"Oh, the pathos, the tragedy of it all! Nature is so good and generous, and poverty so universal. Can it be remedied? It _must_ be remedied. Every thinking, sympathizing soul must help us." Bradley's voice touched Ida deeply as he said, slowly: "Henceforward I shall work for these people and all who suffer. My life shall be given to this work." A great, sudden resolution flashed into Ida's eyes. She lifted her face to his and laid her hand on his and clasped it hard. There was a little pause, in which, as if by some occult sense, their minds read each other. "We'll work _together_, Bradley," she said; and the driver did not see the timid caress which Bradley put upon her lips as a sign of his unspeakable great joy. XXXII. CONCLUSION. One winter evening Ida and Bradley came out of their apartments on Capitol Hill and struck into one of the winding walks which led downward toward the city. It was the fourth week of the "short session" of Bradley's term of office, and the tenth week since their marriage. He still treated Ida with a certain timidity, and his adoration had been increased rather than diminished by his daily association with her. She seemed not to regret her compact with him, and though hardly more demonstrative than he, she let him know how deeply she trusted and loved him. He was transformed by her influence. His life had regained direction and certainty. No rebuff of the Speaker, no insult of a member, angered him. He was always in his seat, ready, whenever opportunity offered, to do battle against wrong knowing that Ida was watching him. Between times he went with her about the city, and his quiet and dignified attentions were a source of the keenest pleasure to her, he was so unobtrusively serene and gentle in all things. They went often to the theatre. They walked a great deal, and they were already marked figures about the Hill, they were both so tall and strong and handsome. They always passed through the Capitol grounds on their way down town, for it gave them a little thrill of delight to pass the clumps of trees. On this evening the grounds were specially beautiful. A heavy fall of damp snow covered every twig and grass-blade. They walked slowly down the winding path till they reached the open lawn just before the western gate. "Wait a moment, Bradley," said Ida. They turned to look back. The untracked, unstained snow swept in undulating breadth to the deep shadow of the great building, which rose against the sky as cold, as seamless, as if it were cut from solid ice. The yellow flare of lamps about its base only added to its austere majesty. It was at its best, and Ida and Bradley looked up at it in silence, hearing the jingle of bells, the soft voices of the negro drivers, the laughter of children coasting on the mall, and the muffled roll of the "carettes." "It is beautiful to-night," said Ida softly. "The building is like a cloud."