University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XXXII.
WALTER'S DIPLOMACY IN PRISON.

Walter determined not to be importunate. He had obtained
many promises from the men in power—and if they had the
slightest regard for their honor, he could not be much longer
kept in suspense. For several days he did nothing but
attend Honoria, who seemed to demand more of his time than
ever, and to exert her blandishments to banish the idea he
entertained of leaving the city, in the event of a disappointment.

The first intimation that Walter had of the arrival of
Colonel Oakdale and Virginia, was from the newly-elected
senator himself. He was promenading along the avenue in
company with Honoria, when a carriage drove slowly by, from
which he heard his own name uttered, and the next moment
the colonel's head was thrust out of the window.

“How are you, Walter, my boy?” cried the colonel. “I
am sent for by the President, and will know why your name
has not been laid before the Senate. Why don't you come
and see us? We have been here two days. I would have
been in my seat last week, but I could not leave that flock of
partridges, in the old stubble field. Remember, mum's the
word about the woodcock! What are you hiding for, Virginia?
Come and see us, Walter. I have a great deal to tell you.
Good day. Now drive rapidly, Jarvie!” The next moment

the horses were flying along the avenue, and Walter did not
have an opportunity to utter a word in reply.

“That was Virginia,” said Honoria.

“No. It was Colonel Oakdale,” said Walter.

“I saw a green bonnet, and a beautiful little nose.”

“Then it was Virginia! I thought I heard him mention
her name. And she would not speak to me!”

“Her father did not give her an opportunity. What a
pity!”

“Why does she treat me thus? What have I done to
deserve it?”

“You have offended her, by your attentions to me. You
seem distressed.”

“I am melancholy. Has she not been attended to by that
son of a snob?”

“Oh, I suppose so! And are you not angry with her
for it?”

“Certainly not. But I will break his bones if he—
Pshaw! nonsense! I will see her to-day, or —”

“What?”

“Go home, and become a candidate for Congress at the
next election. And I will beat Plastic. Then the President
and his secretary shall hear my thunder!”

“You frighten me! Perhaps your nomination will be
decided to-day. Then you could not leave immediately.
And when you do leave, my old friend — will, I think,
rejoice!”

“Do you know he is my friend? He pledged me his word
this very morning, that he would vote for me even if I were
to avow myself an American, and a protestant. Think of
that, ye foreigners and papists!”

“I shall have to torture him! But here we are in front
of the hotel, and there is my senator to receive me from your
hands.”

Walter strode away, and walked in solitude an hour on
the common. Returning, he met one of the carriers of the
government newspaper, whom he had seen deliver the paper
at the hotel. From him he learned that the sheet was left at
Mrs. Z's, on F. strect, for the Honorable Mr. Oakdale, and
thither he repaired, supposing Virginia might have been put
down there by her father, or that they might have had time
to return from the presidential mansion.

Walter rang, and asked the boy for Colonel Oakdale.

“He has just left for the capitol. He merely stopped a
moment on his return from the President's.”

“Is Miss Oakdale in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give her that card, and say I should be happy to see
her.”

The boy disappeared, but returned in a few moments after
with an altered countenance.

“She says she is indisposed, sir—not ill, but—”

“What?” demanded Walter.

“I am sure I do not know, sir; but she ordered me to return
the card.”

Walter turned away abruptly in a whirl of contending
passions, and never paused until he sat down at the table in
his room. He wrote a most impassioned letter to Virginia,
imploring her to inform him what it was in his conduct which
had offended her. He declared most solemnly that his object
and purpose in cultivating the friendship of Mrs. Fimble—he
did not write Honoria—was solely to secure her co-operation
in obtaining his appointment, and—he confessed it—to gratify
his vanity in monopolizing as much of her attention as possible
in public, because the most distinguished men in the
Union were competing for her smiles. Nothing more, as
heaven was his witness! And he adjured Virginia to re-consider
her decision, and grant him an interview, when he
pledged himself to explain every thing to her satisfaction.
He likewise reminded her of his innocence when censured on
a former occasion, and declared, if she would only hear him in
his defence, he would again be vindicated in her estimation.

