AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN A Novel BY F. MARION CRAWFORD AUTHOR OF "MR. ISAACS, " "DR. CLAUDIUS, ""A ROMAN SINGER, " "TO LEEWARD, "ETC. TO MY DEAR FRIEND, ELIZABETH CHRISTOPHERS HOBSON, IN GRATITUDE AND AFFECTION, I DEDICATE THIS STORY. CONSTANTINOPLE, October 7, 1884. CHAPTER I. Mrs. Sam Wyndham was generally at home after five o'clock. The establishedcustom whereby the ladies who live in Beacon Street all receive theirfriends on Monday afternoon did not seem to her satisfactory. She waswilling to conform to the practice, but she reserved the right of seeingpeople on other days as well. Mrs. Sam Wyndham was never very popular. That is to say, she was not oneof those women who are seemingly never spoken ill of, and are invited as amatter of course, or rather as an element of success, to every dinner, musical party, and dance in the season. Women did not all regard her with envy, all young men did not think shewas capital fun, nor did all old men come and confide to her theweaknesses of their approaching second childhood. She was not invariablyquoted as the standard authority on dress, classical music, and Bostonliterature, and it was not an unpardonable heresy to say that some otherwomen might be, had been, or could be, more amusing in ordinaryconversation. Nevertheless, Mrs. Sam Wyndham held a position in Bostonwhich Boston acknowledged, and which Boston insisted that foreigners suchas New Yorkers, Philadelphians and the like, should acknowledge also inthat spirit of reverence which is justly due to a descent on both sidesfrom several signers of the Declaration of Independence, and to the wifeof one of the ruling financial spirits of the aristocratic part of Bostonbusiness. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Wyndham was about forty years of age, as all herfriends of course knew; for it is as easy for a Bostonian to conceal aquestion of age as for a crowned head. In a place where one half ofsociety calls the other half cousin, and went to school with it, every oneknows and accurately remembers just how old everybody else is. But Mrs. Wyndham might have passed for younger than she was among the world atlarge, for she was fresh to look at, and of good figure and complexion. Her black hair showed no signs of turning gray, and her dark eyes werebright and penetrating still. There were lines in her face, thosemicroscopic lines that come so abundantly to American women in middle age, speaking of a certain restless nervousness that belongs to themespecially; but on the whole Mrs. Sam Wyndham was fair to see, having adignity of carriage and a grace of ease about her that at once gave theimpression of a woman thoroughly equal to the part she had to play in theworld, and not by any means incapable of enjoying it. For the rest, Mrs. Sam led a life very much like the lives of many richAmericans. She went abroad frequently, wandered about the continent withher husband, went to Egypt and Algiers, stayed in England, where she had agood many friends, avoided her countrymen and countrywomen when away fromhome, and did her duty in the social state to which she was called inBoston. She read the books of the period, and generally pronounced themridiculous; she believed in her husband's politics, and aristocraticallyapproved the way in which he abstained from putting theory into practice, from voting, and in a general way from dirtying his fingers with anythingso corrupt as government, or so despicable as elections; she understoodBoston business to some extent, and called it finance, but she despisedthe New York Stock Market and denounced its doings as gambling. She madefine distinctions, but she was a woman of sense, and was generally morelikely to be right than wrong when she had a definite opinion, orexpressed a definite dislike. Her religious views were simple andunobtrusive, and never changed. Her custom of being at home after five o'clock was perhaps the onlydeviation she allowed herself from the established manners of her nativecity, and since two or three other ladies had followed her example, it hadcome to be regarded as a perfectly harmless idiosyncrasy for which shecould not properly be blamed. The people who came to see her were chieflymen, except, of course, on the inevitable Monday. A day or two before Christmas, then, Mrs. Sam Wyndham was at home in theafternoon. The snow lay thick and hard outside, and the sleigh bellstinkled unceasingly as the sleighs slipped by the window, gleaming andglittering in the deep red glow of the sunset. The track was well beatenfor miles away, down Beacon Street and across the Milldam to the country, and the pavements were strewn with ashes to give a foothold forpedestrians. For the frost was sharp and lasting. But within, Mrs. Wyndham sat by thefire with a small table before her, and one companion by her side, forwhom she was pouring tea. "Tell me all about your summer, Mr. Vancouver, " said she, teasing theflame of the spirit-lamp into better shape with a small silver instrument. Mr. Pocock Vancouver leaned back in his corner of the sofa and looked atthe fire, then at the window, and finally at his hostess, before heanswered. He was a pale man and slight of figure, with dark eyes, and hiscarefully brushed hair, turning gray at the temples and over his forehead, threw his delicate, intelligent face into relief. "I have not done much, " he answered, rather absently, as though trying tofind something interesting in his reminiscences; and he watched Mrs. Wyndham as she filled a cup. He was not the least anxious to talk, itseemed, and he had an air of being thoroughly at home. "You were in England most of the time, were you not?" "Yes--I believe I was. Oh, by the bye, I met Harrington in Paris; Ithought he meant to stay at home. " "He often goes abroad, " said Mrs. Wyndham indifferently. "One lump ofsugar?" "Two, if you please--no cream--thanks. Does he go to Paris to convert theFrench, or to glean materials for converting other people?" inquired Mr. Vancouver languidly. "I am sure I cannot tell you, " answered the lady, still indifferently. "What do you go to Paris for?" "Principally to renew my acquaintance with civilized institutions andhumanizing influences. What does anybody go abroad for?" "You always talk like that when you come home, Mr. Vancouver, " said Mrs. Wyndham. "But nevertheless you come back and seem to find Boston bearable. It is not such a bad place after all, is it?" "If it were not for half a dozen people here, I would never come back atall, " said Mr. Vancouver. "But then, I am not originally one of you, and Isuppose that makes a difference. " "And pray, who are the half dozen people who procure us the honor of yourpresence?" "You are one of them, Mrs. Wyndham, " he answered, looking at her. "I am much obliged, " she replied, demurely. "Any one else?" "Oh--John Harrington, " said Vancouver with a little laugh. "Really?" said Mrs. Wyndham, innocently; "I did not know you were suchgood friends. " Mr. Vancouver sipped his tea in silence for a moment and stared at thefire. "I have a great respect for Harrington, " he said at last. "He interests mevery much, and I like to meet him. " He spoke seriously, as thoughthoroughly in earnest. The faintest look of amusement came to Mrs. Wyndham's face for a moment. "I am glad of that, " she said; "Mr. Harrington is a very good friend ofmine. Do you mind lighting those candles? The days are dreadfully short. " Pocock Vancouver rose with alacrity and performed the service required. "By the way, " said Mrs. Wyndham, watching him, "I have a surprise foryou. " "Indeed?" "Yes, an immense surprise. Do you remember Sybil Brandon?" "Charlie Brandon's daughter? Very well--saw her at Newport some time ago. Lily-white style--all eyes and hair. " "You ought to remember her. You used to rave about her, and you nearlyruined yourself in roses. You will have another chance; she is going tospend the winter with me. " "Not really?" ejaculated Mr. Vancouver, in some surprise, as he again satdown upon the sofa. "Yes; you know she is all alone in the world now. " "What? Is her mother dead too?" "She died last spring, in Paris. I thought you knew. " "No, " said Vancouver, thoughtfully. "How awfully sad!" "Poor girl, " said Mrs. Wyndham; "I thought it would do her good to beamong live people, even if she does not go out. " "When is she coming?" There was a show of interest about the question. "She is here now, " answered Mrs. Sam. "Dear me!" said Vancouver. "May I have another cup?" His hostess began theusual series of operations necessary to produce a second cup of tea. "Mrs. Wyndham, " began Vancouver again after a pause, "I have an idea--donot laugh, it is a very good one, I am sure. " "I am not laughing. " "Why not marry Sibyl Brandon to John Harrington?" Mrs. Wyndham stared for a moment. "How perfectly ridiculous!" she cried at last. "Why?" "They would starve, to begin with. " "I doubt it, " said Vancouver. "Why, I am sure Mr. Harrington never had more than five thousand a year inhis life. You could not marry on that, you know--possibly. " "No; but Miss Brandon is very well off--rich, in fact. " "I thought she had nothing. " "She must have thirty or forty thousand a year from her mother, at theleast. You know Charlie never did anything in his life; he lived on hiswife's money, and Miss Brandon must have it all. " Mrs. Wyndham did not appear surprised at the information; she hardlyseemed to think it of any importance. "I knew she had something, " she repeated; "but I am glad if you are right. But that does not make it any more feasible to marry her to Mr. Harrington. " "I thought that starvation was your objection, " said Vancouver. "Oh, no; not that only. Besides, he would not marry her. " "He would be very foolish not to, if he had the chance, " remarkedVancouver. "Perhaps he might not even have the chance--perhaps she would not marryhim, " said Mrs. Wyndham, thoughtfully. "Besides, I do not think JohnHarrington ought to marry yet; he has other things to do. " Mr. Vancouver seemed about to say something in answer, but he checkedhimself; possibly he did not speak because he saw some one enter the roomat that moment, and was willing to leave the discussion of John Harringtonto a future time. In fact, the person who entered the room should have been the very last tohear the conversation that was taking place, for it was Miss Brandonherself, though Mr. Vancouver had not recognized her at once. There were greetings and hand-shakings, and then Miss Brandon sat down bythe fire and spread out her hands as though to warm them. She looked whiteand cold. There are women in the world, both young and old, who seem to move amongus like visions from another world, a world that is purer and fairer, andmore heavenly than this one in which the rest of us move. It is hard tosay what such women have that marks them so distinctly; sometimes it isbeauty, sometimes only a manner, often it is both. It is very certain thatwe know and feel their influence, and that many men fear it as somethingstrange and contrary to the common order of things, a living reproach andprotest against all that is base and earthly and badly human. Most people would have said first of Sybil Brandon that she was cold, andmany would have added that she was beautiful. Ill-natured people sometimessaid she was deathly. No one ever said she was pretty. Vancouver'sdescription--lily-white, all eyes and hair--certainly struck the principalfacts of her appearance, for her skin was whiter than is commonly natural, her eyes were very deep and large and blue, and her soft brown hair seemedto be almost a burden to her from its great quantity. She was dressedentirely in black, and being rather tall and very slight of figure, thedress somewhat exaggerated the ethereal look that was natural to her. Sheseemed cold, and spread out her delicate hands to the bright flame of theblazing wood-fire. Mrs. Wyndham and Pocock Vancouver looked at her insilence for a moment. Then Mrs. Wyndham rose with a cup of tea in herhand, and crossed to the other side of the fireplace where Sybil wassitting and offered it to her. "Poor Sybil, you are so cold. Drink some tea. " The elder woman sat down bythe young girl, and lightly kissed her cheek. "You must not be sad, darling, " she whispered sympathetically. "I am not sad at all, really, " answered Miss Brandon aloud, quitenaturally, but pressing Mrs. Wyndham's hand a little, as though inacknowledgment of her sympathy. "No one can be sad in Boston, " said Vancouver, putting in a word. "Ourcity is altogether too wildly gay. " He laughed a little. "You must not make fun of us to visitors, Mr. Vancouver, " answered Mrs. Wyndham, still holding Sybil's hand. "It is Mr. Vancouver's ruling passion, though he never acknowledges it, "said Miss Brandon, calmly. "I remember it of old. " "I am flattered at being remembered, " said Mr. Vancouver, whose delicatefeatures betrayed neither pleasure nor interest, however. "But, " hecontinued, "I am not particularly flattered at being called a scoffer atmy own people--" "I did not say that, " interrupted Miss Brandon. "Well, you said my ruling passion was making fun of Boston to visitors; atleast, you and Mrs. Wyndham said it between you. I really never do that, unless I give the other side of the question as well. " "What other side?" asked Mrs. Sam, who wanted to make conversation. "Boston, " said Vancouver with some solemnity. "It is not more oftenridiculous than other great institutions. " "You simply take one's breath away, Mr. Vancouver, " said Mrs. Wyndham, with a good deal of emphasis. "The idea of calling Boston 'aninstitution!'" "Why, certainly. The United States are only an institution after all. Youcould not soberly call us a nation. Even you could not reasonably be movedto fine patriotic phrases about your native country, if your ancestors hadsigned twenty Declarations of Independence. We live in a greatinstitution, and we have every right to flatter ourselves on the successof its management; but in the long run this thing will not do for anation. " Miss Brandon looked at Vancouver with a sort of calm incredulity. Mrs. Wyndham always quarreled with him on points like the one now raised, andaccordingly took up the cudgels. "I do not see how you can congratulate yourself on the management of yourinstitution, as you call it, when you know very well you would rather diethan have anything to do with it. " "Very true. But then, you always say that gentlemen should not touchanything so dirty as politics, Mrs. Wyndham, " retorted Vancouver. "Well, that just shows that it is not an institution at all, and that youare quite wrong, and that we are a great nation supported and carried onby real patriotism. " "And the Irish and German votes, " added Vancouver, with that scorn whichonly the true son of freedom can exhibit in speaking of his fellow-citizens. "Oh, the Irish vote! That is always the last word in the argument, "answered Mrs. Sam. "I do not see exactly what the Irish have to do with it, " remarked MissBrandon, innocently. She did not understand politics. Vancouver glanced at the clock and took his hat. "It is very simple, " he said, rising to go. "It is the bull in the chinashop--the Irish bull amongst the American china--dangerous, you know. Goodevening, Mrs. Wyndham; good evening, Miss Brandon. " And he took his leave. Miss Brandon watched his slim figure disappear through the heavy curtainsof the door. "He has not changed much since I knew him, " she said, turning again to thefire. "I used to think he was clever. " "And have you changed your mind?" asked Mrs. Wyndham, laughing. "Not quite, but I begin to doubt. He has very good manners, and looksaltogether like a gentleman. " "Of course, " said Mrs. "Wyndham. " His mother was a Shaw, although hisfather came from South Carolina. But he is really very bright; Sam alwayssays he is one of the ablest men in Boston. " "In what way?" inquired Sybil. "Oh, he is a lawyer, don't you know?--great railroad man. " "Oh, " ejaculated Miss Brandon, and relapsed into silence. Mrs. Wyndham rose and stood before the fire, and pushed a log back withher small foot. Miss Brandon watched her, half wondering whether theflames would not catch her dress. "I have been to see that Miss Thorn, " said Sybil presently. "Oh, " exclaimed Mrs. Sam, with sudden interest, "tell me all about herthis minute, dear. Is not she the most extraordinary creature?" "I rather like her, " answered Miss Brandon. "She is very pretty. " "What style? Dark?" "No; not exactly. Brown hair, and lots of eyebrows. She is a little thing, but very much alive, you know. " "Awfully English, of course, " suggested Mrs. Sam. "Well--yes, I suppose so. She is wild about horses, and says she shoots. But I like her--I am sure I shall like her very much. She does not seemvery pleased with her aunt. " "I do not wonder, " said Mrs. Sam. "Poor little thing--she has nobody elsebelonging to her, has she?" "Oh, yes, " answered Sybil, with a little tremor in her voice; "she has amother in England. " "I want to see her ever so much, " said Mrs. Sam. "Bring her to luncheon. " "You will see her to-night, I think; she said she was going to thatparty. " "I hate to leave you alone, " said Mrs. Wyndham. "I really think I hadbetter not go. " "Dear Mrs. Wyndham, " said Sybil, rising, and laying her hands on herhostess's shoulders, half affectionately, half in protest, "this idea mustbe stopped from the first, and I mean to stop it. You are not to give upany party, or any society, or anything at all for me. If you do I will goaway again. Promise me, will you not?" "Very well, dear. But you know you are the dearest girl in the world. " Andso they kissed, and agreed that Mrs. Wyndham should go out, and that Sybilshould stay at home. Mrs. Wyndham was really a very kind-hearted woman and a loving friend. That might be the reason why she was never popular. Popularity is acurious combination of friendliness and indifference, but very popularpeople rarely have devoted friends, and still more rarely suffer greatpassions. Everybody's friend is far too apt to be nobody's, for it isimpossible to rely on the support of a person whose devotion is liable tobe called upon a hundred times a day, from a hundred different quarters. The friendships that mean anything mean sacrifice for friendship's sake;and a man or a woman really ready to make sacrifices for a considerablenumber of people is likely to be asked to do it very often, and to be soonspent in the effort to be true to every one. But popularity makes no great demands. The popular man is known to be sobusy in being popular that his offenses of omission are readily pardoned. His engagements are legion, his obligations are innumerable, and far morethan he can fulfill. But, meet him when you will, his smile is as bright, his greeting as cordial, and his sayings as universally good-natured andsatisfactory as ever. He has acquired the habit of pleasing, and it isalmost impossible for him to displease. He enjoys it all, is agreeable toevery one, and is never expected to catch cold in attending a friend'sfuneral, or otherwise to sacrifice his comfort, because he is quitecertain to have important engagements elsewhere, in which the world alwaysbelieves. There is probably no individual more absolutely free and untrammeled than the thoroughly popular man. CHAPTER II. Fate, the artist, mixes her own colors. She grinds them with a pestle inthe fashion of the old masters, and out of the most strange pigments sheproduces often only soft neutral tints for background and shadow, kneadinga vast deal of bright colors away among the grays and browns; but now andthen she takes a palette loaded with strong paint, and a great brush, andsplashes a startling full length portrait upon the canvas, without muchregard for drawing or general composition, but with very startling effect. To paint well needs life-long study; to paint so as merely to attractattention needs courage and a heart hardened against artisticsensitiveness. John Harrington was a high light against the mezzotint of hissurroundings. He was a constant source of interest, and not infrequentlyof terror, to the good town of Boston. True, he was a Bostonian himself, achip of the old block, whose progenitors had lived in Salem, and whosevery name breathed Pilgrim memories. He even had a teapot that had comeover in the Mayflower. This was greatly venerated, and whenever JohnHarrington said anything more than usually modern, his friends brandishedthe teapot, morally speaking, in his defense, and put it in the clouds asa kind of rainbow--a promise that Puritan blood could not go wrong. Nevertheless, John Harrington continued to startle his fellow-townsmen byhis writings and sayings, so that many of the grave sort shook their headsand swore that he sympathized with the Irish and believed in Chineselabor. As a matter-of-fact, he did not mince matters. Endowed with unboundedcourage and an extraordinary command of language, when he got upon hisfeet he spoke his mind in a way that was good to hear. Moreover, he hadthe strong oratorical temperament that forces attention and commands menin a body. He said that things were wrong and should be put right; andwhen he had said so for half an hour to a couple of thousand people, mostof them were ready to follow him out of the hall and go and put thingsright on the spot, with their own hands. As yet the opportunity had notoffered for proceeding in so simple a manner, but the aforesaid Bostoniansof the graver sort said that John Harrington would some day be seenheading a desperate mob of socialists in an assault upon the State House. What he had to do with socialism, or to what end he should thus fiercelyinvade the headquarters of all earthly respectability, was not exactlyapparent, but the picture thus evoked in the minds of the solemn burgherssatisfactorily defined for them the personality of the man, and they saidit and said it again. It was somewhat remarkable that he had never been called clever. At firsthe was regarded as a fool by most of his own class, though he always hadfriends who believed in him. By and by, as it came to be seen that he hada purpose and would be listened to while he stated it, Boston said therewas something in him; but he was never said to be clever or "bright"--hewas John Harrington, neither more nor less. He was never even called"Jack. " He was a friend of Mrs. Wyndham's; her keen instincts had long agorecognized the true metal in the man, and of all who came and went in herhouse there was none more welcome than he. Sam Wyndham utterly disagreedwith him in politics, but always defended him in private, saying that hewould "calm down a lot when he got older, " and that meanwhile he was "avery good fellow if you did not stir him up. " He was therefore very intimate at the Sam Wyndham establishment; in fact, at the very hour when Pocock Vancouver was drinking Mrs. Sam's tea, Johnhad intended to be enjoying the same privilege. Unfortunately for hisintention he was caught elsewhere and could not get away. He was drinkingtea, it is true, but the position in which he found himself was notentirely to his taste. Old Miss Schenectady, whose niece, Miss Josephine Thorn, had lately comeover from England to pass the winter, had asked John Harrington to callthat afternoon. The old lady believed in John on account of the Mayflowerteapot, and consequently thought him a desirable acquaintance for herniece. Accordingly, John went to the house, and met Miss Sybil Brandonjust as she was leaving it; which he regretted, suspecting that hersociety would have been more interesting than that of Miss Thorn. As itturned out, he was right, for his first impression of the young Englishgirl was not altogether agreeable; and he found himself obliged to stayand talk to her until an ancient lady, who had come to gossip with MissSchenectady, and was fully carrying out her intentions, should go away and make it possible for him to take his leave without absolutely abandoningMiss Thorn in the corner of the room she had selected for the tête-à-tête. "All that, of course, you know, " said Miss Thorn, in answer to some remarkof John's, "but what sort of things do you really care for?" "People, " answered John without hesitation. "Of course, " returned his companion, "everybody likes people. It is notvery original. One could not live without lots of society, could one?" "That depends on the meaning of society. " "Oh, I am not in the least learned about meanings, " answered Miss Thorn. "I mean what one means by society, you know. Heaps of men and women, andtea-parties, and staying in the country, and that. " "That is a sketch indeed, " said John, laughing. "But then it is ratherdifferent here. We do not relapse into the country as you do in England, and then come back to town like lions refreshed with sleep. " "Why not?" "Because once in society here one is always in it. At least, most peopleare. As soon as heat begins Boston goes to New York; and by-and-by NewYork goes to Saratoga, and takes Boston with it; and then all three go toNewport, and the thing begins again, until there is a general rush toLenox, to see the glories of the autumn; and by the time the glories aregetting a little thin it is time to be in Beacon Street again. " "But when do people shoot and ride?--do they ever hunt?" asked Miss Thorn, opening her wide brown eyes in some astonishment at John Harrington'sdescription of society life in America. "Oh yes, they hunt at Newport with a drag and a bagged fox. They do it inJuly and August, when it is as hot as it can be, and the farmers turn outwith pitchforks and stones to warn them off the growing crops. " "How ridiculous!" exclaimed Miss Josephine. "It is absurd, of course, " said Harrington, "and cruel. But I must saythey ride as though there were no hereafter, and it is a stiff country. " "They must, I should think; no one who believed in a hereafter would huntin summer. " "I will wager that if you go to Newport this summer you will hunt, justlike everybody else, " said John boldly. Josephine Thorn knew in her heart that it was true, but she did not likethe tone in which John said it. There was an air of certainty about hisway of talking that roused her opposition. "I would do nothing so foolish, " said she. "You do not know me. And do youmean to tell me that you like these people who rush madly about thecountry and hunt in summer, and those sort of things?" "No, " said John, "not always. " "But you said you liked people. How awfully inconsistent you are!" "Excuse me, I think not. I meant that I liked people and having to do withthem--with men and women--better than I like things. " "What are 'things'?" inquired Josephine, sarcastically. "You are not veryclear in your way of expressing yourself. " "I will be as clear as you please, " answered John, looking across the roomat Miss Schenectady and her ancient friend, and devoutly wishing he couldget away. "I mean by 'things' the study of the inanimate part of creation, of such sciences as are not directly connected with man's thoughts andactions, and such pursuits as hunting, shooting, and sporting of allkinds, which lead only to the amusement of the individual. I mean also theproduction of literature for literature's sake, and of works of art forthe mere sake of themselves. When I say I like 'people, ' I mean men andwomen, their opinions and their relations to each other. " "I should think you would get very tired of them, " said Miss Thornscornfully. "They are all dreadfully alike. " She never forgot the look Harrington turned upon her as he answered. His calm, deep-set gray eyes gazed steadily at her, and his square featuresassumed an air of gravity that almost startled her. "I am never tired of men and women, " he said. "Has it ever struck you, Miss Thorn, that the study of men and women means the study of government, and that a knowledge of men and women may give the power to influence thedestiny of mankind?" "I never thought of it like that, " said Josephine, very quietly. She wassurprised at his manner, and she suddenly felt that he was no ordinaryman. To tell the truth, her aunt had informed her that John Harrington wascoming that afternoon, and had told her he was an exceedingly able man, astatement which at once roused Josephine's opposition to its fiercestpitch. She thoroughly hated to be warned about people, to be primed as itwere with a dose of their superiority beforehand. It always prepared herto dislike the admirable individual when he appeared. It seemed as thoughit were taken for granted that she herself had not enough intelligence todiscover wit in others, and needed to be told of it with greatcircumstance in order to be upon her good behavior. Consequently Josephinebegan by disliking John. She thought he was a Philistine; his hair was toostraight, and besides, it was red; he shaved all his face, whereas the menshe liked always had beards; she liked men with black eyes, or blue--John's were gray and hard; he spoke quietly, without expression, and sheliked men who were enthusiastic. After all, too, the things he said werenot very clever; anybody could have said them. She meant to show her Boston aunt that she had no intention of acceptingBoston genius on faith. It was not her way; she liked to find out forherself whether people were able or not, without being told, and if sheascertained that John Harrington enjoyed a fictitious reputation forgenius it would amuse her to destroy it--or at all events to write a longletter home to a friend, expressing her supreme opinion on that and othermatters. John, on his part, did not very much care what impression he produced. Henever did on such occasions, and just now he was rendered doublyindifferent by the fact that he was wishing himself somewhere else. True, there was a certain novelty in being asked point-blank questions about histastes. Boston people knew what he liked, and generally only asked himabout what he did. Perhaps, if he had met Josephine by daylight, insteadof in the dim shadows of Miss Schenectady's front drawing-room, he mighthave been struck by her appearance and interested by her manner. As itwas, he was merely endeavoring to get through his visit with a properamount of civility, in the hope that he might get away in time to see Mrs. Sam Wyndham before dinner. Josephine thought John dull, probably well informed, and utterly withoutinterest in anything. She felt inclined to do something desperate--tothrow the cushions at him, to do anything, in short, to rouse him from hiscalmness. Then he made that remark about government, and his voicedeepened, and his gray eyes shone, and she was aware that he had a greatand absorbing interest in life, and that he could be roused in onedirection at least. To do her justice, she had quick perceptions, and theimpression on her mind was instantaneous. "I never thought of it like that, " she said. "Do you know?" she added in amoment, "I should not have thought you took much interest in anything atall. " John laughed. He was amused at the idea that he, who knew himself to beone of the most enthusiastic of mortals, should be thought indifferent;and he was amused at the outspoken frankness of the girl's remark. "You know that is just like me, " continued Miss Thorn quickly. "I alwayssay what I think, you know. I cannot help it a bit. " "What a pity all the world is not like you!" said John. "It would save agreat deal of trouble, I am sure. " "The frump is going at last, " said Josephine, in an undertone, as theancient friend rose and showed signs of taking leave of Miss Schenectady. "There is certainly no mistake about the frankness of that speech, " saidJohn, rising to his feet and laughing again. "There is no mistaking its truth, " answered Josephine. "She is the realthing--the real old-fashioned frump--we have lots of them at home. " "You remind me of Heine, " said John. "He said he called a spade a spade, and Herr Schmidt an ass. " Miss Thorn laughed. "Exactly, " she answered, "that is the knowledge of menwhich you say leads to power. " She rose also, and there was a little stir as the old lady departed. Josephine watched John as he bowed and opened the door of the room to letthe visitor out. She wondered vaguely whether she would like him, whetherhe might not really be a remarkable man--a fact she doubted in proportionas her aunt assured her of its truth; she liked his looks and tried todetermine whether he was handsome or not, and she watched closely for anyawkwardness or shyness of manner, that being the fault in a man which shenever pardoned. He was very different from the men she had generally known, and mostcompletely different from those she had known as her admirers. In fact shehad never admired her admirers at all, --except dear Ronald, of course. They competed with her on her own ground, and she knew well enough she wasmore than a match for any of them. Ronald was different; she had known himall her life. But all those other men! They could ride--but she rode aswell, or better. They could shoot, but so could she, and allowing for thedisadvantages of a woman in field sports, she was as good a shot as they. She knew she could do anything they could do, and understood most thingsthey understood. All in all, she did not care for the average youngEnglishman. He was great fun in his own way, but there were probably moreinteresting things in the world than pheasants and fences. Politics wouldbe interesting, she thought; she had known three or four men who wereyoung and already prominent in Parliament, and they were undeniablyinteresting; but they were generally either ugly or clumsy, --theunpardonable sin, --or perhaps they were vain. Josephine could not bearvain men. John Harrington probably had some one or more of these defects. He was certainly no "beauty man, " to begin with, nevertheless, shewondered whether he might not be called handsome by stretching a point. She rather hoped, inwardly and unconsciously, that her ultimate judgmentwould decide in favor of his good looks. She always judged; it was thefirst thing she did, and she was surprised, on the present occasion, tofind her judgment so slow. People who pride themselves on being criticalare often annoyed when they find themselves uncertain of their ownopinion. As for his accomplishments, they were doubtful, to say the least. Miss Thorn was not used to considering American men as manly. She had reada great many books which made game of them, and showed how unused theywere to all those good things which make up the life of an English countrygentleman; she had met one or two Americans who turned up their noses inimpotent scorn of all field sports except horse-racing, which theyregarded from a financial point of view. Probably John Harrington hadnever killed a pheasant in his life. Lastly, he might be vain. A man withsuch a reputation for ability would most likely be conceited. And yet, despite probability, she could not help thinking Johninteresting. That one speech of his about government had meant something. He was a man with a strong personality, with a great interest in the worldled by a dominant aspiration of some sort; and Josephine, in her heart, loved power and admired those who possessed it. Political power especiallyhad that charm for her which it has for most English people of the upperclass. There is some quality in the English race which breeds aninordinate admiration for all kinds of superiority: it is certain that ifone class of English society can be justly accused of an over-greatveneration for rank, the class which is rank itself is not behindhand indoing homage to the political stars of the day. In favor of thispeculiarity of English people it may fairly be said that they love toassociate with persons of rank and power from a disinterested love ofthose things themselves, whereas in most other countries the society ofnoble and influential persons is chiefly sought from the most cynicalmotives of personal advantage. Politics--that is, the outward and appreciable manifestations of politicallife--must always furnish abundant food for the curiosity of the many andthe intelligent criticism of the few. There is no exception to that rule, be the state great or small. But politics in England and politics inAmerica, so far as the main points are concerned, are as different as itis possible for any two social functions to be. Roughly, Government andthe doings of Government are centripetal in England, and centrifugal inAmerica. In England the will of the people assists the workings ofProvidence, whereas in America devout persons pray that Providence may onoccasion modify the will of the people. In England men believe in theQueen, the Royal Family, the Established Church, and Belgravia first, andin themselves afterwards. Americans believe in themselves devoutly, and aman who could "establish" upon them a church, a royalty, or a peerage, would be a very clever fellow. Josephine Thorn and John Harrington were fair examples of theirnationalities. Josephine believed in England and the English; JohnHarrington believed in America and the Americans. How far England andAmerica are ever likely to believe in each other, however, is a questionof future history and not of past experience, and any reasonable amount ofdoubt may be cast upon the possibility of such mutual confidence. But as Josephine stood watching John Harrington while he opened thedrawing-room door for the visitor to go out, she thought of none of thesethings. She certainly did not consider herself a type of her nation--adistinction to which few English people aspire--and she as certainly wouldhave denied that the man before her was a type of the modern American. John remained standing when the lady was gone. "Do sit down, " said Miss Schenectady, settling herself once more in hercorner. "Thank you, I think I must be going now, " answered John. "It is late. " Ashe spoke he turned toward Miss Thorn, and for the first time saw her underthe bright light of the old-fashioned gas chandelier. The young girl was perhaps not what is called a great beauty, but she wasundeniably handsome, and she possessed that quality which often goes withquick perceptions and great activity, and which is commonly defined by theexpression "striking. " Short, rather than tall, she was yet soproportioned between strength and fineness as to be very graceful, and herhead sat proudly on her shoulders--too proudly sometimes, for she couldcommand and she could be angry. Her wide brown eyes were bright andfearless and honest. The faint color came and went under the clear skin asfreely as the heart could send it, and though her hair was brown and soft, there were ruddy tints among the coils, that flashed out unexpectedly hereand there like threads of red gold twined in a mass of fine silk. John looked at her in some astonishment, for in his anxiety to be gone andin the dimness of the corner where they had sat, he had not realized thatJosephine was any more remarkable in her appearance than most of theextremely young women who annually make their entrance into society, withthe average stock of pink and white prettiness. They call them "buds" inBoston--an abbreviation for rosebuds. Fresh young roses of each opening year, fresh with the dew of heaven andthe blush of innocence, coming up in this wild garden of a world, whatwould the gardener do without you? Where would all beauty and sweetness befound among the thorny bushes and the withering old shrubs and the rottingweeds, were it not for you? Maidens with clean hands and pure hearts, inwhose touch there is something that heals the ills and soothes the painsof mortality, roses whose petals are yet unspotted by dust and rain, andwhose divine perfume the hot south wind has not scorched, nor the eastwind nipped and frozen--you are the protest, set every year among us, against the rottenness of the world's doings, the protest of the angeliclife against the earthly, of the eternal good against the eternal bad. John Harrington looked at Miss Thorn, and looked at her with pleasure, forhe saw that she was fair--but in spite of her newly discovered beauty heresisted Miss Schenectady's invitation to sit down again, and departed. Any other man would have stayed, under the circumstances. "Well, Josephine, " said Miss Schenectady, when he was gone, "now you haveseen John Harrington. " Josephine looked at her aunt and laughed a little; it seemed to her a veryself-evident fact, since John had just gone. "Exactly, " said she. "Won't you call me Joe, aunt Zoruiah? They all do athome--even Ronald. " "Joe? Boy's name. Well, if you insist upon it. As I was saying, you haveseen John Harrington, now. " "Exactly, " repeated Joe. "But I mean, how does he strike you?" "Clever I should think, " answered the young lady. "Clever, you know--thatsort of thing. Not bad looking, either. " "I told you so, " said Miss Schenectady. "Yes--but I expected ever so much more from what you said, " returned Joe, kneeling on the rug before the fire and poking the coals with the tongs. Miss Schenectady looked somewhat offended at the slight cast upon her lateguest. "You are very difficile, Josephi--I mean Joe, I forgot. " "Ye--es, very diffyseal--that sort of thing, " repeated Josephine, mimicking her aunt's pronunciation of the foreign word, "I know I am, Ican't possibly help it, you know. " A dashing thrust with the tongs finallydestroyed the equilibrium of the fire, and the coals came tumbling downupon the hearth. "Goodness gracious me!" exclaimed the old lady in great anxiety, "you willhave the house on fire in no time! Give me the tongs right away, my dear. You do not understand American fires!" CHAPTER III. "Dear Ronald, --You can't imagine what a funny place Boston is. I wish youwere here, it would be so nice to talk about them together--I mean thepeople, of course, for they are much funnier than the place they live in. But I think they are very nice, too, particularly some of the men. I don'tunderstand the women in the least--they go in awfully for sets, if youunderstand that kind of thing--and art, too, and literature. The other dayat a lunch party--that is what they call it here--they sat and talkedabout pictures for ever so long. I wonder what you would have said if youhad been there! but then there were no men, and so you couldn't have been, could you? And the sets, too. The girls who come out together, all in abatch, like a hive of bees swarming, spend the rest of their livestogether; and they have what they call sewing circles, that go on alltheir lives. There are sewing circles of old frumps sixty years old whohave never been parted since they all went to their first ball together. They sew for the poor; they don't sew so very much, you know; but thenthey have a tremendous lunch afterwards. I sewed for the poor the otherday, because one of the sewing circles asked me to their meeting. I sewedtwo buttons on to the end of something, and then I ate six kinds of salad, and went to drive with Mr. Vancouver. I dare say it does a lot of good inits way, but I think the poor must be awfully good-natured. "It is quite too funny about driving, too. You may go out with a man in asleigh, but you couldn't possibly go with him on wheels--on the same road, at the same hour, same man, same everything, except the wheels. You agreeto go out next week in a sleigh with Mr. Vancouver; but when the daycomes, if it has happened to thaw and there is no snow, and he comes in abuggy, you couldn't possibly go with him, because it would be quite tooimproper. But I mean to, some day, just to see what they will say. I wishyou would come! We would do a lot of driving together, and by and by, inthe spring, they say one can ride here, but only along the roads, foreverything else is so thick with steam-engines and Irishmen that one couldnot possibly go across country. "But although they are so funny, they are really very nice, and awfullyclever. I don't think there are nearly so many clever men anywhere else insociety, when once you have got over their Americanisms. Most of themwould be in Parliament at home; but nobody goes into Parliament here, except Mr. Harrington--that is, into Congress, which is the same thing, you know. They say politics in America are not at all fit for gentlemen, and they spend an hour or two every day in abusing all the politicians, instead of turning them out and managing things themselves. But Mr. Harrington is going to be a senator as soon as he can, and he is so cleverthat I am sure he will make a great reform. "I don't think of anything else to say just now, but if I do I will writeagain--only it's unfeminine to write two letters running, so you mustanswer at once. And if you should want to travel this winter you can comehere; they will treat you ever so much better than you deserve. So good-by. Yours ever sincerely, "JOE THORN. " The precise nature of the friendship that existed between Josephine Thornand Ronald Surbiton could not be accurately inferred from the abovespecimen of correspondence; and indeed the letter served rather to confusethan to enlighten the recipient as to the nature of his relations with thewriter. He was, of course, very much in love with Joe Thorn; he knew it, because he had always been in love with her since they were childrentogether, so there could be no possible doubt in the matter. But whethershe cared a jot for him and his feelings he could not clearly make out, from the style of the hurried, ungrammatical sentences, crammed withabbreviations and unpermissible elisions. True, she said three times thatshe hoped he would come to America; but America was a long way off, andshe very likely reckoned on his laziness and dislike to foreign traveling. It is so easy for a young woman writing from Boston to say to a young manresiding in Scotland, "Do come over for a few days"--Surbiton thought itwould be a good joke to take her at her word and go. The idea of seeingher again so much sooner than he had expected was certainly uppermost inhis mind as he began to make his resolution; but it was sustained andstrengthened by a couple of allusions Joe had made to men of heracquaintance in Boston, not to say by the sweeping remark that there weremore clever men in Boston society than anywhere else, which made hisvanity smart rather unpleasantly. When Josephine used to tell him, half inearnest, half in jest, that he was "so dreadfully stupid, " he did not feelmuch hurt; but it was different when she took the trouble to write all theway from America to tell him that the men there were much cleverer than athome. He had a great mind to go and see for himself whether it were true. Nevertheless, the hunting was particularly good just at the time when hegot the letter, and being rather prudent of counsel, Ronald determined towait until a hard frost should spoil his temper and give the necessarystimulus to his activity, before he packed his boxes for a western voyage. As for Josephine, it was very natural that she should feel a littlehomesick, and wish to have some one of her own people with her. In spiteof the favorable views she expressed about America, Boston, and her newacquaintances, her position was not without some drawbacks in her owneyes. She felt herself out of her natural element, and the very greatadmiration she received in society, though pleasant enough in itself, wasnot to her so entirely satisfactory as it would have been to a woman olderor younger than she, or to a more thorough flirt. An older woman wouldhave enjoyed more keenly the flattery of it; a younger girl would havefound it more novel and fresh, and the accomplished professional societyflirt--there is no other word to express her--would have rejoicedexceedingly over a great holocaust of victims. In writing to Surbiton and suggesting to him to come to Boston, Joe had nointention of fanning his hopes into flame. She never thought much aboutRonald. She had long been used to him, and regarded him in the light of amarriage fixture, though she had never exactly promised to marry him; shehad been brought up to suppose she would, and that was all. When or wherethe marriage would actually take place was a question she did not care toraise, and if ever Surbiton raised it she repressed him ruthlessly. Forthe present she would look about the world, seeing she had beentransported into a new part of it, and she found it amusing. Only shewould like to have a companion to whom she could talk. Ronald would be soconvenient, and after all it was a great advantage to be able to make useof the man to whom she was engaged. She never had known any other girl whocould do that, and she rather prided herself on the fact that she was notridiculous, although she was in the most traditionally absurd position, that of betrothal. She would like to compare Ronald with the men she hadmet lately. The desire for comparison had increased of late. A fortnight had passedsince she had first met John Harrington, and she had made up her mind. Hewas handsome, though his hair was red and he had no beard, and she likedhim; she liked him very much; it was quite different from her liking forRonald. She liked Ronald, she said to herself that she loved him dearly, partly because she expected to marry him, and partly because he was sogood and so much in love with herself. He would take any amount of troublefor anything she wanted. But John was different. She knew very well thatshe was thinking much more of him than he of her, if indeed he thought ofher at all. But she was a little ashamed of it, and in order to justifyherself in her own eyes she was cold and sarcastic in her manner to him, so that people noticed it, and even John Harrington himself, who neverthought twice whether his acquaintances liked him or disliked him, remarked one day to Mrs. Wyndham that he feared he had offended MissThorn, as she took such particular pains to treat him differently fromothers. On the other hand Joe was always extremely candid to PocockVancouver. It was on a Monday that John made the aforesaid remark. All Boston was atMrs. Wyndham's, excepting all the other ladies who lived in Beacon Street, and that is a very considerable portion of Boston, as every schoolboyknows. John was standing near the tea-table talking to Mrs. Sam, when Joeentered the room and came up to the hostess, who welcomed her warmly. Shenodded coldly to John without shaking hands, and joined a group of younggirls near by. "It is very strange, " said John to Mrs. Wyndham. "I wonder whether I canhave done anything Miss Thorn resents. I am not sensitive, but it isimpossible to mistake people when they look at one like that. She alwaysdoes it just in that way. " Mrs. Wyndham looked inquiringly at John for a moment, and the quick smileof ready comprehension played on her sensitive mouth. "Are you really quite sure you have not offended her?" she asked. "Quite sure, " John answered, in a tone of conviction. "Besides, I neveroffend any one, certainly not ladies. I never did such a thing in my wholelife. " "Not singly, " said Mrs. Wyndham, laughing. "You offend people in largenumbers when you do it at all, especially newspaper people. Sam read thatridiculous article in the paper to me last night. " "Which paper?" asked John, smiling. "They have most of them been at methis week. " "The paper, " answered Mrs. Sam, "the horrid paper. You donot suppose I would mention such a publication in my house?" "Oh, my old enemy, " laughed John. "I do not mind that in the least. Onemight almost think those articles were written by Miss Thorn. " "Perhaps they are, " answered Mrs. Wyndham. "Really, " she added, glancingat Josephine, whom Pocock Vancouver had just detached from her group ofgirls, "really you may not be so very, very far wrong. " John's glancefollowed the direction of her eyes, and he saw Vancouver. He lookedsteadily at the man's delicate pale features and intellectual head, and atthe end of half a minute he and Mrs. Wyndham looked at each other again. She probably regretted the hint she had carelessly dropped, but she metHarrington's gaze frankly. "I did not mean to say it, " she said, for John looked so grave that shewas frightened. "It was only a guess. " "But have you any reason to think it might be the truth?" asked John. "None whatever--really none, except that he differs so much from you inevery way, politically speaking. " She knew very well that Vancouver hated John, and she had often thought itpossible that the offensive articles in question came from the pen of theformer. There was a tone of superior wit and a ring of truer English inthem than are generally met with in the average office work of a dailynewspaper. "I do not believe Vancouver writes them, " said John, slowly. "He is notexactly a friend, but he is not an enemy either. " Mrs. Wyndham, who knew better than that, held her peace. She was not amischief-maker, and moreover she liked both the men too well to wish aquarrel between them. She busied herself at the tea-table for a moment, and John stood near her, watching the moving crowd. Now and then his eyesrested on Josephine Thorn's graceful figure, and he noticed how herexpressive features lighted up in the conversation. John could hearsomething of their conversation, which was somewhat noisy. They weretalking in that strain of objectless question and answer which may bestupid to idiocy or clever to the verge of wit, according to the talkers. Joe called it "chaff. " "I have learned America, " said Joe. "Indeed!" said Vancouver. "You have not been long about it; but then, youwill say there is not much to learn. " "I never believe in places till I have lived in them, " said Joe. "Nor in people till you have seen them, I suppose, " returned Vancouver. "But now that you have learned America, of course you believe in us allwithout exception. We are the greatest nation on earth--I suppose you haveheard that?" "Yes; you told me so the other day; but it needs all the faith I have inyour judgment to believe it. If any one else had said it, you know, Ishould have thought there was some mistake. " "Oh no; it is pretty true, taking it all round, " returned Vancouver, witha smile. "But I am tremendously flattered at the faith you put in mysayings. " "Oh, are you? That is odd, you know, because if you are so much flatteredat my believing you, you would not be much disappointed if I doubted you. " "I beg to differ. Excuse me"-- "Not at all, " answered Joe, laughing. "Only we have old-fashionedprejudices at home. We begin by expecting to be believed, and aresometimes a good deal annoyed if any one says we are telling fibs. " "Of course, if you put it in that way, " said Vancouver. "But I suppose itis not a very bad fib to say one's country is the greatest on earth. I amsure you English say it quite as often and as loudly as we do, and, yousee, we cannot both be right, possibly. " "No, not exactly. But suppose two men, any two, like you and Mr. Harrington for instance, each made a point of telling every one you metthat you were the greatest man on earth. " "It is conceivable that we might both be wrong, " said Vancouver, laughingat the idea. "But one of you might be right, " objected Joe. "No--that is not conceivable, " retorted Vancouver. "No? Let us ask Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington!" Joe turned towards John and called him. He was only a step from her, andjoined the two instantly. He looked from one to the other inquiringly. "Here is a great question to be decided, Mr. Harrington, " said Joe. "I wassaying to Mr. Vancouver that, supposing each of you asserted that he wasthe greatest man on earth, it would--I mean, how could the point besettled?" John stared for a moment. "If you insist upon raising such a very remarkable point of precedence, Miss Thorn, " he answered calmly, "I am sure Vancouver will agree with meto leave the decision to you also. " Joe looked slightly annoyed. She had brought the retort on herself. "Pardon me, " said Vancouver, quickly, "I object to the contest. The matchis not a fair one. Mr. Harrington means to be the greatest man on earth, or in the water under the earth, whereas I have no such aspiration. " Instead of being grateful to Vancouver for coming to her rescue in therather foolish position in which she was placed, Joe felt unaccountablyannoyed. She was willing to make sure of John herself, if she could, butshe was not prepared to allow that privilege to any one else. Accordinglyshe turned upon Vancouver before John could answer. "The question beganin a foolish comparison, Mr. Vancouver, " she said coldly. "I think you areinclined to make it personal?" "I believe it became personal from the moment you hit upon Mr. Harringtonand me as illustrations of what you were saying, Miss Thorn, " retortedVancouver, very blandly, but with a disagreeable look in his eyes. He wasangry at Joe's rebuke. John stood calmly by without exhibiting the least shade of annoyance. Thechaff of a mere girl, and the little satirical thrusts of a lady's manlike Vancouver, did not seem to him of much importance. Joe, however, didnot vouchsafe any answer to Vancouver's last remark, and it devolved onJohn to say something to relieve the awkwardness of the situation. "Have you become reconciled to our methods of amusement, Miss Thorn?" heasked, "or shall we devise something different from the everlastingsleighing and five o'clock tea, and dinner parties and 'dancing classes'?" "Oh, do not remind me of all that, " said Joe. "I did not mean half of it, you know. " She turned to John, and Vancouver moved away in pursuit ofSybil Brandon, who had just entered the room. "Tell me, " said Joe, when Pocock was gone, "do you like Mr. Vancouver? Youare great friends, are you not?" John looked at her inquiringly. "I should not say we were very great friends, " he answered, "because weare not intimate; but we have always been on excellent terms, as far as Iknow. Vancouver is a very clever fellow. " "Yes, " said Joe, thoughtfully, "I fancy he is. You do not mind my havingasked, do you?" "Not in the least, " said John, quietly. His face had grown very graveagain, and he seemed suddenly absorbed by some thought. "Let us sit down, "he said presently, and the two installed themselves on a divan in acorner. "You are not in the least inquisitive, " remarked Joe, as soon as they weresettled. "What makes you say that?" asked John. "It was such a silly thing, you know, and you never asked what it was allabout. " "When you called me? No--I did not hear what led up to it, and I supposedfrom what you said afterwards that I understood. " "Did you? What did you think?" asked Joe. "I thought from the question about Vancouver that you wanted to put usinto an awkward position in order to find out whether we were friends. " "No, " said Joe, with a little laugh, "I am not so clever as that. It waspure silliness--chaff, you know--that sort of thing. " "Oh, " ejaculated John, still quite unmoved, "then it was not of anyimportance. " "Very silly things sometimes turn out to be very important. Saul, youknow--was not it he?