What's up, everyone? It's your girl, Kenzie here from Layton Sports Cards and I'm ripping 2021 Panini select football, hobby three box break number 29, random teams. Here's a look at the random results again. You can find these at LaytonSportsCards.com underneath the results tab and the link is in chat for you. You know what, Victor? This guy's laughing, but Elisa, I'll actually have the opportunity to hold a Lombardi trophy. Let's see, let's pump the brakes on. Let's get to the playoffs first. All right, here we go. Good luck. Yeah, Sam had a kick out of that one. Yeah, it was good. Williams. Ooh, we've got Etua, Taga, Vine, Loa on the short print, artistic selections. Wow, first pack, first box, Dolphins. Great time to get him. Who's got Miami? Sam A. Here you go, Sam. Nice one there. We've got Club Level Silver Rookie that's new, some Bears, Matt Ryan. Almost said Octagon, but never been so much. Oh, so much, you have seen Select, yeah, Shorts. We've got Light Blue Frank Darby for the Falcons, 76 of 99. Silver, Tutu Outlaw, Rams from your level. What's up, Kami? On your long, we've got Blue, Joey B. on the concourse, 47 of 199. You go Bangles, we have here to 25. Dica, Tideye, of Kenneth Murray for the Chargers. Cool one there, Chargers. Matt Ryan, Premier Level. Nope, we're not getting a Thunderstorm. No, no Thunderstorm Gucci. Leatherwood Sensations, Patrick Mahomes. We've got Silver, Premier Level, JJ Watt Cardinals, Terrace Marshall Jr. Luckily, no Thunderstorm, luckily. Reina, did it rain a little bit earlier? Yeah, it was like sprinkling when I was driving it. We've got to 49 for the Steelers on the bronze patch. Did you do Smith Schuster? Now it's she. Thought he'd be doing better than he was. Tyree Silver Concourse, Jimmy G. I feel like he's not getting a lot of targets though, you know, there they have. Yeah, they got a lot. Yeah, wide range of targets there, the wide receiver. We've got Nashu, Chargers on the Blue, Premier Level, 36 of 149. Nega Steelers, nice Naji. Trevor Lawrence on the Silver Concourse, Jax, Aaron Donald, the percent, Aaron Donald. We've got Silver, Field Level, Derrick Gord Chiefs, Terrace Marshall Jr. Rookie. Bulk, we've got Club Level, Zach Wilson, Rookie Base, Jax, Brandon Cooks on the Field Level, Tri-Color, 35 out of 75 there for the Texans. Seven to go, still everyone, almost there. We've got Silver, Michael Strahan, Jalen Darden. Again, that breaks, we've got Prism up next, and then we've got the Flawless. Let's get that filled up. Silver, Snapshots, Aaron Donald. Got Tom Brady on the Silver Concourse, and Kyle Pitts on the Rookie Premier Level Base. And that is a two box full case break to your random teams, two teams per spot on that. Justin Field's Concourse, Rookie Bears, Tyler Wallace, Phenomenon Silver, Zeke Elliott Cowboys, Micah Parsons for the Cowboys on the Silver Concourse, and Jamar and Jefferson. Still looking for one more auto, I think, right? Like the RBI, I believe. Trace Sermon, Dang Dimes, you guys, Zeke Elliott, ooh, we got a redemption. And a Rondell Moore for the Cardinals. Let's see. Rookie Signatures, Memorabilia Blue Prism. Card 11, Devate Smith for the Eagles. There you go, Philly. Fly Eagles, fly. Anthony P, there you go. No Gucci, no Storm here, buddy. Poco, Padding my Homes. We've got Blue, Club Level, Diami Brown for Washington, 79 of 99 there. And Silver, Premier Level, Trey Lance. And Amon Ross St. Brown on the Premier Level Base. All right, box two here. You lost your mind. Hope you find it. We haven't, we all. Jefferson, PS2, Sensations. We've got Jake Funk on the Club Level of Rookie Silver Rams at Reed. But this guy's not looking to have bad time, I must admit. He's looking better than he has in the past. Tricolor, Premier Level, Rookie Seth Williams, Broncos, 127 of 199. Silver Concourse, Patrick Mahomes, Ty Johnson, Granson, Kaderius Tony. We've got XRC for the Cardinals. Trey McBride. He goes Zona, nice one there. We've got Derek Gore on the Silver Concourse and Mike Evans. Again, everyone, flawless football coming up. Only spot, the only group with spots left for tonight. Chuba Hubbard Rookie, Trevor Lawrence on the Rookie Club Level. We've got Light Blue, Big Mouth for the Steelers. 47 of 99, Pat Fremouth. 33, we can't get up first down. Nico Collins, Silver, Premier Level, Texans, and Rashad Bateman. Pathetic, we've literally three and out the past four possessions, at least. Tannenhill, Richie Grant, Rookie Selection, Silver, Jamar Chase. We've got Scridge on the Silver Rookie Concourse and Tyrell Williams. Jacob Harris, Adrian Peterson. We've got Troy Palamalu on the Concourse. Tricolor, 120 of 249. Silver Rookie Premier, Eli Mitchell Niners, Demetric Felton, Tua base, Ian Book. We've got Steelers to 99, Silver Laning Patch, Ben Rothesberger. Steelers, just throwing it in my face now. We've got Silver Trey Lance Field Level, Niners. There you go, Brian R. Nice Lance and a Mac Jones Premier Level Rookie. That'll be a good game, Dolphins Bangles. Yeah, Dolphins Slap and Round. Hope so, Hunter Long. Phenomenons, Devontae Smith. We've got Dan Fouts on the Silver Premier Level, Chargers and Christian Barmore Rookie Field Level. Pickins in that darn ski mask. All right, Tyree Kill, Jarvis Landry. We've got Anthony Schwartz on the Blue Premier Level, 134 of 149. Silver Zach Wilson Concourse and Joe Mixon. Mandre, Gronk, we've got Silver Sensations, Patrick Mahomes, Silver Jury Judy Premier Level, Broncos and a Diamond Brown Rookie Premier Level. Ryan Schoenka, Jamar Chase Rookie. We've got Red and Diamond Brown on the Club Level for Washington, 38 out of 49. Nice one there.  Here you go, Sam, how in a break?  Amonra St. Brown. Nice hit there for you, Sam A. 22 of 25. We'll mag that one for you, Amonra. Last pack, box two. Jalen Water Rookie Base Concourse. Josh Allen, Kurt Warner. We've got out of 99 on the Silver Patch Auto Jonathan Taylor. Nice one there for the Colts. Second year, Muhammad A. with the Colts and Anthony Schwartz. Box here and then we'll do a recap. Again, everyone, let's get this flawless build up. Last time we checked, seven to go. Tiered random teams. Two box, full case break. Need some help getting that filled. Last break of the nights. Big hit potential out of those. Been a bit since we've ripped some, so. See what's been marinating for us. Two, two, Phenomenons, Kaderians, Tony. We've got Dax Millney on the Silver Field Level. George Kittle. Still seven to go. There is the link for ya. Seven to go. Herbert Echler, we've got Javante Williams on the club level tri-color for the Broncos. 30 of 149, Silver Rookie Club Level, Michael Carter Jets, Tommy Trembl. There we go, finally a sack. Romo, Tyson Williams, Silver Phenomenons, Rookie, Devontae Smith Eagles. Silver Lambjack Concourse, Travis Kelsey. Devontae Williams, Rookie Concourse, David Johnson, Kaderians, Tony on the Rookie. We've got a redemption here. Ramon Dre, Stevenson Rookie. Rookie Signatures, memorabilia, blue prism. Card number nine this time of not sure. Sheriff's. Steeler's doing well with some hits. Who's got him? Who's got Pittsburgh? Pitt, where are ya? Steeler's Edison L, nice. I'll still be in chat, Mike. I mean, I'm still working until the baby gets here, just not breaking, I'll be top loading. We've got Purple, Premier Level, 57 of 75, Jamar Chase, Bangles, nice hit, Sinsey. Bangles is Ethan R, very nice. We'll mag this one for ya, nice chase. Devontae Williams on the Silver, Premier Level, and AB. Quidipay, we've got Shray Lance on the Concourse Rookie, Tri-Color, Premier Level, Kellan Mon for the Vikings, 120 of 199. Silver Rookie Concourse, Kyle Trask. There we go, Ricky Williams. Where's DJ's having a nice game? Now Kyle, Pitt's Rookie Concourse, Calvin Ridley. Out of 35, we've got White Jumbo Rookie Jersey, Jacob Harris, Ramps, Tyler Wallace on the Silver Rookie, Premier Level, Jalen Waddle, Premier Level Base, Marshall Junior, Stafford. We've got Gold, Zach Wilson on the Artistic Selections. Three of 10, Jets, Jets, Jets, Ross H, big hit there. Three boxes, two of these SSPs. I think I've only pulled one of these out of all the Selects that we've got. I was gonna say, yeah, it's a not easy pull. There you go, huge hit there. There's Moons of the Catch, we'll mag that one for ya. You gotta catch? Yeah, Zach Hertz on the Silver, Premier Level, Cardinals, and Wong-Woo, and Dihaw. We've got Red, Jared Goff on the Concourse for the Lions, 25 of 99, Silver Rookie, Premier Level, Desvits, Patrick Titans. Are you kidding me? Did they just intercept the ball? We've got Silver, Kurt Warner, Silver, Derek Carr, Concourse, Kellan Monks, over through the ball. He threw the ball right to the, oh my gosh. Wentz, Amanra, St. Brown on the Concourse Rookie. We've got Y, Trayvon Mowra.  That's really nice. 31 of 35 for the Raiders. Oh, I think it's for the Browns. Yeah, I don't think he was out. Out of 99, Blue Auto, Cam Hayward. Dude, Steelers have literally like four of the hits. Nice Cam Hayward, and he's a heck of a player too. Yeah, he's good. We've got Devonte Parker, last half here. DK Tutu, Joe Burrow. We've got Silver, Brandon Cook's Premier Level, and a Ian Book Premier Level. All right, let's do a quick recap here. Start with our man. We have the White Rookie of Jacob Harris, Rams. Ben Rothesberger, Steelers, and Jujusmus Schuster Steelers. Then we had the Blue Auto Cam Hayward Steelers. Redemption for the Steelers, Najee Harris. Jonathan Taylor on the Silver Patch Auto Colts. XRC of Trey McBride, Cardinals. Eagles Redemption, Devonte, Smith. We had the Tideye Kenneth Murray-Dyka for the Chargers out of 25. Our Mags Cards, we had the Tua Tagavai Loa, SSP Artistic Selections for the Dolphins. We had the Jamar Chase Purple Premier Level Bangles, 57 of 75. The Golds, Mojo, Zach Wilson, SSP Artistic Selections, three out of 10 there, one off of that jersey number. And then the Amon Ross St. Brown on the Tideye Rookie Auto Lions, 22 of 25. All right, that will do it for select. We've got Prism coming up in a few minutes, everybody.


