"I only know (through the papers) that he has been elected to Congress. About my still loving him, depends entirely on whether I have the right to do so; he may have given that to another," she replied, and called to her beautiful lips a sweet smile, to try to convince him, more than her words would, that she was content, whate'er her lot should be.
It is a few weeks after the meeting of Congress. All Washington is on the qui vive about the passage of the —— Bill, and the appeal to be made in its favor by the new member from ——.
Constance Lyle stands before her mirror. More than usual care has she bestowed on her toilet.
We will play eavesdropper, dear reader, just for once, and peep over her shoulder, to view the changes time has made. No longer the fresh, brilliant beauty of her youthful days. Constant confinement in the sickroom, care, and anxiety have faded the roses that used to bloom on her cheeks; but to us she is more charming, this pale beauty, with her gentle dignity, and sweet, patient look, than the bright, merry girl of years ago.
There is something about her which makes us think we would like ever to be near her, side by side, to pass on life's pathway, feeling sure her beauty would never wane, but wax purer and brighter as she neared her journey's end. Listen! She says:
"How strange my birthday should be the one for his speech! This day I shall see him for the first time for fifteen years. Yes, I am thirty-three to-day, and this is the anniversary of our parting!"
Leaving her room she is soon by her father's side.
"I'll have to go early, father, dear. It will be very crowded, and Gerald is waiting. His wife is going to stay with you during my absence."
"How well you look, my daughter! Why, really, you are getting young again!"
"This is my birthday, father. I am a maiden of no particular age to the public, but I whisper in your ear privately," she joyously said; and, suiting the action to the word, bent down, whispered, kissed him, and was gone.