This letter he dispatched immediately, and directed the
servant to wait for an answer. He then joined Honoria in
her private parlor, where there were several senators and their
wives and daughters engaged in a lively conversation.

“Have you seen her?” asked Honoria, in a low tone,
when one of the ladies sat down to the piano.

“No—but I think I will, soon.”

“I doubt it,” said she, in a brief pause of the conversation,
which she had the faculty, it was said, of maintaining with
half a dozen at the same time, and on different subjects.

Presently the messenger made his appearance at the door
and sent in a letter to Walter.

“You may break the seal here,” said Honoria, in a side
speech.

Walter did so, and his own letter—the seal unbroken—fell
from the envelope. He stooped down and lifted it from the
floor.

“Stooping makes one's blood rush to the face,” said Honoria,
archly. “And afterwards the reaction produces a
paleness.”

“I am calm,” said Walter.

“And determined?”

“Ay, determined.” And seizing the first opportunity, he
locked himself up in his room and bestowed extraordinary
pains in the adornment of his person. He was determined
to appear in hilarious spirits at the secretary's reception that
night, where he would meet with Virginia and Honoria. He
would confide in his aged friend, the noble old senator, who
would not hesitate to co-operate with him in the execution of
his capricious scheme.

Twice he was startled by messages from Honoria, who
seemed to comprehend what had taken place, and perhaps
thought he might perpetrate some desperate deed. He sent
her word that so far from being ill, he was merely making his
toilet for the purpose of attending the secretary's party,
whither he hoped to be permitted to accompany her in Senator
—'s coach.

There were nearly seven hundred people at the secretary's
party, all crammed within a private mansion of the ordinary
size. But room was made every where for Honoria, who was
never separated far from Walter.

“Walter!” cried Col. Oakdale, who, with Virginia hanging
on his arm, confronted our hero in the midst of the saloon,
and that too when all eyes were on them, “you are the
luckiest of my constituents. Introduce me.”

Walter did so.

“Now, Virginia—where is she?” she had escaped, and
taken refuge with the secretary's lady, who perceived her embarrassment,
and came to her relief. “Well, my young
gentleman” continued the colonel, “if you do not obtain advancement,
with your good fortune and address, I am no
prophet. I congratulate you with all my heart.”

“I thank you, sir,” said Honoria.

“Why, I have only bowed to you. My speech was addressed

to the lucky fellow at your side. But the ladies,
somehow, continue to intercept all the compliments. Yet I
warn you to beware of the new rival. Do you not see the
crowd of adorers at the other end of the room? This young
gentleman, if there has been no rupture between them, of
which I know nothing —”

“Know Nothing?” iterated Honoria.

“Come, come, no politics with me. I abhor them. This
young gentleman, I say, will soon be bowing among her worshippers,
but not to perish there.”

“There is a prediction for you,” said Honoria to Walter,
when the colonel moved away.

“Alas, not to be fulfilled,” was the response.

Again, in the counter-currents of promenades Walter confronted
Virginia, and endeavored to speak to her, but in vain,
for she averted her face and laughed very heartily at some
remark of Mr. Ponsonby, the British Secretary of Legation.
And indeed almost the entire diplomatic corps seemed to follow
the new beauty whithersoever she moved; and a close
observer might have detected a slight elongation of the
features of Honoria, at the rapid progress of her rival. In
every direction she heard the praises of Virginia; and for the
first time during the gay season she perceived she was reigning
over a divided empire. Nevertheless she was not neglected
by the seekers of office, or the bestowers of it. The President
himself detained her several minutes, until he could
deliver a paragraph of praises; and there were ten or fifteen
senators engaged in the gallant enterprise of an attempt to
supplant her old beau.

