An American Politician Part 32

"No," said John, "that is very true."

"You must forget all about it and begin again. You have missed one bird, but you are a good shot, and you will not miss the next."

"You are a most encouraging person, Miss Thorn," said John with a faint smile. "But you know the only test of a good shot is that one hits the mark. I have missed at the first trial, and that is no reason why I should not miss at the second, too."

"You are disappointed and unhappy now," said Joe, gently. "It is very natural indeed. Anybody would feel like that. But you must not believe in yourself any less than your friends believe in you."

"I fancy my friends do not all think alike," answered John. "But I am grateful to you for what you say."

He was indeed grateful, and the soothing sound of her gentle voice was the best refreshment for his troubled spirit. He thought for a moment how brave a man could be with such a woman by his side; and the thought pleased him, the more because he knew that it could not be realized. They sat in silence for a while, contented to be together, and in sympathy. But before long the anxiety for the future and the sense of his peculiar position came over John again.

"Do you know," he said, "there are times when I regret it all very much? I never told any one so before--perhaps I was never so sure of it as I have been since this affair."

"What is it that you regret so much?" asked Joe, softly. "It is a n.o.ble life."

"It is, indeed, if only a man knows how to live it," answered John. "But sometimes I think I do not. You once said a very true thing to me about it all. Do you remember?"

"No; what was it?"

"You said I should not succeed because I am not enough of a partisan, and because every one is a partisan here."

"Did I? Yes, I remember saying it," answered Joe, secretly pleased that he should not have forgotten it. "I do not think it is so very true, after all. It is true to-day; but it is for men like you to set things right, to make partisans.h.i.+p a thing of the past. Men ought to make laws because they are just and necessary, not in order that they may profit by them at the expense of the rest of the world. And to have such good laws men ought to choose good men to represent them."

"There is no denying the truth of that," said John. "That is the way to construct the ideal republic. It would be the way to do a great many ideal things. You need only persuade humanity to do right, and humanity will do it. Verily, it is an easy task!" He laughed, a little bitterly.

"It is not like you to laugh in that way," said Joe, gravely.

"No; to tell the truth, I am not overmuch inclined to laugh at anything to-day, excepting myself, and I dare say there are plenty of people who will do that for me without the asking. They will have no chance when I am gone."

Joe started slightly.

"Gone?" she repeated. "Are you going away?"

"It is very likely," said John. "A friend of mine has warned me to be ready to start at a moment's notice on very important business."

"But it is uncertain, then?" asked Joe, quickly. She had turned very white in an instant, and she looked straight across the little room and pulled nervously at her fan. She would not have dared to let her eyes meet John's at that moment.

"Yes, rather uncertain," answered John. "But he would not have sent me such a warning unless it were very likely that he would really want me."

Joe was silent; she could not speak.

"So you see," continued Harrington, "I may leave to-morrow, and I cannot tell when I may come back. That is the reason I was glad to find you here.

I would have called to-day, if it had been possible, after I got the message." He spoke calmly, not dreaming of the storm of fear and pa.s.sion he was rousing in the heart of the fair girl beside him.

"Where--where are you going?" asked Joe in a low voice.

"Probably to England," said John.

Before the words were out of his mouth he turned and looked at her, suddenly realizing the change in her tones. But she had turned away from him. He could see the quiver of her lips and the beating throb of her beautiful throat; and as he watched the outline of her cheek a tear stole slowly over the delicate skin, and trembled, and fell upon her white neck.

But still she looked away.

Ah, John Harrington, what have you done? You have taken the most precious and pure thing in this world, the thing men as brave as you have given their heart's best blood to win and have perished for failing, the thing which angels guard and Heaven has in its keeping--the love of a good and n.o.ble woman. It has come into your hands and you do not want it. You hardly know it is yours; and if you fully knew it you would not know what to do!

You are innocent, indeed; you have done nothing, spoken no word, given no look that, in your opinion, your cold indifferent opinion, could attract a woman's love. But the harm is done, nevertheless, and a great harm too.

When you are old and sensible you will look back to this day as one of sorrow and evil, and you will know then that all greatness and power and glory of realized ambition are nothing unless a man have a woman's love.

You will know that a man who cannot love is blind to half the world he seeks to conquer, and that a man who cannot love truly is no true man, for he who is not true to one cannot be true to many. That is the sum and reckoning of what love is worth.

But John knew of nothing beyond friends.h.i.+p, and he could not conceive how friends.h.i.+p could turn into anything else. When he saw the tear on Josephine Thorn's cheek he was greatly disturbed, and vaguely wondered what in the world he should do. The idea that any woman could care enough for him to shed a tear when he left her had never crossed his mind; even now, with the actual fact before his eyes, he doubted whether it were possible. She was ill, perhaps, and suffering pain. Pshaw! it was absurd, it could not be that she cared so much for him.

Seeing she did not move, he sat quite still for a while. His usual tact had deserted him in the extremity of the situation. He revolved in his mind what was best to say. It was safest to suppose that Joe was ill, but he would say something indifferent, in order to see whether she recovered, before he suggested that he might be of a.s.sistance.

"It is cold here," he remarked, trying to speak as naturally as possible.

"Would you not like to take a turn, Miss Thorn?"

Joe moved a little. She was deadly pale, and in the effort she had made to control her feelings she was unconscious of the tears in her eyes.

"Oh no, thanks," she faltered, "I will not dance just now." She could not say more.

John made up his mind.

"You are ill, Miss Thorn," he said anxiously. "I am sure you are very far from well. Let me get you something, or call your aunt. Shall I?"

"Oh no--don't--that is--please, I think so. I will go home."

John rose quickly, but before he reached the door she called him back.

"Mr. Harrington, it is nothing. Please sit down."

John came back and did as he was bid, more and more surprised and confused.

"I was afraid it was something serious," he said nervously, for he was greatly disturbed.

Joe laughed, a bitter, harsh little laugh, that was bad to hear. She was making a great effort, but she was strong, and bravely forced back her bursting tears.

"Oh no! I was only choking," she said. "I often do. Go on, please, with what you were saying. Why are you going away so suddenly?"

"Indeed," answered John, "I do not know what the business is. I am going if I am required, simply because my friend wants me."

"Do you mean to say," asked Joe, speaking more calmly, "that you will pack up your belongings and go to the end of the world whenever a friend asks you to? It is most tremendously obliging, you know."

"Not for any friend," John replied. "But I would most certainly do it for this particular one."

"You must be very fond of him to do that," said Joe.

"I am under great obligations to him, too. He is certainly the most important man with whom I have any relations. We can trust each other-it would not do to endanger the certainty of good faith that exists between us."

"He must be a very wonderful person," said Joe, who had grown quite calm by this time. "I should like to know him."

"Very possibly you may meet him, some day. He is a very wonderful person indeed, as you say. He has devoted fifty years of his life and strength to the unremitting pursuit of the best aim that any man can set before him."