Lady Mary rose to go; and Betty, who was informal with her friends, went out into the hall with her instead of ringing for a servant. Senator North remained in the parlor for a few moments to say good-night to Mrs. Madison and the Carters, and Betty, although the Montgomerys did not linger, waited for him to come out. There was nothing to reflect the light in the dark walls of the large square hall, and it always was shadowy, and provocative to lovers at any time. When he entered it, he looked at her for a moment without speaking, and did not approach her. "You might be the ghost of another Betty Madison--in that white gown," he said. "Was there not a famous one in the days of 1812, and did she not love a British officer--or something of that sort?" "They parted here in this hall--and she lived on and died of old age. Such is life. I sleep in her bed, where, I suppose, she suffered much as I do." She came forward and pushed her hand into his. "I am not a ghost," she said. He too believed it to be their last meeting alone, and he raised her hand to his lips and held it there. "I wish we could have stayed on and on in the Adirondacks," she said unsteadily. "Everything seemed to go well with us there." "People in mid-ocean usually are happy and irresponsible. They would not be if it were anything but an intermediate state. But it is enough to know that on land our troubles are waiting for us." She shivered and drew closer to him. The dangerous fire in her eyes faded. "Mine are becoming very great," she said. "All I can do is to distract my mind, to fill up my time." "And I can do nothing to help you! That is the tragedy of a love like ours: the more a man loves a woman he cannot marry the more he must make her suffer--either way; it is simply a choice of methods, and if he really loves her he chooses the least complicated." "It is bad enough." Her eyes filled for the first time in his presence since the morning of Harriet's death, but her mental temper was very different, and she looked at him steadily through her tears. "_I_ cannot help _you_," she said. "That is the hardest part. You are harassed in many ways, and you are dreading the bitterness of a greater defeat than today. I could be so much to you--so much. And I can be nothing. By that time you will have ceased to come here. I know that you mean not to come again after to-night, except when the house is full of company." He began to answer, but stopped. She felt his heart against her arm, and his lips burnt her hand, his eyes her own. "Listen," she said rapidly, "if war should be declared I shall be in the gallery to hear it. I will come straight home and shut myself up in my boudoir--for hours--to be with you in a way--Shall I? Will--would it mean anything to you?" "Of course it would!"