Walter was particularly distinguished by the cordial salutations
of the chief executive officer, which he thought might
be interpreted as a good augury.

At length Honoria, whether really unwell as she alleged,
or conscious of being abandoned by half the multitude for
the superior blandishments of the new belle, was to remain
an unfathomable secret: but she quietly withdrew, and relinquished
the field to her competitor. And she insisted on
being accompanied by Walter, who was more active than the
aged senator, and might withdraw without incurring the imputation
of perpetrating a breach of etiquette. And when
he had deposited his charge at the hotel, to avoid a violation
of propriety, and to enable his senatorial friend to reach his

lodgings, it was necessary for him to return in the carriage to
the secretary's mansion.

Enfranchised from the captivating thraldom of Honoria,
Walter promenaded the halls and saloons in quest of Virginia.
He found her—but she would not recognize him. Yet he,
who knew her so well, and could read her countenance so accurately,
did not fail to perceive that her mind was troubled,
and that her heart was ill at ease, even under the incessant
flow of Ponsonby's flatteries. And Ponsonby, although the
son of an Earl, inspired no fears in his bosom. Ponsonby was
but a noble in Great Britain—Winkle a sovereign in America.

But Winkle retraced his steps, alone, to his hotel, while
Ponsonby conducted to her home the senator's lovely daughter.
And Walter passed an uneasy night in a boundless sea
of conjecture, endeavoring in vain to foresee the end and
consummation of the drama in which he felt he was one of
the principal actors.

The next morning, as usual, he was summoned to appear
before Honoria in her parlor. She stood beside her mirror,
pale, and a tear glistening in her eye.

“What has happened, Honoria?” demanded Walter, gravely,
and with some symptoms of impatience.

“Oh, it is outrageous!” said she. “They have deceived
you vilely. Read the paper. But restrain your anger.”

Walter ran his eye along the editorial column of one of
the government journals, and was surprised to find his own
name at the head of a paragraph, as follows:—

“Mr. Walter Winkle.—The public cannot have failed
to see this gentleman's name going the rounds of the press,
in connection with the appointment of a new consular agent
at the port of London. Whence the letter writers obtained
their information, it is not material to inquire. That all appointments
really made, first appear in the columns of the administration
papers, and Mr. W.'s name not having been transmitted
to us, is alone a sufficient contradiction of the rumor.
But we deem it proper to say, that the fact of Mr. W. being
one of the fraternity of N. A.'s, so generally hostile to the
administration, would render it both impolitic for the President
to bestow, and, under the circumstances, in our opinion
dishonorable in Mr. W. to receive, any such mark of distinction.
It is not, therefore, at all probable his name will be

transmitted to the Senate by the present incumbent of the
presidential office.”

“I entreat you to restrain any violent passion that
may—”

“I am perfectly calm,” said Walter smiling. “I am glad
the mists have broken away at last, and I can see the land.—
I rejoice at it. I will be guilty of no such extravagance as
the outburst of violent passion you seem to have anticipated.
The man of imperturbable deliberation is the most dangerous
—and I feel that they have roused an enemy whose resources
they have had no means of correctly estimating. Do you
know that one of the creatures of the Executive once intimated
that I might render a service to the administration by
fighting a duel with the editor of the American journal? I
thank him for that word!”

“I did not suggest it—I did not sanction it.”

“No one could suppose such a thing, Honoria. But in that
case there was no provocation. In this—”

“There is insult and injury! It cannot be denied—it
cannot be concealed!”

“True—very true. You will not betray me, Honoria?
You will grant this my earnest request, that you will not thwart
my just intention to demand satisfaction? You are silent.
Why should you interfere? All hope of my appointment is
at an end. The paragraph was written at the White House.
This business with the editor alone detains me in the District
—and we may never meet again. As my last request, I ask
that you will not interfere.”

“I will not.”

“I thank you. Remain at home to-day.”

