!

"No, " he said, "no. I just came up here from the train to--get somethin'I'd left in my room. "

"A likely story!" said Euphrasia. "You've never done that in thirtyyears. You're sick, and I'm a-going for the doctor. "

She put her hand to his forehead, but he thrust it away and got to hisfeet, although in the effort he compressed his lips and winced. 

"You stay where you are, " he said; "I tell you I'm not sick, and I'mgoing down to the square. Let, the doctors alone--I haven't got any usefor 'em. "

He walked to the door, opened it, and went out and slammed it in herface. By the time she had got it open again--a crack--he had reached thesidewalk, and was apparently in full possession of his powers andfaculties. 

CHAPTER XXIII

A FALLING-OUT IN HIGH PLACES

Although one of the most exciting political battles ever fought is fastcoming to its climax, and a now jubilant Mr. Crewe is contesting everyfoot of ground in the State with the determination and pertinacity whichmake him a marked man; although the convention wherein his fate will bedecided is now but a few days distant, and everything has been done tosecure a victory which mortal man can do, let us follow Hilary Vane toFairview. Not that Hilary has been idle. The "Book of Arguments" isexhausted, and the chiefs and the captains have been to Ripton, andreceived their final orders, but more than one has gone back to his fiefwith the vision of a changed Hilary who has puzzled them. Rumours havebeen in the air that the harmony between the Source of Power and theDistribution of Power is not as complete as it once was. Certainly, Hilary Vane is not the man he was--although this must not even bewhispered. Senator Whitredge had told--but never mind that. In the olddays an order was an order; there were no rebels then. In the old daysthere was no wavering and rescinding, and if the chief counsel told you, with brevity, to do a thing, you went and did it straightway, with theknowledge that it was the best thing to do. Hilary Vane had agedsuddenly, and it occurred for the first time to many that, in thisutilitarian world, old blood must be superseded by young blood. 

Two days before the convention, immediately after taking dinner at theRipton House with Mr. Nat Billings, Hilary Vane, in response to asummons, drove up to Fairview. One driving behind him would have observedthat the Honourable Hilary's horse took his own gaits, and that thereins, most of the time, drooped listlessly on his quarters. A Septemberstillness was in the air, a September purple clothed the distant hills, but to Hilary the glories of the day were as things non-existent. Eventhe groom at Fairview, who took his horse, glanced back at him with apeculiar expression as he stood for a moment on the steps with ahesitancy the man had never before remarked. 

In the meantime Mr. Flint, with a pile of letters in a special basket onthe edge of his desk, was awaiting his counsel; the president of theNortheastern was pacing his room, as was his wont when his activitieswere for a moment curbed, or when he had something on his mind; and everyfew moments he would glance towards his mantel at the clock which was setto railroad time. In past days he had never known Hilary Vane to be amoment late to an appointment. The door was open, and five and twentyminutes had passed the hour before he saw the lawyer in the doorway. Mr. Flint was a man of such preoccupation of mind that he was not likely tobe struck by any change there might have been in his counsel'sappearance. 

"It's half-past three, " he said. 

Hilary entered, and sat down beside the window. 

"You mean that I'm late, " he replied. 

"I've got some engineers coming here in less than an hour, " said Mr. Flint. 

"I'll be gone in less than an hour, " said Hilary. 

"Well, " said Mr. Flint, "let's get down to hardtack. I've got to be frankwith you, Vane, and tell you plainly that this political business is allat sixes and sevens. "

"It isn't necessary to tell me that, " said Hilary. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I know it. "

"To put it mildly, " the president of the Northeastern continued, "it'sthe worst mixed-up campaign I ever knew. Here we are with the conventiononly two days off, and we don't know where we stand, how many delegateswe've got, or whether this upstart at Leith is going to be nominated overour heads. Here's Adam Hunt with his back up, declaring he's a reformer, and all his section of the State behind him. Now if that could have beenhandled otherwise--"

"Who told Hunt to go in?" Hilary inquired. 

"Things were different then, " said Mr. Flint, vigorously. "Hunt had beenpromised the governorship for a long time, and when Ridout became out ofthe question--"

"Why did Ridout become out of the question?" asked Hilary. 

Mr. Flint made a gesture of impatience. 

"On account of that foolishness in the Legislature, of course. "

"That foolishness in the Legislature, as you call it, represented asentiment all over the State, " said Hilary. "And if I'd been you, Iwouldn't have let Hunt in this year. But you didn't ask my opinion. Youasked me when you begged me to get Adam out, and I predicted that hewouldn't get out. "

Mr. Flint took a turn up and down the room. 

"I'm sorry I didn't send for him to go to New York, " he said. "Well, anyway, the campaign's been muddled, that's certain, --whoever muddledit. " And the president looked at his counsel as though he, at least, hadno doubts on this point. But Hilary appeared unaware of the implication, and made no reply. 

"I can't find out what Bascom and Botcher are doing, " Mr. Flint went on;"I don't get any reports--they haven't been here. Perhaps you know. They've had trip passes enough to move the whole population of PutnamCounty. Fairplay says they're gettin' delegates for Adam Hunt instead ofGiles Henderson. And Whitredge says that Jake Botcher is talking reform. "

"I guess Botcher and Bascom know their business, " said Mr. Vane. If Mr. Flint had been a less concentrated man, he might have observed that theHonourable Hilary had not cut a piece of Honey Dew this afternoon. 

"What is their business?" asked Mr. Flint--a little irrelevantly for him. 

"What you and I taught 'em, " said Mr. Vane. 

Mr. Flint considered this a moment, and decided to let it pass. He lookedat the Honourable Hilary more closely, however. 

"What's the matter with you, Vane? You're not sick, are you?"

"No. "

Mr. Flint took another turn. 

"Now the question is, what are we going to do? If you've got any plan, Iwant to hear it. "

Mr. Vane was silent. 

"Suppose Crewe goes into the convention with enough delegates to lock itup, so that none of the three has a majority?"

"I guess he'll do that, " said Mr. Vane. He fumbled in his pocket, anddrew out a typewritten list. It must be explained that the caucuses, orprimaries, had been held in the various towns of the State at odd dates, and that the delegates pledged for the different candidates had beenpublished in the newspapers from time to time--although very much inaccordance with the desires of their individual newspapers. Mr. Crewe'sdelegates necessarily had been announced by what is known as politicaladvertising. Mr. Flint took the Honourable Hilary's list, ran his eyeover it, and whistled. 

"You mean he claims three hundred and fifty out of the thousand. "

"No, " said Hilary, "he claims six hundred. He'll have three hundred andfifty. "

In spite of the 'Book of Arguments, ' Mr. Crewe was to have three hundred!It was incredible, preposterous. Mr. Flint looked at his counsel oncemore, and wondered whether he could be mentally failing. 

"Fairplay only gives him two hundred. "

"Fairplay only gave him ten, in the beginning, " said Hilary. 

"You come here two days before the convention and tell me Crewe has threehundred and fifty!" Mr. Flint exclaimed, as though Hilary Vane werepersonally responsible for Mr. Crewe's delegates. A very different tonefrom that of other times, when conventions were mere ratifications ofImperial decrees. "Do you realize what it means if we lose control?Thousands and thousands of dollars in improvements--rolling stock, betterservice, new bridges, and eliminations of grade crossings. And they'llraise our tax rate to the average, which means thousands more. A newrailroad commission that we can't talk to, and lower dividends--lowerdividends, do you understand? That means trouble with the directors, thestockholders, and calls for explanations. And what explanations can Imake which can be printed in a public report?"

"You were always pretty good at 'em, Flint, " said Hilary. 

This remark, as was perhaps natural, did not improve the temper of thepresident of the Northeastern. 

"If you think I like this political business any better than you do, you're mightily mistaken, " he replied. "And now I want to hear what planyou've got for the convention. Suppose there's a deadlock, as you saythere will be, how are you going to handle it? Can you get a deal throughbetween Giles Henderson and Adam Hunt? With all my other work, I've hadto go into this myself. Hunt hasn't got a chance. Bascom and Botcher areegging him on and making him believe he has. When Hunt gets into theconvention and begins to fall off, you've got to talk to him, Vane. Andhis delegates have all got to be seen at the Pelican the night before andunderstand that they're to swing to Henderson after two ballots. You'vegot to keep your hand on the throttle in the convention, you understand. And I don't need to impress upon you how grave are the consequences ifthis man Crewe gets in, with public sentiment behind him and areactionary Lower House. You've got to keep your hand on the throttle. "

"That's part of my business, isn't it?" Hilary asked, without turning hishead. 

Mr. Flint did not answer, but his eye rested again on his counsel's face. 

"I'm that kind of a lawyer, " Hilary continued, apparently more to himselfthan to his companion. "You pay me for that sort of thing more than forthe work I do in the courts. Isn't that so, Flint?"

Mr. Flint was baffled. Two qualities which were very dear to him hedesignated as sane and safe, and he had hitherto regarded his counsel asthe sanest and safest of men. This remark made him wonder seriouslywhether the lawyer's mind were not giving away; and if so, to whom was heto turn at this eleventh hour? No man in the State knew the ins and outsof conventions as did Hilary Vane; and, in the rare times when there hadbeen crises, he had sat quietly in the little room off the platform as atthe keyboard of an organ, and the delegates had responded to his touch. Hilary Vane had named the presidents of conventions, and the committees, and by pulling out stops could get such resolutions as he wished--or asMr. Flint wished. But now?

Suddenly a suspicion invaded Mr. Flint's train of thought; he repeatedHilary's words over to himself. "I'm that kind of a lawyer, " and anotherindividuality arose before the president of the Northeastern. Instinctsare curious things. On the day, some years before, when Austen Vane hadbrought his pass into this very room and laid it down on his desk, Mr. Flint had recognized a man with whom he would have to deal, --a strongerman than Hilary. Since then he had seen Austen's hand in variousdisturbing matters, and now it was as if he heard Austen speaking. "I'mthat kind of a lawyer. " Not Hilary Vane, but Hilary Vane's son wasresponsible for Hilary Vane's condition--this recognition came to Mr. Flint in a flash. Austen had somehow accomplished the incredible feat ofmaking Hilary Vane ashamed--and when such men as Hilary are ashamed, their usefulness is over. Mr. Flint had seen the thing happen with acertain kind of financiers, one day aggressive, combative, and the nextbroken, querulous men. Let a man cease to believe in what he is doing, and he loses force. 

The president of the Northeastern used a locomotive as long as possible, but when it ceased to be able to haul a train up-grade, he sent it to thescrap-heap. Mr. Flint was far from being a bad man, but he worshippedpower, and his motto was the survival of the fittest. He did not yet feelpity for Hilary--for he was angry. Only contempt, --contempt that one whohad been a power should come to this. To draw a somewhat far-fetchedparallel, a Captain Kidd or a Caesar Borgia with a conscience would neverhave been heard of. Mr. Flint did not call it a conscience--he had aharder name for it. He had to send Hilary, thus vitiated, into theConvention to conduct the most important battle since the founding of theEmpire, and Austen Vane was responsible. 

Mr. Flint had to control himself. In spite of his feelings, he saw thathe must do so. And yet he could not resist saying: "I get a good manyrumours here. They tell me that there may be another candidate in thefield--a dark horse. "

"Who?" asked Hilary. 

"There was a meeting in the room of a man named Redbrook during theLegislature to push this candidate, " said Mr. Flint, eyeing his counselsignificantly, "and now young Gaylord has been going quietly around theState in his interest. "

Suddenly the listless figure of Hilary Vane straightened, and the oldlook which had commanded the respect and obedience of men returned to hiseye. 

"You mean my son?" he demanded. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Flint; "they tell me that when the time comes, your, sonwill be a candidate on a platform opposed to our interests. "

"Then, " said Hilary, "they tell you a damned lie. "

Hilary Vane had not sworn for a quarter of a century, and yet it is to bedoubted if he ever spoke more nobly. He put his hands on the arms of hischair and lifted himself to his feet, where he stood for a moment, a tellfigure to be remembered. Mr. Flint remembered it for many years. HilaryVane's long coat was open, and seemed in itself to express this strangeand new-found vigour in its flowing lines; his head was thrown back, anda look on his face which Mr. Flint had never seen there. He drew from aninner pocket a long envelope, and his hand trembled, though with seemingeagerness, as he held it out to Mr. Flint. 

"Here!" he said. 

"What's this?" asked Mr. Flint. He evinced no desire to take it, butHilary pressed it on him. 

"My resignation as counsel for your road. "

The president of the Northeastern, bewildered by this suddentransformation, stared at the envelope. 

"What? Now--to-day?" he said. 

"No, " answered Hilary; "read it. You'll see it takes effect the day afterthe State convention. I'm not much use any more you've done your best tobring that home to me, and you'll need a new man to do--the kind of workI've been doing for you for twenty-five years. But you can't get a newman in a day, and I said I'd stay with you, and I keep my word. I'll goto the convention; I'll do my best for you, as I always have. But I don'tlike it, and after that I'm through. After that I become alawyer--lawyer, do you understand?"

"A lawyer?" Mr. Flint repeated. 

"Yes, a lawyer. Ever since last June, when I came up here, I've realizedwhat I was. A Brush Bascom, with a better education and more brains, buta Brush Bascom--with the brains prostituted. While things were goingalong smoothly I didn't know--you never attempted to talk to me this waybefore. Do you remember how you took hold of me that day, and begged meto stay? I do, and I stayed. Why? Because I was a friend of yours. Association with you for twenty-five years had got under my skin, and Ithought it had got under yours. " Hilary let his hand fall. "To-day you'vegiven me a notion of what friendship is. You've given me a chance toestimate myself on a new basis, and I'm much obliged to you for that. Ihaven't got many years left, but I'm glad to have found out what my lifehas been worth before I die. "

He buttoned up his coat slowly, glaring at Mr. Flint the while with acourage and a defiance that were superb. And he had picked up his hatbefore Mr. Flint found his tongue. 

"You don't mean that, Vane, " he cried. "My God, think what you've said!"

Hilary pointed at the desk with a shaking finger. 

"If that were a scaffold, and a rope were around my neck, I'd say it overagain. And I thank God I've had a chance to say it to you. " He paused, cleared his throat, and continued in a voice that all at once had becomeunemotional and natural. "I've three tin boxes of the private papers youwanted. I didn't think of 'em to-day, but I'll bring 'em up to you myselfon Thursday. "

Mr. Flint reflected afterwards that what made him helpless must have beenthe sudden change in Hilary's manner to the commonplace. The president ofthe Northeastern stood where he was, holding the envelope in his hand, apparently without the power to move or speak. He watched the tall formof his chief counsel go through the doorway, and something told him thatthat exit was coincident with the end of an era. 

The end of an era of fraud, of self-deception, of conditions thatviolated every sacred principle of free government which men had shedblood to obtain. 

CHAPTER XXIV

AN ADVENTURE OF VICTORIA'S

Mrs. Pomfret was a proud woman, for she had at last obtained the consentof the lion to attend a lunch party. She would have liked a dinner muchbetter, but beggars are not choosers, and she seized eagerly on thelunch. The two days before the convention Mr. Crewe was to spend atLeith; having continual conferences, of course, receiving delegations, and discussing with prominent citizens certain offices which would be inhis gift when he became governor. Also, there was Mr. Watling'snominating speech to be gone over carefully, and Mr. Crewe's own speechof acceptance to be composed. He had it in his mind, and he had decidedthat it should have two qualities: it should be brief and forceful. 

Gratitude, however, is one of the noblest qualities of man, and astatesman should not fail to reward his faithful workers and adherents. As one of the chiefest of these, Mrs. Pomfret was entitled to highconsideration. Hence the candidate had consented to have a lunch given inhis honour, naming the day and the hour; and Mrs. Pomfret, believing thata prospective governor should possess some of the perquisites of royalty, in a rash moment submitted for his approval a list of guests. Thisincluded two distinguished foreigners who were staying at the Leith Inn, an Englishman and an Austrian, and an elderly lady of very considerablesocial importance who was on a visit to Mrs. Pomfret. 

Mr. Crewe had graciously sanctioned the list, but took the liberty ofsuggesting as an addition to it the name of Miss Victoria Flint, explaining over the telephone to Mrs. Pomfret that he had scarcely seenVictoria all summer, and that he wanted particularly to see her. Mrs. Pomfret declared that she had only left out Victoria because her presencemight be awkward for both of them, but Mr. Crewe waved this aside as atrivial and feminine objection; so Victoria was invited, and anotheryoung man to balance the table. 

Mrs. Pomfret, as may have been surmised, was a woman of taste, and hervilla at Leith, though small, had added considerably to her reputationfor this quality. Patterson Pomfret had been a gentleman with red cheeksand an income, who incidentally had been satisfied with both. He hadnever tried to add to the income, which was large enough to pay the duesof the clubs the lists of which he thought worthy to include his name;large enough to pay hotel bills in London and Paris and at the baths, andto free the servants at country houses; large enough to clothe his wifeand himself, and to teach Alice the three essentials of music, French, and deportment. If that man is notable who has mastered one thing well, Patterson Pomfret was a notable man: he had mastered the possibilities ofhis income, and never in any year had he gone beyond it by so much as asole d vin blanc or a pair of red silk stockings. When he died, he left aworthy financial successor in his wife. 

Mrs. Pomfret, knowing the income, after an exhaustive search decided uponLeith as the place to build her villa. It must be credited to herforesight that, when she built, she saw the future possibilities of theplace. The proper people had started it. And it must be credited to hergenius that she added to these possibilities of Leith by bringing to itsuch families as she thought worthy to live in the neighbourhood--families which incidentally increased the value of the land. Her villahad a decided French look, and was so amazingly trim and neat andgenerally shipshape as to be fit--for only the daintiest and mostdiscriminating feminine occupation. The house was small, and itsmetamorphosis from a plain wooden farm-house had been an achievement thatexcited general admiration. Porches had been added, and a coat ofspotless white relieved by an orange striping so original that manyenvied, but none dared to copy it. The striping went around the whitechimneys, along the cornice, under the windows and on the railings of theporch: there were window boxes gay with geraniums and abundant awningsstriped white and red, to match the flowers: a high, formal hemlock hedgehid the house from the road, through which entered a blue-stone drivethat cut the close-cropped lawn and made a circle to the doorway. Underthe great maples on the lawn were a tea-table, rugs, and wicker chairs, and the house itself was furnished by a variety of things of a design notto be bought in the United States of America: desks, photograph frames, writing-sets, clocks, paperknives, flower baskets, magazine racks, cigarette boxes, and dozens of other articles for the duplicates of whichone might have searched Fifth Avenue in vain. 

Mr. Crewe was a little late. Important matters, he said, had detained himat the last moment, and he particularly enjoined Mrs. Pomfret's butler tolisten carefully for the telephone, and twice during lunch it wasannounced that Mr. Crewe was wanted. At first he was preoccupied, andanswered absently across the table the questions of the Englishman andthe Austrian about American politics, and talked to the lady of socialprominence on his right not at all; nor to Mrs. Pomfret'--who excusedhim. Being a lady of discerning qualities, however, the hostess remarkedthat Mr. Crewe's eyes wandered more than once to the far end of the ovaltable, where Victoria sat, and even Mrs. Pomfret could not deny theattraction. Victoria wore a filmy gown of mauve that infinitely becameher, and a shadowy hat which, in the semi-darkness of the dining room, was a wondrous setting for her shapely head. Twice she caught Mr. Crewe'slook upon her and returned it amusedly from under her lashes, --and oncehe could have sworn that she winked perceptibly. What fires she kindledin his deep nature it is impossible to say. 

She had kindled other fires at her side. The tall young Englishman hadlost interest in American politics, had turned his back upon poor AlicePomfret, and had forgotten the world in general. Not so the Austrian, whowas on the other side of Alice, and who could not see Victoria. Mr. Crewe, by his manner and appearance, had impressed him as a person ofimportance, and he wanted to know more. Besides, he wished to improve hisEnglish, and Alice had been told to speak French to him. By a luckychance, after several blind attempts, he awakened the interest of thepersonality. 

"I hear you are what they call reform in America?"

This was not the question that opened the gates. 

"I don't care much for the word, " answered Mr. Crewe, shortly; "I preferthe word progressive. "

Discourse on the word "progressive" by the Austrian almost a monologue. But he was far from being discouraged. 

"And Mrs. Pomfret tells me they play many detestable tricks on you--yes?"

"Tricks!" exclaimed Mr. Crewe, the memory of many recent ones being freshin his mind; "I should say so. Do you know what a caucus is?"

"Caucus--caucus? It brings something to my head. Ah, I have seen apicture of it, in some English book. A very funny picture--it is in fun, yes?"

"A picture?" said Mr. Crewe. "Impossible!"

"But no, " said the Austrian, earnestly, with one finger to his temples. "It is a funny picture, I know. I cannot recall. But the word caucus Iremember. That is a droll word. "

"Perhaps, Baron, " said Victoria, who had been resisting an almostuncontrollable desire to laugh, "you have been reading 'Alice inWonderland. '"

The Englishman, Beatrice Chillingham, and some others (among whom werenot Mr. Crewe and Mrs. Pomfret) gave way to an extremely pardonablemirth, in which the good-natured baron joined. 

"Ach!" he cried. "It is so, I have seen it in 'Alice in Wonderland. '"Here the puzzled expression returned to his face, "But they are birds, are they not?"

Men whose minds are on serious things are impatient of levity, and Mr. Crewe looked at the baron:

"No, " he said, "they are not birds. "

This reply was the signal for more laughter. 

"A thousand pardons, " exclaimed the baron. "It is I who am so ignorant. You will excuse me--yes?"

Mr. Crewe was mollified. The baron was a foreigner, he had been theobject of laughter, and Mr. Crewe's chivalrous spirit resented it. 

"What we call a caucus in the towns of this State, " he said, "is ameeting of citizens of one party to determine who their candidates shallbe. A caucus is a primary. There is a very loose primary law in thisState, purposely kept loose by the politicians of the NortheasternRailroads, in order that they may play such tricks on decent men as theyhave been playing on me. "

At this mention of the Northeastern Railroads the lady on Mr. Crewe'sright, and some other guests, gave startled glances at Victoria. Theyobserved with surprise that she seemed quite unmoved. 

"I'll tell you one or two of the things those railroad lobbyists havedone, " said Mr. Crewe, his indignation rising with the subject, and stilladdressing the baron. "They are afraid to let the people into thecaucuses, because they know I'll get the delegates. Nearly everywhere Ispeak to the people, I get the delegates. The railroad politicians sendword to the town rings to hold snap caucuses' when they hear I'm cominginto a town to speak, and the local politicians give out notices only aday before, and only to the voters they want in the caucus. In Hull theother day, out of a population of two thousand, twenty men elected fourdelegates for the railroad candidate. "

"It is corruption!" cried the baron, who had no idea who Victoria was, and a very slim notion of what Mr. Crewe was talking about. 

"Corruption!" said Mr. Crewe. "What can you expect when a railroad owns aState? The other day in Britain, where they elect fourteen delegates, theeditor of a weekly newspaper printed false ballots with two of my men atthe top and one at the bottom, and eleven railroad men in the middle. Fortunately some person with sense discovered the fraud before it was toolate. "

"You don't tell me!" said the baron. 

"And every State and federal office-holder has been distributing passesfor the last three weeks. "

"Pass?" repeated the baron. "You mean they fight with the fist--so? Todistribute a pass--so, " and the baron struck out at an imaginary enemy. "It is the American language. I have read it in the prize-fight. I amtold to read the prize-fight and the base-ball game. "

Mr. Crewe thought it obviously useless to continue this conversation. 

"The railroad, " said the baron, "he is the modern Machiavelli. "

"I say, " Mr. Rangely, the Englishman, remarked to Victoria, "this is abit rough on you, you know. "

"Oh, I'm used to it, " she laughed. 

"Mr. Crewe, " said Mrs. Pomfret, to the table at large, "deservestremendous credit for the fight he has made, almost single-handed. Ourgreatest need in this country is what you have in England, Mr. Rangely, --gentlemen in politics. Our country gentlemen, like Mr. Crewe, are nowgoing to assume their proper duties and responsibilities. " She laid hernapkin on the table and glanced at Alice as she continued: "Humphrey, Ishall have to appoint you, as usual, the man of the house. Will you takethe gentlemen into the library?"

Another privilege of celebrity is to throw away one's cigar, and walk outof the smoking room if one is bored. Mr. Crewe was, in a sense, the host. He indicated with a wave of his hand the cigars and cigarettes which Mrs. Pomfret had provided, and stood in a thoughtful manner before the emptyfireplace, with his hands in his pockets, replying in brief sentences tothe questions of Mr. Chillingham and the others. To tell the truth, Mr. Crewe was bringing to bear all of his extraordinary concentration of mindupon a problem with which he had been occupied for some years past. Hewas not a man, as we know, to take the important steps of life in ahurry, although; like the truly great, he was capable of making up hismind in a very brief period when it was necessary to strike. He had now, after weighing the question with the consideration which its gravitydemanded, finally decided upon definite action. Whereupon he walked outof the library, leaving the other guests to comment as they would; or notcomment at all, for all he cared. Like all masterful men, he went directto the thing he wanted. 

The ladies were having coffee under the maples, by the tea-table. At somelittle distance from the group Beatrice Chillingham was walking withVictoria, and it was evident that Victoria found Miss Chillingham'sremarks amusing. These were the only two in the party who did not observeMr. Crewe's approach. Mrs. Pomfret, when she saw the direction which hewas taking, lost the thread of her conversation, and the lady who wasvisiting her wore a significant expression. 

