you've been drinking. Steady, man.
Now, what's the matter?"

"A wedding gift! a wedding gift!" repeated Tom, taken with his own
conceit. "And I never was soberer, gentlemen, never 'pon honour! Hip,
hip, hurrah! we're all good Republicans--but you'll never guess the
news!--The Creole's dead!"

"No!" cried Rand.

There arose an uproar of excited voices. "Yes, yes, it's true!" shouted
Mocket. "The stage brought it. He was challenged by Aaron Burr. They met
at a place named Weehawken. Burr's first shot ended it.--Sandy'll
trouble us no more!"

"It's rumour--"

"No, no, it's gospel truth! There's a messenger from the President, and
letters from all quarters. He's dead, and Burr's in hiding! Gad! We'll
have a rouse at the Eagle to-night! Blue lights for Assumption and
Funding and the Sedition Bill and Taxes and Standing Armies and the
British Alliance--

"Oh, Alexander, King of Macedon,
Where is your namesake, Andy Hamilton?

"In a hotter place, I hope, than Saint Kitts!"

"Hush!" said Rand. "Don't be ranting like a Mohawk! When a man's dead,
it's time to let him rest."

He turned to the excited throng, and as he did so, he was aware that
Jacqueline was standing white and frozen, and that Unity was trying to
take her hand. He felt for her an infinite tenderness, and he promised
himself to give Tom Mocket an old-time rating for at least one
ill-advised expression. Such wedding gifts were not for Jacqueline. But
as for the news--Rand felt his cheek grow hot and his eyes glow. In all
the history of the country this was the decade in which political
animosity, pure and simple, went its greatest length. Each party thought
of the struggle as a battlefield; the Federalist strength was already
broken, and now if the leader was down, it was not in fighting and
Republican nature to restrain the wild cheer for the rout that must
follow. Rand was a fighter too, and a captain of fighters, and the
hundred whirling thoughts, the hundred chances, the sense of victory,
and the savage joy in a foe's defeat--all the feeling that swelled his
heart left him unabashed. But he thought of Jacqueline, and he tried to
choose his words. There would be now, he knew, no wedding feast at Mrs.
Selden's. Randolphs, Carrs, Coles, Carters, Dabneys, Gordons,
Meriwethers, and Minors--all would wish to hurry away. Plantation,
office, or tavern, there would be letters waiting, journals to read, men
to meet, committees, clamour, and debate.