Stanton had
refused to be interviewed or to disclose the object of his journey. But
it was enough, they said, that some one in authority was at last to seek
out the truth, and added that no one would be listened to with greater
respect than would the Southern senator. On this all the editorial
writers were agreed.

The day passed drearily for Arkwright. Early in the morning he packed
his valise and paid his landlord, and for the remainder of the day
walked the streets or sat in the hotel corridor waiting impatiently for
each fresh edition of the papers. In them he read the signs of the great
upheaval of popular feeling that was to restore peace and health and
plenty to the island for which he had given his last three years of
energy and life.

He was trembling with excitement, as well as with the cold, when at ten
o'clock precisely he stood at Senator Stanton's door. He had forgotten
to eat his dinner, and the warmth of the dimly lit hall and the odor of
rich food which was wafted from an inner room touched his senses with
tantalizing comfort.

"The senator says you are to come this way, sir," the servant directed.
He took Arkwright's valise from his hand and parted the heavy curtains
that hid the dining-room, and Arkwright stepped in between them and then
stopped in some embarrassment. He found himself in the presence of a
number of gentlemen seated at a long dinner-table, who turned their
heads as he entered and peered at him through the smoke that floated in
light layers above the white cloth. The dinner had been served, but the
senator's guests still sat with their chairs pushed back from a table
lighted by candles under yellow shades, and covered with beautiful
flowers and with bottles of varied sizes in stands of quaint and
intricate design. Senator Stanton's tall figure showed dimly through the
smoke, and his deep voice hailed Arkwright cheerily from the farther end
of the room. "This way, Mr. Arkwright," he said. "I have a chair waiting
for you here." He grasped Arkwright's hand warmly and pulled him into
the vacant place at his side. An elderly gentleman on Arkwright's other
side moved to make more room for him and shoved a liqueur glass toward
him with a friendly nod and pointed at an open box of cigars. He was a
fine-looking man, and Arkwright noticed that he was regarding him with
a glance of the keenest interest. All of those at the table were men of
twice Arkwright's age, except Livingstone, whom he re