“I will.”

Walter withdrew to his chamber, and wrote as follows to
the editor:

“Sir:—The article in your paper in reference to myself,
being evidently prepared with no design of future explanation
and amicable adjustment, there is no other alternative left me
but to demand the satisfaction which every gentleman has a
right to require of the one who has injured him. This it is
my intention to do, as soon as I arrive at Bladensburg, which
will be as quickly as the fleetest horses I can procure may
transport me thither; and whither you will doubtless likewise
repair without delay.”

This note was despatched by one of the servants of the
hotel to the office of the editor, with directions to wait for
an answer. Walter intended to escape from the District before
consulting any friend, or even procuring weapons, relying
upon the chances of obtaining them after passing beyond the
limits of the jurisdiction of the authorities of the District.

But when he was in consultation with the book-keeper of
the hotel, in reference to a carriage, the messenger he had
sent to the printing office returned, accompanied by two officers
of the marshal, who immediately arrested our hero!

“You pronounce me your prisoner,” said Walter. “I have
no means of resistance, and must submit. But may I not
ask upon whose motion or information you proceed?”

“Certainly. The messenger placed the note in the hands
of the marshal himself.”

“Michael!” said Walter, “why did you act thus?”

“Sure I wouldn't say so handsome a gintleman going out
with nasty pistols to be shot!”

“Enough, sir! Gentlemen, do your duty; but beware you
do not transcend it.”

“We know the law, sir. You must come with us to the
magistrate's office.”

And Walter was not ignorant of the law, nor in doubt as
to his future course of conduct. He therefore asked and obtained
permission to spend a short time in his own chamber,
attended by an officer, while he arranged his trunk, as if for
its removal. He returned to the office of the hotel, paid his
bill, and left instructions for his baggage to be sent after him.
He then stepped into a hack with the officers, and they were
driven to the magistrate's office.

The news of the projected duel and the arrest of one of
the parties, soon spread over the city, and was immediately
circulated in both houses of Congress. So that before Walter
had been many minutes in the office of the magistrate, he
was surrounded by a large crowd of people, a majority being
his friends—at least they were Native Americans.

The magistrate, before whom the note, which fortunately
was not quite a challenge, was laid, stated that he had but one
course to pursue, and he could not hesitate to perform his
duty. The prisoner not having employed counsel, or offered
any reasons himself why it should not be supposed it was his
purpose to violate the law, it only remained for him to require

a bond with sufficient sureties for the maintenance of the peace
during the next six months. He would therefore fix the sum
at $5,000.

Many persons volunteered to become Walter's sureties,
and among them were Col. Oakdale and the editor of the
American journal.

“No, gentlemen,” said Walter, firmly. “I thank you;
but I must decline your kindness. I believe that the position
in which I find myself is the result of a conspiracy. Many
things which have occurred to my mind during the last few
minutes, induce the conviction that this whole proceeding is
in accordance with a premeditated purpose. My name has
been used in the papers without any agency on my part, and
the notoriety attending my presence in this city, has been entirely
the work of others. Those who have been instrumental
in bringing me hither, to subserve some purpose of their own,
must have anticipated the tenders of my friends to become
my securities in a bond to keep the peace. Now, believing,
I say, that this whole business is in pursuance of a plot, I am
not disposed to co-operate with my enemies in the fulfilment
of their objects. They have mistaken their man, and the result
may not be precisely such as they anticipated. I will
not give bail. I do not desire any friend to be my surety.
I will not even promise to maintain the peace, when I meet
with any of my enemies.”

“Then you will have to go to prison,” said the magistrate.

“I did not suppose the prison would have to come to me,”
replied Walter. But I hope your honor will provide me as
comfortable an apartment as may be consistent with duty.”

“That must rest with the keeper. I believe he is not hard-hearted.
But why you can desire to go there, when there is
an opportunity to avoid the incarceration, surpasses my power
of conjecture.”

