The Senator's Favorite

It was their first meeting since that night by the river, when she had torn herself from the fond arms that claimed her for his own and sent him back to renew his troth with her unhappy sister.

The memory of that moment rushed over both. They grew pale with emotion, and their voices faltered.

Precious had started to her feet, and was looking at him with dilated blue eyes. With an effort he returned to the present.

"I'm afraid I startled you entering so suddenly, but James told me to come in and wait, that he thought all the family were in."

"No, papa is at the capitol, and mamma and Ethel are out shopping. I expect them in at any moment. You will sit down and wait?"

She was not very cordial. She had not offered him her hand, but he sat down in a chair close to her, and Kay went over and fawned upon him in delight.

"My old friend is glad to see me again," he said, caressing the mastiff's great head with tender hands, and she smiled pensively and continued:

"I—that is we—were not expecting you so soon."

"The Paris made a quick trip—almost broke the record. She was not really due until to-morrow. I came immediately to Washington, hoping," reproachfully, "for a warmer welcome."

Something in his voice and eyes went to her heart. She colored painfully, and stammered:

"They will be here directly, and Ethel will be delighted to find you here."

"But—you, Precious—what a cold welcome you have given me, not even a touch of your little hand."

He saw her young bosom heave with secret emotion. The color came and went like the rosy dawn light on her cheek.

"I—I—beg pardon. I did not think," she faltered, with what seemed to him frosty courtesy. He burst forth bitterly:

"Perhaps my altered prospects have changed your esteem for me. Between the heir of an earldom and a poor man there is a vast difference. It can even alter friendship."

Precious looked at him in surprise and indignation, and answered quickly:

"Not friendship, only its imitation. Nothing can change true friendship, mamma says; but she has also told me that nothing is so rare in the world as imperishable friendship. But between true friends no change of fortune can make any difference."

Her earnest blue eyes were raised to his with sudden frankness as she confessed: "I did not offer you my hand because—I was not sure you felt any friendship for me. You—you parted from me in anger."

"I was mad with pain. Forgive me for my anger," he answered sadly, and added: "Permit me to refer to the past just once, and no more forever."

She bowed with drooping lashes, and he continued in a voice that was freighted with deep emotion:

"At that time, Precious, I was mad for your love, and friendship seemed so poor and tame beside it that I would have counted it as of little worth. But how times change!"

He drew a long, quivering breath, and continued:

"We have put the past behind us. You, they tell me, are to be another man's wife. I am to be your sister's husband. You will be my sister, and something within me yearns for your friendship. Next to love it is the sweetest, purest emotion of life. Like the edelweiss growing on the high, pure altitudes of the Alps, the rare white flower of friendship can only bloom in imperishable beauty in the congenial soil of a noble nature. Will you grant me this great boon, Precious—your life-long friendship?"

The eager, dark-gray eyes looked at her pleadingly, but their light was almost holy as he prayed for this place in her heart and life, to be remembered as a faithful friend rather than a disappointed lover.

"A place in thy memory, dearest,
Is all that I claim;
To pause and look back when thou hearest
The sound of my name.
Another may woo thee nearer,
Another may win and wear;
Although he may be the dearer,
Let me be remembered there!

"Remember me not as a lover
Whose hopes have been crossed,
Whose bosom may never recover
The light it hath lost.
As a young bride remembers the mother
She loves, but may never more see,
As a sister remembers a brother,
Oh, dearest, remember me!

"Could I be thy true lover, dearest,
Couldst thou smile on me,
I would be the fondest and dearest
That ever loved thee!
But a cloud on my pathway is glooming
That never must burst upon thine;
And Heaven that made thee all blooming
Ne'er made thee to wither on mine!"

Something like these beautiful, holy thoughts beamed in Lord Chester's eyes and thrilled in his voice as he spoke to Precious, and melted her heart to responsiveness. Deeply moved she held out her little hand to him, and he clasped it warmly in his own.

At that moment the portieres of the door again parted noiselessly, and Ethel stood like a picture framed between them.

"Arthur!" Ethel almost shrieked, and the clasped hands fell apart quickly, and the young pair sprang to their feet, each one crying confusedly:

"Ethel!"

At the same moment they moved toward her and Precious glided instantly from the room, believing the meeting of the betrothed lovers too sacred to be intruded on even by a sister.

Was there a silent, unacknowledged pain also at the bottom of her young, noble heart?

If there was she would not have owned it even to her own heart. She went to the library, took a new book and tried to lose herself in its fascinating pages.

Meanwhile Arthur, with a pang like death at his heart, went forward and took Ethel's hand while he stooped and kissed her crimson lips with a feigned warmth, inquiring gently:

"Are you surprised?"

"Very much so," she replied with a sarcastic intonation.

"At my early arrival, I mean?" he went on with a flush rising to his brow. Leading her gently to a seat he continued:

"The Paris made a very fast trip and I am here before you expected me. Are you glad, Ethel?"

He looked anxiously into her dark eyes. They were flashing angrily and her slender foot tapped the carpet vehemently. Not a word came from her crimson lips.