"Victoria, " said Mr. Crewe, "let's go around to the other side of thehouse and look at the view. "

Victoria started and turned to him from Miss Chillingham, with the funstill sparkling in her eyes. It was, perhaps, as well for Mr. Crewe thathe had not overheard their conversation; but this might have applied toany man. 

"Are you sure you can spare the time?" she asked. 

Mr. Crewe looked at his watch--probably from habit. 

"I made it a point to leave the smoking room early, " he replied. 

"We're flattered--aren't we, Beatrice?"

Miss Chillingham had a turned-up nose, and a face which was apt to beslightly freckled at this time of year; for she contemned vanity andveils. For fear of doing her an injustice, it must be added that she wasnot at all bad-looking; quite the contrary All that can be noted in thisbrief space is that Beatrice Chillingham was herself. Some peopledeclared that she was possessed of the seven devils of her sex which Mr. Stockton wrote about. 

"I'm flattered, " she said, and walked off towards the tea-table with aglance in which Victoria read many meanings. Mr. Crewe paid no attentioneither to words, look, or departure. 

"I want to talk to you, " he said. 

"You've made that very plain, at least, " answered Victoria. "Why did youpretend it was the view?"

"Some conventionalities have to be observed, I suppose, " he said. "Let'sgo around there. It is a good view. "

"Don't you think this is a little--marked?" asked Victoria, surveying himwith her hands behind her back. 

"I can't help it if it is, " said Mr. Crewe. "Every hour is valuable tome, and I've got to take my chances when I get 'em. For some reason, youhaven't been down at Leith much this summer. Why didn't you telephone me, as I asked you. "

"Because I've suddenly grown dignified, I suppose, " she said. "And then, of course, I hesitated to intrude upon such a person of importance as youhave become, Humphrey. "

"I've always got time to see you, " he replied. "I always shall have. ButI appreciate your delicacy. That sort of thing counts with a man morethan most women know. "

"Then I am repaid, " said Victoria, "for exercising self-control. "

"I find it always pays, " declared Mr. Crewe, and he glanced at her withdistinct approval. They were skirting the house, and presently came outupon a tiny terrace where young Ridley had made a miniature Italiangarden when the Electric dividends had increased, and from which therewas a vista of the shallows of the Blue. Here was a stone garden-seatwhich Mrs. Pomfret had brought from Italy, and over which she hadquarrelled with the customs authorities. Mr. Crewe, with a wave of hishand, signified his pleasure that they should sit, and cleared histhroat. 

"It's just as well, perhaps, " he began, "that we haven't had the chanceto see each other earlier. When a man starts out upon an undertaking ofthe gravest importance, wherein he stakes his reputation, an undertakingfor which he is ridiculed and reviled, he likes to have his judgmentjustified. He likes to be vindicated, especially in the eyes of--peoplewhom he cares about. Personally, I never had any doubt that I should bethe next governor, because I knew in the beginning that I had estimatedpublic sentiment correctly. The man who succeeds in this world is the manwho has sagacity enough to gauge public sentiment ahead of time, and thecourage to act on his beliefs. " Victoria looked at him steadily. He wasvery calm, and he had one knee crossed over the other. 

"And the sagacity, " she added, "to choose his lieutenants in the fight. "

"Exactly, " said Mr. Crewe. "I have always declared, Victoria, that youhad a natural aptitude for affairs. "

"I have heard my father say, " she continued, still maintaining her steadyglance, "that Hamilton Tooting is one of the shrewdest politicians he hasever known. Isn't Mr. Tooting one of your right-hand men?"

"He could hardly be called that, " Mr. Crewe replied. "In fact, I haven'tany what you might call 'right-hand men. ' The large problems I have hadto decide for myself. As for Tooting, he's well enough in his way; heunderstands the tricks of the politicians--he's played 'em, I guess. He'suneducated; he's merely a worker. You see, " he went on, "one great reasonwhy I've been so successful is because I've been practical. I've takenmaterials as I've found them. "

"I see, " answered Victoria, turning her head and gazing over the terraceat the sparkling reaches of the river. She remembered the close of thatwintry afternoon in Mr. Crewe's house at the capital, and she was quitewilling to do him exact justice, and to believe that he had forgotten it--which, indeed, was the case. 

"I want to say, " he continued, "that although I have known and--ahem--admired you for many years, Victoria, what has struck me most forciblyin your favour has been your open-mindedness--especially on the greatpolitical questions this summer. I have no idea how much you know aboutthem, but one would naturally have expected you, on account of yourfather, to be prejudiced. Sometime, when I have more leisure, I shall gointo them, fully with you. And in the meantime I'll have my secretarysend you the complete list of my speeches up to date, and I know you willread them carefully. "

"You are very kind, Humphrey, " she said. 

Absorbed in the presentation of his subject (which chanced to behimself), Mr. Crewe did not observe that her lips were parted, and thatthere were little creases around her eyes. 

"And sometime, " said Mr. Crewe, when all this has blown over a little, Ishall have a talk with your father. He undoubtedly understands that thereis scarcely any question of my election. He probably realizes, too, thathe has been in the--wrong, and that railroad domination must cease--hehas already made several concessions, as you know. I wish you would tellhim from me that when I am governor, I shall make it a point to discussthe whole matter with him, and that he will find in me no foe ofcorporations. Justice is what I stand for. Temperamentally, I am tooconservative, I am too much of a business man, to tamper with vestedinterests. "

"I will tell him, Humphrey, " said Victoria. 

Mr. Crewe coughed, and looked at his watch once, more. "And now, havingmade that clear, " he said, "and having only a quarter of an hour before Ihave to leave to keep an appointment, I am going to take up anothersubject. And I ask you to believe it is not done lightly, or without dueconsideration, but as the result of some years of thought. "

Victoria turned to him seriously--and yet the creases were still aroundher eyes. 

"I can well believe it, Humphrey, " she answered. "But--have you time?"

"Yes, " he said, "I have learned the value of minutes. "

"But not of hours, perhaps, " she replied. 

"That, " said Mr. Crewe, indulgently, "is a woman's point of view. A mancannot dally through life, and your kind of woman has no use for a manwho dallies. First, I will give you my idea of a woman. "

"I am all attention, " said Victoria. 

"Well, " said Mr. Crewe, putting the tops of his fingers together, "sheshould excel as a housewife. I haven't any use for your so-calledintellectual woman. Of course, what I mean by a housewife is something alittle less bourgeoise; she should be able to conduct an establishmentwith the neatness and despatch and economy of a well-run hotel. Sheshould be able to seat a table instantly and accurately, giving to theprominent guests the prestige they deserve. Nor have I any sympathy withthe notion that makes a married woman a law unto herself. She entersvoluntarily into an agreement whereby she puts herself under the controlof her husband: his interests, his career, his--"

"Comfort?" suggested Victoria. 

"Yes, his comfort--all that comes first. And his establishment isconducted primarily, and his guests selected, in the interests of hisfortunes. Of course, that goes without saying of a man in high place inpublic life. But he must choose for his wife a woman who is equal to allthese things, --to my mind her highest achievement, --who makes the most ofthe position he gives her, presides at his table and entertainments, andreaches such people as, for any reason, he is unable to reach. I havetaken the pains to point out these things in a general way, for obviousreasons. My greatest desire is to be fair. "

"What, " asked Victoria, with her eyes on the river, "what are the wages?"

Mr. Crewe laughed. Incidentally, he thought her profile very fine. 

"I do not believe in flattery, " he said, "but I think I should add to thequalifications personality and a sense of humour. I am quite sure I couldnever live with a woman--who didn't have a sense of humour. "

"I should think it would be a little difficult, " said Victoria, "to get awoman with the qualifications you enumerate and a sense of humour thrownin. "

"Infinitely difficult, " declared Mr. Crewe, with more ardour than he hadyet shown. "I have waited a good many years, Victoria. "

"And yet, " she said, "you have been happy. You have a perpetual source ofenjoyment denied to some people. "

"What is that?" he asked. It is natural for a man to like to hear thepoints of his character discussed by a discerning woman. 

"Yourself, " said Victoria, suddenly looking him full in the face. "Youare complete, Humphrey, as it is. You are happily married already. Besides, " she added, laughing a little, "the qualities you havementioned--with the exception of the sense of humour--are not those of awife, but of a business partner of the opposite sex. What you really wantis a business partner with something like a fifth interest, and whosename shall not appear in the agreement. "

Mr. Crewe laughed again. Nevertheless, he was a little puzzled over thisremark. 

"I am not sentimental, " he began. 

"You certainly are not, " she said. 

"You have a way, " he replied, with a shade of reproof in his voice, "youhave a way at times of treating serious things with a little less gravitythan they deserve. I am still a young man, but I have seen a good deal oflife, and I know myself pretty well. It is necessary to treat matrimonyfrom a practical as well as a sentimental point of view. There wouldn'tbe half the unhappiness and divorces if people took time to do this, instead of rushing off and getting married immediately. And of course itis especially important for a man in my position to study every aspect ofthe problem before he takes a step. "

By this time a deep and absorbing interest in a new aspect of Mr. Crewe'scharacter had taken possession of Victoria. 

"And you believe that, by taking thought, you can get the kind of a wifeyou want?" she asked. 

"Certainly, " he replied; "does that strike you as strange?"

"A little, " said Victoria. "Suppose, " she added gently, "suppose that thekind of wife you'd want wouldn't want you?"

Mr. Crewe laughed again. 

"That is a contingency which a strong man does not take intoconsideration, " he answered. "Strong men get what they want. But upon myword, Victoria, you have a delicious way of putting things. In yourpresence I quite forget the problems and perplexities which beset me. That, " he said, with delicate meaning, "that is another quality I shoulddesire in a woman. "

"It is one, fortunately, that isn't marketable, " she said, "and it's theonly quality you've mentioned that's worth anything. "

"A woman's valuation, " said Mr. Crewe. 

"If it made you forget your own affairs, it would be priceless. "

"Look here, Victoria, " cried Mr. Crewe, uncrossing his knees, "joking'sall very well, but I haven't time for it to-day. And I'm in a seriousmood. I've told you what I want, and now that I've got to go in a fewminutes, I'll come to the point. I don't suppose a man could pay a womana higher compliment than to say that his proposal was the result of someyears of thought and study. "

Here Victoria laughed outright, but grew serious again at once. 

"Unless he proposed to her the day he met her. That would be a realcompliment. "

"The man, " said Mr. Crewe, impatiently, "would be a fool. "

"Or else a person of extreme discernment, " said Victoria. "And love islenient with fools. By the way, Humphrey, it has just occurred to me thatthere's one quality which some people think necessary in a wife, whichyou didn't mention. "

"What's that?"

"Love, " said Victoria. 

"Love, of course, " he agreed; "I took that for granted. "

"I supposed you did, " said Victoria, meekly. 

"Well, now, to come to the point--" he began again. 

But she interrupted him by glancing at the watch on her gown, and rising. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, with some annoyance. 

"The fifteen minutes are up, " she announced. "I cannot take theresponsibility of detaining you. "

"We will put in tantalizing as another attractive quality, " he laughed. "I absolve you of all responsibility. Sit down. "

"I believe you mentioned obedience, " she answered, and sat down again atthe end of the bench, resting her chin on her gloved hand, and looking athim. By this time her glances seemed to have gained a visibly disturbingeffect. He moved a little nearer to her, took off his hat (which he hadhitherto neglected to do), and thrust his hands abruptly into hispockets--as much as to say that he would not be responsible for theirmovements if they were less free. 

"Hang it all, Victoria, " he exclaimed, "I'm a practical man, and I try tolook at this, which is one of the serious things in life, in a practicalway. "

"One of the serious things, " she repeated, as though to herself. 

"Yes, " he said, "certainly. "

"I merely asked to be sure of the weight you gave it. Go on. "

"In a practical way, as I was saying. Long ago I suspected that you hadmost of those qualities. "

"I'm overwhelmed, Humphrey, " she cried, with her eyes dancing. "But--doyou think I could cultivate the rest?"

"Oh, well, " said Mr. Crewe, I put it that way because no woman isperfect, and I dislike superlatives. "

"I should think superlatives would be very hard to live with, " shereflected. "But--dreadful thought!--suppose I should lack an essential?"

"What--for instance?"

"Love--for instance. But then you did not put it first. It was I whomentioned it, and you who took it for granted. "

"Affection seems to be a more sensible term for it, " he said. "Affectionis the lasting and sensible thing. You mentioned a partnership, a wordthat singularly fits into my notion of marriage. I want to be honest withyou, and understate my feelings on that subject. "

Victoria, who had been regarding him with a curious look that puzzledhim, laughed again. 

"I have been hoping you haven't exaggerated them, " she replied. 

"They're stronger than you think, " he declared. "I never felt this way inmy life before. What I meant to say was, that I never understood runningaway with a woman. "

"That does not surprise me, " said Victoria. 

"I shouldn't know where to run to, " he proclaimed. 

"Perhaps the woman would, if you got a clever one. At any rate, itwouldn't matter. One place is as good as another. Some go to Niagara, andsome to Coney Island, and others to Venice. Personally, I should have noparticular preference. "

"No preference!" he exclaimed. 

"I could be happy in Central Park, " she declared. 

"Fortunately, " said Mr. Crewe, "you will never be called upon to make thetrial. "

Victoria was silent. Her thoughts, for the moment, had flown elsewhere, but Mr. Crewe did not appear to notice this. He fell back into therounded hollow of the bench, and it occurred to him that he had neverquite realized that profile. And what an ornament she would be to histable. 

"I think, Humphrey, " she said, "that we should be going back. "

"One moment, and I'll have finished, " he cried. "I've no doubt you areprepared for what I am going to say. I have purposely led up to it, inorder that there might be no misunderstanding. In short, I have neverseen another woman with personal characteristics so well suited for mylife, and I want you to marry me, Victoria. I can offer you the positionof the wife of a man with a public career--for which you are so wellfitted. "

Victoria shook her head slowly, and smiled at him. 

"I couldn't fill the position, " she said. 

"Perhaps, " he replied, smiling back at her, "perhaps I am the best judgeof that. "

"And you thought, " she asked slowly, "that I was that kind of a woman?"

"I know it to be a practical certainty, " said Mr. Crewe. 

"Practical certainties, " said Victoria, "are not always truths. If Ishould sign a contract, which I suppose, as a business man, you wouldwant, to live up to the letter of your specifications, --even then I couldnot do it. I should make life a torture for you, Humphrey. You see, I amhonest with you, too--much as your offer dazzles me. " And she shook herhead again. 

"That, " exclaimed Mr. Crewe, impatiently, "is sheer nonsense. I want you, and I mean to have you. "

There came a look into her eyes which Mr. Crewe did not see, because herface was turned from him. 

"I could be happy, " she said, "for days and weeks and years in a but onthe side of Sawanec. I could be happy in a farm-house where I had to doall the work. I am not the model housewife which your imaginationdepicts, Humphrey. I could live in two rooms and eat at an Italianrestaurant--with the right man. And I am afraid the wrong one would wakeup one day and discover that I had gone. I am sorry to disillusionizeyou, but I don't care a fig for balls and garden-parties and salons. Itwould be much more fun to run away from them to the queer places of theearth--with the right man. And I should have to possess one essential toput up with--greatness and what you call a public career. "

"And what is that essential?" he asked. 

"Love, " said Victoria. He heard the word but faintly, for her face wasstill turned away from him. "You've offered me the things that areattainable by taking thought, by perseverance, by pertinacity, by theoutwitting of your fellow-men, by the stacking of coins. And I want--theunattainable, the divine gift which is bestowed, which cannot beacquired. If it could be acquired, Humphrey, " she added, looking at him, "I am sure you would acquire it--if you thought it worth while. "

"I don't understand you, " he said, --and looked it. 

"No, " said Victoria, "I was afraid you wouldn't. And moreover, you neverwould. There is no use in my trying to make myself any clearer, andyou'll have to keep your appointment. I hesitate to contradict you, but Iam not the kind of woman you want. That is one reason I cannot marry you. And the other is, that I do not love you. "

"You can't be in love with any one else?" he cried. 

"That does seem rather preposterous, I'll admit, " she answered. "But if Iwere, it wouldn't make any difference. "

"You won't marry me?" he said, getting to his feet. There was incredulityin his voice, and a certain amount of bewilderment. The thing was indeedincredible!

"No, " said Victoria, "I won't. "

And he had only to look into her face to see that it was so. Hitherto nildesperandum had been a good working motto, but something told him it wasuseless in this case. He thrust on his hat and pulled out his watch. 

"Well, " he said, "that settles it. I must--say I can't see your point ofview--but that settles it. I must say, too, that your refusal issomething of a shock after what I had been led to expect after the pastfew years. "

"The person you are in love with led you to expect it, Humphrey, and thatperson is--yourself. You are in love temporarily with your own ideal ofme. "

"And your refusal comes at an unfortunate tune for me, " he continued, notheeding her words, "when I have an affair on my hands of such magnitude, which requires concentrated thought. But I'm not a man to cry, and I'llmake the best of it. "

"If I thought it were more than a temporary disappointment, I should besorry for you, " said Victoria. "I remember that you felt something likethis when Mr. Rutter wouldn't sell you his land. The lady you reallywant, " she added, pointing with her parasol at the house, "is in there, waiting for you. "

Mr. Crewe did not reply to this prophecy, but followed Victoria aroundthe house to the group on the lawn, where he bade his hostess a somewhatpreoccupied farewell, and bowed distantly to the guests. 

"He has so much on his mind, " said Mrs. Pomfret. "And oh, I quiteforgot--Humphrey!" she cried, calling after him, "Humphrey!"

"Yes, " he said, turning before he reached his automobile. "What is it?"

"Alice and I are going to the convention, you know, and I meant to tellyou that there would be ten in the party--but I didn't have a chance. "Here Mrs. Pomfret glanced at Victoria, who had been joined at once by thetall Englishman. "Can you get tickets for ten?"

Mr. Crewe made a memorandum. 

"Yes, " he said, "I'll get the tickets--but I don't see what you want togo for. "

CHAPTER XXV

MORE ADVENTURER

Victoria had not, of course, confided in Beatrice Chillingham what hadoccurred in the garden, although that lady had exhibited the liveliestinterest, and had had her suspicions. After Mr. Crewe's departure Mr. Rangely, the tall young Englishman, had renewed his attentionsassiduously, although during the interval in the garden he had found MissChillingham a person of discernment. 

"She's not going to marry that chap, is she, Miss Chillingham?" he hadasked. 

"No, " said Beatrice; "you have my word for it, she isn't. "

As she was leaving, Mrs. Pomfret had taken Victoria's hand and drawn heraside, and looked into her face with a meaning smile. 

"My dear!" she exclaimed, "he particularly asked that you be invited. "

"Who?" said Victoria. 

"Humphrey. He stipulated that you should be here. "

"Then I'm very much obliged to him, " said Victoria, "for I've enjoyedmyself immensely. I like your Englishman so much. "

"Do you?" said Mrs. Pomfret, searching Victoria's face, while her ownbrightened. "He's heir to one of the really good titles, and he has anincome of his own. I couldn't put him up here, in this tiny box, becauseI have Mrs. Fronde. We are going to take him to the convention--and ifyou'd care to go, Victoria--?"

Victoria laughed. 

"It isn't as serious as that, " she said. "And I'm afraid I can't go tothe convention--I have some things to do in the neighbourhood. "

Mrs. Pomfret looked wise. 

"He's a most attractive man, with the best prospects. It would be asplendid match for you, Victoria. "

"Mrs. Pomfret, " replied Victoria, wavering between amusement and a desireto be serious, "I haven't the slightest intention of making what you calla 'match. '" And there was in her words a ring of truth not to bemistaken. 

Mrs. Pomfret kissed her. 

"One never can tell what may happen, " she said. "Think of him, Victoria. And your dear mother--perhaps you will know some day what theresponsibility is of seeing a daughter well placed in life. "

Victoria coloured, and withdrew her hand. 

"I fear that time is a long way off, Mrs. Pomfret, " she replied. 

"I think so much of Victoria, " Mrs. Pomfret declared a moment later toher guest; "she's like my own daughter. But at times she's so hopelesslyunconventional. Why, I believe Rangely's actually going home with her. "

"He asked her to drop him at the Inn, " said Mrs. Fronde. "He's head overheels in love already. "

"It would be such a relief to dear Rose, " sighed Mrs. Pomfret. 

"I like the girl, " replied Mrs. Fronde, dryly. "She has individuality, and knows her own mind. Whoever she marries will have something to him. "

"I devoutly hope so!" said Mrs. Pomfret. 

It was quite true that Mr. Arthur Rangely had asked Victoria to drop himat the Inn. But when they reached it he made another request. 

"Do you mind if I go a bit farther, Miss Flint?" he suggested. "I'drather like the walk back. "

Victoria laughed. 

"Do come, " she said. 

He admired the country, but he looked at Victoria, and asked a hundredexceedingly frank questions about Leith, about Mrs. Pomfret, whom he hadmet at his uncle's seat in Devonshire, and about Mr. Crewe and therailroads in politics. Many of these Victoria parried, and she camerapidly to the conclusion that Mr. Arthur Rangely was a more astuteperson than--to a casual observer he would seem. 

He showed no inclination to fix the limits of his walk, and made noprotest as she drove under the stone archway at the entrance of Fairview. Victoria was amused and interested, and she decided that she liked Mr. Rangely. 

"Will you come up for tea?" she asked. "I'll send you home. "

He accepted with alacrity. They had reached the first turn when theirattention was caught by the sight of a buggy ahead of them, and facingtowards them. The horse, with the reins hanging loosely over the shafts, had strayed to the side of the driveway and was contentedly eating theshrubbery that lined it. Inside the vehicle, hunched up in the corner ofthe seat, was a man who presented an appearance of helplessness whichstruck them both with a sobering effect. 

"Is the fellow drunk?" said Mr. Rangely. 

Victoria's answer was a little cry which startled him, and drew his lookto her. She had touched her horse with the whip, and her eyes had widenedin real alarm. 

"It's Hilary Vane!" she exclaimed. "I--I wonder what can have happened!"

She handed the reins to Mr. Rangely, and sprang out and flew to Hilary'sside. 

"Mr. Vane!" she cried. "What's the matter? Are you ill?"

She had never seen him look so. To her he had always been as one on whompity would be wasted, as one who long ago had established his credit withthe universe to his own satisfaction. But now, suddenly, intense pitywelled up within her, and even in that moment she wondered if it could bebecause he was Austen's father. His hands were at his sides, his head wasfallen forward a little, and his face was white. But his eyes frightenedher most; instead of the old, semi-defiant expression which sheremembered from childhood, they had in them a dumb suffering that went toher heart. He looked at her, tried to straighten up, and fell back again. 

"N--nothing's the matter, " he said, "nothing. A little spell. I'll be allright in a moment. "

Victoria did not lose an instant, but climbed into the buggy at his sideand gathered up the reins, and drew the fallen lap-robe over his knees. 

"I'm going to take you back to Fairview, " she said. "And we'll telephonefor a doctor. "

But she had underrated the amount of will left in him. He did not move, though indeed if he had seized the reins from her hands, he could havegiven her no greater effect of surprise. Life came back into the eyes atthe summons, and dominance into the voice, although he breathed heavily. 

"No, you're not, " he said; "no, you're not. I'm going to Ripton--do youunderstand? I'll be all right in a minute, and I'll take the lines. "

Victoria, when she got over her astonishment at this, reflected quickly. She glanced at him, and the light of his expression was already fading. There was some reason why he did not wish to go back to Fairview, andcommon sense told her that agitation was not good for him; besides, theywould have to telephone to Ripton for a physician, and it was quicker todrive there. Quicker to drive in her own runabout, did she dare to try tomove him into it. She made up her mind. 

"Please follow on behind with that trap, " she called out to Rangely; "I'mgoing to Ripton. "

He nodded understandingly, admiringly, and Victoria started Hilary'shorse out of the bushes towards the entrance way. From time to time shelet her eyes rest upon him anxiously. 

"Are you comfortable?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he said, "yes. I'm all right. I'll be able to drive in a minute. "

But the minutes passed, and he made no attempt to take the reins. Victoria had drawn the whalebone whip from its socket, and was urging onthe horse as fast as humanity would permit; and the while she was awarethat Hilary's look was fixed upon her--in fact, never left her. Once ortwice, in spite of her anxiety to get him home, Victoria blushed faintly, as she wondered what he was thinking about. 

And all the while she asked herself what it was that had brought him tothis condition. Victoria knew sufficient of life and had visitedhospitals enough to understand that mental causes were generallyresponsible for such breakdowns--Hilary had had a shock. She rememberedhow in her childhood he had been the object of her particular animosity;how she used to put out her tongue at him, and imitate his manner, andhow he had never made the slightest attempt to conciliate her; mostpeople of this sort are sensitive to the instincts of children; butHilary had not been. She remembered--how long ago it seemed now!--the dayshe had given him, in deviltry, the clipping about Austen shooting Mr. Blodgett. 

The Hilary Vane who sat beside her to-day was not the same man. It wasunaccountable, but he was not. Nor could this changed estimate of him beattributed to her regard for Austen, for she recalled a day only a fewmonths since--in June--when he had come up to Fairview and she wasstanding on the lawn, and she had looked at him without recognition; shehad not, then, been able to bring herself to bow to him; to her childhooddistaste had been added the deeper resentment of Austen's wrongs. Herearly instincts about Hilary had been vindicated, for he had treated hisson abominably and driven Austen from his mother's home. To misunderstandand maltreat Austen Vane, of all people Austen, whose consideration forhis father had been what it had! Could it be that Hilary felt remorse?Could it be that he loved Austen in some peculiar manner all his own?

