the presence within it of a spirit which
cleansed it of impurities. She would be there; nay, when he looked at the
dial from a different angle, was there. As he drew nearer, there rose out
of the void her presence beside him which he had daily tried to summon
since that autumn afternoon--her voice and her eyes, and many of the
infinite expressions of each and both. Sprites that they were, they had
failed him until to-day, when he was to see her again!

And then, somehow, he had threaded the groups beside the battle-flags in
the corridor, and mounted the stairway. The doorkeeper of the House
looked into his face, and, with that rare knowledge of mankind which
doorkeepers possess, let him in. There were many ladies on the floor
(such being the chivalrous custom when a debate or a speech of the
importance of Mr. Crewe's was going on), but Austen swept them with a
glance of disappointment. Was it possible, after all, that she had not
come, or--more agitating thought--had gone back to New York?

At this disturbing point in his reflections Austen became aware that the
hall was ringing with a loud and compelling voice which originated in
front of the Speaker's desk.

The Honourable Humphrey Crewe was delivering his long-heralded speech on
national affairs, and was arrayed for the occasion in a manner befitting
the American statesman, with the conventional frock coat, which he wore
unbuttoned. But the Gladstone collar and a tie gave the touch of
individuality to his dress which was needed to set him aside as a marked
man. Austen suddenly remembered, with an irresistible smile, that one of
the reasons which he had assigned for his visit to the capital was to
hear this very speech, to see how Mr. Crewe would carry off what appeared
to be a somewhat difficult situation. Whether or not this motive had
drawn others,--for the millionaire's speech had not lacked
advertisement,--it is impossible to say, but there was standing room only
on the floor of the House that day.

The fact that Mr. Crewe was gratified could not be wholly concealed. The
thing that fascinated Austen Vane and others who listened was the aplomb
with which the speech was delivered. The member from Leith showed no
trace of the nervousness naturally to be expected in a maiden effort, but
spoke with the deliberation of an old campaigner, of the man of weight
and influence that he was. He leaned, part of the time, with his elbow on
the clerk's desk, with his feet cro