Two men were at his side instantly. "Take Miss Winter downstairs," he whispered. "There's a carriage at the gate. Bring it quietly to the door--one of you take her to the Senator's home. The other must return here immediately and wait my orders. There's no guard in this outer hall at night. The one inside is with the boy. Keep out of sight if any one passes." The men obeyed without a word and John Vaughan stepped quickly back into the Executive office, drew the short curtains across the window, turned the lights on full, examined his revolver, and sat down in careless attitude beside the President's desk. He could hear his heavy step already approaching the door. CHAPTER XXXVI THE ASSASSIN John Vaughan's face paled with the sudden realization of the tremendous deed he was about to do. It had seemed the only solution of the Nation's life and his own, an hour ago. The air of Washington reeked with deadly hatred of the President. Every politician who could not control his big, straightforward, honest mind was his enemy. The gloom which shrouded the country over Grant's losses and the failure of his campaign had set every hound yelping at his heels in full cry. He spent much of his time in the hospitals visiting and cheering the wounded soldiers. These men were his friends. They believed in his honesty, his gentleness and his humanity, and yet so deadly had grown the passions of war and so bitter the madness of political prejudice that the majority of the wounded men were going to vote against him in the approaching election. An informal vote taken in Carver Hospital had shown the amazing result of three to one in favor of McClellan! John Vaughan, in his fevered imagination, had felt that he was rendering a heroic service to the people in removing the one obstacle to peace. The President was the only man who could possibly defeat McClellan and continue the war. He was denounced by the opposition as usurper, tyrant, and dictator. He was denounced by thousands of men in his own party as utterly unfit to wield the power he possessed. And yet, as he heard the slow, heavy footfall approaching the door, a moment of agonizing doubt gripped his will and weakened his arm. His eye rested on a worn thumbed copy of the Bible which lay open on the desk. This man, who was not a church member, in the loneliness of his awful responsibilities, had been searching there for guidance and inspiration. There was a pathos in the thought that found his inner conscience through the mania that possessed him. Well, he'd test him. He would try this tyrant here alone before the judgment bar of his soul--condemn him to death or permit him to live, as he should prove true or false to his mighty trust. His hand touched his revolver again and he set his square jaws firmly. The tall figure entered and closed the door.