Victoria knew now--so strangely--that the man beside her was capable oflove, and she had never felt that way about Hilary Vane. And her mind wasconfused, and her heart was troubled and wrung. Insight flashed upon herof the terrible loneliness of a life surrounded by outstretched, lovingarms to which one could not fly; scenes from a famous classic she hadread with a favourite teacher at school came to her, and she knew thatshe was the witness of a retribution, of a suffering beyond conception ofa soul prepared for suffering, --not physical suffering, but of thattorture which is the meaning of hell. 

However, there was physical suffering. It came and went, and at suchmoments she saw the traces of it in the tightening of his lips, andlonged with womanly intuition to alleviate it. She had not spoken--although she could have cried aloud; she knew not what to say. And thensuddenly she reached out and touched his hand. Nor could she haveaccounted for the action. 

"Are you in much pain?" she asked. 

She felt him tremble. 

"No, " he said; "it's only a spell--I've had 'em before. I--I can drive ina few minutes. "

"And do you think, " she asked, "that I would allow you to go the rest ofthe way alone?"

"I guess I ought to thank you for comin' with me, " he said. 

Victoria looked at him and smiled. And it was an illuminating smile forher as well as for Hilary. Suddenly, by that strange power of sympathywhich the unselfish possess, she understood the man, understood Austen'spatience with him and affection for him. Suddenly she had pierced thehard layers of the outer shell, and had heard the imprisoned spiritcrying with a small persistent voice, --a spirit stifled for many yearsand starved--and yet it lived and struggled still. 

Yes, and that spirit itself must have felt her own reaching out to it--who can, say? And how it must have striven again for utterance--

"It was good of you to come, " he said. 

"It was only common humanity, " she answered, touching the horse. 

"Common humanity, " he repeated. "You'd have done it for anybody along theroad, would you?"

At this remark, so characteristic of Hilary, Victoria, hesitated. Sheunderstood it now. And yet she hesitated to give him an answer that washypocritical. 

"I have known you all my life, Mr. Vane, and you are a very old friend ofmy father's. "

"Old, " he repeated, "yes, that's it. I'm ready for the scrap-heap--better have let me lie, Victoria. "

Victoria started. A new surmise had occurred to her upon which she didnot like to dwell. 

"You have worked too hard, Mr. Vane--you need a rest. And I have beentelling father that, too. You both need a rest. "

He shook his head. 

"I'll never get it, " he said. "Stopping work won't give it to me. "

She pondered on these words as she guided the horse over a crossing. Andall that Austen had said to her, all that she had been thinking of for ayear past, helped her to grasp their meaning. But she wondered still moreat the communion which, all at once, had been established between HilaryVane and herself, and why he was saying these things to her. It was allso unreal and inexplicable. 

"I can imagine that people who have worked hard all their lives must feelthat way, " she answered, though her voice was not as steady as she couldhave wished. "You--you have so much to live for. "

Her colour rose. She was thinking of Austen--and she knew that HilaryVane knew that she was thinking of Austen. Moreover, she had suddenlygrasped the fact that the gentle but persistently strong influence of theson's character had brought about the change in the father. Hilary Vane'slips closed again, as in pain, and she divined the reason. 

Victoria knew the house in Hanover Street, with its classic porch, withits certain air of distinction and stability, and long before she hadknown it as the Austen residence she remembered wondering who lived init. The house had individuality, and (looked at from the front) almostperfect proportions; consciously--it bespoke the gentility of itsbuilders. Now she drew up before it and called to Mr. Rangely, who wasabreast, to tie his horse and ring the bell. Hilary was already feelingwith his foot for the step of the buggy. 

"I'm all right, " he insisted; "I can manage now, " but Victoria seized hisarm with a firm, detaining hand. 

"Please wait, --Mr. Vane, " she pleaded. 

But the feeling of shame at his helplessness was strong. 

"It's over now. I--I can walk. I'm much obliged to you, Victoria--muchobliged. "

Fortunately Hilary's horse showed no inclination to go any farther--evento the stable. And Victoria held on to his arm. He ceased to protest, andMr. Rangely quickly tied the other horse and came to Victoria's aid. Supported by the young Englishman, Hilary climbed the stone steps andreached the porch, declaring all the while that he needed no assistance, and could walk alone. Victoria rang the bell, and after an interval thedoor was opened by Euphrasia Cotton. 

Euphrasia stood upright with her hand on the knob, and her eyes flashedover the group and rested fixedly on the daughter of Mr. Flint. 

"Mr. Vane was not very well, " Victoria explained, "and we came home withhim. "

"I'm all right, " said Hilary, once more, and to prove it he stepped--notvery steadily--across the threshold into the hall, and sat down on achair which had had its place at the foot of the stairs from timeimmemorial. Euphrasia stood still. 

"I think, " said Victoria, "that Mr. Vane had better see a doctor. Haveyou a telephone?"

"No, we haven't, " said Euphrasia. 

Victoria turned to Mr. Rangely, who had been a deeply interestedspectator to this scene. 

"A little way down the street, on the other side, Dr. Tredway lives. Youwill see his sign. "

"And if he isn't in, go to the hospital. It's only a few doors fartheron. "

"I'll wait, " said Victoria, simply, when he had gone; "my father willwish to know about Mr. Vane. "

"Hold on, " said Hilary, "I haven't any use for a doctor--I won't see one. I know what the trouble is, and I'm all right. "

Victoria became aware--for the first time that Hilary Vane's housekeeperhad not moved; that Euphrasia Cotton was still staring at her in a mostdisconcerting manner, and was paying no attention whatever to Hilary. 

"Come in and set down, " she said; and seeing Victoria glance at Hilary'shorse, she added, "Oh, he'll stand there till doomsday. "

Victoria, thinking that the situation would be less awkward, accepted theinvitation, and Euphrasia shut the door. The hall, owing to the fact thatthe shutters of the windows by the stairs were always closed, was insemidarkness. Victoria longed to let in the light, to take this strange, dried-up housekeeper and shake her into some semblance of naturalfeeling. And this was Austen's home! It was to this house, made gloomy bythese people, that he had returned every night! Infinitely depressed, shefelt that she must take some action, or cry aloud. 

"Mr. Vane, " she said, laying a hand upon his shoulder, "I think youought, at least, to lie down for a little while. Isn't there a sofa in--in the parlour?" she asked Euphrasia. 

"You can't get him to do anything, " Euphrasia replied, with decision;"he'll die some day for want of a little common sense. I shouldn't wonderif he was took on soon. "

"Oh!" cried Victoria. She could think of no words to answer this remark. 

"It wouldn't surprise me, " Euphrasia continued. "He fell down the stairshere not long ago, and went right on about his business. He's never paidany attention to anybody, and I guess it's a mite late to expect him tobegin now. Won't you set down?"

There was another chair against the low wainscoting, and Victoria drew itover beside Hilary and sat down in it. He did not seem to notice theaction, and Euphrasia continued to stand. Standing seemed to be thenatural posture of this remarkable woman, Victoria thought--a posture ofvigilance, of defiance. A clock of one of the Austen grandfathers stoodobscurely at the back of the hall, and the measured swing of its pendulumwas all that broke the silence. This was Austen's home. It seemedimpossible for her to realize that he could be the product of thisenvironment--until a portrait on the opposite wall, above the stairs, came out of the gloom and caught her eye like the glow of light. Atfirst, becoming aware of it with a start, she thought it a likeness ofAusten himself. Then she saw that the hair was longer, and more wavy thanhis, and fell down a little over the velvet collar of a coat with a widelapel and brass buttons, and that the original of this portrait had worna stock. The face had not quite the strength of Austen's, she thought, but a wondrous sweetness and intellect shone from it, like an expressionshe had seen on his face. The chin rested on the hand, an intellectualhand, --and the portrait brought to her mind that of a young Englishstatesman she had seen in the National Gallery in London. 

"That's Channing Austen, --he was minister to Spain. "

Victoria started. It was Euphrasia who was speaking, and unmistakablepride was in her voice. 

Fortunately for Victoria, who would not in the least have known what toreply, steps were heard on the porch, and Euphrasia opened the door. Mr. Rangely had returned. 

"Here's the doctor, Miss Flint, " he said, "and I'll wait for yououtside. "

Victoria rose as young Dr. Tredway came forward. They were old friends, and the doctor, it may be recalled, had been chiefly responsible for thepreservation of the life of Mr. Zebulun Meader. 

"I have sent for you, Doctor, " she said, "against instructions and on myown responsibility. Mr. Vane is ill, although he refuses to admit it. "

Dr. Tredway had a respect for Victoria and her opinions, and he knewHilary. He opened the door a little wider, and looked critically at Mr. Vane. 

"It's nothing but a spell, " Hilary insisted. "I've had 'em before. Isuppose it's natural that they should scare the women-folks some. "

"What kind of a spell was it, Mr. Vane?" asked the doctor. 

"It isn't worth talking about, " said Hilary. "You might as well pick upthat case of yours and go home again. I'm going down to the square in alittle while. "

"You see, " Euphrasia put in, "he's made up his mind to kill himself. "

"Perhaps, " said the doctor, smiling a little, "Mr. Vane wouldn't objectto Miss Flint telling me what happened. "

Victoria glanced at the doctor and hesitated. Her sympathy for Hilary, her new understanding of him, urged her on--and yet never in her life hadshe been made to feel so distinctly an intruder. Here was the doctor, with his case; here was this extraordinary housekeeper, apparently readyto let Hilary walk to the square, if he wished, and to shut the door ontheir backs; and here was Hilary himself, who threatened at any moment tomake his word good and depart from their midst. Only the fact that shewas convinced that Hilary was in real danger made her relate, in a fewbrief words, what had occurred, and when she had finished Mr. Vane madeno comment whatever. 

Dr. Tredway turned to Hilary. 

"I am going to take a mean advantage of you, Mr. Vane, " he said, "and sithere awhile and talk to you. Would you object to waiting a little while, Miss Flint? I have something to say to you, " he added significantly, "andthis meeting will save me a trip to Fairview. "

"Certainly I'll wait, " she said. 

"You can come along with me, " said Euphrasia, "if you've a notion to. "

Victoria was of two minds whether to accept this invitation. She had anintense desire to get outside, but this was counter-balanced by a suddencuriosity to see more of this strange woman who loved but one person inthe world. Tom Gaylord had told Victoria that. She followed Euphrasia tothe back of the hall. 

"There's the parlour, " said Euphrasia; "it's never be'n used since Mrs. Vane died, --but there it is. "

"Oh, " said Victoria, with a glance into the shadowy depths of the room, "please don't open it for me. Can't we go, " she added, with aninspiration, "can't we go into--the kitchen?" She knew it was Euphrasia'splace. 

"Well, " said Euphrasia, "I shouldn't have thought you'd care much aboutkitchens. " And she led the way onward; through the little passage, to theroom where she had spent most of her days. It was flooded with level, yellow rays of light that seemed to be searching the corners in vain fordust. Victoria paused in the doorway. 

"I'm afraid you do me an injustice, " she said. "I like some kitchens. "

"You don't look as if you knew much about 'em, " was Euphrasia's answer. With Victoria once again in the light, Euphrasia scrutinized her withappalling frankness, taking in every detail of her costume and at lengthraising her eyes to the girl's face. Victoria coloured. On her visitsabout the country-side she had met women of Euphrasia's type before, andhad long ago ceased to be dismayed by their manner. But her instinctdetected in Euphrasia a hostility for which she could not account. 

In that simple but exquisite gown which so subtly suited her, thecreation of which had aroused the artist in a celebrated Parisiandressmaker, Victoria was, indeed, a strange visitant in that kitchen. Shetook a seat by the window, and an involuntary exclamation of pleasureescaped her as her eyes fell upon the little, old-fashioned flower gardenbeneath it. The act and the exclamation for the moment disarmedEuphrasia. 

"They were Sarah Austen's--Mrs. Vane's, " she explained, "just as sheplanted them the year she died. I've always kept 'em just so. "

"Mrs. Vane must have loved flowers, " said Victoria. 

"Loved 'em! They were everything to her--and the wild flowers, too. Sheused to wander off and spend whole days in the country, and come backafter sunset with her arms full. "

"It was nature she loved, " said Victoria, in a low voice. 

"That was it--nature, " said Euphrasia. "She loved all nature. Therewasn't a living, creeping thing that wasn't her friend. I've seen birdseat out of her hand in that window where you're settin', and she'd say tome, 'Phrasie, keep still! They'd love you, too, if they only knew you, but they're afraid you'll scrub 'em if you get hold of them, the way youused to scrub me. '"

Victoria smiled--but it was a smile that had tears in it. EuphrasiaCotton was standing in the shaft of sunlight at the other window, staringat the little garden. 

"Yes, she used to say funny things like that, to make you laugh when youwere all ready to cry. There wasn't many folks understood her. She knewevery path and hilltop within miles of here, and every brook and spring, and she used to talk about that mountain just as if it was alive. "

Victoria caught her breath. 

"Yes, " continued Euphrasia, "the mountain was alive for her. 'He's angryto-day, Phrasie. That's because, you lost your temper and scoldedHilary. ' It's a queer thing, but there have been hundreds of times sincewhen he needed scoldin' bad, and I've looked at the mountain and held mytongue. It was just as if I saw her with that half-whimsical, half-reproachful expression in her eyes, holding up her finger at me. Andthere were other mornings when she'd say, 'The mountain's lonesome today, he wants me. ' And I vow, I'd look at the mountain and it would seemlonesome. That sounds like nonsense, don't it?" Euphrasia demanded, witha sudden sharpness. 

"No, " said Victoria, "it seems very real to me. "

The simplicity, the very ring of truth, and above all the absolute lackof self-consciousness in the girl's answer sustained the spell. 

"She'd go when the mountain called her, it didn't make any differencewhether it was raining--rain never appeared to do her any hurt. Nothin'natural ever did her any hurt. When she was a little child flittin' aboutlike a wild creature, and she'd come in drenched to the skin, it was allI could do to catch her and change her clothes. She'd laugh at me. 'We'remeant to be wet once in a while, Phrasie, ' she'd say; 'that's what therain's for, to wet us. It washes some of the wickedness out of us. ' Itwas the unnatural things that hurt her--the unkind words and makin' heract against her nature. 'Phrasie, ' she said once, 'I can't pray in themeeting-house with my eyes shut--I can't, I can't. I seem to know whatthey're all wishing for when they pray, --for more riches, and morecomfort, and more security, and more importance. And God is such a longway off. I can't feel Him, and the pew hurts my back. ' She used to readme some, out of a book of poetry, and one verse I got by heart--I guessher prayers were like that. "

"Do you--remember the verse?" asked Victoria. 

Euphrasia went to a little shelf in the corner of the kitchen andproduced a book, which, she opened and handed to Victoria. 

"There's the verse!" she said; "read it aloud. I guess you're better atthat than I am. "

And Victoria read:--

 "Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. "

Victoria let fall the volume on her lap. 

"There's another verse in that book she liked, " said Euphrasia, "but italways was sad to me. "

Victoria took the book, and read again:--

 "Weary wind, who wanderest Like the world's rejected guest, Hast thou still some secret nest On the tree or billow?"

Euphrasia laid the volume tenderly on the shelf, and turned and facedVictoria. 

"She was unhappy like that before she died, " she exclaimed, and added, with a fling of her head towards the front of the house, "he killed her. "

"Oh, no!" cried Victoria, involuntarily rising to her feet. "Oh, no! I'msure he didn't mean to. He didn't understand her!"

"He killed her, " Euphrasia repeated. "Why didn't he understand her? Shewas just as simple as a child, and just as trusting, and just as loving. He made her unhappy, and now he's driven her son out of her house, andmade him unhappy. He's all of her I have left, and I won't see himunhappy. "

Victoria summoned her courage. 

"Don't you think, " she asked bravely, "that Mr. Austen Vane ought to betold that his father is--in this condition?"

"No, " said Euphrasia, determinedly. "Hilary will have to send for him. This time it'll be Austen's victory. "

"But hasn't he had--a victory?" Victoria persisted earnestly. "Isn'tthis--victory enough?"

"What do you mean?" Euphrasia cried sharply. 

"I mean, " she answered, in a low voice, "I mean that Mr. Vane's son isresponsible for his condition to-day. Oh--not consciously so. But thecause of this trouble is mental--can't you see it? The cause of thistrouble is remorse. Can't you see that it has eaten into his soul? Do youwish a greater victory than this, or a sadder one? Hilary Vane will notask for his son--because he cannot. He has no more power to send thatmessage than a man shipwrecked on an island. He can only give signals ofdistress--that some may heed. Would She have waited for such a victory asyou demand? And does Austen Vane desire it? Don't you think that he wouldcome to his father if he knew? And have you any right to keep the newsfrom him? Have you any right to decide what their vengeance shall be?"

Euphrasia had stood mute as she listened to these words which she had solittle expected, but her eyes flashed and her breath came quickly. Neverhad she been so spoken to! Never had any living soul come between her andher cherished object the breaking of the heart of Hilary Vane! Nor, indeed, had that object ever been so plainly set forth as Victoria hadset it forth. And this woman who dared to do this had herself broughtunhappiness to Austen. Euphrasia had almost forgotten that, such had beenthe strange harmony of their communion. 

"Have you the right to tell Austen?" she demanded. 

"Have I?" Victoria repeated. And then, as the full meaning of thequestion came to her; the colour flooded into her face, and she wouldhave fled, if she could, bud Euphrasia's words came in a torrent. 

"You've made him unhappy, as well as Hilary. He loves you--but hewouldn't speak of it to you. Oh, no, he didn't tell me who it was, but Inever rested till I found out. He never would have told me about it atall, or anybody else, but that I guessed it. I saw he was unhappy, and Icalculated it wasn't Hilary alone made him so. One night he came in here, and I knew all at once--somehow--there was a woman to blame, and I askedhim, and he couldn't lie to me. He said it wasn't anybody's fault but hisown--he wouldn't say any more than that, except that he hadn't spoken toher. I always expected the time was coming when there would be--a woman. And I never thought the woman lived that he'd love who wouldn't love him. I can't see how any woman could help lovin' him. 

"And then I found out it was that railroad. It came between Sarah Austenand her happiness, and now it's come between Austen and his. Perhaps youdon't love him!" cried Euphrasia. "Perhaps you're too rich and high andmighty. Perhaps you're a-going to marry that fine young man who came withyou in the buggy. Since I heard who you was, I haven't had a happy hour. Let me tell you there's no better blood in the land than the Austenblood. I won't mention the Vanes. If you've led him on, if you'vedeceived him, I hope you may be unhappy as Sarah Austen was--"

"Don't!" pleaded Victoria; "don't! Please don't!" and she seizedEuphrasia by the arms, as though seeking by physical force to stop theintolerable flow of words. "Oh, you don't know me; you can't understandme if you say that. How can you be so cruel?"

In another moment she had gone, leaving Euphrasia standing in the middleof the floor, staring after her through the doorway. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE FOCUS OF WRATH

Victoria, after leaving Euphrasia, made her way around the house towardsMr. Rangely, who was waiting in the runabout, her one desire for themoment being to escape. Before she had reached the sidewalk under thetrees, Dr. Tredway had interrupted her. 

"Miss Flint, " he called out, "I wanted to say a word to you before youwent. "

"Yes, " she said, stopping and turning to him. 

He paused a moment before speaking, as he looked into her face. 

"I don't wonder this has upset you a little, " he said; "a reaction alwayscomes afterwards--even with the strongest of us. "

"I am all right, " she replied, unconsciously repeating Hilary's words. "How is Mr. Vane?"

"You have done a splendid thing, " said the doctor, gravely. And hecontinued, after a moment: "It is Mr. Vane I wanted to speak to youabout. He is an intimate friend, I believe, of your father's, as well asMr. Flint's right-hand man in--in a business way in this State. Mr. Vanehimself will not listen to reason. I have told him plainly that if hedoes not drop all business at once, the chances are ten to one that hewill forfeit his life very shortly. I understand that there is a--aconvention to be held at the capital the day after to-morrow, and that itis Mr. Vane's firm intention to attend it. I take the liberty ofsuggesting that you lay these facts before your father, as Mr. Flintprobably has more influence with Hilary Vane than any other man. However, " he added, seeing Victoria hesitate, "if there is any reasonwhy you should not care to speak to Mr. Flint--"

"Oh, no, " said Victoria; "I'll speak to him, certainly. I was going toask you--have you thought of Mr. Austen Vane? He might be able to dosomething. "

"Of course, " said the doctor, after a moment, "it is an open secret thatAusten and his father have--have, in short, never agreed. They are notnow on speaking terms. "

"Don't you think, " asked Victoria, summoning her courage, "that AustenVane ought to be told?"

"Yes, " the doctor repeated decidedly, "I am sure of it. Everybody whoknows Austen Vane as I do has the greatest admiration for him. Youprobably remember him in that Meader case, --he isn't a man one would belikely to forget, --and I know that this quarrel with his father isn't ofAusten's seeking. "

"Oughtn't he to be told--at once?" said Victoria. 

"Yes, " said the doctor; "time is valuable, and we can't predict whatHilary will do. At any rate, Austen ought to know--but the trouble is, he's at Jenney's farm. I met him on the way out there just before yourfriend the Englishman caught me. And unfortunately I have a case which Icannot neglect. But I can send word to him. "

"I know where Jenney's farm is, " said Victoria; "I'll drive home thatway. "

"Well, " exclaimed Dr. Tredway, heartily, "that's good of you. Somebodywho knows Hilary's situation ought to see him, and I can think of nobetter messenger than you. "

And he helped her into the runabout. 

Young Mr. Rangely being a gentleman, he refrained from asking Victoriaquestions on the drive out of Ripton, and expressed the greatestwillingness to accompany her on this errand and to see her homeafterwards. He had been deeply impressed, but he felt instinctively thatafter such a serious occurrence, this was not the time to continue togive hints of his admiration. He had heard in England that many Americanwomen whom he would be likely to meet socially were superficial andpleasure-loving; and Arthur Rangely came of a family which had long beencited as a vindication of a government by aristocracy, --a family whichhad never shirked responsibilities. It is not too much to say that he hadpictured Victoria among his future tenantry; she had appealed to himfirst as a woman, but the incident of the afternoon had revealed her tohim, as it were, under fire. 

They spoke quietly of places they both had visited, of people whom theyknew in common, until they came to the hills--the very threshold ofParadise on that September evening. Those hills never failed to moveVictoria, and they were garnished this evening in no earthly colours, --rose-lighted on the billowy western pasture slopes and pearl in thedeep clefts of the streams, and the lordly form of Sawanec shrouded inindigo against a flame of orange. And orange fainted, by the subtlest ofcolour changes, to azure in which swam, so confidently, a silver eveningstar. 

In silence they drew up before Mr. Jenney's ancestral trees, and throughthe deepening shadows beneath these the windows of the farm-house glowedwith welcoming light. At Victoria's bidding Mr. Rangely knocked to askfor Austen Vane, and Austen himself answered the summons. He held a bookin his hand, and as Rangely spoke she saw Austen's look turn quickly toher, and met it through the gathering gloom between them. In an instanthe was at her side, looking up questioningly into her face, and thetelltale blood leaped into hers. What must he think of her for comingagain? She could not speak of her errand too quickly. 

"Mr. Vane, I came to leave a message. "

"Yes?" he said, and glanced at the broad-shouldered, well-groomed figureof Mr. Rangely, who was standing at a discreet distance. 

"Your father has had an attack of some kind, --please don't be alarmed, heseems to be recovered now, --and I thought and Dr. Tredway thought youought to know about it. The doctor could not leave Ripton, and I offeredto come and tell you. "

"An attack?" he repeated. 

"Yes. " Hilary and she related simply how she had found Hilary atFairview, and how she had driven him home. But, during the whole of herrecital, she could not rid herself of the apprehension that he wasthinking her interference unwarranted, her coming an indelicaterepetition of the other visit. As he stood there listening in thegathering dusk, she could not tell from his face what he thought. Hisexpression, when serious, had a determined, combative, almost grim notein it, which came from a habit he had of closing his jaw tightly; and hiseyes were like troubled skies through which there trembled an occasionalflash of light. 

Victoria had never felt his force so strongly as now, and never had heseemed more distant; at times--she had thought--she had had glimpses ofhis soul; to-night he was inscrutable, and never had she realized thepower (which she bad known he must possess) of making himself so. And toher? Her pride forbade her recalling at that moment the confidences whichhad passed between them and which now seemed to have been so impossible. He was serious because he was listening to serious news--she toldherself. But it was more than this: he had shut himself up, he wasimpenetrable. Shame seized her; yes, and anger; and shame again at theremembrance of her talk with Euphrasia--and anger once more. Could hethink that she would make advances to tempt his honour, and risk his goodopinion and her own?

Confidence is like a lute-string, giving forth sweet sounds in itsperfection; there are none so discordant as when it snaps. 

Victoria scarcely heard Austen's acknowledgments of her kindness, soperfunctory did they seem, so unlike the man she had known; and her ownprotestations that she had done nothing to merit his thanks were to herquite as unreal. She introduced him to the Englishman. 

"Mr. Rangely has been good enough to come with me, " she said. 

"I've never seen anybody act with more presence of mind than Miss Flint, "Rangely declared, as he shook Austen's hand. "She did just the rightthing, without wasting any time whatever. "

"I'm sure of it, " said Austen, cordially enough. But to Victoria's keenerear, other tones which she had heard at other times were lacking. Norcould she, clever as she was, see the palpable reason standing beforeher!