19 A change has come over Boston in four months since John Harrington and Josephine Thorne parted. The breath of the spring has been everywhere, and the haze of the hot summer is ripening the buds that the spring has brought out. The trees on the common are thick and heavy with foliage. The public garden is a carpet of bright flowers, and on the walls of Beacon Street the great creepers have burst into blossom and are stretching long shoots over the brown stone and the iron balconies. There is a smell of violets and flowers in the warm air, and down on the little pond the swan-shaped boats are paddling about with their cargoes of merry children and calico nursery maids, while Irish boys look on from the banks and throw pebbles when the policemen are not looking, wishing they had the spare coin necessary to embark for a ten-minute voyage on the Mimic Sea. Unfamiliar figures wander through the streets of the West End, and more than half of the houses show by the boarded windows and doors that the owners are out of town. The migration of tax-dodgers took place on the last day of April. They will return on the second day of December, having spent just six months and one day in their country places, whereby they have shifted the paying of a large proportion of their taxes to more economical regions. It is a very equitable arrangement, for it is only the rich man who can save money in this way, while his poor neighbor, who has no country seat to which he may escape, must pay to the uttermost farthing. The system stimulates the impecunious to become wealthy, and helps the rich to become richer. It is, therefore, perfectly good and just. But Boston is more beautiful in the absence of the tax-dodger than at any other season. There is a stillness and a peace over the fair city that one may long for in vain during the winter. Business, indeed, goes on without interruption, but the habitation of the great men of business knows them not. They come up from their cool bowers by the sea in special trains, in steamers, and in yachts every morning, and early in the afternoon they go back, so that all day long the broad streets at the west are quiet and deserted and seem to be basking in the sunshine to recover from the combined strain of the bitter winter and the unceasing gaiety that accompanies it. In the warm June weather, Miss Schenectady and Joe still linger in town. The old lady has no new-fangled notions about taxes, and though she is rich and has a pretty place near Newport, she will not go there until she is ready. No, not for all the tax-gatherers in Massachusetts. As for Joe, she does not want to go away. Urgent letters come by every mail in treating her to return to England in time for a taste of the season in London. But they lie unanswered on her table, and often she does not read more than half of what they contain. The books and the letters accumulate in her room, and she takes no thought whether she reads them or not, for the time is weary on her hands, and she only wishes it gone by, no matter how, nevertheless she will not go home, and she even begs her aunt not to leave Boston yet. She is paler than she was, and her face looks thin. She says she is well, and as strong as ever, but the elasticity has gone from her step, and the light has faded in her brown eyes so that one might meet her in the street and hardly know her. As she sits by the window, behind the closed blinds, the softened light falls on her face, and it is sad and weary. It was not until John Harrington was gone that she realized all. He had received the message he expected early on the morning after that memorable parting, and before midday he was on his way. Since then she had heard no word of tidings concerning him, save that she knew he had arrived in England. For anything she knew he might even now be in America again, but she would not believe it. If he had come back he would surely have come to see her, she thought. There were times when she would have given all the world to look on his face again, but for the most part she said to herself it was far better that she should never see him. Where was the use? Joe was not of the women who have intimate confidants, and can get rid of much sorrow by much talking about it. She was too proud and too strong to ask for help or sympathy in any real distress. She had gone to Sibyl Brandon when she was about to tell Ronald of her decision, because she thought that Sibyl would be kind to him and help him forget the past. But where she herself was alone concerned she would rather have died many deaths than confess what was in her heart. She had gone bravely through the remainder of the season until it was all over, and no one had guessed her disappointment. Such perfect physical strength as hers was not to be broken down by the effort of a few weeks, and still she smiled and talked and danced and kept her secret. But as the long months crawled out their tail of dreary days the passion in her soul spread out great roots and grew fiercely against the will that strove to break it down. It was a love against which there was no appeal, which had taken possession silently and stealthily with no outward show of wooing or sweet words, and then, safe within the fortress of her maidenly soul, it had grown up to a towering strength feeding upon her whole life and ruthlessly dealing with her as it would. But this love sought no confidence nor help nor assistance being of itself utterly without hope, strong and despairing. One satisfaction only she had daily. She rejoiced that she had broken away from the old ties, from Ronald and from her English life, to have found herself positively loving one man while she was betrothed to another would have driven her to terrible extremity. The mere idea of going back to her mother and to the old life at home with this wild thought forever gnawing at her heart was intolerable. She might bear it to the end whatever the end might be and in silence so long as none of her former associations made the contrast between past and present too strong. Old disconnectity with her books and her odd conversation was as good a companion as anyone since she could not live alone. Sybil Brandon would have wearied her by her sympathy, gentle and loving as it would have been and besides Sybil was away from Boston and very happy. It would be unkind as well as foolish to disturb her serenity with useless confidences. And so the days went by and the hot summer was calm and yet Joe lingered in Boston, suffering silently and sometimes wondering how it would all end. Sybil was staying near Newport with her only surviving relation and uncle of her mother. He was an old man, upward of eighty years of age and he lived in a strange old place six or seven miles from the town. But Ronald had been there more than once and he was always enthusiastic in his description of what he had seen and he seemed particularly anxious that Joe should know how very happy Sybil was in her country's surroundings. Ronald had traveled during the spring making short journeys in every direction and constantly talking of going out to see the West, a feat which he never accomplished. He would go away for a week at a time and then suddenly appear again and at last had gravitated to Newport. Thence he came to town occasionally and visited Joe, never remaining more than a day and sometimes only a few hours. Joe was indifferent to his comings and goings but always welcomed him in a friendly way. She saw that he was amusing himself and was more glad than ever that the relations formerly existing between them had so opportunely broken off. He had never referred to the past since the final interview when Joe had answered him by bursting into tears and he talked about the present cheerfully enough. One morning he arrived without warning, as usual, to make one of his short visits. Joe was sitting by the window dressed all in white and a uniform absence of color in her dress rather exaggerated the pallor of her face than masked it. She was reading, apparently with some interest, in a book of which the dark-lined binding sufficiently declared the sober contents. As she read her brows bent in the effort of understanding while the warm breeze that blew through the blinds fanned her tired face and gently stirred the small stray ringlets of her soft brown hair. Ronald opened the door and entered.  You look like the sunshine.  He did as he was bitten and came and sat beside her. Yes, I have come up for the day. How are you, Joe, dear? You look pale. It is this beastly heat. You ought to come down to Newport for a month. It is utterly idiotic, you know, staying in town in this weather. I like it, said Joe. I like the heat so much that I think I should be cold in Newport. Tell me all about what you have been doing. Oh, I hardly know, said Ronald, lots of things. Tell me what you do in one day. Yesterday, for instance, I want to be amused this morning. It is not so very amusing, you know, but it is very jolly, to begin with, I get up at unholy hours and go and bathe in the surf at the second beach. There are no end of a lot of people there even at that hour. Yes, I dare say, and then, oh, then I go home and dress and later, if I do not ride, I go to the club, casino, I beg your pardon, and play tennis. They play very decently some of those fellows. Are there any nice rides? Just along the roads, you know, but when you get out to Sherwood, there are meadows and things with a brook that is very fair. Do you still go to Sherwood often? How is Sybil? Yes, said Ronald, and a blush rose quickly to his face. I often go there.  