tariff, he is in favor of
annexing Texas and settling the matter of Oregon. As usual the Whigs are
vacillating, because their leader, Mr. Clay, is himself vacillating."

What had all this to do with Dorothy and me? We had happier things of
which to think. We could commune with each other undisturbed while
Douglas and Mrs. Clayton settled Texas and Oregon.

The meal was over and Douglas arose to depart. As I intended to marry
Dorothy before leaving Nashville, if she would consent to do so, I was
wondering what I should do about not returning to Chicago with Douglas.
Accordingly I asked him if I could see him the next morning. He fixed
the hour at ten o'clock, saying that a boat left for St. Louis at noon.
With plans thus vaguely left, so far as they affected both of us, he
departed. Mrs. Clayton said: "Reverdy has told me so much of Douglas.
Now I have seen him, and he is all and more than I was led to believe."

When she left the room I asked Dorothy if we could not be married the
next day. Well, but she had much to do to get ready; put the wedding off
until December, or later. "You can get everything you want in Chicago,"
I persisted, "and I want to take you back with me." Dorothy had not
talked this matter over with her mother. She was not sure that her
mother could be won to a plan so hasty. "Let's see her," I said.

For the whole evening we discussed the subject. Since Mrs. Clayton's
household would be broken up by Dorothy's departure, she had to readjust
her life. She was thinking something of making a visit of some months in
North Carolina. She could not make ready for that immediately. Why not
come to Chicago with us, make her home with us? She could bring the
colored servants. We talked until one o'clock. Then Mrs. Clayton advised
a night's rest on the matter.

CHAPTER XXXIII

The next morning I awoke with such a feeling of repose, of being at home
at last. I was lying in a poster bed, which Mrs. Clayton had told me was
an heirloom from North Carolina. In my view was a lovely bureau of
mahogany; on a stand a vase of roses; at the windows snowy curtains; on
the walls pictures of Mr. Clayton in his soldier's uniform, and of
Reverdy as a young boy and of Dorothy.

I stretched myself between the comfort of the linen sheets, and turned
over on my side to smile to myself, as I looked out of the window into
the trees. I was at home at last! I thought back over my voyage across
the Atlantic, of the long