She nodded gravely.  Aladdin took a long breath.

“Well,” he said finally, “I believe I love you well enough, Margaret, to hope that you get the man who will make you happiest.  I don’t know,” he went on rather gloomily, “that I’m exactly calculated to make anybody happy, but,” he concluded, with a quavering smile, “I’d like to try.”  They shook hands like the two very old friends they were.

“We’ll always be that, anyway,” said Margaret.

“Always,” said Aladdin.

“Mademoiselle!” Eugenie opened the parlor door and looked cautiously in, after the manner of the French domestic.

“What is it?” said Margaret in French.

Aladdin listened with intense admiration, for he did not understand a word.

“Monsieur does not carry himself so well,” said Eugenie, “and he asks if mademoiselle will have the goodness to mount a moment to his room.”

“I’ll go at once.”  Margaret rose.  “Papa’s worse,” she said to Aladdin.  “Will you wait?”

“I am so sorry,” said Aladdin.  “No, I can’t wait; I have to get out the paper.  I”—­he smiled—­“am announcing to an eager public what general, in my expert opinion, is best fitted to command the armies of the United States.”

“Of course there’ll be fighting.”

“Of course — and in a day or two.  Good-by.”

“Good-by.”

“I’ll come round later and inquire about your father.  Give him my love.”

Margaret ran up-stairs to her father’s room.  He was in great pain, but perfectly calm and collected.  As Margaret entered, the doctor went out, and she was alone with her father.

“Are you feeling badly, dear?” she said.

“I am feeling more easy than a moment ago,” said the senator.  “Bring a chair over here, Peggy; we must have a little talk.”

She brought a little upright chair and sat down facing him, her right hand nestling over one of his.

“The doctor,” said the senator, “considers that my condition is critical.”

“Papa”

“I disagree with him.  I shall, I believe, live to see the end of this civil riot, but I cannot be sure.  So it behooves me to ask my dear daughter a question.”  St. John asked it with eagerness.  “Which is it to be, Peggy?”

She blushed deeply.

“You are interested in Aladdin O’Brien?”

Her head drooped a little.

“Yes, papa.”

The senator sighed.

“Thank you, dear,” he said.  “That is all I wanted to know.  I had hoped that it would be otherwise.  Peggy,” he said, “I love that other young man like a son.”

“Peter?”

“I have always hoped that you would see him as I have seen him.  I would be happy if I thought that I could leave you in such strong young hands.  I trust him absolutely.”

“Papa.”

“Well, dear?”

“You don’t like Aladdin?”

“He is not steady, Margaret.”  The simple word was pregnant with meaning as it fell from the senator.