Awfully funny. Tell me, Ronald, said Joe, insisting a little. How is Sybil? She looks very well. I suppose she is. But she never goes to anything in Newport. She has not been in the town at all yet since she went to stay with her uncle. But, of course, lots of people go out to see her. Do they not? No, well, not many. In fact, I do not remember having met any one there, answered Ronald as though he were trying to recall some face besides Miss Brandon's. Her uncle is such an odd bird. You have no idea. I do not imagine you see very much of him when you go there, said Joe, with a faint laugh. Oh, I always see him, of course, said Ronald, blushing again. He is about a hundred years old, and wears all kinds of clothes and wanders about the garden perpetually. But I do not talk to him unless I am driven to it. Which does not occur often, interrupted Joe? No, well, I suppose not very often. Why should it? Ronald was visibly embarrassed. Joe watched him with a look of amusement on her face, but affectionately, too, as though what he said pleased her as well as amused her. There was a short pause during which Ronald rubbed his hat slowly and gently. Then he looked up suddenly and met Joe's eyes. But he turned away again instantly, blushing redder than ever. Ronald, Joe said presently, I am so glad. Glad? Why? And about what? I am glad that you like her, and that she likes you. I think you like her very much, Ronald. Oh, yes, very much, repeated Ronald, trying to seem indifferent. Do you not feel as though you are much more like brother and sister now? asked Joe, after a little while. Oh, much, I suppose it is better, too, though I did not think so at first. It is far better, said Joe, laying her small, thin hand across her cousin's strong fingers and pressing them a little. You are free now, and you will probably be very happy before long. Do you not think so? She asked, looking affectionately into his eyes. I hope so, said Ronald, with a last attempt at indifference. Then suddenly his face softened, and he added in a gentler tone. Indeed, Joe, I think I shall be very happy soon. I am so glad, said Joe again, still holding his hand, but leaning her head back wearily on the deep chair. There is only one thing that troubles me. What is that? That horrid will, said Joe, I am sure we could get it altered in some way. We never thought about it before, Joe. Why should we think about it now? It seems to me it is a very good will, as things have turned out. But my dear boy, said Joe, if you are married to Civil Brandon, you will need ever so much money. Ronald blushed again. I have not asked her to marry me, he said quickly. That makes no difference at all, replied Joe. As I was saying, when you have married her, you will need money. What an idea, exclaimed Ronald indignantly, as if anyone wanted to be rich in order to be happy. Besides, between what I have of my own and my share of the money, there is nearly four thousand a year.  It is not very much, though, said Joe, reflecting. I do not think Civil has anything at all. You will be as poor as too little church mice. But I will come and stay with you sometimes. Joe added, laughing, and helped you about the bills. The bills would take care of themselves, said Ronald gravely. They always do. But whatever happens, Joe, my home is always yours. You will always remember that. Will you not? Dear Ronald, answered his cousin affectionately, you are as good as it is possible to be. You really are. Ronald, said Joe, after a pause. I have an idea. He looked at her inquiringly, but said nothing. I might, she continued, smiling at the thought. I may go and marry first, you know, after all, and spoil it. But you will not, will you? Promise me you will not. I wish I could, said Joe, and then you could have the money. But I would not let you, interrupted Ronald. I would go off and get married by license and that sort of thing. Without asking, Miss Brandon suggested Joe, Nonsense! ejaculated Ronald, coloring for the twentieth time. I think we are talking nonsense altogether, said Joe seriously. I do not think. Indeed, I am quite sure I shall never marry. How absurd! cried Ronald. The idea of your not marrying?  The name of John Harrington was on his lips, but he checked himself. John was gone abroad, and with more than usual tact, Ronald reflected that if Joe had really cared for the man, an allusion to him would be unkind. But Joe only shook her head and let her cousin's words pass unanswered. She had long suspected, from Ronald's frequent allusions to Sybil, which were generally accompanied by some change of manner, that he was already in love with the fair American girl, or that he soon would be. And the acknowledgment that she had now received from himself gave her infinite pleasure. In her reflections upon her own conduct, she had never blamed herself. But she had, more than once, thought that he was greatly to be pitied. To have married him six months ago, when she was fully conscious that she did not love him, would have been very wrong. And to have gone back at a later period, when she realized that her whole life was full of her love for John Harrington would have been a crime. But in spite of that, she was often very sorry for Ronald and feared that she had heard his happiness past curing. Now, therefore, when she saw how much he loved another, she was exceedingly glad, for she knew that the thing she had done had been wholly good, both for him and for her. They soon began to talk of other things, but the conversation fell back to the discussion of Newport, and Joe learned, with some surprise, that Pocock Vancouver assiduously cultivated Ronald's acquaintance, and was always ready to do anything in the world that Ronald desired. It appeared that Vancouver lent Ronald his horses at all times, and was apparently delighted when Ronald would take a mount and stay away all day. The young Englishman, of course, was not loath to accept such offers, having a radical and undisguised contempt for hired horse-flesh. And as Sibyl lived several miles out of town, it was far the more pleasant plan to ride out to her, and after spending the day there, to ride back in the evening, more especially as it cost him nothing. Joe was on the point of making some remark about Vancouver, which would very likely have had the effect of cooling the intimacy between him and Ronald, but she thought better of it and said nothing. Ronald had had no part in all the questions connected with John's election and knew nothing of what Vancouver had done in the matter. It was better on many grounds not to stir up fresh trouble, and so long as Vancouver's stables afforded Ronald an easy and economical means of locomotion from Newport to the house of the woman he loved, the friendship that had sprung up was a positive gain. She could not understand the motives that had prompted Vancouver in the least. He had made more than one attempt to regain his position with her after the direct cut he had sustained on the evening when she parted with John, but Joe had resolutely set her face against him. Possibly she thought Vancouver might hope to regain her good opinion by a regular system of kindness to Ronald, but it hardly seemed to her as though such a result would reward him for the pains of his diplomacy. Meanwhile it would be foolish of her to interfere with any intimacy which was of real use to Ronald in his suit. As a matter of fact, Vancouver was carrying out a deliberate plan and one which was far from ill-conceived. He had not been so blind as not to suspect Joe's secret attachment for John when she was willing to go to such lengths in her indignation against himself for being John's enemy, but he had disposed of John as he thought by assisting if not actually causing his defeat. He imagined that Harrington had gone abroad to conceal the mortification he felt at having lost the election, and he rightly argued that for some time Joe would not bestow a glance upon anyone else. In the meantime, however, he was in possession of certain details concerning Joe's fortune which could be of use, and he accordingly set about encouraging Ronald's affections in any direction they might take as long as they were not set upon his cousin. He was not surprised that Ronald should fall in love with Sybil, though he almost wished the choice could have fallen upon someone else, and accordingly he did everything in his power to make life in Newport agreeable for the young Englishman. It was convenient in some respects that the wooing should take place at so central a resort, but had the case been different, Vancouver would not have hesitated to go to Saratoga, Lenox or Mount Desert in the prosecution of his immediate purpose, which was to help Ronald to marry any living woman rather than let him return to England a bachelor. When Ronald should be married, Joe would be in possession of three-quarters of her uncle's money of very considerable fortune. If she was human, thought Vancouver, she would be eternally