not have and so little the great things that he did have.

"General," he said, "you never shirked a battle and I wouldn't shirk
this contest either. If I loved a woman I'd try to win her, and you
won't have to go back to the mountains when this war is over. You've
made too great a name for that. We won't give you up."

Wood's eyes shone with satisfaction and gratitude.

"Do you think so?" he asked earnestly.

"I haven't a doubt of it," replied Prescott with the utmost sincerity.
"If fortune was unkind to you in the beginning nature was not so. You
may not know it, but I think that women consider you rather good to look
at."

Thus they talked, and in his effort to console another Robert forgot
some of his own pain. The simple, but, on the whole, massive character
of Wood appealed to him, and the thought came with peculiar force that
what was lacking in Helen Harley's nature the tougher fiber of the
mountaineer would supply.

It was late when they separated and much later before Prescott was able
to sleep. The shadow of the Secretary was before him and it was a
menacing shadow. It seemed that this man was to supplant him at every
turn, to appear in every cause his successful rival. Nor was he
satisfied with himself. A small but audible voice told him he had
behaved badly, but stubborn pride stopped his ear. What right did he
have to accuse her? In a worldly sense, at least, she might fare well if
she chose the Secretary.

There was quite a crowd in the lobby of the Spotswood Hotel next
morning, gathered there to talk, after the Southern habit, when there is
nothing pressing to be done, and conspicuous in it were the editors,
Raymond and Winthrop, whom Prescott had not seen in months and who now
received him with warmth.

"How's the _Patriot_?" asked Prescott of Raymond.

"The _Patriot_ is resting just now," replied Raymond quietly.

"How is that--no news?"

"Oh, there's plenty of news, but there's no paper. I did have a little,
but Winthrop was short on a supply for an edition of his own sheet, and
he begged so hard that I let him have mine. That's what I call true
professional courtesy."

"The paper was so bad that it crumbled all to pieces a day after
printing," said Winthrop.

"So much the better," replied Raymond. "In fact, a day is much too long
a life for such a sheet as Winthrop prints."

The others laughed and the talk returned to the course from which it had
been taken for a moment by the arriv