d, almost boyish.

The governor stepped suddenly from the embrasure and ran against Ben
Galt, who caught his arm.

"I've been searching the house for you," he exclaimed, "after landing my
twelfth matron in the dining-room." Then catching sight of the other's
face, he inquired blandly:

"Bored?"

"I am."

Galt gave a comprehending wink.

"So am I. These things are death. I say, don't go! Come into the library
and we'll lock the door and have supper shoved in through the window,
while we talk business. I've a decanter of the finest Madeira you ever
tasted behind the bookcase. Juliet will never know, and I don't care a
continental if she does. I'm a desperate man!"

"I was just going," replied the governor. "I'm not up to parties; but
lead off, if it's out of this."

VI

It was one o'clock when the governor left Galt's house, and turning into
Grace Street strolled leisurely in the direction of the Capitol Square.
The night was sharp with frost and a rising wind drove the shadows on
the pavement against darkened house-fronts, while behind a far-off
church spire, a wizened moon shivered through a thin cloud. On the
silence came the sound of fire bells ringing in the distance.

The bronze Washington in the deserted square shone silver beneath the
moonlight, and down the frozen slopes the trees stretched out stiffened
limbs. From the governor's house a broad light streamed, and quickening
his pace he entered the iron gate, which closed after him with a
rheumatic cough, and briskly ascended the stone steps. As he drew the
latch-key from his pocket he was thinking of his library, where the
firelight fell on cheerful walls and red leathern chairs, and with the
closing of the door he crossed the hall and entered the first room on
the left.

A red fire burned in the grate, and the furniture reflected the colour
until the place seemed pervaded by a visible warmth. The desk in the
centre of the room, the shining backs of law books, the crimson rugs,
the engravings on the walls, the easy chair drawn up before the hearth,
presented to him as he entered now the security of individual isolation.
He had felt the same sense of restfulness when he had ascended, after
the day's work, to the little whitewashed attic of his father's house.
To-night he liked the glow because it suggested warmth, but he could not
have told off-hand the colour of the carpet or the subjects of the
engravings on the wall; and had he found a w