“Morgan—is it true?” she gasped.
“I’m afraid I must plead guilty to the indictment. I didn’t dream of accepting the honor, but, you see, they were so very urgent, under the belief that I had been of some little assistance in the capture of the citadel, that I was overwhelmed.”
“Some little assistance? Madam, he is too modest by long odds; why, he carried the whole business by the might of his valor, and made the most gallant charge I ever saw or heard of, barring none—why, the whole city resounds with his praise, and there was no other choice for the presidency after Toreado went down; they demanded it, and public opinion is irresistible here as in the States.”
“Come, Mr. Secretary, you draw it too strongly,” I said, in expostulation; but, all the same, this fervid praise was as balm of Gilead to my soul, for Hildegarde’s face shone with ardent admiration.
Truly, my cup was running over, and the hour of my triumph at hand.
Perhaps I should have remembered that pride usually goes before a fall.
“Oh, Morgan, to think of you a president in a night! I must be dreaming,” she said, from the shelter of my arms, to which she had fled.
“Think how little I expected such a thing a few hours ago when in the alcalde’s old dungeon. Liberty was then the height of my ambition, and I would have laughed any one to scorn had they prophesied such a tremendous push up the ladder of fame. But this is a wonderful country, my dear, and men are made or unmade in an hour. It’s philosophy to take things as they come. Honors are fleeting—some day it will be ex-president with me, and perhaps we’ll be making a bolt for the border.”
I might have said more in this vein, but I saw that it worried her, and no matter what anxieties might loom above the horizon. I felt that I had no right to burden her with them.
Anyhow, she seemed very proud to have a president for a husband; it was an experience few women may enjoy.