marry at sixteen and their sons at nineteen and twenty, I had safely survived my calf-love, had even run the seductive gantlet of the creole belles of New Orleans,—only to fall victim in my mature twenties to the first glance of this haughty Spanish señorita. What could I hope from one who doubtless regarded me as our Western girls regard the red Indian? I do not mean with the like horror, but with a like contempt.

Not alone was she a Spanish Catholic, to whom marriage with a heretic would mean little less than sacrilege,—she was the daughter of a Castilian family whose name implied kinship with one of the royal houses of France. I was a man without a grandfather, and, what gave me real concern, a citizen of a Republic which, in return for the carrying trade of the world, was grovelling at the feet of England and France, submissive to their contemptuous kicks.

True, Spain also bowed beneath the iron hand of Napoleon, but it was because of the might of that hand, and not, as with us, because of a willingness to endure shame rather than part with the commerce of which our humiliation was the price. Far better war and death than such barter of principles for gold!

As I thought of my abject countrymen I did not wonder that my lady had looked upon me with hauteur; and yet I could not but reflect on the graciousness of her thanks from the carriage window and that inscrutable glance at our last parting. Hope interpreted the glance to mean that she was heart-free and to be won by him who could stir her heart. Despair said that she had gone forever beyond my reach, to the far distant home of her uncle in New Spain. One answer to this last was the wild fancy that, could I but attain the leadership of the Western expedition, I might penetrate the wilderness and seek her out in the midst of her people.

At the height of my fantastic scheming, gossip at last enlightened me to the fact that my lady was yet in the city, stopping with a humble family of Catholics, and precluded from attendance at social functions by the absence of her uncle on a trip to Philadelphia.

Rumor added that the señor had gone to the old Capitol in company with Colonel Burr, who, having spent much time at the British Legation with Mr. Merry, the English Minister, had hurried North to confer with the Marquis de Casa Yrujo. But Rumor and Colonel Burr were old bedmates, and I gave little heed to the report at the time.

My interest was centred on the joyous news that the señorita was still in Washington, not upon the curious information that her uncle and Colonel Burr were supposed to have business with the Spanish Minister, who, though he had severed diplomatic relations with our Government some months since, yet lingered at Philadelphia.

Significant as should have been this report to one with my interests and information, I must confess that not even the mention of Señor Vallois drew second thought from me. For the time being my whole intent was to find myself once more in the presence of the señorita. The question was how and where? She was not to be seen in society, and I was not quite so mad as to thrust myself in upon her at her retreat.

Hope flamed up again when all seemed darkest. As is well known to all people of information, the Sunday assemblage in the Hall of Representatives at the Capitol is frequently varied by the preaching of distinguished clergymen of various sects and denominations. Being rather given to Free Thought, though not to Atheism, I had thus far refrained from attending these quasi-official services, much as I had heard about them as the social levees of the city.

Chance, however, brought to Washington a noted Catholic bishop, and the announcement that he would preach the following Sabbath in place of the chaplain stirred me with the hope of a pleasant possibility. That Sunday I went early to the assemblage hall, dressed in my best attire, my chin swathed high enough by my pudding cravat to shame a London beau, my trousers cut to the most modish, baggy shape and flapping loosely about my shins.