“Doubtless it does. If my object were apparent, it would
cease to be a counter-plot. But no one, I think, will attribute
my conduct to any unworthy motive. I do not seek protection
from the assaults of my enemies, else these proceedings, if not
extrajudicial, would at least be supererogatory.”

Walter bowed to the officers who had conducted him from
the hotel, and signified his readiness to repair to the place of
confinement. He was driven to prison, and upon the representations
of the officers, was accommodated with a comfortable room.

Boozle, who had been present at the office of the magistrate,
hastened away to the President to announce the extraordinary
turn the affair had taken.

“Gone to prison!” exclaimed the President. “What does
he mean?”

“He declined giving his reasons, sir.”

“This will never do! It will produce such a commotion
in the city, and throughout the country, as no administration
can withstand. We shall be condemned! Sent to prison for
resenting such an assault in our paper, and after our promises!
It will never do! I shall have my southern friends battering
at the door. Confound the Jesuits! I hope none of them
hear me, however. But this is likely to become a serious matter.
Go to the secretary, Boozle, and beg him to come here.
Shortly afterwards the secretary made his appearance.

“Ah! This is a bad business of Winkle's,” said the President.
“It would have been better to have had him disposed
of in the Senate!”

“But he would have been confirmed,” said the Secretary.
“Our old friend had become so partial to the young fellow,
that he swore he would vote for him in defiance of every thing.”

“Even that would have been preferable; but why was he
assailed in the paper?”

“The paragraph was dictated by Mrs. Fimble herself, and
his arrest was her stratagem. But she never could have foreseen
that he would go to prison! She thought no doubt that
he would give security, and still walk the streets with her. In
short, that she was prolonging his abode in the city, which, I
believe, was particularly desired by her.”

“There may be something in that; for, instrument of the
Jesuits as she is, I doubt whether she could wantonly afflict
the handsome fellow whom she seems to delight in having continually
at her side, without some selfish motive at the bottom
of it. Well, I hope you will negotiate me out of the difficulty.
You have plenary powers, and she has beauty.”

“I will have him out of prison within forty-eight hours,
or there is no skill in diplomacy, or virtue in beauty.”

“And the latter is a controverted point. Good day,
sir.”

The secretary drove down to the hotel, and demanded an
interview with Honoria, but was denied! She was ill, really
ill, and could see no one. He then returned to his office, and

had a long consultation with Boozle, with whom he concerted a
plan of liberation.

Meantime the excitement in the city grew very intense.
An American was victimized. The son of a late member of
Congress, the author of the unique speech against the innovating
fanatics, the gallant beau, the chivalrous descendant of a
brave officer, was incarcerated in a vile prison! Every lady
who had seen him was a sympathizer, and the influence of the
ladies is never contemptible at the capital.

During the day more than a hundred persons called upon
the prisoner to express their concern, and to offer their services
in any way he might see proper to command them. But his
resolution was not to be shaken, and nothing could induce him
to comply with the prescribed forms of enfranchisment.

At night, not less than a dozen sumptuous repasts were
sent him, borne by servants in livery, which, after appropriating
to himself the beautiful bouquets that accompanied them,
he distributed among his fellow-prisoners in the other apartments.

He had lights, books, and a comfortable fire, for one of the
keepers was an American. But before he had plunged deeply into
a volume, Col. Oakdale was announced. Walter threw
down the book, and grasped the hand of his old friend.

“You seem comfortable here, Walter,” said the senator,
sitting in front of the cheerful fire and looking round.

“Quite so, colonel. But still it is a prison.”

“Yes. And I cannot imagine why you will persist in remaining
in it, when you might go forth.”

“It is a stroke of my diplomacy, colonel—and you will, I
think, in the end, admit it to have been a skilful one.”

“Gad, you have wine here. Who furnishes it? It is
good, too,” he continued, as he drank a glass.