--was looking for asses and he found a kingdom. " John laughed suddenly. "And so it is clear which part Vancouver and Iplayed in the business, " he said. "But where is the kingdom?" "I did not mean that, " said Joe, seriously. "I am not making fun any more. I have not been successful in my chaff to-day. I should think that in yourcareer it would be very important for you to know who are your friends. Isit not?" "Certainly, " said John, looking at her curiously. "It is very important;but I think political life is generally much simpler than people suppose. It is rather like fighting. The man who hits you is your enemy. The manwho does not is practically your friend. Do you mean in regard toVancouver?" "Yes. " "Vancouver never hit me, that I can swear, " said John, "and I am very sureI never hit him. " "I dare say I am mistaken, " said Joe. "You ought to know best. Let usleave him alone. " "With all my heart, " answered John. "Tell me what you have been doing, Mr. Harrington, " said Joe, after amoment's pause; "all the papers are full of you. " "Yes, I have been rather in the passive mood during the last week. I havebeen standing up to be shot at. " "Without shooting back? What are they so angry about?" "The truth, " said John, calmly. "They do not like to hear it. " "What is truth--in this instance?" "Apparently something so unpleasant that the mere mention of it has rousedthe bile of every penny-a-liner in the Republican press. I undertook todemonstrate that one of the fifteen millions of the 'ablest men in thecountry, ' whom you are always hearing about, is a swindler. He is, but hedoes not like to be told so. " "I suppose not, " said Joe. "I wonder if any one likes unpleasant truths. But what do you mean to do now? Are you going to fight it out? I hope so!" "Of course, in good time. One can hardly retire from such a position asmine; they would make an end of me in a week and quarrel over my bones. But the real fight will be fought by and by, when the elections come on. " "How exciting it must all be, " said Joe. "I wish I were a man!" "And an American?" asked John, smiling. "How are the mighty fallen! Youwere laughing at us and our politics the day before yesterday, and now youare wishing you were one of us yourself. I think you must be naturallyfond of fighting"-- "Fond of a row?" suggested Miss Thorn, with a laugh. "Yes, I fancy I am. Iam fond of all active things. Are not you?" "I do not know, " said John. "I never thought much about it. But I supposeI should be called rather an active person. " "Is not she beautiful?" ejaculated Miss Thorn, looking across the room atSybil Brandon, whose fair head was just visible between two groups ofpeople. "Who?" asked John, who was looking at his companion. "Miss Brandon, " said Joe. "Look at her, over there. I think she is themost beautiful thing I ever saw. " "Yes, " said John, "she is very beautiful. " CHAPTER IV. All sorts and conditions of men and women elbowed and crowded each otherunder the dim gaslight at the three entrances to the Boston Music Hall. The snow was thick on the ground outside, and it had been thawing all theafternoon. The great booby sleighs slid and slipped and rocked through thewet stuff, the policemen vociferated, the horse-car drivers on TremontStreet rang their bells furiously, and a great crowd of pedestriansstumbled and tumbled about in the mud and slush and snow of the crossings, all bent on getting inside the Music Hall in time for the beginning of thelecture. The affair was called a "lecture" in accordance with the time-honoredcustom of Boston, and unless it were termed an oration, it would be hardto find a better name for it. A "meeting" implies a number of orators, orat least a well-filled row of chairs upon the platform. A "lecture, " onthe other hand, does not convey to the ordinary mind the idea of apolitical speech, and critical persons with a taste for etymology say thatthe word means something which is read. John Harrington had determined to speak in public on certain subjectsconnected with modern politics, and had caused the fact to be extensivelymade known. His name alone would have sufficed to draw a large audience, but the great attention he had attracted by his doings for some time past, and the severe criticisms lately made upon him by the local press, rendered the interest even greater than it would otherwise have been. Moreover, the lecture was free. Harrington was a poor man, as fortunes goin Boston, but it was his chiefest principle that a man had no right to bepaid for speaking the truth, even though it might sometimes be just thatpeople should pay something for hearing it. Accordingly the lecture wasfree, and at the appointed hour the house was full to overflowing. In the front row of the first gallery sat old Miss Schenectady, and by herside was Josephine Thorn. A little colony of "Beacon Street" had collectedthere, and Pocock Vancouver was not far off. It is not often that BeaconStreet goes to such lectures, but John was one of themselves, and had toomany friends and enemies among them not to be certain of a largeattendance. Miss Schenectady was there, partly because she believed in JohnHarrington, and partly because Joe insisted upon going; and, generallyspeaking, what Joe insisted upon was done. The old lady did not understandwhy her niece was so very anxious to be present, but as the propositionfell in with her own desires, she made no objection. The fact was thatJoe's interest in John had very greatly increased of late, and hercuriosity to hear the man she met so often speak to a great audience wasexcited to its highest pitch. She fancied, too, from many things she hadheard said, that a large proportion of his audience would be hostile tohim, and that she would see him roused to his greatest strength andeloquence. She did not consider her impulse in the least, for though shefelt a stronger interest in Harrington than she had ever before felt inany individual, it had not struck her that she was beginning to careovermuch for the sight of his face and the sound of his voice. She couldnot have believed she was beginning to love him; and if any secret voicehad suggested to her conscience that it was so, she could have silenced itat once to her own satisfaction by merely remembering the coldness withwhich she generally treated him. She had got into the habit of treatinghim in that way from the first, when she had been prejudiced against himand the annoyance she often felt at his indifference made her think thatshe ought to be consistent and never allow her formal manner to change. Unfortunately she now and then forgot herself, as she had done after thelittle skirmish with Vancouver at Mrs. Wyndham's, and then she talked tohim and asked him questions of himself almost as though he were anintimate friend. John, who was a man of the world as well as a man of talent, thought shewas capricious, and since he was infinitely removed from falling in lovewith her, or indeed with any other woman, he found it agreeable to talk toher when she was in a good humor, and when she was ungracious he merelykept out of her way. If he had deliberately made up his mind to attracther attention and interest, he could have chosen no surer way than this. But although he admired her beauty and vivacity, and now and then took areal pleasure in her conversation, his mind was too full of other mattersto receive any lasting impression of such a kind. Besides, she wascapricious, and he hated mere caprice. And now there was a hush in the house, and then a short burst of applause, and Josephine, looking down, saw John standing alone upon the platform infront of the great bronze statue of Beethoven. He looked exactly as he didwhen she met him in society; there was no change in the even color of hisface, nor any awkwardness or self-consciousness in his easy attitude as hestood there, broad-shouldered and square, his strong hand just resting onthe plain desk that had been placed in the middle of the stage. He waiteda few seconds for silence in the audience, and then began to speak. Hisvoice sounded as natural and his accent as unaffected as though he weretalking alone with a friend, saving only that every syllable he utteredwas audible in the furthest gallery. Josephine leaned forward upon the redleather cushion of the railing before her, watching and listeningintently. She did not understand the subject well. John Harrington was a reformer, she knew; or, to speak more accurately, he desired to be one. He believedgreat changes were necessary. He believed in an established Civil Service, in something which, if not exactly Free Trade, was much nearer to it thanthe existing tariff. Above all, he believed in truth and freedom insteadof lying and bribery. As he spoke and cleared the way to his main points, his voice never quavered or faltered. He was perfectly sure of himself, and he reserved all his strength for the time when it should be mostrequired. For a quarter of an hour he proceeded, and the people sat indead silence before him. Then he paused a moment, and shifted his positiona little, moving a step forward as though to gain a better hearing. "I am coming to the point, " he said, --"the point that I must come tosooner or later. I am a Democrat, as perhaps some of you know. " Here there was an uneasy movement in the house. "Yes, I guess you are!"cried a voice from somewhere, in a tone of high nasal irony. Some onelaughed, and some one hissed, and then there was silence again. "Exactly, " continued John, unmoved by the interruption. "I am a Democrat, and though the sight does not astonish you so much as it might have donetwenty years ago, it is worthy of remark, nevertheless. But I have apeculiarity which I think you will allow to be extremely novel. I do not begin by saying that salvation is only to be found withDemocrats, and I will not believe any man who says it belongs exclusivelyto Republicans. If we were suddenly put in great danger of any kind, war, famine, or revolution, I think that in some way or other we should manageto save the country between us, Republicans and Democrats, for the commongood. " "That's so!" said more than one voice. "Of course we should. Is there any one among us all who would not give uphis individual views about a local election rather than see the country goto pieces? Would any man be such a coward as to be afraid to change hismind in order to prevent another Rebellion, another Civil War? No, no, weare more civilized than that. We want our own men in Congress, our ownfriends in office, just so long as they are serviceable--just so long asthe country can stand it, if you like it in that way. But if it comes tobe a question between the public good and having your cousin madepostmaster in a country village, I think there is enough patriotism in theaverage Democrat or Republican to send the country cousin about hisbusiness. If worst comes to worst, we can save the country between us, depend upon it. We have done it before. " Here there was a burst of willing applause. It is a great point to bringan audience into the position of applauding themselves. Joe watched John's every gesture, and listened intently to every word. Hisvoice rang clear and strong through the great hall, and he was beginningto be roused. He had gained a decided advantage in the success of his lastwords, and as he gathered his strength for the real effort which was tocome, his cheek paled and his gray eyes grew brighter. He spoke out againthrough the subsiding clamor. "Now I say that the country is in danger. It is in very great danger, thegreatest danger that can threaten any community. The institutions of anation are like the habits of a man, except that they are harder toimprove and easier to spoil. We have got into bad habits, and if we do notmend them they will take us to a more certain destruction than revolution, famine, or war, --or all three together. It is easier to fight a thing thathas a head to it and a name, than a thing that is everywhere and has noname, because no one has the courage to christen it. "We are like a man who has grown from being a peddler of tape and buttonsto be the greatest dry-goods-man in his town, and then to being a greatdealer for many towns. When he was a peddler he could carry the profit andloss on his buttons and tape in his head, because the profits wereliterally in his pocket, and the losses were literally out of it. But whenhe has grown into a great merchant he must keep books, and he must keep agreat many of them, and they must be kept accurately, or he will get intotrouble and go to ruin. That is true, is it not? And when he was a peddlerhe could buy his stock-in-trade himself, and be sure that it was what hewanted; but when he is one of the great merchants he must employ otherpeople to help him, and unless they are the right people and understandthe business, he will be ruined. Nobody can deny that. "Very well. We began in a small way as a nation, without much stock-in-trade, and we kept our accounts by rule of thumb. But it seems to me weare doing a pretty large business as a nation just now. " There was a laugh, and sundry remarks to the effect that the audienceunderstood what John was driving at. "Yes, we are doing a great business, and to all intents and purposes weare doing it on false business principles, and with an absolutelyincompetent staff of clerks. What would you think of a merchant whodismissed all his book-keepers every four years, and engaged a set ofshoemakers, or tailors, or artists, or musicians to fill up thevacancies?" A low murmur ran through the hall, a murmur of disapprobation. Probably alarge number out of the three thousand men and women present had cousinsin country post offices. But John did not pause; his voice grew full andclear, ringing high above the dull sounds in the house. From her place inthe gallery Josephine looked down, never taking her eyes from the face ofthe orator. She too was pale with excitement; had she been willing toacknowledge it, it was fear. That deep-toned beginning of a protest fromthe great concourse was like an omen of failure to her sensitive ear. Shelonged to see John Harrington succeed and carry his hearers with him intoan access of enthusiasm. John expected no such thing. He only wanted thepeople to understand thoroughly what he meant, for he was sure that ifonce they knew the truth clearly they would feel for it as he himself did. "Nevertheless, " he continued, "I tell you that is what we are doing, whatwe have been doing for years, from the very beginning. And if we go ondoing it we shall get into trouble. We choose schoolboys to do the work ofmen, we expect that by the mere signature of the head of the executive anyman can be turned into an accomplished public officer fit to be comparedwith one whose whole life has been spent in the public service. We wish tobe represented abroad among foreign nations in a way becoming to ourdignity and very great power, and we select as our ministers a number ofgentlemen who in most cases have never read a diplomatic dispatch in their lives, and who sometimes are not even acquainted with any language savetheir own. Perhaps you will say that our dignity is not of much importanceprovided our power is great enough. I do not think you will say it, butthere are communities in our country where it would most certainly besaid. Very well, so be it. But where do you think our power comes from? Doyou think there is a boundless store of some natural product called power, of which we need only take as much as we want in order to stand a head andshoulders higher than any other nation in the world? What is power? Can aman be strong if he has an internal disease, or is his strength any use tohim if his arms and legs are out of joint? Would you believe in thestrength of a great firm that hired a company of actors from a theatre, and made the tragedian cashier and the low-comedy man head book-keeper? "The sick man may live for years with his sickness, and the man whoselimbs are all distorted may still deal a formidable blow with his head, ifit is thick enough. The firm may prosper for a time with its staff oftheatrical clerks, provided there is enough business to pay for all theirmistakes and leave a margin of profit. But the sick man does not livebecause he is diseased, but in spite of it. The distorted joints of thecripple do not help him to fight. The firm is not rich because itsbusiness is done by tragedians and walking-gentlemen, but in spite ofthem. If the doctor fails to give his medicine, if the fighting grows toorough for the cripple, if business grows slack, or if some good businessman with competent assistants starts a strong opposition--what happens?What must inevitably happen? Why, the sick man dies, the cripple gets theworst of it, and the theatrical firm of merchants goes straight intobankruptcy. "And so I tell you that we are in danger. We are sick with the fouldisease of office seeking; we are crippled hand and foot not only forfighting but for working, because our public officers are inexperiencedmen who spend four years in learning a trade not theirs, and are verygenerally turned out before they have half learnt it; we are doing apolitical business which will succeed fairly well just so long as we arerich enough to provide funds for any amount of extravagance and keepenough in our pockets to buy bread and cheese with afterwards. Just solong. "When we have been lanced here in Boston and the blood is running freely, we can still cut a slice out of the West and use it like court-plaster tostop the bleeding. Some day there will be no more slices to be had. Itwill be a bad day in State Street. " This remark raised a laugh and a good deal of noise for a moment. But theaudience were soon silent again. Whether they meant to approve ordisapprove, they kept their opinions to themselves. Miss Thorn did notcomprehend the allusion, but she was listening with all her ears. "You understand that, " John went on. "Then understand it about the rest ofthe country as well. Understand that we are all the time patching ourincome with our capital; and it answers pretty well because there is agood deal of capital and not so very many of ourselves, as yet. There willbe twice as many of us in a few years, and very much less than half asmuch capital. Understand above all that we are getting into bad habits--habits we should despise in a corporation, and condemn by very bad namesin any individual man of our acquaintance. "And when you have understood it, look at matters as they stand. Look atthe incompetence of our public officers, look at our ruined carryingtrade, at those vile enactions of fools, and worse than fools, theNavigation Laws of the United States, and tell me whether things are asthey should be. Tell me what has become of liberty if you cannot buy aship where you can get her best and cheapest, and hoist your own flag uponher, and call her your own? You may pay for her and bring her home withyou, but though she were ten times paid for, you cannot hoist the Americanflag, nor register her in your own port, nor claim the protection of yourcountry for your own property--because, forsooth, the ship was not builton American stocks, where she would cost three times her value, and put ajob into the hands of a set of builders of river steamboats and harbormudscows. " Loud murmurs ran through the audience, and cries of "That's so!" andcounter cries of "Freetrader!" were heard on all sides. John's great voicerang out like a trumpet. He knew the sensitiveness of his townsmen on thepoint. "I am not speaking against protection, " he said, and at the magic word"protection" a dead silence again fell over the vast crowd. "I say to you, 'Protect!' Protect, all of you, merchants, tradesmen, the great body ofthe commerce of this country; protect whatever you all decide togetherneeds protection. But by the greatness and the power you have, by theHeaven that gave us this land of ours to till and to enjoy, protect alsoyourselves and your liberties. " A patriotic phrase in the mouth of a man who has the golden gift ofspeech, coupled with the statement of a principle popular with hisaudience, is a sure point in an oration. Something in John's tone andgesture touched the sympathetic chord, and the house broke out in a greatcry of applause. An orator cannot always talk in strict logical sequence. He must searchabout for the right nail till he has found it, and then drive it home. "Aye, that is the point, " he said. "You men of Boston here, look to yourharbors, crowded with English craft, and think of what is gone, lost toyou forever, unless you will strike a blow for it. Many of you are oldenough to remember how it used to be. Look at Salem Harbor, at Marblehead. Where are the fleets of noble ships that lay side by side along the greatdocks, the ships that did half the carrying trade of the world? Where arethe great merchantmen that used to sail so grandly away to the East andthat came home so richly laden? They are sunk or gone to pieces, or soldas old timber and copper and nails to the gentlemen who build mudscows. What are the great merchants doing who owned those fleets? They areemploying their time in building railroads with English iron and foreignlabor into desolate deserts in the West, which they hope to sell for ahandsome profit, and probably will. But when there are no more desolatedeserts and English iron and foreign labor to be had, they will wish theyhad their ships again, and that in all these years they had got possessionof the carrying trade of the world, as they might have done. "That is what I am here to say. The time is come to give up the shifts andunstable expedients that we needed, or thought we needed, in our earlybeginnings. Let us pull down all these scaffoldings and stages that havehelped us to build, and let us see whether our fabric will stand upon itsbase, erect, without the paltry support of a few rotting timbers. Let ussubstitute the permanent for the transitory, the stable for the unstable, and the reality for the sham. Let us have a Civil Service in fact as wellas in name, a service of men trained to their duties, and who shall spendtheir lives in fulfilling them; a service of competent men to represent usabroad, and a service of honest men to do the country's business at home, instead of making the country do theirs and being paid for it into thebargain. Let us put men into Congress who will cover the seas with ourships again, as well as make our harbors impassable with a competition ofcheap ferry-boats. Begin here, as you began here more than a hundred yearsago, and as you succeeded then you will succeed now. "Begin, and go on, and God prosper you; and when the work is done, whenbribery and extortion and all corruption are crushed forever out of ourpublic life, when the Navigation Act is a thing of the past, and you areagain the carriers of the world's commerce as well as the greatest sharersin it, then it will be time enough to give a name to the men who shallhave done all these things, Republicans and Democrats together, a newparty, the last and the greatest of all parties that the country has everseen. You will find a name, surely enough, that will answer the purposethen; but whatever that name may be, it will not be forgotten that, forthe third time in the history of our land, Massachusetts has struck thefirst and the strongest blow in the struggle for liberty, honor, andtruth. " Few men in public life had as good a right as John Harrington to denounceall manner of dishonesty. Many a speaker would have raised a sneeringlaugh by that last phrase, but even John's enemies admitted that his handswere clean. Coming from one of themselves it was a strong appeal, and theapplause was long and loud. With a courteous inclination John turned andleft the platform through the door at the back. He was well enough satisfied. His hearers had been moved for a moment toenthusiasm. They would go home and on mature reflection would not agreewith him; but a blow struck is a point in the fight so long as it is feltat all, and John was well pleased at the reception he had met with. He hadavoided every detail, and had confined himself to the widest generalities, but his homely illustrations would not be forgotten, and his strongindividuality had created a sincere desire in many who had been there thatnight to hear him speak again. For some minutes after John had left the platform, Josephine sat unmovedin her seat beside her aunt, lost in thought as she watched the surgingcrowd below. "Well, " said Miss Schenectady, "you have heard John Harrington now. " Joestarted. She had grown used to the implied interrogation her aunt usuallyconveyed in that way. "He is a great man, Aunt Zoë, " she said quietly, and looked round. Therewas a moisture in her beautiful brown eyes that told of great excitement. She was very pale too, and looked tired. "Yes, my dear, " said Aunt Zoruiah. "But we had better go home right away, Joe darling. You are so pale, I suppose you must be a good deal used up. " "Allow me to see you to your carriage, " said Pocock Vancouver in dulcettones, coming up to the two ladies as they rose. CHAPTER V. "Why can't you get in, Mr. Vancouver?" inquired Miss Schenectady, when sheand Joe were at last packed into the deep booby. It was simply a form ofinvitation. There was no reason why Mr. Vancouver should not get in, andwith a word of thanks he did so. Ten minutes later the three were seatedround the fire in Miss Schenectady's drawing-room. "It was very fine, was it not, Miss Thorn?" said Vancouver. "Yes, " said Joe, staring at the fire. "There are some people, " said Miss Schenectady, "it does not seem to makemuch difference what they say, but it is always fine. " "Is that ironical?" asked Vancouver. "Why, goodness gracious no! Of course not! I am John Harrington's verybest friend. I only mean to say. " "What, Aunt Zoë ?" inquired Joe, not yet altogether accustomed to thepeculiar implications of her aunt's language. "Why, what I said, of course; it sounds very fine. " "Then you do not believe it all?" asked Vancouver. "I don't understand politics, " said the old lady. "You might ring thebell, Joe, and ask Sarah for some tea. " "Nobody understands politics, " said Vancouver. "When people do, there willbe an end of them. Politics consist in one half of the world trying todrive paradoxes down the throats of the other half. " Joe laughed a little. "I do not know anything about politics here, " she said, "though I do athome, of course. I must say, though, Mr. Harrington did not seem so veryparadoxical. " "Oh no, " answered Vancouver, blandly, "I did not mean in this case. Harrington is very much in earnest. But it is like war, you see. Whenevery one understands it thoroughly, it will stop by universal consent. Did you ever read Bulwer's 'Coming Race'?" "Yes, " said Joe. "I always read those books. Vril, and that sort ofthing, you mean? Oh yes. " "Approximately, " answered Vancouver. "It was an allegory, you know. Ahundred years hence people will write a book to explain what Bulwer meant. Vril stands for the cumulative power of potential science, ofcourse. " "I think Bulwer's word shorter, and a good deal easier to understand, "said Joe, laughing. "It is a great thing to be great, " remarked Miss Schenectady. "Sarah, Ithink you might bring us some tea, please, and ask John if he couldn'tstir the furnace a little. And then to have people explain you. Goethemust be a good deal amused, I expect, when people write books to provethat Byron was Euphorion. " Miss Schenectady was fond of German literature, and the extent of her reading was a constant surprise to her niece. "What a lot of things you know, Aunt Zoë !" said Joe. "But what had Bulwerto do with war, Mr. Vancouver?" "Oh, in the book--the 'Coming Race, ' you know--they abolished war becausethey could kill each other so easily. " "How nice that would be!" exclaimed Joe, looking at him. "Why, you perfectly shock me, Joe, " cried Miss Schenectady. "I mean, to have no war, " returned Joe, sweetly. "Oh; I belonged to the Peace Conference myself, " said her aunt, immediately pacified. "Well, yes. Perhaps you could bring us a littlecake, Sarah? War is a terrible thing, my dear, as Mr. Vancouver will tellyou. " Vancouver, however, was silent. He probably did not care to have itremembered that he was old enough to carry a musket in the Rebellion. Joeunderstood and asked no Questions about it, and Vancouver was grateful forher tact. She rose and began to pour out some tea. "You began talking about Mr. Harrington's speech, " said she presently, "but we got away from the subject. Is it all true?" "That is scarcely a fair question, Miss Thorn, " answered Vancouver. "Yousee, I belong to the opposite party in politics. " "But Mr. Harrington said he wanted both parties to combine. Besides, youdo not take any active part in it all. " "I have very strong opinions, nevertheless, " replied Pocock. "Strong opinions and activity ought to go together, " said Joe. "Not always. " "But if you have strong opinions and disagree with Mr. Harrington, "persisted Miss Thorn, "then you have a strong opinion against your twoparties acting together for the common good. " "Not exactly that, " said Vancouver, embarrassed between the directness ofJoe's question and a very strong impression that he had better not sayanything against John Harrington. "Then what do you believe? Will you please give this cup to MissSchenectady?" Vancouver rose quickly to escape. "Cream and sugar, Miss Schenectady?" he said. "Ah, Miss Thorn has alreadyput them in. It is such celebrated tea of yours! Do you know, I alwayslook forward to a cup of it as one of the greatest pleasures in life!" "When you have quite done praising the tea, will you please tell me whatyou believe about Mr. Harrington's speech?" said the inexorable Joe, drowning her aunt's reply to Vancouver's polite remark. Thus cornered, Vancouver faced the difficulty. "I believe it was a very good speech, " he said mildly. "Do you believe what he said was true?" "A great deal of it was true, but I assure you that Harrington is veryenthusiastic. Much of it was extremely imaginative. " "I dare say; all that about making a Civil Service, I suppose?" "Well, not exactly. I think all good Republicans hope to have a regularCivil Service some day. It is necessary, or will be so before long. " "But then it is what he said about that ridiculous Navigation Act that youobject to?" pursued Joe, without mercy. "Really, I think it would be an advantage to repeal it. It is only kept upfor the sake of a few builders who have influence. " "Ah, I see, " exclaimed Joe triumphantly, "you think the hope he expressedthat bribery and that sort of thing might be suppressed was altogetherimaginary?" "I hope not, Miss Thorn. But I am sure there is not nearly so much of itas he made out. It was a very great exaggeration. " "Was there? Really, he only used the word once in the most general way. Iremember very well, at the end; he said, 'when bribery, corruption, andall extortion are crushed forever;' anybody might say that!" "You make out a wonderfully good case, Miss Thorn, " said Vancouver, whowas not altogether pleased; "was the speech printed before Harringtonspoke it this evening?" "No!" exclaimed Joe. "I have a very good memory, in that way, just toremember what I hear. I could repeat word for word everything he said, andeverything you have said since during the evening. " "What a terrible person you are!" said Vancouver, smiling pleasantly. "Well, then, now that you have proved every word of Harrington's speechout of an opponent's evidence, I will tell you frankly how it is that I donot agree with him. He is a Democrat, I am a Republican. That is the wholestory. I do not believe, nor shall I ever believe, that any large numberof the two parties can work together. I cannot help my belief in theleast; it is a matter of conscience. Nevertheless, I have a very greatrespect for Harrington, and as I take no active part whatever in anypolitical contest, my opinion of his politics will never interfere with mypersonal feeling for him. " Frankness seemed to be Mr. Vancouver's strong point. Joe was obliged toadmit that he spoke clearly, even if she did not greatly respect hislogic. During all this time, Miss Schenectady had been sipping her tea insilence. "Joe, " she said at last, "you are a perfect Socrates for questions. Youought to have been a lawyer. " "I wish I were, " said Joe, laughing, "or Socrates himself. " "Yes, you ought to have been. Here you know nothing at all about thisthing, and you have been talking like anything for half an hour. I thinkSocrates was perfectly horrid. " "So do I, " said Vancouver, laughing aloud. "Why?" Joe asked, turning to her aunt. "To be always stopping people in the street, and button-holing them withhis questions. Of course it was very clever, as Plato makes it out; but Ido wish he could have met me--when I was young, my dear. I would haveanswered him once and for all!" "Try me, Aunt Zoë, for practice, " said Joe, "until you meet him. " "Really, I expect you would do almost as well. Look at Mr. Vancouver, heis quite used up. " The case was not so serious with Mr. Vancouver as the old lady made it outto be. He was silent and to all intents vanquished for the present, but itwas not long before he turned the conversation to other things, andsucceeded in making himself very agreeable. He admired Josephine verymuch, and though she occasionally made him feel very uncomfortable, healways returned to the charge with renewed intelligence and sweetness. Joeliked him too, in spite of an unfounded suspicion she felt that he wasdangerous. He was always ready when she needed anything at a party; henever bored her, but whenever he saw she was wearied by any one else hecame up and saved her, clearing a place for himself at her side with anease that bespoke long and constant experience of the world. Women, especially young women, always like men of that description; they areflattered at the attention of a man who is so evidently able to choose, and they enjoy the immunity from all annoyance and weariness that such menare able to carry with them. Consequently Joe accepted the attentions of Pocock Vancouver with acertain amount of satisfaction, and she had not been displeased that heshould come to Miss Schenectady's house for tea. The evening passedquickly, and Vancouver took his leave. As he opened the front door to lethimself out he nearly fell over a small telegraph messenger. "Thorn here?" inquired the boy, laconically. "Yes, I'll take it in, " said Vancouver quickly. He went back with thetelegram, and the boy stood inside the door waiting for the receipt. Henoticed the stamp of the Cable Office on the envelope. "Miss Thorn, " said Vancouver, entering the drawing-room again, hat inhand, "I just met this telegram on the steps, so I brought it in. It mayneed an answer, you know. " "Thanks, so much, " said Joe, tearing open the pale yellow cover. She wasstartled, not being accustomed to receive telegrams. Her brow contractedas she read the contents, and she tapped her small foot on the carpetimpatiently. THORN, care Schenectady, Beacon, Boston. Sailed to-day. RONALD. Josephine crushed the paper in her hand and signed the receipt with thepencil Vancouver offered her. "Thanks, so much, " she said again, but in a different tone of voice. "Any answer?" suggested Vancouver. "Thanks, no, " answered Joe. "Good-night again. " "Good-night. " And Vancouver departed, wondering what the message couldhave been. Miss Schenectady had looked on calmly throughout the little scene, andnodded to Pocock as he left the room; her peculiarities were chiefly thoseof diction; she was a well-bred old lady, not without wisdom. "Nothing wrong, Joe?" she inquired, when alone with her niece. "I hardly know, " answered Joe. "Ronald has just sailed from England. Isuppose he will be here in ten days. " "Business here?" asked Miss Schenectady. "Oh dear, no! He knows nothing about business. I wish he would stay athome. What a bore!" It was evident that Joe had changed her mind since she had written toRonald a fortnight before. It seemed to her now, when she looked forwardto Surbiton's coming, that he would not find his place in Boston societyso easily as she had done. Of course he would expect to see her every day, and to spend all his leisure hours at Miss Schenectady's house. Whatevershe happened to be doing, it would always be necessary to take Ronald intoconsideration, and the prospect did not please her at all. Ronald was a dear good fellow, of course, and she meant to marry him inthe end--at least, she probably would. But then, she intended to marry himat a more convenient season, some time in the future. She knew him well, and she was certain that when he saw her surrounded by her Bostonacquaintances, his British nature would assert itself, and he would claimher, or try to claim her, and persuade her to go away. She bid MissSchenectady good night, and went to her room; and presently, when she wassure every one was in bed in the house, she stole down to the drawing-roomagain, and sat alone by the remains of the coal-fire, thinking what sheshould do. Josephine Thorn was young and more full of life and activity than mostgirls of her age. She enjoyed what came in her way to enjoy with apassionate zest, and she had the reputation of being somewhat capriciousand changeable. But she was honest in all her thoughts, and very clear-sighted. People often said she spoke her mind too freely, and was notenough in awe of the veiled deity known in society as "The Thing. " Howshe hated it! How many times she had been told that what she said and didwas not quite "The Thing. " She knew now what Ronald would say when hecame, if he found her worshiped on all sides by Pocock Vancouver and hisyounger and less accomplished compeers. Ronald would say "it was ratherrough, you know. " She sat by the fire and thought the matter over, and when she came toformulating in her mind the exact words that Ronald would say, she pausedto think of him and how he would look. He was handsome--far handsomer thanVancouver or--or John Harrington. He was very nice; much nicer thanVancouver. John Harrington was different, "nice" did not describe him; butRonald was nicer than all the other men she knew. He would make a charminghusband. At the thought Joe started. "My husband!" she repeated aloud to herself in the silence. Then she rosequickly to her feet and leaned against the smooth white marblemantelpiece, and buried her face in her small white hands for an instant. "Oh no, no, no, no!" she cried aloud. "It is impossible; oh no! never! Inever really meant it; did I?" She stared at herself in the glass for afew seconds, and her face was very pale. Then she bent over her handsagain, and the tears came and wetted them a little, and at last she satdown as she had sat before, and stared vacantly at the fire. It would be very wrong to break Ronald's heart, she thought. He would cometo her so full of hope and gladness; how could she tell him she did notlove him? But how was it possible that in all these years she had never beforeunderstood that she could not marry him? It had always seemed so naturalto marry Ronald. And yet she must have always really felt just as she didto-night; only she had never realized it, never at all. Why had it comeover her so suddenly too? It would have been so much better if she could have seen the truth at home, before she parted from him; for it would beso hard for him to bear it now, after coming across the ocean to see her--so cruelly hard. Dear Ronald; and yet he must be told. Yes, there was no doubt about it, the very first meeting must explain itto him. He would say--what would he say? He would tell her she liked someone else better. Some one else! Some one who had stolen away her heart; of course he wouldsay that. But he would be wrong, for there was no one else, not one of allthese men she had seen, who had so much as breathed a word of love to her. None whom she liked nearly so much as Ronald, no, not one. For a long time she sat very quietly, following a train of thought thatwas half unconscious. Her lips moved now and then, as though she wererepeating something to herself, and gradually the pained and anxiousexpression of her face melted away into a look of peace. The old gilt clock upon the chimney-piece struck twelve in its shrillsteel tones. Josephine started at the sound, and passed one hand over hereyes as though to rouse herself, and at the same time a deep blush spreadover her delicate cheek. For with the voice of midnight there was also thevoice of a man ringing in her ears, and she heard the two together, sothat it seemed as though all the world must hear them also, and her gentlemaiden's soul was shamed at the thought. So it is that our loves are always with us, and though we search ourselvesdiligently to find them and rebuke them, we find them not; but if we giveup searching they come upon us unawares, and speak very soft words. Lovealso is a gentle thing, full of sweetness and peace, when he comes to usso; and though the maiden blushes at his speaking, she would not stop theears of her heart against him for all the world; and although the boytrembles and turn pale, and forgets to be boyish when, the fit is on him, nevertheless he goes near and worships, and loses his heart in learning a new language. So kind and soft is love, so tender and sweet-spoken, thatyou would think he would not so much as ruffle the leaf of a rose, norbreathe too sharply on a violet, lest he should hurt the flower-soulwithin; and if you treat him hospitably he is kind to the last, so thatwhen he is gone there is still a sweet savor of him left. But if you woulddrive him roughly away with scorn and rude language, he will stand at yourdoor and will not leave you. Then his wings drop from him, and he growsstrong and fierce, and deadly and beautiful, as the fallen archangel ofheaven, crying aloud bitter things to you by day and night; till at thelast he will break down bolt and bar and panel, and enter your chamber, and drag you out with him to your death in the wild darkness. But Josephine blushed deeply there in the old-fashioned drawing-room atmidnight, and as she turned away she wondered at herself, for she couldnot believe nor understand what was happening. Poor girl! She had talked of love so often as an abstract thing, she hadseen so many love-makings of others, and so many men had tried to makelove to her in her short brilliant life, and she had always thought itcould not come near her, because, of course, she really loved Ronald. Shehad marveled, indeed, at what people were willing to do, and at what theywere ready to sacrifice, for a feeling that seemed to her of such littleimportance as that. It had been an illusion, and the waking had come atlast very suddenly. Whoever it might be whom she was destined to take, itwas not Ronald. It was madness to think she could be bound forever to him, however much she might admire him and desire him as a friend. When the clock struck she was thinking of John, and the words he had saidthat night to his great audience were ringing again in her ears. Sheblushed indeed at the idea that she was thinking so much of him, but itwas not that she believed she loved him. If as yet she really did, she washerself most honestly unconscious of it; and so the blush was notaccounted for in the reckoning she made. She lay awake long, trying to determine what was best to be done, but shecould not. One thing she must do; she must explain to Ronald, when he came, that she could never, never marry him. If only she had a sister, or some one! Dear Aunt Zoruiah was so horridabout such things that it was impossible to talk to her! CHAPTER VI. "Do you know how to skate?" Sybil Brandon asked of Joe as the two younggirls, clad in heavy furs, walked down the sunny side of Beacon Street twodays later. They were going from Miss Schenectady's to a "lunch party"--one of those social institutions of Boston which had most surprised Joe onher first arrival. "Of course, " answered Joe. "I do not know anything, but I can doeverything. " "How nice!" said Sybil. "Then you can go with us to-night. That will betoo lovely!" "What is it?" "We are all going skating on Jamaica Pond. Nobody has skated for so longhere that it is a novelty. I used to be so fond of it. " "We always skate at home, when there is ice, " said Joe. "It will beenchanting though, with the full moon and all. What time?" "Mrs. Sam Wyndham will arrange that, " said Sybil. "She is going tomatronize us. " "How dreadful, to have to be chaperoned!" ejaculated Joe. "But Mrs. Wyndham is very jolly after all, so it does not much matter. " "I believe they used to have Germans here without any mothers, " remarkedSybil, "but they never do now. " "Poor little things, how awfully lonely for them!" laughed Joe. "Who?" "The Germans--without their mothers. Oh, I forgot the German was thecotillon. You mean cotillons, without tapestry, as we say. " "Yes, exactly. But about the skating party. It will be very select, youknow; just ourselves. You know I never go out, " Sybil added rather sadly, "but I do love skating so. " "Who are 'ourselves'--exactly?" "Why, you and I, and the Sam Wyndhams, and the Aitchison girls, and Mr. Topeka, and Mr. Harrington, and Mr. Vancouver--let me see--and Miss St. Joseph, and young Hannibal. He is very nice, and is very attentive to MissSt. Joseph. " "Is it nice, like that, skating about in couples?" asked Joe. "No; that is the disagreeable part; but the skating is delicious. " "Let us stay together all the time, " said Joe spontaneously, "it will beever so much pleasanter. I would not exactly like to be paired off withany of those men, you know. " Sybil looked at Joe, opening her wide blue eyes in some astonishment. Shedid not think Joe was exactly one of those young women who object to amoonlight tête-à-tête, if properly chaperoned. "Yes, if you like, dear, " she said. "I would like it much better myself, of course. " "Do you know, Sybil, " said Joe, looking up at her taller companion, "Ishould not think you would care for skating and that sort of thing. " "Why?" asked Sybil. "You do not look strong enough. You are not a bit like me, brought up onhorseback. " "Oh, I am very strong, " answered Sybil, "only I am naturally pale, yousee, and people think I am delicate. " But the north wind kissed her fair face and the faint color came beneaththe white and through it, so that Joe looked at her and thought she wasthe fairest woman in the world that day. "When I was a little girl, " said Joe, "mamma used to tell me a story aboutthe beautiful Snow Angel: she must have been just like you, dear. " "What is the story?" asked Sybil, the delicate color in her cheekdeepening a little. "I will tell you to-night when we are skating, we have not time now. Herewe are. " And the two girls went up the steps of the house where they weregoing to lunch. On the other side of the street Pocock Vancouver and John Harrington met, and stopped to speak just as Joe and Sybil had rung the bell, and stoodwaiting at the head of the steps. "Don't let us look at each other so long as we can look at them, " saidVancouver, shaking hands with John, but looking across the street at thetwo girls. John looked too, and both men bowed. "They are pretty enough for anything, are they not?" continued Vancouver. "Yes, " said John, "they are very pretty. " With a nod and a smile Joe and Sybil disappeared into the house. "Why don't you marry her?" asked Vancouver. "Which? The English girl?" "No; Sybil Brandon. " "Thank you, I am not thinking of being married, " said John, a half-comic, half-contemptuous look in his strong face. "Miss Brandon could do betterthan marry a penniless politician, and besides, even if I wanted it, Icare too much for Miss Brandon's friendship to risk losing it by askingher to marry me. " "Nonsense, my dear fellow, " said Vancouver, "she would accept you straightoff. So would the other. " "You ought to know, " said John, eyeing his companion calmly. Vancouver looked away; it was generally believed that he had been refusedby Miss Brandon more than a year previous. "Well, you can take my word for it, you could not do better, " he answered, ambiguously. "There is no knowing how the moonlight effects on JamaicaPond may strike you this evening. I say, though, you were pretty lucky inhaving such warm weather the night before last. " "Yes, " said John. "The house was full. Were you there?" "Of course. If I were not a Republican I would congratulate you on yoursuccess. It is a long time since any one has made a Boston audience listento those opinions. You did it surprisingly well; that sentence aboutprotection was a masterpiece. I wish you were one of us. " "It is of no use arguing with you, " said John. "If it were, I could make aDemocrat of you in an afternoon. " "I make a pretty good thing of arguing, though, " answered the other. "It'smy trade, you see, and it is not yours. You lay down the law; it is mybusiness to make a living out of it. " "I wish I could lay it down, as you say, and lay it down accordingto my own ideas, " said John. "I would have something to say to yourailroad men. " "As for that, I should not care. Railroad law is stronger than iron andmore flexible than india-rubber, and the shape of it is of no importancewhatever. So long as there is enough of it to work with, you can twist itand untwist it as much as you please. " John laughed. "It would simplify matters to untwist it and cut it up into lengths, " hesaid. "But then your occupation would be gone. " "I think my occupation will last my life-time, " answered Vancouver, laughing in his turn. "Not if I can help it, " returned John. "But we can provide you withanother. Good-by. I am going to Cambridge. " They shook hands cordially, and John Harrington turned down CharlesStreet, while Vancouver pursued his way up the hill. He had been going inthe opposite direction when he met Harrington, but he seemed to havechanged his mind. He was not seen again that day until he went to dinewith Mrs. Sam Wyndham. There was no one there but Mr. Topeka and young John C. Hannibal, well-dressed men of five-and-thirty and five-and-twenty respectively, belongingto good families of immense fortune, and educated regardless of expense. No homely Boston phrase defiled their anglicized lips, their great collarsstood up under their chins in an ecstasy of stiffness, and their shirt-fronts bore two buttons, avoiding the antiquity of three and the vulgarityof one. Well-bred Anglo-maniacs both, but gentlemen withal, and courteousto the ladies. Mr. Topeka was a widower, John C. Hannibal was understoodto be looking for a wife. They came, they dined, and they retired to Sam Wyndham's rooms to dontheir boots and skating clothes. At nine o'clock the remaining ladiesarrived, and then the whole party got into a great sleigh and were drivenrapidly out of town over the smooth snow to Jamaica Pond. John Harringtonhad not come, and only three persons missed him--Joe Thorn, Mrs. Sam, andPocock Vancouver. The ice had been cut away in great quantities for storing and the thaw hadkept the pond open for a day or two. Then came the sharpest frost of thewinter, and in a few hours the water was covered with a broad sheet ofblack ice that would bear any weight. It was a rare piece of good fortune, but the fashion of skating had become so antiquated that no one tookadvantage of the opportunity; and as the party got out of the sleigh andmade their way down the bank, they saw that there was but one skaterbefore them, sweeping in vast solitary circles out in the middle of thepond, under the cold moonlight. The party sat on the bank in the shadow ofsome tall pine trees, preparing for the amusement, piling spare coats andshawls on the shoulders of a patient groom, and screwing and bucklingtheir skates on their feet. "What beautiful ice!" exclaimed Joe, when Vancouver had done his duty bythe straps and fastenings. She tapped the steel blade twice or thrice onthe hard black surface, still leaning on Vancouver's arm, and then, without a word of warning, shot away in a long sweeping roll. The gloriousvitality in her was all alive, and her blood thrilled and beat wildly inutter enjoyment. She did not go far at first, but seeing the others werelong in their preparations, she turned and faced them, skating awaybackwards, leaning far over to right and left on each changing stroke, andlistening with intense pleasure to the musical ring of the clanging steelon the clean ice. Some pride she felt, too, at showing the little knot ofBostonians how thoroughly at home she was in a sport they seemed toconsider essentially American. Joe had not noticed the solitary skater, and thought herself alone, but ina few moments she was aware of a man in an overcoat bowing before her ashe slackened his speed. She turned quickly to one side and stoppedherself, for the man was John Harrington. "Why, where did you come from, Mr. Harrington?" she asked in someastonishment. "You were not hidden under the seats of the sleigh, wereyou?" "Not exactly, " said John, looking about for the rest of the party. "I wasbelated in Cambridge this afternoon, so I borrowed a pair of skates andwalked over. Splendid ice, is it not?" "I am so glad you came, " said Joe. She was in such high spirits and was sogenuinely pleased at meeting John that she forgot to be cold to him. "Itwould have been a dreadful pity to have missed this. " "It would indeed, " said John, skating slowly by her side. For down by the pine trees two or three figures began to move on the ice. "I want to thank you, Mr. Harrington, " said Joe. "What for, Miss Thorn?" he asked. "For the pleasure you gave me the other night, " she answered. "I have notseen you since to speak to. It was splendid!" "Thanks, " said John. "I saw you there, in the gallery on my left. " "Yes; but how could you have time to look about and recognize people? Youmust have splendid eyes. " "It is all a habit, " said John. "When one has been before an audience afew times one does not feel nervous, and so one has time to look about. Doyou care for that sort of thing, Miss Thorn?" "Oh, ever so much. But I was frightened once, when they began to grumble. " "There was nothing to fear, " said John, laughing. "Audiences of that kinddo not punctuate one's speeches with cabbages and rotten eggs. " "They do sometimes in England, " said Joe. "But here come the others!" Two and two, in a certain grace of order, the little party came out fromthe shore into the moonlight. The women's faces looked white and waxenagainst their rich furs, and the moonbeams sparkled on their ornaments. Avery pretty sight is a moonlight skating party, and Pocock Vancouver knewwhat he was saying when be hinted at the mysterious and romanticinfluences that are likely to be abroad on such occasions. Indeed, it wasnot long before young Hannibal was sliding away hand in hand