le for us to be divorced and married
for some time. I still clung tenaciously to the belief that there were no
relationships wholly unaffected by worldly triumphs, and as Senator I
should have strengthened my position. It did not strike me--even after
all my experience--that such a course as I now contemplated had a
parallel in the one that I had pursued in regard to her when I was young.

It seemed fitting that Theodore Watling should be the first to know of my
decision. I went to Washington to meet him. It pained me to see him
looking more worn, but he was still as cheerful, as mentally vigorous as
ever, and I perceived that he did not wish to dwell upon his illness. I
did venture to expostulate with him on the risk he must be running in
serving out his term. We were sitting in the dining room of his house.

"We've only one life to live, Hugh," he answered, smiling at me, "and we
might as well get all out of it we can. A few years more or less doesn't
make much difference--and I ought to be satisfied. I'd resign now, to
please my wife, to please my friends, but we can't trust this governor to
appoint a safe man. How little we suspected when we elected him that he'd
become infected. You never can tell, in these days, can you?"

It was the note of devotion to his cause that I had come to hear: I felt
it renewing me, as I had hoped. The threat of disease, the louder
clamourings of the leaders of the mob had not sufficed to dismay
him--though he admitted more concern over these. My sympathy and
affection were mingled with the admiration he never failed to inspire.

"But you, Hugh," he said concernedly, "you're not looking very well, my
son. You must manage to take a good rest before coming here--before the
campaign you'll have to go through. We can't afford to have anything
happen to you--you're too young."

I wondered whether he had heard anything.... He spoke to me again about
the work to be done, the work he looked to me to carry on.

"We'll have to watch for our opportunity," he said, "and when it comes we
can handle this new movement not by crushing it, but by guiding it. I've
come to the conclusion that there is a true instinct in it, that there
are certain things we have done which have been mistakes, and which we
can't do any more. But as for this theory that all wisdom resides in the
people, it's buncombe. What we have to do is to work out a practical
programme."

His confidence in me had not diminished. It