Fowler’s fine, tired face expressed incredulity mingled with bewilderment.

Enoch went on, “You and I are talking frankly as men rarely talk and as we probably never shall again.  So perhaps you will forgive me if I make some personal comments.  It seems to me that the only permanent satisfaction a man gets out of public life is the feeling that he has added in greater or less degree to the sum total of his country’s progress and stability.  I think your weakness is that you place yourself first and your country second.”

“No!” said Fowler, eagerly.  “You don’t understand me, Huntingdon!  My own aim in life is to make my service to my country compensate for the selfishness and foolishness of my youth.  My methods may, as you say, have been open to misinterpretation.  But God knows my impulses have been disinterested.  And you must realize now, Huntingdon, that it has been the business of certain people to see that you and I misunderstand each other.”

“That’s true,” said Enoch, thoughtfully.  “Well, I doubt if that is possible again.”

“It is absolutely impossible!” exclaimed Fowler.  “I am yours to command!”

“No, you’re not!” laughed Enoch.  “Brown is finished and you’re your own man.  I look for great things from you, Fowler.  I wanted to tell you that and to tell you that in me you have no rival.”

“No,” Fowler spoke slowly, “no, because no one can win, no one deserves to win the place in the hearts of America that you have.  Huntingdon, your kindness and courtesy is the most exquisite punishment you could visit upon me.”

Enoch looked quickly from the Secretary of State to the opposite wall.  But he did not see the wall.  He saw a crude camp in the bottom of the Canyon.  He heard the epic rush of waters and the sigh of eternal winds and he saw again the picture of Harden fighting his way up the menacing walls to rescue Forrester.  It seemed to Fowler that the silence had lasted five minutes before Enoch turned to him with his flashing smile.

“We are friends, Fowler, are we not?”

The older man rose and held out his hand.  “Yes, Huntingdon, as long as we live,” and he slowly left the room.

Enoch sank back on his chair, wearily, and opening the top drawer of his desk, took out the familiar envelope. The seal was still unbroken!  He placed it in a heavy document envelope, sealed this and wrote a memorandum on it, and dropped it on the desk.  Then for a long time he sat staring into the dusk.  At last, as if the full realization of the loneliness of his life had swept over him he dropped his head on his desk with a groan.

“O Diana!  Diana!”

He did not hear the door open softly.  Abbott with Ames just behind him, stood on the threshold.  The two young men looked at each other, abashed, and Abbott would have withdrawn, but Ames went doggedly into the room.

“Mr. Secretary!” he said, hesitatingly.