grateful to him for ridding her of her cousin whom she evidently did not wish to marry and for helping her thereby to so much wealth. He reflected that he had been unfortunate in the time when he had decided to be a candidate for her hand, but whatever turn affairs took no harm was done to his own prospects by removing Ronald from the list of possible rivals. He was delighted at the preference Serbaton showed for Sybil Brandon, and in case Ronald hesitated, he reserved the knowledge he possessed of her private fortune as a final stimulus to his flagging affections. Hitherto it had not seemed necessary to acquaint his friend with the fact that Sybil had an income of some thirty thousand dollars yearly. Indeed no one seemed to know it, and she was supposed to be in rather strained circumstances. As for his own chances with Joe, he had carefully hidden the tracks of his journalistic doings in the way he had once proposed to himself when Joe attacked him on the subject. A gentleman had been found upon whom he had fastened the authorship of the articles in the public estimation, and the gentleman would live and die with the reputation for writing he had thus unexpectedly obtained. He had ascertained beyond a doubt that Joe knew nothing of his interview with Bali Mali, and he felt himself in a strong position. Pocac Vancouver had for years taken an infinite amount of pains in planning and furthering his matrimonial schemes. He was fond of money, but in a slightly less degree he was fond of all that is beautiful and intelligent in woman, so that his efforts to obtain for himself what he considered a perfect combination of wit, good looks, and money, although ineffectual, had occupied a great deal of his spare time very agreeably. 20 Sherwood was a very old place. It had been built a hundred years at least before the revolution in the days when the States had English governors, and when its founder had been governor of Rhode Island, his last descendant in the direct line was Sybil Brandon's great uncle. The old country's seat was remarkable chiefly for the extent of its gardens attached to the house, and for the singularly advanced state of dilapidation in which everything was allowed to remain. Beyond the gardens the wood stretched down to the sea, unpruned and thick with a heavy undergrowth. From the road the gardens were hidden by thick hedges and by the forbidding gray front of the building. It was not an attractive place to look at. And once within the precincts there was a heavy sense of loneliness and utter desolation that seemed to fit it for the very home of melancholy. The damp sea air had drawn green streaks of mold downward from each several jointing of the stones. The long closed shutters of some of the windows were more than half hidden by creepers, bushy and straggling by turns, and the eaves were all green with moss and mold. From the deep arched porch at the back a weed-grown gravel walk led away through untrimmed hedges of box and myrtle to an ancient summer house on the edge of a steep slope of grass. To right and left of this path the rose trees and box that had once marked the gayest of flower gardens now grew in such exuberance of wild profusion that it would have needed strong arms and a sharp axe to cut away through. Far away on a wooded knoll above the sea was the old graveyard where generations of sure woods lay dead in their quiet rest side by side. But for a space in every year the desolation was touched with the breath of life, and the sweet June air blew away the mold and the smell of death, and the wild flowers and roses sprang up joyfully in the wilderness to greet the songbirds and the butterflies of summer.  And shadow from the old place. Even the thin old man who lived there among the ghosts and shadows of the dead and dying past smoothed the wrinkles from his forehead, forgetting to long selfishly for his own death when Sybil came. And with touching thoughtfulness he strove to amuse her and to be younger for her sake. He found old garments of a gayer time, full 30 years hidden away in the great wardrobes upstairs, and he put them on and wore them, though they hung loosely about his shaken and withered frame, lest he should be too sad a thing for such young eyes to look upon. Then Ronald came one day, and the old man took kindly to him, and bade him come often, in the innocence of his old age at station given him, and came as often as he pleased which before long meant every day. When he came in the morning he generally stayed until the evening, and when he came in the afternoon he always stayed as long as Sybil would let him, and rode home late through the misty June moonlight, pondering on the happiness the world had suddenly brought forth for him who had supposed, but a few months ago, that all happiness was at an end. Six months had gone by since Ronald had first seen Sybil, and he had changed in that time from a boy to a man. Looking back through the past years he knew that he was glad Joe had not married him, for the new purpose of his new life was to love and marry Sybil Brandon. There was no doubt in his mind as to what he would do, the strong nature in him was at last roused, and he was capable of anything in reason or without it, to get what he wanted. Someone has said that an Englishman's idea of happiness is to find something he could kill and to hunt it. That is a metaphor as well as a fact. It may take an Englishman half a lifetime to find out what he wants, but when he is once decided, he is very likely to get it or to die in the attempt. The American is fond of trying everything until he reaches the age at which Americans normally become dyspeptic, and during his comparatively brief career he succeeds in experiencing a surprising variety of sensations. Both Americans and English are tenacious in their different ways and it is certain that between them they have gotten more things that they have wanted than any other existing nation. What most surprised Ronald was that, having made up his mind to marry Sybil, he should not have the opportunity, or perhaps the courage, to tell her so. He remembered how easily he had always been able to speak to Joe about matrimony, and he wondered why it should be so hard to approach the subject with one whom he loved infinitely more dearly than he had ever loved his cousin. But love brings tact and the knowledge of fitness, besides having the effect of partially hiding the past and exaggerating the future into an eternity of rose-colored happiness. Wherefore Ronald supposed that everything would come right in time, and that the time for everything to come right could not possibly be far off. On the day after he had seen Joe in Boston, he rode over to Sherwood in the morning, as usual, upon one of Vancouver's horses. He was lighter at heart than ever, for he had somewhat dreaded the revelation of his intentions to Joe. But she had so led him on and helped him that it had all seemed very easy. He was not long in reaching his destination and having put his horse in the hands of the single man who did duty as gardener, groom, and dairyman for old Mr. Sherwood, he entered the garden, where he hoped to meet Sybil alone. He was not disappointed, for as he walked down the path through the wilderness of shrubbery he caught sight of her near the summer house, stooping down in the act of plucking certain flowers that grew there. She, too, was dressed all in white, as he had seen his cousin on the previous day, but the difference struck him forcibly as he came up and took her outstretched hand. They had changed places and character one could almost have thought. Joe had looked so tired and weary so wilted, as they say in Boston, that it had shocked Ronald to see her, Sybil, who had formerly been so pale and cold, now was the very incarnation of life, delicate and exquisitely fine in every movement and expression, but most thoroughly alive. The fresh, soft color seemed to float beneath the transparent skin, and her deep eyes were full of light and laughter and sunshine. Ronald's heart leaped in his breast for love and pride as she greeted him, and his brow turned hot, and his hands cold in the confusion of his happiness. You have been away again, she asked presently looking down at the wild white lilies which she had been gathering. Yes, I was in Boston yesterday, answered Ronald, who had immediately begun to help in plucking the flowers. I went to see Joe. She looked dreadfully knocked up with the heat. Poor child! And so they talked about Joe in Boston for a little while, and Sybil sat upon the steps of the summer house on the side where there was shade from the hot morning sun, while Ronald brought her handfuls of the white lilies. At last there were enough, and he came and stood before her. She was so radiantly lovely as she sat in the warm shade with the still slanting sunlight just falling over her white dress. He thought her so superhumanly beautiful that he stood watching her without thinking of speaking, or caring that she should speak to him. She looked up and smiled, a quick, bright smile, for she was woman enough to know his thoughts. But she busied herself with the lilies and looked down again. Let me help you, said Ronald suddenly, kneeling down before her on the path. I don't think you can, very much, said Sybil demurely. You are not very clever about flowers, you know. Oh, take care! You will crush it. Give it back to me. Ronald had taken one of the lilies and was smelling it, but it looked to Sybil very much as though he were pressing it to his lips. He would not give it back. But held it away at arm's length as he knelt. Sybil made as though she were annoyed. Of course, said she, I cannot take it if you will not give it to me. Ronald gently laid the flower in her lap with the others.  