father, as an
Abolitionist, had to vote for him and he must support his administration
as a Republican Senator. But his favorite name for the new Chief
Magistrate is, 'The Illinois Slave Hound.' I've a growing feeling that
his enemies have overdone their work. I'm going to judge him fairly."

Vaughan's lips slightly curved.

"They say he's a good stump speaker--a little shy on grammar, perhaps,
but good on jokes--of the coarser kind. He ought to get one or two good
guffaws even out of this sober crowd to-day."

"You think he'll stoop to coarse jokes?"

"Of course----"

"Is that your brother?" Betty asked with a quick intake of breath,
lifting her head toward a stalwart figure rapidly coming down the wide
marble steps.

Ned Vaughan looked up with a frown:

"How did you recognize him?"

"By his resemblance to you, of course."

"Thanks."

"You're as much alike as two black-eyed peas--except that you're more
slender and boyish."

"And not quite so good-looking?"

A low mischievous laugh was her answer as John lifted his hat and stood
smiling before them.

"Miss Winter, this is my brother, whose praises I've long been chanting.
I've a little work to do in the crowd--I'll be back in a few minutes."

There was just a touch of irony in the smile with which the younger man
spoke as he hurried away, but the girl was too much absorbed in the
striking picture John Vaughan made to notice. The sparkling brown eyes
took him in from head to foot in a quick comprehending flash. The fame
of his personal appearance was more than justified. He was the most
strikingly good-looking man she had ever seen, and to her surprise there
was not the slightest trace of self-consciousness or conceit about him.
His high intellectual forehead, thick black hair inclined to curl at the
ends and straight heavy eyebrows suggested at once a man of brains and
power. He looked older than he was--at least thirty, though he had just
turned twenty-six. The square strong jaw and large chin were eloquent of
reserve force. Two rows of white, perfect teeth smiled behind the black
drooping moustache and invited friendship. The one disquieting feature
about him was the look from the depths of his dark brown eyes--so dark
they were black in shadow. He had been a dreamer when very young and
followed Charles A. Dana to Brook Farm for a brief stay.

Before he had spoken a dozen words the girl felt the charm of his
singular and powerful personality.

"