"I say, " said Rangely, as they drove away, "he strikes me as a remarkablysound chap, Miss Flint. There is something unusual about him, somethingclean cut. "

"I've heard other people say so, " Victoria replied. For the first timesince she had known him, praise of Austen was painful to her. What wasthis curious attraction that roused the interest of all who came incontact with him? The doctor had it, Mr. Redbrook, Jabe Jenney, --evenHamilton Tooting, she remembered. And he attracted women as well as men--it must be so. Certainly her own interest in him--a man beyond theradius of her sphere--and their encounters had been strange enough! Andmust she go on all her life hearing praises of him? Of one thing she wassure--who was not?--that Austen Vane had a future. He was the type of manwhich is inevitably impelled into places of trust. 

Manly men, as a rule, do not understand women. They humour them blindly, seek to comfort them--if they weep--with caresses, laugh with them ifthey have leisure, and respect their curious and unaccountable moods bykeeping out of the way. Such a husband was Arthur Rangely destined tomake; a man who had seen any number of women and understood none, --aswondrous mechanisms. He had merely acquired the faculty of appraisal, although this does not mean that he was incapable of falling in love. 

Mr. Rangely could not account for the sudden access of gayety inVictoria's manner as they drove to Fairview through the darkness, nor didhe try. He took what the gods sent him, and was thankful. When he reachedFairview he was asked to dinner, as he could not possibly get back to theInn in time. Mr. Flint had gone to Sumner with the engineers, leavingorders to be met at the East Tunbridge station at ten; and Mrs. Flint, still convalescent, had dined in her sitting room. Victoria sat oppositeher guest in the big dining room, and Mr. Rangely pronounced the occasiondecidedly jolly. He had, he proclaimed, with the exception of Mr. Vane'sdeplorable accident, never spent a better day in his life. 

Victoria wondered at her own spirits, which were feverish, as shelistened to transatlantic gossip about girls she had known who hadmarried Mr. Rangely's friends, and stories of Westminster and SouthAfrica, and certain experiences of Mr. Rangely's at other places thanLeith on the American continent, which he had grown sufficientlyconfidential to relate. At times, lifting her eyes to him as he satsmoking after dinner on the other side of the library fire, she almostdoubted his existence. He had come into her life at one o'clock thatday--it seemed an eternity since. And a subconscious voice, heard but notheeded, told her that in the awakening from this curious dream he wouldbe associated in her memory with tragedy, just as a tune or a book or agame of cards reminds one of painful periods of one's existence. To-morrow the--episode would be a nightmare; to-night her one desire wasto prolong it. 

And poor Mr. Rangely little imagined the part he was playing--as littleas he deserved it. Reluctant to leave, propriety impelled him to ask fora trap at ten, and it was half past before he finally made his exit fromthe room with a promise to pay his respects soon--very soon. 

Victoria stood before the fire listening to the sound of the wheelsgradually growing fainter, and her mind refused to work. Hanover Street, Mr. Jenney's farm-house, were unrealities too. Ten minutes later--if shehad marked the interval--came the sound of wheels again, this timegrowing louder. Then she heard a voice in the hall, her father's voice. 

"Towers, who was that?"

"A young gentleman, sir, who drove home with Miss Victoria. I didn't gethis name, sir. "

"Has Miss Victoria retired?"

"She's in the library, sir. Here are some telegrams, Mr. Flint. "

Victoria heard her father tearing open the telegrams and walking towardsthe library with slow steps as he read them. She did not stir from herplace before the fire. She saw him enter and, with a characteristicmovement which had become almost habitual of late, crush the telegrams infront of him with both hands. 

"Well, Victoria?" he said. 

"Well, father?"

It was characteristic of him, too, that he should momentarily drop theconversation, unravel the ball of telegrams, read one, crush them oncemore, --a process that seemed to give him relief. He glanced at hisdaughter--she had not moved. Whatever Mr. Flint's original character mayhave been in his long-forgotten youth on the wind-swept hill farm inTruro, his methods of attack lacked directness now; perhaps a longbusiness and political experience were responsible for this trait. 

"Your mother didn't come down to dinner, I suppose. "

"No, " said Victoria. 

Simpson tells me the young bull got loose and cut himself badly. He saysit's the fault of the Eben Fitch you got me to hire. "

"I don't believe it was Eben's fault--Simpson doesn't like him, " Victoriareplied. 

"Simpson tells me Fitch drinks. "

"Let a man get a bad name, " said Victoria, "and Simpson will take carethat he doesn't lose it. " The unexpected necessity of defending one ofher proteges aroused her. "I've made it a point to see Eben every day forthe last three months, and he hasn't touched a drop. He's one of the bestworkers we have on the place. "

"I've got too much on my mind to put up with that kind of thing, " saidMr. Flint, "and I won't be worried here on the place. I can get capablemen to tend cattle, at least. I have to put up with political rascals whorob and deceive me as soon as my back is turned, I have to put up withinefficiency and senility, but I won't have it at home. "

"Fitch will be transferred to the gardener if you think best, " she said. 

It suddenly occurred to Victoria, in the light of a new discovery, thatin the past her father's irritability had not extended to her. And thisdiscovery, she knew, ought to have some significance, but she feltunaccountably indifferent to it. Mr. Flint walked to a window at the farend of the room and flung apart the tightly closed curtains before it. 

"I never can get used to this new-fangled way of shutting everything uptight, " he declared. "When I lived in Centre Street, I used to read withthe curtains up every night, and nobody ever shot me. " He stood lookingout at the starlight for awhile, and turned and faced her again. 

"I haven't seen much of you this summer, Victoria, " he remarked. 

"I'm sorry, father. You know I always like to walk with you every day youare here. " He had aroused her sufficiently to have a distinct sense thatthis was not the time to refer to the warning she had given him that hewas working too hard. But he was evidently bent on putting thisconstruction on her answer. 

"Several times I have asked for you, and you have been away, " he said. 

"If you had only let me know, I should have made it a point to be athome. "

"How can I tell when these idiots will give me any rest?" he asked. Hecrushed the telegrams again, and came down the room and stopped in frontof her. "Perhaps there has been a particular reason why you have not beenat home as much as usual. "

"A particular reason?" she repeated, in genuine surprise. 

"Yes, " he said; "I have been hearing things which, to put it mildly, haveastonished me. "

"Hearing things?"

"Yes, " he exclaimed. "I may be busy, I may be harassed by tricksters andbunglers, but I am not too busy not to care something about my daughter'sdoings. I expect them to deceive me, Victoria, but I pinned my faithsomewhere. I pinned it on you. On you, do you understand?"

She raised her head for the first time and looked at him, with her lipsquivering. But she did not speak. 

"Ever since you were a child you have been everything to me, all I had tofly to. I was always sure of one genuine, disinterested love--and thatwas yours. I was always sure of hearing the truth from your lips. "

"Father!" she cried. 

He seemed not to hear the agonized appeal in her voice. Although he spokein his usual tones, Augustus Flint was, in fact, beside himself. 

"And now, " he said, "and now I learn that you have been holdingclandestine meetings with a man who is my enemy, with a man who has doneme more harm than any other single individual, with a man whom I will nothave in my house--do you understand? I can only say that before to-night, I gave him credit for having the decency not to enter it, not to sit downat my table. "

Victoria turned away from him, and seized the high oak shelf of themantel with both hands. He saw her shoulders rising and falling as herbreath came deeply, spasmodically--like sobbing. But she was not sobbingas she turned again and looked into his face. Fear was in her eye, andthe high courage to look: fear and courage. She seemed to be looking atanother man, at a man who was not her father. And Mr. Flint, despite hisanger, vaguely interpreting her meaning, was taken aback. He had neverseen anybody with such a look. And the unexpected quiet quality of hervoice intensified his strange sensation. 

"A Mr. Rangely, an Englishman, who is staying at the Leith Inn, was hereto dinner to-night. He has never been here before. "

"Austen Vane wasn't here to-night?"

"Mr. Vane has never been in this house to my knowledge but once, and youknew more about that meeting than I do. "

And still Victoria spoke quietly, inexplicably so to Mr. Flint--and toherself. It seemed to her that some other than she were answering withher voice, and that she alone felt. It was all a part of the nightmare, all unreal, and this was not her father; nevertheless, she suffered now, not from anger alone, nor sorrow, nor shame for him and for herself, nordisgust, nor a sense of injustice, nor cruelty--but all of these playedupon a heart responsive to each with a different pain. 

And Mr. Flint, halted for the moment by her look and manner, yet goadedon by a fiend of provocation which had for months been gatheringstrength, and which now mastered him completely, persisted. He knew notwhat he did or said. 

"And you haven't seen him to-day, I suppose, " he cried. 

"Yes, I have seen him to-day. "

"Ah, you have! I thought as much. Where did you meet him to-day?"

Victoria turned half away from him, raised a hand to the mantel-shelfagain, and lifted a foot to the low brass fender as she looked down intothe fire. The movement was not part of a desire to evade him, as hefancied in his anger, but rather one of profound indifference, ofprofound weariness--the sunless deeps of sorrow. And he thought hercapable of deceiving him! He had been her constant companion fromchildhood, and knew only the visible semblance of her face, her form, hersmile. Her sex was the sex of subterfuge. 

"I went to the place where he is living, and asked for him, " she said, "and he came out and spoke to me. "

"You?" he repeated incredulously. There was surely no subterfuge in hertone, but an unreal, unbelievable note which his senses seized, and towhich he clung. "You! My daughter!"

"Yes, " she answered, "I, your daughter. I suppose you think I amshameless. It is true--I am. "

Mr. Flint was utterly baffled. He was at sea. He had got beyond the rangeof his experience; defence, denial, tears, he could have understood andcoped with. He crushed the telegrams into a tighter ball, sought for afooting, and found a precarious one. 

"And all this has been going on without my knowledge, when you knew mysentiments towards the man?"

"Yes, " she said. "I do not know what you include in that remark, but Ihave seen him many times as many times, perhaps, as you have heardabout. "

He wheeled, and walked over to a cabinet between two of the great windowsand stood there examining a collection of fans which his wife had boughtat a famous sale in Paris. Had he suddenly been asked the question, hecould not have said whether they were fans or beetles. And it occurred toVictoria, as her eyes rested on his back, that she ought to be sorry forhim--but wasn't, somehow. Perhaps she would be to-morrow. Mr. Flintlooked at the fans, and an obscure glimmering of the truth came to himthat instead of administering a severe rebuke to the daughter he believedhe had known all his life, he was engaged in a contest with the soul of awoman he had never known. And the more she confessed, the more sheapparently yielded, the more impotent he seemed, the tighter the demongripped him. Obstacles, embarrassments, disappointments, he had met earlyin his life, and he had taken them as they came. There had followed along period when his word had been law. And now, as age came on, and hewas meeting with obstacles again, he had lost the magic gift of sweepingthem aside; the growing certainty that he was becoming powerless hauntedhim night and day. Unbelievably strange, however, it was that the rays ofhis anger by some subconscious process had hovered from the first aboutthe son of Hilary Vane, and were now, by the trend of event after event, firmly focussed there. 

He left the cabinet abruptly and came back to Victoria. 

She was standing in the same position. 

"You have spared me something, " he said. "He has apparently undermined mewith my own daughter. He has evidently given you an opinion of me whichis his. I think I can understand why you have not spoken of these--meetings. "

"It is an inference that I expected, " said Victoria. Then she lifted herhead and looked at him, and again he could not read her expression, for alight burned in her eyes that made them impenetrable to him, --a lightthat seemed pitilessly to search out and reveal the dark places and theweak places within him which he himself had not known were there. Couldthere be another standard by which men and women were measured andjudged?

Mr. Flint snapped his fingers, and turned and began to pace the room. 

"It's all pretty clear, " he said; "there's no use going into it anyfarther. You believe, with the rest of them, that I'm a criminal anddeserve the penitentiary. I don't care a straw about the others, " hecried, snapping his fingers again. "And I suppose, if I'd had any sense, I might have expected it from you, too, Victoria--though you are mydaughter. "

He was aware that her eyes followed him. 

"How many times have you spoken with Austen Vane?" she asked. 

"Once, " he exclaimed; "that was enough. Once. "

"And he gave you the impression, " she continued slowly, "that he wasdeceitful, and dishonourable, and a coward? a man who would say thingsbehind your back that he dared not say to your face? who desired rewardfor himself at any price, and in any manner? a man who would enter yourhouse and seek out your daughter and secretly assail your character?"

Mr. Flint stopped in the middle of the floor. 

"And you tell me he has not done these things?"

"Suppose I did tell you so, " said Victoria, "would you believe me? I haveno reason to think that you would. I am your daughter, I have been yourmost intimate companion, and I had the right to think that you shouldhave formed some estimate of my character. Suppose I told you that AustenVane has avoided me, that he would not utter a word against you or infavour of himself? Suppose I told you that I, your daughter, thoughtthere might be two sides to the political question that is agitating you, and wished in fairness to hear the other side, as I intended to tell youwhen you were less busy? Suppose I told you that Austen Vane was the soulof honour, that he saw your side and presented it as ably as you havepresented it? that he had refrained in many matters which might have beenof advantage to him--although I did not hear of them from him--on accountof his father? Would you believe me?"

"And suppose I told you, " cried Mr. Flint--so firmly fastened on him wasthe long habit of years of talking another down, "suppose I told you thatthis was the most astute and the craftiest course he could take? I'vealways credited him with brains. Suppose I told you that he wasintriguing now, as he has been all along, to obtain the nomination forthe governorship? Would you believe me?"

"No, " answered Victoria, quietly. 

Mr. Flint went to the lamp, unrolled the ball of telegrams, seized oneand crossed the room quickly, and held it out to her. His hand shook alittle. 

"Read that!" he said. 

She read it: "Estimate that more than half of delegates from this sectionpledged to Henderson will go to Austen Vane when signal is given inconvention. Am told on credible authority same is true of other sections, including many of Hunt's men and Crewe's. This is the result of quiet butpersistent political work I spoke about. BILLINGS. "

She handed the telegram back to her father in silence. "Do you believe itnow?" he demanded exultantly. 

"Who is the man whose name is signed to that message?" she asked. 

Mr. Flint eyed her narrowly. 

"What difference does that make?" he demanded. 

"None, " said Victoria. But a vision of Mr. Billings rose before her. Hehad been pointed out to her as the man who had opposed Austen in theMeader suit. "If the bishop of the diocese signed it, I would not believethat Austen Vane had anything to do with the matter. "

"Ah, you defend him!" cried Mr. Flint. "I thought so--I thought so. Itake off my hat to him, he is a cleverer man even than I. His own father, whom he has ruined, comes up here and defends him. "

"Does Hilary Vane defend him?" Victoria asked curiously. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Flint, beside himself; "incredible as it may seem, hedoes. I have Austen Vane to thank for still another favour--he isresponsible for Hilary's condition to-day. He has broken him down--he hasmade him an imbecile. The convention is scarcely thirty-six hours off, and Hilary is about as fit to handle it as--as Eben Fitch. Hilary, whonever failed me in his life!"

Victoria did not speak for a moment, and then she reached out her handquickly and laid it on his that still held the telegram. A lounge stoodon one side of the fireplace, and she drew him gently to it, and he satdown at her side. His acquiescence to her was a second nature, and he wasonce more bewildered. His anger now seemed to have had no effect upon herwhatever. 

"I waited up to tell you about Hilary Vane, father, " she said gently. "Hehas had a stroke, which I am afraid is serious. "

"A stroke!" cried Mr. Flint, "Why didn't you tell me? How do you know?"

Victoria related how she had found Hilary coming away from Fairview, andwhat she had done, and the word Dr. Tredway had sent. 

"Good God!" cried Mr. Flint, "he won't be able to go to the convention!"And he rose and pressed the electric button. "Towers, " he said, when thebutler appeared, "is Mr. Freeman still in my room? Tell him to telephoneto Ripton at once and find out how Mr. Hilary Vane is. They'll have tosend a messenger. That accounts for it, " he went on, rather to himselfthan to Victoria, and he began to pace the room once more; "he lookedlike a sick man when he was here. And who have we got to put in hisplace? Not a soul!"

He paced awhile in silence. He appeared to have forgotten Victoria. 

"Poor Hilary!" he said again, "poor Hilary! I'll go down there the firstthing in the morning. "

Another silence, and then Mr. Freeman, the secretary, entered. 

"I telephoned to Dr. Tredway's, Mr. Flint. I thought that would bequickest. Mr. Vane has left home. They don't know where he's gone. "

"Left home! It's impossible!" and he glanced at Victoria, who had risento her feet. "There must be some mistake. "

"No, sir. First I got the doctor, who said that Mr. Vane was gone--at therisk of his life. And then I talked to Mr. Austen Vane himself, who wasthere consulting with the doctor. It appears that Mr. Hilary Vane hadleft home by eight o'clock, when Mr. Austen Vane got there. "

"Hilary's gone out of his head, " exclaimed Mr. Flint. "This thing hasunhinged him. Here, take these telegrams. No, wait a minute, I'll go outthere. Call up Billings, and see if you can get Senator Whitredge. "

He started out of the room, halted, and turned his head and hesitated. 

"Father, " said Victoria, "I don't think Hilary Vane is out of his mind. "

"You don't?" he said quickly. "Why?"

By some unaccountable change in the atmosphere, of which Mr. Flint wasunconscious, his normal relation to his daughter had been suddenlyreestablished. He was giving ear, as usual, to her judgment. 

"Did Hilary Vane tell you he would go to the convention?" she asked. 

"Yes. " In spite of himself, he had given the word an apologeticinflection. 

"Then he has gone already, " she said. "I think, if you will telephone alittle later to the State capital, you will find that he is in his roomat the Pelican Hotel. "

"By thunder, Victoria!" he ejaculated, "you may be right. It would belike him. "

CHAPTER XXVII

THE ARENA AND THE DUST

Alas! that the great genius who described the battle of Waterloo is notalive to-day and on this side of the Atlantic, for a subject worthy ofhis pen is at hand, --nothing less than that convention of conventions atwhich the Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith is one of the candidates. One of the candidates, indeed! Will it not be known, as long as there arepensions, and a governor and a state-house and a seal and Statesovereignty and a staff, as the Crewe Convention? How charge after chargewas made during the long, hot day and into the night; how the delegateswere carried out limp and speechless and starved and wet through, andcarried in to vote again, --will all be told in time. But let us begin atthe beginning, which is the day before. 

But look! it is afternoon, and the candidates are arriving at thePelican. The Honourable Adam B. Hunt is the first, and walks up the hillfrom the station escorted by such prominent figures as the HonourablesBrush Bascom and Jacob Botcher, and surrounded by enthusiastic supporterswho wear buttons with the image of their leader--goatee and all--and thesingularly prophetic superscription, 'To the Last Ditch!' Only veteransand experts like Mr. Bascom and Mr. Botcher can recognize the last ditchwhen they see it. 

Another stir in the street--occasioned by the appearance of theHonourable Giles Henderson, --of the blameless life. Utter a syllableagainst him if you can! These words should be inscribed on his buttons ifhe had any--but he has none. They seem to be, unuttered, on the tonguesof the gentlemen who escort the Honourable Giles, United States SenatorGreene and the Honourable Elisha Jane, who has obtained leave of absencefrom his consular post to attend the convention, --and incidentally tohelp prepare for it. 

But who and what is this? The warlike blast of a siren horn is heard, thecrowd in the lobby rushes to the doors, people up-stairs fly to thewindows, and the Honourable Adam B. Hunt leans out and nearly falls out, but is rescued by Division Superintendent Manning of the NortheasternRailroads, who has stepped in from Number Seven to give a little privatetug of a persuasive nature to the Honourable Adam's coat-tails. A redLeviathan comes screaming down Main Street with a white trail of dustbehind it, smothering the occupants of vehicles which have barelysucceeded in getting out of the way, and makes a spectacular finishbefore the Pelican by sliding the last fifty feet on locked rear wheels. 

A group in the street raises a cheer. It is the People's Champion! Dustcoat, gauntlets, goggles, cannot hide him; and if they did, some onewould recognize that voice, familiar now and endeared to many, and sosuited to command:--"Get that baggage off, and don't waste any time!Jump out, Watling--that handle turns the other way. Well, Tooting, arethe headquarters ready? What was the matter that I couldn't get you onthe telephone?" (To the crowd. ) "Don't push in and scratch the paint. He's going to back out in a minute, and somebody'll get hurt. "

Mr. Hamilton Tooting (Colonel Hamilton Tooting that is to be--it being anopen secret that he is destined for the staff) is standing hatless on thesidewalk ready to receive the great man. The crowd in the rotunda makes alane, and Mr. Crewe, glancing neither to the right nor left, walksupstairs; and scarce is he installed in the bridal suite, surrounded byhis faithful workers for reform, than that amazing reception begins. Mr. Hamilton Tooting, looking the very soul of hospitality, stands by thedoorway with an open box of cigars in his left hand, pressing them uponthe visitors with his right. Reform, contrary to the preconceived opinionof many, is not made of icicles, nor answers with a stone a request forbread. As the hours run on, the visitors grow more and more numerous, andafter supper the room is packed to suffocation, and a long line iswaiting in the corridor, marshalled and kept in good humour by ablelieutenants; while Mr. Crewe is dimly to be perceived through clouds ofincense burning in his honour--and incidentally at his expense--with awelcoming smile and an appropriate word for each caller, whose waistcoatpockets, when they emerge, resemble cartridge-belts of cigars. 

More cigars were hastily sent for, and more. There are to be but athousand delegates to the convention, and at least two thousand men havealready passed through the room--and those who don't smoke have friends. It is well that Mr. Crewe has stuck to his conservative habit of notsqueezing hands too hard. 

"Isn't that Mr. Putter, who keeps a livery-stable here?" inquired Mr. Crewe, about nine o'clock--our candidate having a piercing eye of hisown. Mr. Putter's coat, being brushed back, has revealed six cigars. 

"Why, yes--yes, " says Mr. Watling. 

"Is he a delegate?" Mr. Crewe demanded. 

"Why, I guess he must be, " says Mr. Watling. 

But Mr. Putter is not a delegate. 

"You've stood up and made a grand fight, Mr. Crewe, " says anothergentleman, a little later, with a bland, smooth shaven face and strongteeth to clinch Mr. Crewe's cigars. "I wish I was fixed so as I couldvote for you. "

Mr. Crewe looks at him narrowly. 

"You look very much like a travelling man from New York, who tried tosell me farm machinery, " he answers. 

"Where are you from?"

"You ain't exactly what they call a tyro, are you?" says the bland-facedman; "but I guess you've missed the mark this shot. Well, so long. "

"Hold on!" says Mr. Crewe, "Watling will talk to you. "

And, as the gentleman follows Mr. Wailing through the press, a pamphletdrops from his pocket to the floor. It is marked 'Catalogue of the RainesFarm Implement Company. ' Mr. Watling picks it up and hands it to thegentleman, who winks again. 

"Tim, " he says, "where can we sit down? How much are you getting out ofthis? Brush and Jake Botcher are bidding high down-stairs, and thequotation on delegates has gone up ten points in ten minutes. It's mightygood of you to remember old friends, Tim, even if they're not delegates. "

Meanwhile Mr. Crewe is graciously receiving others who are crowding tohim. 

"How are you, Mr. Giddings? How are the cows? I carry some stock that'llmake you sit up--I believe I told you when I was down your way. Ofcourse, mine cost a little money, but that's one of my hobbies. Come andsee 'em some day. There's a good hotel in Ripton, and I'll have you metthere and drive you back. "

Thus, with a genial and kindly remark to each, he passes from one to theother, and when the members of the press come to him for his estimate ofthe outcome on the morrow, he treats them with the same courtlyconsideration. 

"Estimate!" cries Mr. Crewe. "Where have your eyes been to-night, myfriends? Have you seen the people coming into these headquarters? Haveyou seen 'em pouring into any other headquarters? All the State andfederal office-holders in the country couldn't stop me now. Estimate!I'll be nominated on the first ballot. "

They wrote it down. 

"Thank you, Mr. Crewe, " they said; "that's the kind of talk we like tohear. "

"And don't forget, " said Mr. Crewe, "to mention this reception in theaccounts. "

Mr. Tooting, who makes it a point from time to time to reconnoitre, saunters halfway down-stairs and surveys the crowded rotunda from thelanding. Through the blue medium produced by the burning of many cigars(mostly Mr. Crewe's) he takes note of the burly form of Mr. ThomasGaylord beside that of Mr. Redbrook and other rural figures; he takesnote of a quiet corner with a ring of chairs surrounded by scouts andoutposts, although it requires a trained eye such as Mr. Tooting's torecognize them as such--for they wear no uniforms. They are, in truth, minor captains of the feudal system, and their present duties consist (asMr. Tooting sees clearly) in preventing the innocent and inquisitive fromunprofitable speech with the Honourable Jacob Botcher, who sits in theinner angle conversing cordially with those who are singled out for thishonour. Still other scouts conduct some of the gentlemen who have talkedwith Mr. Botcher up the stairs to a mysterious room on the second floor. Mr. Tooting discovers that the room is occupied by the Honourable BrushBascom; Mr. Tooting learns with indignation that certain of these guestsof Mr. Bascom's are delegates pledged to Mr. Crewe, whereupon he rushesback to the bridal suite to report to his chief. The cigars are givingout again, and the rush has slackened, and he detaches the People'sChampion from the line and draws him to the inner room. 

"Brush Bascom's conducting a bourse on the second floor and is running theprice up right along, " cried the honest and indignant Mr. Tooting. He'sstringin' Adam Hunt all right. They say he's got Adam to cough up sixthousand extra since five o'clock, but the question is--ain't hestringin' us? He paid six hundred for a block of ten not quarter of anhour ago--and nine of 'em were our delegates. "

It must be remembered that these are Mr. Tooting's words, and Mr. Creweevidently treated them as the product of that gentleman's vividimagination. Translated, they meant that the Honourable Adam B. Hunt hasno chance for the nomination, but that the crafty Messrs. Botcher andBascom are inducing him to think that he has--by making a supreme effort. The supreme effort is represented by six thousand dollars. 

