hink of a candidacy founded on
personal friendships. I assure you," he added, smiling, "there was no
self denial in my refusal."

She gave him an appraising glance which he found at once enchanting and
disconcerting.

"You are one of those people, I think, who do not know their own value.
If I were a man, and such men as Mr. Redbrook and Mr. Jenney knew me and
believed sufficiently in me and in my integrity of purpose to ask me to
be their candidate" (here she hesitated an instant), "and I believed that
the cause were a good one, I should not have felt justified in refusing.
That is what I meant. I have always thought of you as a man of force and
a man of action. But I did not see--the obstacle in your way."

She hesitated once more, and added, with a courage which did not fail of
its direct appeal, "I did not realize that you would be publicly opposing
your father. And I did not realize that you would not care to criticise
--mine."

On the last word she faltered and glanced at his profile.

Had she gone too far?

"I felt that you would understand," he answered. He could not trust
himself to speak further. How much did she know? And how much was she
capable of grasping?

His reticence served only to fortify her trust--to elevate it. It was
impossible for her not to feel something of that which was in him and
crying for utterance. She was a woman. And if this one action had been
but the holding of her coat, she would have known. A man who could keep
silent under these conditions must indeed be a rock of might and honour;
and she felt sure now, with a surging of joy, that the light she had seen
shining from it was the beacon of truth. A question trembled on her
lips--the question for which she had long been gathering strength.
Whatever the outcome of this communion, she felt that there must be
absolute truth between them.

"I want to ask you something, Mr. Vane--I have been wanting to for a long
time."

She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten,--a manner he had when earnest or
determined,--and she wondered in agitation whether he divined what she
was going to say. He turned his face slowly to hers, and his eyes were
troubled.

"Yes," he said.

"You have always spared my feelings," she went on. "Now--now I am asking
for the truth--as you see it. Do the Northeastern Railroads wrongfully
govern this State for their own ends?"

Austen, too, as he thought over it afterwards, in the night, was
surprised at her co