Her hands were lying loosely clasped in her lap.  Her head was leaning gracefully against the tree back of the settee.  She closed her eyes; gave my hand a responding clasp.  “Be my wife, Dorothy,” I repeated.  “Do you really love me?” she asked.  “With all my heart,” I said.  And I did.  It had come to me in that moment.  “Do you love me?” I asked.  “I have always loved you,” she replied.  “I have always admired you.  I have waited for you.  I did not expect you to come.  You see I am now twenty-seven.  I have not been able to care for any one else.  I could not marry you before; and I could not marry any one else in the interval.  Now I am very happy that you really love me.”  “I do love you, yes, Dorothy, I have always loved you.”

Dorothy sprang to her feet, clasping her hands and laughing.  “Let’s tell mother, come.”  “What?” I asked.  “Why, isn’t there something to tell?” “You haven’t promised to marry me.”  “Oh!” exclaimed Dorothy, “does it have to be by so many words?  Very well, yes.”  She took my arm and we ran to the house.  We burst upon Mrs. Clayton and told her.  “Oh, you children!” exclaimed Mrs. Clayton, half crying and half laughing.  “After all this delay.  I am so happy.”

She took me by the shoulders, looked at me, drew me to her, and kissed me.  “Come,” she said, “it’s time to go to the ‘Hermitage.’” And we got into the phaeton hitched to a gentle old horse which Dorothy drove.  We entered the “Hermitage” and saw Douglas and the company and the hero of New Orleans.

I presented Douglas to Mrs. Clayton and Dorothy.  Then we went forward to greet Jackson.  I was introduced to him and I saw Douglas taken into the arms of the great warrior and masterful President.

He was now in his 78th year, thin of face, spare of frame, his body all sinew and nerve, his eyes brilliant with unextinguished fire.  I loitered near to hear what he would say to Douglas.  He seemed to have a paternal pride in the young Congressman.  He entwined his arm with Douglas’, patted Douglas on the knee, looked into his brilliant and youthful face.  And after assuring Douglas that his whole life had been a devotion to the law, he expressed deep gratitude for Douglas’ defense.  “I have always had enemies,” he said.  “Now I am an old man and can do nothing for myself, and so I am thankful to you.”

The old hero’s voice shook, his hand trembled.  And Douglas looked down, glowing with pride and saying:  “I am proud to be your defender.  You are and always have been the object of my greatest admiration.”

Mrs. Clayton, with a woman’s tact, sought to relieve the tension of the moment.  She brought Dorothy and me to the General and said:  “General, my daughter has betrothed herself to this young man, Mr. Miles.”

Jackson was seated upon a sofa.  He arose, though with some difficulty, and taking Dorothy’s head between his hands, he pressed a reverential kiss upon her brow.  “I knew your father; he was a good man, a good friend.  Take my blessing.”  And to me he said:  “Mind that you are always a man with her and for her, and against all the world for her.  She is worth all your devotion.”