Miss Brandon began Ronald and stopped. Well, said Sybil, without looking up. May I tell you something, he asked. That depends, said Sybil. Is it anything very interesting? Yes, said Ronald. There seemed to be something the matter with his throat all at once, as though he were going to choke. Sybil looked up and saw that he was very pale. She had never seen him otherwise than Ruddy before, and she was startled. She dropped the lilies on her knees and looked at him anxiously. Ronald suddenly laid his hands over hers and held them. Still she faced him. I am very unworthy of you. I know I am. But I love you very, very much. He spoke distinctly now and slowly. He was as white as marble and his fingers were cold and trembled as they held hers. For an instant, after he had spoken, Sybil did not move. Then she quietly drew back her hands and hid her face in a sudden convulsive movement. She too trembled and her heart beat as though it would break, but she said nothing. Ronald sprang from the ground and kneeled again upon the step beside her. Very gently his arms stole about her and drew her to him. She took one hand from her face and tried to disentangle his hold, but he held her strongly and whispered in her ear. Sybil, do you love me? Sybil made a struggle to rise, but it was not a very brave struggle, and in another moment she had fallen into his arms and was sobbing out her whole love passionately. Oh, Ronald, you must not! But Ronald did. Half an hour later they were still sitting side by side on the steps, but the storm of uncertainty was passed, and they had plighted their faith for better or worse, for this world and the next. Ronald had foreseen the event, and had hoped for it, as he never had hoped for anything in his life. Sybil had perhaps guessed it. At all events, now that the supreme moment was over, they both felt it was the natural climax to all that had happened during the spring. I think, said Sybil quietly, that we ought to tell my uncle at once. He is the only relation I have in the world. Oh yes, of course! said Ronald, holding her hand. That is, you know, I think we might tell him after lunch, because I suppose it would not be the right thing for me to stay all day after he knows. Would it? Why not? asked Sybil. He must know it soon, and you will come to-morrow. To-morrow and the next day, and the day after that, and always, said Ronald lovingly. But he will not like it, I suppose. Why not? asked Sybil again. Because I am poor, said Ronald quietly. You know I am not rich at all, Sybil dearest. We shall have to be very economical, and live on the place in Scotland, but it is a very pretty place, he added reassuringly. Sybil flushed a little. He did not know then that she had a fortune of her own. It was a new pleasure. She did not say anything for a moment. Do you mind very much, dearest? asked Ronald doubtfully. Do you think it would bore you dreadfully to live in the country? Sybil hesitated before she answered. She hardly knew whether to tell him or not, but at last she decided it would be better. No, Ronald, said she, smiling a little. I like the country. But you know we can live anywhere we please. I am rich, Ronald. You did not know it? Ronald started slightly. It was indeed an unexpected revelation. Really? he cried. Oh, I'm so glad for you. You will not miss anything then. I was so afraid. That evening Ronald telegraphed to Joe the news of his engagement, and the next day he wrote her a long letter, which was more remarkable for the redundant passion expressed than for the literary merit of the expression. It seemed far easier to write it, since he had seen her and talked with her about Sybil, not because he felt in the least ashamed of having fallen in love within six months of the dissolution of his former engagement with Joe, but because it seemed a terribly difficult thing to speak to anyone about Sybil. Ronald was very far from being poetical, or in any way given to lofty and medieval reflections of the chivalric sort, but he was a very honest fellow, loving for the first time, and he understood that his love was something more to be guarded and respected than anything that had yet come into his life, where it seemed almost un-gentlemanly to speak about it. When Joe received the intelligence, her satisfaction knew no bounds, for although she had guessed that the climax of the affair was not far off, she had not expected it so very soon. Had she searched through the whole of her acquaintance at home, and in America, she could have found no one whom she considered more fit to be Ronald's wife, and that alone was enough to make her very happy. But the sensation of freedom from all further responsibility to Ronald, and the consciousness that every possible good result had followed upon her action added so much to her pleasure in the matter that for a time she utterly forgot herself and her own troubles. She instantly wrote a long and sympathetic letter to Ronald and another to Sybil. Sybil replied at once, begging Joe to come and spend a month at Sherwood, or as much time as she was able to give. I expect you had best go, remarked Miss Schenectady. It is getting pretty hot here, and you look quite sick. Oh no, I am very well, said Joe, but I think I will go for a week or ten days. Well, if you find you are going to have a good time, you can always stay anyway, replied the old lady. I think if I were you I would take some books and a Bible and a pair of old boots. Miss Schenectady did not smile, but Joe laughed outright. A Bible and a pair of old boots, she cried. Yes, I would, said her aunt. Old Tom Sherwood cannot have seen a Bible for fifty years, I expect, and it might sort of freshen him up. The old lady's eye twinkled slightly, and the corners of her mouth twitched a little. As for the old boots, if you conclude to go, you will want them, for you will be right out in the country there. Joe laughed again, but she took her aunt's advice, and on the following day she reached Newport and was met by Sybil and Ronald, who conveyed her to Sherwood in a thing which Joe learned was called a carry-all. Late in the afternoon, when Ronald was gone, the two girls sat in an angle of the old walls, looking over the sea to eastward. The glow of the setting sun behind them touched them softly, and threw a rosy color upon Joe's pale face, and gilded Sybil's bright hair, hovering about her brows in a halo of radiant glory. Joe looked at her and wondered at the change love had wrought in so short a time. Sybil had once seemed so cold and white that only a nuns veil could be a fit thing to bind upon her saintly head. But now the orange blossoms would look better there, Joe thought, twined in a bride's wreath of white and green, of purity and hope. My snow angel, she exclaimed, the sun has melted you at last. Tell me the story of the snow angel, said Sybil, smiling. You once said that you would. I will tell you, said Joe, as well as I can remember it. Mama used to tell it to me years and years ago, when I was quite a small thing. It is a pretty story, listen. Once on a time, far away in the north there lived an angel. She was very, very beautiful, and all of the purest snow, quite white, her face in her hands, and her dress, and her wings. She lived alone, ever so far away, all through the long winter, in a valley of beautiful snow, where the sun never shown even in the summer. She was the most lovely angel that ever was, but she was so cold that she could not fly at all, and so she waited in the valley, always looking southward, and wishing with all her heart that the sun would rise above the hill. Sometimes people passed far down below in sledges, and she almost would have asked some one of them to take her out of the valley. But once, when she came near the track, a man came by and saw her, and he was so dreadfully frightened that he almost fell out of the sled. Sometimes, too, the little angels, who were young and curious, would fly down into the cold valley and look at her, and speak to her. Pretty angel, they would say. Why do you stay all alone in this dreary place? They forgot me here, she used to answer, and now I cannot fly until the sun is over the hill. But I am very happy, it will come soon. It was too cold for the little angels, and so they soon flew away and left her. And they began to call her the snow angel among themselves, and some of them said that she was not real, but the other one said she must be, because she was so beautiful. She was not unhappy, because angels never can be, you know. Only it seemed a long time to wait for the sun to come. But at last the sun heard of her, and the little angels who had seen her told him it was a shame that he should not rise high enough to warm her and help her to fly. So as he is big and good-natured and strong, he said he would try and would do his best, and on a midsummer's day he determined to make a great effort.  