“’Hang ’em!’ cried the people. “‘No,’ says Tad, ’hang on to ’em.’

“And the boy was right.  That is what we intend to do,—­hang on to ’em.  And, Steve,” said Mr. Lincoln, putting his hand again on Virginia’s shoulder, “if you have the sense I think you have, you’ll hang on, too.”

For an instant he stood smiling at their blushes,—­he to whom the power was given to set apart his cares and his troubles and partake of the happiness of others.  For of such was his happiness.

Then the President drew out his watch.  “Bless me!” he said, “I am ten minutes behind my appointment at the Department.  Miss Virginia, you may care to thank the Major for the little service he has done you.  You can do so undisturbed here.  Make yourselves at home.”

As he opened the door he paused and looked back at them.  The smile passed from his face, and an ineffable expression of longing—­longing and tenderness—­came upon it.

Then he was gone.

For a space, while his spell was upon them, they did not stir.  Then Stephen sought her eyes that had been so long denied him.  They were not denied him now.  It was Virginia who first found her voice, and she called him by his name.

“Oh, Stephen,” she said, “how sad he looked!”

He was close to her, at her side.  And he answered her in the earnest tone which she knew so well.

“Virginia, if I could have had what I most wished for in the world, I should have asked that you should know Abraham Lincoln.”

Then she dropped her eyes, and her breath came quickly.

“I—­I might have known,” she answered, “I might have known what he was.  I had heard you talk of him.  I had seen him in you, and I did not know.  Do you remember that day when we were in the summer-house together at Glencoe, long ago?  When you had come back from seeing him?”

“As yesterday,” he said.

“You were changed then,” she said bravely.  “I saw it.  Now I understand.  It was because you had seen Mr. Lincoln.”

“When I saw him,” said Stephen, reverently, “I knew how little and narrow I was.”

Then, overcome by the incense of her presence, he drew her to him until her heart beat against his own.  She did not resist, but lifted her face to him, and he kissed her.

“You love me, Virginia!” he cried.

“Yes, Stephen,” she answered, low, more wonderful in her surrender than ever before.  “Yes—­dear.”  Then she hid her face against his blue coat.  “I—­I cannot help it.  Oh, Stephen, how I have struggled against it!  How I have tried to hate you, and couldn’t.  No, I couldn’t.  I tried to insult you, I did insult you.  And when I saw how splendidly you bore it, I used to cry.”  He kissed her brown hair.

“I loved you through it all,” he said.

“Virginia!”

“Yes, dearest.”

“Virginia, did you dream of me?”

She raised her head quickly, and awe was in her eyes.  “How did you know?”