of
half measures. This storm had long been brewing: let it break and be
over with; better the open lightning than the sullen storing up of
unpaid scores, unemptied vials of wrath! There were matters of quarrel:
well, let the quarrel come! The supreme matter, unknown and undreamed of
by the philosopher opposite him, would sleep secure beneath the uproar
over little things. He craved the open quarrel. It would be easier after
the storm. The air would be cleared, though by forces that were dire,
and he could go more easily through the forest when he had laid the
trees low. It was better to hurry over the bared plain towards the
shining goal than to stumble and be deterred amid these snares of old
memories, habits, affections, and gratitudes. The past--the past was
man's enemy. He was committed to the future, and in order to serve that
strong master there was work--disagreeable work--to be done in the
present. Ingratitude!--that, too, was but a word, though a long one. He
was willing to deceive himself, and so ideas and images came at his
bidding, but they hung his path with false lights, and they served, not
him, but his inward foe.

He spoke abruptly. "That Militia Bill,--the matter did not approve
itself to my reason, and so I could not push it through. I understood,
of course, at the time that you were vexed--"

"I should not say that 'vexed' was the word. I was surprised. You will
do me the justice to acknowledge that I cheerfully accepted the
explanation which you gave me. You are fully aware that I, of all men,
would be the last to deny your right--any man's right--of private
judgment. All this was last winter, and might have been buried out of
sight."

"I have heard that a letter of mine in the Enquirer gave you umbrage. It
was my opinion that the country's honour demanded less milk and water,
less supineness in our dealings with England, and I expressed my
opinion--"

"The country's honour! That expression of your opinion placed you among
the critics of the administration, and that at an hour when every friend
was needed. It came without warning, and if it was meant to wound me, it
succeeded."

Rand moved restlessly. "It was not," he said sombrely; "it was not meant
to wound you, sir. Let me, once for all, sitting in this room amid the
shades of so many past kindnesses, utterly disavow any personal feeling
toward you other than respect and gratitude. It was apparent to me that
the letter must be written, but