“And you refused?”

“Yes.”

“But you could have been nominated!”

“Yes,” he admitted; “it is probable.  The conditions were chaotic.”

“Are you sure you have done right?” she asked.  “It has always seemed to me from what I know and have heard of you that you were made for positions of trust.  You would have been a better governor than the man they have nominated.”

His expression became set.

“I am sure I have done right,” he answered deliberately.  “It doesn’t make any difference who is governor this time.”

“Doesn’t make any difference!” she exclaimed.

“No,” he said.  “Things have changed—­the people have changed.  The old method of politics, which was wrong, although it had some justification in conditions, has gone out.  A new and more desirable state of affairs has come.  I am at liberty to say this much to you now,” he added, fixing his glance upon her, “because my father has resigned as counsel for the Northeastern, and I have just had a talk with—­Mr. Flint.”

“You have seen my father?” she asked, in a low voice, and her face was averted.

“Yes,” he answered.

“You—­did not agree,” she said quickly.

His blood beat higher at the question and the manner of her asking it, but he felt that he must answer it honestly, unequivocally, whatever the cost.

“No, we did not agree.  It is only fair to tell you that we differed —­vitally.  On the other hand, it is just that you should know that we did not part in anger, but, I think, with a mutual respect.”

She drew breath.

“I knew,” she said, “I knew if he could but talk to you he would understand that you were sincere—­and you have proved it.  I am glad—­I am glad that you saw him.”  The quality of the sunlight changed, the very hills leaped, and the river sparkled.  Could she care?  Why did she wish her father to know that he was sincere.

“You are glad that I saw him!” he repeated.

But she met his glance steadily.

“My father has so little faith in human nature,” she answered.  “He has a faculty of doubting the honesty of his opponents—­I suppose because so many of them have been dishonest.  And—­I believe in my friends,” she added, smiling.  “Isn’t it natural that I should wish to have my judgment vindicated?”

He got to his feet and walked slowly to the far edge of the rock, where he stood for a while, seemingly gazing off across the spaces to Sawanec.  It was like him, thus to question the immutable.  Victoria sat motionless, but her eyes followed irresistibly the lines of power in the tall figure against the sky—­the breadth of shoulder and slimness of hip and length of limb typical of the men who had conquered and held this land for their descendants.  Suddenly, with a characteristic movement of determination; he swung about and came towards her, and at the same instant she rose.