"Are you going to lie down under that?" Mr. Tooting demanded, forgettinghimself in his zeal for reform and Mr. Crewe. But Mr. Tooting, in somealarm, perceived the eye of his chief growing virtuous and glassy. 

"I guess I know when I'm strung, as you call it, Mr. Tooting, " he repliedseverely. "This cigar bill alone is enough to support a large family forseveral months. "

And with this merited reproof he turned on his heel and went back to hisadmirers without, leaving Mr. Tooting aghast, but still resourceful. Tenminutes later that gentleman was engaged in a private conversation withhis colleague, the Honourable Timothy Wading. 

"He's up on his hind legs at last, " said Mr. Tooting; "it looks as if hewas catching on. "

Mr. Wading evidently grasped these mysterious words, for he looked grave. 

"He thinks he's got the nomination cinched, don't he?"

"That's the worst of it, " cried Mr. Tooting. 

"I'll see what I can do, " said the Honourable Tim. "He's always talkingabout thorough, let him do it thorough. " And Mr. Watling winked. 

"Thorough, " repeated Mr. Tooting, delightedly. 

"That's it--Colonel, " said Mr. Watling. "Have you ordered your uniformyet, Ham?"

Mr. Tooting plainly appreciated this joke, for he grinned. 

"I guess you won't starve if you don't get that commissionership, Tim, "he retorted. 

"And I guess, " returned Mr. Watling, "that you won't go naked if youdon't have a uniform. "

Victoria's surmise was true. At ten o'clock at night, two days before theconvention, a tall figure had appeared in the empty rotunda of thePelican, startling the clerk out of a doze. He rubbed his eyes andstared, recognized Hilary Vane, and yet failed to recognize him. It wasan extraordinary occasion indeed which would cause Mr. McAvoy to lose hisaplomb; to neglect to seize the pen and dip it, with a flourish, into theink, and extend its handle towards the important guest; to omit a fewfitting words of welcome. It was Hilary who got the pen first, and wrotehis name in silence, and by this time Mr. McAvoy had recovered hispresence of mind sufficiently to wield the blotter. 

"We didn't expect you to-night, Mr. Vane, " he said, in a voice thatsounded strange to him, "but we've kept Number Seven, as usual. Front!"

"The old man's seen his day, I guess, " Mr. McAvoy remarked, as he studiedthe register with a lone reporter. "This Crewe must have got in on 'emhard, from what they tell me, and Adam Hunt has his dander up. "

The next morning at ten o'clock, while the workmen were still tackingdown the fireproof carpets in headquarters upstairs, and before even theadvance guard of the armies had begun to arrive, the eye of the clerk wascaught by a tall young man rapidly approaching the desk. 

"Is Mr. Hilary Vane here?"

"He's in Number Seven, " said Mr. McAvoy, who was cudgelling his brains. "Give me your card, and I'll send it up. "

"I'll go up, " said the caller, turning on his heel and suiting the actionto the word, leaving Mr. McAvoy to make active but futile inquiries amongthe few travelling men and reporters seated about. 

"Well, if you fellers don't know him, I give up, " said the clerk, irritably, "but he looks as if he ought to be somebody. He knows hisbusiness, anyway. "

In the meantime Mr. Vane's caller had reached the first floor; hehesitated just a moment before knocking at the door of Number Seven, andthe Honourable Hilary's voice responded. The door opened. 

Hilary was seated, as usual, beside the marble-topped table, which wascovered with newspapers and memoranda. In the room were Mr. Ridout, thecapital lawyer, and Mr. Manning, the division superintendent. There wasan instant of surprised silence on the part of the three, but theHonourable Hilary was the only one who remained expressionless. 

"If you don't mind, gentlemen, " said the visitor, "I should like to talkto my father for a few minutes. "

"Why, certainly, Austen, " Mr. Ridout replied, with an attempt atheartiness. Further words seemed to fail him, and he left the roomsomewhat awkwardly, followed by Mr. Manning; but the Honourable Hilaryappeared to take no notice of this proceeding. 

"Judge, " said Austen, when the door had closed behind them, "I won't keepyou long. I didn't come down here to plead with you to abandon what youbelieve to be your duty, because I know that would be useless. I have hada talk with Dr. Tredway, " he added gently, "and I realize that you arerisking your life. If I could take you back to Ripton I would, but I knowthat I cannot. I see your point of view, and if I were in your place Ishould do the same thing. I only wanted to tell you this--" Austen'svoice caught a little, "if--anything should happen, I shall be at Mrs. Peasley's on Maple Street, opposite the Duncan house. " He laid his handfor an instant, in the old familiar way, on Hilary's shoulder, and lookeddown into the older man's face. It may have been that Hilary's lipstrembled a little. "I--I'll see you later, Judge, when it's all over. Good luck to you. "

He turned slowly, went to the door and opened it, gave one glance at themotionless figure in the chair, and went out. He did not hear the voicethat called his name, for the door had shut. 

Mr. Ridout and Mr. Manning were talking together in low tones at the headof the stairs. It was the lawyer who accosted Austen. 

"The old gentleman don't seem to be quite himself, Austen. Don't seemwell. You ought to hold him in he can't work as hard as he used to. "

"I think you'll find, Mr. Ridout, " answered Austen, deliberately, "thathe'll perform what's required of him with his usual efficiency. "

Mr. Ridout followed Austen's figure with his eyes until he was hidden bya turn of the stairs. Then he whistled. 

"I can't make that fellow out, " he exclaimed. "Never could. All I know isthat if Hilary Vane pulls us through this mess, in the shape he's in, it'll be a miracle. 

"His mind seems sound enough to-day--but he's lost his grip, I tell you. I don't wonder Flint's beside himself. Here's Adam Hunt with both feet inthe trough, and no more chance of the nomination than I have, and Bascomand Botcher teasing him on, and he's got enough votes with Crewe to lockup that convention for a dark horse. And who's the dark horse?"

Mr. Manning, who was a silent man, pointed with his thumb in thedirection Austen had taken. 

"Hilary Vane's own son, " said Mr. Ridout, voicing the gesture; "they tellme that Tom Gaylord's done some pretty slick work. Now I leave it to you, Manning, if that isn't a mess!"

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the appearance on thestairway of the impressive form of United States Senator Whitredge, followed by a hall boy carrying the senatorial gripsack. The senator'sface wore a look of concern which could not possibly be misinterpreted. 

"How's Hilary?" were his first words. 

Mr. Ridout and Mr. Manning glanced at each other. 

"He's in Number Seven; you'd better take a look at him, Senator. "

The senator drew breath, directed that his grip be put in the room wherehe was to repose that night, produced an amber cigar-holder from a case, and a cigar from his waistcoat pocket. 

"I thought I'd better come down early, " he said, "things aren't goingjust as they should, and that's the truth. In fact, " he added, significantly tapping his pocket, "I've got a letter from Mr. Flint toHilary which I may have to use. You understand me. "

"I guessed as much, " said Mr. Ridout. 

"Ahem! I saw young Vane going out of the hotel just now, " the senatorremarked. "I am told, on pretty good authority, that under certaincircumstances, which I must confess seem not unlikely at present, he maybe a candidate for the nomination. The fact that he is in town tends tomake the circumstance more probable. "

"He's just been in to see Hilary, " said Mr. Ridout. 

"You don't tell me!" said the senator, pausing as he lighted his cigar;"I was under the impression that they were not on speaking terms. "

"They've evidently got together now, that--" said Mr. Ridout. "I wonderhow old Hilary would feel about it. We couldn't do much with Austen Vaneif he was governor--that's a sure thing. "

The senator pondered a moment. 

"It's been badly managed, " he muttered; "there's no doubt of that. Huntmust be got out of the way. When Bascom and Botcher come, tell them Iwant to see them in my room, not in Number Seven. "

And with this impressive command, received with nods of understanding, Senator Whitredge advanced slowly towards Number Seven, knocked, andentered. Be it known that Mr. Flint, with characteristic caution, had notconfided even to the senator that the Honourable Hilary had had a stroke. 

"Ah, Vane, " he said, in his most affable tones, "how are you?"

The Honourable Hilary, who was looking over some papers, shot at him aglance from under his shaggy eyebrows. 

"Came in here to find out--didn't you, Whitredge?" he replied. 

"What?" said the senator, taken aback; and for once at a loss for words. 

The Honourable Hilary rose and stood straighter than usual, and lookedthe senator in the eye. 

"What's your diagnosis?" he asked. "Superannuated--unfit for duty--unable to cope with the situation ready to be superseded? Is that aboutit?"

To say that Senator Whitredge was startled and uncomfortable would be toput his case mildly. He had never before seen Mr. Vane in this mood. 

"Ha-ha!" he laughed; "the years are coming over us a little, aren't they?But I guess it isn't quite time for the youngsters to step in yet. "

"No, Whitredge, " said Mr. Vane, slowly, without taking his eye from thesenator's, "and it won't be until this convention is over. Do youunderstand?"

"That's the first good news I've heard this morning, " said the senator, with the uneasy feeling that, in some miraculous way, the HonourableHilary had read the superseding orders from highest authority through hispocket. 

"You may take it as good news or bad news, as you please, but it's afact. And now I want 'YOU' to tell Ridout that I wish to see him again, and to bring in Doby, who is to be chairman of the convention. "

"Certainly, " assented the senator, with alacrity, as he started for thedoor. Then he turned. "I'm glad to see you're all right, Vane, " he added;"I'd heard that you were a little under the weather--a bilious attack onaccount of the heat--that's all I meant. " He did not wait for an answer, nor would he have got one. And he found Mr. Ridout in the hall. 

"Well?" said the lawyer, expectantly, and looking with some curiosity atthe senator's face. 

"Well, " said Mr. Whitredge, with marked impatience, "he wants to see youright away. "

All day long Hilary Vane held conference in Number Seven, and at sixo'clock sent a request that the Honourable Adam visit him. The HonourableAdam would not come; and the fact leaked out--through the HonourableAdam. 

"He's mad clean through, " reported the Honourable Elisha Jane, to whosetact and diplomacy the mission had been confided. "He said he would teachFlint a lesson. He'd show him he couldn't throw away a man as useful andefficient as he'd been, like a sucked orange. "

"Humph! A sucked orange. That's what he said, is it? A sucked orange, "Hilary repeated. 

"That's what he said, " declared Mr. Jane, and remembered afterwards howHilary had been struck by the simile. 

At ten o'clock at night, at the very height of the tumult, SenatorWhitredge had received an interrogatory telegram from Fairview, and hadcalled a private conference (in which Hilary was not included) in a backroom on the second floor (where the conflicting bands of Mr. Crewe andMr. Hunt could not be heard), which Mr. Manning and Mr. Jane and StateSenator Billings and Mr. Ridout attended. Query: the Honourable Hilaryhad quarrelled with Mr. Flint, that was an open secret; did not Mr. Vanethink himself justified, from his own point of view, in taking a singularrevenge in not over-exerting himself to pull the Honourable Adam out, thereby leaving the field open for his son, Austen Vane, with whom he wasapparently reconciled? Not that Mr. Flint had hinted of such a thing! Hehad, in the telegram, merely urged the senator himself to see Mr. Hunt, and to make one more attempt to restrain the loyalty to that candidate ofMessrs. Bascom and Botcher. 

The senator made the attempt, and failed signally. 

It was half-past midnight by the shining face of the clock on the towerof the state-house, and hope flamed high in the bosom of the HonourableAdam B. Hunt a tribute to the bellows-like skill of Messrs. Bascom andBotcher. The bands in the street had blown themselves out, the delegateswere at last seeking rest, the hall boys in the corridors were turningdown the lights, and the Honourable Adam, in a complacent and evenjubilant frame of mind, had put on his carpet slippers and taken off hiscoat, when there came a knock at his door. He was not a little amazed andembarrassed, upon opening it, to see the Honourable Hilary. But thesefeelings gave place almost immediately to a sense of triumph; gone werethe days when he had to report to Number Seven. Number Seven, in theperson of Hilary (who was Number Seven), had been forced to come to him!

"Well, upon my soul!" he exclaimed heartily. "Come in, Hilary. "

He turned up the jets of the chandelier, and gazed at his friend, and wassilent. 

"Have a seat, Hilary, " he said, pushing up an armchair. 

Mr. Vane sat down. Mr. Hunt took a seat opposite, and waited for hisvisitor to speak. He himself seemed to find no words. 

"Adam, " said Mr. Vane, at length, "we've known each other for a good manyyears. "

"That's so, Hilary. That's so, " Mr. Hunt eagerly assented. What wascoming?

"And whatever harm I've done in my life, " Hilary continued, "I've alwaystried to keep my word. I told you, when we met up there by the mill thissummer, that if Mr. Flint had consulted me about your candidacy, beforeseeing you in New York, I shouldn't have advised it--this time. "

The Honourable Adam's face stiffened. 

"That's what you said. But--"

"And I meant it, " Mr. Vane interrupted. "I was never pledged to yourcandidacy, as a citizen. I've been thinking over my situation some, thissummer, and I'll tell you in so many plain words what it is. I guess youknow--I guess everybody knows who's thought about it. I deceived myselffor a long time by believing that I earned my living as the attorney forthe Northeastern Railroads. I've drawn up some pretty good papers forthem, and I've won some pretty difficult suits. I'm not proud of 'em all, but let that go. Do you know what I am?"

The Honourable Adam was capable only of a startled ejaculation. WasHilary Vane in his right senses?

"I'm merely their paid political tool, " Mr. Vane continued, in the sametone. "I've sold them my brain, and my right of opinion as a citizen. Iwanted to make this clear to you first of all. Not that you didn't knowit, but I wished you to know that I know it. When Mr. Flint said that youwere to be the Republican nominee, my business was to work to get youelected, which I did. And when it became apparent that you couldn't benominated--"

"Hold on!" cried the Honourable Adam. 

"Please wait until I have finished. When it became apparent that youcouldn't be nominated, Mr. Flint sent me to try to get you to withdraw, and he decreed that the new candidate should pay your expenses up todate. I failed in that mission. "

"I don't blame you, Hilary, " exclaimed Mr. Hunt. "I told you so at thetime. But I guess I'll soon be in a position where I can make Flint walkthe tracks--his own tracks. "

"Adam, " said Mr. Vane, "it is because I deserve as much of the blame asMr. Flint that I am here. "

Again Mr. Hunt was speechless. The Honourable Hilary Vane in anapologetic mood! A surmise flashed into the brain of the Honourable Adam, and sparkled there. The Honourable Giles Henderson was prepared towithdraw, and Hilary had come, by authority, to see if he would pay theHonourable Giles' campaign expenses. Well, he could snap his fingers atthat. 

"Flint has treated me like a dog, " he declared. 

"Mr. Flint never pretended, " answered Mr. Vane, coldly, "that thenomination and election of a governor was anything but a businesstransaction. His regard for you is probably unchanged, but the interestshe has at stake are too large to admit of sentiment as a factor. "

"Exactly, " exclaimed Mr. Hunt. "And I hear he hasn't treated you justright, Hilary. I understand--"

Hilary's eyes flashed for the first time. 

"Never mind that, Adam, " he said quietly; "I've been treated as Ideserve. I have nothing whatever to complain of from Mr. Flint. I willtell you why I came here to-night. I haven't felt right about you sincethat interview, and the situation to-night is practically what it wasthen. You can't be nominated. "

"Can't be nominated!" gasped Mr: Hunt. And he reached to the table forhis figures. "I'll have four hundred on the first ballot, and I've gottwo hundred and fifty more pledged to me as second choice. If you've comeup here at this time of night to try to deceive me on that, you might aswell go back and wire Flint it's no use. Why, I can name the delegates, if you'll listen. "

Mr. Vane shook his head sadly. And, confident as he was, the movementsent a cold chill down the Honourable Adam's spine, for faith in Mr. Vane's judgment had become almost a second nature. He had to forcehimself to remember that this was not the old Hilary. 

"You won't have three hundred, Adam, at any time, " answered Mr. Vane. "Once you used to believe what I said, and if you won't now, you won't. But I can't go away without telling you what I came for. "

"What's that?" demanded Mr. Hunt, wonderingly. 

"It's this, " replied Hilary, with more force than he had yet shown. "Youcan't get that nomination. If you'll let me know what your campaignexpenses have been up to date, --all of 'em, you understand, to-nighttoo, --I'll give you a check for them within the next two weeks. "

"Who makes this offer?" demanded Mr. Hunt, with more curiosity thanalarm; "Mr. Flint?"

"No, " said Hilary; "Mr. Flint does not use the road's funds for suchpurposes. "

"Henderson?"

"No, " said Hilary; "I can't see what difference it makes to you. "

The Honourable Adam had an eminently human side, and he laid his hand onMr. Vane's knee. 

"I think I've got a notion as to where that money would come from, Hilary, " he said. "I'm much obliged to you, my friend. I wouldn't take iteven if I thought you'd sized up the situation right. But--I don't agreewith you this time. I know I've got the nomination. And I want to sayonce more, that I think you're a square man, and I don't hold anythingagainst you. "

Mr. Vane rose. 

"I'm sorry, Adam, " he said; my offer holds good after to-morrow. "

"After to-morrow!"

"Yes, " said the Honourable Hilary. "I don't feel right about this thing. Er--good night, Adam. "

"Hold on!" cried Mr. Hunt, as a new phase of the matter struck him. "Why, if I got out--"

"What then?" said Mr. Vane, turning around. 

"Oh, I won't get out, " said Mr. Hunt, "but if I did, --why, therewouldn't, according to your way of thinking, be any chance for a darkhorse. "

"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Vane. 

"Now don't get mad, Hilary. I guess, and you know, that Flint hasn'ttreated you decently this summer after all you've done for him, and Iadmire the way you're standing by him. I wouldn't do it. I just wanted tosay, " Mr. Hunt added slowly, "that I respect you all the more for tryingto get me out. If--always according to your notion of the convention--ifI don't get out, and haven't any chance, they tell me on pretty goodauthority Austen Vane will get the nomination. "

Hilary Vane walked to the door, opened it and went out, and slammed itbehind him. 

It is morning, --a hot morning, as so many recall, --and the partisans ofthe three leaders are early astir, and at seven-thirty Mr. Tootingdiscovers something going on briskly which he terms "dealing in futures. "My vote is yours as long as you are in the race, but after that I havesomething negotiable. The Honourable Adam Hunt strolls into the rotundaafter an early breakfast, with a toothpick in his mouth, and is pointedout by the sophisticated to new arrivals as the man who spent seventhousand dollars over night, much of which is said to have stuck in thepockets of two feudal chiefs who could be named. Is it possible thatthere is a split in the feudal system at last? that the two feudal chiefs(who could be named) are rebels against highest authority? A smile fromthe sophisticated one. This duke and baron have merely stopped to pluck abird; it matters not whether or not the bird is an erstwhile friend--hehas been outlawed by highest authority, and is fair game. The bird (withthe toothpick in his mouth) creates a smile from other chiefs of thesystem in good standing who are not too busy to look at him. They haveceased all attempts to buttonhole him, for he is unapproachable. 

The other bird, the rebel of Leith, who has never been in the feudalsystem at all, they have stopped laughing at. It is he who has broughtthe Empire to its most precarious state. 

And now, while strangers from near and far throng into town, drawn by thesensational struggle which is to culminate in battle to-day, Mr. Crewe ismarshalling his forces. All the delegates who can be collected, and whowear the button with the likeness and superscription of Humphrey Crewe, are drawn up beside the monument in the park, where the Ripton Band isstationed; and presently they are seen by cheering crowds marching tomartial music towards the convention hall, where they collect in a body, with signs and streamers in praise of the People's Champion well to thefront and centre. This is generally regarded as a piece of consummategeneral ship on the part of their leader. They are applauded from thegalleries, --already packed, --especially from one conspicuous end wheresit that company of ladies (now so famed) whose efforts have somaterially aided the cause of the People's Champion. Gay streamers viewith gayer gowns, and morning papers on the morrow will have something tosay about the fashionable element and the special car which brought themfrom Leith. 

"My, but it is hot!"

The hall is filled now, with the thousand delegates, or theirrepresentatives who are fortunate enough to possess their credentials. Something of this matter later. General Doby, chairman of the convention, an impressive but mournful figure, could not call a roll if he wanted to. Not that he will want to! Impossible to tell, by the convenient laws ofthe State, whether the duly elected delegates of Hull or Mercer or Truroare here or not, since their credentials may be bought or sold orconferred. Some political giants, who have not negotiated theircredentials, are recognized as they walk down the aisle: thestatesmanlike figure of Senator Whitredge (a cheer); that of SenatorGreen (not so statesmanlike, but a cheer); Congressman Fairplay (cheers);and--Hilary Vane! His a figure that does not inspire cheers, --least ofall to-day, --the man upon whose shoulders rests the political future ofthe Northeastern. The conservative Mr. Tredways and other Lincolnradicals of long ago who rely on his strength and judgment are not thesort to cheer. And yet--and yet Hilary inspires some feeling when, withstooping gait, he traverses the hall, and there is a hush in manyquarters as delegates and spectators watch his progress to the littleroom off the platform: the general's room, as the initiated know. 

Ah, but few know what a hateful place it is to Hilary Vane to-day, thiskeyboard at which he has sat so complacently in years gone by, the enviedof conventions. He sits down wearily at the basswood table, and scarcelyhears the familiar sounds without, which indicate that the convention ofconventions has begun. Extraordinary phenomenon at such a time, scenes oflong ago and little cherished then, are stealing into his mind. 

The Reverend Mr. Crane (so often chaplain of the Legislature, and knownto the irreverent as the chaplain of the Northeastern) is praying now forguidance in the counsels of this great gathering of the people'srepresentatives. God will hear Mr. Botcher better if he closes his eyes;which he does. Now the platform is being read by State Senator Billings;closed eyes would best suit this proceeding, too. As a parallel to thatplatform, one can think only of the Ten Commandments. The RepublicanParty (chosen children of Israel) must be kept free from the dominationof corporations. (Cheers and banner waving for a full minute. ) Somebetter method of choosing delegates which will more truly reflect thewill of the people. (Plank of the Honourable Jacob Botcher, whoseconscience is awakening. ) Never mind the rest. It is a triumph for Mr. Crewe, and is all printed in that orthodox (reform) newspaper, the StateTribune, with urgent editorials that it must be carried out to theletter. 

And what now? Delegates, credential holders, audience, and the ReverendMr. Crane draw long breaths of heated carbon dioxide. Postmaster Burrowsof Edmundton, in rounded periods, is putting in nomination hisdistinguished neighbour and fellow-citizen, the Honourable Adam B. Hunt, who can subscribe and say amen to every plank in that platform. Hebelieves it, he has proclaimed it in public, and he embodies it. Mr. Burrows indulges in slight but effective sarcasm of sham reformers andso-called business men who perform the arduous task of cutting couponsand live in rarefied regions where they can only be seen by the commonpeople when the light is turned on. (Cheers from two partisan bodies andgroans and hisses from another. General Doby, with a pained face, pounding with the gavel. This isn't a circumstance to what's coming, General. )

After General Doby has succeeded in abating the noise in honour-of theHonourable Adam, there is a hush of expectancy. Humphrey Crewe, who hasmade all this trouble and enthusiasm, is to be nominated next, and theHonourable Timothy Wailing of Newcastle arises to make that celebratedoration which the cynical have called the "thousand-dollar speech. " Andeven if they had named it well (which is not for a moment to beadmitted!), it is cheap for the price. How Mr. Crewe's ears must tingleas he paces his headquarters in the Pelican! Almost would it be sacrilegeto set down cold, on paper, the words that come, burning, out of theHonourable Timothy's loyal heart. Here, gentlemen, is a man at last, nota mere puppet who signs his name when a citizen of New York pulls thestring; one who is prepared to make any sacrifice, --to spend his life, ifneed be, in their service. (A barely audible voice, before the cheeringcommences, "I guess that's so. ") Humphrey Crewe needs no defence--theHonourable Timothy avers--at his hands, or any one's. Not merely anidealist, but a practical man who has studied the needs of the State;unselfish to the core; longing, like Washington, the Father of hisCountry, to remain in a beautiful country home, where he dispenseshospitality with a flowing hand to poor and rich alike, yet harking tothe call of duty. Leaving, like the noble Roman of old, his plough in thefurrow--(Same voice as before, "I wish he'd left his automobil' thar!"Hisses and laughter. ) The Honourable Timothy, undaunted, snatches hishand from the breast of his Prince Albert and flings it, with a superbgesture, towards the Pelican. "Gentlemen, I have the honour to nominateto this convention that peerless leader for the right, the HonourableHumphrey Crewe of Leith--our next governor. "

General Andrew Jackson himself, had he been alive and on this historicground and chairman of that convention, could scarce have quelled thetumult aroused by this name and this speech--much less General Doby. Although a man of presence, measurable by scales with weights enough, ourgeneral has no more ponderosity now than a leaf in a mountain storm atHale--and no more control over the hurricane. Behold him now, poundingwith his gavel on something which should give forth a sound, but doesn't. Who is he (to change the speech's figure--not the general's), who is heto drive a wild eight-horse team, who is fit only to conduct Mr. Flint'soxen in years gone by?

It is a memorable scene, sketched to life for the metropolitan press. Theman on the chair, his face lighted by a fanatic enthusiasm, is theHonourable Hamilton Tooting, coatless and collarless, leading the cheersthat shake the building, that must have struck terror to the soul ofAugustus P. Flint himself--fifty miles away. But the endurance of thehuman throat is limited. 