with Miss St. Joseph at a pace that did not invite competition. And Mr. Topeka decidedwhich of the Aitchison girls he preferred, and gave her his arm, so thatthe other fell to the lot of Sam Wyndham, while Mrs. Sam and Sybil Brandoncame out escorted by Vancouver, who noticed with some dismay that theparty was "a man short. " The moment he saw Joe talking to the solitaryskater, he knew that the latter must be Harrington, who had gone toCambridge and come across. John bowed to every one and shook hands withMrs. Wyndham. Joe eluded Vancouver and put her arm through Sybil's, asthough to take possession of her. Joe would have been well enough pleased at first to have been left withJohn, but the sight of Vancouver somehow reminded her of the compact shehad made in the morning with Sybil, and in a few moments the two girlswere away together, talking so persistently to each other that Vancouver, who at first followed them and tried to join their conversation, was fainto understand that he was not wanted, so that he returned to Mrs. Wyndham. "I want so much to talk to you, " Joe began, when they were alone. "Yes, dear?" said Sybil half interrogatively, as they moved along. "We cantalk here charmingly, unless Mr. Vancouver comes after us again. But youdo skate beautifully, you know. I had no idea you could. " "Oh, I told you I could do everything, " said Joe, with some pride. "Wheredid you get that beautiful fur, my dear? It is magnificent. You arejust like the Snow Angel now. " "In Russia. Everybody wears white fur there, you know. We were in St. Petersburg some time. " "I know. We cannot get it in England. If one could I would have toldRonald to bring me some when he comes. " "Who is Ronald?" asked Sybil innocently. "Oh, he is the dearest boy, " said Joe, with a little sigh, "but I do sowish he were not coming!" "Because he has not got the white fur?" suggested Sybil. "Oh no! But because"--Joe lowered her voice and spoke demurely, at thesame time linking her arm more closely in Sybil's. "You see, dear, hewants to marry me, and I am afraid he is coming to say so. " "And you do not want to marry him? Is that it?" Joe's small mouth closed tightly, and she merely nodded her head gravely, looking straight before her. Sybil pressed her arm sympathetically and wassilent, expecting more. "It was such a long time ago, you see, " said Joe, after a while. "I wasnot out when it was arranged, and it seemed so natural. But now--it isquite different. " "But of course, if you do not love him, you must not think of marryinghim, " said Sybil, simply. "I won't, " answered Joe, with sudden emphasis. "But I shall have to tellhim, you know, " she added despondently. "It is very hard to say those things, " said Sybil, in a tone ofreflection. "But of course it must be done--if you were really engaged, that is. " "Yes, almost really, " said Joe. "Not quite?" suggested Sybil. "I think not quite; but I know he thinks it is quite quite, you know. " "Well, but perhaps he is not so certain, after all. Do you know, I do notthink men really care so much; do you?" "Oh, of course not, " said Joe scornfully. "But it does not seem quitehonest to let a man think you are going to marry him if you do not meanto. " "But you did mean to, dear, until you found out you did not care for himenough. And just think how dreadful it would be to be married if you didnot care enough!" "Yes, that is true, " answered Joe. "It would be dreadful for him too. " "When is he coming?" asked Sybil. "I think next week. He sailed the day before yesterday. " "Then there is plenty of time to settle on what you want to say, " saidSybil. "If you make up your mind just how to put it, you know, it will beever so much easier. " "Oh no!" cried Joe. "I will trust to luck. I always do; it is mucheasier. " "Excuse me, Miss Brandon, " said the voice of Vancouver, who came up behindthem at a great pace, and holding his feet together let himself sliderapidly along beside the two girls, --"excuse me, but do you not think youare very unsociable, going off in this way?" "May I give you my arm, Miss Thorn?" asked Harrington, coming up on theother side. Without leaving each other Joe and Sybil took the proffered arms of thetwo men, and the four skated smoothly out into the middle of the ice, thatrang again in the frosty air under their joint weight. Mrs. Wyndham hadinsisted that Vancouver and Harrington should leave her and follow theyoung girls, and they had obeyed in mutual understanding. "Which do you like better, Miss Brandon, boating in Newport or skating onJamaica Pond?" asked Vancouver. "This is better than the Music Hall, is it not?" remarked John to MissThorn. "Oh, Jamaica Pond, by far, " Sybil answered, and her hold on Joe's armrelaxed a very little. "Oh no! I would a thousand times rather be in the Music Hall!" exclaimedJoe, and her hand slipped away from Sybil's white fur. And so the fourwere separated into couples, and went their ways swiftly under the glorious moonlight. As they parted Sybil turned her head and looked afterJoe, but Joe did not see her. "I would rather be here, " said John quietly. "Why?" asked Joe. "There is enough fighting in life to make peace a very desirable thingsometimes, " John answered. "A man cannot be always swinging his battle-axe. " There was a very slightshade of despondency in the tone of his voice. Joe noticed it at once. Women do not all worship success, however much they may wish theirchampion to win when they are watching him fight. In the brilliant, unfailing, all-conquering man, the woman who loves him feels pride; if shebe vain and ambitious, she feels wholly satisfied, for the time. Butwoman's best part is her gentle sympathy, and where there is no room atall for that, there is very often little room for love. In the changinghopes and fears of uncertain struggles, a woman's love well given andtruly kept may turn the scale for a man, and it is at such times, perhaps, that her heart is given best, and most loyally held by him who has it. "I wish I could do anything to help him to succeed, " thought Joe, in theinnocent generosity of her half-conscious devotion. "Has anything gone wrong?" she asked aloud. CHAPTER VII. "Has anything gone wrong?" There was so much of interest and sympathy inher tone, as Joe put the simple question, that John turned and looked intoher face. The magic of moonlight softens the hardest features, makesinterest look like friendship, and friendship like love; but it can hardentoo at times, and make a human face look like carved stone. "No, there is nothing wrong, " John answered presently; "what made youthink so?" "You spoke a little regretfully, " answered Joe. "Did I? I did not mean to. Perhaps one is less gay and less hopeful atsome times than at others. It has nothing to do with success or failure. " "I know, " answered Joe. "One can be dreadfully depressed when one isenjoying one's self to any extent. But I should not have thought you werethat sort of person. You seem always the same. " "I try to be. That is the great difference between people who live to workand people who live to amuse and be amused. " "How do you mean?" "I mean, " said John, "that people who work, especially people who have todo with large ideas and great movements, need to be more or lessmonotonous. The men who succeed are the men of one idea or at least theyare the men who only have one idea at a time. " "Whereas people who live to amuse and be amused must have as many ideas aspossible. " "Yes, to play with, " said John, completing the sentence. "Their life isplay, their ideas are their playthings, and so soon as they have spoiledone toy they must have another. The people who supply ideas to an idlepublic are very valuable, and may have great power. " "Novel-writers, and that sort of people, " suggested Joe. "All producers of light literature and second-rate poetry, and a verygreat variety of other people besides. A man who amuses others may oftenbe a worker himself. He raises a laugh or excites a momentary interest bygetting rid of his superfluous ideas and imaginations, reserving tohimself all the time the one idea in which he believes. " "Not at all a bad theory, " said Joe. "There are more men of that sort with you in Europe than with us. You needmore amusement, and you will generally give more for it. You English, whoare uncommonly fond of doing nothing, give yourselves vast trouble in thepursuit of pleasure. We Americans, who are ill when we are idle, arecontent to surround ourselves with the paraphernalia of pleasure whenoffice hours are over; but we make very little use of our opportunitiesfor amusement, being tired out at the end of the day with other thingswhich we think more important. The result is that we have no such thing aswhat you denominate 'Society, ' because we lack the prime element ofaristocratic social intercourse, the ingrained determination to be idle. " "You are very hard on us, " remarked Joe. "Excuse me, " returned John, "you are compensated by having what we havenot. Europeans are the most agreeable people in the world, wherever mutualand daily conversation and intercourse are to be considered. The majorityof you, of polite European society, are not troubled with any very largeideas, but you have an immense number of very charming and attractivesmall ones. In America there are only two ideas that practically affectsociety, but they are very big ones indeed. " "What?" asked Joe laconically, growing interested in John's queer lecture. "Money and political influence, " answered John Harrington. "They are thetwo great motors of our machine. All men who are respected among us are inpursuit of one or the other, or have attained to one or the other by theirown efforts. The result is, that European society is amusing andagreeable; whereas Americans of the same class are more interesting, lesspolished, better acquainted with the general laws that govern thedevelopment of nations. " "Really, Mr. Harrington, " said Joe, "you aremaking us out to be very insignificant. And I think it would be very dullif we all had to understand ever so many general laws. Besides, I do notagree with you. " "About what, Miss Thorn?" "About Americans. They talk better than Englishmen, as a rule. " "But I am comparing Americans with the whole mass of Europeans, " Johnobjected. "The English are a rather silent race, I should say. " "Cold, you think?" suggested Joe. "No, not cold. Perhaps less cold than we are; but less demonstrative. " "I like that, " answered Joe. "I like people to feel more than they show. " "Why?" asked John. "Why should not people be perfectly natural, and showwhen they feel anything, or be cold when they do not?" "I think when youknow some one feels a great deal and hides it, that gives one the idea ofreserved strength. " They had reached a distant part of the ice, and were slowly skating roundthe limits of a little bay, where the slanting moonbeams fell through tallold trees upon the glinting black surface. They were quite alone, only inthe distance they could hear the long-drawn clang and ring of the otherskaters, echoing all along the lake with a tremulous musical sound in thestill bright night. "You must be very cold yourself, Mr. Harrington, " Joebegan again after a pause, stopping and looking at him. John laughed a little. "I?" he cried. "No, indeed, I am the most enthusiastic man alive. " "You are when you are speaking in public, " said Joe. "But that may be allcomedy, you know. Orators always study their speeches, with all thegestures and that, before a glass, don't they?" "I do not know, " said John. "Of course I know by heart what I am going tosay, when I make a speech like that of the other evening, but I ofteninsert a great deal on the spur of the moment. It is not comedy. I growvery much excited when I am speaking. " "Never at any other time?" asked Joe. "Seldom; why should I? I do not feel other things or situations sostrongly. " "In other words, " replied Joe, "it is just as I said; you are generallyvery cold. " "I suppose so, " John acquiesced, "since you will not allow the occasionswhen I am not cold to be counted. " Joe looked down as she stood, and moved her skates slowly on the ice; theshadows hid her face. "Do you know, " she said presently, "you lose a great deal; you must, youcannot help it. You only like people in a body, so as to see what you cando with them. You only care for things on a tremendously big scale, sothat you may try to influence them. When you have not a crowd to talk to, or a huge scheme to argue about, you are bored to extinction. " "No, " said John; "I am not bored at present, by any means. " "Because you are talking about big things. Most men in your place would betalking about the moonlight, and quoting Shelley. " "To oblige you, Miss Thorn, I could quote a little now and then, " saidJohn, laughing. "Would it please you? I dare say you have seen elephantsstand upon their hind legs and their heads alternately. I should feel verymuch like one; but I will do anything to oblige you. " "That is frivolous, " said Joe, who did not smile. "Of course it is. I am heavy by nature. You may teach me all sorts oftricks, but they will not be at all pretty. " "No, you are very interesting as you are, " said Joe quietly. "But I do notthink you will be happy. " "It is not a question of happiness. " "What is it then?" "Usefulness, " said John. "You do not care to be happy, you only care to be useful?" Joe asked. "Yes. But my ideas of usefulness include many things. Some of the peoplewho listen to me would be very much astonished if they knew what I dream. " "Nothing would astonish me, " said Joe, thoughtfully. "Of course you mustthink of everything in a large way--it is your nature. You will be a greatman. " John looked at his companion. She had struck the main chord of his naturein her words, and he felt suddenly that thrill of pleasure which comesfrom the flattery of our pride and our hopes. John was not a vain man, buthe was capable of being intoxicated by the grandeur of a scheme when thepossibility of its realization was suddenly thrust before him. Like allmen of exceptional gifts who are constantly before the public, he couldestimate very justly the extent of the results he could produce on anygiven occasion, but his enthusiastic belief in his ideas could see nolimit to the multiplication of those results. His strong will and naturalmodesty about himself constantly repressed any desire he might have tospeak over-confidently of ultimate success, so that the prediction ofultimate success by some one else was doubly sweet to him. We Americanshave said of ourselves that we are the only nation who accomplish what wehave boasted of. Rash speech and rash action are our nationalcharacteristics, and lead us into all manner of trouble, but in so far assuch qualifications or defects imply a positive conviction of success, they contribute largely to the realization of great schemes. No one cansucceed who does not believe in himself, nor can any scheme be realizedwhich has not gained the support of a sufficient number of men who believein it and in themselves. John was gratified by Miss Thorn's speech, for he saw that it wasspontaneous. "I will try to be great, " he said, "for the sake of what I think isgreat. " There was a short pause, and the pair by common consent skated slowly outof the shadow into the broad moonlight. "Not that I believe you will be happy if you think of nothing else, " saidJoe presently. "In order to do anything well, one must think of nothing else, " answeredJohn. "Many great men find time to be great and to do many other things, " saidJoe. "Look at Mr. Gladstone; he has an immense private correspondenceabout things that interest him, quite apart from the big things he isalways doing. " "When a man has reached that point he may find plenty of time to spare, "answered Harrington. "But until he has accomplished the main object of hislife he must not let anything take him from his pursuit. He must form noties, he must have no interests, that do not conduce to his success. Ithink a man who enters on a political career must devote himself to it asexclusively as a missionary Jesuit attacks the conversion of unbelievers, as wholly as a Buddhist ascetic gives himself to the work of uniting hisindividual intelligence with the immortal spirit that gives it life. " "I do not agree with you, " said Joe decisively, and in her womanlyintelligence of life she understood the mistake John made. "I cannot agreewith you. You are mixing up political activity, which deals with thegovernment of men, with spiritual ideas and immortality, and that sort ofthing. " "How so?" asked John, in some surprise. "I am quite sure, " said Joe, "that to govern man a man must be human, andthe imaginary politician you tell me of is not human at all. " "And yet I aspire to be that imaginary politician, " said John. "Do not think me too dreadfully conceited, " Joe answered, "in talkingabout such things. Of course I do not pretend to understand them, but I amquite sure people must be like other people--I mean in good ways--or otherpeople will not believe in them, you know. You are not vexed, are you?"She looked up into John's face with a little timid smile that might havedone wonders to persuade a less prejudiced person than Harrington. "No indeed! why should I be vexed? But perhaps some day you will believethat I am right. " "Oh no, never!" exclaimed Joe, in a tone of profound conviction. "You willnever persuade me that people are meant to shut themselves from theirfellow-creatures, and not be human, and that. " "And yet you were so good as to say that you thought I might attaingreatness, " said John, smiling. "Yes, I think you will. But you will change your mind about a great manythings before you do. " John's strong face grew thoughtful, and the white moonlight made hisfeatures seem harder and sterner than ever. Slowly the pair glided overthe polished black ice, now marked here and there with clean white curvesfrom the skates, and in a few minutes they were once more within hail ofthe remainder of their party. CHAPTER VIII. Eight days after the skating party, Ronald Surbiton telegraphed from NewYork that he would reach Boston the next morning, and Josephine Thorn knewthat the hour had come. She was not afraid of the scene that must takeplace, but she wished with all her heart that it were over. As Sybil Brandon had told her, there had been time to think of what sheshould say, and although she had answered recklessly that she would "trustto luck, " she knew when the day was come that she had in reality thoughtintensely of the very words which must be spoken. To Miss Schenectady shehad said nothing, but on the other hand she had become very intimate withSybil, and to tell the truth, she hoped inwardly for the support andsympathy of her beautiful friend. Meanwhile, since her long evening with John Harrington on the ice, she hadmade every effort to avoid his society. Like many very young women with avivid love of enjoyment and a fairly wide experience, she was something ofa fatalist. That is to say, she believed that her evil destiny mightspring upon her unawares at any moment, and she felt something when shewas with Harrington that warned her. For the first time in her life sheknew what it was to have moods of melancholy; she caught herself askingwhat was really the end and object of her gay life, whether it amounted toanything worthy in comparison with the trouble one had to take to amuseone's self, whether it would not be far better in the end to live likeMiss Schenectady, reading and studying and caring nothing for the world. Not that Josephine admired Miss Schenectady, or thought that she herselfcould ever be like her. The old lady was a type of her class; intelligentand well versed in many subjects--even learned she might have been calledby some. But to Joe's view, essentially European by nature and education, it seemed as though her aunt, like many Bostonians, judged everything--literature, music, art of all kinds, history and the doings of great men--by one invariable standard. Her comments on what she heard and read wereuniformly delivered from the same point of view, in the same tone ofpractical judgment, and with the same assumption of original superiority. It was the everlasting "Carthago delenda" of the Roman orator. Whateverthe world wrote, sang, painted, thought, or did, the conviction remainedunshaken in Miss Schenectady's mind that Beacon Street was better thanthose things, and that of all speeches and languages known and spoken inthe world's history, the familiar dialect of Boston was the one bestcalculated by Providence and nature to express and formulate all manner ofwisdom. It is a strange thing that where criticism is on the whole so fair, andcultivation of the best faculties so general, the manner of expressing ajudgment and of exhibiting acquired knowledge should be such as to jarunpleasantly on the sensibilities of Europeans. Where is the realdifference? It probably lies in some subtle point of proportion in thepsychic chemistry of the Boston mind, but the analyst who shall expressthe formula is not yet born; though there be those who can cast thespectrum of Boston existence and thought upon their printed screens withmatchless accuracy. Joe judged but did not analyze. She said Miss Schenectady was alwaysright, but that the way she was right was "horrid. " Consequently she didnot look to her aunt for sympathy or assistance, and though they had morethan once talked of Ronald Surbiton since receiving his cable fromEngland, Joe had not said anything of her intentions regarding him. Whenthe second telegram arrived from New York, saying that he would be inBoston on the following morning, Joe begged that Miss Schenectady would beat home to receive him when he came. "Well, if you insist upon it, I expect I shall have to, " said MissSchenectady. She did not see why her niece should require her presence atthe interview; young men may call on young ladies in Boston withoutencountering the inevitable chaperon, or being obliged to do their talkingin the hearing of a police of papas, mammas, and aunts. But as Joe"insisted upon it, " as the old lady said, she "expected there were no twoways about it. " Her expectations were correct, for Joe would have refusedabsolutely to receive Ronald alone. "I know the value of a stern aunt, my dear, " she had said to Sybil the dayprevious. When matters were arranged, therefore, they went to bed, and inthe morning Miss Schenectady sat in state in the front drawing-room, reading the life of Mr. Ticknor until Ronald should arrive. Joe was up-stairs writing a note to Sybil Brandon, wherein the latter was asked tolunch and to drive in the afternoon. Ronald could not come before teno'clock with any kind of propriety, and they could have luncheon early andthen go out; after which the bitterness of death would be past. It was not quite ten o'clock when Ronald Surbiton rang the bell, and wasturned into the drawing-room to face an American aunt for the first timein his life. "Miss Schenectady?" said he, taking the proffered hand of the old lady andthen bowing slightly. He pronounced her name Schenectady, with a strongaccent on the penultimate syllable. "Schenectady, " corrected his hostess. "I expect you are Mr. Surbiton. " "A--exactly so, " said Ronald, in some embarrassment. "Well, we are glad to see you in Boston, Mr. Surbiton. " Miss Schenectadyresumed her seat, and Ronald sat down beside her, holding his hat in hishand. "Put your hat down, " said the old lady. "What sort of a journey did youhave?" "Very fair, thanks, " said Ronald, depositing his hat on the floor besidehim, "in fact I believe we came over uncommonly quick for the time ofyear. How is"-- "What steamer did you come by?" interrupted Miss Schenectady. "The Gallia. She is one of the Cunarders. But as I was going to ask"-- "Yes, an old boat, I expect. So you came on right away from New Yorkwithout stopping?" "Exactly, " answered Ronald. "I took the first train. The fact is, I was soanxious--so very anxious to"-- "What hotel are you at here?" inquired Miss Schenectady, without lettinghim finish. "Brunswick. How is Miss Thorn?" Ronald succeeded at last in putting thequestion he so greatly longed to ask--the only one, he supposed, whichwould cause a message to be sent to Joe announcing his arrival. "Joe? She is pretty well. I expect she will be down in a minute. Are yougoing to stay some while, Mr. Surbiton?" Ronald thought Miss Schenectady the most pitiless old woman he had evermet. In reality she had not the most remote intention of being anythingbut hospitable. But her idea of hospitality at a first meeting seemed toconsist chiefly in exhibiting a great and inquisitive interest in theindividual she wished to welcome. Besides, Joe would probably come downwhen she was ready, and so it was necessary to talk in the mean time. Atlast Ronald succeeded in asking another question. "Excuse the anxiety I show, " he said simply, "but may I ask whether MissThorn is at home?" "Perhaps if you rang the bell I could send for her, " remarked the old ladyin problematic answer. "Oh, certainly!" exclaimed Ronald, springing to his feet, and searchingmadly round the room for the bell. Miss Schenectady watched him calmly. "I think if you went to the further side of the fire-place you would findit--back of the screen, " she suggested. "Thanks; here it is, " cried Ronald, discovering the handle in the wall. "Yes, you have found it now, " said Miss Schenectady with muchindifference. "Perhaps you find it cold here?" she continued, observingthat Ronald lingered near the fire-place. "Oh dear, no, thanks, quite the contrary, " he answered. "Because if it is you might--Sarah, I think you could tell Miss Josephinethat Mr. Surbiton is in the parlor, could not you?" "Oh, if it is any inconvenience"--Ronald began, misunderstanding the formof address Miss Schenectady used to her handmaiden. "Why?" asked Miss Schenectady, in some astonishment. "Nothing, " said Ronald, looking rather confused; "I did not quite catchwhat you said. " There was a silence, and the old lady and the young man looked at eachother. Ronald was a very handsome man, as Joe knew. He was tall and straight anddeep-chested. His complexion was like a child's, and his fine moustachelike silk. His thick fair hair was parted accurately in the middle, andhis smooth, white forehead betrayed no sign of care or thought. His eyeswere blue and very bright, and looked fearlessly at every one andeverything, and his hands were broad and clean-looking. He was perfectlywell dressed, but in a fashion far less extreme than that affected by Mr. Topeka and young John C. Hannibal. There was less collar and more shoulderto him, and his legs were longer and straighter than theirs. Nevertheless, had he stood beside John Harrington, no one would have hesitated aninstant in deciding which was the stronger man. With all his beauty andgrace, Ronald Surbiton was but one of a class of handsome and gracefulmen. John Harrington bore on his square brow and in the singularcompactness of his active frame the peculiar sign-manual of an especialpurpose. He would have been an exception in any class and in any age. Itwas no wonder Joe had wished to compare the two. In a few moments the door opened, and Joe entered the drawing-room. Shewas pale, and her great brown eyes had a serious expression in them thatwas unusual. There was something prim in the close dark dress she wore, and the military collar of most modern cut met severely about her throat. If Ronald had expected a very affectionate welcome he was destined todisappointment; Joe had determined not to be affectionate until all wasover. To prepare him in some measure for what was in store, she hadplanned that he should be left alone for a time with Miss Schenectady, who, she thought, would chill any suitor to the bone. "My dear Ronald, " said Joe, holding out her hand, "I am so glad to seeyou. " Her voice was even and gentle, but there was no gladness in it. "Not half so glad as I am to see you, " said Ronald, holding her hand inhis, his face beaming with delight. "It seems such an age since you left!" "It is only two months, though, " said Joe, with a faint smile. "I ought toapologize, but I suppose you have introduced yourself to Aunt Zoë. " Shecould not call her Aunt Zoruiah, even for the sake of frightening Ronald. "What did you think when you got my telegram?" asked the latter. "I thought it was very foolish of you to run away just when the huntingwas so good, " answered Joe with decision. "But you are glad, are you not?" he asked, lowering his voice, and lookingaffectionately at her. Miss Schenectady was again absorbed in the life ofMr. Ticknor. "Yes, " said Joe, gravely. "It is as well that you have come, because Ihave something to say to you, and I should have had to write it. Let us goout. Would you like to go for a walk?" Ronald was delighted to do anything that would give him a chance ofescaping from Aunt Zoruiah and being alone with Joe. "I think you had best be back to lunch, " remarked Miss Schenectady as theyleft the room. "Of course, Aunt Zoë, " answered Joe. "Besides, Sybil is coming, you know. "So they sallied forth. It was a warm day; the snow had melted from the brick pavement, and thegreat icicles on the gutters and on the trees were running water in themid-day sun. Joe thought a scene would be better to get over in thepublicity of the street than in private. Ronald, all unsuspecting of herintention, walked calmly by her side, looking at her occasionally with acertain pride, mixed with a good deal of sentimental benevolence. "Do you know, " Joe began presently, "when your cable came I felt veryguilty at having written to you that you might come?" "Why?" asked Ronald, innocently. "You know I would come from the end ofthe world to see you. I have, in fact. " "Yes, I know, " said Joe wearily, wishing she knew exactly how to say whatshe was so thoroughly determined should be said. "What is the matter, Joe?" asked Ronald, suddenly. He smiled rathernervously, but his smooth brow was a little contracted. He anticipatedmischief. "There is something the matter, Ronald, " she said at last, resolved tomake short work of the revelation of her feelings. "There is somethingvery much the matter. " "Well?" said Surbiton, beginning to be alarmed. "You know, Ronald dear, somehow I think you have thought--honestly, I knowyou have thought for a long time that you were to marry me. " "Yes, " said Ronald with a forced laugh, for he was frightened. "I havealways thought so; I think so now. " "It is of no use to think it, Ronald dear, " said Joe, turning very pale. "I have thought of it too--thought it all over. I cannot possibly marryyou, dear boy. Honestly, I cannot. " Her voice trembled violently. Howeverfirmly she had decided within herself, it was a very bitter thing to say;she was so fond of him. "What?" asked Ronald hoarsely. But he turned red instead of pale. It wasrather disappointment and anger that he felt at the first shock thansorrow or deep pain. "Do not make me say it again, " said Joe, entreatingly. She was not used toentreating so much as to commanding, and her voice quavered uncertainly. "Do you mean to say, " said Ronald, speaking loudly in his anger, and thendropping his voice as he remembered the passers-by, --"do you mean to tellme, Joe, after all this, when I have come to America just because you toldme to, that you will not marry me? I do not believe it. You are making funof me. " "No, Ronald, " Joe answered sorrowfully, but regaining her equanimity inthe face of Surbiton's wrath, "I am in earnest. I am very, very fond ofyou, but I do not love you at all, and I never can marry you. " Ronald was red in the face, and he trod fast and angrily, tapping thepavement with his stick. He was very angry, but he said nothing. "It is much better to be honest about it, " said Joe, still very pale; andwhen she had spoken, her little mouth closed tightly. "Oh, yes, " said Ronald, who was serious by this time; "it is much betterto be honest, now that you have brought me three thousand miles to hearwhat you have to say--much better. By all means. " "I am very sorry, Ronald, " Joe answered. "I really did not mean you tocome, and I am very sorry, --oh, more sorry than I can tell you, --but Icannot do it, you know. " "If you won't, of course you can't, " he said. "Will you please tell me whohe is?" "Who?--what?" asked Joe, coldly. She was offended at the tone. "The fellow you have pitched upon in my place, " he said roughly. Joe looked up into his face with an expression that frightened him. Herdark eyes flashed with an honest fire, He stared angrily at her as theywalked slowly along. "I made a mistake, " she said slowly. "I am not sorry. I am glad. I wouldbe ashamed to marry a man who could speak like that to any woman. I amsorry for you, but I am glad for myself. " She looked straight into hiseyes, until he turned away. For some minutes they went on in silence. "I beg your pardon, Joe, " said Ronald presently, in a subdued tone. "Never mind, Ronald dear, I was angry, " Joe answered. But her eyes werefull of tears, and her lips quivered. Again they went on in silence, but for a longer time than before. Joe feltthat the blow was struck, and there was nothing to be done but to wait theresult. It had been much harder than she had expected, because Ronald wasso angry; she had expected he would be pained. He, poor fellow, was reallystartled out of all self-control. The idea that Joe could ever ultimatelyhesitate about marrying him had never seemed to exist, even among theremotest possibilities. But he was a gentleman in his way, and so hebegged her pardon, and chewed the cud of his wrath in silence for sometime. "Joe, " he said at last, with something of his usual calm, though he wasstill red, "of course you are really perfectly serious? I mean, you havethought about it?" "Yes, " said Joe; "I am quite sure. " "Then perhaps it is better we should go home, " he continued. "Perhaps so, " said Joe. "Indeed, it would be better. " "I would like to see you again, Joe, " he said in a somewhat brokenfashion. "I mean, by and by, when I am not angry, you know. " Joe smiled at the simple honesty of the proposition. "Yes, Ronald dear, whenever you like. You are very good, Ronald, " sheadded. "No, I am not good at all, " said Ronald sharply, and they did not speakagain until he left her at Miss Schenectady's door. Then she gave him herhand. "I shall be at home until three o'clock, " said she. "Thanks, " he answered; so they parted. Joe had accomplished her object, but she was very far from happy. Theconsciousness of having done right did not outweigh the pain she felt forRonald, who was, after all, her very dear friend. They had grown uptogether from earliest childhood, and so it had been settled; for Ronaldwas left an orphan when almost a baby, and had been brought up with hiscousin as a matter of expediency. Therefore, as Joe said, it had alwaysseemed so very natural. They had plighted vows when still in pinaforeswith a ring of grass, and later they had spoken more serious things, whichit hurt Joe to remember, and now they were suffering the consequence of itall, and the putting off childish illusions was bitter. It was not long before Sybil Brandon came in answer to Joe's invitation. She knew what trouble her friend was likely to be in, and was ready to doanything in the world to make matters easier for her. Besides, thoughSybil was so white and fair, and seemingly cold, she had a warm heart, andhad conceived a very real affection for the impulsive English girl. MissSchenectady had retired to put on another green ribbon, leaving the lifeof Mr. Ticknor open on the table, and the two girls met in the drawing-room. Joe was still pale, and the tears seemed ready to start from hereyes. "Dear Sybil--it is so good of you to come, " said she. Sybil kissed her affectionately and put her arm round her waist. Theystood thus for a moment before the fire. "You have seen him?" Sybil asked presently. Joe had let her head restwearily against her friend's shoulder, and nodded silently in answer. Sybil bent down and kissed her soft hair, and whispered gently in herear, --"Was it very hard, dear?" "Oh, yes--indeed it was!" cried Joe, hiding her face on Sybil's breast. Then, as though ashamed of seeming weak, she stood up boldly, turningslightly away as she spoke. "It was dreadfully hard, " she continued; "butit is all over, and it is very much better--very, very much, you know. " "I am so glad, " said Sybil, looking thoughtfully at the fire. "And now wewill go out into the country and forget all about it--all about thedisagreeable part of it. " "Perhaps, " said Joe, who had recovered her equanimity, "Ronald may cometoo. You see he is so used to me that after a while it will not seem tomake so very much difference after all. " "Of course, if he would, " said Sybil, "it would be very nice. He will haveto get used to the idea, and if he does not begin at once, perhaps henever may. " "He will be just the same as ever when he gets over his wrath, " answeredJoe confidently. "Was he very angry?" "Oh, dreadfully! I never saw him so angry. " "It is better when men are angry than when they are sorry, " said Sybil. "Something like this once happened to me, and he got over it very well. Ithink it was much more my fault, too, " she added thoughtfully. "Oh, I am sure you never did anything bad in your life, " said Joeaffectionately. "Nothing half so bad as this--my dear Snow Angel!" And sothey kissed again and went to lunch. "I suppose you went to walk, " remarked Miss Schenectady, when they met attable. "Yes, " said Joe, "we walked a little. " "Well, all Englishmen walk, of course, " continued her aunt. "Most of them can, " said Joe, smiling. "I mean, it is a great deal the right thing there. Perhaps you might passme the pepper. " Before they had finished their meal the door opened, and Ronald Surbitonentered the room. "Oh--excuse me, " he began, "I did not know"-- "Oh, I am so glad you have come, Ronald, " cried Joe, rising to greet him, and taking his hand. "Sybil, let me introduce Mr. Surbiton--Miss Brandon. " Sybil smiled and bent her head slightly. Ronald bowed and sat down betweenSybil and Miss Schenectady. CHAPTER IX. Josephine Thorn never read newspapers, partly because she did not care forthe style of literature known as journalistic, and partly, too, becausethe papers always came at such exceedingly inconvenient hours. If she hadpossessed and practiced the estimable habit of "keeping up with thetimes, " she would have observed an article which appeared on the morningafter the skating party, and which dealt with the speech John Harringtonhad made in the Music Hall two days previous. Miss Schenectady had readit, but she did not mention it to Joe, because she believed in JohnHarrington, and wished Joe to do likewise, wherefore she avoided thesubject; for the article treated him roughly. Nevertheless, some unknownperson sent Joe a copy of the paper through the post some days later, witha bright red pencil mark at the place, and Joe, seeing what the subjectwas, read it with avidity. As she read, her cheek flushed, her small mouthclosed like a vise, and she stamped her little foot upon the floor. It was evident that the writer was greatly incensed at the views expressedby John, and he wrote with an ease and a virulence which proclaimed apracticed hand. "The spectacle of an accomplished Democrat, " said thepaper, "is always sufficiently unusual to attract attention: but to findso rare a bird among ourselves is indeed a novel delight. The orator whoalternately enthralled and insulted a considerable audience at the MusicHall, two nights ago, laid a decided claim both to accomplishment and todemocracy. He himself informed his hearers that he was a Democrat; and, indeed, it was necessary that he should state his position, for it wouldhave been impossible to decide from the tone and quality of his opinionswhether he were a socialist, a reformer, a conservative, or an Irishman. Perchance he has discovered the talisman by which it is possible for a manto be all four, and yet to be a man, Furthermore, he claims to be anorator. No one could listen to the manifold intonations of his voice, orwitness the declamatory evolutions of his body, without feeling an inwardconviction that the gentleman on the platform intended to present himselfto us as an orator. "Lest we be accused of partiality and prejudice, we will at once statethat we believe it possible for a man to be singular in his manner andquaint in his mode of phrasing, and yet to utter an opinion in some onedirection which, if neither novel nor interesting, nor even tenable, shallyet have the one redeeming merit of representing a conceivable point ofview. But when a man begins by stating that he belongs to the Democratsand then claims as his own the views of his political opponents, windingup by demanding the sympathy and support of a third party, the obviousconclusion is that he is either a lunatic, a charlatan, or both. A mancannot serve God and Mammon, neither can any man serve both the Irish andChinese. "Mr. John Harrington has made a great discovery. He has discovered that werequire a Civil Service. This is apparently the ground on which he stateshimself to be a Democrat. If we remember rightly, the Civil ServiceConvention, which sat in discussion of the subject in the summer of 1881, was presided over by a prominent member of the Republican party. As sometime has elapsed since then, and the gentlemen connected with the movementare as active and as much interested in it as ever, our orator will pardonus for questioning his right of discovery on the one hand, and his claimto be considered a Democrat on the strength of it, on the other. A CivilService is doubtless a good thing, even a very good thing, and in due timewe shall certainly have it; but that the Constitution of the United Statesis on the verge of dissolution at the hands of our corrupt publicofficers, that our finance is only another name for imminent bankruptcy, or that the new millennium of Washington morals will be organized by Mr. John Harrington--these things we deny in toto, from beginning toend. So wide and deep is our skepticism, that we even doubt whether 'war, famine, revolution, or all three together' would have instantly ensued ifMr. John Harrington had not delivered his speech on Wednesday evening. "In illustration--or rather, in the futile attempt to illustrate--Mr. Harrington put forth a series of similes that should make any dead oratorturn in his grave. The nation was successively held up to our admirationin the guise of a sick man, a cripple, a banker, a theatrical company, anda peddler of tape and buttons. We were bankrupt, diseased; and our bones, like those of the Psalmist, were all out of joint; and if our hearts didnot become like melting wax in the midst of our bodies, it was not thefault of Mr. John Harrington, but rather was it due to the hardening ofthose organs against the voice of the charmer. "The Navigation Act called down the choicest of the orator's vessels ofwrath. Fools had made it, worse than fools submitted to it, and the reasonwhy the Salem docks were no longer crowded with the shipping of thePeabody family was that there were ferry-boats in Boston harbor, a trainof reasoning that must be clear to the mind of the merest schoolboy. Mr. Harrington further stated that these same ferry-boats--not to mentioncertain articles he terms 'mudscows, ' with which we have no acquaintance--are built of old timber, copper, and nails, obtained by breaking tip thefleets of the Peabody family, which is manifestly a fraud on the nation. As far as the ferry-boats are concerned, we believe we are in a positionto state that they are not built of old material; as regards the aforesaid'mudscows' we can give no opinion, not having before heard of the article, which we presume is not common in commerce, and may therefore be regardedas an exception to the universal rule that things in general should not bemade of old timber, copper, and rusty nails. "We will not weary our readers with any further attempt at unraveling theopinions, illustrations, and rhetoric of Mr. John Harrington, Democrat andorator. The possession of an abundant vocabulary without any especial usefor it in the shape of an idea will not revolutionize modern government, whatever may be the opinion of the individual so richly gifted; nor willany accomplished Democrat find a true key to success in following a courseof politics which consists in one half of the world trying to driveparadoxes down the throat of the other half. It will not do, and Mr. Harrington will find it out. He will find out also that the differenceswhich exist between the Republican and the Democratic parties are fardeeper and wider than he suspects, and do not consist in such things asthe existence or non-existence of a Civil Service, free trade, ormudscows; and when these things are forever crushed out of his imaginationit will be time enough to give him a name, seeing he is neither Republicannor Democrat, nor Tammany, nor even a Stalwart, nor a three-hundred-and-sixer--seeing, in fact, that he is not an astronomical point in anypolitical heaven with which the world is acquainted, but only the mostnebulous of nebulae which have yet come within our observation. " Joe read the article rapidly, and then read the last paragraph again andthrew the paper aside. She sat by the fire after breakfast, and MissSchenectady had come into the room several times and had gone out again, busied with much housekeeping. For Miss Schenectady belonged to the elderschool of Boston women, who "see to things" themselves in the intervals ofliterature, gossip, and transcendental philosophy. But Joe sat still fornearly half an hour after she had done reading and nursed her wrath, whileshe toasted her little feet at the fire. At last she made up her mind androse. "I am going to see Sybil, Aunt Zoë, " she said, meeting the old lady at thedoor. "Well, if she is up at this time of day, " answered Miss Schenectady. "Oh, I fancy so, " said Joe. Mrs. Sam Wyndham's establishment was of the modern kind, and nobody wasexpected to attend an early breakfast of fish, beefsteaks, buckwheatcakes, hot rolls, tea, coffee, and chocolate at eight o'clock in themorning. Visitors did as they pleased, and so did Mrs. Sam, and they metat luncheon, a meal which Sam Wyndham himself was of course unable toattend. Joe knew this, and knew she was certain to find Sybil alone. Itwas Sybil she wanted to see, and not Mrs. Wyndham. But as she walked downBeacon Street the aspect of affairs changed in her mind. Joe had not exaggerated when she said to Vancouver that she had a verygood memory, and it would have been better for him if he had rememberedthe fact. Joe had not forgotten the conversation with him in the eveningafter Harrington's speech, and in reading the article that had been sentto her she instantly recognized a phrase, word for word as Vancouver haduttered it. In speaking to her he had said that politics "consisted in onehalf of the world trying to drive paradoxes down the throat of the otherhalf. " It was true that in the article John Harrington was warned that hewould discover the fallacy of this proposition, but in Joe's judgment thisdid not constitute an objection. Vancouver had written the article, andnone other; Vancouver, who professed a boundless respect for John, and whoconstantly asserted that he took no active part whatever in politics. Itwas inconceivable that the coincidence of language should be an accident. Vancouver had made the phrase when making conversation, and had used it inhis article; Joe was absolutely certain of that, and being full of herdiscovery and of wrath, she was determined to consult with her dearestfriend as to the best way of revenging the offense on its author. But as she walked down Beacon Street she reflected on the situation. Shewas sure Sybil would not understand why she cared so much, and Sybil wouldform hasty ideas as to the interest Joe took in Harrington. That wouldnever do. It would be better to speak to Mrs. Sam Wyndham, who was herselfso fond of John that she would seize with avidity on the information, fromwhatever source it came. But then Mrs. Wyndham was fond of Vancouver also. No, she was not. When Joe thought of it she was sure that though Vancouverwas devoted to Mrs. Sam, Mrs. Sam did not care for him excepting as anagreeable person of even temper, who was useful in society. But forHarrington she had a real friendship. If it came to the doing of aservice, Mrs. Wyndham would do it. Joe's perceptions were wonderfullyclear and just. But when she reached the house she was still uncertain, and she passed on, intending to turn back and go in as soon as she had made up her mind. Inspite of all that she could argue to herself it seemed unsafe--unwise, atleast. Sybil might laugh at her, after all; Mrs. Wyndham might possiblytell Vancouver instead of telling John. It would be better to tell Johnherself; she remembered having once spoken to him about Vancouver, and shecould easily remind him of the conversation. She would probably see himthat evening at a party she was going to; and yet it was so hard to haveto keep it all to herself for so many hours, instead of telling. Nevertheless she would go and see Sybil, taking care, of course, to saynothing about the article. At the time Joe was walking up and down Beacon Street in the effort tocome to a decision, John Harrington found himself face to face with a verymuch more formidable problem. He stood before the fire-place in his roomsin Charles Street, with an extinguished cigar between his teeth, his facepaler than usual, and a look of uncertainty on his features that was oddlyout of keeping with his usual mood. He wore an ancient shooting coat, andhis feet were trust into a pair of dingy leather slippers; his hands werein his pockets, and he was staring vacantly at the clock. On the oak writing-table that filled the middle of the room lay an opentelegram. It was dated from Washington, and conveyed the simpleinformation that Senator Caleb Jenkins had died at five o'clock thatmorning. It was signed by an abbreviation that meant nothing except toJohn himself. The name of the senator was itself fictitious, and stood foranother which John knew. The table was covered with Government reports, for when the message cameJohn was busy studying a financial point of importance to him. Thetelegram had lain on the table for half an hour, and John still stoodbefore the fire-place, staring at the clock. The senator had not been expected to live, in fact it was remarkable thathe should have lived so long. But when a man has been preparing for astruggle during many months, he is apt to feel that the actual moment ofthe battle is indefinitely far off. But now the senator was dead, and Johnmeant to stand in his place. The battle was begun. No one who has notseen some of the inside workings of political life can have any idea ofwhat a man feels who is about to stand as a candidate in an election forthe first time in his life. For months, perhaps for years, he has beenengaged with political matters; his opinions have been formed by himselfor by others into a very definite shape; it may be that, like Harrington, he has frequently spoken to large audiences with more or less success; hemay have written pamphlets and volumes upon questions of the day, and hiswritings may have roused the fiercest criticism and the most loyalsupport. All this he may have done, and done it well, but when the actualmoment arrives for him to stand upon his feet and address hisconstituents, no longer for the purpose of making them believe in hisopinions, but in order to make them believe in himself, he is more thanmortal if he does not feel something very unpleasantly resembling fear. It is one thing to express a truth, it is another to set one's self upon apedestal and declare that one represents it, and is in one's own personthe living truth itself. John was too honest and true a man not to feel apositive reluctance to singing his own praises, and yet that is what mostelectioneering consists in. But to be elected a senator in Massachusetts is a complicated affair. Aman who intends to succeed in such an enterprise must not let the grassgrow under his feet. In a few hours the whole machinery of election mustbe at work, and before night he would have to receive all sorts andconditions of men and electioneering agents. The morning papers did notcontain any notice of the senator's death, as they had already gone topress when the news reached them, if indeed it was as yet public property. But other papers appeared at mid-day, and by that time the circumstanceswould undoubtedly be known. John struck a match and relit his cigar. Themoment of hesitation was over, the last breathing-space before the fight, and all his activity returned. Half an hour later he went out with anumber of written telegrams in his hand, and proceeded to the central telegraph office. The case was urgent. In the first place the governor of the state would, according to law and custom, immediately appoint a senator protempore to act until the legislature should elect the new senator inplace of the one deceased. Secondly, the legislature, which meets once ayear, was already in session, and the election would therefore take placeimmediately, unless some unusual delay were created, and this wasimprobable. In spite of the article which had so outraged Josephine Thorn's sense ofjustice, there were many who believed in John Harrington as the prophet ofthe new faith, as the senator of reform and the orator of the future, andhis friends were numerous and powerful, both in the electing body andamong the non-official mass of prominent persons who make up the aggregateof public opinion. It had long been known that John Harrington would bebrought forward at the next vacancy, which, in the ordinary course ofthings, would have occurred in about a year's time, at the expiration ofthe senior senator's term of office, but which had now been suddenlycaused by the death of his colleague. John was therefore aware that hissuccess must depend almost immediately upon the present existing opinionof him that prevailed, and as he made his way through the crowded streetsto the telegraph office, he realized that no effort of his own would belikely to make a change in that opinion at such short notice. At first ithad seemed to him as though he were on a sudden brought face to face witha body of men whom he must persuade to elect him as their representative, and in spite of his great familiarity with political proceedings, the ideawas extremely disagreeable to him. But on more mature reflection it wasclear to him that he was in the hands of his friends, that he had said hissay and had done all he would now be able to do in the way of publicspeaking or public writing, and that his only possible sphere of presentaction lay in exerting such personal influence as he possessed. John Harrington was ambitious, or, to speak more accurately, he was whollyruled by a dominant aspiration. He was convinced by his own study andobservation, as well as by a considerable amount of personal experience, that great reforms were becoming necessary in the government of thecountry, and he was equally sure that a man was needed who should bewilling to make any sacrifice for the sake of creating a party toinaugurate such changes. In his opinion the surest step towards obtaininginfluence in the affairs of the country was a seat in the senate, and withan unhesitating belief in the truth and honesty of the principles hedesired to make known, he devoted every energy he possessed to theattainment of his object. To him government seemed the most important function of society, thelargest, the broadest, and the noblest; to help, if possible, to be aleader in the establishment of what was good for the country, and to bethe very foremost in destroying that which was bad, were in his view thebest objects and aims for a strong man to follow. And John Harrington knewhimself to be strong, and believed himself to be right, and thus armed hewas prepared for any struggle. The quality of vanity exists in all men, not least in those whose chiefprofession is modesty; and seeing that it is a universal element, createdand inherent in every one, it is impossible to say it is bad in itself. For it is impossible to conceive any human creature without it. A recentphilosopher of reputation has taught that by vanity, by the desire toappear attractive to the other sex, man has changed his own person fromthe form of a beast to the image of God. Vanity is a mighty power andincentive, as great as hunger and thirst, and much more generally activein the affairs of civilized humanity. And yet its very name meanshollowness. "The hollowness of hollowness, all things are hollowness, "said the preacher, and his translators have put the word vanity in hismouth, because it means the same thing. But in itself, being hollow, it isneither bad nor good; its badness or goodness lies in those things whereofa man makes choice to fill the void, the inexpressible and indefinablecraving within his soul; as also hunger is only bad when it is satisfiedby bad things, or not satisfied at all, so that in the one case it leadsto disease, and in the other to the committing of crimes in the desire forsatisfaction. Many a poor fellow was hung by the neck in old times forstealing a loaf to stop his hunger, and many a man of wit goes to the mad-house nowadays because the void of his vanity is unfilled. But vanity is called by yet another name when its disagreeable side ishidden, and when its emptiness has come to crave for great things. It ispride, then honorable pride, then ambition, and perhaps at the last it iscalled heroic sacrifice. Vanity is an unsatisfied desire, hollow initself, but capable of holding both bad and good. It is not identical withself-complacency, nor yet with conceit. Probably John Harrington had originally possessed as much of thismysterious quality as most men who are conscious of strength and talent. It had never manifested itself in small things, and its very extent hadmade many things seem small which were of the highest importance to othermen. He had worked as a boy at all manner of studies like other boys, butthe idea of laboring in distasteful matters for the sake of being firstamong his companions seemed utterly absurd to him. From the time he hadbegun to think for himself--and he was young when he reached that stage--he had formed a rooted determination to be first in his country, to be agreat reformer or a great patriot, and he cared to study nothing that wasnot connected with this idea. When his name was first heard in publiclife, it was as the author of a pamphlet advocating certain sweepingmeasures of which no one else had ventured to dream as yet. He would havesmiled now had he taken the trouble to read again some of those earlierproductions of his. It had seemed so easy to move the world then, and itseemed so hard now. But nevertheless he meant to move it, and as each yearbrought him increased strength and wider experience, it brought with italso the conviction of ultimate success. He had long forgotten to hope forthe sudden and immediate power to stir the world, for he had discoveredthat it was a labor of years, the work of a lifetime; but if he had everhad any doubts as to the result of that work, he had forgotten them also. And now his strength, his aspirations, his vanity, and his intellect wereroused together to the highest activity of which they were capable, thehour having come for which he had longed through half his lifetime, andthough it was but the first trial, in which he might fail, it had for himall the importance of the supreme crisis of his existence. No wonder thathis face was pale and his lips set as he walked back to his lodgings fromthe telegraph office. As he walked down the hill by the railings of theCommon he came upon Josephine Thorn, standing at the entrance of one ofthe boarded walks, as though hesitating whether to go in. He was close toher as he bowed, and something in her face made him stop. "Good morning, Miss Thorn, " he said. She nodded gravely and hesitated. Hewas about to go on, thinking she was in one of those moods which he calledcapricious. But she stopped him. "Mr. Harrington, I want to speak to you, " she said quickly, seeing thather opportunity was on the point of slipping away. "Yes?" said John, smiling faintly. "Mr. Harrington--did you read that article about you, the day after theskating party?" "Yes, " said John. "It was not complimentary, if I remember. " "It was vile, " said Joe, the angry color rising to her temples again. "Itwas abominable. It was written by Mr. Vancouver. " John started slightly. "I think you must be mistaken, " he said. "No, I am not mistaken. There were things in it, word for word as he saidthem to me just after the speech. I am perfectly sure. " John looked very gravely at Joe, as though to be sure of her honesty. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. "Miss Thorn, " John said, "Vancouver may have said those very things tosome one else, who wrote them and printed them. But in any case, I amexceedingly obliged to you for the information"-- "You are not angry?" Joe began, already repenting. "No--how could I be? It may be important. The junior senator forMassachusetts died this morning, and there may be an election at anymoment. I have not told any one else, but it will be known everywhere inan hour's time. Good-by, and many thanks. " "You will be senator, of course?" said Joe, in great excitement. "I cannot tell, " John answered. "Are you going down the hill?" "No--thanks--I am going home, " said Joe. "Good-by. " CHAPTER X. Joe had been mistaken in thinking that Ronald would be less well receivedthan herself. There was of course the usual amount of gossip concerninghim, but as he refrained from eccentricities of dress when asked todinner, and did not bet that he would ride his horse into the smoking-roomof the Somerset Club, the gossip soon lost ground against the list of hisgood qualities. Moreover, he was extremely good-looking, and his mannerwas modesty itself. He admired everything he saw, partly because it wasnew to him, and partly because there was a good deal to admire. For a day or two after the final scene with Joe he had avoided seeing her. He had not been able to resist the temptation to go back on the same day, and he had spent some hours in considering that human affairs areextremely mutable. But the scenes about him were too new, and very many ofthe faces he saw were too attractive, to allow of his brooding for longover his misfortune. His first impulse had been to go away again on thevery evening of his arrival. He had gone to see Joe, arriving duringluncheon, in the expectation of seeing her alone again. There would be ascene of solemn farewell, in which he would bid her be happy in her ownway, in a tone of semi-paternal benevolence, after which he would give herhis blessing, and bid farewell to the pomps and vanities of society. Hewould naturally retire gloomily from the gay world, and end his miserableexistence in the approved Guy Livingstone fashion of life, betweencavendish tobacco, deep drinking, and high play. Joe would then repent ofthe ruin she had caused, and that would be a great satisfaction. There wasonce a little boy in Boston whose hands were very cold as he went toschool. But he blew on them savagely, saying, "I am glad of it! It servesmy father right for not buying me my gloves. " That was Ronald's state ofmind. He had led the most sober of lives, and the wildest dissipation heremembered was the Lord Mayor's supper to the Oxford and Cambridge crews, when he himself had been one of the winners. But surely, for adisappointed lover there could be no course so proper as a speedy death bydissipation--which would serve Joe right. Therefore, on his return to hishotel, he ordered whiskey, in a sepulchral tone of voice. He tasted it, and thought it detestable. On reflection, he would put off the commencement of his wild career untilthe evening after he had seen Joe again. The ravages of drink would not beperceptible so soon, after all. He changed his tie for one of a darkerhue, ate sparingly of a beefsteak, and went back to bid Joe a lastfarewell. Sybil Brandon and Miss Schenectady were elements in the solemn leave-taking which Ronald had not anticipated. Sybil, moreover, made a greateffort, for she was anxious to help Joe as much as possible in herdifficulties. She talked to Ronald with a vivacity that was unusual, andJoe herself was astonished at the brilliance of her conversation. She hadalways thought Sybil very reserved, if not somewhat shy. Perhaps Sybil pitied Ronald a little. He was very quiet in his manner, though after the first few minutes he found himself talking much as usual. True, he often looked at Joe, and then was silent; but then again helooked at Sybil, and his tongue was unloosed. He was grateful after atime, and he was also flattered. Besides, he could not help noticing thathis new acquaintance was extremely beautiful. His conscience smote him ashe realized that he was thinking of her appearance, and he immediatelyquieted the qualm by saying that it was but natural admiration for anartistic object. Ronald did not know much about artists and that sort ofpeople, but the expression formed itself conveniently in his mind. The consequence was that he accepted an invitation to drive with the twogirls after luncheon, and when they left him at his hotel, a proceedingagainst which he vehemently protested on the score of propriety, hereluctantly acknowledged to himself that he had enjoyed the afternoon verymuch. "Come and see us after five o'clock, " said Sybil. "I will present you toMrs. Wyndham. Nine hundred and thirty-six, Beacon Street, " she added, laughing. "With great pleasure--thanks, " said Ronald. "Good-by, Ronald dear, " said Joe pleasantly. "Good-by, " he answered in a doubtful tone of voice, as he raised his hat;and the two girls drove away. Sybil was apparently in very good spirits. "Do not be frightened, Joe dearest, " she said. "We will manage it verywell. He is not hurt in the least. " "Really, I do not believe he is--so very much, you know, " Joe answered. But she was thoughtful, and did not speak again for some time. It was on the morning after this that Joe read the article on John'sspeech, and met him by the Common. Ronald did not call during the day, andin the evening Joe went to her party as she had intended; but neitherSybil nor John Harrington were there. Sybil did not go to parties, andJohn probably had too much to do. But at supper Joe chanced to be standingnear Mrs. Sam Wyndham. "Oh, I so much wanted to see you, Miss Thorn, " said the latter. "I wantedto tell you how much we like your cousin, Mr. Surbiton. He came today, andI have asked him to dinner to-morrow. " "Yes?" said Joe, turning a shade paler. "I am so glad you like him. He isa very nice boy. " "He is perfectly lovely, " said Mrs. Sam, enthusiastically. "And he is sonatural, you would not know he was English at all. " "Really?" said Joe, raising her eyebrows a little, but laughing at thesame time. "Oh my dear, " said Mrs. Wyndham, "I always forget you are not one of us. Besides, you are, you see. " Mrs. Wyndham rarely said a tactless thing, but this evening she was insuch good spirits that she said what came uppermost in her thoughts. Joewas not offended; she was only bored. "Will you not come and dine too, to-morrow night?" asked Mrs. Wyndham, whowas anxious to atone. "Thanks, awfully, " said Joe, "but I have to dine with the Aitchisons. " Pocock Vancouver, pale and exquisite as ever, came up to the two ladies. "Can I get you anything, Mrs. Wyndham?" he inquired, after a double bow. "No, thank you. Johnny Hannibal is taking care of me, " answered Mrs. Sam, coldly. "Miss Thorn, what can I get you?" he asked, turning to Joe. "Nothing, thanks, " said Joe, "Mr. Biggielow is getting me something. " Shedid not look at Vancouver as she answered, and the angry color began torise to her temples. Vancouver, who was not used to repulses such asthese, and was too old a soldier to give up a situation so easily, stood amoment playing with his coat tails. A sudden thought passed through Joe'smind. It struck her that, considering the situation of affairs, it wouldbe unwise to break off her acquaintance with Vancouver at the presenttime. Her first honest impulse was to cut him and never speak to himagain. But it was better to act with more deliberation. In the firstplace, there might be more to be learnt which might be of service to John;secondly, people would talk about it if she cut him, and would invent somestory to the effect that he had proposed to marry her, or that she hadproposed to marry him. It was contrary to her nature to pretend anythingshe did not feel, but it would nevertheless be a mistake to quarrel openlywith Vancouver. "On second thoughts--if you would get me a glass of water"--she said, speaking to him. He instantly disappeared; but even in the moment beforehe departed to execute her command he had time to express by his look asense of injury forgiven, which did not escape Joe. "What a hypocrite the man is!" she thought. Vancouver on his part could form no conception of the cause of thecoldness the two ladies had shown him. He could not know that Joe haddiscovered in him the writer of the article, still less could he haveguessed that Joe had told John, and that John had told Mrs. Sam. He couldonly suppose that the two had been talking of something, and were annoyedat being interrupted. When he came back with the glass of water Mr. Biggielow had just broughtJoe some salad. The usual struggle began between the two men. Mr. BonamyBiggielow was a little poet. "I ought to thank you, Miss Thorn, instead of you thanking me, " saidVancouver, in a seductive voice, on one side of Joe. "Is it not the most crowded supper you ever saw?" remarked Mr. Biggielowon the other side. "Why?" said Joe, eating her salad and looking straight before her. "I thought you were going to send me away. I was so glad when youcondescended to make use of me, " answered Vancouver. Mr. Biggielow also answered Joe's interrogation. "Well, " he said, "I mean it is thronged with people. There is a decided'sound of revelry by night'. " "Youth and beauty? That sort of thing?" said Joe to Biggielow. Thenturning to Vancouver, she added, "Why should I send you away?" "I hope there is no reason, " he said gravely. "In fact, I am sure there isnone, except that you would of course always do exactly as you pleasedabout that and everything else. " "Yes, indeed, " Joe answered, and her lip curled a little proudly, "you arequite right about that. But then, you know, I did not send you away. " "Thanks, again, " said Vancouver. "Do let me get you something more, Miss Thorn, " suggested Mr. Biggielow. "No? There is any amount of pâtés. You always like"-- "Of course you have heard about Harrington?" said Vancouver in a low voiceclose to Josephine's ear. "No, really, " she answered. "Will you take my plate? And the glass--thanks. " Mr. Bonamy Biggielow was obliged to retire. "You mean about thesenatorship?" asked Joe. "Yes. The senator died this morning. Harrington will make a fight for it. He has many friends. " "Among whom you count yourself, doubtless, " remarked Joe. "Not politically, of course. I take no active part"-- "Yes, I know. " Joe knew the remainder of the sentence by heart. "Then youwill have a glorious opportunity for maintaining an armed neutrality. " "Oh, if it comes to that, " said Vancouver mildly, "I would rather seeHarrington senator than some of our own men. At all events, he is honest. " "At all events!" Joe repeated. "You think, perhaps, that some man of yourown party may be elected who will not turn out to be honest?" "Well, the thing is possible. You see, politics are such a dirty business--all kinds of men get in. " Joe laughed in a way that made Vancouver nervous. He was beginning to knowher, and he could tell when some sharp thrust was coming by the way shelaughed. Nevertheless, he was fascinated by her. "It is not long since you told me that Mr. Harrington's very mild remarkabout extinguishing bribery and corruption was a piece of grossexaggeration, " said Joe. "Why do you say politics are dirty work?" "There is a great difference, " answered Vancouver. "What difference? Between what?" "Between saying that the business of politics is not clean, and sayingthat all public officers are liars, like the Cretans. " "Who is exaggerating now?" asked Joe scornfully. "Of course it is I, " answered Vancouver, submissively. "If it is not arude question, did not that dress come from Egypt?" "Yes. " The garment in question was made of a kind of soft white, flutedmaterial over a rose-colored silk ground. The raised flutings followed theexquisite lines of Joe's figure, and had the double merit of accentuatingits symmetry, and of so leading the eye as to make her height seem greaterthan it really was. Cut square at the neck, it showed her dazzling throatat its best advantage, and a knot of pink lilies at the waist harmonizeddelicately with the color of the whole. "It is just like you, " said Vancouver, "to have something different fromeverybody else. I admire Eastern things so much, and one gets so tired ofthe everlasting round of French dresses. " "I am glad you like it, " said Joe, indifferently. "I am so anxious to meet your cousin, Miss Thorn, " said Vancouver, tryinga new subject. "I hear there is to be a dinner for him to-morrow night atMrs. Sam Wyndham's. But of course I am not asked. " "Why 'of course'?" inquired Joe quickly. "I believe Mrs. Wyndham thinks I dislike Englishmen, " said Vancouver atrandom. "But she is really very much mistaken. " "Really?" "Yes--I should be willing to like any number of Englishmen for the sake ofbeing liked by one Englishwoman. " He looked at Joe expressively as hespoke. "Really?" "Indeed, yes. Do you not believe me?" "Oh, yes, " said Joe. "Why should I not believe you?" Her voice was calm, but that same angry flush that had of late so often shown itself began torise slowly at her temples. Vancouver saw it, and thought she was blushingat what he said. "I trust you will, " said Vancouver. "I trust that some day you will let metell you who that Englishwoman is. " It was horrible; he was making love to her, this wretch, whom shedespised. She turned her head away to hide the angry look in her eyes. "Thanks--no, if you do not mind, " said she. "I do not care to receiveconfidences, --I always forget to forget them. " It was not in order thatPocock Vancouver might make love to her that she had sent away BonamyBiggielow, the harmless little poet. She wished him back again, but he wasembarked in an enterprise to dispute with Johnny Hannibal a place nearMiss St. Joseph. Mrs. Wyndham had long since disappeared. "Will you please take me back to my aunt?" said Joe. As they passed fromthe supper-room they suddenly came upon John Harrington, who was wanderingabout in an unattached fashion, apparently looking for some one. He bowedand stared a little at seeing Joe on Vancouver's arm, but she gave him alook of such earnest entreaty that he turned and followed her at adistance to see what would happen. Seeing her sit down by her aunt, hecame up and spoke to her, almost thrusting Vancouver aside with his broadshoulders. Vancouver, however, did not dispute the position, but turned onhis heel and went away. "Oh, I am so glad, " said Joe, with a sigh of relief. "I thought I shouldnever get away from him!" It is amazing what a difference the common knowledge of a secret will makein the intimacy of two people. "I was rather taken aback at seeing you with him, " said John. "Not that itcan make any difference to you, " he added quickly, "only you seemed soangry at him this morning. " "But it does"--Joe began, impulsively. "That is, I began by meaning to cuthim, and then I thought it would be a mistake to make a scandal. " "Yes, " said John, "it would be a great mistake. Besides, I would not forall the world have you take a part in this thing. It would do no good, andit might do harm. " "I think I have taken a part already, " said Joe, somewhat hurt. "Yes, I know. I am very grateful, but I hope you will not think any moreabout it, nor allow it to influence you in any way. " "But what is the use of friends if they do not take a part in one'squarrels?" asked Joe. John looked at her earnestly for a few seconds, and saw that she wasperfectly sincere. He had grown to like Josephine of late, and he wasgrateful to her for her friendship. Her manner that morning, when she toldhim of her discovery, had made a deep impression on him. "My dear Miss Thorn, " he said earnestly, in a low voice, "you are too goodand kind, and I thank you very heartily for your friendship. But I thinkyou were very wise not to cut Vancouver, and I hope you will not quarrelwith anybody for any matter so trivial. " The color came to Joe's face, butnot for anger this time. "Trivial!" she exclaimed. "Yes, trivial, " John repeated. "Remember that it is the policy of thatpaper to abuse me, and that if Vancouver had not written the article, theeditor could have found some one else easily enough who would have doneit. " "But it is such a dastardly thing!" said Joe. "He always says to every onethat he has the greatest respect for you, and then he does a thing likethis. If I were you I would kill him--I am sure I would. " "That would not be the way to win an election nowadays, " said John, laughing. "Oh, I would not care about that, " said Joe, hotly. "But I dare say it isvery silly of me, " she added. "You do not seem to mind it at all. " "It is not worth while to lose one's temper or one's soul for theiniquities of Mr. Pocock Vancouver, " said John. "The man may do me harm, but as I never expected his friendship or help, he neither falls nor risesin my estimation on that account. Blessed are they who expect nothing!" "Blessed indeed, " said Joe. "But one cannot help expecting men who havethe reputation of being gentlemen to behave decently. " "Vancouver has a right to his political opinions, and a perfect right toexpress them in any way he sees fit, " said John. "Oh, of course, " said Joe, impatiently. "This is a free country, and thatsort of thing. But if he means to express political opinions he should notcry aloud at every tea-party in town that he is neutral and takes noactive part in politics. I think that writing violent articles in anewspaper is a very active part indeed. And he should not go about sayingthat he has the highest reverence for a man, and then call him a lunaticand a charlatan in print, unless he is willing to sign his name to it, andtake the consequences. Should he? I think it is vile, and horrid, andabominable, and nasty, and I hate him. " "With the exception of the peroration to that speech, " said John, who wasvery much amused, "I am afraid I must agree with you. A man certainlyought not to do any of those things. " "Then why do you defend him?" asked Joe, with flashing eyes. "Because, on general principles, I do not think a man is so much worsethan his fellows because he does things they would very likely do in hisplace. There are things done every day, all over the world, quite as badas that, and no one takes much notice of them. Almost every businessman istrying to get the better of some other business man by fair means orfoul. " "You do not seem to have a very exalted idea of humanity, " said Joe. "A large part of humanity is sick, " said John, "and it is as well to beprepared for the worst in any illness. " "I wish you were not so tremendously calm, you know, " said Joe, lookingthoughtfully into John's face. "I am afraid it will injure you. " "Why in the world should it injure me?" asked John, much astonished at theremark. "I have a presentiment"--she checked herself suddenly. "I do not like totell you, " she added. "I would like to hear what you think, if you will tell me, " said John, gravely. "Well, do not be angry. I have a presentiment that you will not be madesenator. Are you angry?" "No indeed. But why?" "Just for that very reason; you are too calm. You are not enough of apartisan. Every one is a partisan here. " John was silent, and his face was grave and thoughtful. The remark wasprofound in its way, and showed a far deeper insight into politicalmatters than he imagined Joe possessed. He had long regarded Mrs. Wyndhamas a woman of fine sense and judgment, and had often asked her opinion onimportant questions. But in all his experience she had never said anythingthat seemed to strike so deeply at the root of things as this simpleremark of Josephine's. "I am afraid you are angry, " said Joe, seeing that he was grave andsilent. "You have set me thinking, Miss Thorn, " he answered. "You think I may be right?" she said. "The idea is quite new to me, I think it is perhaps the best definition ofthe fact that I ever heard. But it is not what ought to be. " "Of course not, " Joe answered. "Nothing is just what it ought to be. Butone has to take things as they are. " "And make them what they should be, " added John, and the look of strongdetermination came into his face. "Ah, yes, " said Joe, softly. "Make things what they should be. That is thebest thing a man can live for. " "Perhaps we might go home, Joe, " said Miss Schenectady, who had beenconversing for a couple of hours with another old lady of literary tastes. "Yes, Aunt Zoë, " said Joe, rousing herself, "I think we might. " "Shall I see you to-morrow night at Mrs. Wyndham's dinner?" asked John, asthey parted. "No, I refused. Good-night. " As Joe sat by her aunt's side in the deep dark carriage on the way home, her hands were cold and she trembled from head to foot. And when at lastshe laid her head upon her pillow there were tears in her eyes and on hercheeks. "Is it possible that I can be so heartless?" she murmured to herself. CHAPTER XI. Ronald went to see Sybil Brandon at five o'clock, and as it chanced hefound her alone. Mrs. Wyndham, she said, had gone out, or rather she hadnot yet come home; but if Ronald would wait, she would certainly be in. Ronald waited, and talked to Miss Brandon in the mean while. He had abereaved air when he arrived, which was calculated to excite sympathy, andhis conversation was subdued in tone, and grave in subject. But Sybil didher best to cheer him, and in the fullness of her sympathy did perhapsmore than was absolutely necessary. Ronald's wound was not deep, but hehad a firm conviction that it ought to be. Any man would have thought the same in his place. Certainly, few peoplewould have understood what they felt in such a position. He had grown upbelieving he was to marry a young and charming woman of whom he was reallyexceedingly fond, and now he was suddenly told that the whole thing was amistake. It was enough to break a man's heart, and yet Ronald's heart wasnot broken, and to his great surprise beat nearly as regularly the dayafter his disaster as it had done during the whole two-and-twenty years ofhis life. He could not understand his own calmness, and he was sure thathe ought to be profoundly grieved over the whole affair, so that his facewas drawn into an expression of solemnity somewhat out of keeping with itssingular youthful freshness of color and outline. The idea of devoting himself to the infernal gods as a sacrifice to theblighted passion had passed away in the course of the drive on theprevious afternoon. He had felt no inclination to drown his cares in drinkduring the evening, but on the contrary he had gone for a brisk walk inBeacon Street, and had ascertained by actual observation, and theassistance of a box of matches, the precise position of No. 936. This hadoccupied some time, as it is a peculiarity of Boston to put the number ofthe houses on the back instead of the front, so that the only certaincourse to follow in searching for a friend, is to reach the rear of hishouse by a circuitous route through side streets and back alleys, andthen, having fixed the exact position of his residence by astronomicalobservation, to return to the front and inquire for him. It is true thateven then one is frequently mistaken, but there is nothing else to bedone. It was perhaps not extraordinary that Ronald should be at some pains tofind out where Mrs. Wyndham lived, for Sybil was the only person besides Joe and Miss Schenectady whom he had yet met, and he wanted company, forhe hated and dreaded solitude with his whole heart. Having traveled allthe night previous, he went home and slept a sounder sleep than falls tothe lot of most jilted lovers. The next day he rose early and "did" Boston. It did not take him long, andhe said to himself that half of it was very jolly, and half of it was tooutterly beastly for anything. The Common, and the Gardens, andCommonwealth Avenue, you know, were rather pretty, and must have cost adeuce of a lot of money in this country; but as for the State House, andPaul Revere's Church, and the Old South, and the city generally, why, itwas simply disgusting, all that, you know. And in the afternoon he went tosee Sybil Brandon, and began talking about what he had seen. She was, if anything, more beautiful than ever, and as she looked at him, and held out her hand with a friendly greeting, Ronald felt himselfactually blushing, and Sybil saw it and blushed too, a very little. Thenthey sat down by the window where there were plants, and they looked outat the snow and the people passing. Sybil asked Ronald what he had beendoing. "I have been doing Boston, " he said. "Of course it was the proper thing. But I am afraid I do not know much about it. " "But do you like it?" she asked. "It is much more important, I think, toknow whether you like things or dislike them, than to know everythingabout them. Do not you think so?" "Oh, of course, " said Ronald. "But I like Boston very much; I mean thepart where you live. All this, you know--Commonwealth Place, and thePublic Park, you know, and Beacon Avenue, of course, very much. But thecity "-- "You do not like the city?" suggested Sybil, seeing he hesitated, andsmiling at his strange confusion of names. "No, " said Ronald. "I think it is so cramped and ugly, and all littlenarrow streets. But then, of course, it is such a little place. You getinto the country the moment you walk anywhere. " "It seems very big to the Bostonians, " said Sybil, laughing. "Oh, of course. You have lived here all your life, and so it is quitedifferent. " "I? Dear me no! I am not a Bostonian at all. " "Oh, " said Ronald, "I thought you were. That was the reason I was not sureof abusing the city to you. But it is not a bad place, I should think, when you know lots of people, and that was such a pretty drive we wentyesterday. " "Yes, it must seem very new to you. Everything must, I should think, mostof all this casual way we have of receiving people. But there really is aMrs. Wyndham, with whom I am staying, and she will be in before long. " "Oh--don't--don't mention her, " said Ronald, hastily, "I mean it--it is ofno importance whatever, you know. " He blushed violently. Sybil laughed, and Ronald blushed again, but in all his embarrassment liecould not help thinking what a silvery ring there was in her voice. "I am afraid Mrs. Wyndham would not like it, if she heard you telling meshe was not to be mentioned, and was not of any importance whatever. Butshe is a very charming woman, and I am very fond of her. " "She is your aunt, I presume, Miss Brandon?" said Ronald. "My aunt?" repeated Sybil. "Oh no, not at all--only a friend. " "Oh, I thought all unattached young ladies lived with aunts here, likeMiss Schenectady. " Ronald smiled grimly at the recollections of theprevious day. "Not quite that, " said Sybil, laughing. "Mrs. Wyndham is not the leastlike Miss Schenectady. She is less clever and more human. " "Really, I am so glad, " said Ronald. "And she talks so oddly--Joe's--MissThorn's aunt. Could you tell me, if it is not a rude question, why so manypeople here are never certain of anything? It strikes me as so absurdlyridiculous, you know. She said yesterday that 'perhaps, if I rang thebell, she could send a message. ' And the man at the hotel this morning hadno postage stamps, and said that perhaps if I went to the General PostOffice I might be able to get some there. " "Yes, " said Sybil, "it is absurd, and one catches it so easily. " "But would it not be ridiculous if the guard called out at a station, 'Perhaps this is Boston!' or 'Perhaps this is New York?' It would be tooutterly funny. " "I am afraid that if you begin to make a list of our peculiarities yonwill find funnier things than that, " said Sybil, laughing. "But then wealways laugh at you in England, so that it is quite fair. " "Oh, we are very absurd, I know, " said Ronald, "but I think we are muchmore comfortable. For instance, we do not have niggers about who call us'Mister. '" "You must not use such words in Boston, Mr. Surbiton, " said Sybil. "Seriously, there are people who would be very much offended. You mustspeak of 'waiters of color, ' or 'the colored help;' you must be verycareful. " "I will, " said Ronald. "Thanks. Is everything rechristened in that way? Iam afraid I shall always be in hot water. " "Oh yes, there are no men and women here. They are all ladies andgentlemen, or 'the gurls, ' and 'the fellows. ' But it is very soon learnt. " "Yes, I can imagine, " said Ronald, very much amused. "But--by the bye, this is the season here, is not it?" So they chattered together for nearly an hour about the merest nothings, not saying anything particularly witty, but never seeming to each other inthe least dull. Ronald had gone to Sybil for consolation, and he was sowell consoled that he was annoyed when Mrs. Wyndham came in andinterrupted his tête-à-tête. Sybil introduced Ronald, and when herose to go, after a quarter of an hour, Mrs. Wyndham asked him to dinneron the following day. That night, when Ronald was alone in his room at the hotel, he tookJosephine's photograph from a case in his bag and set it before him on thetable. He would think about her for a while, and reflect on his situation;and he sat down for that purpose, his chin resting on his folded hands. Dear Joe--he loved her so dearly, and she was so cruel not to marry him!But, somehow, as he looked, he seemed to see through the photograph, andanother face came and smiled on him. Again and again he called hisattention back, and tried to realize that the future would be very blankand dreary without Joe; but do what he would, it did not seem so blank anddreary after all; there was somebody else there. "Joe is quite right, " he said aloud. "I am a brute. " And he went to bed, trying hard to be disgusted with himself. But his dreams were sweet, forhe dreamed he was sitting among the ferns at Mrs. Wyndham's house, talkingto Sybil Brandon. "Why, my dear, " said Mrs. Wyndham, when Ronald was gone, "he is perfectlycharming. We have positively found a new man. " "Yes, " said Sybil. "I am so glad you asked him to dinner. I do not thinkhe is very clever, but he talks easily, and says funny things. " "I suppose he has come over to marry his cousin--has not he?" inquiredMrs. Wyndham. "No, " replied Sybil, "he is not going to marry Joe Thorn, " she answeredabsently; for she was thinking of something, and her tone indicated suchabsolute certainty in the matter that Mrs. Wyndham looked quickly at her. "Well, you seem quite certain about it, any way, " she said. "I? Oh--well, yes. I think it is extremely unlikely that he will marryher. " "I almost wish I had offered to take him to the party to-night, " said Mrs. Wyndham, evidently unsatisfied. "However, as he is coming to-morrow, thatwill do quite as well. Sybil, dear, you look tired. Why don't you go andlie down before dinner?" "Oh, because--I am not tired, really. I am always pale, you know. " "Well, I am tired to death myself, my dear, and as there is no one here Iwill say I am not at home, and rest till dinner. " Mrs. Wyndham had been as much startled as any one by news of the senator'sdeath that morning, and though she always professed to agree with herhusband she was delighted at the prospect of John Harrington's election. She had been a good friend to him, and he to her, for years, and she caredmuch more for his success than for the turn of events. She had met him inthe street that afternoon, and they had perambulated the pavement ofBeacon Street for more than an hour in the discussion of the future. Johnhad also told her that he was now certain that Vancouver was the writer ofthe offensive articles that had so long puzzled him; at all events thatthe especial one which had appeared the morning after the skating-partywas undoubtedly from his pen. Mrs. Wyndham, who had long suspected asmuch, was very angry when she found that her suspicions had been so just, and she proposed to deal summarily with Vancouver. John, however, beggedher to temporize, and she promised to be prudent. "By the way, " she said to Sybil, as she was about to leave the room, "itwas a special providence that you did not marry Vancouver. He has turnedout badly. " Sybil started slightly and looked up. Her experience with Pocock Vancouverwas a thing she rarely referred to. She had undoubtedly given him greatencouragement, and had then mercilessly refused him, to the great surpriseof every one. But as that had occurred a year and a half ago, it was quitenatural that she should treat him like any one else, now, just as thoughnothing had happened. She looked up at Mrs. Wyndham in some surprise. "What has he done?" she asked. "You know how he always talks about John Harrington?" "He always says he respects him immensely. " "Very well. It is he who has been writing those scurrilous articles thatwe have talked about so much. " "How disgraceful!" exclaimed Sybil. "How perfectly detestable! Are youquite sure?" "There is not the least doubt about it. John Harrington told me himself. " "Oh, then of course it is true, " said Sybil. "How dreadful!" "Harrington takes it in the calmest way, as though he had expected it allhis life. He says they were never friends, and that Vancouver has aperfect right to his political opinions. I never saw anybody so cool in mylife. " "What a splendid fellow he is!" exclaimed Sybil. "There is something lion-like about him. He would forgive an enemy a thousand times a day, and saythe man who injured him had a perfect right to his opinions. " "Why gracious goodness, Sybil, how you talk!" cried Mrs. Wyndham; "you arenot in love with the man yourself, are you, my dear?" "I?" asked Sybil. Then she laughed. "No, indeed! I would not marry him ifhe asked me. " "Why not?" "Oh, I would never marry a celebrity like that. He is splendid, and noble, and honest; but everything in him is devoted to his career. There is noroom for a woman at all. " "I think the amount of solid knowledge about men that you dear, sweet, lovely, beautiful, innocent little girls possess is something just tooperfectly amazing!" said Mrs. Wyndham, slowly, and with great emphasis. "If we do, " said Sybil, "it is not surprising. I am sure I do not wonderat girls knowing a great deal about the world. Everything is discussedbefore them, and marriage and men are the usual topics of conversation. The wonder is that girls still make so many mistakes in their choice, after listening to the combined experience of all the married women oftheir acquaintance for several years. It shows that no one is infallible. " "What a funny girl you are, Sybil!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyndham. "I think youturn the tables on me altogether. " "Yes? Well, I have experiences of my own now, " said Sybil, leaning backagainst an enormous cushion. Mrs. Wyndham came and sat upon the arm of the easy-chair, and put one armround Sybil's neck and kissed her. "Sybil, dear, " she said affectionately, and then stopped. They sat in silence for some time, looking at the great logs burning inthe deep fire-place. "Sybil, dear, " Mrs. Wyndham began again, presently, "why did you refuseVancouver? You do not mind telling me, do you?" "Why do you ask?" said Sybil. "It makes no difference now. " "No, perhaps not. Only I always thought it strange. He must have donesomething you did not like, of course. " "Yes, that was it. He did something I did not like. Mr. Harrington wouldhave said he had a perfect right to do as he pleased. But I could notmarry him after that. " "Was it anything so very bad?" asked Mrs. Wyndham, affectionately, smoothing Sybil's thick fair hair. "It was not as deep as a well, nor as broad as a house, " said Sybil, witha faint, scornful laugh; "but it was enough. It would do. " "I wish you would tell me, dear, " persisted Mrs. Wyndham. "I have aparticular reason for wanting to know. " "Well, I would not have told before this other affair came out, " saidSybil. "I would not marry him because he tried to find out from poormamma's man of business whether we were rich. And the day after he got theinformation that I was rich enough to suit him, he proposed. But mammaknew all about what had gone on and told me, and so I refused him. Shesaid I was wrong, and would not have told me if she had known it wouldmake any difference. And now you say I was right. I am sure I was; it wasonly a fancy I had for him, because he was so clever and well-bred. Besides, he is much too old. " "He is old enough to be your father, my dear, " said Mrs. Wyndham; "but Ithink you were a little hard on him. Almost any man would do the same. Wehere in Boston, of course, always know about each other. It was a littlemean of him, no doubt, but it was not a mortal crime. " "I think it was low, " said Sybil, decisively. "To think of a man as richas that caring for a paltry twenty or thirty thousand a year. " "I know, my dear, " said Mrs. Wyndham, "it is mean; but they all do it, andlife is uncertain, and so is business I suppose, and twenty or thirtythousand a year does make a difference to most people, I expect. " Mrs. Wyndham looked at the fire reflectively, as though not absolutelycertain of the truth of the proposition. Sam Wyndham was commonly reputedto be worth a dozen millions or so. He would have been very well off evenin New York, and in Boston he was rich. "It would make a great difference to me, " said Sybil, laughing, "for it isall I have in the world. But I am glad I refused Vancouver on that ground, all the same. If it had not been for that I should have married him--justimagine!" "Yes, just imagine!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyndham. "And to have had him turn outsuch an abominable blackguard!" "There is no mistaking what you think of him now, at all events, " saidSybil. "No, my dear. And now we have talked so long that it is time to dress fordinner. " How Mrs. Wyndham went to the party and met Joe Thorn has already beentold. It was no wonder that Mrs. Sam treated Vancouver so coldly, and sherepulsed him again more than once during the evening. When Joe was gone, John Harrington went up to her. "I came very late, " he said, "and at first I could not find you, and thenI had to say something to Miss Thorn. But I wanted to see you especially. " "Give me your arm, " said Mrs. Wyndham, "and we will go into theconservatory. I have something especial to say to you, too. " Once out ofthe thick of the party, they sat down. "I have discovered something moreabout our amiable friend, " she continued. "It is a side-light on hischaracter--something he did a year and a half ago. Do you remember hisflirtation with Sybil Brandon at Saratoga and then at Newport?" "Yes, I was in Newport most of the summer. " "You don't know why she refused him, though. It's perfectly rich!" Mrs. Sam laughed dryly. "No; I only know she did, and every one seemed very much astonished, "answered John. "She refused him because he had been trying to find outhow much she was worth. It speaks volumes for the characters of both ofthem, does it not?" "Yes, indeed, " said John. "What a Jew that man is! He is as rich asCroesus. " "Oh, well, as I told her, most men would do it. " "I suppose so, " John answered, laughing a little. "A man the other nighttold me he was going to make inquiries concerning the fortunes of hisbeloved one. He said he had no idea of buying a pig in a poke. That wasgraceful, was it not?" Mrs. Wyndham laughed aloud. "He was honest, at all events. By the bye, doyou know you have a fanatic admirer in Sybil Brandon?" "No, really? I like her very much, too: and I am very glad if she likesme. " "She said she would not marry you if you asked her, though, " said Mrs. Sam, laughing again. "You see you must not flatter yourself too much. " "I do not. I should not think of asking her to marry me. Did she give anyespecial reason why she would inevitably refuse me?" "Yes, indeed; she said you were lion-like, and, oh, the most delightfulthings! But she said she would not marry you if you asked her, because youare a celebrity and devoted to your career, so that there is no room for awoman in your life. Is that true?" "I am not so sure, " said John, thoughtfully. "Perhaps she is right in theway she means. I never thought much about it. " CHAPTER XII. The idea Joe had formed about Vancouver was just, in the main, and she wasnot far wrong in disliking him and thinking him dangerous. NeverthelessJohn Harrington understood the man better. Vancouver was so constitutedthat his fine intellect and quick perception were unsupported by anystrong principle of individuality. He was not capable of hatred--he couldonly be spiteful; he could not love, he could only give a woman what hecould spare of himself. He would at all times rather avoid an openencounter, but he rarely neglected an opportunity of dealing a thrust atany one he disliked, when he could do so safely. He was the very oppositeof John, who never said of any one what he would not say to themselves, and granted to every man the broadest right of judgment and freedom ofopinion. Nevertheless there was not enough real strength in anythingVancouver felt to make him very dangerous as an opponent, nor valuable asa friend. Had it not been for the important position he had attained byhis clever subtlety in affairs, and by the assistance of great railroadmagnates who found in him a character and intelligence precisely suited totheir ends, Pocock Vancouver would have been a neutral figure in theworld, lacking both the enterprise to create an idea and the courage tofollow it out. It was most characteristic of his inherent smallness, thatin spite of his wealth and the very large operations that must beconstantly occupying his thoughts, he could demean himself to writeanonymous articles in a daily paper, in the hope of injuring a man hedisliked. It is true that his feeling against Harrington was as strong as anythingin his nature. He detested John's strength because he had once made him aconfidence and John had done him a favor. He disliked him also because heknew that wherever they chanced to be together John received an amount ofconsideration and even of respect which he himself could not obtain withall his money and all his cleverness. His mind, too, delighted in detailand revolted against John's sweeping generalities. For these severalreasons Vancouver had taken great delight in writing and printing sundryvicious criticisms upon John in the absolute certainty of not being foundout. The editor of the paper did not know Vancouver's name, for thearticles came through the post with a modest request that they might beinserted if they were of any use; and they were generally so pungent andto the point that the editor was glad to get them, especially as noremuneration was demanded. As for the confidence Vancouver had once made to John, it was anotherinstance of his littleness. At the time when Vancouver was anxious tomarry Sybil Brandon, John Harrington was very intimate at the house, andwas, in Vancouver's opinion, a dangerous rival; at all events he felt thatthe contest was not an agreeable one, nor altogether to his own advantage. Accordingly he tried every means to clear the coast, as he expressed it;but although John probably had no intention of marrying Sybil, and Sybilcertainly had never thought of marrying John, the latter was fond of hersociety, and of her mother's, and came to the cottage on the Newport cliffwith a regularity that drove Vancouver to the verge of despair. Pocock atlast could bear it no longer and asked John to dinner. Over a bottle ofPommery Sec he confided his passion, and hinted that John was the obstacleto his wooing. Harrington raised his eyebrows, smiled, wished Vancouverall success, and left Newport the next day. If Vancouver had not disgustedSybil by his inquiries concerning her fortune, he would have married her, and his feelings towards John would have been different. But to know thatHarrington had done him the favor of going away, knowing that he was aboutto offer himself to Miss Brandon, and then to have failed in his suit wasmore than the vanity of Mr. Pocock Vancouver could bear with any sort ofcalmness, and the consequence was that he disliked John as much as hedisliked anybody or anything in the world. There is no resentment like theresentment of wounded vanity, nor any self-reproach like that of a man whohas shown his weakness. When Mrs. Wyndham told John the story of Vancouver's failure he could havetold her the rest, had he chosen, and she would certainly have been verymuch amused. But John was not a man to betray a confidence, even that of aman who had injured him, and so he merely laughed and kept his owncounsel. He would have scorned to speak to Vancouver about the articles, or to make any change in his manner towards him. As he had said toJosephine, he had expected nothing from the man, and now he was notdisappointed. Meanwhile Vancouver, who was weakly but frequently susceptible to thecharms of woman, had made up his mind that if Josephine had enough pin-money she would make him an admirable wife, and he accordingly began tomake love to her in his own fashion, as has been seen. A day or twoearlier Joe would have laughed at him, and it would perhaps have amusedher to hear what he had to say, as it amuses most young women to listen topretty speeches. But Joe was between two fires, so to speak; she was underthe two influences that were strongest with her. She loved John Harringtonwith all her heart, and she hated Vancouver with all her strength. It istrue that her hatred was the only acknowledged passion, for her maidenlynature was not able yet to comprehend her love; and the mere thought thatshe cared for a man who did not care for her brought the hot blush to hercheek. But the love was in her heart all the same, strong and enduring, sothat Vancouver found the fortress doubly guarded. He could not entirely explain to himself her conduct at the party. She hadalways seemed rather willing to accept his attentions and to listen to hisconversation, but on this particular evening, just when he wished to makea most favorable impression, she had treated him with surprising coldness. There was a supreme superiority in the way she had at first declined hisservices, and had then told him he might be permitted to get her a glassof water. The subsequent satisfaction of having ousted Mr. BonamyBiggielow, the little poet, from his position at her side was smallenough, and was more than counterbalanced and destroyed by her returningto her chaperon at the first soft-tongued insinuation of a desire toflirt, which Vancouver ventured to speak. Moreover, when Harrington almostpushed him aside and sat down by Josephine, Vancouver could bear it nolonger, but turned on his heel and went away, with black thoughts in hisheart. It seemed as though John was to be always in his way. It would be hard to say what he would have felt had he known thatJosephine Thorn, John Harrington, and Mrs. Sam Wyndham all knew of hisjournalistic doings. And yet it was nearly certain that no one of thethree would ever speak to him on the subject. Joe would not, because sheknew John would not like it; John himself despised the whole business toomuch to condescend to reproach Vancouver; and, finally, Mrs. Wyndham wastoo much a woman of the world to be willing to cause a scandal when itcould possibly be avoided. She liked Vancouver too, and regretted what hehad done. Her liking only extended to his conversation and agreeablemanners, for she was beginning to despise his character; but he had solong been an habitué about the house that she could not make up hermind to turn him out. But for all that, she could not help being cold tohim at first. John himself was too busy with important matters to bestow much thought onVancouver or his doings. His day had been spent in interviews and letter-writing; fifty people had been to see him at his rooms, and he haddispatched more than that number of letters. At five o'clock he hadslipped out with the intention of dining at his club before any one elsewas there, but he had met Mrs. Wyndham in the street, and had spent hisdinner-hour with her. At half-past six he had another appointment in hisrooms, and it was not till nearly eleven that he was able to get away andlook in upon the party, when he met Joe. For a week this kind of lifewould probably last, and then all would be over, in one way or another, but meanwhile the excitement was intense. On the next day Ronald came to see Joe before ten o'clock. The time hungheavily on his hands, and he found it impossible to occupy himself withhis troubles. There were moments when the first impression ofdisappointment returned upon him very strongly, but he was conscious of acurious duplicity about his feelings, and he knew well enough in hisinmost heart that he was only evoking a fictitious regret out of respectfor what he thought he ought to feel. "Tell me all about the people here, Joe, " said he, sitting down beside heralmost as though nothing had happened. "Who is Mrs. Wyndham, to beginwith?" "Mrs. Wyndham--she is Sam Wyndham's wife. Just that, " said Joe. "And Sam Wyndham?" "Oh--he is one of the prevalent profession. He is a millionaire. In facthe is one of the real ones. " "When do they get to be real?" asked Ronald. "Oh, when they have more than ten millions. The other ones do not countmuch. It is much more the thing to be poor, unless you have ten millions. " "That is something in my favor, at all events, " said Ronald. "Very much. You have been to see Mrs. Wyndham, then?" "Oh yes, I went yesterday, and she has asked me to dinner to-night. It isawfully good of her, I must say. " "You will like her very much, and Sybil Brandon too, " said Joe. "Sybil isan adorable creature. " "She is most decidedly good-looking, certainly. There is no doubt aboutit. " Ronald pulled his delicate moustache a little. "Though she is quitedifferent style from you, Joe, " he added presently, as though he haddiscovered a curious fact in natural history. "Of course. Sybil is a great beauty, and I am only pretty, " answered Joein perfectly good faith. "I think you are a great beauty too, " said Ronald critically. "I am suremost people think so, and I have heard lots of men say so. Besides, youare much more striking-looking than she is. " "Oh, nonsense, Ronald!" "Joe--who is Mr. Vancouver?" "Vancouver! Why do you ask especially?" "It is very natural, I am sure, " said Ronald in a somewhat injured tone. "You wrote about him. He was the only person you mentioned in your letter-that is, he and a man called Harrington. " "Mr. Vancouver--Mr. Pocock Vancouver--is a middle-aged man of variousaccomplishments, " said Joe, "more especially distinguished by the factthat Sybil Brandon refused to marry him some time ago. He is an enemy ofMr. Harrington's, and they are both friends of Mrs. Wyndham's. " "Ah!" ejaculated Ronald, "and who is Harrington?" "Mr. John Harrington is a very clever person who has to do with politics, "said Joe, without hesitation, but as she continued she blushed a little. "He is always being talked about because he wants to reform everything. Heis a great friend of ours. " "Oh--I thought so, " said Ronald. "What sort of a fellow is he?" "I suppose he is five-and-thirty years old; he is neither tall nor short, and he has red hair, " said Joe. "What a beauty!" laughed Ronald. "He is not at all ugly, you know, " said Joe, still blushing. "Shall I ever see him?" "You will see him to-night at Mrs. Wyndham's; he told me he was going. " "Oh--are you going too, Joe?" "No. I have another dinner-party. You will have to do without me. " "I suppose I shall always have to do without you, now. " said Ronalddisconsolately. "Don't be silly, Ronald!" "Silly!" repeated Surbiton in injured tones. "You call it silly to be cutup when one is treated as you have treated me! It is too bad, Joe!" "You are a dear, silly old thing, " said his cousin affectionately, "and Iwill say it as much as I please. It is ever so much better, because we canalways be like brother and sister now, and we shall not marry and quarrelover everything till we hate each other. " "I think you are very heartless, all the same, " said Ronald. "Listen to me, Ronald"- "You will go and marry one of these middle-aged people with red hair"-- "Be quiet, " said Joe, stamping her little foot. "Listen to me. I will notmarry you because I like you and I do not love you, and I never mean tomarry any middle-aged person. I shall not marry at all, most probably. Will you please to imagine what life would have been like if we hadmarried first, and found out afterwards that we had made a mistake. " "Of course that would have been awful, " said Ronald. "But then it wouldnot be a mistake, because I love you--like anything, Joe!" "Oh, nonsense! You are quite mistaken, my dear boy, because some day youwill fall desperately in love with some one else, and you will like mejust as much as ever"-- "Of course I should, " said Ronald indignantly. "Nothing would ever makeany difference at all!" "But, Ronald, " retorted Joe laughing, "if you were desperately in lovewith some one else, how could you still be just as fond of me?" "I don't know, but I should, " said Ronald. "Besides, it is absurd, for Ishall never love any one else. " "We shall see; but of course if you never do, we shall always be just thesame as we are now. " "Well--that would not be so bad, you know, " said Ronald with a certain airof resignation. After this conversation Ronald became reconciled to the situation. Joe'sremark that he would be able to love some one else very much withoutbeing--any the less fond of herself made him reflect, and he came to theconclusion that the case was conceivable after all. He therefore agreedwithin himself that he would think no more about the matter for thepresent, but would take what came in his way, and trust that Joe wouldultimately change her mind. But he went to Mrs. Wyndham's that eveningwith a firm determination to dislike John Harrington to the best of hisability. A middle-aged man with red hair! Five-and-thirty was undoubtedly middle-age. Short, too. But Joe had blushed, and there was no doubt about it;this was the man who had won her affections. Ronald would hate himcordially. But John refused to be hated. His manner was easy and courteous, but notgentle. He was evidently no lady's man. He talked to the men more than tothe women, and he was utterly without affectation. Indeed, he was not inthe least like what Ronald had expected. Moreover, Ronald was seated next to Sybil Brandon at dinner, and droveevery one away who tried to disturb the tête-à-tête he succeededin procuring with her afterwards. He was surprised at his own conduct, buthe somehow connected it in his mind with his desire to hate Harrington. Itwas not very clear to himself, and it certainly would have beenincomprehensible to any one else, but the presence of Harringtonstimulated him in his efforts to amuse Miss Brandon. Sybil, too, in her quiet way, was very willing to be amused, and she foundin Ronald Surbiton an absolute freshness of ideas that gave her a newsense of pleasure. Her affair with Vancouver had made a deep impression onher mind, and her mother's death soon afterwards had had the effect ofwithdrawing her entirely from the world. It was no wonder, therefore, thatshe liked this young Englishman, so different from most of the men sheknew best. It was natural, too, that he should want to talk to her, forshe was the only young girl present. At last, as Ronald began to feel thatintimacy which sometimes grows out of a simple conversation between twosympathetic people, he turned to the subject he had most in mind, if notmost in his heart. "You and my cousin are very intimate, Miss Brandon, I believe?" he said. "Yes--I have grown very fond of her in a few weeks. " Sybil wonderedwhether Ronald was going to make confidences. It seemed to her ratherearly in the acquaintance. "Yes, she told me, " said Ronald. "She is very fond of you, too; I went tosee her this morning. " "I suppose you go every day, " said Sybil, smiling. "No--not every day, " answered Ronald. "But this morning I was asking herabout some of the people here. She seems to know every one. " "Yes indeed, she is immensely popular. Whom did she tell you about?" "Oh--Mrs. Wyndham, and Mr. Wyndham, and Mr. Vancouver, and Mr. Harrington. He is immensely clever, she says, " added Ronald, with a touch of irony inhis voice. "What do you think about him, Miss Brandon?" "I cannot judge very well, " said Sybil. "He is a great friend of mine, andI do not care in the least whether my friends are clever or not. " "Joe does, " said Ronald. "She hates stupid people. She is very clever too, you know, and so I suppose she is right about Harrington. " "Oh yes; I was only speaking of myself, " answered Sybil. "He is probablythe strongest man in this part of the world. " "He looks strong, " said Ronald, who was a judge of athletes. "I mean in the way of brains, " said Sybil. "But he is more than that, forhe is so splendidly honest. " "But lots of people are honest, " said Ronald, who did not want to concedetoo much to the man he meant to dislike. "Perhaps, but not so much as he is. I do not believe John Harrington everin his life said anything that could possibly convey a false impression, or ever betrayed a confidence. " Sybil looked calmly across the room atJohn, who was talking earnestly to Sam Wyndham. "But has he no defects at all? What a model of faultlessness!" exclaimedRonald. "People say he is self-centred, whatever that may mean. He is certainly avery ambitious man, but his ambitions are large, and he makes no secret ofthem. He will make a great stir in the world some day. " Ronald would have liked to ask about Vancouver also, but he fortunatelyremembered what Joe had told him that morning, and did not ask hisquestions of Sybil. But he went home that night wondering what manner ofman this Harrington might be, concerning whom such great things were said. He was conscious also that he had not been very wise in what he had askedof Sybil, and he was dissatisfied at not having heard anything about thefriendship that existed between Harrington and Joe. But on the whole hehad enjoyed the evening very much--almost too much, when he remembered thethings Joe had said to him in the morning. It ought not to be possible, hethought, for a jilted lover to look so pleasantly on life. "Well, " said Sam Wyndham to his wife when everybody was gone, and he hadlit a big cigar; "well, it was a pleasant kind of an evening, was not it?" "Yes, " said Mrs. Sam, sitting down in a low easy-chair for a chat with herhusband. "What a nice boy that young Englishman is. " "I was just going to say so, " said Sam. "He made himself prettycomfortable with Sybil, did he not? I could not help thinking they lookeda very pretty pair as they sat in that corner. What is he?" "He is Miss Thorn's cousin. Sam, you really must not drop your ashes onthe carpet. There are no end of saucers and things about. " "Oh, bother the carpet, my dear, " said Sam good-naturedly; "tell me aboutthat young fellow--what is his name?