and by a considerable
number of his own party journals.

But there was one person to whom Harley related the whole story. It was
told in a letter to Sylvia Morgan, who was then at the home of the
candidate with Mrs. Grayson. After describing all the details minutely,
he gave his opinion: he held that it was right for a man, even in
critical moments weighted with the fate of the many, to halt to do a
good action which could affect only one or two. A great general at the
height of a battle, seeing a wounded soldier helpless on the ground,
might take the time to order relief for him without at all impairing the
fate of the combat; to do otherwise would be a complete sacrifice of the
individual for the sake of a mighty machine which would banish all
humanity from life. He noticed that even Napoleon, in the midst of what
might be called the most strenuous career the world has known, turned
aside to do little acts of kindness.

He was glad to find, when her reply came a few days later, that she
agreed with him at least in the main part of his argument; but she
called his attention to the fact that it was not Mr. Grayson, but Harley
himself, who had injected this strange element into the combat when it
was at its zenith; her uncle James had merely responded to a strong and
moving appeal, which he would always do, because she knew the softness
of his heart; yet she was not willing for him to go too far. A general
might be able to turn aside for a moment at the height of the battle,
and then he might not. She wished her uncle James to be judicious in his
generosity, and not make any sacrifice which might prove too costly
alike to himself and to others.

"She is a compound of romance and strong common-sense," thought Harley,
musing over the letter. "She wants the romance without paying the price.
Now I wonder if that is not rather more the characteristic of women than
of men."

On the day following the receipt of this letter, a look of joy came over
the face of the candidate and there was a visible exhilaration
throughout his party. Men, worn, exhausted, and covered with the dust of
the great plains, began to freshen up themselves as much as they could;
there was a great brushing of soiled clothing, a hauling out of clean
collars, a sharpening of razors, and a general inquiry, "How do I look?"
The whole atmosphere of the train was changed, and it became much
brighter and livelier. It was the candidate himself who wrought the