ears that did not bring with it regretful thoughts of her.  And when at last success was certain, and, flushed with triumph, he stood receiving the congratulations of his friends, and the Olney bell was ringing in honor of the new governor, and bonfires were lighted in the streets, the same little boys who had screamed themselves hoarse for the other candidates, stealing barrels and dry-goods boxes to feed the flames with quite as much alacrity as their opponents, there was not a throb of his heart which did not go out after the lost one, with a yearning desire to bring her back, and, by giving her the highest position in the State, atone in part for all which had been wrong.  But Ethie was very, very far away—­further than he dreamed—­and strain ear and eye as she might, she could not see the lurid blaze which lit up the prairie till the tall grass grew red in the ruddy glow, or hear the deafening shouts which rent the sky for the new Governor Markham, elected by an overwhelming majority.  Oh, how lonely Richard felt even in the first moments of his success!  And how he longed to get away from all the noise and din which greeted him at every step, and be alone again, as since Ethie went away he had chosen to be so much of his time.  Melinda guessed at his feelings in part, and when he came home at last, looking so pale and tired, she pitied him, and showed her pity by letting him alone; and when supper was ready, sending his tea to his room, whither he had gone as soon as his mother had unwound her arms from his neck, and told him how glad she was.

These were also days of triumph for Melinda, for it was soon known that she was to be the lady of the governor’s mansion, and the knowledge gave her a fresh accession of dignity among her friends.  It was human that Melinda should feel her good fortune a little, and perhaps she did.  Andy thought so, and prayed silently against the pomps and vanities of the world, especially after her new purple silk was sent home, with the handsome velvet cloak and crimson morning gown.  These had been made in Camden, a thing which gave mortal offense to Miss Henry, the Olney dressmaker, who wondered “what Melinda Jones was that she should put on such airs, and try to imitate Mrs. Richard Markham.”  They had expected such things from Ethelyn, and thought it perfectly right.  She was born to it, they said; but for Melinda, whom all remembered as wearing a red woolen gown when a little girl, “for her to set up so steep was another matter.”  But when Melinda ordered a blue merino, and a flannel wrapper, and a blue silk, and a white cloak for baby, made at Miss Henry’s, and told that functionary just how her purple was trimmed, and even offered to show it to her, the lady changed her mind, and quoted “Mrs. James Markham’s” wardrobe for months afterward.