When he bade her good-by he held her hand closely and said, “We’ve not spoken the last word yet, Rhoda Ware! I’m coming again some day,--though I hope I won’t be exploded into your house the next time!” Her eyes were serious upon his face, but she felt her cheeks growing warmer with the pressure of his hand. She told herself that she ought to withdraw her own, but afterwards she knew that she had not even tried to take it out of his clasp. “You’d better not come,” she said gravely. “What is the use?” “But at least I may come--to see your mother!” he exclaimed, smiling, and an answering ripple of mirth drove the gravity from her countenance. It was nearly a week after the state elections before it was known certainly that the Democratic ticket in Pennsylvania had won, by a narrow margin, over the candidates upon whom the three other parties had united. Rhoda listened as her father, Hardaker, and the two Kimballs discussed the result. They were gathered around a cheerful blaze in the sitting-room fireplace, for the evenings had grown chill. Her mother and Charlotte had not yet returned. “Oh, we’ve lost,” said Dr. Ware calmly, “and among ourselves we may as well admit it, though of course we’ll keep up a hopeful appearance in public.” But Hardaker was more buoyant. “There’s hope yet,” he insisted. “Pennsylvania has always reversed her state victory at a following presidential election. And there’s no reason to suppose that she’ll do otherwise this time. I still believe we’re going to win.” Rhoda saw her father suddenly compress his lips and throw a quick glance around their little circle. “To tell the truth,” he said slowly in a low tone, “just here among ourselves, though I wouldn’t admit it outside, I hope we are defeated this time.” The rest started with surprise and Walter Kimball exclaimed, “For God’s sake, Dr. Ware! What do you mean?” “Frémont is not the man we need. He hasn’t the capacity, he hasn’t the strength of character to meet the crisis the country would have to face if he should be elected. He’s served a good purpose in this campaign--he’s created enthusiasm and stimulated the growth of Republican sentiment. But that’s all he’s good for.” “Well, we’ve made a marvelous showing, anyway,” said Hardaker in a triumphant tone, “and we’ve got the South scared and their northern allies shaking in their boots over the safety of their pet institution. In another four years,” he straightened up, his eyes glowing, and went on in a voice of jubilant prophecy, “we’ll sweep the country and show the South that there’s got to be an end of slavery!” “Yes, we’ll do it next time, if we haven’t this!” exclaimed Lewis Kimball with enthusiasm. “But, as Dr. Ware says, we’ll have to have the best man possible to lead the procession. Who’ll it be? Frémont again? Seward? Governor Chase? What do you think, doctor?”