his breast and held him away from her.

"Paul, not one word to-night. No extra strain, no excitement. I want you
to go to bed, now, at once. I shall be here until after the returns
to-morrow night. Then we'll talk. Please, dear," she added softly, at
the protest in his eyes. He bent and kissed her fingers.

"I don't know how you're here, but it's wonderful," he said, and left
her.

The next day she scarcely saw him. She spent the time at the telephone
or buying extras. All day long she busied herself with this, that, and
the other thing, to keep her nerves in order. At seven Paul telephoned
that he could not come to dine with her, but that he hoped to be back by
ten. She forced herself to go to a nearby theatre to put in the early
evening, but the only part of the entertainment that interested her was
the election returns announced between the acts.

Back at the hotel at ten, but no Paul. She packed her bag, and sent out
for two tickets on the midnight train to Boston. At half-past ten he
came, worn to a shred.

"Well?" she cried, as he stood on the threshold.

"We've won, Barbara. It seems to be a landslide."

He came and stood before her.

"Are you glad?"

"Glad? Governor, aren't you?"

"I suppose so. It seems unimportant somehow. I want something else so
much more."

"What?"

"You--your love. I want to put my arms around you, I want to put my head
down on your hair, and know that you're safe in my heart."

"Lock me away there, Governor, that's my home," she whispered, and was
in his arms.

"Barbara, beloved, you don't want to go away from earth now?" he asked
her, after long but pregnant silences. She lifted her head and kissed
him gently.

"Dear heart," said she with a sigh, "I want to live to be a hundred and
ten."

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's The Dual Alliance, by Marjorie Benton Cooke

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