An American Politician: A NovelCrawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
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An American Politician: A Novel
Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
Political fiction; Politicians -- Fiction
"There is no denying the truth of that," said John. "That is the way to
construct the ideal republic. It would be the way to do a great many ideal
things. You need only persuade humanity to do right, and humanity will do
it. Verily, it is an easy task!" He laughed, a little bitterly.
"It is not like you to laugh in that way," said Joe, gravely.
"No; to tell the truth, I am not overmuch inclined to laugh at anything
to-day, excepting myself, and I dare say there are plenty of people who
will do that for me without the asking. They will have no chance when I am
gone."
Joe started slightly.
"Gone?" she repeated. "Are you going away?"
"It is very likely," said John. "A friend of mine has warned me to be
ready to start at a moment's notice on very important business."
"But it is uncertain, then?" asked Joe, quickly. She had turned very white
in an instant, and she looked straight across the little room and pulled
nervously at her fan. She would not have dared to let her eyes meet John's
at that moment.
"Yes, rather uncertain," answered John. "But he would not have sent me
such a warning unless it were very likely that he would really want me."
Joe was silent; she could not speak.
"So you see," continued Harrington, "I may leave to-morrow, and I cannot
tell when I may come back. That is the reason I was glad to find you here.
I would have called to-day, if it had been possible, after I got the
message." He spoke calmly, not dreaming of the storm of fear and passion
he was rousing in the heart of the fair girl beside him.
"Where--where are you going?" asked Joe in a low voice.
"Probably to England," said John.
Before the words were out of his mouth he turned and looked at her,
suddenly realizing the change in her tones. But she had turned away from
him. He could see the quiver of her lips and the beating throb of her
beautiful throat; and as he watched the outline of her cheek a tear stole
slowly over the delicate skin, and trembled, and fell upon her white neck.
But still she looked away.
Ah, John Harrington, what have you done? You have taken the most precious
and pure thing in this world, the thing men as brave as you have given
their heart's best blood to win and have perished for failing, the thing
which angels guard and Heaven has in its keeping--the love of a good and
noble woman. It has come into your hands and you do not want it. You
hardly know it is yours; and if you fully knew it you would not know what
to do!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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