The old gentleman nodded.
"For you—and for Morgan."
Natalia lifted her head, suddenly.
"Uncle Felix," she cried, "will it mean a loss to him? Did he let his chance go for—for us?"
"I hope it will not be that way." Judge Houston looked away from her questioning eyes. "There was only one more speech. It was the one in which he was to meet his opponent. But that was nothing to him, Natalia. If you knew him as I do, you would realize that nothing counts with him when a friend calls for help."
Natalia clasped her hands, helplessly. When she spoke again her lips were trembling.
"I know, Uncle Felix, I know that. But I have no right to call him back from his work. If this should cause him to lose his election to Congress, it would be upon my hands. I have no right to wreck people's lives as I am doing. Already Mrs. Jervais' words are sinking heavily upon me—I can't forget them. Uncle Felix, what does it mean? Why has all this come to me? Is my race accursed—as she said?" She shrank closer to him, her hands seeking his for comfort. "It seems to me that I pray every moment. My lips are moving always in supplication. And yet—" her expression changed to one of intense fear—"I wonder sometimes if I know what I am praying for."
He looked down at her, puzzled at this sudden shrinking, his eyes seeking hers in explanation.
"I know you don't understand," she began again, in answer to his look. "I am not myself. Perhaps it has been too much for me to stand. But I dread something, Uncle Felix, something that is coming. I don't seem to have the strength for the duty that lies before me. It is not so much the outcome of the trial," she continued, calmer, "as what will come afterwards."
The old man pressed her hand sympathetically. "I know," he said thoughtfully. "That is a question that had to come to one of your nature. And the hardest part of it is that no one can help you; you must work it out alone. Only one thing can bring you back your happiness—Morgan and your love for him."