Worn and angry after the long discussion with his cowardly advisers, the President retired to his bedroom, locked the door, laid down, and tried to rest. Opposite the lounge on which he lay was a bureau with a swinging mirror. He gazed for a moment at his long figure, which showed full length, his eye resting at last on the deep cut lines of the haggard face. Gradually two separate and distinct images grew--one behind the other, pale and death-like but distinct. He looked in wonder, and the longer he looked the clearer stood this pale second reflection. "That's funny!" he exclaimed. He rose, rubbed his eyes, and walked to the mirror, examining it curiously. He had always been a man of visions--this child of the woods and open fields. "I wonder if it's an illusion?" he muttered. "I'll try again." He returned to the couch and lay down. Again it grew a second time plainer than before, if possible. He watched for a long time with a feeling of awe. "I wonder if I'm looking into the face of my own soul?" he mused. He studied this second image with keen interest. It was five shades paler than the first. The thing had happened to him once before and his wife had declared it a sign that he would be elected to a second term, but the paleness of the second image meant that he would not live through it. It was uncanny. He rose and paced the floor, laid down again, and the image vanished. What did it mean? Only that day a secret service man had come to warn him of a new plot of assassination and beg him to double the guard. "What is the use, my dear boy, in setting up the gap when the fence is down all around?" "Remember, sir, they shot a hole through your hat one night last week on your way to the Soldiers' Home." "Well, what of it? If a man really makes up his mind to kill me he can do it----" "You can take precautions." "But I can't shut myself up in an iron box--now, can I? If I am killed I can die but once. To live in constant dread of it is to die over and over again. I decline to die until the time comes--away with your extra guards! I've got too many now. They bother me." He threw off his depression and took up a volume of Artemus Ward's funny sayings to refresh his soul with their quaint humor. He must laugh or die. He had promised to see Betty Winter with a friend who had a petition to present at ten o'clock. He would rest until she came. John Vaughan had insisted on her coming at this unusual hour. She protested, but he declared the chances of success in asking for his father's release would be infinitely better if she took advantage of the President's good nature and saw him alone at night when they would not be interrupted. As they neared the White House grounds, crossing the little park on the north side, Betty's nervousness became unbearable. She stopped and put her hand on John's arm. "Let's wait until to-morrow?" she pleaded. "The President is expecting us----" "I'll send him word we couldn't come." "But, why?"