Why, in the name of political strategy, has United States Senator Greenebeen chosen to nominate the Honourable Giles Henderson of Kingston? Somesay that it is the will of highest authority, others that the senator isa close friend of the Honourable Giles--buys his coal from him, wholesale. Both surmises are true. The senator's figure is notimpressive, his voice less so, and he reads from manuscript, to theaccompaniment of continual cries of "Louder!" A hook for Leviathan! "Agreat deal of dribble, " said the senator, for little rocks sometimesstrike fire, "has been heard about the 'will of the people. '"

The Honourable Giles Henderson is beholden to no man and to nocorporation, and will go into office prepared to do justice impartiallyto all. "

"Bu--copia verborum--let us to the main business!"

To an hundred newspapers, to Mr. Flint at Fairview, and other importantpersonages ticks out the momentous news that the balloting has begun. Nouse trying to hold your breath until the first ballot is announced; ittakes time to obtain the votes of one thousand men--especially whenneither General Doby nor any one else knows who they are! The only way isto march up on the stage by counties and file past the ballot-box. Putnam, with their glitter-eyed duke, Mr. Bascom, at their head--presumably solid for Adam B. Hunt; Baron Burrows, who farms out thepost-office at Edmundton, leads Edmunds County; Earl Elisha Jane, consulat some hot place where he spends the inclement months drops the firstticket for Haines County, ostensibly solid for home-made virtue and theHonourable Giles. 

An hour and a quarter of suspense and torture passes, while collars wiltand coats come off, and fans in the gallery wave incessantly, and excitedconversation buzzes in every quarter. And now, see! there is whisperingon the stage among the big-bugs. Mr. Chairman Doby rises with a paper inhis hand, and the buzzing dies down to silence. 

 The Honourable Giles Henderson of Kingston has . . 398 The Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith has . . . 353 The Honourable Adam B. Hunt of Edmundton has. . 249 And a majority being required, there is no choice!

Are the supporters of the People's Champion crest-fallen, think you? Mr. Tooting is not leading them for the moment, but is pressing through thecrowd outside the hall and flying up the street to the Pelican and thebridal suite, where he is first with the news. Note for an unabridgedbiography: the great man is discovered sitting quietly by the window, poring over a book on the modern science of road-building, some notesfrom which he is making for his first message. And instead of the reek oftobacco smoke, the room is filled with the scent of the floral tributesbrought down by the Ladies' Auxiliary from Leith. In Mr. Crewe'sright-hand pocket, neatly typewritten, is his speech of acceptance. He isnever caught unprepared. Unkind, now, to remind him of that predictionmade last night about the first ballot to the newspapers--and useless. 

"I told you last night they were buyin' 'em right under our noses, " criedMr. Tooting, in a paroxysm of indignation, "and you wouldn't believe me. They got over one hundred and sixty away from us. "

"It strikes me, Mr. Tooting, " said Mr. Crewe, "that it was your businessto prevent that. "

There will no doubt be a discussion, when the biographer reaches thisjuncture, concerning the congruity of reform delegates who can be bought. It is too knotty a point of ethics to be dwelt upon here. 

"Prevent it!" echoed Mr. Tooting, and in the strong light of therighteousness of that eye reproaches failed him. "But there's a whole lotof 'em can be seen, right now, while the ballots are being taken. Itwon't be decided on the next ballot. "

"Mr. Tooting, " said Mr. Crewe, indubitably proving that he had thequalities of a leader--if such proof were necessary, "go back to theconvention. I have no doubt of the outcome, but that doesn't mean you areto relax your efforts. Do you understand?"

"I guess I do, " replied Mr. Tooting, and was gone. "He still has his flagup, " he whispered into the Honourable Timothy Watling's ear, when hereached the hall. "He'll stand a little more yet. "

Mr. Tooting, at times, speaks a language unknown to us--and the secondballot is going on. And during its progress the two principal lieutenantsof the People's Champion were observed going about the hall apparentlyexchanging the time of day with various holders of credentials. Mr. Jane, too, is going about the hall, and Postmaster Burrows, and Postmaster BillFleeting of Brampton, and the Honourable Nat Billings, and Messrs. Bascomand Botcher, and Mr. Manning, division superintendent, and the HonourableOrrin Young, railroad commissioner and candidate for reappointment--allare embracing the opportunity to greet humble friends or to make newacquaintances. Another hour and a quarter, with the temperature steadilyrising and the carbon dioxide increasing--and the second ballot isannounced. 

 The Honourable Giles Henderson of Kingston has . . 440 The Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith has . . . . 336 The Honourable Adam B. Hunt of Edmundton has . . . 255

And there are three votes besides improperly made out!

What the newspapers call indescribable excitement ensues. The three votesimproperly made out are said to be trip passes accidentally dropped intothe box by the supporters of the Honourable Elisha Jane. And add up thesum total of the votes! Thirty-one votes more than there are credentialsin the hall! Mystery of mysteries how can it be? The ballot, announcesGeneral Doby, after endless rapping, is a blank. Cheers, recriminations, exultation, disgust of decent citizens, attempts by twenty men to get theeye of the president (which is too watery to see any of them), and rushesfor the platform to suggest remedies or ask what is going to be doneabout such palpable fraud. What can be done? Call the roll! How in blazescan you call the roll when you don't know who's here? Messrs. Jane, Botcher, Bascom, and Fleming are not disturbed, and improve their time. Watling and Tooting rush to the bridal suite, and rush back again todemand justice. General Doby mingles his tears with theirs, and somebodycalls him a jellyfish. He does not resent it. Friction makes the airhotter and hotter--Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego would scarce enterinto this furnace, --and General Doby has a large damp spot on his back ashe pounds and pounds and pounds until we are off again on the thirdballot. No dinner, and three-thirty P. M. ! Two delegates have fainted, butthe essential parts of them--the credentials--are left behind. 

Four-forty, whispering again, and the gavel drops. 

 The Honourable Giles Henderson of Kingston has . . 412 The Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith has . . . 325 The Honourable Adam B. Hunt of Edmundton has. . . 250 And there is no choice on the third ballot!

Thirteen delegates are actually missing this time. Scour the town! Andnow even the newspaper adjectives describing the scene have given out. Apersistent and terrifying rumour goes the rounds, where's Tom Gaylord?Somebody said he was in the hall a moment ago, on a Ripton credential. Ifso, he's gone out again--gone out to consult the dark horse, who is intown, somewhere. Another ominous sign: Mr. Redbrook, Mr. Widgeon of Hull, and the other rural delegates who have been voting for the People'sChampion, and who have not been observed in friendly conversation withanybody at all, now have their heads together. Mr. Billings goessauntering by, but cannot hear what they are saying. Something must bedone, and right away, and the knowing metropolitan reporters are winkingat each other and declaring darkly that a sensation is about to turn up. 

Where is Hilary Vane? Doesn't he realize the danger? Or--traitorousthought!--doesn't he care? To see his son nominated would be a singularrevenge for the indignities which are said to have been heaped upon him. Does Hilary Vane, the strong man of the State, merely sit at thekeyboard, powerless, while the tempest itself shakes from the organ a newand terrible music? Nearly, six hours he has sat at the basswood table, while senators, congressmen, feudal chiefs, and even Chairman Dobyhimself flit in and out, whisper in his ear, set papers before him, andfigures and problems, and telegrams from highest authority. He merelynods his head, says a word now and then, or holds his peace. Does he knowwhat he's about? If they had not heard things concerning his health, --andother things, --they would still feel safe. He seems the only calm man tobe found in the hall--but is the calm aberration?

A conference in the corner of the platform, while the fourth ballot isprogressing, is held between Senators Whitredge and Greene, Mr. Ridoutand Mr. Manning. So far the Honourable Hilary has apparently done nothingbut let the storm take its course; a wing-footed messenger has returnedwho has seen Mr. Thomas Gaylord walking rapidly up Maple Street, andAusten Vane (most astute and reprehensible of politicians) is said to beat the Widow Peasley's, quietly awaiting the call. The name of AustenVane--another messenger says--is running like wildfire through the hall, from row to row. Mr. Crewe has no chance--so rumour goes. A reformer (topervert the saying of a celebrated contemporary humorist) must fightMarquis of Queensberry to win; and the People's Champion, it is averred, has not. Shrewd country delegates who had listened to the Champion'sspeeches and had come to the capital prepared to vote for purity, hadbeen observing the movements since yesterday, of Mr. Tooting and Mr. Wading with no inconsiderable interest. Now was the psychological momentfor Austen Vane, but who was to beard Hilary?

No champion was found, and the Empire, the fate of which was in the handsof a madman, was cracking. Let an individual of character and knownanti-railroad convictions (such as the gentleman said to be at the WidowPeasley's) be presented to the convention, and they would nominate him. Were Messrs. Bascom and Botcher going to act the part of Samsons? Werethey working for revenge and a new regime? Mr. Whitredge started for thePelican, not at his ordinary senatorial gait, to get Mr. Flint on thetelephone. 

The result of the fourth ballot was announced, and bedlam broke loose. 

The Honourable Giles Henderson of Kingston has . . 419 The HonourableHumphrey Crewe of Leith has . . . . 337 The Honourable Adam B. Hunt ofEdmundton has . . . 256

Total, one thousand and eleven out of a thousand! Two delegates abstainedfrom voting, and proclaimed the fact, but were heard only a few feetaway. Other delegates, whose flesh and blood could stand the atmosphereno longer, were known to have left the hall! Aha! the secret is out, ifanybody could hear it. At the end of every ballot several individualsemerge and mix with the crowd in the street. Astute men sometimes makemistakes, and the following conversation occurs between one of theindividuals in question and Mr. Crewe's chauffeur. 

 Individual: "Do you want to come in and see the convention and vote?"

 Chauffeur: "I am Frenchman. "

 Individual: "That doesn't cut any ice. I'll make out the ballot, and all you'll have to do is to drop it in the box. " Chauffeur: "All right; I vote for Meester Crewe. "

Sudden disappearance of the individual. 

Nor is this all. The Duke of Putnam, for example, knows how manycredentials there are in his county--say, seventy-six. He counts the menpresent and voting, and his result is sixty-one. Fifteen are absent, getting food or--something else. Fifteen vote over again. But, as thehuman brain is prone to error, and there are men in the street, the Dukemiscalculates; the Earl of Haines miscalculates, too. Result--eleven overa thousand votes, and some nine hundred men in the hall!

How are you going to stop it? Mr. Watling climbs up on the platform andshakes his fist in General Doby's face, and General Doby tearfullyappeals for an honest ballot--to the winds. 

In the meantime the Honourable Elisha Jane, spurred on by desperation andthoughts of a 'dolce far niente' gone forever; has sought and corneredMr. Bascom. 

"For God's sake, Brush, " cries the Honourable Elisha, "hasn't this thinggone far enough? A little of it is all right--the boys understand that;but have you thought what it means to you and me if these blankedreformers get in, --if a feller like Austen Vane is nominated?"

That cold, hard glitter which we have seen was in Mr. Bascom's eyes. 

"You fellers have got the colic, " was the remark of the arch-rebel. "Doyou think old Hilary doesn't know what he's about?"

"It looks that way to me, " said Mr. Jane. 

"It looks that way to Doby too, I guess, " said Mr. Bascom, with a glanceof contempt at the general; "he's lost about fifteen pounds to-day. DidHilary send you down here?" he demanded. 

"No, " Mr. Jane confessed. 

"Then go back and chase yourself around the platform some more, " was Mr. Bascom's unfeeling advice, "and don't have a fit here. All the brains inthis hall are in Hilary's room. When he's ready to talk business with mein behalf of the Honourable Giles Henderson, I guess he'll do so. "

But fear had entered the heart of the Honourable Elisha, and there was asickly feeling in the region of his stomach which even the strongmedicine administered by the Honourable Brush failed to alleviate. Heperceived Senator Whitredge, returned from the Pelican. But the advice--if any--the president of the Northeastern has given the senator is notforthcoming in practice. Mr. Flint, any more than Ulysses himself, cannotrecall the tempests when his own followers have slit the bags--and insight of Ithaca! Another conference at the back of the stage, out ofwhich emerges State Senator Nat Billings and gets the ear of GeneralDoby. 

"Let 'em yell, " says Mr. Billings--as though the general, by raising oneadipose hand, could quell the storm. Eyes are straining, scouts arewatching at the back of the hall and in the street, for the first glimpseof the dreaded figure of Mr. Thomas Gaylord. "Let 'em yell;" counsels Mr. Billings, "and if they do nominate anybody nobody'll hear 'em. And sendword to Putnam County to come along on their fifth ballot. "

It is Mr. Billings himself who sends word to Putnam County, in the nameof the convention's chairman. Before the messenger can reach PutnamCounty another arrives on the stage, with wide pupils, "Tom Gaylord iscoming!" This momentous news, Marconi-like, penetrates the storm, and isalready on the floor. Mr. Widgeon and Mr. Redbrook are pushing their waytowards the door. The conference, emboldened by terror, marches in a bodyinto the little room, and surrounds the calmly insane Lieutenant-generalof the forces; it would be ill-natured to say that visions of lostrailroad commissionerships, lost consulships, lost postmasterships, --yes, of lost senatorships, were in these loyal heads at this crucialtime. 

It was all very well (so said the first spokesman) to pluck a fewfeathers from a bird so bountifully endowed as the Honourable Adam, butwere not two gentlemen who should be nameless carrying the joke a littletoo far? Mr. Vane unquestionably realized what he was doing, but--was itnot almost time to call in the two gentlemen and--and come to someunderstanding?

"Gentlemen, " said the Honourable Hilary, apparently unmoved, "I have notseen Mr. Bascom or Mr. Botcher since the sixteenth day of August, and Ido not intend to. "

Some clearing of throats followed this ominous declaration, --and apainful silence. The thing must be said and who would say it? SenatorWhitredge was the hero. 

Mr. Thomas Gaylord has just entered the convention hall, and is said tobe about to nominate--a dark horse. The moment was favourable, theconvention demoralized, and at least one hundred delegates had left thehall. (How about the last ballot, Senator, which showed 1011?)

The Honourable Hilary rose abruptly, closed the door to shut out thenoise, and turned and looked Mr. Whitredge in the eye. 

"Who is the dark horse?" he demanded. 

The members of the conference coughed again, looked at each other, andthere was a silence. For some inexplicable reason, nobody cared tomention the name of Austen Vane. 

The Honourable Hilary pointed at the basswood table. 

"Senator, " he said, "I understand you have been telephoning Mr. Flint. Have you got orders to sit down there?"

"My dear sir, " said the Senator, "you misunderstand me. "

"Have you got orders to sit down there?" Mr. Vane repeated. 

"No, " answered the Senator, "Mr. Flint's confidence in you--"

The Honourable Hilary sat down again, and at that instant the door wassuddenly flung open by Postmaster Bill Fleeting of Brampton, his genialface aflame with excitement and streaming with perspiration. Forgotten, in this moment, is senatorial courtesy and respect for the powers of thefeudal system. 

"Say, boys, " he cried, "Putnam County's voting, and there's be'n nonomination and ain't likely to be. Jim Scudder, the station-master atWye, is here on credentials, and he says for sure the thing's fizzledout, and Tom Gaylord's left the hall!"

Again a silence, save for the high hum let in through the open doorway. The members of the conference stared at the Honourable Hilary, who seemedto have forgotten their presence; for he had moved his chair to thewindow, and was gazing out over the roofs at the fast-fading red in thewestern sky. 

An hour later, when the room was in darkness save for the bar of lightthat streamed in from the platform chandelier, Senator Whitredge entered. 

"Hilary!" he said. 

There was no answer. Mr. Whitredge felt in his pocket for a match, struckit, and lighted the single jet over the basswood table. Mr. Vane stillsat by the window. The senator turned and closed the door, and read froma paper in his hand; so used was he to formality that he read itformally, yet with a feeling of intense relief, of deference, of apology. 

"Fifth ballot:--The Honourable Giles Henderson of Kingston has . . . 587;The Honourable Adam B. Hunt of Edmundton has . . . 230; The HonourableHumphrey Crewe of Leith has . . . 154. 

And Giles Henderson is nominated--Hilary?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Vane. 

"I don't think any of us were--quite ourselves to-day. It wasn't that wedidn't believe in you--but we didn't have all the threads in our hands, and--for reasons which I think I can understand--you didn't take us intoyour confidence. I want to--"

The words died on the senator's lips. So absorbed had he been in hismomentous news, and solicitous over the result of his explanation, thathis eye looked outward for the first time, and even then accidentally. 

"Hilary!" he cried; "for God's sake, what's the matter? Are you sick?"

"Yes, Whitredge, " said Mr. Vane, slowly, "sick at heart. "

It was but natural that these extraordinary and incomprehensible wordsshould have puzzled and frightened the senator more than ever. 

"Your heart!" he repeated. 

"Yes, my heart, " said Hilary. 

The senator reached for the ice-water on the table. 

"Here, " he cried, pouring out a glass, "it's only the heat--it's been ahard day--drink this. "

But Hilary did not raise his arm. The door opened others coming tocongratulate Hilary Vane on the greatest victory he had ever won. Officeswere secure once more, the feudal system intact, and rebels justlypunished; others coming to make their peace with the commander whom, senseless as they were, they had dared to doubt. 

They crowded past each other on the threshold, and stood grouped beyondthe basswood table, staring--staring--men suddenly come upon a tragedyinstead of a feast, the senator still holding the glass of water in ahand that trembled and spilled it. And it was the senator, after all, whofirst recovered his presence of mind. He set down the water, pushed hisway through the group into the hall, where the tumult and the shoutingdie. Mr. Giles Henderson, escorted, is timidly making his way towards theplatform to read his speech of acceptance of a willing bondage, when avoice rings out:--"If there is a physician in the house, will he pleasecome forward?"

And then a hush, --and then the buzz of comment. Back to the little roomonce more, where they are gathered speechless about Hilary Vane. And thedoctor comes young Dr. Tredway of Ripton, who is before all others. 

"I expected this to happen, gentlemen, " he said, "and I have been hereall day, at the request of Mr. Vane's son, for this purpose. "

"Austen!"

It was Hilary who spoke. 

"I have sent for him, " said the doctor. "And now, gentlemen, if you willkindly--"

They withdrew and the doctor shut the door. Outside, the Honourable Gilesis telling them how seriously he regards the responsibility of the honourthrust upon him by a great party. But nobody hears him in the wildrumours that fly from mouth to mouth as the hall empties. Rushing inagainst the tide outpouring, tall, stern, vigorous, is a young man whommany recognize, whose name is on many lips as they make way for him, whomight have saved them if he would. The door of the little room opens, andhe stands before his father, looking down at him. And the sternexpression is gone from his face. 

"Austen!" said Mr. Vane. 

"Yes, Judge. "

"Take me away from here. Take me home--now--to-night. "

Austen glanced at Dr. Tredway. 

"It is best, " said the doctor; "we will take him home--to-night. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE VOICE OF AN ERA

They took him home, in the stateroom of the sleeper attached to the nightexpress from the south, although Mr. Flint, by telephone, had put aspecial train at his disposal. The long service of Hilary Vane was over;he had won his last fight for the man he had chosen to call his master;and those who had fought behind him, whose places, whose very luminaryexistences, had depended on his skill, knew that the end had come; nay, were already speculating, manoeuvring, and taking sides. Who would be thenew Captain-general? Who would be strong enough to suppress the strainingambitions of the many that the Empire might continue to flourish in itsintegrity and gather tribute? It is the world-old cry around the palacewalls: Long live the new ruler--if you can find him among the curdlingfactions. 

They carried Hilary home that September night, when Sawanec was like agray ghost-mountain facing the waning moon, back to the home of thosestrange, Renaissance Austens which he had reclaimed for a grimpuritanism, and laid him in the carved and canopied bedstead ChanningAusten had brought from Spain. Euphrasia had met them at the door, but atrained nurse from the Ripton hospital was likewise in waiting; and a NewYork specialist had been summoned to prolong, if possible, the life ofone from whom all desire for life had passed. 

Before sunrise a wind came from the northern spruces; the dawn wascloudless, fiery red, and the air had an autumn sharpness. At ten o'clockDr. Harmon arrived, was met at the station by Austen, and spent half anhour with Dr. Tredway. At noon the examination was complete. Thanks togenerations of self-denial by the Vanes of Camden Street, Mr. Hilary Vanemight live indefinitely, might even recover, partially; but at present hewas condemned to remain, with his memories, in the great canopied bed. 

The Honourable Hilary had had another caller that morning besides Dr. Harmon, --no less a personage than the president of the NortheasternRailroads himself, who had driven down from Fairview immediately afterbreakfast. Austen having gone to the station, Dr. Tredway had receivedMr. Flint in the darkened hall, and had promised to telephone to Fairviewthe verdict of the specialist. At present Dr. Tredway did not think itwise to inform Hilary of Mr. Flint's visit--not, at least, until afterthe examination. 

Mr. Vane exhibited the same silent stoicism on receiving the verdict ofDr. Harmon as he had shown from the first. With the clew to Hilary's lifewhich Dr. Tredway had given him, the New York physician understood thecase; one common enough in his practice in a great city where the fittestsurvive--sometimes only to succumb to unexpected and irreparable blows inthe evening of life. 

On his return from seeing Dr. Harmon off Austen was met on the porch byDr. Tredway. 

"Your father has something on his mind, " said the doctor, "and perhaps itis just as well that he should be relieved. He is asking for you, and Imerely wished to advise you to make the conversation as short aspossible. "

Austen climbed the stairs in obedience to this summons, and stood beforehis father at the bedside. Hilary lay, back among the pillows, and thebrightness of that autumn noonday only served to accentuate the pallor ofhis face, the ravages of age which had come with such incredibleswiftness, and the outline of a once vigorous frame. The eyes alone shonewith a strange new light, and Austen found it unexpectedly difficult tospeak. He sat down on the bed and laid his hand on the helpless one thatrested on the coverlet. 

"Austen, " said Mr. Vane, "I want you to go to Fairview. "

His son's hand tightened over his own. 

"Yes, Judge. "

"I want you to go now. "

"Yes, Judge. "

"You know the combination of my safe at the office. It's never beenchanged since--since you were there. Open it. You will find two tinboxes, containing papers labelled Augustus P. Flint. I want you to takethem to Fairview and put them into the hands of Mr. Flint himself. I--Icannot trust any one else. I promised to take them myself, but--Flintwill understand. "

"I'll go right away, " said Austen, rising, and trying to speakcheerfully. "Mr. Flint was here early this morning--inquiring for you. "

Hilary Vane's lips trembled, and another expression came into his eyes. 

"Rode down to look at the scrap-heap, --did he?"

Austen strove to conceal his surprise at his father's words and change ofmanner. 

"Tredway saw him, " he said. "I'm pretty sure Mr. Flint doesn't feel thatway, Judge. He has taken your illness very much to heart, I know, and heleft some fruit and flowers for you. "

"I guess his daughter sent those, " said Hilary. 

"His daughter?" Austen repeated. 

"If I didn't think so, " Mr. Vane continued, "I'd send 'em back. I neverknew what she was until she picked me up and drove me down here. I'vealways done Victoria an injustice. "

Austen walked to the door, and turned slowly. 

"I'll go at once, Judge, " he said. 

In the kitchen he was confronted by Euphrasia. 

"When is that woman going away?" she demanded. "I've took care of HilaryVane nigh on to forty years, and I guess I know as much about nursing, and more about Hilary, than that young thing with her cap and apron. Itold Dr. Tredway so. She even came down here to let me know what to cookfor him, and I sent her about her business. "

Austen smiled. It was the first sign, since his return the night before, Euphrasia had given that an affection for Hilary Vane lurked beneath thenature. 

"She won't stay long, Phrasie, " he answered, and added mischievously, "for a very good reason. "

"And what's that?" asked Euphrasia. 

"Because you won't allow her to. I have a notion that she'll pack up andleave in about three days, and that all the doctors in Ripton couldn'tkeep her here. "

"Get along with you, " said Euphrasia, who could not for the life of herhelp looking a little pleased. 

"I'm going off for a few hours, " he said more seriously. "Dr. Tredwaytells me they do not look for any developments--for the worse. "

"Where are you going?" asked Euphrasia, sharply. 

"To Fairview, " he said. 

Euphrasia moved the kettle to another part of the stove. 

"You'll see her?" she said. 

"Who?" Austen asked. But his voice must have betrayed him a little, forEuphrasia turned and seized him by the elbows and looked up into hisface. 

"Victoria, " she said. 

He felt himself tremble at the name, --at the strangeness of its sound onEuphrasia's lips. 

"I do not expect to see Miss Flint, " he answered, controlling himself aswell as he was able. "I have an errand for the Judge with Mr. Flinthimself. "

Euphrasia had guessed his secret! But how?

"Hadn't you better see her?" said Euphrasia, in a curious monotone. 

"But I have no errand with her, " he objected, mystified yet excited byEuphrasia's manner. 

"She fetched Hilary home, " said Euphrasia. 

"Yes. "

She couldn't have be'n kinder if she was his own daughter. "

"I know--" he began, but Euphrasia interrupted. 

"She sent that Englishman for the doctor, and waited to take the news toher father, and she came out in this kitchen and talked to me. "

Austen started. Euphrasia was not looking at him now, and suddenly shedropped his arms and went to the window overlooking the garden. 

"She wouldn't go in the parlour, but come right out here in her fineclothes. I told her I didn't think she belonged in a kitchen--but I guessI did her an injustice, " said Euphrasia, slowly. 