But at last, with a great, brave leap, he found himself so high that he could see right down into the valley, and he saw the snow angel standing there. And she was so beautiful that he almost cried with joy. And then, as he looked, he saw a very wonderful sight. The snow angel, all white and glistening, looked up into the sun's face, and stretched her arms towards him, and trembled all over. And as she felt that he was come at last and had begun to warm her, she thrust out her delicate long wings, and they gleamed and shone, and struck the cold, clear air. Then the least possible tinge of exquisite color came into her face, and she opened her lips and sang for joy, and presently, as she was singing, she rose straight upward with a rushing sound, like a lark in the sunlight, the whitest and purest and most beautiful angel that ever flew in the sky. And her voice was so grand and clear and ringing that all the other angels stopped in their songs to listen, and then sang with her in joy because the snow angel was free at last. That is the story Mama used to tell me long ago. And when I first saw you, I thought of it because you were so cold and beautiful that you seemed all made of snow. But now the sun is over the hill, Sibyl dear, is it not? Dear Joe, said Sibyl, winding her arm round her friend's neck and laying her face close to her. You are so nice. The sun sank suddenly behind them, and the eastern water caught the purple glow. It was dark when the two girls walked slowly back to the old house. Joe stayed many days with Sibyl at Sherwood, and the days ran into weeks and the weeks to months as the summer sped by. Ronald came and went daily, spending long hours with Sibyl in the garden and growing more manly and quiet in his happiness, while Sibyl grew ever fairer in the gradual perfecting of her beauty. It was comforting to Joe to see them together, knowing what honest hearts they were. She occupied herself as she could, with books and a few letters, but she would often sit for hours in a deep chair under the overhanging porch, where the untrammeled honeysuckle waved in the summer breeze like a living curtain, and the birds would come and swing themselves upon its tendrils. But Joe's cheek was always pale, and her heart weary with longing, and with fighting against the poor imprisoned love that no one must ever guess. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Bob Sage. An American politician by F. Marion Crawford. Chapter 21. The wedding day was fixed for the middle of August, and the ceremony was to take place in Newport. It is not an easy matter to arrange the marriage of two young people, neither of whom has father or mother, though their subsequent happiness is not likely to suffer much by the bereavement. It was agreed, however, that Mrs. Wyndham, who was Sybil's oldest friend, should come and stay at Sherwood until everything was finished. And she answered the invitation by saying she was perfectly wild to come. And she came at once.  And there is nothing easier than to render a great old-fashioned country mansion habitable for a few days in the summer, when carpets are useless and smoking chimneys are not a necessity. Mrs. Wyndham said that Sam would come down for the wedding and stay over the day, but that she expected he was pretty busy right now. By the way, she remarked, you know, John Harrington has come home. We must send him an invitation. The three ladies were walking in the garden before breakfast, hatless and armed with parasols. Joe started slightly, but no one noticed it. When did he come? Where has he been all this time? Asked Sybil. Oh, I do not know. He came down to see Sam the other day at our place. He seems to have taken to business. They talked about the Monroe Doctrine and the Panama Canal and all kinds of things. Sam says somebody has died and left him money. Anyway, he seems a good deal interested in the canal. Mrs. Wyndham chatted on, planning with Sybil the details of the wedding. The breakfast was to be at Sherwood and there were not to be many people. Indeed, the distance would keep many away. A fact for which no one of those principally concerned was at all sorry. John Harrington, sweltering in the heat of New York and busier than he had ever been in his life, received an engraved card to the effect that Mr. Thomas Sherwood requested the pleasure of Mr. Harrington's company at the marriage of his grandniece, Mrs. Sybil Brandon, to Mr. Ronald Serbeton at Sherwood on the 15th of August. There was also a note from Mrs. Wyndham saying that she was staying at Sherwood and that she hoped John would be able to come. And John, of course, had heard of the engagement, but he had not suspected that the wedding would take place so soon. In spite of his business, however, he determined to be present. A great change had come over his life since he had bid Joe goodbye six months earlier. He had been called to London as he had expected and had arrived there to find that Z was dead and that he was to take his place in the council. The fiery old man had died very suddenly, having worked almost to his last hour in spite of desperate illness. But when it was suspected that his case was hopeless, John Harrington was warned that he must be ready to join the survivors at once. In the great excitement and amidst the constant labor of his new position, the past seemed to sink away to utter insignificance. His defeat, his previous exertions, the short, sharp struggle for the Senatorship ending in defeat, the hopes and fears of ten years of a most active life were forgotten and despised and the realization of what he had so long and so ardently desired. And now, at last, he saw that his dreams were no impossibility and that his theories were not myths. But he knew also that with all his strength and devotion and energy he was as yet no match for the two men with whom he had to do. Their vast experience of men and things threw his own knowledge into shade and, cool as he was in emergencies, he recognized that the magnitude of the matters they handled astonished and even startled him more than he could have believed possible. Years must elapse before he understood what seemed as plain as the day to them and he must fight many desperate battles before he was their equal. But the determination to devote his life wholly and honestly to the one object for which a man should live had grown stronger than ever. In his exalted view, the ideal Republic assumed grand and noble proportions and already overshadowed the whole earth with the glory of honor and peace and perfect justice. Before the advancing tide of a spotless civilization, all poverty, all corruption and filthiness, all crime, all war and corroding seeds of discord were swept utterly away and washed from the world, to leave only forever and ever the magnificent harmony of nations and peoples wherein none of those vile, base and wicked things should even be dreamed of or so much as remembered. He thought of Joe sometimes, wondering, rather vaguely, why she had acted as she had and whether any other motive than pure sympathy with his work had made her resent so violently Vancouver's position towards him. It was odd, he thought, that an English girl should find such extreme interest in American political doings, and then the scene in the dim sitting room during the ball came vividly back to his memory. It was not in his nature to fancy that every woman who was taken with a fit of coughing was in love with him. But the conviction formed itself in his mind that he might possibly have fallen in love with Joe if things had been different. As it was, he had put away such childish things and meant to live out his years of work with their failure or success without love and without a wife. He would always be grateful to Joe, but that would be all. And he would be glad to see her whenever an opportunity offered, just as he would be glad to see any other friend. In this frame of mind he arrived in Newport on the morning of the wedding and reached the little church among the trees just in time to witness the ceremony. It was not different from other weddings, except perhaps that the place where the high church portion of Newport elects to worship is probably smaller than any other consecrated building in the world. Every seat was crowded, and it was with difficulty that John could find standing room just within the door. The heat was intense, and the horses that stood waiting in the avenue sweated in the sun as they fought the flies and poured the hard road in an agony of impatience. Sybil was exquisitely lovely as she went by on old Mr. Sherwood's arm. The old gentleman had consented to assume a civilized garb for once in his life and looked pleased with his aged self as well he might be, seeing that the engagement had been made under his roof. Then Ronald passed, paler than usual, but certainly the handsomest man present, carrying himself with a new dignity as though he knew himself a better man than ever in being found worthy of his beautiful bride. It was soon over, and the crowds streamed out after the bride and bridegroom. Hello, Harrington! How are you? said Vancouver, overtaking John as he turned into the road. You had better get in with me and drive out. I have not seen you for an age. John stood still and surveyed Vancouver with a curiously calm air of absolute superiority. Thank you very much, he answered civilly. I have hired a carriage to take me there. I daresay we shall meet. Good morning. John had been to sure with some years before, but he was surprised at the change that had been wrought in honour of the marriage. The place looked inhabited, the windows were all open, and the paths had been weeded, though civil had not allowed the wild shrubbery to be pruned, nor the box hedges to be trimmed. She loved the pathless confusion of the old grounds, and most of all, she loved the dilapidated summer house. John shook hands with many people that he knew. Mrs. Windham led him aside a little way. Is it not just perfectly splendid? she exclaimed. They are so exactly suited to each other. I feel as if I had done it all. You are not at all enthusiastic. On the contrary, said John, I am very enthusiastic. It is the best thing that could possibly have happened. Then go and do likewise, returned Mrs. Sam, laughing. Then she changed her tone. There is a young lady here who will be very glad to see you.  