These fond memories suffered an interruption by a vision of the extreme disquietude produced upon Stephen by her unfortunate acquaintanceship with Mr. Anderson. And yet she had been profoundly sincere with herself. Never had she conveyed the impression to any man that she had given him a second sobering thought. Her home constituted for her a chief delight, her home, her devoted mother, her fond father. Peggy had been her sole companion previous to her marriage with the Governor; and whatever men she had met with were they who composed the gay assemblies at which her friend was the pretty hostess and she the invited guest. As far as Anderson was concerned, and Stephen, for that matter, she doubted if she had been in the company of either more than a dozen times in the course of her life. Certainly not enough to know either of them intimately. Of the two men who had effected the most complete entree into her society, Stephen had, unquestionably, impressed her the more favorably. For a time he seemed too far removed from her; and she failed to experience that sense of proportion between them so necessary for mutual regard. Perhaps it was due to this negation, or perhaps it was owing to her modest reserve, or perhaps to both, that whatever familiar intercourse, sympathy or affinity ought to have existed was naturally excluded. True friendship requires a certain equality, or at least a feeling of proportion between those whom it would bind together. And this she felt had not prevailed. She did not pause to consider the correctness or the incorrectness of her inference. It was quite enough for her to know that this spirit of inequality existed. In his presence, however, she felt at perfect ease, wholly oblivious of everything save her own happiness, as she could now bear witness to, but alone with her thoughts the horrible imagining forced itself upon her and served to widen perceptibly the gulf between them. Reflection disconcerted her. Happily, her enterprise respecting Anderson and his nefarious scheme had terminated successfully. Happily, too, Stephen's misconstruction of the affair had been corrected. No longer would he doubt her. Their fortunes had approached the crisis. It came. Anderson had fled town; Arnold and Peggy were removed from their lives perhaps for ever. Stephen was with her now and she experienced a sense of happiness beyond all human estimation. She would she could read his mind to learn there his own feelings. Was he, too, conscious of the same delights? A reciprocal feeling was alone necessary to complete the measure of her joy. But he was as non-communicative as ever, totally absorbed in this terrible business that obsessed him. Her riddle, she feared, would remain unanswered. Patriotism, it seemed, was more pressing than love.