"I think you did, " he said, and wondered. 

"She looked at that garden, " Euphrasia went on, "and cried out. I didn'tcallate she was like that. And the first thing I knew I was talking aboutyour mother, and I'd forgot who I was talking to. She wahn't like astranger--it was just as if I'd known her always. I haven't understood ityet. And after a while I told her about that verse, and she wanted to seeit--the verse about the skylark, you know--"

"Yes, " said Austen. 

"Well, the way she read it made me cry, it brought back Sarah Austen so. Somehow, I can't account for it, she puts me in mind of your mother. "

Austen did not speak. 

"In more ways than one, " said Euphrasia. "I didn't look to find her sonatural--and so gentle. And their she has a way of scolding you, just asSarah Austen had, that you'd never suspect. "

"Did she scold you--Phrasie?" asked Austen. And the irresistible humourthat is so near to sorrow made him smile again. 

"Indeed she did! And it surprised, me some--coming right out of a summersky. I told her what I thought about Hilary, and how he'd driven you outof your own mother's house. She said you'd ought to be sent for, and Isaid you oughtn't to set foot in this house until Hilary sent for you. She said I'd no right to take such a revenge--that you'd come right awayif you knew Hilary'd had a stroke, and that Hilary'd never send for you--because he couldn't. She said he was like a man on a desert island. "

"She was right, " answered Austen. 

"I don't know about that, " said Euphrasia; "she hadn't put up with Hilaryfor forty years, as I had, and seen what he'd done to your mother andyou. But that's what she said. And she went for you herself, when shefound the doctor couldn't go. Austen, ain't you going to see her?"

Austen shook his head gently, and smiled at her. 

"I'm afraid it's no use, Phrasie, " he said. "Just because she has been--kind we mustn't be deceived. It's h er nature to be kind. "

Euphrasia crossed the room swiftly, and seized his arm again. 

"She loves you, Austen, " she cried; "she loves you. Do you think that I'dlove her, that I'd plead for her, if she didn't?"

Austen's breath came deeply. He disengaged himself, and went to thewindow. 

"No, " he said, "you don't know. You can't--know. I have only seen her--afew times. She lives a different life--and with other people. She willmarry a man who can give her more. "

"Do you think I could be deceived?" exclaimed Euphrasia, almost fiercely. "It's as true as the sun shining on that mountain. You believe she lovesthe Englishman, but I tell you she loves you--you. "

He turned towards her. 

"How do you know?" he asked, as though he were merely curious. 

"Because I'm a woman, and she's a woman, " said Euphrasia. "Oh, she didn'tconfess it. If she had, I shouldn't think so much of her. But she told meas plain as though she had spoken it in words, before she left thisroom. "

Austen shook his head again. 

"Phrasie, " he said, "I'm afraid you've been building castles in Spain. "And he went out, and across to the stable to harness Pepper. 

Austen did not believe Euphrasia. On that eventful evening when Victoriahad called at Jabe Jenney's, the world's aspect had suddenly changed forhim; old values had faded, --values which, after all, had been but tintsand glows, --and sterner but truer colours took their places. He sawVictoria's life in a new perspective, --one in which his was but a smallplace in the background of her numerous beneficences; which was, afterall, the perspective in which he had first viewed it. But, by degrees, the hope that she loved him had grown and grown until it had becomeunconsciously the supreme element of his existence, --the hope that stolesweetly into his mind with the morning light, and stayed him through theday, and blended into the dreams of darkness. 

By inheritance, by tradition, by habits of thought, Austen Vane was anAmerican, --an American as differentiated from the citizen of any othernation upon the earth. The French have an expressive phrase in speakingof a person as belonging to this or that world, meaning the circle bywhich the life of an individual is bounded; the true American recognizesthese circles--but with complacency, and with a sure knowledge of hisdestiny eventually to find himself within the one for which he is bestfitted by his talents and his tastes. The mere fact that Victoria hadbeen brought up amongst people with whom he had nothing in common wouldnot have deterred Austen Vane from pressing his suit; considerations ofhonour had stood in the way, and hope had begun to whisper that thesemight, in the end, be surmounted. Once they had disappeared, and sheloved him, that were excuse and reason enough. 

And suddenly the sight of Victoria with a probable suitor--who at oncehad become magnified into an accepted suitor--had dispelled hope. Euphrasia! Euphrasia had been deceived as he had, by a loving kindnessand a charity that were natural. But what so natural (to one who hadlived the life of Austen Vane) as that she should marry amongst thosewhose ways of life were her ways? In the brief time in which he had seenher and this other man, Austen's quickened perceptions had detected tacitunderstanding, community of interest, a habit of thought and manner, --inshort, a common language, unknown to him, between the two. And, more thanthese, the Victoria of the blissful excursions he had known was changedas she had spoken to him--constrained, distant, apart; although stilldispensing kindness, going out of her way to bring Hilary home, and totell him of Hilary's accident. Rumour, which cannot be confined in casksor bottles, had since informed Austen Vane that Mr. Rangely had spent theday with Victoria, and had remained at Fairview far into the evening;rumour went farther (thanks to Mrs. Pomfret) and declared the engagementalready an accomplished fact. And to Austen, in the twilight in front ofJabe Jenney's, the affair might well have assumed the proportions of anintimacy of long standing rather than that of the chance acquaintance ofan hour. Friends in common, modes of life in common, and incidents incommon are apt to sweep away preliminaries. 

Such were Austen's thoughts as he drove to Fairview that Septemberafternoon when the leaves were turning their white backs to the northwestbreeze. The sun was still high, and the distant hills and mountains wereas yet scarce stained with blue, and stood out in startling clearnessagainst the sky. Would he see her? That were a pain he scarce daredcontemplate. 

He reached the arched entrance, was on the drive. Here was the path againby which she had come down the hillside; here was the very stone on whichshe had stood--awaiting him. Why? Why had she done that? Well-rememberedfigure amidst the yellow leaves dancing in the sunlight! Here he hadstopped, perforce, and here he had looked up into his face and smiled andspoken!

At length he gained the plateau across which the driveway ran, betweenround young maples, straight to Fairview House, and he remembered thestares from the tea-tables, and how she had come out to his rescue. Nowthe lawn was deserted, save for a gardener among the shrubs. He rang thestable-bell, and as he waited for an answer to his summons, the sense ofhis remoteness from these surroundings of hers deepened, and with a touchof inevitable humour he recalled the low-ceiled bedroom at Mr. Jenney'sand the kitchen in Hanover Street; the annual cost of the care of thatlawn and driveway might well have maintained one of these households. 

He told the stable-boy to wait. It is to be remarked as curious that thename of the owner of the house on Austen's lips brought the first thoughtof him to Austen's mind. He was going to see and speak with Mr. Flint, aman who had been his enemy ever since the day he had come here and laiddown his pass on the president's desk; the man who--so he believed untilthree days ago--had stood between him and happiness. Well, it did notmatter now. 

Austen followed the silent-moving servant through the hall. Those werethe stairs which knew her feet, these the rooms--so subtlyflower-scented--she lived in; then came the narrow passage to the sternerapartment of the master himself. Mr. Flint was alone, and seated uprightbehind the massive oak desk, from which bulwark the president of theNortheastern was wont to meet his opponents and his enemies; and fewvisitors came into his presence, here or elsewhere, who were not to begot the better of, if possible. A life-long habit had accustomed Mr. Flint to treat all men as adversaries until they were proved otherwise. His square, close-cropped head, his large features, his alert eyes, werethose of a fighter. 

He did not rise, but nodded. Suddenly Austen was enveloped in a flame ofwrath that rose without warning and blinded him, and it was with asupreme effort to control himself that he stopped in the doorway. He wasfrightened, for he had felt this before, and he knew it for the angerthat demands physical violence. 

"Come in, Mr. Vane, " said the president. 

Austen advanced to the desk, and laid the boxes before Mr. Flint. 

"Mr. Vane told me to say that he would have brought these himself, had itbeen possible. Here is the list, and I shall be much obliged if you willverify it before I go back. "

"Sit down. " said Mr. Flint. 

Austen sat down, with the corner of the desk between them, while Mr. Flint opened the boxes and began checking off the papers on the list. 

"How is your father this afternoon?" he asked, without looking up. 

"As well as can be expected, " said Austen. 

"Of course nobody knew his condition but himself, " Mr. Flint continued;"but it was a great shock to me--when he resigned as my counsel threedays ago. "

Austen laid his forearm on the desk, and his hand closed. 

"He resigned three days ago?" he exclaimed. 

Mr. Flint was surprised, but concealed it. 

"I can understand, under the circumstances, how he has overlooked tellingyou. His resignation takes effect to-day. "

Austen was silent a moment, while he strove to apply this fact to hisfather's actions. 

"He waited until after the convention. "

"Exactly, " said Mr. Flint, catching the implied accusation in Austen'stone; "and needless to say, if I had been able to prevent his going, inview of what happened on Monday night, I should have done so. As youknow, after his--accident, he went to the capital without informing anyone. "

"As a matter of honour, " said Austen. 

Mr. Flint looked up from the papers, and regarded him narrowly, for thetone in which this was spoken did not escape the president of theNortheastern. He saw, in fact, that at the outset he had put a weaponinto Austen's hands. Hilary's resignation was a vindication of Austen'sattitude, an acknowledgment that the business and political practices ofhis life had been wrong. 

What Austen really felt, when he had grasped the significance of thatfact, was relief--gratitude. A wave of renewed affection for his fatherswept over him, of affection and pity and admiration, and for the instanthe forgot Mr. Flint. 

"As a matter of honour, " Mr. Flint repeated. "Knowing he was ill, Mr. Vane insisted upon going to that convention, even at the risk of hislife. It is a fitting close to a splendid career, and one that will notsoon be forgotten. "

Austen merely looked at Mr. Flint, who may have found the glance a trifledisconcerting, for he turned to the papers again. 

"I repeat, " he went on presently, "that this illness of Mr. Vane's is notonly a great loss to the Northeastern system, but a great blow to mepersonally. I have been associated with him closely for more than aquarter of a century, and I have never seen a lawyer of greaterintegrity, clear-headedness, and sanity of view. He saw things as theywere, and he did as much to build up the business interests and theprosperity of this State as any man I know of. He was true to his word, and true to his friends. "

Still Austen did not reply. He continued to look at Mr. Flint, and Mr. Flint continued to check the papers only more slowly. He had nearlyfinished the first box. 

"A wave of political insanity, to put it mildly, seems to be sweepingover this country, " said the president of the Northeastern. "Men whowould paralyze and destroy the initiative of private enterprise, men whothemselves are ambitious, and either incapable or unsuccessful, havesprung up; writers who have no conscience, whose one idea is to makemoney out of a passing craze against honest capital, have aided them. Disappointed and dangerous politicians who merely desire office and powerhave lifted their voices in the hue and cry to fool the honest voter. Iam glad to say I believe that the worst of this madness and rascality isover; that the common sense of the people of this country is too great tobe swept away by the methods of these self-seekers; that the ordinary manis beginning to see that his bread and butter depends on the brain of theofficers who are trying honestly to conduct great enterprises for thebenefit of the average citizen. 

"We did not expect to escape in this State, " Mr. Flint went on, raisinghis head and meeting Austen's look; "the disease was too prevalent andtoo catching for the weak-minded. We had our self-seekers who attemptedto bring ruin upon an institution which has done more for our populationthan any other. I do not hesitate to speak of the Northeastern Railroadsas an institution, and as an institution which has been asconscientiously and conservatively conducted as any in the country, andwith as scrupulous a regard for the welfare of all. Hilary Vane, as youdoubtless know, was largely responsible for this. My attention, aspresident of all the roads, has been divided. Hilary Vane guarded theinterests in this State, and no man could have guarded them better. Hewell deserves the thanks of future generations for the uncompromisingfight he made against such men and such methods. It has broken him downat a time of life when he has earned repose, but he has the satisfactionof knowing that he has won the battle for conservative Americanprinciples, and that he has nominated a governor worthy of the traditionsof the State. "

And Mr. Flint started checking off the papers again. Had the occasionbeen less serious, Austen could have smiled at Mr. Flint's ruse--socharacteristic of the tactics of the president of the Northeastern--ofputting him into a position where criticism of the Northeastern and itspractices would be criticism of his own father. As it was, he only sethis jaw more firmly, an expression indicative of contempt for suchtactics. He had not come there to be lectured out of the "Book ofArguments" on the divine right of railroads to govern, but to see thatcertain papers were delivered in safety. 

Had his purpose been deliberately to enter into a contest with Mr. Flint, Austen could not have planned the early part of it any better than bypursuing this policy of silence. To a man of Mr. Flint's temperament andtraining, it was impossible to have such an opponent within reach withoutattempting to hector him into an acknowledgment of the weakness of hisposition. Further than this, Austen had touched him too often on thequick merely to be considered in the light of a young man who heldopposite and unfortunate views--although it was Mr. Flint's endeavour toput him in this light. The list of injuries was too fresh in Mr. Flint'smind--even that last conversation with Victoria, in which she had made itplain that her sympathies were with Austen. 

But with an opponent who would not be led into ambush, who had thestrength to hold his fire under provocation, it was no easy matter tomaintain a height of conscious, matter-of-fact rectitude and impliedreproof. Austen's silence, Austen's attitude, declared louder than wordsthe contempt for such manoeuvres of a man who knows he is in the right--and knows that his adversary knows it. It was this silence and thisattitude which proclaimed itself that angered Mr. Flint, yet made himwarily conceal his anger and change his attack. 

"It is some years since we met, Mr. Vane, " he remarked presently. 

Austen's face relaxed into something of a smile. 

"Four, I think, " he answered. 

"You hadn't long been back from that Western experience. Well, yourfather has one decided consolation; you have fulfilled his hope that youwould settle down here and practise in the State. And I hear that you arefast forging to the front. You are counsel for the Gaylord Company, Ibelieve. "

"The result of an unfortunate accident, " said Austen; "Mr. Hammer died. "

"And on the occasion when you did me the honour to call on me, " said Mr. Flint, "if I remember rightly, you expressed some rather radical views--for the son of Hilary Vane. "

"For the son of Hilary Vane, " Austen agreed, with a smile. 

Mr. Flint ignored the implication in the repetition. 

"Thinking as mach as I do of Mr. Vane, I confess that your views at thattime rather disturbed me. It is a matter of relief to learn that you haverefused to lend yourself to the schemes of men like our neighbour, Mr. Humphrey Crewe, of Leith. "

"Honesty compels me to admit, " answered Austen, "that I did not refrainon Mr. Crewe's account. "

"Although, " said Mr. Flint, drumming on the table, "there was some talkthat you were to be brought forward as a dark horse in the convention, and as a candidate unfriendly to the interests of the NortheasternRailroads, I am glad you did not consent to be put in any such position. I perceive that a young man of your ability and--popularity, a Vane ofCamden Street, must inevitably become a force in this State. And as aforce, you must retain the conservatism of the Vanes--the traditionalconservatism of the State. The Northeastern Railroads will continue to bea very large factor in the life of the people after you and I are gone, Mr. Vane. You will have to live, as it were, with that corporation, andhelp to preserve it. We shall have to work together, perhaps, to thatend--who can say? I repeat, I am glad that your good sense led you torefrain from coming as a candidate before that Convention. There is timeenough in the future, and you could not have been nominated. "

"On the contrary, " answered Austen, quietly, "I could have beennominated. "

Mr. Flint smiled knowingly--but with an effort. What a relief it wouldhave been to him to charge horse and foot, to forget that he was arailroad president dealing with a potential power. 

"Do you honestly believe that?" he asked. 

"I am not accustomed to dissemble my beliefs, " said Austen, gravely. "Thefact that my father had faith enough in me to count with certainty on myrefusal to go before the convention enabled him to win the nomination forthe candidate of your railroads. "

Mr. Flint continued to smile, but into his eyes had crept a gleam ofanger. 

"It is easy to say such things--after the convention, " he remarked. 

"And it would have been impossible to say their before, " Austen respondedinstantly, with a light in his own eyes. "My nomination was the onlydisturbing factor in the situation for you and the politicians who hadyour interests in hand, and it was as inevitable as night and day thatthe forces of the candidates who represented the two wings of the machineof the Northeastern Railroads should have united against Mr. Crewe. Iwant to say to you frankly that if my father had not been the counsel foryour corporation, and responsible for its political success, or if hecould have resigned with honour before the convention, I should not haverefused to let my name go in. After all, " he added, in a lower tone, andwith a slight gesture characteristic of him when a subject wasdistasteful, "it doesn't matter who is elected governor this autumn. "

"What?" cried Mr. Flint, surprised out of his attitude as much byAusten's manner as by Austen's words. 

"It doesn't matter, " said Austen, "whether the Northeastern Railroadshave succeeded this time in nominating and electing a governor to whomthey can dictate, and who will reappoint railroad commissioners and otherState officials in their interests. The practices by which you havecontrolled this State, Mr. Flint, and elected governors and councillorsand State and national senators are doomed. However necessary thesepractices may have been from your point of view, they violated everyprinciple of free government, and were they to continue, the nation towhich we belong would inevitably decay and become the scorn of the world. Those practices depended for their success on one condition, --which initself is the most serious of ills in a republic, --the ignorance anddisregard of the voter. You have but to read the signs of the times tosee clearly that the day of such conditions is past, to see that thecitizens of this State and this country are thinking for themselves, asthey should; are alive to the dangers and determined to avert it. You maysucceed in electing one more governor and one more senate, or two, beforethe people are able to destroy the machinery you have built up and repealthe laws you have made to sustain it. I repeat, it doesn't matter in thelong run. The era of political domination by a corporation, and mainlyfor the benefit of a corporation, is over. "

Mr. Flint had been drumming on the desk, his face growing a darker red asAusten proceeded: Never, since he had become president of theNortheastern Railroads, had any man said such things to his face. And thefact that Austen Vane had seemingly not spoken in wrath, althoughforcefully enough to compel him to listen, had increased Mr. Flint'sanger. Austen apparently cared very little for him or his opinions incomparison with his own estimate of right and wrong. 

"It seems, " said Mr. Flint, "that you have grown more radical since yourlast visit. "

"If it be radical to refuse to accept a pass from a railroad to bind myliberty of action as an attorney and a citizen, then I am radical, "replied Austen. "If it be radical to maintain that the electedrepresentatives of the people should not receive passes, or be beholdento any man or any corporation, I acknowledge the term. If it be radicalto declare that these representatives should be elected withoutinterference, and while in office should do exact justice to the body ofcitizens on the one hand and the corporations on the other, I declaremyself a radical. But my radicalism goes back behind the establishment ofrailroads, Mr. Flint, back to the foundation of this government, to theidea from which it sprang. "

Mr. Flint smiled again. 

"We have changed materially since then, " he said. "I am afraid such autopian state of affairs, beautiful as it is, will not work in thetwentieth century. It is a commercial age, and the interests which arethe bulwark of the country's strength must be protected. "

"Yes, " said Austen, "we have changed materially. The mistake you make, and men like you, is the stress which you lay on that word material. Arethere no such things as moral interests, Mr. Flint? And are they notquite as important in government, if not more important, than materialinterests? Surely, we cannot have commercial and political stabilitywithout cominertial and political honour! if, as a nation, we lose sightof the ideals which have carried us so far, which have so greatlymodified the conditions of other peoples than ourselves, we shall perishas a force in the world. And if this government proves a failure, howlong do you think the material interests of which you are so solicitouswill endure? Or do you care whether they endure beyond your lifetime?Perhaps not. But it is a matter of importance, not only to the nation, but to the world, whether or not the moral idea of the United States ofAmerica is perpetuated, I assure you. "

"I begin to fear, Mr. Vane, " said the president of the Northeastern, "that you have missed your vocation. Suppose I were to grant you, for thesake of argument, that the Northeastern Railroads, being the largesttaxpayers in this State, have taken an interest in seeing thatconservative men fill responsible offices. Suppose such to be the case, and we abruptly cease--to take such an interest. What then? Are we not atthe mercy of any and all unscrupulous men who build up a power of theirown, and start again the blackmail of the old days?"

"You have put the case mildly, " said Austen, and ingeniously. "As amatter of fact, Mr. Flint, you know as well as I do that for years youhave governed this State absolutely, for the purpose of keeping down yourtaxes, avoiding unnecessary improvements for safety and comfort, andpaying high dividends--"

"Perhaps you realize that in depicting these criminal operations sographically, " cried Mr. Flint, interrupting, "you are involving thereputation of one of the best citizens the State ever had--your ownfather. "

Austen Vane leaned forward across the desk, and even Mr. Flint (if thetruth were known) recoiled a little before the anger he had aroused. Itshot forth from Austen's eyes, proclaimed itself in the squareness of theface, and vibrated in every word he spoke. 

"Mr. Flint, " he said, "I refrain from comment upon your methods ofargument. There were many years in which my father believed the practiceswhich he followed in behalf of your railroad to be necessary--and hencejustified. And I have given you the credit of holding the same belief. Public opinion would not, perhaps, at that time have protected yourproperty from political blackmail. I merely wished you to know, Mr. Flint, that there is no use in attempting to deceive me in regard to thetrue colour of those practices. It is perhaps useless for me to add thatin my opinion you understand as well as I do the real reason for Mr. Vane's resignation and illness. Once he became convinced that thepractices were wrong, he could no longer continue them without violatinghis conscience. He kept his word to you--at the risk of his life, and, ashis son, I take a greater pride in him to-day than I ever have before. "

Austen got to his feet. He was formidable even to Mr. Flint, who had metmany formidable, and angry men in his time--although not of this type. Perhaps--who can say?--he was the in the mind of the presidentunconscious embodiment of the Northeastern of the new forces which hadarisen against him, --forces which he knew in his secret soul he could notcombat, because they were the irresistible forces of things not material. All his life he had met and successfully conquered forces of anotherkind, and put down with a strong hand merely physical encroachments. 

Mr. Flint's nature was not an introspective one, and if he had tried, hecould not have accounted for his feelings. He was angry--that wascertain. But he measured the six feet and more of Austen Vane with hiseye, and in spite of himself experienced the compelled admiration of onefighting man for another. A thought, which had made itself vaguely feltat intervals in the past half hour, shot suddenly and poignantly throughMr. Flint's mind what if this young man, who dared in spite of everyinterest to oppose him, should in the apparently inevitable trend ofthings, become. .. ?

Mr. Flint rose and went to the window, where he stood silent for a space, looking out, played upon by unwonted conflicting thoughts and emotions. At length, with a characteristic snap of the fingers, he turned abruptly. Austen Vane was still standing beside the desk. His face was stillsquare, determined, but Mr. Flint noted curiously that the anger was gonefrom his eyes, and that another--although equally human--expression hadtaken its place, --a more disturbing expression, to Mr. Flint. 

"It appears, Mr. Vane, " he said, gathering up the papers and placing themin the boxes, "it appears that we are able to agree upon one point, atleast--Hilary Vane. "

"Mr. Flint, " said Austen, "I did not come up here with any thought ofarguing with you, of intruding any ideas--I may hold, but you haveyourself asked me one question which I feel bound to answer to the bestof my ability before I go. You have asked me what, in my opinion, wouldhappen if you ceased--as you express it--to take an interest in thepolitical, affairs of this State. 

"I believe, as firmly as I stand here, that the public opinion whichexists to-day would protect your property, and I base that belief on thegood sense of the average American voter. The public would protect younot only in its own interests, but from an inherent sense of fair play. On the other hand, if you persist in a course of political manipulationwhich is not only obsolete but wrong, you will magnify the just chargesagainst you, and the just wrath; you will put ammunition into the handsof the agitators you rightly condemn. The stockholders of yourcorporation, perhaps, are bound to suffer some from the fact that youhave taken its life-blood to pay dividends, and the public will demandthat it be built up into a normal and healthy condition. On the otherhand, it could not have gone on as it was. But the corporation willsuffer much more if a delayed justice is turned into vengeance. 

"You ask me what I could do. I should recognize, frankly, the newconditions, and declare as frankly what the old ones were, and why suchmethods of defence as you adopted were necessary and justified. I shouldannounce, openly, that from this day onward the Northeastern Railroadsdepended for fair play on an enlightened public--and I think your trustwould be well founded, and your course vindicated. I should declare, fromthis day onward, that the issue of political passes, newspaper passes, and all other subterfuges would be stopped, and that all politicalhirelings would be dismissed. I should appeal to the people of this Stateto raise up political leaders who would say to the corporations, 'We willprotect you from injustice if you will come before the electedrepresentatives of the people, openly, and say what you want and why youwant it. ' By such a course you would have, in a day, the affection of thepeople instead of their distrust. They would rally to your defence. And, more than that, you would have done a service for American government thevalue of which cannot well be estimated. "

Mr. Flint rang the bell on his desk, and his secretary appeared. 

"Put these in my private safe, Mr. Freeman, " he said. 

Mr. Freeman took the boxes, glanced curiously at Austen, and went out. Itwas the same secretary, Austen recalled, who had congratulated him fouryears before. Then Mr. Flint laid his hand deliberately on the desk, andsmiled slightly as he turned to Austen. 

"If you had run a railroad as long as I have, Mr. Vane, " he said, "I doyou the credit of thinking that you would have intelligence enough tograsp other factors which your present opportunities for observation havenot permitted you to perceive. Nevertheless, I am much obliged to you foryour opinion, and I value the--frankness in which it was given. And Ishall hope to hear good news of your father. Remember me to him, and tellhim how deeply I feel his affliction. I shall call again in a day ortwo. "

Austen took up his hat. 