--Surbiton, is not it?" "Yes--well, there is not very much to tell. He is here traveling foramusement, just like any other young Englishman. For my part I expected hehad come here to marry his cousin, because Englishmen always marry theircousins. But Sybil says it is not true. " "How does she come to know?" inquired Sam, rolling his cigar in his mouthand looking at the ceiling. "I suppose Miss Thorn told her. She ought to know, any way. " "Well, one would think so. By the way, this election is going to turn outa queer sort of a business, I expect. John says the only thing that isdoubtful is that fellow Patrick Ballymolloy and his men. Now is not thatjust about the queerest thing you ever heard of? A set of Irishmen in theLegislature who are not sure they can manage to vote for a Democraticsenator?" "Yes, that is something altogether new, " said Mrs. Wyndham. "But it seemsso funny that John should come telling you all about his election, whenyou are such a Republican, and would go straight against him if you hadanything to say about it. " "Oh, he knows I don't vote or anything, " said Sam. "Of course you don't vote, because you are not in the Legislature. But ifyou did, you would go against him, would not you?" "Well, I am not sure, " answered Sam in a drawl of uncertainty. "I tell youwhat it is, my dear, John Harrington is not such a bad Republican afterall, though he is a Democrat. And it is my belief he could callhimself a Republican, and could profess to believe just the same things ashe does now, if he only took a little care. " CHAPTER XIII A council of three men sat in certain rooms, in Conduit Street, London. There was nothing whatever about the bachelor's front room overlooking thethoroughfare to suggest secrecy, nor did any one of the three gentlemenwho sat in easy-chairs, with cigars in their mouths, in any way resemble aconspirator. They were neither masked nor wrapped in cloaks, but wore theordinary garb of fashionably civilized life. For the sake of clearness andconvenience, they can be designated as X, Y, and Z. X was the president onthe present occasion, but the office was not held permanently, devolvingupon each of the three in succession at each successive meeting. X was a man sixty years of age, clean-shaved, with smooth iron-gray hairand bushy eyebrows, from beneath which shone a pair of preternaturallybright blue eyes. His face was of a strong, even, healthy red; he wasstout, but rather thick and massive than corpulent; his hands were of thesquare type, with thick straight fingers and large nails, the great blueveins showing strongly through the white skin. He was dressed in black, asthough in mourning, and his clothes fitted smoothly over his short heavyfigure. Y was very tall and slight, and it was not easy to make a guess at hisage, for his hair was sandy and thick, and his military moustacheconcealed the lines about his mouth. His forehead was high and broad, andthe extreme prominence between his brows made his profile look as thoughthe facial angles were reversed, as in certain busts of Greekphilosophers. His fingers were well shaped, but extremely long and thin. He wore the high collar of the period, with a white tie fastened by a pinconsisting of a single large pearl, and it was evident that the remainderof his dress was with him a subject of great attention. Y might beanywhere from forty to fifty years of age. Z was the eldest of the three, and in some respects the most remarkable inappearance. He was well proportioned, except that his head seemed largefor his body. His face was perfectly colorless, and his thin hair waswhite and long and disorderly. A fringe of snowy beard encircled histhroat like a scarf, but his lips and cheeks were clean-shaved. The deadwaxen whiteness of his face was thrown into startling relief by his greatblack eyes, in which there was a depth and a fire when he was roused thatcontrasted strongly with his aged appearance. His dress was simple in theextreme, and of the darkest colors. The three sat in their easy-chairs round the coal fire. It was high noonin London, and the weather was moderately fine; that is to say, it waspossible to read in the room without lighting the gas. X held a telegramin his hand. "This is a perfectly clear case against us, " he remarked in a quiet, business-like manner. "It has occurred at such an unfortunate time, " said Y, who spoke veryslowly and distinctly, with an English accent. "We shall do it yet, " said Z, confidently. "Gentlemen, " said the president, "it will not do to hesitate. There is anindividual in this case who will not let the grass grow under his feet. His name is Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy. We all know about him, I expect?" "I know him very well indeed, " said old Z. "It was I who put him in thebook. " He rose quickly and took a large volume from a shelf near by. Itwas a sort of ledger, with the letters of the alphabet printed on the cutedges of the leaves. "I don't believe Y knows him, " said the president. "Please read him tous. " Z turned over the leaves quickly. "B--Bally--Ballymolloy-Patrick--Yes, " he said, finding the place. "PatrickBallymolloy. Irish iron man. Boston, Mass. Drinks. Takes money from bothsides. Voted generally Democratic ticket. P. S. 1882, opposed B. Inelection for Governor. Iron interest increased. P. S. 1883, owns twentyvotes in House. Costs more than he did. That is all, " said Z, shutting upthe book. "Quite enough, " said the president. "Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy and histwenty votes will bother us. What a pity J. H. Made that speech!" "It appears that as Patrick has grown rich, Patrick has grown fond ofprotection, then, " remarked Y, crossing one long leg over the other. "Exactly, " said Z. "That is it. Now the question is, who owns Patrick?Anybody know?" "Whoever can pay for him, I expect, " said the president. "Now I have an idea, " said the old man suddenly, and again he dived intothe book. "Did either of you ever know a man called Vancouver?" "Yes--I know all about him, " said Y, and a contemptuous smile hintedbeforehand what he thought of the man. "I made an entry about him the other day, " said the president. "You willfind a good deal against his name. " "Here he is, " said Z again. "Pocock Vancouver. Railways. Rep. Boston, Mass. Was taxed in 1870 for nearly a million dollars. Weak character, veryastute. Takes no money. Believed to be dissipated, but he cleverlyconceals it. Never votes. Has extensive financial interests. 1880, taxedfor nearly three millions. 1881, paid ten thousand dollars to PatrickBallymolloy (D) for carrying a motion for the Monadminck Railroad (seeRailroads). 1882, voted for Butler"-- "Hollo!" exclaimed the president. "Wait, " said Z, "there is more. 1883, thought to be writer of articlesagainst J. H. In Boston 'Daily Standard. ' Subsequently confirmed by J. H. That is all. " "Yes, " said the president, "that last note is mine. Harrington wired ityesterday with other things. But I was hurried and did not read his oldrecord. Things could not be much worse. You see Harrington has no bookwith him, or he would know all this, and be on the lookout. " "Has he figured it out?" inquired Y. "Yes, he has figured it out. He is a first-rate man, and he has the wholething down cold. Ballymolloy and his twenty votes will carry the election, and if Vancouver cares he can buy Mr. Ballymolloy as he has done before. He does care, if he is going to take the trouble to write articles againstJ. H. , depend upon it. " "Well, there is nothing for it, " said Z, who, in spite of his age, was themost impulsive of the three. "We must buy Ballymolloy ourselves, with histwenty men. " "I think that would be a mistake, " said the president. "Do you?" said Z. "What do you say?" he asked, turning to Y. "Nothing, " replied Y. "Then we will argue it, I suppose, " said Z. "Certainly, " said the president. "I will begin. " He settled himself in hischair and knocked the ashes from his cigar. "I will begin by stating the exact position, " he said. "In the first placethis whole affair is accidental, resulting from the death of the juniorsenator. No one could foresee this event. We had arranged to put in JohnHarrington at the regular vacancy next year, and we are now very busy witha most important business here in London. If we were on the spot, as oneof us could have been had we known that the senator would die, it wouldhave been another matter. This thing will be settled by next Saturday atthe latest, but probably earlier. I am opposed to buying Ballymolloy, because it is an uncertain purchase. He has taken money from both sides, and if he has the chance he will do it again. If we were present it wouldbe different, for we could hold him to his bargain. "We do not like buying, and we only do it in very urgent cases, and whenwe are certain of the result. To buy without certainty is simply to begina system of reckless bribery, which is exactly what we want to put down. Moreover, it is a bad plan to bribe a man who is interested in iron. Theman in that business ought to be with us any way, without anything but alittle talking to. When you have stated any reasons to the contrary I willtell you what I propose instead. That is all. " During the president's little speech, Y and Z had listened attentively. When he had finished, Z turned in his chair and took his cigar from hislips. "I think, " said Z, "that the case is urgent. The question is just aboutcoming to a head, and we want all the men we can get at any price. It willnot do to let a chance slip. If we can put J. H. In the senate now, we mayput another man in at the vacancy. That makes two men instead of one. I amaware that it would be an improbable thing to get two of our men in forMassachusetts; but I believe it can be done, and for that reason I thinkwe ought to make an effort to get J. H. In now. It may cost something, butI do not believe it is uncertain. I expect Vancouver is not the sort ofman to spend much just for the sake of spite. The question of buying as arule is another matter. None of us want that; but if the case is urgent Ithink there is no question about its being right. Of course it is a greatpity J. H. Said anything about protection in that speech. He did not meanto, but he could not help it, and at all events he had no idea hiselection was so near. If we are not certain of the result, J. H. Ought towithdraw, because it will injure his chance at the vacancy to have himdefeated now. That is all I have to say. " "I am of opinion, " said the president, "that our best plan is to let JohnHarrington take his chance. You know who his opponent is, I suppose?" "Ira C. Calvin, " said Y and Z together. "Calvin refused last night, " said the president, "and they have putJobbins in his place. Here is the telegram. It is code three, " heremarked, handing it to Z. Z read it, and his face expressed the greatest surprise. "But Jobbins belongs to us, " he cried. "He will not move hand or footunless we advise him!" "Of course, " said the president. "But Mr. Ballymolloy does not know that, nor any other member of the Legislature. Harrington himself does not knowit. Verdict, please. " "Verdict against buying, " said Y. "Naturally, " said Z. "What a set of fools they are! How about withdrawingHarrington?" "I object, " said the president. "Proceed. " "I think it will injure his chance at the vacancy to have him defeatednow, as I said before. That is all, " said Z. "I think it would be dangerous to withdraw him before so weak a man asJobbins. It would hurt his reputation. Besides, our second man is inWashington arguing a case; and, after all, there is a bare chance thatJ. H. May win. If he does not, we win all the same, for Jobbins is inchains. Verdict, please. " Y was silent, and smoked thoughtfully. For five minutes no one spoke, andthe president occupied the time in arranging some papers. "Let him stand his chance, " said Y, at last. In spite of the apparentinformality of the meetings of the three, there was an unchangeable rulein their proceedings. Whenever a question arose, the member who firstobjected to the proposition argued the case briefly, or at length, withthe proposer, and the third gave the verdict, against which there was noappeal. These three strong men possessed between them an enormous power. It rarelyhappened that they could all meet together and settle upon their course ofaction by word of month, but constant correspondence and the use of anextensive set of telegraphic codes kept them in unbroken communication. Nooaths or ceremonies bound them together, for they belonged to a smallcommunity of men which has existed from the earliest days of Americanindependence, and which took its rise before that period. Into this council of three, men of remarkable ability and spotlesscharacter were elected without much respect of age whenever a vacancyoccurred. They worked quietly, with one immutable political purpose, withwhich they allowed no prejudiced party view to interfere. Always havingunder their immediate control some of the best talent in the country, andfrequently commanding vast financial resources, these men and theirpredecessors had more than once turned the scale of the country's future. They had committed great mistakes, but they had also brought about nobleresults. It had frequently occurred that all the three members of thecouncil simultaneously held seats in the senate, or that one or more werehigh in office. More than one President since Washington had sat at onetime or another in the triumvirate; secretaries of state, orators, lawyers, financiers, and philanthropists had given the best years of theirlives to the duties of the council; and yet, so perfect was theorganization, the tests were so careful, and so marvelously profound wasthe insight of the leaders into human character, that of all these men, not one had ever betrayed the confidence placed in him. In the truestsense they and their immediate supporters formed an order; an order oftrue men, with whom the love of justice, honor, and freedom took the placeof oath and ceremonial, binding them by stronger obligations than everbound a ring of conspirators or a community of religious zealots. The great element of secrecy as regards the outer world lay in the factthat only two men at any one time knew of the existence of the council ofthree, and these were those who were considered fit to sit in the councilthemselves. Even these two did not know more than one of the three leadersas such, though probably personally and even intimately acquainted withall three. The body of men whom the council controlled was ignorant of itsexistence therefore, and was composed of the personal adherents of each ofthe three. Manifestly one member of the council could, with the consentand cooperation of the other two, command the influence of the whole bodyof political adherents in favor of one of his friends, at any time, leaving the individual in entire ignorance of the power employed for hisadvancement. When a vacancy occurred in the council, by death or old ageof any member, one of the two already designated took the place, while theother remained ignorant of the fact that any change had occurred, unlessthe vacancy was caused by the withdrawal of the member he had known, inwhich case he was put in communication with that member with whom he wasmost intimately acquainted. By this system of management no one man knewmore than one of the actual leaders until he was himself one of the three. At the present time Z had been in the council nearly thirty years, and Xfor upwards of twenty, while Y, who was in reality fifty years old, hadreceived his seat fifteen years before, at the age of thirty-five. A yearago one of the men selected to fill a possible vacancy had died, and JohnHarrington was chosen in his place. It has been seen that the three kept a sort of political ledger, which wasalways in the hands of the president for the time being, whose duty it wasto make the insertions necessary from time to time. Some conception of theextent and value of the book may be formed from the fact that it containedupwards of ten thousand names, including those of almost every prominentman, and of not a few remarkable women in the principal centres of thecountry. The details given were invariably brief and to the point, writtendown in a simple but safe form of cipher which was perfectly familiar toevery one of the three. This vast mass of information was simply theoutcome of the personal experience of the leaders, and of their trustedfriends, but no detail which could by any possibility be of use escapedbeing committed to paper, and the result was in many cases a positiveknowledge of future events, which, to any one unacquainted with thesystem, must have appeared little short of miraculous. "What time is it in Boston?" inquired the president, rising and going tothe writing-table. "Twenty-eight minutes past seven, " said Y, producing an enormous three-dial time-piece, set to indicate simultaneously the time of day inLondon, Boston, and Washington. "All right, there is plenty of time, " answered X, writing out a dispatchon a broad white sheet of cable office paper. "See here--is this allright?" he asked, when he had done. The message ran as follows: "Do not withdraw. If possible gain Ballymolloyand men, but on no account pay for them. If asked, say iron protectionnecessary at present, and probably for many years. " Y and Z read the telegram, and said it would do. In ten minutes it wastaken to the telegraph office by X's servant. "And now, " said X, lighting a fresh cigar, "we have disposed of thisaccident, and we can turn to our regular business. The question isbroadly, what effect will be produced by suddenly throwing eight or tenmillions of English money into an American enterprise?" "When Englishmen are not making money, they are a particularlydisagreeable set of people to deal with, " remarked Y, who would have beentaken for an Englishman himself in any part of the world. And so the council left John Harrington, and turned to other matters whichdo not in any way concern this tale. John received the dispatch at half-past ten o'clock in the morning afterthe dinner at Mrs. Wyndham's, and he read it without comprehendingprecisely the position taken by his instructor. Nevertheless, the ordercoincided with what he would have done if left to himself. He of coursecould not know that even if his opponent were elected it would be a gainto his own party, for the outward life of Mr. Jobbins gave no cause forbelieving that he was in anybody's power. Harrington was left to supposethat, if he failed to get the votes of Patrick Ballymolloy and his party, the election would be a dead loss. Nevertheless, he rejoiced that the saidPatrick was not to be bought. An honorable failure, wherein he mighthonestly say that he had bribed no one, nor used any undue pressure, wouldin his opinion be better than to be elected ten times over by money andpromises of political jobbery. The end rarely justifies the means, and there are means so foul that theywould blot any result into their own filthiness. All that the world canwrite; or think, or say, will never make it honorable or noble to bribeand tell lies. Men who lie are not brave because they are willing to beshot at, in some instances, by the men their falsehoods have injured. Menwho pay others to agree with them are doing a wrong upon the dignity ofhuman nature, and they very generally end by saying that human nature hasno dignity at all, and very possibly by being themselves corrupted. Nevertheless, so great is the interest which men, even upright andhonorable men, take in the aims they follow, that they believe it possibleto wade knee-deep through mud, and then ascend to the temple of famewithout dragging the mud with them, and befouling the white marble steps. "Political necessity!" What deeds are done in thy name! What a mercifuland polite goddess was the necessity of the ancients, compared with thenecessity of the moderns. Political necessity has been hard at work in ourtimes from Robespierre to Sedan, from St. Helena to the Vatican, from theTea-chests of Boston Harbor to the Great Rebellion. Political necessityhas done more lying, more bribery, more murdering, and more stealing in acentury, than could have been invented by all the Roman emperors together, with the assistance of the devil himself. CHAPTER XIV. In all the endless folk-lore of proverbs, there is perhaps no adage moretrue than that which warns young people to beware of a new love until theyhave done with the old, and as Ronald Surbiton reflected on his position, the old rhyme ran through his head. Ho was strongly attracted by SybilBrandon, but, at the same time, he still felt that he ought to make aneffort to win Joe back. It seemed so unmanly to relinquish her without astruggle, just because she said she did not love him. It could not betrue, for they had loved each other so long. When Ronald looked out of the window of his room in the hotel, on themorning after Mrs. Wyndham's dinner, the snow was falling as it can onlyfall in Boston. The great houses opposite were almost hidden from view bythe soft, fluttering flakes, and below, in the broad street, the horse-cars moved slowly along like immense white turtles ploughing their waythrough deep white sand. The sound of the bells was muffled as it came up, and the scraping of the Irishmen's heavy spades on the pavement before thehotel followed by the regular fall of the great shovels full on the heap, as they stacked the snow, sounded like the digging of a gigantic grave. Ronald felt that his spirits were depressed. He watched the drifting stormfor a few minutes, and then turned away and looked for a novel in his bag, and filled a pipe with some English tobacco he had jealously guarded fromthe lynx-eyed custom-house men in New York, and then sat down with a sighbefore his small coal fire, and prepared to pass the morning, in solitude. But Ronald was not fond of reading, and at the end of half an hour hethrew his book and his pipe aside, and stretched his long limbs. Then herose and went to the window again with an expression of utter wearinesssuch as only an Englishman can put on when he is thoroughly bored. Thesnow was falling as thickly as ever, and the turtle-backed horse-carscrawled by through the drifts, more and more slowly. Ronald turned awaywith an impatient ejaculation, and made up his mind that he would go andsee Joe at once. He wrapped himself carefully in a huge ulster overcoatand went out. Joe was sitting alone in the drawing-room, curled up in an old-fashionedarm-chair by the fire, with a book in her lap which she was not reading. She had asked her aunt for something about politics, and Miss Schenectadyhad given her the "Life of Rufus Choate, " in two large black volumes. Thebook was interesting, but in Joe's mind it was but a step from thespeeches and doings of the great and brilliant lawyer-senator to thespeeches and doings of John Harrington. And so after a while the bookdropped upon her knee and she leaned far back in the chair, her greatbrown eyes staring dreamily at the glowing coals. "I was so awfully lonely, " said Ronald, sitting down beside her, "that Icame here. You do not mind, Joe, do you?" "Mind? No! I am very glad. It must be dreadfully lonely for you at thehotel. What have you been doing with yourself?" "Oh--trying to read. And then, I was thinking about you. " "That is not much of an occupation. See how industrious I am. I have beenreading the 'Life and Writings of Rufus Choate. ' I am getting to be acomplete Bostonian. " "Have you read it all? I never heard of him. Who was he?" "He was an extremely clever man. He must have been very nice, and hisspeeches are splendid. You ought to read them. " "Joe, you are going to be a regular blue-stocking! The idea of spendingyour time in reading such stuff. Why, it would be almost better to readthe parliamentary reports in the 'Times!' Just fancy!" Ronald laughed atthe idea of any human being descending to such drudgery. "Don't be silly, Ronald. You do not know anything about it, " said Joe. "Oh, it is of no use discussing the question, " answered Ronald. "You youngwomen are growing altogether too clever, with your politics, and yourphilosophy, and your culture. I hate America!" "If you really knew anything about it, you would like it very much. Besides, you have no right to say you hate it. The people here have beenvery good to you already. You ought not to abuse them. " "No--not the people. But just look at that snow-storm, Joe, and tell mewhether America is a place for human beings to live in. " "It is much prettier than a Scotch mist, and ever so much clearer than afog in London, " retorted Joe. "But there is nothing for a fellow to do on a day like this, " said Ronaldsulkily. "Nothing, but to come and see his cousin, and abuse everything to her, andtry to make her as discontented as himself, " said Joe, mimicking his tone. "If I thought you liked me to come and see you"--began Ronald. "Well?" "It would be different, you know. " "I like you when you are nice and good-tempered, " said Joe. "But when youare bored you are simply--well, you are dreadful. " Joe raised her eyebrowsand tapped with her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Do you think I can ever be bored when I come to see you, Joe?" askedRonald, changing his tone. "You act as if you were, precisely. You know people who are bored aregenerally bores themselves. " "Thanks, " said Ronald. "How kind you are!" "Do say something nice, Ronald. You have done nothing but find fault sinceyou came. Have you heard from home?" "No. There has not been time yet. Why do you ask?" "Because I thought you might say something less disagreeable about homethan you seem able to say about things here, " said Joe tartly. "You do not want me this morning. I will go away again, " said Ronald witha gloomy frown. He rose to his feet, as though about to take his leave. "Oh, don't go, Ronald. " He paused. "Besides, " added Joe, "Sybil will behere in a little while. " "You need not offer me Miss Brandon as an inducement to stay with you, Joe, if you really want me. Twenty Miss Brandons would not make anydifference!" "Really?" said Joe smiling. "You are a dear good boy, Ronald, when you arenice, " she added presently. "Sit down again. " Ronald went back to his seat beside her, and they were both silent for awhile. Joe repented a little, for she thought she had been teasing him, and she reflected that she ought to be doing her best to make him happy. "Joe--do not you think it would be very pleasant to be always like this?"said Ronald after a time. "How--like this?" "Together, " said Ronald softly, and a gentle look came into his handsomeface, as he looked up at his cousin. "Together--only in our own home. " Joe did not answer, but the color came to her cheeks, and she lookedannoyed. She had hoped that the matter was settled forever, for it seemedso easy for her. Ronald misinterpreted the blush. For the moment the oldconviction came back to him that she was to be his wife, and if it was notexactly love that he felt, it was a satisfaction almost great enough totake its place. "Would it not?" said he presently. "Please do not talk about it, Ronald. What is the use? I have said allthere is to say, I am sure. " "But I have not, " he answered, insisting. "Please, Joe dearest, thinkabout it seriously. Think what a cruel thing it is you are doing. " Hisvoice was very tender, but he was perfectly calm; there was not theslightest vibration of passion in the tones. Joe did not whollyunderstand; she only knew that he was not satisfied with the firstexplanation she had given him, and that she felt sorry for him, but wasincapable of changing her decision. "Must I go over it all again?" she asked piteously. "Did I not make itclear to you, Ronald? Oh--don't talk about it!" "You have no heart, Joe, " said Ronald hotly. "You don't know what you makeme suffer. You don't know that this sort of thing is enough to wreck aman's existence altogether. You don't know what you are doing, because youhave no heart--not the least bit of one. " "Do not say that--please do not, " Joe entreated, looking at him withimploring eyes, for his words hurt her. Then suddenly the tears came in aquick hot gush, and she hid her face in her hands. "Oh, Ronald, Ronald--itis you who do not know, " she sobbed. Ronald did not quite know what to do; he never did when Joe cried, butfortunately that disaster had not occurred often since he was very small. He was angry with himself for having disturbed and hurt her, but he didnot know what to do, most probably because he did not really love her. "Joe, " he said, looking at her in some embarrassment, "don't!" Then herose and rather timidly laid a hand on her shoulder. But she shrank fromhim with a petulant motion, and the tears trickled through her small whitehands and fell upon her dark dress and on the "Life of Rufus Choate. " "Joe, dear"--Ronald began again. And then, in great uncertainty of mind, he went and looked out of the window. Presently he came back and stoodbefore her once more. "I am awfully sorry I said it, Joe. Please forgive me. You don't oftencry, you know, and so"--He hesitated. Joe looked up at him with a smile through her tears, beautiful as a rosejust wet with a summer shower. "And so--you did not think I could, " she said. She dried her eyes quicklyand rose to her feet. "It is very silly of me, I know, but I cannot helpit in the least, " said she, turning from him in pretense of arranging theknickknacks on the mantel. "Of course you cannot help it, Joe, dear; as if you had not a perfectright to cry, if you like! I am such a brute--I know. " "Come and look at the snow, " said Joe, taking his hand and leading him tothe window. Enormous Irishmen in pilot coats, comforters, and india-rubberboots, armed with broad wooden spades, were struggling to keep the driftsfrom the pavement. Joe and Ronald stood and watched them idly, absorbed intheir own thoughts. Presently a booby sleigh drawn by a pair of strong black horses flounderedup the hill and stopped at the door. "Oh, Ronald, there is Sybil, and she will see I have been crying. You must amuse her, and I will come back in a few minutes. " She turned and fled, leaving Ronald at the window. A footman sprang to the ground, and nearly lost his footing in the snow ashe opened a large umbrella and rang the bell. In a moment Sybil was out ofthe sleigh and at the door of the house; she could not sit still till itwas opened, although the flakes were falling as thickly as ever. "Oh"--she exclaimed, as she entered the room and was met by Ronald, "Ithought Joe was here. " There was color in her face, and she took Ronald'shand cordially. He blushed to the eyes, and stammered. "Miss Thorn is--she--indeed, she will be back in a moment. How do you do?Dreadful weather, is not it?" "Oh, it is only a snowstorm, " said Sybil, brushing a few flakes from herfurs as she came near the fire. "We do not mind it at all here. But ofcourse you never have snow in England. " "Not like this, certainly, " said Ronald. "Let me help you, " he added, asSybil began to remove her cloak. It was a very sudden change of company for Ronald; five minutes ago he wastrying, very clumsily and hopelessly, to console Joe Thorn in her tears, feeling angry enough with himself all the while for having caused them. Now he was face to face with Sybil Brandon, the most beautiful woman heremembered to have seen, and she smiled at him as he took her heavy cloakfrom her shoulders, and the touch of the fur sent a thrill to his heart, and the blood to his cheeks. "I must say, " he remarked, depositing the things on a sofa, "you are verycourageous to come out, even though you are used to it. " "You have come yourself, " said Sybil, laughing a little. "You told me lastnight that you did not come here every day. " "Oh--I told my cousin I had come because I was so lonely at the hotel. Itis amazingly dull to sit all day in a close room, reading stupid novels. " "I should think it would be. Have you nothing else to do?" "Nothing in the wide world, " said Ronald with a smile. "What should I dohere, in a strange place, where I know so few people?" "I suppose there is not much for a man to do, unless he is in business. Every one here is in some kind of business, you know, so they are neverbored. " Ronald wished he could say the right thing to reestablish the half-intimacy he had felt when talking to Sybil the night before. But it wasnot easy to get back to the same point. There was an interval of hoursbetween yesterday and to-day--and there was Joe. "I read novels to pass the time, " he said, "and because they are sometimesso like one's own life. But when they are not, they bore me. " Sybil was fond of reading, and she was especially fond of fiction, notbecause she cared for sensational interests, but because she was naturallycontemplative, and it interested her to read about the human nature of thepresent, rather than to learn what any individual historian thought of thehuman nature of the past. "What kind of novels do you like best?" she asked, sitting down to passthe time with Ronald until Josephine should make her appearance. "I like love stories best, " said Ronald. "Oh, of course, " said Sybil gravely, "so do I. But what kind do you likebest? The sad ones, or those that end well?" "I like them to end well, " said Ronald, "because the best ones never do, you know. " "Never?" There was something in Sybil's tone that made Ronald look quicklyat her. She said the word as though she, too, had something to regret. "Not in my experience, " answered Surbiton, with the decision of a man pastloving or being loved. "How dreadfully gloomy! One would think you had done with life, Mr. Surbiton, " said Sybil, laughing. "Sometimes I think so, Miss Brandon, " answered Ronald in solemn tones. "I suppose we all think it would be nice to die, sometimes. But then thenext morning things look so much brighter. " "I think they often look much brighter in the evening, " said Ronald, thinking of the night before. "I am sure something disagreeable has happened to you to-day, Mr. Surbiton, " said Sybil, looking at him. Ronald looked into her eyes asthough to see if there were any sympathy there. "Yes, something disagreeable has happened to me, " he answered slowly. "Something very disagreeable and painful. " "I am sorry, " said Sybil simply. But her voice sounded very kind andcomforting. "That is why I say that love stories always end badly in real life, " saidRonald. "But I suppose I ought not to complain. " It was not until he hadthought over this speech, some minutes later, that he realized that in afew words he had told Sybil the main part of his troubles. He neverguessed that she was so far in Joe's confidence as to have heard the wholestory before. But Sybil was silent and thoughtful. "Love is such an uncertain thing, " she began, after a pause; and itchanced that at that very moment Joe opened the door and entered the room. She caught the sentence. "So you are instructing my cousin, " she said to Sybil, laughing. "Iapprove of the way you spend your time, my children!" No one would havebelieved that, twenty minutes earlier, Joe had been in tears. She was asfresh and as gay as ever, and Ronald said to himself that she mostcertainly had no heart, but that Sybil had a great deal, --he was sure ofit from the tone of her voice. "What is the news about the election, Sybil?" she asked. "Of course youknow all about it at the Wyndhams'. " "My dear, the family politics are in a state of confusion that is simplytoo delightful, " said Sybil. "You know it is said that Ira C. Calvin has refused to be a candidate, andthe Republicans mean to put in Mr. Jobbins in his place, who is such apopular man, and so good and benevolent-quite a philanthropist. " "Does it make very much difference?" asked Joe anxiously. "I wish Iunderstood all about it, but the local names are so hard to learn. " "I thought you bad been learning them all the morning in Choate, " put inRonald, who perceived that the conversation was to be about Harrington. "It does make a difference, " said Sybil, not noticing Ronald's remark, "because Jobbins is much more popular than Calvin, and they say he is afriend of Patrick Ballymolloy, who will win the election for either sidehe favors. " "Who is this Irishman?" inquired Ronald. "He is the chief Irishman, " said Sybil laughing, "and I cannot describehim any better. He has twenty votes with him, and as things stand healways carries whichever point he favors. But Mr. Wyndham says he is gladhe is not in the Legislature, because it would drive him out of his mindto decide on which side to vote--though he is a good Republican, youknow. " "Of course he could vote for Mr. Harrington in spite of that, " said Joe, confidently. "Anybody would, who knows him, I am sure. But when is theelection to come off?" "They say it is to begin to-day, " said Sybil. "We shall never hear anything unless we go to Mrs. Wyndham's, " said Joe. "Aunt Zoë is awfully clever, and that, but she never knows in the leastwhat is going on. She says she does not understand politics. " "If you were a Bostonian, Mr. Surbiton, " said Sybil, "you would get intothe State House and hear the earliest news. " "I will do anything in the world to oblige you, " said Ronald gravely, "ifyou will only explain a little"-- "Oh no! It is quite impossible. Come with me, both of you, and we will getsome lunch at the Wyndhams' and hear all about it by telephone. " "Very well, " said Joe. "One moment, while I get my things. " She left theroom. Ronald and Sybil were again alone together. "You were saying when my cousin came in, that love was a very uncertainthing, " suggested Ronald, rather timidly. "Was I?" said Sybil, standing before the mirror above the mantelpiece, andtouching her hat first on one side and then on the other. "Yes, " answered Ronald, watching her. "Do you know, I have often thoughtso too. " "Yes?" "I think it would be something different if it were quite certain. Perhapsit would be something much less interesting, but much better. " "I think you are a little confused, Mr. Surbiton, " said Sybil, and as shesmiled, Ronald could see her face reflected in the mirror. "I--yes--that is--I dare say I am, " said he, hesitatingly. "But I knowexactly what I mean. " "But do you know exactly what you want?" she asked with a laugh. "Yes indeed, " said he confidently. "But I do not believe I shall ever getit. " "Then that is the 'disagreeable and painful thing' you referred to, ashaving happened this morning, I suppose, " remarked Sybil, calmly, as sheturned to take up her cloak which lay on the sofa. Ronald blushed scarlet. "Well--yes, " he said, forgetting in his embarrassment to help her. "It is so heavy, " said Sybil. "Thanks. Do you know that you have beenmaking confidences to me, Mr. Surbiton?" she asked, turning and facinghim, with a half-amused, half-serious look in her blue eyes. "I am afraid I have, " he answered, after a short pause. "You must think Iam very foolish. " "Never mind, " she said gravely. "They are safe with me. " "Thanks, " said Ronald in a low voice. Josephine entered the room, clad in many furs, and a few minutes later allthree were on their way to Mrs. Wyndham's, the big booby sleigh rockingand leaping and ploughing in the heavy dry snow. CHAPTER XV. Pocock Vancouver was also abroad in the snowstorm. He would not in anycase have stayed at home on account of the weather, but on this particularmorning he had very urgent business with a gentleman who, like Lamb, rosewith the lark, though he did not go to bed with the chickens. There are nolarks in Boston, but the scream of the locomotives answers nearly as well. Vancouver accordingly had himself driven at an early hour to a certainhouse not situated in the West End, but of stone quite as brown, andhaving a bay window as prominent as any sixteen-foot-front on BeaconStreet; those advantages, however, did not prevent Mr. Vancouver fromwearing an expression of fastidious scorn as he mounted the steps andpulled the polished German silver handle of the door-bell. The curl on hislip gave way to a smile of joyous cordiality as he was ushered into thepresence of the owner of the house. "Indeed, I'm glad to see you, Mr. Vancouver, " said his host, whoseextremely Celtic appearance was not belied by unctuous modulation of hisvoice, and the pleasant roll of his softly aspirated consonants. This great man was no other than Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy. He receivedVancouver in his study, which was handsomely furnished with bright greenwall-paper, a sideboard on which stood a number of decanters and glasses, several leather easy-chairs, and a green china spittoon. In personal appearance, Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy was vastly more strikingthan attractive. He was both corpulent and truculent, and his hands andfeet were of a size and thickness calculated to crush a paving-stone at astep, or to fell an ox at a blow. The nails of his fingers were of a huewhich is made artificially fashionable in eastern countries, but whichexcites prejudice in western civilization from an undue display of realestate. A neck which the Minotaur might have justly envied surmounted thethickness and roundness of Mr. Ballymolloy's shoulders, and supported ahead more remarkable for the immense cavity of the mouth, and for aquantity of highly pomaded sandy hair, than for any intellectuality of thebrows or high-bred fineness of the nose. Mr. Ballymolloy's nose wasnevertheless an astonishing feature, and at a distance called vividly tomind the effect of one of those great glass bottles of reddened water, behind which apothecaries of all degrees put a lamp at dusk in order thattheir light may the better shine in the darkness. It was one of the mostsurprising feats of nature's alchemy that a liquid so brown as thatcontained in the decanters on Patrick's sideboard should be able toproduce and maintain anything so supernaturally red as Patrick's nose. Mr. Ballymolloy was clad in a beautiful suit of shiny black broadcloth, and the front of his coat was irregularly but richly adorned with aprofusion of grease-spots of all sizes. A delicate suggestive mezzotintshaded the edges of his collar and cuffs, and from his heavy gold watch-chain depended a malachite seal of unusual greenness and brilliancy. Vancouver took the gigantic outstretched hand of his host in his delicatefingers, with an air of cordiality which, if not genuine, was very wellassumed. "I'm glad to see you, sir, " said the Irishman again. "Thanks, " said Vancouver, "and I am fortunate in finding you at home. " Mr. Ballymolloy smiled, and pushed one of his leather easy-chairs towardsthe fire. Both men sat down. "I suppose you are pretty busy over this election, Mr. Ballymolloy, " saidVancouver; blandly. "Now, that's just it, Mr. Vancouver, " replied the Irishman. "That's justexactly what's the matter with me, for indeed I am very busy, and that'sthe truth. " "Just so, Mr. Ballymolloy. Especially since the change last night. Iremember what a good friend you have always been to Mr. Jobbins. " "Well, as you say, Mr. Vancouver, I have been thinking that I and Mr. Jobbins are pretty good friends, and that's just about what it is, Ithink. " "Yes, I remember that on more than one occasion you and he have actedtogether in the affairs of the state, " said Vancouver, thoughtfully. '"Ah, but it's the soul of him that I like, " answered Mr. Ballymolloy verysweetly. "He has such a beautiful soul, Mr. Jobbins; it does me good, andindeed it does, Mr. Vancouver. " "As you say, sir, a man full of broad human sympathies. Nevertheless Ifeel sure that on the present occasion your political interests will leadyou to follow the promptings of duty, and to vote in favor of theDemocratic candidate. I wish you and I did not differ in politics, Mr. Ballymolloy. " "And, indeed, there is not so very much difference, if it comes to that, Mr. Vancouver, " replied Patrick in conciliating tones. "But it's just whatI have been thinking, that I will vote for Mr. Harrington. It's a matterof principle with me, Mr. Vancouver, and that's it exactly. " "And where should we all be without principles, Mr. Ballymolloy? Indeed Imay say that the importance of principles in political matters is verygreat. " "And it's just the greatest pity in the world that every one has not principles like you, Mr. Vancouver. I'm speaking the truth now. " Accordingto Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy's view of destiny, it was the truth and nothingbut the truth. He knew Vancouver of old, and Vancouver knew him. "You flatter me, sir, " said Pocock, affecting a pleased smile. "To tellthe truth, there is a little matter I wanted to speak to you about, if youcan spare me half an hour. ". "Indeed, I'm most entirely delighted to be at your service, Mr. Vancouver, and I'm glad you came so early in the morning. " "The fact is, Mr. Ballymolloy, we are thinking of making an extension onone of our lines; a small matter, but of importance to us. " "I guess it must be the branch of the Pocahontas and Dead Man's Valleyyou'll be speaking of, Mr. Vancouver, " said the Irishman, with sudden andcheerful interest. "Really, Mr. Ballymolloy, you are a man of the most surprising quickness. It is a real pleasure to talk with you on such matters. I have no doubtyou understand the whole question thoroughly. " "Well, it's of no use at all to say I know nothing about it, because Ihave heard it mentioned, and that's the plain truth, Mr. Vancouver. And it will take a deal of rail, too, and that's another thing. And wheredo you think of getting the iron from, Mr. Vancouver?" "Well, I had hoped, Mr. Ballmolly, " said Vancouver, with some affectedhesitation, "that as an old friend, we might be able to manage matterswith you. But, of course, this is entirely unofficial, and betweenourselves. " Mr. Ballymolloy nodded with something very like a wink of one bloodshoteye. He knew what he was about. "And when will you be thinking of beginning the work, Mr. Vancouver?" heinquired, after a short pause. "That is just the question, or rather, perhaps, I should say thedifficulty. We do not expect to begin work for a year or so. " "And surely that makes no difference, then, at all, " returned Patrick. "For the longer the time, the easier it will be for me to accommodateyou. " "Ah--but you see, Mr. Ballymolloy, it may be that in a year's time thesenew-fangled ideas about free trade may be law, and it may be much cheaperfor us to get our rails from England, as Mr. Vanderbilt did three or fouryears ago, when he was in such a hurry, you remember. " "And, indeed, I remember it very well, Mr. Vancouver. " "Just so. Now you see, Mr. Ballymolloy, I am speaking to you entirely as afriend, though I hope I may before long bring about an official agreement. But you see the difficulty of making a contract a year ahead, when a partyof Democratic senators and Congressmen may by that time have upset theduty on steel rails, don't you?" "And indeed, I see it as plain as day, Mr. Vancouver. And that's why I wassaying I wished every one had such principles as yourself, and I'm tellingyou no lie when I say it again. " Verily Mr. Ballymolloy was a truthfulperson! "Very well. Now, do not you think, Mr. Ballymolloy, that all this talkabout free trade is great nonsense?" "And, surely, it will be the ruin of the whole country, Mr. Vancouver. " "Besides, free trade has nothing to do with Democratic principles, has it?You see here am I, the best Republican in Massachusetts, and here are you, the best Democrat in the country, and we both agree in saying that it isgreat nonsense to leave iron unprotected. " "Ah, it's the principle of you I like, Mr. Vancouver!" exclaimedBallymolloy in great admiration. "It's your principles are beautiful, just!" "Very good, sir. Now of course you are going to vote for Mr. Harringtonto-day, or to-morrow, or whenever the election is to be. Don't you thinkyon might say something to him that would be of some use? I believe he isvery uncertain about protection, you see. I think you could persuade him, somehow. " "Well, now, Mr. Vancouver, it's the truth when I tell you I was justthinking of speaking to him about it, just a little, before I went up tothe State House. And indeed I'll be going to him immediately. " "I think it is the wisest plan, " said Vancouver, rising to go, "and wewill speak about the contract next week, when all this election businessis over. " "Ah, and indeed, I hope it will be soon, sir, " said Ballymolloy. "But you'll not think of going out again in the snow without taking a drop ofsomething, will you, Mr. Vancouver?" He went to the sideboard and pouredout two stiff doses of the amber liquid. "Since you are so kind, " said Vancouver, graciously taking the profferedglass. He knew better than to refuse to drink over a bargain. "Well, here goes, " he said. "And luck to yourself, Mr. Vancouver, " said Ballymolloy. "I think you can persuade him, somehow, " said Vancouver, as his hostopened the street-door for him to go out. "And, indeed, I think so too, " said Ballymolloy. Then he went back to hisstudy and poured out a second glass of whiskey. "And if I cannot persuadehim, " he continued in soliloquy, "why, then, it will just be old Jobbins who will be senator, and that's the plain truth. " Vancouver went away with a light heart, and the frank smile on hisdelicate features was most pleasant to see. He knew John Harrington well, and he was certain that Mr. Ballymolloy's proposal would rouse the honestwrath of the man he detested. Half an hour later Mr. Ballymolloy entered Harrington's room in CharlesStreet. John was seated at the table, fully dressed, and writing letters. He offered his visitor a seat. "So the election is coming on right away, Mr. Harrington, " began Patrick, making himself comfortable, and lighting one of John's cigars. "So I hear, Mr. Ballymolloy, " answered John with a pleasant smile. "I hopeI may count on you, in spite of what you said yesterday. These are thetimes when men must keep together. " "Now Mr. Harrington, you'll not believe that I could go to the House andvote against my own party, surely, will you now?" said Patrick. But therewas a tinge of irony in his soft tones. He knew that Vancouver could makehim great and advantageous business transactions, and he treated himaccordingly. John Harrington was, on the other hand, a mere candidate forhis twenty votes; he could make John senator if he chose, or defeat him, if he preferred it, and he accordingly behaved to John with an air ofbenevolent superiority. "I trust you would do no such thing, Mr. Ballymolloy, " said John gravely. "Without advocating myself as in any wayfit