"My mother! What do you know of that?" "It is so, then! I knew it, Evans;—prescience, I suppose. I am a granddaughter of South Carolina, you know. I know in my own heart what her sorrow would be." "No, no, Elise, you misjudge my mother. She would love you as she loves me." "Love me, yes—as well as even now I love—your mother. I believe it and am glad, Evans. But, with all her loving, she could not put away shame and grief. I know, dear, I know. She would love me and—curse me." "No, no, you do not know. I am willing to speak for my mother. She will—" "But who can speak for the voters in the coming election? No, Evans, I must not! It would defeat you. Your sacrifice would be too great!" "There would be no sacrifice. You are worth it all to me, dearest heart—and more. And beside, I do not think the voters of my State would—" "Wait," said Elise. "Answer me—and answer me truly, for remember my pride is gone and only love is in my heart. Will you win the Senatorship?" "The prospect is quite alluring," the man replied. "The betting is 2 to 1 that the first primary will not elect, and 9 to 10 that I will defeat Mr. Killam in the second. Robertson really seems to be convinced that I am to succeed." "Oh, how good that is! I pray for you—but would it not cost you votes, maybe the election, to marry me?—to be engaged to me, even? Do not deceive me. Have you not thought of the hurt it would do your chance of success? Truth and honour, now,—as I love you." In the face of that sacred obligation Rutledge hesitated an instant. "_Thought_ of it, yes," he said at last, "but—" "Then the danger is something considerable. I knew it. My letter’s coming was untimely, thanks to the unknown person who mailed it to you. No, my dear, I will not marry you. I will not engage myself to you. I will not defeat you." Rutledge gathered her to himself again, confident to crush her opposition by brute mastery as before. But there was no physical opposition to be mastered now. "It is useless," she said wearily. "I love you too much to marry you now, Evans." "Now?" repeated Rutledge. "If not now, when?" "Or to engage myself to you." Her impassive manner was tantalizingly irritating to him as he laid under tribute every resource of his mind and heart to overturn her decision. Her non-resisting resistance was proof against attack. It was like fighting a fog. Seemingly it offered no opposition, and yet when he had exhausted himself in attempts to brush it aside, it was there, filling all space. "No, no!" she cried out at last, thoroughly aroused by his passionate plea for their happiness; "go! it is sinful even to dream of being happy while one’s sister is so wretched—and I will not have your blood upon my hands—nor your mother’s curse upon me!" Rutledge gazed steadily at her a few moments,—and for an answer drew out his watch to see what the hour was. "Kiss me good-bye," she said, holding her lips up. to him simply as a child.