"Good day, Mr. Flint, " he said; "I will tell him. "

By the time he had reached the door, Mr. Flint had gone back to thewindow once more, and appeared to have forgotten his presence. 

CHAPTER XXIX

THE VALE OF THE BLUE

Austen himself could not well have defined his mental state as he madehis way through the big rooms towards the door, but he was aware of onemain desire--to escape from Fairview. With the odours of the flowers inthe tall silver vases on the piano--her piano!--the spirit of desirewhich had so long possessed him, waking and sleeping, returned, --returnedto torture him now with greater skill amidst these her possessions; hervolume of Chopin on the rack, bound in red leather and stamped with herinitials, which compelled his glance as he passed, and brought vivid tohis memory the night he had stood in the snow and heard her playing. So, he told himself, it must always be, for him to stand in the snowlistening. 

He reached the hall, with a vast relief perceived that it was empty, andopened the door and went out. Strange that he should note, first of all, as he parsed a moment at the top of the steps, that the very day hadchanged. The wind had fallen; the sun, well on his course towards the rimof western hills, poured the golden light of autumn over field andforest, while Sawanec was already in the blue shadow; the expectantstillness of autumn reigned, and all unconsciously Austen's blood wasquickened though a quickening of pain. 

The surprise of the instant over, he noticed that his horse was gone, --had evidently been taken to the stables. And rather than ring the belland wait in the mood in which he found himself, he took the path throughthe shrubbery from which he had seen the groom emerge. 

It turned beyond the corner of the house, descended a flight of stonesteps, and turned again. 

They stood gazing each at the other for a space of time not to becomputed before either spoke, and the sense of unreality which comes witha sudden fulfilment of intense desire--or dread--was upon Austen. Couldthis indeed be her figure, and this her face on which he watched thecolour rise (so he remembered afterwards) like the slow flood of day?Were there so many Victorias, that a new one--and a strange one--shouldconfront him at every meeting? And, even while he looked, this Victoria, too, --one who had been near him and departed, --was surveying him now froman unapproachable height of self-possession and calm. She held out herhand, and he took it, scarce knowing--that it was hers. 

"How do you do, Mr. Vane?" she said; "I did not expect to meet you here. "

"I was searching for the stable, to get my horse, " he answered lamely. 

"And your father?" she asked quickly; "I hope he is not--worse. "

It was thus she supplied him, quite naturally, with an excuse for beingat Fairview. And yet her solicitude for Hilary was wholly unaffected. 

"Dr. Harmon, who came from New York, has been more encouraging than I haddared to hope, " said Austen. "And, by the way, Mr. Vane believes that youhad a share in the fruit and flowers which Mr. Flint so kindly brought. If--he had known that I were to see you, I am sure he would have wishedme to thank you. "

Victoria turned, and tore a leaf from the spiraea. 

"I will show you where the stables are, " she said; "the path divides alittle farther on--and you might find yourself in the kitchen. "

Austen smiled, and as she went on slowly, he followed her, the path notbeing wide enough for them to walk abreast, his eyes caressing the strayhairs that clustered about her neck and caught the light. It seemed soreal, and yet so unrealizable, that he should be here with her. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "that I did not express my gratitude as I shouldhave done the evening you were good enough to come up to Jabe Jenney's. "

He saw her colour rise again, but she did not pause. 

"Please don't say anything about it, Mr. Vane. Of course I understand howyou felt, " she cried. 

"Neither my father nor myself will forget that service, " said Austen. 

"It was nothing, " answered Victoria, in a low voice. "Or, rather, it wassomething I shall always be glad that I did not miss. I have seen Mr. Vane all my life, but I never=-never really knew him until that day. Ihave come to the conclusion, " she added, in a lighter tone, "that theyoung are not always the best judges of the old. There, " she added, "isthe path that goes to the kitchen, which you probably would have taken. "

He laughed. Past and future were blotted out, and he lived only in thepresent. He could think of nothing but that she was here beside him. Afterwards, cataclysms might come and welcome. 

"Isn't there another place, " he asked, "where I might lose my way?"

She turned and gave him one of the swift, searching looks he recalled sowell: a look the meaning of which he could not declare, save that sheseemed vainly striving to fathom something in him--as though he were notfathomable! He thought she smiled a little as she took the left-handpath. 

"You will remember me to your father?" she said. "I hope he is notsuffering. "

"He is not suffering, " Austen replied. "Perhaps--if it were not too muchto ask--perhaps you might come to see him, sometime? I can think ofnothing that would give him greater pleasure. "

"I will come--sometime, " she answered. "I am going away to-morrow, but--"

"Away?" he repeated, in dismay. Now that he was beside her, allunconsciously the dominating male spirit which was so strong in him, andwhich moves not woman alone, but the world, was asserting itself. For themoment he was the only man, and she the only woman, in the universe. 

"I am going on a promised visit to a friend of mine. "

"For how long?" he demanded. 

"I don't know, said Victoria, calmly; probably until she gets tired ofme. And there, " she added, "are the stables, where no doubt you will findyour faithful Pepper. "

They had come out upon an elevation above the hard service drive, andacross it, below them, was the coach house with its clock-tower andweather-vane, and its two wings, enclosing a paved court where awhistling stable-boy was washing a carriage. Austen regarded this scenean instant, and glanced back at her profile. It was expressionless. 

"Might I not linger--a few minutes?" he asked. 

Her lips parted slightly in a smile, and she turned her head. Howwonderfully, he thought, it was poised upon her shoulders. 

"I haven't been very hospitable, have I?" she said. But then, you seemedin such a hurry to go, didn't you? You were walking so fast when I metyou that you quite frightened me. "

"Was I?" asked Austen, in surprise. 

She laughed. 

"You looked as if you were ready to charge somebody. But this isn't avery nice place--to linger, and if you really will stay awhile, " saidVictoria, "we might walk over to the dairy, where that model protege ofyours, Eben Fitch, whom you once threatened with corporal chastisement ifhe fell from grace, is engaged. I know he will be glad to see you. "

Austen laughed as he caught up with her. She was already halfway acrossthe road. 

"Do you always beat people if they do wrong?" she asked. 

"It was Eben who requested it, if I remember rightly, " he said. "Fortunately, the trial has not yet arrived. Your methods, " he added, "seem to be more successful with Eben. "

They went down the grassy slope with its groups of half-grown trees;through an orchard shot with slanting, yellow sunlight, --the goldenfruit, harvested by the morning winds, littering the ground; and then bya gate into a dimpled, emerald pasture slope where the Guernseys werefeeding along a water run. They spoke of trivial things that found noplace in Austen's memory, and at times, upon one pretext or another, hefell behind a little that he might feast his eyes upon her. 

Eben was not at the dairy, and Austen betraying no undue curiosity as tohis whereabouts, they walked on up the slopes, and still upward towardsthe crest of the range of hills that marked the course of the Blue. Hedid not allow his mind to dwell upon this new footing they were on, butclung to it. Before, in those delicious moments with her, seeminglypilfered from the angry gods, the sense of intimacy had been deep; deep, because robbing the gods together, they had shared the feeling of guilt, had known that retribution would coma. And now the gods had locked theirtreasure-chest, although themselves powerless to redeem from him thememory of what he had gained. Nor could they, apparently, deprive him ofthe vision of her in the fields and woods beside him, though transformedby their magic into a new Victoria, keeping him lightly and easily at adistance. 

Scattering the sheep that flecked the velvet turf of the uplands, theystood at length on the granite crown of the crest itself. Far below themwound the Blue into its vale of sapphire shadows, with its hillsides ofthe mystic fabric of the backgrounds of the masters of the Renaissance. For a while they stood in silence under the spell of the scene'senchantment, and then Victoria seated herself on the rock, and he droppedto a place at her side. 

"I thought you would like the view, " she said; "but perhaps you have beenhere, perhaps I am taking you to one of your own possessions. "

He had flung his hat upon the rock, and she glanced at his serious, sunburned face. His eyes were still fixed, contemplatively, on the Yaleof the Blue, but he turned to her with a smile. 

"It has become yours by right of conquest, " he answered. 

She did not reply to that. The immobility of her face, save for the onelook she had flashed upon him, surprised and puzzled him more and more--the world--old, indefinable, eternal feminine quality of the Spring. 

"So you refused to be governor? she said presently, --surprising himagain. 

"It scarcely came to that, " he replied. 

"What did it come to?" she demanded. 

He hesitated. 

"I had to go down to the capital, on my father's account, but I did notgo to the convention. I stayed, " he said slowly, "at the little cottageacross from the Duncan house where--you were last winter. " He paused, butshe gave no sign. "Tom Gaylord came up there late in the afternoon, andwanted me to be a candidate. "

"And you refused?"

"Yes. "

"But you could have been nominated!"

"Yes, " he admitted; "it is probable. The conditions were chaotic. "

"Are you sure you have done right?" she asked. "It has always seemed tome from what I know and have heard of you that you were made forpositions of trust. You would have been a better governor than the manthey have nominated. "

His expression became set. 

"I am sure I have done right, " he answered deliberately. "It doesn't makeany difference who is governor this time. "

"Doesn't make any difference!" she exclaimed. 

"No, " he said. "Things have changed--the people have changed. The oldmethod of politics, which was wrong, although it had some justificationin conditions, has gone out. A new and more desirable state of affairshas come. I am at liberty to say this much to you now, " he added, fixinghis glance upon her, "because my father has resigned as counsel for theNortheastern, and I have just had a talk with--Mr. Flint. "

"You have seen my father?" she asked, in a low voice, and her face wasaverted. 

"Yes, " he answered. 

"You--did not agree, " she said quickly. 

His blood beat higher at the question and the manner of her asking it, but he felt that he must answer it honestly, unequivocally, whatever thecost. 

"No, we did not agree. It is only fair to tell you that we differed--vitally. On the other hand, it is just that you should know that we didnot part in anger, but, I think, with a mutual respect. "

She drew breath. 

"I knew, " she said, "I knew if he could but talk to you he wouldunderstand that you were sincere--and you have proved it. I am glad--I amglad that you saw him. " The quality of the sunlight changed, the veryhills leaped, and the river sparkled. Could she care? Why did she wishher father to know that he was sincere. 

"You are glad that I saw him!" he repeated. 

But she met his glance steadily. 

"My father has so little faith in human nature, " she answered. "He has afaculty of doubting the honesty of his opponents--I suppose because somany of them have been dishonest. And--I believe in my friends, " sheadded, smiling. "Isn't it natural that I should wish to have my judgmentvindicated?"

He got to his feet and walked slowly to the far edge of the rock, wherehe stood for a while, seemingly gazing off across the spaces to Sawanec. It was like him, thus to question the immutable. Victoria sat motionless, but her eyes followed irresistibly the lines of power in the tall figureagainst the sky--the breadth of shoulder and slimness of hip and lengthof limb typical of the men who had conquered and held this land for theirdescendants. Suddenly, with a characteristic movement of determination;he swung about and came towards her, and at the same instant she rose. 

"Don't you think we should be going back?" she said. 

Rut he seemed not to hear her. 

"May I ask you something?" he said. 

"That depends, " she answered. 

"Are you going to marry Mr. Rangely?"

"No, " she said, and turned away. "Why did you think that?"

He quivered. 

"Victoria!"

She looked up at him, swiftly, half revealed, her eyes like starssurprised by the flush of dawn in her cheeks. Hope quickened at thevision of hope, the seats of judgment themselves were filled withradiance, and rumour, cowered and fled like the spirit of night. He couldonly gaze, enraptured. 

"Yes?" she answered. 

His voice was firm but low, yet vibrant with sincerity, with the vaststore of feeling, of compelling magnetism that was in the man and movedin spite of themselves those who knew him. His words Victoria rememberedafterwards--all of them; but it was to the call of the voice sheresponded. His was the fibre which grows stronger in times of crisis. Sure of himself, proud of the love which he declared, he spoke as a manwho has earned that for which he prays, --simply and with dignity. 

"I love you, " he said; "I have known it since I have known you, but youmust see why I could not tell you so. It was very hard, for there weretimes when I led myself to believe that you might come to love me. Therewere times when I should have gone away if I hadn't made a promise tostay in Ripton. I ask you to marry me, because I--know that I shall loveyou as long as I live. I can give you this, at least, and I can promiseto protect and cherish you. I cannot give you that to which you have beenaccustomed all your life, that which you have here at Fairview, but Ishouldn't say this to you if I believed that you cared for them above--other things. "

"Oh, Austen!" she cried, "I do not--I--do not! They would be hateful tome--without you. I would rather live with you--at Jabe Jenney's, " and hervoice caught in an exquisite note between laughter and tears. "I loveyou, do you understand, you! Oh, how could you ever have doubted it? Howcould you? What you believe, I believe. And, Austen, I have been sounhappy for three days. "

He never knew whether, as the most precious of graces ever conferred uponman, with a womanly gesture she had raised her arms and laid her handsupon his shoulders before he drew her to him and kissed her face, thatvied in colour with the coming glow in the western sky. Above the pryingeyes of men, above the world itself, he held her, striving to realizesome little of the vast joy of this possession, and failing. And at lastshe drew away from him, gently, that she might look searchingly into hisface again, and shook her head slowly. 

"And you were going away, " she said, "without a word I thought--youdidn't care. How could I have known that you were just--stupid?"

His eyes lighted with humour and tenderness. 

"How long have you cared, Victoria?" he asked. 

She became thoughtful. 

"Always, I think, " she answered; "only I didn't know it. I think I lovedyou even before I saw you. "

"Before you saw me!"

"I think it began, " said Victoria, "when I learned that you had shot Mr. Blodgett--only I hope you will never do such a thing again. And you willplease try to remember, " she added, after a moment, "that I am neitherEben Fitch nor your friend, Tom Gaylord. "

Sunset found them seated on the rock, with the waters of the river turnedto wine at the miracle in the sky their miracle. At times their eyeswandered to the mountain, which seemed to regard them from a discreetdistance--with a kindly and protecting majesty. 

"And you promised, " said Victoria, "to take me up there. When will you doit?"

"I thought you were going away, " he replied. 

"Unforeseen circumstances, " she answered, "have compelled me to change myplans. "

"Then we will go tomorrow, " he said. 

"To the Delectable Land, " said Victoria, dreamily; "your land, where weshall be--benevolent despots. Austen?"

"Yes?" He had not ceased to thrill at the sound of his name upon herlips. 

"Do you think, " she asked, glancing at him, "do you think you have moneyenough to go abroad--just for a little while?"

He laughed joyously. 

"I don't know, " he said, "but I shall make it a point to examine mybank-account to-night. I haven't done so--for some time. "

"We will go to Venice, and drift about in a gondola on one of those graydays when the haze comes in from the Adriatic and touches the city withthe magic of the past. Sometimes I like the gray days best--when I amhappy. And then, " she added, regarding him critically, "although you arevery near perfection, there are some things you ought to see and learn tomake your education complete. I will take you to all the queer places Ilove. When you are ambassador to France, you know, it would behumiliating to have to have an interpreter, wouldn't it?"

"What's the use of both of us knowing the language?" he demanded. 

"I'm afraid we shall be--too happy, " she sighed, presently. 

"Too happy!" he repeated. 

"I sometimes wonder, " she said, "whether happiness and achievement gotogether. And yet--I feel sure that you will achieve. "

"To please you, Victoria, " he answered, "I think I should almost bewilling to try. "

CHAPTER XXX

P. S. 

By request of one who has read thus far, and is still curious. 

Yes, and another who, in spite of himself, has fallen in love withVictoria and would like to linger a while longer, even though it werewith the paltry excuse of discussing that world-old question of hers--Cansublime happiness and achievement go together? Novels on the problem ofsex nowadays often begin with marriages, but rarely discuss the happyones; and many a woman is forced to sit wistfully at home while hercompanion soars. 

 "Yet may I look with heart unshook On blow brought home or missed-- Yet may I hear with equal ear The clarions down the List; Yet set my lance above mischance And ride the barriere-- Oh, hit or miss, how little 'tis, My Lady is not there!"

A verse, in this connection, which may be a perversion of Mr. Kipling'smeaning, but not so far from it, after all. And yet, would the eagleattempt the great flights if contentment were on the plain? Find themainspring of achievement, and you hold in your hand the secret of theworld's mechanism. Some aver that it is woman. 

Do the gods ever confer the rarest of gifts upon him to whom they havegiven pinions? Do they mate him, ever, with another who soars as high ashe, who circles higher that he may circle higher still? Who can answer?Must those who soar be condemned to eternal loneliness, and was it alonging they did not comprehend which bade them stretch their wingstoward the sun? Who can say?

Alas, we cannot write of the future of Austen and Victoria Vane! We canonly surmise, and hope, and pray, --yes, and believe. Romance walks withparted lips and head raised to the sky; and let us follow her, becausethereby our eyes are raised with hers. We must believe, or perish. 

Postscripts are not fashionable. The satiated theatre goer leaves beforethe end of the play, and has worked out the problem for himself longbefore the end of the last act. Sentiment is not supposed to exist in theorchestra seats. But above (in many senses) is the gallery, from whencean excited voice cries out when the sleeper returns to life, "It's RipVan Winkle!" The gallery, where are the human passions which make thisworld our world; the gallery, played upon by anger, vengeance, derision, triumph, hate, and love; the gallery, which lingers and applauds longafter the fifth curtain, and then goes reluctantly home--to dream. And hewho scorns the gallery is no artist, for there lives the soul of art. Weraise our eyes to it, and to it we dedicate this our play;--and for it welift the curtain once more after those in the orchestra have departed. 

It is obviously impossible, in a few words, to depict the excitement inRipton, in Leith, in the State at large, when it became known that thedaughter of Mr. Flint was to marry Austen Vane, --a fitting if unexpectedclimax to a drama. How would Mr. Flint take it? Mr. Flint, it may besaid, took it philosophically; and when Austen went up to see him uponthis matter, he shook hands with his future son-in-law, --and they agreedto disagree. And beyond this it is safe to say that Mr. Flint wasrelieved; for in his secret soul he had for many years entertained adread that Victoria might marry a foreigner. He had this consolation atany rate. 

His wife denied herself for a day to her most intimate friends, --for itwas she who had entertained visions of a title; and it was characteristicof the Rose of Sharon that she knew nothing of the Vanes beyond the name. The discovery that the Austens were the oldest family in the State was inthe nature of a balm; and henceforth, in speaking of Austen, she neverfailed to mention the fact that his great-grandfather was Minister toSpain in the '30's, --a period when her own was engaged in a far differentcalling. 

And Hilary Vane received the news with a grim satisfaction, Dr. Tredwaybelieving that it had done more for him than any medicine or specialists. And when, one warm October day, Victoria herself came and sat beside thecanopied bed, her conquest was complete: he surrendered to her as he hadnever before surrendered to man or woman or child, and the desire to livesurged back into his heart, --the desire to live for Austen and Victoria. It became her custom to drive to Ripton in the autumn mornings and to sitby the hour reading to Hilary in the mellow sunlight in the lee of thehouse, near Sarah Austen's little garden. Yes, Victoria believed she haddeveloped in him a taste for reading; although he would have listened toEmerson from her lips. 

And sometimes, when she paused after one of his long silences to glanceat him, she would see his eyes fixed, with a strange rapt look, on thegarden or the dim lavender form of Sawanec through the haze, and knewthat he was thinking of a priceless thing which he had once possessed, and missed. Then Victoria would close the volume, and fall to dreaming, too. 

What was happiness? Was it contentment? If it were, it might endure, --contentment being passive. But could active, aggressive, exultant joyexist for a lifetime, jealous of its least prerogative, perpetuallywatchful for its least abatement, singing unending anthems on itsconquest of the world? The very intensity of her feelings at such timessobered Victoria--alarmed her. Was not perfection at war with the world'sscheme, and did not achievement spring from a void?

But when Austen appeared, with Pepper, to drive her home to Fairview, hispresence never failed to revive the fierce faith that it was his destinyto make the world better, and hers to help him. Wondrous afternoons theyspent together in that stillest and most mysterious of seasons in thehill country--autumn! Autumn and happiness! Happiness as shameless as theflaunting scarlet maples on the slopes, defiant of the dying year of thefuture, shadowy and unreal as the hills before them in the haze. Once, after a long silence, she started from a revery with the suddenconsciousness of his look intent upon her, and turned with parted lipsand eyes which smiled at him out of troubled depths. 

"Dreaming, Victoria?" he said. 

"Yes, " she answered simply, and was silent once more. He loved thesesilences of hers, --hinting, as they did, of unexplored chambers in aninexhaustible treasure-house which by some strange stroke of destiny washis. And yet he felt at times the vague sadness of them, like the sadnessof the autumn, and longed to dispel it. 

"It is so wonderful, " she went on presently, in a low voice, "it is sowonderful I sometimes think that it must be like--like this; that itcannot last. I have been wondering whether we shall be as happy when theworld discovers that you are great. "

He shook his head at her slowly, in mild reproof. 

"Isn't that borrowing trouble, Victoria?" he said. "I think you need haveno fear of finding the world as discerning as yourself. "

She searched his face. 

"Will you ever change?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he said. "No man can stand such flattery as that withoutdeteriorating, I warn you. I shall become consequential, and pompous, andaltogether insupportable, and then you will leave me and never realizethat it has been all your fault. "

Victoria laughed. But there was a little tremor in her voice, and hereyes still rested on his face. 

"But I am serious, Austen, " she said. "I sometimes feel that, in thefuture, we shall not always have many such days as these. It's selfish, but I can't help it. There are so many things you will have to do withoutme. Don't you ever think of that?"

His eyes grew grave, and he reached out and took her hand in his. 

"I think, rather, of the trials life may bring, Victoria, " he answered, "of the hours when judgment halts, when the way is not clear. Do youremember the last night you came to Jabe Jenney's? I stood in the roadlong after you had gone, and a desolation such as I had never known cameover me. I went in at last, and opened a book to some verses I had beenreading, which I shall never forget. Shall I tell you what they were?"

"Yes, " she whispered. 

"They contain my answer to your question, " he said. 

 "What became of all the hopes, Words and song and lute as well? Say, this struck you 'When life gropes Feebly for the path where fell Light last on the evening slopes, "'One friend in that path shall be, To secure my step from wrong; One to count night day for me, Patient through the watches long, Serving most with none to see. '"

"Victoria, can you guess who that friend is?"

She pressed his hand and smiled at him, but her eyes were wet. 

"I have thought of it in that way, too, dear. But--but I did not knowthat you had. I do not think that many men have that point of view, Austen. "

"Many men, " he answered, "have not the same reason to be thankful as I. "

There is a time, when the first sharp winds which fill the air withflying leaves have come and gone, when the stillness has come again, andthe sunlight is tinged with a yellower gold, and the pastures are still avivid green, and the mountain stained with a deeper blue than any gem, called Indian summer. And it was in this season that Victoria and Austenwere married, in a little church at Tunbridge, near Fairview, by thebishop of the diocese, who was one of Victoria's dearest friends. Mr. Thomas Gaylord (for whose benefit there were many rehearsals) was bestman, Miss Beatrice Chillingham maid of honour; and it was unanimouslydeclared by Victoria's bridesmaids, who came up from New York, that theyhad fallen in love with the groom. 

How describe the wedding breakfast and festivities at Fairview House, ona November day when young ladies could walk about the lawns in thefilmiest of gowns! how recount the guests and leave out no friends--fornone were left out! Mr. Jabe Jenney and Mrs. Jenney, who wept as sheembraced both bride and groom; and Euphrasia, in a new steel-colouredsilk and a state of absolute subjection and incredulous happiness. Wouldthat there were time to chronicle that most amazing of conquests ofVictoria over Euphrasia! And Mrs. Pomfret, who, remarkable as it mayseem, not only recognized Austen without her lorgnette, but quiteoverwhelmed him with an unexpected cordiality, and declared her intentionof giving them a dinner in New York. 

"My dear, " she said, after kissing Victoria twice, "he is mostdistinguished-looking--I had no idea--and a person who grows upon one. And I am told he is descended from Channing Austen, of whom I have oftenheard my grandfather speak. Victoria, I always had the greatestconfidence in your judgment. "

Although Victoria had a memory (what woman worth her salt has not?), shewas far too happy to remind Mrs. Pomfret of certain former occasions, andmerely smiled in a manner which that lady declared to be enigmatic. Shemaintained that she had never understood Victoria, and it wascharacteristic of Mrs. Pomfret that her respect increased in directproportion to her lack of understanding. 

Mr. Thomas Gaylord, in a waistcoat which was the admiration of all whobeheld it, proposed the health of the bride; and proved indubitably thatthe best of oratory has its origin in the heart and not in the mind, --forTom had never been regarded by his friends as a Demosthenes. He wasinterrupted from time to time by shouts of laughter; certain episodes inthe early career of Mr. Austen Vane (in which, if Tom was to be believed, he was an unwilling participant) were particularly appreciated. Andshortly after that, amidst a shower of miscellaneous articles and rice, Mr. And Mrs. Vane took their departure. 

They drove through the yellow sunlight to Ripton, with lingering looks atthe hills which brought back memories of boys and sorrows, and in HanoverStreet bade good-by to Hilary Vane. A new and strange contentment shonein his face as he took Victoria's hands in his, and they sat with himuntil Euphrasia came. It was not until they were well on their way to NewYork that they opened the letter he had given them, and discovered thatit contained something which would have enabled them to remain in Europethe rest of their lives had they so chosen. 

We must leave them amongst the sunny ruins of Italy and Greece andsouthern France, on a marvellous journey that was personally conducted byVictoria. 

Mr. Crewe was unable to go to the wedding, having to attend a directors'meeting of some importance in the West. He is still in politics, andstill hopeful; and he was married, not long afterwards, to Miss AlicePomfret.