for the honors of the Senate, I can say that it is of the utmostimportance that we should have as many Democrats in Congress as possible, in the Senate as well as in the House. " "Surely you don't think I doubt that, Mr. Harrington? And indeed theSenate is pretty well Democratic as it is. " "Yes, " said John, smiling, "but the more the better, I should think. It isa very different matter from the local legislature, where changes mayoften do good. " "Indeed and it is, Mr. Harrington. And will you please to tell me what youwill do about free trade, when you're in the Senate, sir?" "I am afraid I cannot tell you anything that I did not tell you yesterday, Mr. Ballymolloy. I am a tariff reform man. It is a great Democraticmovement, and I should be bound to support it, even if I were not myselfso thorough a believer in it as I am. " "Now see here, Mr. Harrington, it's the gospel truth I'm telling you, whenI say you're mistaken. Here are plenty of us Democrats who don't want theleast little bit of free trade. I'm in the iron business, Mr. Harrington, and you won't be after thinking me such an all-powerful galoot as to cutmy own nose off, will you?" "Well, not exactly, " said John, who was used to many peculiarities oflanguage in his visitors. "But, of course, iron will be the thing last onthe tariff. I am of opinion that it is necessary to put enough tax on ironto protect home-producers at the time of greatest depression. That isfair, is not it?" "I dare say you may think so, Mr. Harrington, " said Ballymolloy, knockingthe ashes from his cigar. "But you are not an iron man, now, are you?" "Certainly not, " said John. "But I have studied the question, and I knowits importance. In a reformation of the tariff, iron would be one of thethings most carefully provided for. " "Oh, I know all that, " said Ballymolloy, somewhat roughly, "and there'snot much you can tell me about tariff reform that I don't know, neither. And when you have reformed other things, you'll be for reforming iron, too, just to keep your hands in. And, indeed, I've no objection whateverto your reforming everything you like, so long as you don't interfere withme and mine. But I don't trust the principles of the thing, sir; I don'ttrust them the least little bit, and for me I would rather there were notto be any reforming at all, except for the Chinamen, and I don't care muchfor them, neither, and that's a fact. " "Very good, Mr. Ballymolloy. Every man has a right to his free opinion. But we stand on the reform platform, for there is no country in the worldwhere reform is more needed than it is here. I can only repeat that theinterests of the iron trade stand high with the Democratic party, and thatit is highly improbable that any law will interfere with iron for manyyears. I cannot say more than that and yet stick to facts. " "Always stick to facts, Mr. Harrington. You will find the truth a veryimportant thing indeed, and good principles too, in dealing with plain-spoken men like myself, sir. Stick to the truth, Mr. Harrington, foreverand ever. " "I propose to, Mr. Ballymolloy, " answered John, internally amused at thesolemn manner of his interlocutor. "And then I will put the matter to you, Mr. Harrington, and indeed it's a plain matter, too, and not the least taste of dishonesty in it, at all. I've been thinking I'd make you senator if you'll agree to go against freetrade, and that's just what I'll do, and no more. " "It is impossible for me to make such a bargain, Mr. Ballymolloy. Afteryour exposition of the importance of truth I am surprised that you shouldexpect me to belie my whole political life. As I have told you, I amprepared to support laws to protect iron as much as is necessary. Freetrade nowadays does not mean cutting away all duties; it means a properadjustment of them to the requirements of our commerce. A properadjustment of duties could not possibly be interpreted to mean any injuryto the iron trade. You may rely upon that, at all events. " "Oh, and I'm sure I can, " said Ballymolloy incredulously, and he grew, ifpossible, redder in the face than nature and the action of alcohol hadmade him. "And I'm not only sure of it, but I'll swear it's gospel truth. But then, you know, I'm of opinion that by the time you've done reformingthe other things, the reformed gentlemen won't like it, and then they'lljust turn round and eat you up unless you reform us too, and that justmeans the ruin of us. " "Come now, Mr. Ballymolloy, that is exaggeration, " said John. "If you willlisten to me for a moment"-- "I haven't got the time, sir, and that's all about it. If you'll protectour interests and promise to do it, you'll be senator. The election iscoming on, Mr. Harrington, and I'd be sorry to see you thrown out. " "Mr. Ballymolloy, I had sincerely hoped that you would support me in thismatter, but I must tell you once more that I think you are unreasonable. Ivouch for the sufficient protection of your interests, because it is thebelief of our party that they need protection. But it is not necessary foryou to have an anti-reform senator for that purpose, in the first place;and secondly, the offer of a seat in the Senate would never induce me tochange my mind, nor to turn round and deny everything that I have said andwritten on the subject. " "Then that is your last word of all, Mr. Harrington?" said Ballymolloy, heaving his heavy body out of the easy-chair. But his voice, which hadsounded somewhat irate during the discussion, again rolled out inmellifluous tones. "Yes, Mr. Ballymolloy, that is all I have to say. " "And indeed it's not so very bad at all, " said Patrick. "You see I justwanted to see how far you were likely to go, because, though I'm a goodDemocrat, sir, I'm against free trade in the main points, and that's justthe truth. But if you say you will stand up for iron right through, anduse your best judgment, why, I guess you'll have to be senator after all. It's a great position, Mr. Harrington, and I hope you'll do honor to it. " "I hope so, indeed, " said John. "Can I offer you a glass of wine, oranything else, Mr. Ballymolloy?" "Indeed, and it's dirty weather, too, " said Patrick. "Thank you, I'll takea little whiskey. " John poured out a glass. "You won't let me drink alone, Mr. Harrington?" inquired Patrick, holdinghis tumbler in his hand. To oblige him, after the manner of the country, John poured out a small glass of sherry, and put his lips to it. Ballymolloy drained the whiskey to the last drop. "You were not really thinking I would vote for Mr. Jobbins, were you now, Mr. Harrington?" he asked, with a sly look on his red face. "I always hope that the men of my party are to be relied upon, Mr. Ballymolloy, " said John, smiling politely. "Very well, they are to be relied upon, sir. We are, every man of us, tothe last drop of Christian blood in our blessed bodies, " said Patrick, with a gush of patriotic enthusiasm, at the same time holding out hisheavy hand. Then he took his leave. "You had better have said 'to the last drop of Bourbon whiskey in theblessed bottle!'" said John to himself when his visitor was gone. Then hesat down for a while to think over the situation. "That man will vote against me yet, " he thought. He was astonished to find himself nervous and excited for the first timein his life. With characteristic determination he went back to his desk, and continued the letter which the visit of the Irish elector hadinterrupted. Meanwhile Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy was driven to the house of theRepublican candidate, Mr. Jobbing. CHAPTER XVI. Sybil was right when she said the family politics at the Wyndhams' weredisturbed. Indeed the disturbance was so great that Mrs. Wyndham wasdressed and down-stairs before twelve o'clock, which had never beforeoccurred in the memory of the oldest servant. "It is too perfectly exciting, my dears, " she exclaimed as Joe and Sybilentered the room, followed--at a respectful distance by Ronald. "I can'tstand it one minute longer! How do you do, Mr. Surbiton?" "What is the latest news?" asked Sybil. "I have not heard anything for ever so long. Sam has gone round to see--perhaps he will be back soon. I do wish we had 'tickers' here in thehouse, as they do in New York; it is such fun watching whenanything is going on. " She walked about the room as she talked, touching a book on one table anda photograph on another, in a state of great excitement. Ronald watchedher in some surprise; it seemed odd to him that any one should take somuch interest in a mere election. Joe and Sybil, who knew her better, madethemselves at home. It appeared that although Sam had gone to make inquiries, it was veryimprobable that anything would be known until late in the afternoon. Therewas to be a contest of some sort, but whether it would end in a singleday, or whether Ballymolloy and his men intended to prolong the strugglefor their own ends, remained to be seen. Meanwhile Mrs. Wyndham walked about her drawing-room descanting upon theiniquities of political life, with an animation that delighted Joe andamused Ronald. "Well, there is nothing for it, you see, " she said at last. "Sam evidentlydoes not mean to come home, and you must just stay here and have somelunch until he does. " The three agreed, nothing loath to enjoying one another's company. Thereis nothing like a day spent together in waiting for an event, to bring outthe characteristics of individuals. Mrs. Wyndham fretted and talked, andfretted again. Joe grew silent, pale, and anxious as the morning passed, while Sybil and Ronald seemed to enjoy themselves extremely, and talkedwithout ceasing. Outside the snow fell thick and fast as ever, and thedrifts rose higher and higher. "I do wish Sam would come back, " exclaimed Mrs. Wyndham at last, as shethrew herself into an easy-chair, and looked at the clock. But Sam did not come, nevertheless, and Joe sat quietly by the fire, wishing she were alone, and yet unwilling to leave the house where shehoped to have the earliest information. The two who seemed rapidly growing indifferent to the issue of theelection were Sybil and Ronald, who sat together with a huge portfolio ofphotographs and sketches between them, laughing and talking pleasantlyenough. Joe did not hear a word of their conversation, and Mrs. Wyndhampaid little attention to it, though her practiced ears could have heard itall if need be, while she herself was profoundly occupied with some oneelse. The four had a somewhat dreary meal together, and Ronald was told to gointo Sam's study and smoke if he liked, while Mrs. Wyndham led Joe andSybil away to look at a quantity of new things that had just come fromParis. Ronald did as he was bid and settled himself for an hour, with aplentiful supply of newspapers and railroad literature. It was past three o'clock when Sam Wyndham entered the room, his face wetwith the snowflakes and red with excitement. "Hollo!" he exclaimed, seeing Ronald comfortably ensconced in his favoriteeasy-chair. "How are you?" "Excuse me, " said Ronald, rising quickly. "They told me to come in hereafter lunch, and so I was waiting until I was sent for, or told to comeout. " "Very glad to see you, any way, " said Sam cordially. "Well, I have been tohear about an election--a friend of ours got put up for senator. But Idon't expect that interests you much?" "On the contrary, " said Ronald, "I have heard it so much talked of that Iam as much interested as anybody. Is it all over?" "Oh yes, and a pretty queer business it was. Well, our friend is notelected, anyway"-- "Has Mr. Harrington been defeated?" asked Ronald quickly. "It's my belief he has been sold, " said Sam. "But as I am a Republicanmyself and a friend of Jobbins, more or less, I don't suppose I feel sovery bad about it, after all. But I don't know how my wife will take it, I'm sure, " said Sam presently. "I expect we had better go and tell her, right off. " "Then he has really lost the election?" inquired Ronald, who was notaltogether sorry to hear it. "Why, yes--as I say, Jobbins is senator now. I should not wonder ifHarrington were a good deal cut up. Come along with me, now, and we willtell the ladies. " The three ladies were in the drawing-room. Mrs. Wyndham and Joe sprang totheir feet as Sam and Ronald entered, but Sybil remained seated and merelylooked up inquiringly. "Oh now, Sam, " cried Mrs. Wyndham, in great excitement, "tell us all aboutit right away. We are dying to know!" Joe came close to Mrs. Wyndham, her face very pale and her teeth clenchedin her great anxiety. Sam threw back the lapels of his coat, put histhumbs in the armholes of his broad waistcoat, and turned his headslightly on one side. "Well, " he said slowly, "John's wiped out. " "Do you mean to say he has lost the election?" cried Mrs. Wyndham. "Yes--he's lost it. Jobbins is senator. " "Sam, you are perfectly horrid!" exclaimed his spouse, in deepestvexation. Josephine Thorn spoke no word, but turned away and went alone to thewindow. She was deathly pale, and she trembled from head to foot as sheclutched the heavy curtain with her small white fingers. "Poor Mr. Harrington!" said Sybil thoughtfully. "I am dreadfully sorry. " Mr. And Mrs. Wyndham and Ronald moved toward the fire where Sybil wassitting. No one spoke for a few seconds. At last Mrs. Wyndham broke out: "Sam, it's a perfect shame!" she said. "I think all those people ought tobe locked up for bribery. I am certain it was all done by some horridstealing, or something, now, was not it?" "I don't know about that, my dear, " said Sam reflectively. "You see theygenerally vote fair enough in these things. Well, may be that fellowBallymolloy has made something out of it. He's a pretty bad sort of ascamp, any way, I expect. Sorry you are so put out about it, but Jobbinsis not so very bad, after all. " Sybil suddenly missed Joe from the group, and looked across to where shestood by the window. A glance told her that something was wrong, and sherose from her seat and went to her friend. The sight of Josephine's paleface frightened her. "Joe, dear, " she said affectionately, "you are ill--come to my room. "Sybil put one arm round her waist and quietly led her away. Ronald hadwatched the little scene from a distance, but Mr. And Mrs. Wyndhamcontinued to discuss the result of the election. "It is exactly like you, Sam, to be talking in that way, instead oftelling me just how it happened, " said Mrs. Wyndham. "And then to say itis not so very bad after all!" "Oh, I will tell you all about it right away, my dear, if you'll only giveme a little time. You're always in such an immense fever about everythingthat it's perfectly impossible to get along. " "Are you going to begin?" said Mrs. Wyndham, half vexed with her husband'sdeliberate indifference. "Well, as near as I can make out it was generally thought at the startthat John had a pretty good show. The Senate elected him right away by amajority of four, which was so much to the good, for of course his friendsreckoned on getting him in, if the Senate hadn't elected him, by thebigger majority of the House swamping the Senate in the General Court. Butit's gone just the other way. " "Whatever is the General Court?" asked Ronald, much puzzled. "Oh, the General Court is when the House and the Senate meet together nextday to formally declare a senator elected, if they have both chosen thesame man, or to elect one by a general majority if they haven't. " "Yes, that is it, " added Mrs. Wyndham to Ronald, and then addressing herhusband, "Do go on, Sam; you've not told us anything yet. " "Well, as I said, the Senate elected John Harrington by a majority offour. The House took a long time getting to work, and then there was somemistake about the first vote, so they had to take a second. And when thatwas done Jobbins actually had a majority of eighteen. So John's beaten, and Jobbins will be senator anyhow, and you must just make the best youcan out of it. " "But I thought you said when the House and the Senate did not agree, theGeneral Court met next day and elected a senator?" asked Ronald again;"and in that case Mr. Harrington is not really beaten yet. " "Well, theoretically he's not, " said Sam, "because of course Jobbins is not actually senator until he has been elected by the General Court, butthe majority for him in the House was so surprisingly large, and themajority for John so small in the Senate, and the House is so much largerthan the Senate, that the vote to-morrow is a dead sure thing, and Jobbinsis just as much senator as if he were sitting in Washington. " "I suppose you will expect me to have Mr. Jobbins to dinner, now. I thinkthe whole business is perfectly mean!" "Don't blame me, my dear, " said Sam calmly. "I did not create theMassachusetts Legislature, and I did not found the State House, nordiscover America, nor any of these things. And after all, Jobbins is avery respectable man and belongs to our own party, while Harrington does not. When I set up creating I'll make a note of one or two points, andI'll see that John is properly attended to. " "You need not be silly, Sam, " said Mrs. Wyndham. "What has become of thosegirls?" "They went out of the room some time ago, " said Ronald, who had beenlistening with much amusement to the description of the election. He wasnever quite sure whether people could be serious when they talked suchpeculiar language, and he observed with surprise that Mr. And Mrs. Wyndhamtalked to each other in phrases very different from those they used inaddressing himself. Sybil had led Joe away to her room. She did not guess the cause of Joe'sfaintness, but supposed it to be a momentary indisposition, amenable tothe effects of eau-de-cologne. She made her lie upon the great cretonnesofa, moistening her forehead, and giving her a bottle of salts to smell. But Joe, who had never been ill in her life, recovered her strength in afew minutes, and regaining her feet began to walk about the room. "What do you think it was, Joe, dear?" asked Sybil, watching her. "Oh, it was nothing. Perhaps the room was hot, and I was tired. " "I thought you looked tired all the morning, " said Sybil, "and just when Ilooked at you I thought you were going to faint. You were as pale asdeath, and you seemed holding yourself up by the curtains. " "Did I?" said Joe, trying to laugh. "How silly of me! I felt faint for amoment--that was all. I think I will go home. " "Yes, dear--but stay a few minutes longer and rest yourself. I will ordera carriage--it is still snowing hard. " Sybil left the room. Once alone, Joe threw herself upon the sofa again. She would rather havedied than have told any one, even Sybil Brandon, that it was no sicknessshe felt, but only a great and overwhelming disappointment for the man sheloved. Her love was doubly hers--her very own--in that it was fast locked in herown heart, beyond the reach of any human being to know. Of all that cameand went about her, and flattered her, and strove for her graces, not onesuspected that she loved a man in their very midst, passionately, fervently, with all the strength she had. Ronald's suspicions were toovague, and too much the result of a preconceived idea, to representanything like a certainty to himself, and he had not mentioned them toher. If anything can determine the passion of love in a woman, it is the greatflood of sympathy that overflows her heart when the man she loves is hurt, or overcome in a great cause. When, for a little moment, that which shethinks strongest and bravest and most manly is struck down and wounded andbrought low, her love rises up and is strong within her, and makes hermore noble in the devotion of perfect gentleness than a man can ever be. "Oh, if only he could have won!" Joe said again and again to herself. "Ifonly he could have won, I would have given anything!" Sybil came back in a few moments, and saw Joe lying down, still white andapparently far from well. She knelt upon the floor by her side and takingher hands, looked affectionately into her face. "There is something the matter, " she said. "I know--you cannot deceive me--there is something serious the matter. Will you tell me, Joe? Can I doanything at all to help you?" Joe smiled faintly, grateful for thesympathy and for the gentle words of her friend. "No, Sybil dear. It is nothing--there is nothing you can do. Thanks, dearest--I shall be very well in a little while. It is nothing, really. Isthe carriage there?" A few minutes later, Joe and Ronald were again at Miss Schenectady'shouse. Joe recovered her self-control on the way, and asked Ronald to comein, an invitation which he cheerfully accepted. John Harrington had spent the day in a state of anxiety which was new tohim. Enthusiastic by nature, he was calm by habit, and he was surprised tofind his hand unsteady and his brain not capable of the intenseapplication he could usually command. Ten minutes after the results of theelection were known at the State House, he received a note from a friendinforming him with expressions of hearty sympathy how the day had gone. The strong physical sense of pain which accompanies all greatdisappointments, took hold of him, and he fell back in his seat and closedhis eyes, his teeth set and his face pale with the suffering, while hisbroad hands convulsively grasped the heavy oaken arms of his chair. It may be that this same bodily agony, which is of itself but the grossreflection in our material selves of what the soul is bearing, is awholesome provision that draws our finer senses away from looking at whatmight blind them altogether. There are times when a man would go mad ifhis mind were not detached from its sorrow by the quick, sharp beating ofhis bodily heart, and by the keen torture of the physical body, that islike the thrusting of a red-hot knife between breastbone and midriff. The expression "self-control" is daily in the blatant mouths of preachersand moralists, the very cant of emptiness and folly. It means nothing, norcan any play of words or cunning twisting of conception ever give itmeaning. For the "self" is the divine, imperishable portion of the eternalGod which is in man. I may control my limbs and the strength that is inthem, and I may force under the appetites and passions of this mortalbody, but I cannot myself, for it is myself that controls, being of naturegodlike and stronger than all which is material. And although, for aninfinitely brief space of time, I myself may inhabit and give life to thishandful of most changeable atoms, I have it in my supreme power and choiceto make them act according to my pleasure. If I become enamored of thebody and its ways, and of the subtleties of a fleeting bodilyintelligence, I have forgotten to control those things; and havingforgotten that I have free will given me from heaven to rule what is mine, I am no longer a man, but a beast. But while I, who am an immortal soul, command the perishable engine in which I dwell, I am in truth a man. Forthe soul is of God and forever, whereas the body is a thing of to-day thatvanishes into dust to-morrow; but the two together are the living man. Andthus it is that God is made man in us every day. All that which we know by our senses is but an illusion. What is true ofits own nature, we can neither see, nor hear, nor feel, nor taste. It is amatter of time, and nothing more, and whatever palpable thing a man canname will inevitably be dissolved into its constituent parts, that thesemay again agglomerate into a new illusion for future ages. But that whichis subject to no change, nor disintegration, nor reconstruction, is theimmortal truth, to attain to a knowledge and understanding of which is tobe saved from the endless shifting of the material and illusory universe. John Harrington lay in his chair alone in his rooms, while the snowwhirled against the windows outside and made little drifts on the sills. The fire had gone out and the bitter storm beat against the casements andhowled in the chimney, and the dusk of the night began to mingle with thethick white flakes, and brought upon the solitary man a great gloom andhorror of loneliness. It seemed to him that his life was done, and hisstrength gone from him. He had labored in vain for years, for this end, and he had failed to attain it. It were better to have died than to suffer the ignominy of this defeat. It were better never to have lived at allthan to have lived so utterly in vain. One by one the struggles of thepast came up to him; each had seemed a triumph when he was in the glory ofstrength and hope. The splendid aims of a higher and nobler government, built by sheer truth and nobility of purpose upon the ashes and dust ofpresent corruption, the magnificent purity of the ideal State of which hehad loved to dream--all that he had thought of and striven after as mostworthy of a true man to follow, dwindled now away into a hollow andmocking image, more false than hollowness itself, poorer and of lesssubstance than a juggler's show. He clasped his hands over his forehead, and tried to think, but it was ofno use. Everything was vague, broken, crushed, and shapeless. Faces seemedto rise to his disturbed sight, and he wondered whether he had ever knownthese people; a ghastly weariness as of death was upon him, and his armsfell heavily by his sides. He groaned aloud, and if in that bitter sigh hecould have breathed away his existence he would have gladly done it. Some one entered the room, struck a match, and lit the gas. It was hisservant, or rather the joint servant of two or three of the bachelors wholived in the house, a huge, smooth-faced colored man. "Oh, excuthe me, Mister Harrington, I thought you wath out, Thir. There's two o' them notes for you. " John roused himself, and took the letters without a word. They were bothaddressed in feminine handwriting. The one he knew, for it was from Mrs. Wyndham. The other he did not recognize. He opened Mrs. Wyndham's first. "DEAR MR. HARRINGTON, --Sam and I are very much put out about it, andsympathize most cordially. We think you might like to come and dine thisevening, if you have no other invitation, so I write to say we will be allalone and very glad to see you. Cordially yours, "JANE WYNDHAM. " "P. S. Don't trouble about the answer. " John read the note through and laid it on the table. Then he turned theother missive over in his fingers, and finally tore open the envelope. It ran as follows:-- "MY DEAR MR. HARRINGTON, --Please don't be surprised at my writing to youin this way. I was at Mrs. Wyndham's this afternoon and heard all aboutit, and I must write to tell you that I am very, very sorry. It istoo horrible to think how bad and wicked and foolish people are, and howthey invariably do the wrong thing. I cannot tell you how sorry we allare, because it is just such men as you who are most needed nowadays, though of course I know nothing about politics here. But I am quite surethat all of them will live to regret it, and that you will win inthe end. Don't think it foolish of me to write, because I'm so angry thatI can't in the least help it, and I think everybody ought to. "Yours in sincerity, " "JOSEPHINE THORN. " CHAPTER XVII. John read Joe's note many times over before he quite realized what itcontained. It seemed at first a singular thing that she should havewritten to him, and he did not understand it. He knew her as anenthusiastic and capricious girl who had sometimes laughed at him, andsometimes treated him coldly; but who, again, had sometimes talked withhim as though he were an old friend. He called to mind the interest shehad taken in his doings of late, and how she had denounced Vancouver ashis enemy, and he thought of the long conversation he had had with her onthe ice under the cold moonlight. He thought of many a sympathetic glanceshe had given when he spoke of his aims and intentions, of many a gentleword spoken in praise of him, and which at the time he had taken merely asso much small, good-natured flattery, such as agreeable people deal out toeach other in society without any thought of evil nor any especial meaningof good. All these things came back to him, and he read the little noteagain. It was a kindly word, nothing more, penned by a wild, good-heartedgirl, in the scorn of consequence or social propriety. It was nothing butthat. And yet, there was something more in it all--something not expressed inthe abbreviated words and hurriedly-composed sentences, but something thatseemed to struggle for expression. John's experience of womankind waslimited, for he was no lady's man, and had led a life singularly lackingin woman's love or sentiment, though singularly dependent on thefriendship of some woman. Nevertheless he knew that Joe's note breathedthe essence of a sympathy wider than that of mere every-day acquaintance, and deeper, perhaps, than that of any friendship he had known. He couldnot have explained the feeling, nor reasoned upon it, but he knew wellenough that when he next met Joe it would be on new terms. She haddeclared herself his friend in a way no longer mistakable, for she musthave followed her first impulse in writing such a note, and the impulsemust have been a strong one. For a while he debated whether to answer the note or not, almostforgetting his troubles in the tumult of new thoughts it had suggested tohim. A note, thought he, required an answer, on general principles--butsuch a note as this would be better answered in person than by any pen andpaper. He would call and see Joe, and thank her for it. But, again, heknew he could not see her until the next day, and that seemed a long timeto wait. It would not have been long under ordinary circumstances, but inthis case it seemed to him an unreasonable delay. He sat down and took apen in his fingers. "Dear Miss Thorn"--he began, and stopped. In America it is more formal tobegin without the preliminary "my;" in England the "my" is indispensable, unless people are on familiar terms. John knew this, and reflected thatJoe was English. While he was reflecting his eye fell upon a heap oftelegraph blanks, and he remembered that he had not given notice of hisdefeat to the council. He pushed aside the note paper and took a form fora cable dispatch. In a moment Joe was forgotten in the sudden shock thatbrought his thoughts back to his position. He wrote out a simple messageaddressed to Z, who was the only one of the three whom he officially knew. But when he had done that, he fell to thinking about Joe again, andresolved to write the note. "MY DEAR MISS THORN, --I cannot allow your very friendly words to remainunanswered until tomorrow. It is kind of you to be sorry for the defeat Ihave suffered, it is kinder still to express your sympathy so directly andso soon. Concerning the circumstances which brought the contest to such aresult, I have nothing to say. It is the privilege of elective bodies tochoose as they please, and indeed, that is the object of their existence. No one has any right to complain of not being elected, for a man who is acandidate knows from the first what he is undertaking, and what manner ofmen he has to deal with. Personally, I am a man who has fought a fight andhas lost it, and however firmly I still believe in the cause which led meto the struggle, I confess that I am disappointed and disheartened atbeing vanquished. You are good enough to say you believe I shall win inthe end; I can only answer that I thank you very heartily indeed forsaying so, though I do not think it is likely that any efforts of minewill be attended with success for a long time. "Believe me, with great gratitude, "Very sincerely yours, "JOHN HARRINGTON. " It was a longer note than he had meant to write, in fact it was almost aletter; but he read it over and was convinced he had said what he meant tosay, which was always the principal consideration in such matters. Accordingly the missive was dispatched to its destination. As for Mrs. Wyndham, John determined to accept her invitation, and to answer it inperson by appearing at the dinner-hour. He would not let any one think hewas so broken-hearted as to be unable to show himself. He was too strongfor that, and he had too much pride in his strength. He was right in going to Mrs. Wyndham's, for she and her husband were hisoldest friends, and he understood well enough what true hearts and whathonest loyalty lie sometimes concealed in the bosoms of those brisk, peculiar people, who seem unable to speak seriously for long about themost serious subjects, and whose quaint turns of language seem often sounfit to express any deep feeling. But while he talked with his hosts hisown thoughts strayed again and again to Joe, and he wondered what kind ofwoman she really was. He intended to visit her the next day. The next day came, however, and yet John did not turn his steps up thehill towards Miss Schenectady's house. It was a cloudless morning afterthe heavy storm, and the great drifts of snow flashed like heaps ofdiamonds in the sun. All the air was clear and cold, and the red brickpavements were spotted here and there with white patches left from theshovels of the Irishmen. Sleighs of all sizes were ploughing their wayhither and thither, breaking out a track in the heavy mass that encumberedthe streets. Every one was wrapped in furs, and every one's face was redwith the smarting cold. Joe stayed at home until mid-day, when she went to a luncheon-party ofyoung girls. As usual, they had been sewing for the poor, but Joe thoughtthat she was not depriving the poor people of any very material assistanceby staying away from the more industrious part of the entertainment. Thesewing they all did together in a morning did not produce results wherebyeven the very smallest baby could have been clothed, and the part effectedby each separate damsel in this whole was consequently somewhat insignificant. Joe would have stayed at home outright had the weather notbeen so magnificent, and possibly she thought that she might meet JohnHarrington on her way to the house of her friend in Dartmouth Street. Fate, however, was against her, for she had not walked thirty yards downthe hill before she was overtaken by Pocock Vancouver. He had beenstanding in one of the semi-circular bay windows of the Somerset Club, andseeing Joe coming down the steep incline, had hurriedly taken his coat andhat and gone out in pursuit of her. Had he suspected in the least how Joefelt toward him, he would have fled to the end of the world rather thanmeet her. "Good morning, Miss Thorn, " he said, walking rapidly by her side andtaking off his hat, "how very early you are to-day. " "It is not early, " said Joe, looking at him coldly, "it is nearly oneo'clock. " "It would be called early for most people, " said Vancouver; "for Mrs. Wyndham, for instance. " "I am not Mrs. Wyndham, " said Joe. "I am going to see Harrington, " remarked Vancouver, who perceived that Joewas not in a good humor. "I am afraid he must be dreadfully cut up aboutthis business. " "So you are going to condole with him? I do not believe he is in the least disturbed. He has far too much sense. " "I fancy the most sensible man in the world would be a trifle annoyed atbeing defeated in an election, Miss Thorn, " said Vancouver blandly. "I amafraid you are not very sorry for him. He is an old friend of mine, andthough I differ from him in politics, very passively, I cannot do lessthan go and see him, and tell him how much I regret, personally, that heshould be defeated. " Joe's lip curled in scorn, and she flushed angrily. She could have struckVancouver's pale face with infinite pleasure and satisfaction, but shesaid nothing in immediate answer. "Do you not think I am right?" asked Vancouver. "I am sure you do; youhave such a good heart. " They passed Charles Street as he was speaking, and yet he gave no sign of leaving her. "I am not sure that I have a good heart, and I am quite sure that you areutterly wrong, Mr. Vancouver, " said Joe, in calm tones. "Really? Why, you quite surprise me, Miss Thorn. Any man in my placeought"-- "Most men in your place would avoid Mr. Harrington, " interrupted Joe, turning her clear brown eyes full upon him. Had she been less angry shewould have been more cautious. But her blood was up, and she took nothought, but said what she meant, boldly. "Indeed, Miss Thorn, " said Vancouver, stiffly, "I do not understand you inthe least. I think what you say is very extraordinary. John Harrington hasalways been a friend of mine. " "That may be, Mr. Vancouver, but you are certainly no friend of his, " saidJoe, with a scornful laugh. "You astonish me beyond measure, " rejoined Pocock, maintaining his air ofinjured virtue, although he inwardly felt that he was in some imminentdanger. "How can you possibly say such a thing?" Joe could bear it no longer. She was very imprudent, but her honest angerboiled over. She stopped in her walk, her back against the iron railings, and she faced Vancouver with a look that frightened him. He was forced tostop also, and he could not do less than return her glance. "Do you dare to stand there and tell me that you are Mr. Harrington'sfriend?" she asked in low distinct tones. "You, the writer of articles inthe 'Daily Standard, ' calling him a fool and a charlatan? You, who havedone your very best to defeat him in this election? Indeed, it is tooabsurd!" She laughed aloud in utter scorn, and then turned to continue herway. Vancouver turned a shade paler than was natural with him, and looked down. He was very much frightened, for he was a coward. "Miss Thorn, " he said, "I am sorry you should believe such calumnies. Igive you my word of honor that I have never either written or spokenagainst Mr. Harrington. He is one of my best friends. " Joe did not answer; she did not even look at him, but walked on insilence. He did not dare to speak again, and as they reached the corner ofthe Public Garden he lifted his hat. "I am quite sure that you will find you have misjudged me, Miss Thorn, " hesaid, with a grieved look. "In the mean while I wish you a very goodmorning. " "Good-morning, " said Joe, without looking at him; and she passed on, fullof indignation and wrath. To tell the truth, she was so much delighted at having spoken her mind foronce, that she had not a thought of any possible consequences. The delightof having dealt Vancouver such a buffet was very great, and she felt herheart beat fast with a triumphant pleasure. But Vancouver turned and went away with a very unpleasant sensation in, him. He wished with all his might that he had not left the comfortable baywindow of the Somerset Club that morning, and more than all he wished hecould ascertain how Joe had come to know of his journalistic doings. As amatter of fact, what she had said concerning Pocock's efforts against Johnin the election had been meant in a most general way. But Vancouverthought she was referring to his interview with Ballymolloy, and that sheunderstood the whole matter. Of course, there was nothing to be done butto deny the accusations from beginning to end; but they nevertheless hadstruck deep, and he was thoroughly alarmed. When he left the club he hadhad no intention of going to see Harrington; the idea had formed itselfwhile talking with her. But now, again, he felt that he could not go. Hehad not the courage to face the man he had injured, principally because hestrongly suspected that if Joe knew what he had done, John Harrington mostlikely knew it too. He was doubly hit. He would have been less completely confused andfrightened if the attack had come from Sybil Brandon; but he had had vagueideas of trying to marry Joe, and he guessed that any such plan was nowhopelessly out of the question. He turned his steps homeward, uncertainwhat to do, and hoping to find counsel in solitude. He took up the letters and papers that lay on his study table, brought bythe mid-day post. One letter in particular attracted his attention, and hesingled it out and opened it. It was dated from London, and had beentwelve days on its way. "MY DEAR VANCOUVER, "Enclosed please find Bank of England Post Note for your usual quarterlyhonorarium, £1250. My firm will address you upon the use to be made of theProxies lately sent you for the ensuing election of officers of thePocahontas and Dead Man's Valley R. R. , touching your possession of whichI beg to reiterate the importance of a more than Masonic discretion. Iapprehend that unless the scattered shares should have been quicklyabsorbed for the purpose of obtaining a majority, these Proxies willenable you to control the election of the proper ticket. If not, and ifthe Leviathan should decline the overtures that will be made to him duringhis summer visit to London, I should like your estimate of five thousandshares more, to be picked up in the next three months, which will assureour friends the control. Should the prospective figure be too high, we mayelect to sell out, after rigging the market for a boom. "In either event there will be lots of pickings in the rise and fall ofthe shares for the old joint account, which has been so profitable becauseyou have so skillfully covered up your tracks. "Yours faithfully, " "SAUNDEKS GRABBLES. " "P. S. The expectations of the young lady about whom you inquire areinvolved in such a tangle of conditions as could only have occurred to theexcited fancy of an old Anglo-Indian. He left about twenty lacs of rupeesin various bonds--G. I. P. And others--to his nephew, Ronald Surbiton, andto his niece jointly, provided that they marry each other. If they do not, one quarter of the estate is to go to the one who marries first, and theremaining three quarters to the other. The estate is in the hands oftrustees, who pay an allowance to the heirs. In case they marry eachother, the said heirs have power to dispose by will of the inheritance. Otherwise the whole of it reverts to the last survivor, and at his or herdeath it is to be devoted to founding a home for superannuatedgovernesses. " Vancouver read the letter through with care, and held it a moment in hishand. Then he crushed it angrily together and tossed it into the fire. Itseemed as though everything went wrong with him to-day. Not only was noinformation concerning Joe of any use now. It would be a hard thing todisabuse her of the idea that he had written those articles. After all, though, as he thought the matter over, it could be only guess-work. Themanuscripts had always gone through the post, signed with a feigned name, and it was utterly impossible that the editor himself could know who hadwritten them. It would be still more impossible, therefore, for any oneelse to do more than make a guess. It is easy to deny any statement, however correct, when founded on such a basis. But there was the otherthing: Joe had accused him of having opposed John's election to the bestof his ability. No one could prove that either. He had even advisedBallymolloy to vote for John, in so many words. On the whole, hisconscience was clear enough. Vancouver's conscience was represented by allthose things which could by any possibility be found out; the things thatno one could ever know gave him no anxiety. In the present case the firstthing to be done was plainly to put the whole blame of the articles on theshoulders of some one else, a person of violent political views and verygreat vanity, who would be greatly flattered at being thought the authorof anything so clever. That would not be a difficult task. He would broachthe subject to Mrs. Wyndham, telling her that the man, whoever he shouldbe, had told him in strictest confidence that he was the writer. Vancouverwould of course tell it to Mrs. Wyndham as a state secret, and she wouldtell some one else--it would soon be public property, and Joe would hearof it. It would be easy enough to pitch upon some individual who would notdeny the imputation, or who would deny it in such a way as to leave theimpression on the public mind unchanged, more especially as the articleshad accomplished the desired result. The prime cause of all this, John Harrington himself, sat in his room, unconscious, for the time, of Vancouver's existence. He was in a state ofgreat depression and uncertainty, for he had not yet rallied from the blowof the defeat. Moreover he was thinking of Joe, and her letter lay open onthe table beside him. His whole heart went out to her in thanks for herready sympathy, and he had almost made up his mind to go and see her, ashe had at first determined to do. He would have laughed very heartily at the idea of being in love, for hehad never thought of himself in such a position. But he realized that hewas fond of Josephine Thorn, that he was thinking of her a great deal, andthat the thought was a comfort to him in his distress. He knew very wellthat he would find a great rest and refreshment in talking to her atpresent, and yet he could not decide to go to her. John was a man of calmmanner and with plenty of hard, practical sense, in spite of the greatenthusiasm that burned like a fire within him, and that was the mainspringof his existence. But like all orators and men much accustomed to dealingwith the passions of others, he was full of quick intuitions and instinctswhich rarely betrayed him. Something warned him not to seek her society, and though he said to himself that he was very far from being in love, thethought that he might some day find that he wished to marry her presenteditself continually to his mind; and since John had elected to devotehimself to celibacy and politics, there was nothing more repugnant to hiswhole life than the idea of marriage. At this juncture, while he was revolving in his mind what was best to bedone, a telegram was brought to him. It was from Z, and in briefest termsof authority commanded John to hold himself ready to start for London at amoment's notice. It must have been dispatched within a few hours afterreceiving his own message of the night before, and considering thedifference of time, must have been sent from London early in theafternoon. It was clearly an urgent case, and the supreme three had workfor John to do, even though he had not been made senator. The order was a great relief. It solved all his uncertainty and scatteredall his doubts to the wind. It gave him new courage and stimulated hiscuriosity. Z had only sent for him twice before, and then only to call himfrom Boston or New York to Washington. It was clear that something of verygreat importance was likely to occur. His energy returned in full, withthe anticipation of work to do and of a journey to be made, and beforenight he was fully prepared to leave on receipt of his orders. His box waspacked, and he had drawn the money necessary to take him to London. As for Joe, he could go and see her now if he pleased. In twenty-fourhours he might be gone, never to see her again. But it was too late onthat day--he would go on the following morning. It was still the height of the Boston season, which is short, but merrywhile it lasts. John had a dinner-party, a musical evening, and a ball onhis list for the evening, and he resolved that he would go to all three, and show himself bravely to the world. He was full of new courage andstrength since he had received Z's message, and he was determined that noone should know what he had suffered. The dinner passed pleasantly enough, and by ten o'clock he was at themusical party. There he found the Wyndhams and many other friends, but helooked in vain for Joe; she was not there. Before midnight he was at thedance, pushing his way through crowds of acquaintances, stumbling overloving couples ensconced on the landings of the stairs, and runningagainst forlorn old ladies, whose mouths were full of ice-cream and theirhearts of bitterness against the younger generation; and so, at last, hereached the ball-room, where everything that was youngest and most freshwas assembled, swaying and gliding, and backing and turning in the easy, graceful half-walk, half-slide of the Boston step. As John stood looking on, Joe passed him, leaving the room on Mr. Topeka'sarm. There was a little open space before her in the crowd, and PocockVancouver darted out with the evident intention of speaking to her. But asshe caught sight of him she turned suddenly away, pulling Mr. Topeka roundby his arm. It was an extremely "marked thing to do. " As she turned sheunexpectedly came face to face with John, who had watched the maneuver. The color came quickly to her face, and she was slightly embarrassed;nevertheless she held out her hand and greeted John cordially. CHAPTER XVIII. "I am so glad to have found you, " said John to Josephine, when the latterhad disposed of Mr. Topeka. They had chosen a quiet corner in a dimly-lighted room away from the dancers. "But I suppose it is useless to askyou for a dance?" "No, " said Joe, looking at her card; "I always leave two dances free inthe middle of the evening in case I am tired. We will sit them out. " "Thank you, " said John, looking at her. She looked pale and a littletired, but wonderfully lovely. "Thank you, " he repeated, "and thank youalso for your most kind note. " "I wish I could tell you better how very sorry I am, " said Joe, impulsively. "It is bad enough to look on and see such things done, but Ishould think you must be nearly distracted. " "I think I was at first, " said John, simply. "But one soon grows used toit. Man is a vain animal, and I suppose no one could lose a fight as Ihave without being disappointed. " "If you were not disappointed it would be a sign you did not really care, "answered Joe. "And of course you must care--a great, great deal. It is aloss to your cause, as well as a loss to yourself. But you cannot possiblygive it up; you will win next time. " "Yes, " said John, "I hope I shall win some day. " But his voice soundeduncertain; it lacked that determined ring that Joe loved so well. She feltas she sat beside him that he was deeply hurt and needed freshencouragement and strength to restore him to his old self. She longed tohelp him and to rouse him once more to the consciousness of power and thehope of victory. "It is my experience, " said she with an air of superiority that would havebeen amusing if she had spoken less earnestly--"it is my experience thatone should never think of anything in which one has come to grief. I know, when one is going at a big thing--a double post and rails with a ditch, oranything like that, you know--it would never do to remember that you havecome off at the same thing or at something else before. When a man isalways remembering his last tumble he has lost his nerve, and had bettergive up hunting altogether. Thinking that you may get an ugly fall willnot help you over anything. " "No, " said John, "that is very true. " "You must forget all about it and begin again. You have missed one bird, but you are a good shot, and you will not miss the next. " "You are a most encouraging person, Miss Thorn, " said John with a faintsmile. "But you know the only test of a good shot is that one hits themark. I have missed at the first trial, and that is no reason why I shouldnot miss at the second, too. " "You are disappointed and unhappy now, " said Joe, gently. "It is verynatural indeed. Anybody would feel like that. But you must not believe inyourself any less than your friends believe in you. " "I fancy my friends do not all think alike, " answered John. "But I amgrateful to you for what you say. " He was indeed grateful, and the soothing sound of her gentle voice was thebest refreshment for his troubled spirit. He thought for a moment howbrave a man could be with such a woman by his side; and the thoughtpleased him, the more because he knew that it could not be realized. Theysat in silence for a while, contented to be together, and in sympathy. Butbefore long the anxiety for the future and the sense of his peculiarposition came over John again. "Do you know, " he said, "there are times when I regret it all very much? Inever told any one so before--perhaps I was never so sure of it as I havebeen since this affair. " "What is it that you regret so much?" asked Joe, softly. "It is a noblelife. " "It is, indeed, if only a man knows how to live it, " answered John. "Butsometimes I think I do not. You once said a very true thing to me about itall. Do you remember?" "No; what was it?" "You said I should not succeed because I am not enough of a partisan, andbecause every one is a partisan here. " "Did I? Yes, I remember saying it, " answered Joe, secretly pleased that heshould not have forgotten it. "I do not think it is so very true, afterall. It is true to-day; but it is for men like you to set things right, tomake partisanship a thing of the past. Men ought to make laws because theyare just and necessary, not in order that they may profit by them at theexpense of the rest of the world. And to have such good laws men ought tochoose good men to represent them. " "There is no denying the truth of that, " said John. "That is the way toconstruct the ideal republic. It would be the way to do a great many idealthings. You need only persuade humanity to do right, and humanity will doit. Verily, it is an easy task!" He laughed, a little bitterly. "It is not like you to laugh in that way, " said Joe, gravely. "No; to tell the truth, I am not overmuch inclined to laugh at anythingto-day, excepting myself, and I dare say there are plenty of people whowill do that for me without the asking. They will have no chance when I amgone. " Joe started slightly. "Gone?" she repeated. "Are you going away?" "It is very likely, " said John. "A friend of mine has warned me to beready to start at a moment's notice on very important business. " "But it is uncertain, then?" asked Joe, quickly. She had turned very whitein an instant, and she looked straight across the little room and pullednervously at her fan. She would not have dared to let her eyes meet John'sat that moment. "Yes, rather uncertain, " answered John. "But he would not have sent mesuch a warning unless it were very likely that he would really want me. " Joe was silent; she could not speak. "So you see, " continued Harrington, "I may leave to-morrow, and I cannottell when I may come back. That is the reason I was glad to find you here. I would have called to-day, if it had been possible, after I got themessage. " He spoke calmly, not dreaming of the storm of fear and passionhe was rousing in the heart of the fair girl beside him. "Where--where are you going?" asked Joe in a low voice. "Probably to England, " said John. Before the words were out of his mouth he turned and looked at her, suddenly realizing the change in her tones. But she had turned away fromhim. He could see the quiver of her lips and the beating throb of herbeautiful throat; and as he watched the outline of her cheek a tear stoleslowly over the delicate skin, and trembled, and fell upon her white neck. But still she looked away. Ah, John Harrington, what have you done? You have taken the most preciousand pure thing in this world, the thing men as brave as you have giventheir heart's best blood to win and have perished for failing, the thingwhich angels guard and Heaven has in its keeping--the love of a good andnoble woman. It has come into your hands and you do not want it. Youhardly know it is yours; and if you fully knew it you would not know whatto do! You are innocent, indeed; you have done nothing, spoken no word, given nolook that, in your opinion, your cold indifferent opinion, could attract awoman's love. But the harm is done, nevertheless, and a great harm too. When you are old and sensible you will look back to this day as one ofsorrow and evil, and you will know then that all greatness and power andglory of realized ambition are nothing unless a man have a woman's love. You will know that a man who cannot love is blind to half the world heseeks to conquer, and that a man who cannot love truly is no true man, forhe who is not true to one cannot be true to many. That is the sum andreckoning of what love is worth. But John knew of nothing beyond friendship, and he could not conceive howfriendship could turn into anything else. When he saw the tear onJosephine Thorn's cheek he was greatly disturbed, and vaguely wonderedwhat in the world he should do. The idea that any woman could care enoughfor him to shed a tear when he left her had never crossed his mind; evennow, with the actual fact before his eyes, he doubted whether it werepossible. She was ill, perhaps, and suffering pain. Pshaw! it was absurd, it could not be that she cared so much for him. Seeing she did not move, he sat quite still for a while. His usual tacthad deserted him in the extremity of the situation. He revolved in hismind what was best to say. It was safest to suppose that Joe was ill, buthe would say something indifferent, in order to see whether she recovered, before he suggested that he might be of assistance. "It is cold here, " he remarked, trying to speak as naturally as possible. "Would you not like to take a turn, Miss Thorn?" Joe moved a little. She was deadly pale, and in the effort she had made tocontrol