hing
a crinoline--why, perhaps he would get no farther than her door. No; he
will serve--he _must_ serve!"

He arose now, and bowed to us both, even as I rose and turned for my
cloak to shield me from the raw drizzle which then was falling in the
streets. Doctor Ward reached down his own shaggy top hat from the rack.

"To bed with you now, John," said he sternly.

"No, I must write."

"You heard me say, to bed with you! A stiff toddy to make you sleep.
Nicholas here may wake you soon enough with his mysterious companion. I
think to-morrow will be time enough for you to work, and to-morrow very
likely will bring work for you to do."

Calhoun sighed. "God!" he exclaimed, "if I but had back my strength! If
there were more than those scant remaining years!"

"Go!" said he suddenly; and so we others passed down his step and out
into the semi-lighted streets.

So this, then, was my errand. My mind still tingled at its unwelcome
quality. Doctor Ward guessed something of my mental dissatisfaction.

"Never mind, Nicholas," said he, as we parted at the street corner,
where he climbed into the rickety carriage which his colored driver held
awaiting him. "Never mind. I don't myself quite know what Calhoun wants;
but he would not ask of you anything personally improper. Do his errand,
then. It is part of your work. In any case--" and I thought I saw him
grin in the dim light--"you may have a night which you will remember."

There proved to be truth in what he said.

CHAPTER III

IN ARGUMENT

The egotism of women is always for two.--_Mme. De Staeel_.

The thought of missing my meeting with Elisabeth still rankled in my
soul. Had it been another man who asked me to carry this message, I must
have refused. But this man was my master, my chief, in whose service I
had engaged.

Strange enough it may seem to give John Calhoun any title showing love
or respect. To-day most men call him traitor--call him the man
responsible for the war between North and South--call him the arch
apostle of that impossible doctrine of slavery, which we all now admit
was wrong. Why, then, should I love him as I did? I can not say, except
that I always loved, honored and admired courage, uprightness,
integrity.

For myself, his agent, I had, as I say, left the old Trist homestead at
the foot of South Mountain in Maryland, to seek my fortune in our
capital city. I had had some three or four years' semi-diplomatic
training when I