"Is not the picture fair enough, sir? There is in it no mirage, no Fata Morgana, no marsh fire. You are a man of great abilities, with ample power to direct those inner forces to outward ends that shall truly gild your name. Truly, sir, not falsely. Gold, not pinchbeck. Clear glory of duty highly done, not a cloudy fame whose wings are drenched with blood and tears. Come, sir, come--make an old man happy!" He dragged his chair nearer to Rand and held out his hand. "I cannot accept the nomination for Governor, sir," said Rand. "There are various considerations which put it out of the question. I cannot go into these with you. You must take it from me that it is impossible." The Major drew back. "That is final, sir?" "That is final." There was a silence. Rand sat, chin in hand, thoughtfully regarding his visitor. Major Churchill, erect, rigid, grey, and arid, stared before him as though indeed he saw only snowy plains, fallen men, and a forlorn hope. At last he spoke in a dry and difficult voice. "You persevere in your intention of returning to Richmond and to your house on Shockoe Hill in November?" "It is my plan, sir, to go to Richmond in November." "Immediately upon your return from over the mountains?" Rand shot a glance at his interlocutor. "Immediately." "These lands that you are going to see, sir--they are not as far as the Washita?" "No; they are not as far as the Washita." Rand sat upright and let his hand fall heavily upon the arm of his chair. "That is a curious question, Major Churchill." "Do you find it so?" asked the Major grimly. "_I_ should, were it asked of me--so damned strange a question that it would not pass without challenge! But then, I am not declining governorships nor travelling West."