her feelings she was unconscious of the tears in her eyes. "Oh no, thanks, " she faltered, "I will not dance just now. " She could notsay more. John made up his mind. "You are ill, Miss Thorn, " he said anxiously. "I am sure you are very farfrom well. Let me get you something, or call your aunt. Shall I?" "Oh no--don't--that is--please, I think so. I will go home. " John rose quickly, but before he reached the door she called him back. "Mr. Harrington, it is nothing. Please sit down. " John came back and did as he was bid, more and more surprised andconfused. "I was afraid it was something serious, " he said nervously, for he wasgreatly disturbed. Joe laughed, a bitter, harsh little laugh, that was bad to hear. She wasmaking a great effort, but she was strong, and bravely forced back herbursting tears. "Oh no! I was only choking, " she said. "I often do. Go on, please, withwhat you were saying. Why are you going away so suddenly?" "Indeed, " answered John, "I do not know what the business is. I am goingif I am required, simply because my friend wants me. " "Do you mean to say, " asked Joe, speaking more calmly, "that you will packup your belongings and go to the end of the world whenever a friend asksyou to? It is most tremendously obliging, you know. " "Not for any friend, " John replied. "But I would most certainly do it forthis particular one. " "You must be very fond of him to do that, " said Joe. "I am under great obligations to him, too. He is certainly the mostimportant man with whom I have any relations. We can trust each other-itwould not do to endanger the certainty of good faith that exists betweenus. " "He must be a very wonderful person, " said Joe, who had grown quite calmby this time. "I should like to know him. " "Very possibly you may meet him, some day. He is a very wonderful personindeed, as you say. He has devoted fifty years of his life and strength tothe unremitting pursuit of the best aim that any man can set before him. " "In other words, " said Joe, "he is your ideal. He is what you hope to beat his age. He must be very old. " "Yes, he is old. As for his representing my ideal, I think he approachesmore nearly to it than any man alive. But you would probably not likehim. " "Why?" "He belongs to a class of men whom old-world people especially dislike, "answered John. "He does not believe in any monarchy, aristocracy, ordistinction of birth. He looks upon titles as a decaying institution ofbarbarous ages, and he confidently asserts that in two or threegenerations the republic will be the only form of social contract knownamongst the inhabitants of the civilized world. " John was watching Joe while he spoke. He was merely talking because itseemed necessary, and he saw that in spite of her assumed calm she wasstill greatly agitated. She seemed anxious, however, to continue theconversation. "It is absurd, " said she, "to say that all men are born equal. " "Everything depends on what you mean by the word 'equal. ' I mean by itthat all men are born with an equal claim to a share in all the essentialrights of free citizenship. When a man demands more than that, he isinfringing on the rights of others; when he is content with less, he isallowing himself to be robbed. " "But who is to decide just how much belongs to each man?" asked Joe, leaning back wearily against the cushions. She wished now that she hadallowed him to call her aunt. It was a fearful strain on her faculties tocontinue talking upon general subjects and listening to John Harrington'scalm, almost indifferent tones. "The majority decides that, " said John. "But a majority has just decided that you are not to be senator, " saidJoe. "According to you they were right, were they not?" "It is necessary that the majority should be free, " said John, "and thatthey should judge of themselves, each man according to his honest belief. Majorities with us are very frequently produced by a handful of dishonestmen, who can turn the scale on either side, to suit their private ends. Itis the aim we set before us to protect the freedom of majorities. That isthe true doctrine of a republic. " "And for that aim, " said Joe, slowly, "you would sacrifice everything?" "Yes, indeed we would, " said John, gravely. "For that end we willsacrifice all that we have to give--the care for personal satisfaction, the hope of personal distinction, the peace of a home and the love of awife. We seek neither distinction nor satisfaction, and we renounce allties that could hamper our strength or interfere with the persevering andundivided attention we try to give to our work. " "That is a magnificent programme, " said Joe, somewhat incredulously. "Doyou not think it is possible sometimes to aim too high? You say 'we seek, ''we try, ' as though there were several of you, or at least, some onebesides yourself. Do you believe that such ideas as you tell me of arereally and seriously held by any body of men?" Nothing had seemed too high to Josephine an hour earlier, nothing tooexalted, nothing so noble but that John Harrington might do it, then andthere. But a sudden change had come over her, the deadly cold phase ofhalf melancholy unbelief that often follows close upon an unexpecteddisappointment, so that she looked with distaste on anything that seemedso full of the enthusiasm she had lost. The tears that bad risen sopassionately to her dimmed eyes were suddenly frozen, and seemed to flowback with chilling force to her heart. She coldly asked herself whethershe were mad, that she could have suffered thus for such a man, even everso briefly. He was a man, she said, who loved an unattainable, fanaticidea in the first place, and who dearly loved himself as well for his ownfanaticism's sake. He was a man in whom the heart was crushed, evenannihilated, by his intellect, which he valued far too highly, and by hisvanity, which he dignified into a philosophy of self-sacrifice. He wasaiming at what no man can reach, and though he knew his object to bebeyond human grasp, he desired all possible credit for having madlydreamed of anything so high. In the sudden revulsion of her strongpassion, she almost hated him, she almost felt the power to refute histheories, to destroy his edifice of fantastic morality, and finally toshow him that he was a fool among men, and doubly a fool, because he wasnot even happy in his own folly. Joe vaguely felt all this, and with it she felt a sense of shame at havingso nearly broken down at the news that he was going away. He had thoughtshe was ill; most assuredly he could not have guessed the cause of what hehad seen; but nevertheless she had suffered a keen pain, and the tears hadcome to her eyes. She did not understand it. He might leave her now, if hepleased, and she would not care; indeed, it would be rather a relief if hewould go. She no longer asked what she was to him, she simply reflectedthat, after all was said, he was nothing to her. She felt a quickantagonism to his ideas, to his words, and to himself, and she was willingto show it. She asked him incredulously whether his ideas were really heldby others. "It makes little difference, " answered John, "whether they are many or fewwho think as I do, and I cannot tell how many there may be. The truth isnot made truth because many people believe it. The world went round, asGalileo knew, although he alone stood up and said it in the face ofmankind, who scoffed at him for his pains. " "In other words, you occupy the position of Galileo, " suggested Joe, calmly. "Not I, " said John; "but there are men, and there have been men, in ourcountry who know truths as great as any he discovered, and who have spenttheir lives in proclaiming them. I know that they are right, andthat I am right, and that, however we may fail, others will succeed atlast. I know that, come what may, honor and truth and justice will win theday in the end!" His gray eyes glittered as he spoke, and his broad whitehands clasped nervously together in his enthusiasm. He was depressed andheartsick at his failure, but it needed only one word of opposition torouse the strong main thought of his life into the most active expression. But Joe sat coldly by, her whole nature seemingly changed in the fewminutes that had passed. "And all this will be brought about by the measures you advocated theother day, " said she with a little laugh. "A civil service, a littletariff reform--that is enough to inaugurate the reign of honor, truth, andjustice?" John turned his keen eyes upon hers. He had begun talking because she had required it of him, and he had been roused by the subject. He rememberedthe sympathy she had given him, and he was annoyed at her caprice. "Such things are the mere passing needs of a time, " he said. "The truth, justice, and honor, at which you are pleased to be amused, would insurethe execution at all times of what is right and needful. Without afoundation composed of the said truth, justice, and honor, to get what isright and needful is often a matter so stupendous that the half of anation's blood is drained in accomplishing the task, if even it isaccomplished after all. I see nothing to laugh at. " Indeed, Joe was only smiling faintly, but John was so deeply impressed andpenetrated by the absolute truth of what he was saying, that he hadaltogether ceased to make any allowances for Joe's caprice of mood or forthe disturbance in her manner that he had so lately witnessed. He wasbeginning to be angry, and she had never seen him in such a mood. "The world would be a very nice tiresome place to live in, " she said, "ifevery one always did exactly what is absolutely right. I should not liketo live among people who would be always so entirely padded and lined withgoodness as they must be in your ideal republic. " "It is a favorite and characteristic notion of modern society to associategoodness with dullness, and consequently, I suppose, to connect badnesswith all that is gay, interesting, and diverting. There is nothing moreperverted, absurd, and contemptible than that notion in the whole historyof the world. " John was not gentle with an idea when he despised it, and the adjectivesfell in his clear utterance like the blows of a sledge-hammer. But as theidea he was abusing had been suggested by Joe, she resented the stronglanguage. "I am flattered that you should call anything I say by such bad names, "she said. "I am not good at arguing and that sort of thing. If I were Ithink I could answer you very easily. Will you please take me back to myaunt?" She rose in a somewhat stately fashion. John was suddenly aware that he had talked too much and too strongly, andhe was very sorry to have displeased her. She had always let him talk ashe pleased, especially of late, and she had almost invariably agreed withhim in everything he said, so that he had acquired too much confidence. Atall events, that was the way he explained to himself the presentdifficulty. "Please forgive me, Miss Thorn, " he said humbly, as he gave her his arm toleave the room. "I am a very sanguine person, and I often talk greatnonsense. Please do not be angry. " Joe paused just as they reached thedoor. "Angry? I am not angry, " she said with sudden gentleness. "Besides, youknow, this is--you are really going away?" "I think so, " said John. "Then, if you do, " she said with some hesitation--"if you do, this isgood-by, is it not?" "Yes, I am afraid it is, " said John; "but not for long. " "Not for long, perhaps, " she answered; "but I would not like you to thinkI was angry the very last time I saw you. " "No, indeed. I should be very sorry if you were. But you are not?" "No. Well then"--she held out her hand--"Good-by, then. " She had almosthated him a few minutes ago. Half an hour earlier she had loved him. Nowher voice faltered a little, but her face was calm. John took the proffered hand and grasped it warmly. With all her caprice, and despite the strange changes of her manner toward him, she had been agood friend in a bad time during the last days, and he was more sorry toleave her than he would himself have believed. "Good-by, " he said, "and thank you once more, with all my heart, for yourfriendship and kindness. " Their hands remained clasped for a moment; thenshe took his arm again, and he led her out of the dimly-lighted sitting-room back among the brilliant dancers and the noise and the music and thewhirling crowd. CHAPTER XIX. A change has come over Boston in four months, since John Harrington andJosephine Thorn parted. The breath of the spring has been busy everywhere, and the haze of the hot summer is ripening the buds that the spring hasbrought out. The trees on the Common are thick and heavy with foliage, thePublic Garden is a carpet of bright flowers, and on the walls of BeaconStreet the great creepers have burst into blossom and are stretching longshoots over the brown stone and the iron balconies. There is a smell ofviolets and flowers in the warm air, and down on the little pond the swan-shaped boats are paddling about with their cargoes of merry children andcalico nursery-maids, while the Irish boys look on from the banks andthrow pebbles when the policemen are not looking, wishing they had thespare coin necessary to embark for a ten minutes' voyage on the mimic sea. Unfamiliar figures wander through the streets of the West End, and morethan half the houses show by the boarded windows and doors that the ownersare out of town. The migration of the "tax-dodgers" took place on the last day of April;they will return on the second day of December, having spent just sixmonths and one day in their country places, whereby they have shifted thepaying of a large proportion of their taxes to more economical regions. Itis a very equitable arrangement, for it is only the rich man who can savemoney in this way, while his poorer neighbor, who has no country-seat towhich he may escape, must pay to the uttermost farthing. The systemstimulates the impecunious to become wealthy and helps the rich to becomericher. It is, therefore, perfectly good and just. But Boston is more beautiful in the absence of the "tax-dodger" than atany other season. There is a stillness and a peace over the fair city thatone may long for in vain during the winter. Business indeed goes onwithout interruption, but the habitation of the great men of businessknows them not. They come up from their cool bowers by the sea, in specialtrains, in steamers, and in yachts, every morning, and early in theafternoon they go back, so that all day long the broad streets at the westare quiet and deserted, and seem to be basking in the sunshine to recoverfrom the combined strain of the bitter winter and the unceasing gayetythat accompanies it. In the warm June weather Miss Schenectady and Joe still linger in town. The old lady has no new-fangled notions about taxes, and though she isrich and has a pretty place near Newport, she will not go there until sheis ready, no, not for all the tax-gatherers in Massachusetts. As for Joe, she does not want to go away. Urgent letters come by every mail entreatingher to return to England in time for a taste of the season in London, butthey lie unanswered on her table, and often she does not read more thanhalf of what they contain. The books and the letters accumulate in herroom, and she takes no thought whether she reads them or not, for the timeis weary on her hands and she only wishes it gone, no matter how. Nevertheless she will not go home, and she even begs her aunt not to leaveBoston yet. She is paler than she was and her face looks thin. She says she is welland as strong as ever, but the elasticity is gone from her step, and thelight has faded in her brown eyes, so that one might meet her in thestreet and hardly know her. As she sits by the window, behind the closedblinds, the softened light falls on her face, and it is sad and weary. It was not until John Harrington was gone that she realized all. He hadreceived the message he expected early on the morning after that memorableparting, and before mid-day he was on his way. Since then she had heard noword of tidings concerning him, save that she knew he had arrived inEngland. For anything she knew he might even now be in America again, butshe would not believe it. If he had come back he would surely have come tosee her, she thought. There were times when she would have given all theworld to look on his face again, but for the most part she said to herselfit was far better that she should never see him. Where was the use? Joe was not of the women who have intimate confidants and can get rid ofmuch sorrow by much talking about it. She was too proud and too strong toask for help or sympathy in any real distress. She had gone to SybilBrandon when she was about to tell Ronald of her decision, because shethought that Sybil would be kind to him and help him to forget the past;but where she herself was alone concerned, she would rather have died manydeaths than confess what was in her heart. She had gone bravely through the remainder of the season, until all wasover, and no one had guessed her disappointment. Such perfect physicalstrength as hers was not to be broken down by the effort of a few weeks, and still she smiled and talked and danced and kept her secret. But as thelong months crawled out their tale of dreary days, the passion in her soulspread out great roots and grew fiercely against the will that strove tobreak it down. It was a love against which there was no appeal, which hadtaken possession silently and stealthily, with no outward show of wooingor sweet words; and then, safe within the fortress of her maidenly soul, it had grown up to a towering strength, feeding upon her whole life, andruthlessly dealing with her as it would. But this love sought noconfidence, nor help, nor assistance, being of itself utterly withouthope, strong and despairing. One satisfaction only she had daily. She rejoiced that she had broken awayfrom the old ties, from Ronald and from her English life. To have foundherself positively loving one man while she was betrothed to another wouldhave driven her to terrible extremity; the mere idea of going back to hermother and to the old life at home with this wild thought forever gnawingat her heart was intolerable. She might bear it to the end, whatever theend might be, and in silence, so long as none of her former associationsmade the contrast between past and present too strong. Old MissSchenectady, with her books and her odd conversation, was as good acompanion as any one, since she could not live alone. Sybil Brandon wouldhave wearied her by her sympathy, gentle and loving as it would have been;and besides, Sybil was away from Boston and very happy; it would beunkind, as well as foolish, to disturb her serenity with uselessconfidences. And so the days went by and the hot summer was come, and yetJoe lingered in Boston, suffering silently and sometimes wondering how itwould all end. Sybil was staying near Newport with her only surviving relation, an uncleof her mother. He was an old man, upward of eighty years of age, and helived in a strange old place six or seven miles from the town. But Ronaldhad been there more than once, and he was always enthusiastic in hisdescription of what he had seen, and he seemed particularly anxious thatJoe should know how very happy Sybil was in her country surroundings. Ronald had traveled during the spring, making short journeys in everydirection, and constantly talking of going out to see the West, a featwhich he never accomplished. He would go away for a week at a time andthen suddenly appear again, and at last had gravitated to Newport. Thencehe came to town occasionally and visited Joe, never remaining more than aday, and sometimes only a few hours. Joe was indifferent to his comingsand goings, but always welcomed him in a friendly way. She saw that he wasamusing himself, and was more glad than ever that the relations formerlyexisting between them had been so opportunely broken off. He had neverreferred to the past since the final interview when Joe had answered himby bursting into tears, and he talked about the present cheerfully enough. One morning he arrived without warning, as usual, to make one of his shortvisits. Joe was sitting by the window dressed all in white, and theuniform absence of color in her dress rather exaggerated the pallor of herface than masked it. She was reading, apparently with some interest, in abook of which the dark-lined binding sufficiently declared the sobercontents. As she read, her brows bent in the effort of understanding, while the warm breeze that blew through the blinds fanned her tired faceand gently stirred the small stray ringlets of her soft brown hair. Ronaldopened the door and entered. "Oh, Ronald!" exclaimed Joe, starting a little nervously, "have you comeup? You look like the sunshine. Come in, and shut the door. " He did as hewas bidden, and came and sat beside her. "Yes, I nave come up for the day. How are you, Joe dear? You look pale. Itis this beastly heat--you ought to come down to Newport for a month. It isutterly idiotic, you know, staying in town in this weather. " "I like it, " said Joe. "I like the heat so much that I think I should becold in Newport. Tell me all about what you have been doing. " "Oh, I hardly know, " said Ronald. "Lots of things. " "Tell me what you do in one day--yesterday, for instance. I want to beamused this morning. " "It is not so very amusing, you know, but it is very jolly, " answeredRonald. "To begin with, I get up at unholy hours and go and bathe in thesurf at the second beach. There are no end of a a lot of people there evenat that hour. " "Yes, I dare say. And then?" "Oh, then I go home and dress: and later, if I do not ride, I go to theclub--casino, I beg its pardon!--and play tennis. They play very decently, some of those fellows. " "Are there any nice rides?" "Just along the roads, you know. But when you get out to Sherwood thereare meadows and things--with a brook. That is very fair. " "Do you still go to Sherwood often? How is Sybil?" "Yes, " said Ronald, and a blush rose quickly to his face, "I often gothere. It is such a queer old place, you know, full of trees and oldsummer-houses and graveyards--awfully funny. " "Tell me, Ronald, " said Joe, insisting a little, "how is Sybil?" "She looks very well, so I suppose she is. But she never goes to anythingin Newport; she has not been in the town at all yet, since she went tostay with her uncle. " "But of course lots of people go out to see her, do they not?" "Oh, well, not many. In fact I do not remember to have met any one there, "answered Ronald, as though he were trying to recall some face besides MissBrandon's. "Her uncle is such an odd bird, you have no idea. " "I do not imagine you see very much of him when you go out there, " saidJoe, with a faint laugh. "Oh, I always see him, of course, " said Ronald, blushing again. "He isabout a hundred years old, and wears all kinds of clothes, and wandersabout the garden perpetually. But I do not talk to him unless I am drivento it"-- "Which does not occur often, " interrupted Joe. "Oh, well, I suppose not very often. Why should it?" Ronald was visibly embarrassed. Joe watched him with a look of amusementon her face; but affectionately, too, as though what he said pleased heras well as amused her. There was a short pause, during which Ronald rubbedhis hat slowly and gently. Then he looked up suddenly and met Joe's eyes;but he turned away again instantly, blushing redder than ever. "Ronald, " Joe said presently, "I am so glad. " "Glad? Why? About what?" "I am glad that you like her, and that she likes you. I think you like hervery much, Ronald. " "Oh yes, very much, " repeated Ronald, trying to seem indifferent. "Do you not feel as though we were much more like brother and sister now?"asked Joe, after a little while. "Oh, much!" assented Ronald. "I suppose it is better, too, though I didnot think so at first. " "It is far better, " said Joe, laying her small, thin hand across hercousin's strong fingers and pressing them a little. "You are free now, andyou will probably be very happy before long. Do you not think so?" sheasked, looking affectionately into his eyes. "I hope so, " said Ronald, with a last attempt at indifference. Thensuddenly his face softened, and he added in a gentler tone, "Indeed, Joe, I think I shall be very happy soon. " "I am so glad, " said Joe again, still holding his hand, but leaning herhead back wearily in the deep chair. "There is only one thing thattroubles me. " "What is that?" "That horrid will, " said Joe. "I am sure we could get it altered in someway. " "We never thought about it before, Joe. Why should we think about it now?It seems to me it is a very good will as things have turned out. " "But, my dear boy, " said Joe, "if you are married to Sybil Brandon, youwill need ever so much money. " Ronald blushed again. "I have not asked her to marry me, " he said quickly. "That makes no difference at all, " replied Joe. "As I was saying, when youhave married her you will need money. " "What an idea!" exclaimed Ronald, indignantly. "As if any one wanted to berich in order to be happy. Besides, between what I have of my own, and myshare of the money, there is nearly four thousand a year; and then thereis the place in Lanarkshire for us to live in. As if that were notenough!" "It is not so very much, though, " said Joe, reflecting. "I do not thinkSybil has anything at all. You will be as poor as two little church mice;but I will come and stay with you sometimes, " Joe added, laughing, "andhelp you about the bills. " "The bills would take care of themselves, " said Ronald, gravely. "Theyalways do. But whatever happens, Joe, my home is always yours. You willalways remember that, will you not?" "Dear Ronald, " answered his cousin affectionately, "you are as good as itis possible to be--you really are. " "Ronald, " said Joe, after a pause, "I have an idea. " He looked at her inquiringly, but said nothing. "I might, " she continued, smiling at the thought--"I may go and marryfirst, you know, after all, and spoil it. " "But you will not, will you? Promise me you will not. " "I wish I could, " said Joe, "and then you could have the money"-- "But I would not let you, " interrupted Ronald. "I would go off and getmarried by license, and that sort of thing. " "Without asking Miss Brandon?" suggested Joe. "Nonsense!" ejaculated Ronald, coloring for the twentieth time. "I think we are talking nonsense altogether, " said Joe, seriously. "I donot think, indeed I am quite sure, I shall never marry. " "How absurd!" cried Ronald. "The idea of your not marrying. It isperfectly ridiculous. " The name of John Harrington was on his lips, but he checked himself. Johnwas gone abroad, and with more than usual tact, Ronald reflected that, ifJoe had really cared for the man, an allusion to him would be unkind. ButJoe only shook her head, and let her cousin's words pass unanswered. She had long suspected, from Ronald's frequent allusions to Sybil, whichwere generally accompanied by some change of manner, that he was eitheralready in love with the fair American girl, or that he soon would be, andthe acknowledgment she had now received from himself gave her infinitepleasure. In her reflections upon her own conduct she had never blamedherself, but she had more than once thought that he was greatly to bepitied. To have married him six months ago, when she was fully consciousthat she did not love him, would have been very wrong; and to have goneback at a later period, when she realized that her whole life was full ofher love for John Harrington, would have been a crime. But in spite ofthat she was often very sorry for Ronald, and feared that she had hurt hishappiness past curing. Now, therefore, when she saw how much he lovedanother, she was exceedingly glad, for she knew that the thing she haddone had been wholly good, both for him and for her. They soon began to talk of other things, but the conversation fell back tothe discussion of Newport, and Joe learned with some surprise that PocockVancouver assiduously cultivated Ronald's acquaintance, and was alwaysready to do anything in the world that Ronald desired. It appeared thatVancouver lent Ronald his horses at all times, and was apparentlydelighted when Ronald would take a mount and stay away all day. The youngEnglishman, of course, was not loath to accept such offers, having aradical and undisguised contempt for hired horseflesh, and as Sybil livedseveral miles out of town, it was far the most pleasant plan to ride outto her, and after spending the day there, to ride back in the evening, more especially as it cost him nothing. Joe was on the point of making some remark upon Vancouver, which wouldvery likely have had the effect of cooling the intimacy between him andRonald; but she thought better of it, and said nothing. Ronald had had nopart in all the questions connected with John's election, and knew nothingof what Vancouver had done in the matter. It was better on many groundsnot to stir up fresh trouble, and so long as Vancouver's stables affordedRonald an easy and economical means of locomotion from Newport to thehouse of the woman he loved, the friendship that had sprung up was apositive gain. She could not understand the motives that promptedVancouver in the least. He had made more than one attempt to regain hisposition with her after the direct cut he had sustained on the eveningwhen she parted with John; but Joe had resolutely set her face againsthim. Possibly she thought Vancouver might hope to regain her good opinionby a regular system of kindness to Ronald; but it hardly seemed to her asthough such a result would reward him for the pains of his diplomacy. Meanwhile it would be foolish of her to interfere with any intimacy whichwas of real use to Ronald in his suit. As a matter of fact, Vancouver was carrying out a deliberate plan, and onewhich was far from ill-conceived. He had not been so blind as not tosuspect Joe's secret attachment for John, when she was willing to go tosuch lengths in her indignation against himself for being John's enemy. But he had disposed of John, as he thought, by assisting, if not actuallycausing, his defeat. He imagined that Harrington had gone abroad toconceal the mortification he felt at having lost the election, and herightly argued that for some time Joe would not bestow a glance upon anyone else. In the mean time, however, he was in possession of certaindetails concerning Joe's fortune which could be of use, and he accordinglyset about encouraging Ronald's affections in any direction they mighttake, so long as they were not set upon his cousin. He was not surprisedthat Ronald should fall in love with Sybil, though he almost wished thechoice could have fallen upon some one else, and accordingly he dideverything in his power to make life in Newport agreeable for the youngEnglishman. It was convenient in some respects that the wooing should takeplace at so central a resort; but had the case been different, Vancouverwould not have hesitated to go to Saratoga, Lenox, or Mount Desert, in theprosecution of his immediate purpose, which was to help Ronald to marryany living woman rather than let him return to England a bachelor. When Ronald should be married, Joe would be in possession of threequarters of her uncle's money--a very considerable fortune. If she washuman, thought Vancouver, she would be eternally grateful to him forridding her of her cousin, whom she evidently did not wish to marry, andfor helping her thereby to so much wealth. He reflected that he had beenunfortunate in the time when he had decided to be a candidate for herhand; but whatever turn affairs took, no harm was done to his ownprospects by removing Ronald from the list of possible rivals. He wasdelighted at the preference Surbiton showed for Sybil Brandon, and in caseRonald hesitated, he reserved the knowledge he possessed of her privatefortune as a final stimulus to his flagging affections. Hitherto it hadnot seemed necessary to acquaint his friend with the fact that Sybil hadan income of some thirty thousand dollars yearly--indeed, no one seemed toknow it, and she was supposed to be in rather straitened circumstances. As for his own chances with Joe, he had carefully hidden the tracks of hisjournalistic doings in the way he had at once proposed to himself when Joeattacked him on the subject. A gentleman had been found upon whom he hadfastened the authorship of the articles in the public estimation, and thegentleman would live and die with the reputation for writing he had thusunexpectedly obtained. He had ascertained beyond a doubt that Joe knewnothing of his interview with Ballymolloy, and he felt himself in a strongposition. Pocock Vancouver had for years taken an infinite amount of pains inplanning and furthering his matrimonial schemes. He was fond of money; butin a slightly less degree he was fond of all that is beautiful andintelligent in woman; so that his efforts to obtain for himself what heconsidered a perfect combination of wit, good looks, and money, althoughineffectual, had occupied a great deal of his spare time very agreeably. CHAPTER XX. Sherwood was a very old place. It had been built a hundred years at leastbefore the Revolution in the days when the States had English governors, and when its founder had been governor of Rhode Island. His lastdescendant in the direct line was Sybil Brandon's great-uncle. The old country-seat was remarkable chiefly for the extent of the gardensattached to the house, and for the singularly advanced state ofdilapidation in which everything was allowed to remain. Beyond the gardensthe woods stretched down to the sea, unpruned and thick with a heavyundergrowth; from the road the gardens were hidden by thick hedges, and bythe forbidding gray front of the building. It was not an attractive placeto look at, and once within the precincts there was a heavy sense ofloneliness and utter desolation, that seemed to fit it for the very homeof melancholy. The damp sea air had drawn green streaks of mould downwards from eachseveral jointing of the stones; the long-closed shutters of some of thewindows were more than half hidden by creepers, bushy and straggling byturns, and the eaves were all green with moss and mould. From the deep-arched porch at the back a weed-grown gravel walk led away throughuntrimmed hedges of box and myrtle to an ancient summer-house on the edgeof a steep slope of grass. To right and left of this path, the rose-treesand box that had once marked the gayest of flower gardens now grew in suchexuberance of wild profusion that it would have needed strong arms and asharp axe to cut a way through. Far away on a wooded knoll above the seawas the old graveyard, where generations of Sherwoods lay dead in theirquiet rest, side by side. But for a space in every year the desolation was touched with the breathof life, and the sweet June air blew away the mould and the smell ofdeath, and the wild flowers and roses sprang up joyfully in the wildernessto greet the song-birds and the butterflies of summer. And in this copiousyear a double spring had come to Sherwood, for Sybil Brandon had arrivedone day, and her soft eyes and golden hair had banished all sadness andshadow from the old place. Even the thin old man, who lived there amongthe ghosts and shadows of the dead and dying past, smoothed the wrinklesfrom his forehead, forgetting to long selfishly for his own death, whenSybil came; and with touching thoughtfulness he strove to amuse her, andto be younger for her sake. He found old garments of a gayer time, fullthirty years hidden away in the great wardrobes up-stairs, and he put themon and wore them, though they hung loosely about his shaken and witheredframe, lest he should be too sad a thing for such young eyes to look upon. Then Ronald came one day, and the old man took kindly to him, and bade himcome often. In the innocence of his old age it seemed good that what youthand life there was in the world should come together; and Ronald treatedhim with a deference and respect to which he had long been unused. Moreover, Ronald accepted the invitation given him and came as often as hepleased, which, before long, meant every day. When he came in the morninghe generally stayed until the evening, and when he came in the afternoonhe always stayed as long as Sybil would let him, and rode home latethrough the misty June moonlight pondering on the happiness the world hadsuddenly brought forth for him who had supposed, but a few months ago, that all happiness was at an end. Six months had gone by since Ronald had first seen Sybil, and he hadchanged in that time from boy to man. Looking back through the past yearshe knew that he was glad Joe had not married him, for the new purpose ofhis new life was to love and marry Sybil Brandon. There was no doubt inhis mind as to what he would do; the strong nature in him was at lastroused, and he was capable of anything in reason or without it to get whathe wanted. Some one has said that an Englishman's idea of happiness is to findsomething he can kill and to hunt it. That is a metaphor as well as afact. It may take an Englishman half a lifetime to find out what he wants, but when he is once decided he is very likely to get it, or to die in theattempt. The American is fond of trying everything until he reaches theage at which Americans normally become dyspeptic, and during hiscomparatively brief career he succeeds in experiencing a surprisingvariety of sensations. Both Americans and English are tenacious in theirdifferent ways, and it is certain that between them they have gotten morethings that they have wanted than any other existing nation. What most surprised Ronald was that, having made up his mind to marrySybil, he should not have had the opportunity, or perhaps the courage, totell her so. He remembered how easily he had always been able to speak toJoe about matrimony, and he wondered why it should be so hard to approachthe subject with one whom he loved infinitely more dearly than he had everloved his cousin. But love brings tact and the knowledge of fitness, besides having the effect of partially hiding the past and exaggeratingthe future into an eternity of rose-colored happiness; wherefore Ronaldsupposed that everything would come right in time, and that the time foreverything to come right could not possibly be very far off. On the day after he had seen Joe in Boston he rode over to Sherwood in themorning, as usual, upon one of Vancouver's horses. He was lighter at heartthan ever, for he had somewhat dreaded the revelation of his intentions toJoe; but she had so led him on and helped him that it had all seemed veryeasy. He was not long in reaching his destination, and having put hishorse in the hands of the single man who did duty as gardener, groom, anddairyman for old Mr. Sherwood, he entered the garden, where he hoped tomeet Sybil alone. He was not disappointed, for as he walked down the paththrough the wilderness of shrubbery he caught sight of her near thesummer-house, stooping down in the act of plucking certain flowers thatgrew there. She, too, was dressed all in white, as he had seen his cousin on theprevious day; but the difference struck him forcibly as he came up andtook her outstretched hand. They had changed places and character, onecould almost have thought. Joe had looked so tired and weary, so "wilted, "as they say in Boston, that it had shocked Ronald to see her. Sybil, whohad formerly been so pale and cold, now was the very incarnation of life;delicate and exquisitely fine in every movement and expression, but mostthoroughly alive. The fresh soft color seemed to float beneath thetransparent skin, and her deep eyes were full of light and laughter andsunshine. Ronald's heart leaped in his breast for love and pride as shegreeted him, and his brow turned hot and his hands cold in the confusionof his happiness. "You have been away again?" she asked presently, looking down at the wildwhite lilies which she had been gathering. "Yes, I was in Boston yesterday, " answered Ronald, who had immediatelybegun to help in plucking the flowers. "I went to see Joe. She looksdreadfully knocked up with the heat, poor child. " And so they talked about Joe and Boston for a little while, and Sybil satupon the steps of the summer-house on the side where there was shade fromthe hot morning sun, while Ronald brought her handfuls of the whitelilies. At last there were enough, and he came and stood before her. Shewas so radiantly lovely as she sat in the warm shade with the stillslanting sunlight just falling over her white dress, he thought her sosuper-humanly beautiful that he stood watching her without thinking ofspeaking or caring that she should speak to him. She looked up and smiled, a quick bright smile, for she was woman enough to know his thoughts. Butshe busied herself with the lilies and looked down again. "Let me help you, " said Ronald suddenly, kneeling down before her on thepath. "I don't think you can--very much, " said Sybil, demurely. "You are notvery clever about flowers, you know. Oh, take care! You will crush it--give it back to me!" Ronald had taken one of the lilies and was smelling it, but it looked toSybil very much as though he were pressing it to his lips. He would notgive it back, but held it away at arm's length as he knelt. Sybil made asthough she were annoyed. "Of course, " said she, "I cannot take it, if you will not give it to me. "Ronald gently laid the flower in her lap with the others. She pretended totake no notice of what he did, but went on composing her nosegay. "Miss Brandon"--began Ronald, and stopped. "Well?" said Sybil, without looking up. "May I tell you something?" he asked. "That depends, " said Sybil. "Is it anything very interesting?" "Yes, " said Ronald. There seemed to be something the matter with histhroat all at once, as though he were going to choke. Sybil looked up andsaw that he was very pale. She had never seen him otherwise than ruddybefore, and she was startled; she dropped the lilies on her knees andlooked at him anxiously. Ronald suddenly laid his hands over hers and heldthem. Still she faced him. "I am very unworthy of you--I know I am-but I love you very, very much. "He spoke distinctly enough now, and slowly. He was as white as marble, andhis fingers were cold, and trembled as they held hers. For an instant after he had spoken, Sybil did not move. Then she quietlydrew back her hands and hid her face in a sudden, convulsive movement. She, too, trembled, and her heart beat as though it would break; but shesaid nothing. Ronald sprang from the ground and kneeled again upon thestep beside her; very gently his arm stole about her and drew her to him. She took one hand from her face and tried to disentangle his hold, but heheld her strongly, and whispered in her ear, -- "Sybil, I love you--do you love me?" Sybil made a struggle to rise, but it was not a very brave struggle, andin another moment she had fallen into his arms and was sobbing out herwhole love passionately. "Oh, Ronald, you mu--must not!" But Ronald did. Half an hour later they were still sitting side by side on the steps, butthe storm of uncertainty was passed, and they had plighted their faith forbetter and for worse, for this world and the next. Ronald had foreseen theevent, and had hoped for it as he never had hoped for anything in hislife; Sybil had perhaps guessed it; at all events, now that the suprememoment was over, they both felt that it was the natural climax to all thathad happened during the spring. "I think, " said Sybil, quietly, "that we ought to tell my uncle at once. He is the only relation I have in the world. " "Oh yes, of course, " said Ronald, holding her hand. "That is, you know, Ithink we might tell him after lunch. Because I suppose it would not be theright thing for me to stay all day after he knows. Would it?" "Why not?" asked Sybil. "He must know it soon, and you will come to-morrow. " "To-morrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and always, " saidRonald, lovingly. "But he will not like it, I suppose. " "Why not?" asked Sybil, again. "Because I am poor, " said Ronald, quietly. "You know I am not rich at all, Sybil dearest. We shall have to be very economical, and live on the placein Scotland. But it is a very pretty place, " he added, reassuringly. Sybil flushed a little. He did not know, then, that she had a fortune ofher own. It was a new pleasure. She did not say anything for a moment. "Do you mind very much, dearest?" asked Ronald, doubtfully. "Do you thinkit would bore you dreadfully to live in the country?" Sybil hesitated before she answered. She hardly knew whether to tell himor not, but at last she decided it would be better. "No, Ronald, " said she, smiling a little; "I like the country. But, youknow, we can live anywhere we please. I am rich, Ronald--you did not knowit?" Ronald started slightly. It was indeed an unexpected revelation. "Really?" he cried. "Oh, I am so glad for you. You will not miss anything, then. I was so afraid. " That evening Ronald telegraphed to Joe the news of his engagement, and thenext day he wrote her a long letter, which was more remarkable for theredundant passion expressed than for the literary merit of the expression. It seemed far easier to write it since he had seen her and talked with herabout Sybil, not because he felt in the least ashamed of having fallen inlove within six months of the dissolution of his former engagement withJoe, but because it seemed a terribly difficult thing to speak to any oneabout Sybil. Ronald was very far from being poetical, or in any way givento lofty and medieval reflections of the chivalric sort, but he was a veryhonest fellow, loving for the first time, and he understood that his lovewas something more to be guarded and respected than anything that had yetcome into his life; wherefore it seemed almost ungentlemanly to speakabout it. When Joe received the intelligence her satisfaction knew no bounds, foralthough she had guessed that the climax of the affair was not far off, she had not expected it so very soon. Had she searched through the wholeof her acquaintance at home and in America she could have found no onewhom she considered more fit to be Ronald's wife, and that alone wasenough to make her very happy; but the sensation of freedom from allfurther responsibility to Ronald, and the consciousness that everypossible good result had followed upon her action, added so much to herpleasure in the matter, that for a time she utterly forgot herself and herown troubles. She instantly wrote a long and sympathetic letter to Ronald, and another to Sybil. Sybil replied at once, begging Joe to come and spend a month at Sherwood, or as much time as she was able to give. "I expect you had best go, " remarked Miss Schenectady. "It is gettingpretty hot here, and you look quite sick. " "Oh no, I am very well, " said Joe; "but I think I will go for a week orten days. " "Well, if you find you are going to have a good time, you can always stay, any way, " replied the old lady. "I think if I were you I would take somebooks and a Bible and a pair of old boots. " Miss Schenectady did not smile, but Joe laughed outright. "A Bible and a pair of old boots!" she cried. "Yes, I would, " said her aunt. "Old Tom Sherwood cannot have seen a Biblefor fifty years, I expect, and it might sort of freshen him up. " The oldlady's eye twinkled slightly and the corners of her mouth twitched alittle. "As for the old boots, if you conclude to go, you will want them, for you will be right out in the country there. " Joe laughed again, but she took her aunt's advice; and on the followingday she reached Newport, and was met by Sybil and Ronald, who conveyed herto Sherwood in a thing which Joe learned was called a "carryall. " Late in the afternoon, when Ronald was gone, the two girls sat in an angleof the old walls, looking over the sea to eastward. The glow of thesetting sun behind them touched them softly, and threw a rosy color uponJoe's pale face, and gilded Sybil's bright hair, hovering about her browsin a halo of radiant glory. Joe looked at her and wondered at the changelove had wrought in so short a time. Sybil had once seemed so cold andwhite that only a nun's veil could be a fit thing to bind upon her saintlyhead; but now the orange blossoms would look better there, Joe thought, twined in a bride's wreath of white and green, of purity and hope. "My Snow Angel, " she exclaimed, "the sun has melted you at last!" "Tell me the story of the Snow Angel, " said Sybil, smiling. "You once saidthat you would. " "I will tell you, " said Joe, "as well I can remember it. Mamma used totell it to me years and years ago, when I was quite a small thing. It is apretty story. Listen. " "Once on a time, far away in the north, there lived an angel. She wasvery, very beautiful, and all of the purest snow, quite white, her faceand her hands and her dress and her wings. She lived alone, ever so faraway, all through the long winter, in a valley of beautiful snow, wherethe sun never shone even in the summer. She was the most lovely angel thatever was, but she was so cold that she could not fly at all, and so shewaited in the valley, always looking southward and wishing with all herheart that the sun would rise above the hill. "Sometimes people passed, far down below, in sledges, and she almost wouldhave asked some one of them to take her out of the valley. But once, whenshe came near the track, a man came by and saw her, and he was sodreadfully frightened that he almost fell out of the sled. "Sometimes, too, the little angels, who were young and curious, would flydown into the cold valley and look at her and speak to her. "'Pretty angel, ' they would say, 'why do you stay all alone in this drearyplace?' "'They forgot me here, ' she used to answer, 'and now I cannot fly untilthe sun is over the hill. But I am very happy. It will soon come. ' "It was too cold for the little angels, and so they soon flew away andleft her; and they began to call her the Snow Angel among themselves, andsome of them said she was not real, but the other ones said she must be, because she was so beautiful. She was not unhappy, because angels nevercan be, you know; only it seemed a long time to wait for the sun to come. "But at last the sun heard of her, and the little angels who had seen hertold him it was a shame that he should not rise high enough to warm herand help her to fly. So, as he is big and good-natured and strong, he saidhe would try, and would do his best; and on midsummer's day he determinedto make a great effort. He shook himself, and pushed and struggled veryhard, and got hotter than he had ever been in his whole life with hisexertions, but at last, with a great brave leap, he found himself so highthat he could see right down into the valley, and he saw the Snow Angelstanding there, and she was so beautiful that he almost cried with joy. And then, as he looked, he saw a very wonderful sight. "The Snow Angel, all white and glistening, looked up into the sun's faceand stretched her arms towards him and trembled all over; and as she feltthat he was come at last and had begun to warm her, she thrust out herdelicate long wings, and they gleamed and shone and struck the cold clearair. Then the least possible tinge of exquisite color came into her face, and she opened her lips and sang for joy; and presently, as she wassinging, she rose straight upward with a rushing sound, like a lark in thesunlight, the whitest and purest and most beautiful angel that ever flewin the sky. And her voice was so grand and clear and ringing, that all theother angels stopped in their songs to listen, and then sang with her injoy because the Snow Angel was free at last. "That is the story mamma used to tell me, long ago, and when I first sawyou I thought of it, because you were so cold and beautiful that youseemed all made of snow. But now the sun is over the hill, Sybil dear, isit not?" "Dear Joe, " said Sybil, winding her arm round her friend's neck and layingher face close to hers, "you are so nice. " The sun sank suddenly behind them, and all the eastern water caught thepurple glow. It was dark when the two girls walked slowly back to the oldhouse. Joe stayed many days with Sybil at Sherwood, and the days ran into weeksand the weeks to months as the summer sped by. Ronald came and went daily, spending long hours with Sybil in the garden, and growing more manly andquiet in his happiness, while Sybil grew ever fairer in the gradualperfecting of her beauty. It was comforting to Joe to see them together, knowing what honest hearts they were. She occupied herself as she couldwith books and a few letters, but she would often sit for hours in a deepchair under the overhanging porch, where the untrimmed honeysuckle wavedin the summer breeze like a living curtain, and the birds would come andswing themselves upon its tendrils. But Joe's cheek was always pale, andher heart weary with longing and with fighting against the poor imprisonedlove that no one must ever guess. CHAPTER XXI. The wedding-day was fixed for the middle of August, and the ceremony wasto take place in Newport. It is not an easy matter to arrange the marriageof two young people neither of whom has father or mother, though theirsubsequent happiness is not likely to suffer much by the bereavement. Itwas agreed, however, that Mrs. Wyndham, who was Sybil's oldest friend, should come and stay at Sherwood until everything was finished; and sheanswered the invitation by saying she was "perfectly wild to come, "--andshe came at once. Uncle Tom Sherwood was a little confused at the notionof having his house full of people; but Sybil had been amusing herself byreorganizing the place for some time back, and there is nothing easierthan to render a great old-fashioned country mansion habitable for a fewdays in the summer, when carpets are useless and smoking chimneys are nota necessity. Mrs. Wyndham said that Sam would come down for the wedding and stay overthe day, but that she expected he was pretty busy just now. "By the way, " she remarked, "you know John Harrington has come home. Wemust send him an invitation. " The three ladies were walking in the garden after breakfast, hatless andarmed with parasols. Joe started slightly, but no one noticed it. "When did he come--where has he been all this time?" asked Sybil. "Oh, I do not know. He came down to see Sam the other day at our place. Heseems to have taken to business. They talked about the Monroe doctrine andthe Panama canal, and all kinds of things. Sam says somebody has died andleft him money. Anyway, he seems a good deal interested in the canal. " Mrs. Wyndham chatted on, planning with Sybil the details of the wedding. The breakfast was to be at Sherwood, and there were not to be many people. Indeed, the distance would keep many away, a fact for which no one ofthose principally concerned was at all sorry. John Harrington, swelteringin the heat of New York, and busier than he had ever been in his life, received an engraved card to the effect that Mr. Thomas Sherwood requestedthe pleasure of Mr. Harrington's company at the marriage of hisgrandniece, Miss Sybil Brandon, to Mr. Ronald Surbiton, at Sherwood, onthe 15th of August. There was also a note from Mrs. Wyndham, saying thatshe was staying at Sherwood, and that she hoped John would be able tocome. John had, of course, heard of the engagement, but he had not suspectedthat the wedding would take place so soon. In spite of his business, however, he determined to be present. A great change had come over hislife since he had bid Joe good-by six months earlier. He had been calledto London as he had expected, and had arrived there to find that Z wasdead, and that he was to take his place in the council. The fiery old manhad died very suddenly, having worked almost to his last hour, in spite ofdesperate illness; but when it was suspected that his case was hopeless, John Harrington was warned that he must be ready to join the survivors atonce. In the great excitement, and amidst the constant labor of his newposition, the past seemed to sink away to utter insignificance. Hisprevious exertions, the short sharp struggle for the senatorship ending indefeat, the hopes and fears of ten years of a most active life, wereforgotten and despised in the realization of what he had so long and soardently desired, and now at last he saw that his dreams were noimpossibility, and that his theories were not myths. But he knew alsothat, with all his strength and devotion and energy, he was as yet nomatch for the two men with whom he had to do. Their vast experience of menand things threw his own knowledge into the shade, and cool as he was inemergencies, he recognized that the magnitude of the matters they handledastonished and even startled him more than he could have believedpossible. Years must elapse before he understood what seemed as plain asthe day to them, and he must fight many desperate battles before