Who is that? A young lady over there, close to Sibyl, dressed in white with roses. Don't you see?  There, the second on the left. Do you mean to say that is Miss Thorn, exclaimed John, in much surprise, and looking where Mrs. Sam directed him? Good heavens! How she has changed! Yes, she has changed a good deal, said Mrs. Windham, looking at John's face. I hardly think I should have known her, said John. She must have been very ill. What has been the matter? The matter? Well, perhaps if you will go and speak to her, you will see what the matter is, answered Mrs. Sam enigmatically. What do you mean, John looked at his companion in astonishment? I mean just exactly what I say. Go and talk to her, and cheer her up a little. She dropped her voice and spoke close to Harrington's ears. No one else in the world can, she added. John's impulse was to answer Mrs. Windham sharply. What possible right could she have to say such things? It was extremely bad taste, if it was nothing worse, even with an old friend like John, but he checked the words on his lips and spoke coldly. It is not fair to say things like that about any girl, he answered. I will certainly go and speak to her at once, and if you will be good enough to watch, you will see that I am the most indifferent of persons in her eyes. Very well, I will watch, said Mrs. Windham, not in the least disconcerted. Only take care! John smiled quietly and made his way through the crowd of gaily dressed laughing people to where Joe was standing. She had not yet caught sight of him, but she knew he was in the room, and she felt very nervous. She intended to treat him with friendly coolness as a protest against her conduct in former days. Poor Joe, she was very miserable. But she had made a brave effort.  How do you do, Miss Thorn? said John very quietly. It is a long time since we met. Joe put her small, cold hand in his, and it trembled so much that John noticed it.  Yes, she said in a low voice, it is a long time. She felt herself turn red and then pale, and as she looked away from John, she met Mrs. Windham's black eyes turned full upon her in an inquiring way. She started as though she had been caught in some wrong thing, but she was naturally brave, and after the first shock she spoke to John more naturally. We seemed destined for festivities, Mr. Harrington, she said, trying to laugh. We parted at a ball, and we meet again at a wedding. It is always more gay to meet than to part, answered John. I think this is altogether one of the gayest things I ever saw. What a splendid fellow your cousin is. It does one good to see men like that. Yes, Ronald is very good-looking, said Joe.  Any man ought to be who marries such a woman, said John. By the bye he added with a smile. Vancouver takes it all very comfortably, does he not? I would like to know what he really feels. I am not sure that whatever it is it is something bad, said Joe.   I simply despise him. That is all. No, I do not hate him either, answered John. I would not disturb my peace of mind for the sake of hating anyone. It is not worthwhile. Someone came and spoke to Joe, and John moved away in the crowd, more disturbed in mind than he cared to acknowledge. He had gone to Joe's side in the firm conviction that Mrs. Wyndham was only making an untimely jest, and that Joe would greet him indifferently. Instead, she had blushed, turned paler, hesitated in her speech, and had shown every sign of confusion and embarrassment. He knew that Mrs. Wyndham was right, after all, and he avoided her, not wishing to give a fresh opportunity for making remarks upon Joe's manner. The breakfast progressed, and the people wandered out into the garden from the hot rooms, seeking some coolness in the shady walks. By some chain of circumstances, which John could not explain, he found himself left alone with Joe an hour after he at first met her in the house. A little knot of acquaintances had gone out to the end of one of the walks, where there was a shady old bower, and presently they had peered off and moved away in various directions, leaving John and Joe together. The excitement had brought the faint color to the girl's face at last, and she was more than usually inclined to talk, partly from nervous embarrassment, and partly from the enlivening effect of so many faces she had not seen for so long. "'Tell me,' she said, pulling a leaf from the creepers and twisting it in her fingers, "'tell me, how long has it been before you forgot your disappointment about the election, or did you think it was not worth while to disturb your peace of mind for anything so trivial?' "'I suppose I could not help it,' said John. I was dreadfully depressed at first. I told you so. Do you remember?' "'Of course you were. And I was very sorry for you. I told you you would lose it long before. But you do not seem to care in the least now. I do not understand you at all.' "'I soon got over it, said John. I left Boston on the day after I saw you, and went straight to London, and then I found that a friend of mine was dead. And I had so much to do that I forgot everything that had gone before. Joe gave a little sigh, short and sharp, and quickly checked. You have a great many friends. Have you not?' she said. "'Yes, very many. A man cannot have too many of the right sort. "'I do not think that you and I mean the same thing by friendship,' said Joe. I should say one cannot have too few. I mean friends who will help you at the right moment, that is, when you ask help. Surely it must be good to have many. Everything that you do and say always turns to one and the same end,' said Joe, a little impatiently. The one thing you live for is power and the hope of power. Is there nothing in the world worthwhile save that? Power itself is worth nothing. It is the thing one means to get with it that is the real test. But of course. But tell me, is anything you can obtain by all the power the world holds better than the simple happiness of natural people who are born and live good lives and fall in love and marry and that sort of thing and are happy and die?' Joe looked down and turned the leaf she held in her fingers as she stated her proposition. John Harrington paused before he answered. A moment earlier he had been as calm and cold as he was wanted to be. Now he suddenly hesitated.  His fingers rung each other fiercely for a moment. He looked away at the trees. He turned to Josephine Thorn. And then once more he gazed at the dark foliage motionless in the hot air of the summer's afternoon. Yes, he said, I think there are things much better than those in the world. But his voice shook strangely and there was no true ring in it. Joe sighed again. In the distance she could see Ronald and Sybil as they stood under the porch shaking hands with the departing guests. She looked at them so radiant and beautiful with the fulfilled joy of a perfect love and she looked at the stern strong man by her side whose commanding face bore already the lines of care and trouble and who, he said, had found something better than the happiness of yonder bride and bridegroom. She sighed and she said in her woman's heart that they were right and that John Harrington was wrong. Come, she said, rising and her words had a bitter tone. Let us go in. It is late. John did not move. He sapped like a stone, paler than death, and said no word in answer. Joe turned and looked at him as though wondering why he did not follow her. She was terrified at the expression in his face. Are you not coming? She asked, suddenly going close to him and looking into his eyes. End of chapter 21 Chapter 22 of an American politician. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Bob Sage. An American politician by F. Marion Crawford. Chapter 22 Joe was frightened. She stood and looked into Harrington's eyes, doubting what she should do, not understanding what was occurring. He looked so pale and strange as he sat there that she was terrified. She came a step nearer to him and tried to speak. What is the matter, Mr. Harrington? She stammered. Speak! You frighten me. Harrington looked at her for one moment more, and then, without speaking, buried his face in his hands. Joe clasped her hands to her side in a sudden pain. Her heart beat as though it would break, and the scene swam round her in the hot air. She tried to move another step towards the bench, and her strength almost failed her. She caught at the lattice of the old summer house, still pressing one hand to her breast. The rotten slabs of the woodwork cracked under her light weight.  In another moment she sank down upon the bench beside John and sat there, staring vacantly out at the sunlight. Harrington felt her gentle presence close to him, and at last looked up. Every feature of his strong face seemed changed in the convulsive fight that rent his heart and soul to their very depths. The enormous strength of his cold and dominant nature rose with tremendous force to meet and quell the tempest of his passion and could not. Dark circles made heavy shadows under his deep set eyes, and his even lips, left colorless and white, were strained upon his clenched teeth. God help me! I love you! That was all he said, but in his words the deep agony of a mortal struggle rang strangely, the knell of the old life and the birth chime of the new. One by one the words he had never thought to speak fell from his lips distinctly. The oracle of the heart answered the great question of fate in its own way.  