s, a hero not only for his womenkind, but
for all whom his womenkind could see, and Harley thought that under the
influence of this feeling Miss Morgan's features had become very soft
and feminine. The curve of the jaw was gentle rather than firm, and now
in her softer moments it seemed to Harley that something might be made
of this mountain girl, say by the deft hands of an Eastern and older
woman. Then he blushed at himself for such a condescending thought, and
turned to his task--that is, the effort to reproduce for readers in New
York, the next morning, the atmosphere of that evening in a Chicago
hall, and the exact relation that Mr. Grayson, the people, and the
events of the hour bore to each other.

Harley was a conscientious man, interested in his work, and when he gave
the last page of the despatch to a telegraph-boy the speech was nearly
over. He said emphatically that it was a success, that the audience was
brought thoroughly under the spell, but whether this spell would endure
after the candidate was gone he did not undertake to prophesy. The
coldest and most critical seeker after truth and nothing but the truth
could have found no fault with what he wrote.

He gave the last page of the despatch to the telegraph-boy, and entered
the secluded box that held Mrs. Grayson and Miss Morgan. Two elderly
Chicago men, who played at politics and who were warm enthusiasts for
Grayson, were there, and Harley was introduced to them. But he talked to
them only as long as politeness demanded, and then, with all sincerity,
he congratulated Mrs. Grayson on her husband's triumph.

"I never had a doubt of it," she replied, her voice tremulous, and
honestly forgetful in the glory of the moment of all the fears that had
been assailing her a few hours ago. "I knew what he could do."

Harley turned presently to Miss Morgan, and he spoke in the same vein to
her, but she asked, with some asperity, "Did you think he could fail?"

"Failure is possible, I suppose, in the case of anybody."

"But you do not know our Western spirit."

"I am learning."

Her gentleness was gone. She resented what she chose to consider an
attempt at patronage of the West, and Harley again was made the target
for the arrows of her sarcasm. Yet he did not resent it with his
original acerbity; custom was dulling the sharp edge of her weapons,
and, instead of wounding him, they rather provoked and drew him on. He
was able to reply lightly, to suggest vagu