ve which she felt.

Oh, let him resign his honors! Let him travel with her alone! Let her
love him--love him as he loved Davy--as he must love her!

But the caution of love and experience had warned her to be still. Had
not David waited until the child was dead before she saw the man as he
really loved that child?

"I think I can do my duty," he said, wearily.

"I am so glad you were elected!" she said.

"Yes," he answered, and became whiter.

She had sat by the bed, growing uneasy. Ought she to have told him
all? Ought she to have acknowledged her deep devotion? Why was he so
sad? Surely they could mourn for Davy together! Tears had come in her
eyes as she gazed on the couch where Davy's soul went away.

The man had been comforted. "Were you remembering Davy?" he asked.

"Yes, dear," she said.

He had put his weak hand in hers. She was the happiest she had ever
been.

She had debated if she might deplore politics. She hated politics now.
But she had not dared to be frank. In five minutes more the bridges
were burned. The man and the woman were apart again, each in anguish,
and neither able to aid the other.

That Lockwin needed a trip to Washington could not be denied. That
Esther feared to speak of Davy was becoming very noticeable.

Yet no sooner is the husband gone than the woman laments the folly of
letting him leave her.

"Go, David," she had commanded, when she was eager with a desire to
keep him or to go with him.

"Shall I accompany you?" she asked, smiling and trembling.

"I must return by a lake steamer, and must see Corkey alone," the
husband had replied.

"A lake steamer!" In October! The affair alarmed the wife. She must
not let that fear be known.

"Live down your enemies, David!" she had said, as she kissed him.

The words were insincere. They had a false sound, or an unconvincing
sound. They had jarred on David Lockwin.

"I can outlive my friends easily enough, it seems," he thought, as he
recited the lines of holy fields over whose acres walked those blessed
feet. "I can outlive poor Davy. I ought to be happy in politics. It
cost me enough!"

And the man had wept.

At home the wife had also wept. She was afraid she had erred. She had
not been frank. She accused herself, she defended herself, she noted
that it was not yet too late to bid David good-bye, or beg him not to
go until he should be stronger. She called a cab from the livery. It
was Sunday