my daughter. That young man is wise--he has no such vast
belief in yonder expedition. He is going in desperation, to escape a
memory! Is it not true? Tell me--and believe that I am not blind--is
not Captain Lewis going into the Missouri country in order to forget a
certain woman? And do we not know, my daughter, who that woman is?"

Still her downcast eye gave him no reply.

"Meriwether Lewis yonder among the savages is a failure. Meriwether
Lewis with me is second only to the vice-regent of the lower Louisiana
country. Texas, Florida, much of Mexico, will join with us, that is
sure. We fight with the great nations of the world, not against
them--we fight with the stars in their courses, and not against them.

"Now, you have two pictures, my dear--one of Meriwether Lewis, the
wanderer, a broken and hopeless man, living among the savages, a log
hut his home, a camp fire the only hearth he knows. Picture that
hopeless and broken man--condemned to that by yourself, my dear--and
then picture that other figure whom you can see rescued, restored to
the world, placed by your own hand in a station of dignity and power.
Then, indeed, he might forget--he might forgive. Yonder he will
forsake his manhood--he will relax his ideals, and go down, step by
step, until he shall not think of you again.

"There are two pictures, my daughter. Which do you prefer--what do you
decide to do? Shall you condemn him, or shall you rescue him? Forgive
your father for having spoken thus plainly. I know your heart--I know
your generosity as well as I know your loyalty and ambition. There is
no reason, my dear, why, for the sake of your father, for the sake of
yourself, _and for the sake of that young man yonder_, you should not
go to him immediately and carry my message."

"Could it be possible," she began at length, half musing, "that I, who
made Captain Lewis so unhappy, could aid a man like him to reach a
higher and better place in life? Could I save him from himself--and
from myself?"

"You speak like my own daughter! If that generous wish bore fruit, I
think that in the later years of life, for both of you, the reflection
would prove not unwelcome. I know, as well as I know anything, that no
other woman will ever hold a place in the heart of Meriwether Lewis.
There is a memory there which will shut out all other things on earth.
We deal now in delicate matters, it is true; but I have been frank
with you, because, knowing your loyalty and