“Ah, poor child, don’t talk like that-cheer up—­there’s daylight ahead.  Don’t give, up.  You’ll have Laura again, and—­Louise, and your mother, and oceans and oceans of money—­and then you can go away, ever so far away somewhere, if you want to, and forget all about this infernal place.  And by George I’ll go with you!  I’ll go with you—­now there’s my word on it.  Cheer up.  I’ll run out and tell the friends the news.”

And he wrung Washington’s hand and was about to hurry away when his companion, in a burst of grateful admiration said: 

“I think you are the best soul and the noblest I ever knew, Colonel Sellers! and if the people only knew you as I do, you would not be tagging around here a nameless man—­you would be in Congress.”

The gladness died out of the Colonel’s face, and he laid his hand upon Washington’s shoulder and said gravely: 

“I have always been a friend of your family, Washington, and I think I have always tried to do right as between man and man, according to my lights.  Now I don’t think there has ever been anything in my conduct that should make you feel Justified in saying a thing like that.”

He turned, then, and walked slowly out, leaving Washington abashed and somewhat bewildered.  When Washington had presently got his thoughts into line again, he said to himself, “Why, honestly, I only meant to compliment him—­indeed I would not have hurt him for the world.”

CHAPTER LII.

The weeks drifted by monotonously enough, now.  The “preliminaries” continued to drag along in Congress, and life was a dull suspense to Sellers and Washington, a weary waiting which might have broken their hearts, maybe, but for the relieving change which they got out of am occasional visit to New York to see Laura.  Standing guard in Washington or anywhere else is not an exciting business in time of peace, but standing guard was all that the two friends had to do; all that was needed of them was that they should be on hand and ready for any emergency that might come up.  There was no work to do; that was all finished; this was but the second session of the last winter’s Congress, and its action on the bill could have but one result—­its passage.  The house must do its work over again, of course, but the same membership was there to see that it did it.—­The Senate was secure—­Senator Dilworthy was able to put all doubts to rest on that head.  Indeed it was no secret in Washington that a two-thirds vote in the Senate was ready and waiting to be cast for the University bill as soon as it should come before that body.

Washington did not take part in the gaieties of “the season,” as he had done the previous winter.  He had lost his interest in such things; he was oppressed with cares, now.  Senator Dilworthy said to Washington that an humble deportment, under punishment, was best, and that there was but one way in which the troubled heart might find perfect repose and peace.  The suggestion found a response in Washington’s breast, and the Senator saw the sign of it in his face.