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tion without appealing to you or me. Standing with the principles of "76 behind us, who can deny them the right? Abraham Lincoln has no right to a soldier in Fort Sumter. There is no longer a Union. You can not go through Massachusetts and recruit men to bombard Charleston or New Orleans. Nothing but madness can provoke a war with the Gulf States."

The last member of his distracted, divided, passionridden Cabinet had gone at the close of its first eventful sitting. The dark figure of the President stood beside the window looking over the mirror-like surface of the Potomac to the hills of Virginia.

The shadow of a great sorrow shrouded his face and form. The shoulders drooped. But the light in the depths of his sombre eyes was growing steadily in intensity.

Old Edward, the veteran hallman, appeared at the door with his endless effort to wash his hands without water.

"A young gentleman wishes to see you, sir, a reporter I think-Mr. Ned Vaughan, of the Daily Republican."

Without lifting his eyes from the Virginia hills, the quiet voice said:

"Let him in."

In vain the wily diplomat of the press sought to obtain a declaration of policy on the question of the relief of Fort Sumter. In his easy, friendly way the President made him welcome, but only smiled and slowly shook his head in answer to each pointed question, or laughed aloud at the skillful traps he was invited to enter.

"It's no use, my boy," he said at last, with a weary

gesture. "I'm not going to tell you anything today" he paused, and the light suddenly flashed from beneath his shaggy brows, " except thisyou can say to your readers that my course is as plain as a turnpike road. It is marked out by the Constitution. I am in no doubt which way to go. I am going to try to save the Union."

"In short," Ned laughed, "you propose to stand by your Inaugural?"

"That's a pretty good guess, young man! I'm surprised that you paid such close attention to my address."

"Perhaps I had an interpreter ?" "Did you?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"A very beautiful young woman, Mr. President," Ned answered serenely.

The hazel-grey eyes twinkled:

"What's her name, sir?"

"Miss Betty Winter."

"Not the daughter of that old grizzly bear who's always camping on my trail?”

"The same, sir."

The swarthy face lighted with a radiant smile: "What did she say about my Inaugural?"

"That it was the utterance of a wise, patient, great man."

Two big hands suddenly closed on Ned's and the tall figure bent low.

"Thank you for telling me that, my boy. It helps me after a hard day!'

"She said many other things, too, sir," Ned added.

"Did she?"

"With enthusiasm."

"Tell her to come to me," the President said slowly. "I want to talk to her."

He paused, turned to his desk and seized a pen: "I'll send a subpoena for her-that's better."

On one of his cards he quickly wrote:

"MY DEAR MISS WINTER:

"You are hereby summoned to immediately appear before the Chief Magistrate to testify concerning grave matters of State. A. LINCOLN."

He slipped his long arm around Ned's shoulder and walked with him to the door:

"Serve that on her for me, will you, right away?" With a nod and a smile, the reporter bowed and turned his steps toward the Senator's house.

CHAPTER III

IN BETTY'S GARDEN

Ned Vaughan paused with a moment of indecision before the plain, old-fashioned, brick house in which Senator Winter lived on the Capitol Hill. It was a confession of abject weakness to decline her invitation to dinner with his brother and jump at the first chance to butt in before the dinner hour.

Why should he worry? She was too serious and honest to play with any man, to say nothing of an attempt to flirt with two at the same time.

He refused to believe in the seriousness of any impression she had made on his brother's conceited fancy. His light love affairs had become notorious in his set. He was only amusing himself with Betty and she was too simple and pure to understand. Yet to warn her at this stage of the game against his own brother was obviously impossible.

He suddenly turned on his heel:

"I'm a fool. I'll wait till to-morrow!"

He walked rapidly to the corner, stopped abruptly, turned back to the door and rang the bell. "Anyhow, I'm not a coward!" he muttered.

The pretty Irish maid who opened the door smiled graciously and knowingly. It made him furious. She mistook his rage for blushes and giggled insinuatingly.

"Miss Betty's in the garden, sor; she says to come right out there"

"What?" Ned gasped.

"Yiss-sor; she saw you come up to the door just now and told me to tell you."

Again the girl giggled and again he flushed with

rage.

He found her in the garden, busy with her flowers. The border of tall jonquils were in full bloom, a gorgeous yellow flame leaping from both sides of the narrow walkway which circled the high brick wall covered with a mass of honeysuckle. She held a huge pair of pruning shears, clipping the honeysuckle away from the budding violet beds.

She lifted her laughing brown eyes to his.

"Do help me!" she cried. "This honeysuckle vine is going to cover the whole garden and smother the house itself, I'm afraid."

He took the shears from her pink fingers and felt the thrill of their touch for just a moment.

His eyes lingered on the beautiful picture she made with flushed face and tangled ringlets of golden brown hair falling over forehead and cheeks and white rounded throat. The blue gingham apron was infinitely more becoming than the most elaborate ball cosIt suggested home and the sweet intimacy of

- tume.

comradeship.

"You're lovely in that blue apron, Miss Betty," he said with earnestness.

"Then I'm forgiven for making home folks of you?" "I'm very happy in it."

"Well, you see I had no choice," she hastened to add. "I just had to finish these flowers before dressing

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