“In neither respect, sir, has it lost its reputation.”

Major Edward made a gesture of acquiescence.  “I dare say not, sir, I dare say not.  I am told that Republicans flock here.  And Jacqueline is a beautiful woman.  Well, sir, why should not pilgrimages be made to Roselands as to Monticello?  You have begun to improve it.  Continue, and make the place a Garden of Eden, a Farm of Cincinnatus, a—­a—­what you will!  Dick thinks that you may not be in funds to plant and build as you desire.  If that is so, sir, either he or I might with ease accommodate you—­” He paused.

“I take your offer as it is meant,” said Rand, “and thank you both.  But my affairs are in order, and I am not straitened for money.”

The Major made a courteous gesture.  “It was but a supposition.  Well, Mr. Rand, why not?  Why not make the picture real that we are painting?  Eminent in public affairs—­eminent in the law—­ay, there, sir, I will praise you unreservedly.  You are a great lawyer—­worshipped by your party and in the line of succession to its highest gift, fixed in your state and county and happy in your home, rounding out your life with all that makes life worthy to be lived,—­

     “Honour, love, obedience, troops of friends.

“Is not the picture fair enough, sir?  There is in it no mirage, no Fata Morgana, no marsh fire.  You are a man of great abilities, with ample power to direct those inner forces to outward ends that shall truly gild your name.  Truly, sir, not falsely.  Gold, not pinchbeck.  Clear glory of duty highly done, not a cloudy fame whose wings are drenched with blood and tears.  Come, sir, come—­make an old man happy!” He dragged his chair nearer to Rand and held out his hand.

“I cannot accept the nomination for Governor, sir,” said Rand.  “There are various considerations which put it out of the question.  I cannot go into these with you.  You must take it from me that it is impossible.”

The Major drew back.  “That is final, sir?”

“That is final.”

There was a silence.  Rand sat, chin in hand, thoughtfully regarding his visitor.  Major Churchill, erect, rigid, grey, and arid, stared before him as though indeed he saw only snowy plains, fallen men, and a forlorn hope.  At last he spoke in a dry and difficult voice.  “You persevere in your intention of returning to Richmond and to your house on Shockoe Hill in November?”

“It is my plan, sir, to go to Richmond in November.”

“Immediately upon your return from over the mountains?”

Rand shot a glance at his interlocutor.  “Immediately.”

“These lands that you are going to see, sir—­they are not as far as the Washita?”

“No; they are not as far as the Washita.”  Rand sat upright and let his hand fall heavily upon the arm of his chair.  “That is a curious question, Major Churchill.”

“Do you find it so?” asked the Major grimly. “I should, were it asked of me—­so damned strange a question that it would not pass without challenge!  But then, I am not declining governorships nor travelling West.”