“Except Mr. Nicholas Trist! A beautiful
and accomplished lady, I doubt not, in his mind.”
“Yes, all of that, I doubt not.”
“And quite kind with her little gifts.”
“Elisabeth, I can not well explain all that
to you. I can not, on my honor.”
“Do not!” she cried, putting out her hand
as though in alarm. “Do not invoke your
honor!” She looked at me again. I have never
seen a look like hers. She had been calm, cold,
and again indignant, all in a moment’s time.
That expression which now showed on her face was one
yet worse for me.
Still I would not accept my dismissal, but went on
stubbornly: “But may I not see your father
and have my chance again? I can not let
it go this way. It is the ruin of my life.”
But now she was advancing, dropping down a step at
a time, and her face was turned straight ahead.
The pink of her gown was matched by the pink of her
cheeks. I saw the little working of the white
throat wherein some sobs seemed stifling. And
so she went away and left me.
SUCCESS IN SILK
As things are, I think
women are generally better creatures
than men.—S.T.
Coleridge.
It was a part of my duties, when in Washington, to
assist my chief in his personal and official correspondence,
which necessarily was very heavy. This work we
customarily began about nine of the morning. On
the following day I was on hand earlier than usual.
I was done with Washington now, done with everything,
eager only to be off on the far trails once more.
But I almost forgot my own griefs when I saw my chief.
When I found him, already astir in his office, his
face was strangely wan and thin, his hands bloodless.
Over him hung an air of utter weariness; yet, shame
to my own despair, energy showed in all his actions.
Resolution was written on his face. He greeted
me with a smile which strangely lighted his grim face.
“We have good news of some kind this morning,
sir?” I inquired.
In answer, he motioned me to a document which lay
open upon his table. It was familiar enough to
me. I glanced at the bottom. There were two
signatures!
“Texas agrees!” I exclaimed. “The
Dona Lucrezia has won Van Zandt’s signature!”
I looked at him. His own eyes were swimming wet!
This, then, was that man of whom it is only remembered
that he was a pro-slavery champion.
“It will be a great country,” said he
at last. “This once done, I shall feel
that, after all, I have not lived wholly in vain.”
“But the difficulties! Suppose Van Zandt
proves traitorous to us?”
“He dare not. Texas may know that he bargained
with England, but he dare not traffic with Mexico
and let that be known. He would not live
a day.”
“But perhaps the Dona Lucrezia herself might
some time prove fickle.”