As John spoke she tried to lift her head and struggled to put out her hand, but could not. As the shadows steel at evening over the earth, softly closing the flowers and touching them to sleep, silently and lovingly, in the promise of a bright waking, so as she sat there her eyelids drooped and the light faded gently from her face. Her lips parted a very little and with a soft, breathed sigh she sank into unconsciousness. John Harrington was in no state to be surprised or startled by anything that happened. He saw, indeed, that she had fainted, but with the unerring instinct of a great love he understood.  In a few moments he had passed completely from the old life to a life which he had never believed possible, but which had nevertheless been long present with him. He knew it and felt it, quickly realizing that for the first time since he could remember he was holy and perfectly happy. He was a man who had dreamed of all that is noble and great for a man to do, who had consecrated his every hour and minute to the attainment of his end, and though his aim was in itself a good one, the undivided concentration which the pursuit of it required had driven him into a state outwardly resembling extreme egotism. He had loved his own purpose as he had loved nothing else, and as he had been persuaded that he could love nothing else in the world, now suddenly he knew his own heart. There is something beyond mere greatness, beyond the pursuit of even the highest worldly aims. There is something which is not a means to the attainment of happiness, which is happiness itself. It is an inner sympathy of hearts and souls and minds, a perfect union of all that is most worthy in the natures of man and woman. It is a plant so sensitive that a breath of unkindness will hurt it and blight its beauty, and yet it is a tree so strong that neither time nor tempest can overthrow it when it has taken root. And if you tear it out and destroy it, the place where it grew is as deep and as wide as a grave. It is a bond that is as soft as silk and as strong as death, binding hearts, not hands. So long as it is not strained a man will hardly know that he is bound, but if he would break it he will spend his strength in vain and suffer the pains of hell, for it is the very essence and nature of a true love that it cannot be broken. With such men as John Harrington, love at first sight is an utter impossibility. The strong, dominant aspirations that lead them are a light too brilliant to be outshone by any sudden flash of hot passion. Love, when it comes to them, is of slow growth but enduring in the same proportion as it is slow, identifying itself by degrees so small that a man himself is unconscious of it, with the deepest feelings of the heart and the highest workings of the intellect. It steals silently into the soul and the guys of friendship, asking nothing but loyal friendship in return, in the appearance of kindness which asks but a little gratitude in the semblance of a calm and passionless trustfulness, demanding only a like trust as its equivalent pledge, a like faith as a gauge for its own, an equal measure of charity for an equal, and so love builds himself a temple of faith and charity and trust and kindness and honest friendship, and rejoices exceedingly in the whole goodness and strength and beauty of the place where he will presently worship. When that day comes, he stands in the midst and kindles a strong, clear flame upon the altar, and the fire burns and leaps and illuminates the whole temple of love, which is indeed the holy of holies of the temple of life. John Harrington, through five and thirty years of his life, had believed that the patient labor of a powerful intellect could suffice to a man in its results for the attainment of all that humanity most honors, even for the wise and unerring government of humanity itself. So to that end and in that belief he had honestly given every energy he possessed and had sternly choked down every tendency he felt in his inner nature toward a life less intellectual and more full of sympathy for the affairs of individual mankind. With him to be strong was to be cold, to be warm was to be weak and subject to error. A supreme devotion to his career and a supreme disdain for all personal affections were the conditions of success which he deemed foremostly necessary. And he had come to an almost superstitious belief in the idea that the love of woman is the destruction of the intellectual man. Himself ready to sacrifice all he possessed and to spend his last strength in the struggle for an ideal, he had nevertheless so identified his own person with the object he strove to attain that he regarded all the means he could possibly control with as much jealousy as though he had been the most selfish of men. Friends he looked upon as tools for his trade and he valued them not only in proportion to their honesty and loyalty of heart but also in the degree of their power and intelligence. He sought no friendships which could not help him and relinquish none that could be of service in the future. But the world is not ruled by intellect, though it is sometimes governed by brute force and yet more brutal passions. The dominant power in the affairs of men is the heart. Humanity is moved far more by what it feels than by what it knows and those who would be rulers of men must before all things be men themselves and not merely highly finished intellectual machines. The guests were gone. No one had missed Harrington and Joe and Ronald and Sybil had gone into the house. They sat side by side in the little bower at the end of the long walk. Joe's fair head resting in her unconsciousness upon John's shoulder.  She drew gently away from him in a warm blush spread quickly over her pale cheek. She glanced down at her small white hands and they clasped each other convulsively. John looked at her. Suddenly his gray eyes grew dark and deep and the mighty passion took all his strength into its own so that he trembled and turned pale again but the words failed him no longer now. He knew in a moment all that he had to say and he said it. You must not be angry with me, Miss Thorn. He began. You must not think I am losing my head. Let me tell you now. Perhaps you will listen to me. God knows I'm not worthy to say such things to you but I will try to be. It is soon said, I love you. I can know more help loving you than I can help breathing. You have utterly changed me and saved me and made a life for me out of what was not a life at all. Do you think it is sudden? What is really to last forever must take some time and growing. I never knew till today I honored you and would have done everything in the world for you but I was more grateful to you than I ever was to any human being but I I thought when we met we should be friends just as we always were and instead of that I know that this is the great day of my life and that my life with all that it holds is yours now for always to do with as you will pray hear me out do not be afraid no man ever honored you as I honor you. Joe glanced quickly at him and then again looked down but the surging blood came and went in her face coursing madly in her pulses every beat of her heart crying gladness it is little enough I have to offer you said John his voice growing unsteady in the great effort to speak calmly there was something almost terrible in the strength of his rising passion it is little enough my poor life with its wretched struggles after what is perhaps far too great for me but such as it is I offer it to you take it if you will be my wife and give me the right to do all I do for your sake and for your sake only he stretched out his hand and took hers very gently but the strained sinews of his wrist trembled violently Josephine made no resistance but she still looked down and said nothing use me as you will he continued almost in a whisper I will be all to you that man ever was to a living woman do not say I have no right to ask you for as much I have this right that I love you beyond the love of other men so truly and holy I love you I will serve you so faithfully I will honor you so loyally that you will love me too say the word my beloved say that it is not impossible I will wait I will work I will strive to be worthy of you he pressed his white lips to her white hand and tried to look into her eyes but she turned away from him will you not speak to me will you not give me some word some hope I can never love you less whatever you may answer me yes or no but oh if you knew the difference to me pale as death John looked at Joe she turned to him very white and gazed into the dark gray depths of his eyes where the raging force of a transcendent passion played so wildly but she felt no fear only a mad longing to speak tell me for god's sake tell me John said in low trembling tones have I hurt you is it too much that I ask for one moment there was silence as they gazed at each other then with a passionate impulse Josephine buried her face in her hands upon John's shoulder oh she sobbed I love you so much I have loved you so long end of chapter 22


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