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She left him to his trance for a moment, then seized both his hands in hers and cried to him in her rapturous, low voice: “Ah, Senator, you have come! I knew you understood!”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered chokily.

She drew him to one of the chairs and sank gracefully down upon the divan near him.

“Mr. Truslow was so afraid you wouldn’t,” she went on rapidly, “but I was sure. You see I didn’t want anybody to suspect that I had any influence with you. I didn’t want them to know, even, that I’d talked to you. It all came to me after the first day that we met. You see I’ve believed in you, in your power and in your reserve, from the first. I want all that you do to seem to come from yourself and not from me or any one else. Oh, I believe in great, strong men who stand upon their own feet and conquer the world for themselves! That’s your way, Senator Rawson. So, you see, as they think I’m lobbying for the bill, I wanted them to believe that your speech for it to-morrow comes from your own great, strong mind and heart and your sense of right, and not from any suggestion of mine.”

“My speech!” he stammered.

“Oh, I know,” she cried; “I know you think I don’t believe much in speeches, and I don’t ordinarily, but a few, simple, straightforward and vigorous words from you, to-morrow, may carry the bill through. You’ve made such progress, you’ve been so reserved, that you’ll carry great weight–and there are three votes of the drains and dikes that are against us now, but will follow yours absolutely. Do you think I would have ‘cut’ you if it hadn’t been best?“

“But I–“

“Oh, I know you didn’t actually promise me to speak, that day. But I knew you would when the time came! I knew that a man of power goes over all obstacles, once his sense of right is aroused! I knew–I never doubted it, that once you felt a thing to be right you would strike for it, with all your great strength–at all costs–at all–“

“I can’t–I–I–can’t!” he whispered nervously. “Don’t you see–don’t you see–I–“

She leaned toward him, lifting her face close to his. She was so near him that the faint odour of her hair came to him again, and once more the unfortunate Senator from Stackpole risked a meeting of his eyes with hers, and saw the light shining far down in their depths.

At this moment the shadow of a portly man who was stroking his beard the wrong way projected itself upon them from the narrow, green entrance to the grotto. Neither of them perceived it.

Senator Josephus Battle passed on, but when Alonzo Rawson emerged, a few moments later, he was pledged to utter a few simple, straightforward and vigorous words in favour of the bill. And–let the shame fall upon the head of the scribe who tells it–he had kissed Mrs. Protheroe!

The fight upon the “Sunday Baseball Bill,” the next morning, was the warmest of that part of the session, though for a while the reporters were disappointed. They were waiting for Senator Battle, who was famous among them for the vituperative vigour of his attacks and for the kind of personalities which made valuable copy. And yet, until the debate was almost over, he contented himself with going quietly up and down the aisles, whispering to the occupants of the desks, and writing and sending a multitude of notes to his colleagues. Meanwhile, the orators upon both sides harangued their fellows, the lobby, the unpolitical audience, and the patient presiding officer to no effect, so far as votes went. The general impression was that the bill would pass.

Alonzo Rawson sat, bent over his desk, his eyes fixed with gentle steadiness upon Mrs. Protheroe, who occupied the chair wherein he had first seen her. A senator of the opposition was finishing his denunciation, when she turned and nodded almost imperceptibly to the young man.