"It is closed for repairs," the driver had said--a falsehood.
When Esther reached the station the train had left. She had returned to her home to wait in dire anxiety until her husband should reach Washington. She had written a long letter unfolding her heart to him.
"Come back to me, my darling," she said in that letter, "and see how happy we shall be! Let the politics go; that killed Davy and makes us all so unhappy. You were made for something nobler. Let us go to Europe once more. Let us seek out the places where you and I have met in the past."
It had seemed too cold.
"I love you, I love you. I shall die without you! Come home to me and save me! I love you, I love you!"
So she had written for a page, and was satisfied.
If she might telegraph it! No! only advertisers and divorced people did that. She must wait.
He would not reply. He would come.
The newspaper announces the arrival of the congressman-elect at the White House. He had left almost immediately for the West.
Then he will not get the letter!