he wastheir equal. But the determination to devote his life wholly and honestlyto the one object for which a man should live had grown stronger thanever. In his exalted view the ideal republic assumed grand and nobleproportions, and already overshadowed the whole earth with the glory ofhonor and peace and perfect justice. Before the advancing tide of aspotless civilization, all poverty, all corruption and filthiness, allcrime, all war and corroding seeds of discord were swept utterly away andwashed from the world, to leave only forever and ever the magnificentharmony of nations and peoples, wherein none of those vile, base, andwicked things should even be dreamed of, or so much as remembered. He thought of Joe sometimes, wondering rather vaguely why she had acted asshe had, and whether any other motive than pure sympathy with his work hadmade her resent so violently Vancouver's position towards him. It was odd, he thought, that an English girl should find such extreme interest inAmerican political doings, and then the scene in the dim sitting-roomduring the ball came vividly back to his memory. It was not in his natureto fancy that every woman who was taken with a fit of coughing was in lovewith him, but the conviction formed itself in his mind that he mightpossibly have fallen in love with Joe if things had been different. As itwas, he had put away such childish things, and meant to live out his yearsof work, with their failure or success, without love and without a wife. He would always be grateful to Joe, but that would be all, and he would beglad to see her whenever an opportunity offered, just as he would be gladto see any other friend. In this frame of mind he arrived in Newport onthe morning of the wedding, and reached the little church among the treesjust in time to witness the ceremony. It was not different from other weddings, excepting perhaps that the placewhere the High Church portion of Newport elects to worship is probablysmaller than any other consecrated building in the world. Every seat wascrowded, and it was with difficulty that John could find standing roomjust within the door. The heat was intense, and the horses that stoodwaiting in the avenue, sweated in the sun as they fought the flies, andpawed the hard road in an agony of impatience. Sybil was exquisitely lovely as she went by on old Mr. Sherwood's arm. Theold gentleman had consented to assume a civilized garb for once in hislife, and looked pleased with his aged self, as well he might be, seeingthat the engagement had been made under his roof. Then Ronald passed, paler than usual, but certainly the handsomest man present, carryinghimself with a new dignity, as though he knew himself a better man thanever in being found worthy of his beautiful bride. It was soon over, andthe crowd streamed out after the bride and bridegroom. "Hallo, Harrington, how are you?" said Vancouver, overtaking John as heturned into the road. "You had better get in with me and drive out. I havenot seen you for an age. " John stood still and surveyed Vancouver with a curiously calm air ofabsolute superiority. "Thank you very much, " he answered civilly. "I have hired a carriage totake me there. I dare say we shall meet. Good-morning. " John had been to Sherwood some years before, but he was surprised at thechange that had been wrought in honor of the marriage. The place lookedinhabited, the windows were all open, and the paths had been weeded, though Sybil had not allowed the wild shrubbery to be pruned nor the boxhedges to be trimmed. She loved the pathless confusion of the old grounds, and most of all she loved the dilapidated summer-house. John shook hands with many people that he knew. Mrs. Wyndham led him asidea little way. "Is it not just perfectly splendid?" she exclaimed. "They are so exactlysuited to each other. I feel as if I had done it all. You are not at allenthusiastic. " "On the contrary, " said John, "I am very enthusiastic. It is the bestthing that could possibly have happened. " "Then go and do likewise, " returned Mrs. Sam, laughing. Then she changedher tone. "There is a young lady here who will be very glad to see you. Goand try and cheer her up a little, can't you?" "Who is that?" "A young lady over there--close to Sybil-dressed in white with roses. Don't you see? How stupid you are! There--the second on the left. " "Do you mean to say that is Miss Thorn?" exclaimed John in much surprise, and looking where Mrs. Sam directed him. "Good Heavens! How she haschanged!" "Yes, she has changed a good deal, " said Mrs. Wyndham, looking at John'sface. "I hardly think I should have known her, " said John. "She must have beenvery ill; what has been the matter?" "The matter? Well, perhaps if you will go and speak to her, you will seewhat the matter is, " answered Mrs. Sam, enigmatically. "What do you mean?" John looked at his companion in astonishment. "I mean just exactly what I say. Go and talk to her, and cheer her up alittle. " She dropped her voice, and spoke close to Harrington's ear--"Noone else in the world can, " she added. John's impulse was to answer Mrs. Wyndham sharply. What possible rightcould she have to say such things? It was extremely bad taste, if it wasnothing worse, even with an old friend like John. But he checked the wordson his lips and spoke coldly. "It is not fair to say things like that about any girl, " he answered. "Iwill certainly go and speak to her at once, and if you will be good enoughto watch, you will see that I am the most indifferent of persons in hereyes. " "Very well, I will watch, " said Mrs. Wyndham, not in the leastdisconcerted. "Only take care. " John smiled quietly, and made his way through the crowd of gaily-dressed, laughing people to here Joe was standing. She had not yet caught sight ofhim, but she knew he was in the room, and she felt very nervous. Sheintended to treat him with friendly coolness, as a protest against herconduct in former days. Poor Joe! she was very miserable, but she had made a brave effort. Herpale cheeks and darkened eyes contrasted painfully with the roses shewore, and her short nervous remarks to those who spoke to her sounded veryunlike her former self. "How do you do, Miss Thorn?" John said, very quietly. "It is a long timesince we met. " Joe put her small cold hand in his, and it trembled so much that Johnnoticed it. She turned her head a little away from him, frightened nowthat he was at last come. "Yes, " she said in a low voice, "it is a long time. " She felt herself turnred and then pale, and as she looked away from John she met Mrs. Wyndham'sblack eyes turned full upon her in an inquiring way. She started as thoughshe had been caught in some wrong thing; but she was naturally brave, andafter the first shock she spoke to John more naturally. "We seem destined for festivities, Mr. Harrington, " she said, trying tolaugh. "We parted at a ball, and we meet again at a wedding. " "It is always more gay to meet than to part, " answered John. "I think thisis altogether one of the gayest things I ever saw. What a splendid fellowyour cousin is. It does one good to see men like that. " "Yes, Ronald is very good-looking, " said Joe. "I am so very glad, you donot know; and he is so happy. " "Any man ought to be who marries such a woman, " said John. "By the bye, "he added with a smile, "Vancouver takes it all very comfortably, does henot? I would like to know what he really feels. " "I am sure that whatever it is, it is something bad, " said Joe. "How you hate him!" exclaimed John with a laugh. "I--I do not hate him. But you ought to, Mr. Harrington. I simply despisehim, that is all. " "No, I do not hate him either, " answered John. "I would not disturb mypeace of mind for the sake of hating any one. It is not worth while. " Some one came and spoke to Joe, and John moved away in the crowd, moredisturbed in mind than he cared to acknowledge. He had gone to Joe's sidein the firm conviction that Mrs. Wyndham was only making an untimely jest, and that Joe would greet him indifferently. Instead she had blushed, turned paler, hesitated in her speech, and had shown every sign ofconfusion and embarrassment. He knew that Mrs. Wyndham was right, afterall, and he avoided her, not wishing to give a fresh opportunity formaking remarks upon Joe's manner. The breakfast progressed, and the people wandered out into the garden fromthe hot rooms, seeking some coolness in the shady walks. By some chain ofcircumstances which John could not explain, he found himself left alonewith Joe an hour after he had first met her in the house. A little knot ofacquaintances had gone out to the end of one of the walks, where there wasa shady old bower, and presently they had paired off and moved away invarious directions, leaving John and Joe together. The excitement hadbrought the faint color to the girl's face at last, and she was more thanusually inclined to talk, partly from nervous embarrassment, and partlyfrom the enlivening effect of so many faces she had not seen for so long. "Tell me, " she said, pulling a leaf from the creepers and twisting it inher fingers--"tell me, how long was it before you forgot yourdisappointment about the election? Or did you think it was not worth whileto disturb your peace of mind for anything so trivial?" "I suppose I could not help it, " said John. "I was dreadfully depressed atfirst. I told you so, do you remember?" "Of course you were, and I was very sorry for you. I told you you wouldlose it, long before, but you do not seem to care in the least now. I donot understand you at all. " "I soon got over it, " said John. "I left Boston on the day after I sawyou, and went straight to London. And then I found that a friend of minewas dead, and I had so much to do that I forgot everything that had gonebefore. " Joe gave a little sigh, short and sharp, and quickly checked. "You have a great many friends, have you not?" she said. "Yes, very many. A man cannot have too many of the right sort. " "I do not think you and I mean the same thing by friendship, " said Joe. "Ishould say one cannot have too few. " "I mean friends who will help you at the right moment, that is, when youask help. Surely it must be good to have many. " "Everything that you do and say always turns to one and the same end, "said Joe, a little impatiently. "The one thing you live for is power andthe hope of power. Is there nothing in the world worth while save that?" "Power itself is worth nothing. It is the thing one means to get with itthat is the real test. " "Of course. But tell me, is anything you can obtain by all the power theworld holds better than the simple happiness of natural people, who areborn and live good lives, and--fall in love, and marry, and that sort ofthing, and are happy, and die?" Joe looked down and turned the leaf sheheld in her fingers, as she stated her proposition. John Harrington paused before he answered. A moment earlier he had been ascalm and cold as he was wont to be; now, he suddenly hesitated. The strongblood rushed to his brain and beat furiously in his temples, and then sankheavily back to his heart, leaving his face very pale. His fingers wrungeach other fiercely for a moment. He looked away at the trees; he turnedto Josephine Thorn; and then once more he gazed at the dark foliage, motionless in the hot air of the summer's afternoon. "Yes, " he said, "I think there are things much better than those in theworld. " But his voice shook strangely, and there was no true ring in it. Joe sighed again. In the distance she could see Ronald and Sybil, as they stood under theporch shaking hands with the departing guests. She looked at them, soradiant and beautiful with the fulfilled joy of a perfect love, and shelooked at the stern, strong man by her side, whose commanding face borealready the lines of care and trouble, and who, he said, had foundsomething better than the happiness of yonder bride and bridegroom. She sighed, and she said in her woman's heart that they were right, andthat John Harrington was wrong. "Come, " she said, rising, and her words had a bitter tone, "let us go in;it is late. " John did not move. He sat like a stone, paler than death, and said no word in answer. Joe turned and looked at him, as thoughwondering why he did not follow her. She was terrified at the expressionin his face. "Are you not coming?" she asked, suddenly going close to him and lookinginto his eyes. CHAPTER XXII. Joe was frightened; she stood and looked into Harrington's eyes, doubtingwhat she should do, not understanding what was occurring. He looked sopale and strange as he sat there, that she was terrified. She came a stepnearer to him, and tried to speak. "What is the matter, Mr. Harrington?" she stammered. "Speak--you frightenme!" Harrington looked at her for one moment more, and then, without speaking, buried his face in his hands. Joe clasped her hands to her side in asudden pain; her heart beat as though it would break, and the scene swamround before her in the hot air. She tried to move another step towardsthe bench, and her strength almost failed her; she caught at the latticeof the old summer-house, still pressing one hand to her breast. The rottenslabs of the wood-work cracked under her light weight. She breathed hard, and her face was as pale as the shadows on driven snow; in another momentshe sank down upon the bench beside John, and sat there, staring vacantlyout at the sunlight. Harrington felt her gentle presence close to him andat last looked up; every feature of his strong face seemed changed in theconvulsive fight that rent his heart and soul to their very depths; theenormous strength of his cold and dominant nature rose with tremendousforce to meet and quell the tempest of his passion, and could not; darkcircles made heavy shadows under his deep-set eyes, and his even lips, left colorless and white, were strained upon his clenched teeth. "God help me--I love you. " That was all he said, but in his words the deep agony of a mortal strugglerang strangely--the knell of the old life and the birth-chime of the new. One by one, the words he had never thought to speak fell from his lips, distinctly; the oracle of the heart answered the great question of fate inits own way. Josephine Thorn sat by his side, her hands lying idly in her lap, her thinwhite face pressing against the old brown lattice, while a spray of thesweet honeysuckle that climbed over the wood-work just touched her brightbrown hair. As John spoke she tried to lift her head and struggled to putout her hand, but could not. As the shadows steal at evening over the earth, softly closing the flowersand touching them to sleep, silently and lovingly, in the promise of abright waking--so, as she sat there, her eyelids drooped and the lightfaded gently from her face, her lips parted a very little, and with asoft-breathed sigh she sank into unconsciousness. John Harrington was in no state to be surprised or startled by anythingthat happened. He saw, indeed, that she had fainted, but with the unerringinstinct of a great love he understood. With the tenderness of hisstrength he put one arm about her, and drew her to him till her fair headrested upon his shoulder, and he looked into her face. In a few moments he had passed completely from the old life to a lifewhich he had never believed possible, but which had nevertheless been longpresent with him. He knew it and felt it, quickly realizing that for thefirst time since he could remember he was wholly and perfectly happy. Hewas a man who had dreamed of all that is noble and great for man to do, who had consecrated his every hour and minute to the attainment of hisend; and though his aim was in itself a good one, the undividedconcentration which the pursuit of it required had driven him into a state outwardly resembling extreme egotism. He had loved his own purposes as hehad loved nothing else, and as he had been persuaded that he could lovenothing else, in the whole world. Now, suddenly, he knew his own heart. There is something beyond mere greatness, beyond the pursuit of even thehighest worldly aims; there is something which is not a means to theattainment of happiness, which is happiness itself. It is an innersympathy of hearts and souls and minds, a perfect union of all that ismost worthy in the natures of man and woman; it is a plant so sensitivethat a breath of unkindness will hurt it and blight its beauty, and yet itis a tree so strong that neither time nor tempest can overthrow it when ithas taken root; and if you would tear it out and destroy it, the placewhere it grew is as deep and as wide as a grave. It is a bond that is assoft as silk and as strong as death, binding hearts, not hands; so long asit is not strained a man will hardly know that he is bound, but if hewould break it he will spend his strength in vain and suffer the pains ofhell, for it is the very essence and nature of a true love that it cannotbe broken. With such men as John Harrington love at first sight is an utterimpossibility. The strong dominant aspirations that lead them are a lighttoo brilliant to be outshone by any sudden flash of hot passion. Love, when it comes to them, is of slow growth, but enduring in the sameproportion as it is slow; identifying itself, by degrees so small that aman himself is unconscious of it, with the deepest feelings of the heartand the highest workings of the intellect. It steals silently into thesoul in the guise of friendship, asking nothing but loyal friendship inreturn; in the appearance of kindness which asks but a little gratitude;in the semblance of a calm and passionless trustfulness, demanding only alike trust as its equivalent pledge, a like faith as a gauge for its own, an equal measure of charity for an equal; and so love builds himself atemple of faith and charity, and trust and kindness, and honestfriendship, and rejoices exceedingly in the whole goodness and strengthand beauty of the place where he will presently worship. When that daycomes he stands in the midst and kindles a strong clear flame upon thealtar, and the fire burns and leaps and illuminates the whole temple oflove, which is indeed the holy of holies of the temple of life. John Harrington, through five and thirty years of his life, had believedthat the patient labor of a powerful intellect could suffice to a man, inits results, for the attainment of all that humanity most honors, even forthe wise and unerring government of humanity itself. To that end and inthat belief he had honestly given every energy he possessed, and hadsternly choked down every tendency he felt in his inner nature toward alife less intellectual and more full of sympathy for the affairs ofindividual mankind. With him to be strong was to be cold--to be warm wasto be weak and subject to error; a supreme devotion to his career and asupreme disdain of all personal affections were the conditions of successwhich he deemed foremostly necessary, and he had come to an almostsuperstitious belief in the idea that the love of woman is the destructionof the intellectual man. Himself ready to sacrifice all he possessed, andto spend his last strength in the struggle for an ideal, he hadnevertheless so identified his own person with the object he strove toattain that he regarded all the means he could possibly control with asmuch jealousy as though he had been the most selfish of men. Friends helooked upon as tools for his trade, and he valued them not only inproportion to their honesty and loyalty of heart, but also in the degreeof their power and intelligence. He sought no friendships which could nothelp him, and relinquished none that could be of service in the future. But the world is not ruled by intellect, though it is sometimes governedby brute force and yet more brutal passions. The dominant power in theaffairs of men is the heart. Humanity is moved far more by what it feelsthan by what it knows, and those who would be rulers of men must beforeall things be men themselves, and not merely highly finished intellectualmachines. The guests were gone, no one had missed Harrington and Joe, and Ronald andSybil had gone into the house. They sat side by side in the little bowerat the end of the long walk--Joe's fair head resting in herunconsciousness upon John's shoulder. Presently she stirred, and openingher eyes, looked up into his face. She drew gently away from him, and awarm blush spread quickly over her pale cheek; she glanced down at hersmall white hands and they clasped each other convulsively. John looked at her; suddenly his gray eyes grew dark and deep, and themighty passion took all his strength into its own, so that he trembled andturned pale again. But the words failed him no longer now. He knew in amoment all that he had to say, and he said it. "You must not be angry with me, Miss Thorn, " he began, "you must not thinkI am losing my head. Let me tell you now--perhaps you will listen to me. God knows, I am not worthy to say such things to you, but I will try tobe. It is soon said. I love you; I can no more help loving you than I canhelp breathing. You have utterly changed me, and saved me, and made a lifefor me out of what was not life at all. Do not think it is sudden--what isreally to last forever must take some time in growing. I never knew tillto-day-I honored you and would have done everything in the world for you, and I was more grateful to you than I ever was to any human being. But Ithought when we met we should be friends just as we always were, andinstead of that I know that this is the great day of my life, and that mylife with all that it holds is yours now, for always, to do with as youwill. Pray hear me out, do not be afraid; no man ever honored you as Ihonor you. " Joe glanced quickly at him and then again looked down; but the surgingblood came and went in her face, coursing madly in her pulses, every beatof her heart crying gladness. "It is little enough I have to offer you, " said John, his voice growingunsteady in the great effort to speak calmly. There was something almostterrible in the strength of his rising passion. "It is little enough--mypoor life, with its wretched struggles after what is perhaps far too greatfor me. But such as it is I offer it to you. Take it if you will. Be mywife, and give me the right to do all I do for your sake, and for yoursake only. " He stretched out his hand and took hers, very gently, but thestrained sinews of his wrist trembled violently. Josephine made noresistance, but she still looked down and said nothing. "Use me as you will, " he continued almost in a whisper. "I will be all toyou that man ever was to a living woman. Do not say I have no right to askyou for as much. I have this right, that I love you beyond the love ofother men, so truly and wholly I love you; I will serve you so faithfully, I will honor you so loyally that you will love me too. Say the word, mybeloved, say that it is not impossible! I will wait--I will work--I willstrive to be worthy of you. " He pressed his white lips to her white hand, and tried to look into her eyes, but she turned away from him. "Will younot speak to me? Will you not give to me some word--some hope? I can neverlove you less, whatever you may answer me--yes or no--but oh, if you knewthe difference to me!" Pale as death, John looked at Joe. She turned to him, very white, andgazed into the dark gray depths of his eyes, where the raging force of atranscendent passion played so wildly; but she felt no fear, only a madlonging to speak. "Tell me--for God's sake tell me, " John said in low, trembling tones, "have I hurt you? Is it too much that I ask?" For one moment there was silence as they gazed at each other. Then with apassionate impulse Josephine buried her face in her hands upon John'sshoulder. "No, it is not that!" she sobbed. "I love you so much--I have loved you solong!" CHAPTER XXIII. John Harrington and Josephine Thorn were married in the autumn of thatyear, and six months later John was elected to the Senate. Withcharacteristic patience he determined to await a favorable opportunitybefore speaking at any length in the Capitol. He loved his new life, andthe instinct to take a leading part was strong in him, but he knew toowell the importance of the first impression made by a long speech tothrust himself forward until the right moment came. It chanced that the presidential election took place in that year, just atwelvemonth after John's marriage, and the unusual occurrences thatattended the struggle gave him the chance he desired. Three candidateswere supported nearly equally by the East, the West, and the South, and onopening the sealed documents in the presence of the two houses, it wasfound that no one of the three had obtained the majority necessary toelect him. The country was in a state of unparalleled agitation. Theimminent danger was that the non-election of the candidate from the Westwould produce a secession of the Western States from the Union, in thesame way that a revolution was nearly brought about in 1876, during thecontest between Mr. Hayes and Mr. Tilden. In this position of affairs, the electors being unable to agree upon anyone of the three candidates, the election was thrown into the hands ofCongress, in accordance with the clause of the Constitution which providesthat in such cases the House of Representatives shall elect a president, each State having but one vote. Harrington had made many speeches in different parts of the country duringthe election campaign, and had attracted much attention by his calm goodsense in such excited times. There was consequently a manifest desireamong senators and representatives to hear him speak in the Capitol, andupon the day when the final election of the President took place he judgedthat his opportunity had come. Josephine was in the ladies' gallery, andas John rose to his feet he looked long and fixedly up to her, gatheringmore strength to do well what he so much loved to do, from gazing at herwhom he loved better than power, or fame, or any earthly thing. His eyesshone and his cheek paled; his old life with all its energy and activework was associated in his mind with failure, with discontent, and withsolitude; his new life, with her by his side, was brilliant, happy, andsuccessful. He felt within him the strength to move thousands, the faithin his cause and in his power to help it which culminates in great deeds. His strong voice rang out, clear and far-heard, as he spoke. "MR. PRESIDENT, --We are here to decide, on behalf of our country, a greatmatter. Many of us, many more who are scattered over the land, will lookback upon this day as one of the most important in our times, and fortheir sakes as well as our own we are bound to summon all our strength ofintelligence and all our calmness of judgment to aid us in our decision. "The question in which a certain number of ourselves are to becomearbitrators is briefly this: Are we to act on this occasion likepartisans, straining every nerve for the advantage of our several parties?or are we to act like free men, exerting our united forces in oneharmonious body for the immediate good of the whole country? The strugglemay seem at first sight to be a battle between the East, the West, and theSouth. In sober earnest, it is a contest between the changing principlesof party politics on the one hand and the undying principle of freedom onthe other. "I need not make any long statement of the case to you. We are hereassembled to elect a President. Our position is almost unprecedented in the history of the country. Instead of acquiescing in the declared will ofthe people, our fellow-citizens, we are told that the people's wish isdivided, and we are called upon to act spontaneously for the people, inaccordance with the constitution of our country. By our individual andunhampered votes the life of the country is to be determined for the nextfour years. Let us not forget the vast responsibility that is upon us. Letus join our hands and say to each other, 'We are no longer Republicans, nor Democrats, nor Independents--we are one party, the party of the Union, and there are none against us. ' "A partisan is not necessarily a man who asserts a truth and defends itwith his whole strength. A partisan means one who takes up his positionwith a party. There is a limit where a partisan becomes an asserter offalsehood, and that limit is reached when a man resigns his own principlesinto the judgment of another, his conscience into another's keeping; whena man gives up free thought, free judgment, and free will in absolute andblind adherence to a set of thoughts, judgments, and decisions over whichhe exercises no control, and in the formation of which he has but onevoice in many millions. Every one remembers the fable of the old man who, when dying, made his sons break their staves one by one, and then badethem bind a bundle of others together, and to try and break them by oneeffort. In the uniting of individuals in a party there is strength, butthere must also be complete unity. If the old man had bidden his sons bindtheir staves in several bundles instead of in one, the result would havebeen doubtful. That is what party spirit makes men do. Party spirit is auniversal solvent; it is the great acid, the aqua fortis ofpolitical alchemy, which eats through bands of steel and corrodes pillarsof iron in its acrid virulence, till the whole engine of a nation'sgovernment is crumbled and dissolved into a shapeless and a worse thanuseless mass of broken metal. "Man is free, his will is free, his choice, his judgments, his capacityfor thought, and his power to profit by it are all as free as air, just solong as he remembers that they are his own--no longer. When he forgetsthat he is his own master, absolutely and entirely, he becomes anotherman's slave. "The contest here is between political passion roused to its fiercestpitch by the antagonism of parties, and the universal liberty of opinion, which we all say we possess, while so few of us dare honestly exercise it. This passion, this political frenzy that seizes men and whirls them in itseddies, is a most singular compound of patriotism, of enthusiasm for anindividual, and of the personal hopes, fears, generosity, and avarice ofthe individual who is enthusiastic. It is a passion which, existing inothers, can be turned to account by the cool leader who does not possessit, but which may too easily bring ruin upon the man who is led. "The danger ahead is this same party spirit, this wild and thoughtlessfrenzy in matters where unbiased judgment is most of all necessary. It isa rock upon which we have split before; it has taken us many years torecover from the shock, and now we are in danger of altogether losing ourpolitical life upon the same reef. Unless we mend our course we inevitablyshall. Men forego every consideration of public honor and privateconscience for the sake of electing a party candidate. The man at the helmof the party ship has declared that he will sail due north, or south, oreast, or west, whatever happens, and his crew laugh together and keep nolookout; they even feel a certain pride in their leader, who thus defiesthe accidents of nature for the sake of sailing in a fixed direction. "What is the result of all this? It is here before us. The country issplitting into parties. Three candidates are set up for the office ofPresident. Three distinct parties stand in the field, each one vowingvengeance, secession, revolution, utter dismemberment of the Union, unlessits chosen champion is elected to be chief of the Executive Department. Isthis to be the life of our Republic in future? Is this all that so manymillions of free citizens can do for the public good and for publicharmony? What shall we gain by electing the candidate from the North, ifthe defeated candidate from the South is determined to produce arevolution; and if the disappointed candidate from the West threatens totouch off the dry powder and spring the mine of a great western secession?Have we not seen all this before? Has not the bitter cry of a nation'sbroken heart gone up to heaven already in mortal agony for these verythings to which our uncontrollable political passions are hourly leadingus? "The contest is between political passion on the one hand and universalliberty on the other. "Liberty in some countries is a kind of charade word, an anagram, a symbolrepresenting an imaginary quantity, a password invented by unhappy men toexpress all that they do not possess; a term meaning in the minds ofslaves a conglomerate of conditions so absurd, of aspirations so futile, of imaginary delights so fantastically unreasonable, that if the idealstate of which the chained dreamers rave were realized but for one moment, humanity would start in amazement at the first glimpse of so muchmonstrosity, and by and by would hold its sides with laughter at the follyof its deluded fellows. In most countries where liberty is talked of it isbut a dream, and such a dream as could only occur to the sickened fancy ofa generation of bondsmen. But it means something else with us. It is here, in this country, in this capital, in this hall, it is in the air webreathe, in the light we see, in the strong, free pulses of our blood; itis the heritage of men whose sires died for it, whose fathers laid downall they had for it, of men whose own veins have bled for it--and not invain. In these United States, liberty is a fact. "We must decide quickly, then, between the conditions of our liberty andthe requirements of frantic political passion. We must decide betweenpeace and war, for that is where the issue will come in the end. Betweenfreedom, prosperity, and peace on the one side, and a civil war on theother; an alternative so horrible and inhuman and hideous, that the verymention of it makes brave men shiver in disgust at the memories the wordrecalls. Do you think we are much further from it now than we were in1860? Do you think we were far from it in 1876? It is a short step fromthe threat to the deed when political passion is already turning to bitterpersonal hate. "In our times there is much talk of civilization and culture. Two wordsdefine all that is necessary to be known about them. Civilization ispeace. The uncivilized state of man is incessant war. Culture isconscience, because conscience means the exercise of honest judgment, andan ignorant people can form no honest judgment of their own which can beexercised. "In a state of peace, educated and truthful men judge fairly, and actsensibly on their decisions. In other words, the majority is right andfree. In times of war and in times of great ignorance majorities haverarely been either free or right. "It is a bad sign of the times when education increases and truthdisappears. They ought to grow together, for education means absolutelynothing but the teaching and learning of what is true. If it does not meanthat, it means nothing. In some countries the idea of truth is coexistentwith the idea of destroying all existing forms of belief. Some sillyperson recently went so far as to raise the cry in this country, 'SeparateChurch and State!' If there is a country where they are absolutelyseparated, it is ours; but let the beliefs of mankind take care ofthemselves. I dare say there will be Christians left in the world evenwhen Professor Huxley has written his last book, and when ColonelIngersoll has delivered his last lecture. I am reminded of the Chinesephilosopher and political economist, who answered when he was asked aboutreligious matters: 'Do you understand this world so well that you needoccupy yourselves with another?' "The issue turns upon no such absurdities, neither does it rest with anyconsideration of so-called platforms--free trade, civil service, freenavigation, tariff reform, and all the rest of those things. The realissue is between civilization and barbarism, between peace and war. "Be warned in this great strait. I believe we need few principles, butuniversal ones. I believe in the republic because it was founded insimplicity, and has been built up in strength by the strongest of strongmen; because its existence proves the greatest truth with which we everhave to do, namely, that men are born equal and free, although they maygrow up slaves to their evil passions, and become greater or lessaccording as they manfully put their hands to the plough, or ignobly liedown and let themselves be trampled upon. The battle of life is to thestronger, but no man is so weak that he cannot raise himself a little ifhe will, according to the abilities that are born in him; and nowhere canhe raise himself so speedily and securely as on this free soil of ours. Nowhere can he go so far without being molested; for nowhere can man puthimself so closely and trustfully in the keeping of nature, certain thatshe will not fail him, certain that she will yield him a thousand fold forhis labor. "There are indeed times in the history of a great institution when it isjust as well as necessary to reconsider the principles upon which it isfounded. There are times in the life of a great nation when it behoovesher chief men to examine and see whether the basis of her constitution isa sound one, and whether she can continue to grow great without any changein the fundamental conditions of her development. It is a bad and adangerous time for a growing nation, but it is an almost inevitable stagein her life. Thank God, that time is past with us! Let us not think of thepossibility of exposing ourselves again to civil war as an alternativeagainst retrogression into barbarism. "Civilization is peace, and to extend civilization is to increase thesecurity of property in the world--of property and life and conscience. The natural and barbarous state of man is that where the human animalsatisfies its cravings without any thought of consequences. The cultivatedstate is that where humanity has ceased to be merely animal, and considersthe consequences first and the cravings afterwards. Civilization unitesmen so that they dwell together in harmony; to separate them into partiesthat strive to annihilate each other is to undo the work of civilization, to plunge the state into civil war; to hew it in pieces, and split it andtear it to shreds, till the magnificent body of thinking beings, acting asone man for the public good, is reduced to the miserable condition of ahandful of hostile tribes, whose very existence depends upon successfulrobbery and well-timed violence. "Party spirit, so long as it is only a force which binds together a numberof men of honest purposes and opinions, is a good thing, and it is by itsmeans that just and powerful majorities are formed and guided. But whereparty spirit loses sight of the characters of men, and judges themaccording as they are Republicans or Democrats, instead of consideringwhether they are good or bad citizens; when party spirit becomes a machinefor obtaining power by fair or foul means, instead of a fixed principlefor upholding the fair against the foul--then there is great danger thatthe majority itself is losing its liberty, and upon the liberty ofmajorities depends ultimately the stability and prosperity of therepublic. "Consider what is the history of the average politician to-day, of the man whose personal character is as good as that of his neighbor, who hasalways belonged to the same party, and who looks forward to the hope ofpolitical distinction. Consider how he has struggled through all manner ofdifficulties to his present position, striving always to maintain goodrelations with the chiefs of his party, while often acknowledging in hisheart that he would act differently were his connection with those chiefsa matter of less vital importance to himself. He probably will tell youthat his profession is politics. He has sacrificed much to obtain his seatin Congress, or his position in office, and he knows that henceforth hemust live by it or else begin life over again in another sphere. At allevents, for a term of years, his personal prosperity depends upon the usehe can make of his hold upon the public goods. He is not individually tobe blamed, perhaps, for he follows a precedent as widely recognized as itis universally pernicious. It is the system that is to be blamed, thegeneral belief that a man can, and justly may, support himself by clingingto a set of principles of which he does not honestly approve; that he mayearn his daily meal, since it comes to that in the end, by doing jobswhich in the free state he would despise as unworthy, and by speakingboldly in support of measures which he knows to be injurious to thewelfare of the country. That is the history, the epitome of the ends andaims and manner of being of the average politician in our day. He hasventured into the waters of political life, and they have risen around himtill he must use all his strength in keeping his head above them, thoughthe torrent carry him whither it will and whither he would not. There areno compromises when a man is drowning. "There are many who are not in any such position. There are men great andhonest, and disinterested in the highest sense of the word--men whosewhole lives prove it, whose whole record is one of honor and truth, whosefollowing consists of men they have themselves chosen as their friends. Weare not obliged to select a drowning man for our President; we can choosea man who stands on his own feet upon dry ground. "There is an old proverb which contains much wisdom: 'Tell me who are yourfriends, and I will tell you what you are. ' Is a man fit to stand at thehead of a community of men when he has associated with a set of parasites, who live upon his leavings, and will starve him if they can, in order toenjoy his portion? Consider what is the position of the President of theUnited States. Think what vast power is placed in the hands of one man;what vast interests of public and private good are at stake; what anendless sequence of events and results of events must follow upon theindividual action of the chief of the Executive Department; and rememberhow free and untrammeled that individual action is. A people who elect anofficer to such a position need surely to be cautious in their choice andcircumspect in their judgment of the man elected. They must satisfythemselves about what he is likely to do by judging honestly what he hasdone; they must know who are his friends, his supporters, his advisers, inorder to judge of the friends he will make. They must take into theirconsideration also the character of his colleague, the vice-president, andthe effect upon the country and the country's relation with, the world, should any disaster suddenly throw the vice-president into office. Wecannot afford to elect a vice-president who would destroy the nationalcredit in a week, should the President himself be overtaken by death. Wemust remember to count the cost of what we are doing, not passing over oneitem because another item seems just. We cannot overlook the future, nordisregard the influence which our election has upon the next; the stepswhich men, once in office, may take in order to secure to themselvesanother term, or to strengthen the position of the men whom they desire tosucceed them. "In a word, we must put forth all our strength. We must be cool, far-sighted, and impartial in such times as these. And yet, how has thiscampaign been hitherto conducted? Practically, by raising a party cry; byexciting every species of evil passion of which man is capable; bytickling the cupidity of one man and flattering the ambitions of another;by intimidating the weak, and groveling before the strong; by everyspecies of fawning sycophancy on the one hand, and brutal overbearingbullying on the other. "Party, party, party! A man would rather commit a crime than vote againsthis party. The evil runs through the country from East to West, from Northto South, eating at the nation's heartstrings, gnawing at her sinews, andundermining her strength. The time is coming, is even now come, when twoor three parties no longer suffice to express the disunion of the Union. There are three to-day: to-morrow there will be five, the next day ten, twenty, a hundred, till every man's hand is against his fellow, and hisfellow's against him. The divisions have grown so wide that the majorityand the minority are but the extremities of a countless set of internecinemajorities and minorities. "Members of parties are bound no longer by the honest determination to dothe right, to choose the right, and to uphold the right--they are bound byfearful penalties to support their own man, were he the very chiefestoutcast of the earth, lest the man of another party be elected in hisplace. The adverse candidate is perhaps avowedly better fitted for theoffice, a hundred times more honest, more experienced, more worthy ofrespect. But he belongs to the enemy. Down with him! let him perish in hishonesty and righteousness! There is no good in him, for he is a Democrat!There is no good in him, for he is a Republican! He is a scoundrel, for heis a Southerner! He is a thief, for he is a Northerner! He is the princeof liars, for he comes from the West! He is the scum of mankind, for he isfrom the East! The people rage and rend each other, and the frenzy growsapace with the hour, till honor and justice, truth and manliness, are losttogether in the furious chaos of human elements. The tortured airs ofheaven howl out curses in a horrid unison, this fair free soil of ours, dishonored and befouled, moans beneath our feet in a dismal drone ofhopeless woe; there is no rock or cavern or ghostly den of our mighty landbut hisses back the echo of some hideous curse, and hell itself is uponearth, split and rent into multiplied hells. "And the ultimate expression of the senses of these things is money. Thereis the chiefest disgrace. We are not worse than the old nations, but wehave a right to be very much better; we have the obligation to be better, the unchanging moral obligation which lies upon every man to use theadvantage he has. We alone among nations are free, we alone among nationsinhabit a quarter of the world by ourselves, and live and grow great inour own way with no thought of the rest. Let us think more of livinggreatly than of prosecuting greatness for the sake of its pecuniaryemoluments. Let us elect presidents who will give their efforts to makingus all great together, and not to making some citizens rich at the expenseof others who are also citizens. A President can do much toward either ofthese results, bad or good. He has the future of the republic in hishands, as well as the present. Let us be the richest among nations, sincethe course of events makes us so, but let us not be the most sordid. Letit never be said, in the land which has given birth to the only trueliberty the world has ever seen, that liberty can be sold for a fewdollars in the market-place, and bartered against the promise of fouryears of civil employment at a small salary! "This party spirit, this miserable craving for the good things that may beextracted from the service of a party, has produced the crying evil of ourtimes. A certain class--a very large class--call our politics dirty, andour politicians dishonest. Young men whose education and position in thecommonwealth entitle them to a voice in public matters withdraw entirelyfrom all contact with the real life of the country. Liberty has become aleper, a blind outcast in the eyes of the gilded youth of to-day. She sitsapart in ashes and in rags, and asks a little charity of the richest ofher children--a miserable mother despised and cast out by her sons. Theywill not own her for their mother, nor spare one crust to feed her fromtheir plenty. They pass by on the other side, staring in admiration at theimage they have set up for themselves--the image of what they considersocial excellence, an idol compounded of decayed customs, and breathingthe poisonous emanations of a dead world, a monument raised to theprejudices of former times, to the petty thirst for aristocraticdistinctions which they cherish in their hearts, to their love of money, show, superficial culture, and armorial bearings. "Truly let them perish in the fruition of their contemptible desires! Letthem set up a thing called society and worship it; let them losethemselves in the contemplation of objects whose beauty they can neverappreciate save by counting the cost; let them disgrace the names theirhonest fathers bore, by striving to establish their descent from housesstained with crime and denied with blood; let them disown their fathersand spit in their mothers' faces, --but let them not call themselves free, nor give themselves the airs of men. They toss their foolish heads inscorn of all that a man holds truest and best. We can afford to let themspeak, if they please, even words of contempt and dishonor; we can affordto let them say that in laboring for our country we are groveling in mudand defiling our hands with impurity; but we cannot afford to let themsteal our children from us, nor to submit to the pestilent influence oftheir corruption in our ranks. Those who would be of the republic mustlabor for the public good, instead of insolently asserting that there isno good in the public on which they have fattened and thriven so well. "All honor to those who have set their faces against the growing evil, tocheck it if they can, and to lay the foundation of a barrier against whichthe tidal wave of corruption and dishonesty shall break in vain. Allpraise to the brave men who might live in the indolent lotus-eatingatmosphere of wasteful idleness, but who have put their hand to the wheelof state, determined to bear all their might upon the whirling spokesrather than see the good ship go to pieces on the rock ahead. They havebegun a good work, and they have sown a good seed; they ask for no reward, nor look for the reaping of the harvest. They mean to do right, and theydo it, because right is right, not because they expect to be rewarded withthe spoils or fed with fat tit-bits from the feast of party. Upon such menas these, be they rich or poor, we must rely. The poor man can makesacrifices as great as the rich, for he can forego for his country's sake, the promise of ease and the hope of wealth as well as any million-maker inthe land. "In the tremendous issue now before us we are called to decide upon thelife of the country during the next four years. We are chosen to directthe course of a stream from its very source, and to turn it into a channelwhere it will run smoothly to the end. For the four years of anadministration are like a river. The water rises suddenly from the springand flows swiftly, ever increasing in volume as it is swollen bytributaries and absorbs into itself other rivers by the way. It may runsmoothly in a fair stream, moistening barren lands and softening theparched desert into fertility; moving great engines of industry with aceaseless, even strength; bearing the burden of a mighty and prosperouscommerce on its broad bosom; spreading plenty and refreshment through thewide pastures by its banks, fed on its way by waters so clear that at thelast it merges untainted and unsullied into the ocean, whence its limpiddrops may again be taken up and poured in soft, life-giving rain upon theearth. "But in digging for a spring men may find suddenly a torrent that theycannot control. It suddenly bursts its bounds and banks, and rushesheadlong down, carrying everything before it in a resistless whirl ofdevastation, tearing great trees up by the roots, crashing throughvillages and towns and factories, girding the world with a liquid tempestthat sends the works of man spinning down upon its dreadful course, tillit plunges into the abyss, a frantic chaos of indiscriminate destruction, storm, and death. "Can any of us here present say that he will, that he dare, take uponhimself the responsibility of electing a President from motives of partyprejudice? Having it in our power to agree upon the very best man, wouldany of us remember this day without shame if we disgraced those who trustus, by giving our votes to a mere party candidate? The danger is great, imminent, universal. We can save the country from it, I would almost sayfrom, death itself, by acting in accordance with our honest convictions. Is any man so despicable, so lost to honor, that in such a case he willput aside the welfare of a nation for the miserable sake of partypopularity? Are we to stand here in the guise and manner of free men, knowing that we are driven together like a flock of sheep into the fold bythe howling of the wolves outside? Are we to strut and plume ourselvesupon our unhampered freedom, while we act like slaves? Worse than slaveswe should be if we allowed one breath of party spirit, one thought ofparty aggrandizement, to enter into the choice we are about to make. Slaves are driven to their work; shall we willingly let ourselves bebeaten into doing the dirty work of others by sacrificing the nobility ofour manhood? Do we meet here, like paid gladiators of old, to cut eachother's throats in earnest while attacking and defending a sham fortress, raised in the arena for the diversion of those who set us on to thebutchery and promise to pay the survivors? Are we to provide a feast ofcarrion for a flock of vultures and unclean beasts of prey, when we needonly stand together, and be true to ourselves and to each other, toaccomplish one of the greatest acts in history? The vultures will leave usalone unless we destroy each other; we need not fear them. We are notslaves to be terrified into compliance with evil, neither are we sheepthat we need huddle trembling together at the snarling of a wolf. " "No, no, indeed!" were the words heard on all sides in the audience, nowthoroughly roused. "I do not say, elect this candidate, or that one. I am not canvassing forany candidate. It is too late for that, even if it were seemly for me todo so. I am canvassing for the cause of liberty against slavery, as bettermen have done before me in this very house. I am defending the reputationof unity against the slanderous attack of disunion, against the fearfulperil of secession. I appeal to you, as you are men, to act as men in thisgreat crisis, to put out your strong hands together and avert theoverwhelming disaster that threatens us; to stand side by side asbrothers, --for we are indeed brothers, children of one father and onemother, heirs of such magnificent heritage as has not fallen to the lot ofmortality before, co-heirs of freedom, and inheritors of the free estate, five and fifty millions of free children, born to our mother, the greatrepublic, who bow the knee to no man, and call no man master. " Loud applause greeted this part of the speech. "I appeal from license to law, from division to harmony, from the ragingturmoil of angry and devouring passion without to the calm serenity thatreigns within these walls. As we turn in horror and loathing from theunbridled fury of human beings, changed almost to beasts, so let us turnin hope and security to those things we can honor and respect, to thedignity of truth and the unbending strength of unquestioned right. "I appeal to you to make this day the greatest in your lives, the mostmemorable in our history as a nation. Lay aside this day the memories ofthe past, and look forward to the brightness of the future. Throw down theweapons of petty and murderous strife, and join together in perfectharmony of mutual trust. Be neither Republicans, nor Democrats, norIndependents. Be what it is your greatest privilege to be--Americancitizens. Cast parties to the winds, and uphold the state. Trample underyour free-born feet the badges of party bondage, the ignoble chains ofparty slavery, the wretched hopes of party preferment. " "Yes. Hear, hear! He is right!" cried many voices. "Yes, " answered John Harrington, in tones that rose to the very roof ofthe vast building. "'Yes, by that blood our fathers shed, O Union, in thy sacred cause, Whilst, streaming from the gallant dead, It sealed and sanctified thy laws. ' "Yes, and strong hearts and strong hands will hold their own; the promiseof brave men will prevail, and echoing down the avenues of time willstrike grand chords of harmony in the lives of our children and children'schildren. So, in the far-off ages, when hundreds of millions of our fleshand blood shall fill this land, dwelling together in the glory of suchpeace as no turmoil can trouble and no discontent disturb, those men ofthe dim future will remember what we swore to do, and what we did; andlooking back, they will say one to another: 'On that day our fathersstruck a mighty blow, and shattered and crushed and trampled out alldissensions and all party strife forever and ever. ' "Choose, then, of your own heart and will a man to be our President andour leader. Elect him with one accord, and as you give your voices in thechoice, stand here together, knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, hand tohand; and let the mighty oath go thundering up to heaven, "'THIS UNION SHALL NOT BE BROKEN!'"