“It is excellent. I do not know the generous donor. Every
hour something of the sort arrives, and from unknown hands.”

“Flowers, too! They come from some lady's hand.
Virginia must know it! But, Walter, she has a dreadful
headache to-night, and couldn't go to the party, and that is the
reason I came to spend the evening with you.”

“Did she request you to come?” asked the young man
quickly.

“No—not exactly. But when I said I was resolved to
come, she seemed something better.”

“And she did not object to it?”

“Object to it? Certainly not! Why do you grasp my
arm? Oh, there is some quarrel between you! Make it up,
make it up, and leave this place. Then kiss and be friends.
Roland is off the track, and you may improve your time. I
shall not forbid it. What! tears? Why, what the deuce is
the matter with the fellow?”

“I have been a fool. And she was too hasty.”

“Of course you have—of course she was. What else
could be expected? But I came to tell you of some fine shots
I made—”

“I could explain everything if she would but hear me—”

“Wouldn't she hear you? You know how far it is from
the old pear tree to the fence—”

“She would not see me—and she returned my letters.”

“I'll talk about that when I'm done. It was under the
pear tree. Dash was leaping briskly ahead when he nosed
the bird. He paused so suddenly that he turned a somerset!
But you are not listening—at least not enjoying my
tale. I will reserve it for another time. Now what about
Virginia?”

“I fear some one has been slandering me.”

“Pooh! A fit of jealousy. That's all. And no wonder,
for she has seen you gallanting the handsomest woman in the
city.”

“A lady wishes to see you,” said the keeper, who opened
the door.

“Gad, I am by no means positive that Virginia's suspicions
are groundless,” said the colonel.

“Then you may be convinced,” said Walter. “I do not
know who this lady is, do you, Mr. Keeper?”

“No, sir; she is veiled.”

“Go in to my little closet of a bed-room, colonel, where you
can see and hear every thing that passes. I am not afraid of
any thing being said or done, which Virginia herself might not
hear and see. Now admit the lady.”

She was ushered in by the keeper, who closed the door
after her. Walter, although he was just then slightly flushed
with the excellent wine that had been sent him, stood perfectly
still and gazed in silence at his visitor.

“You do not know me!” said the lady, sinking into the
chair which the colonel had occupied.

“I think I know that voice,” said Walter, “but I will not
be positive. The room is warm; will you not remove your
cloak and veil?”

“I will!” said she, throwing them off and standing before
our hero, but with no trace of levity on her face.

“Honoria!” exclaimed Walter. “Is it possible?”

“It is possible—it was inevitable!” said she, again sinking
upon the chair. “I have come to make a confession—to
crave your forgiveness, and to—”

“I am not a father confessor—nevertheless I absolve you.
I have thought you exercised some control over my political
fortunes, which have been but a series of disasters. If such has
been the case, I forgive you. You have but executed the
will of others. I had not merited your vengeance.”

“No! You had not! And you have conjectured truly,
in regard to the will of others. Hear me. I was reared in a
convent. I know not where I was born, or who were my parents.
But for this purpose—to be the instrument of the
Jesuits—was I educated. I have been taught that in serving
them, I serve my God. And I have believed it. And they
believe that in obtaining power on earth, which they hold and
exercise in the service of the one whose name they bear, they
but perform a religious duty. But they have been granted
the privilege of using any means, of exercising any power, of
violating any rule, in the attainment of the great end in view.
I need not describe to you what has been already accomplished;
for you would hardly credit my statement. Let it suffice
that I am made to represent some six hundred thousand votes.
That is the secret of my influence with the administration.
My beauty, my accomplishments, which have been extolled,
are subsidiary to our religious order; and I am directed to
captivate this young man, or to fascinate that old one—”

“And you obey!”

“I have obeyed. I knew no other alternative, and had no
other desire, until I met with you.”

“With me? Honoria, if you really desire to abandon
these damnable agents of the Pope—who, although he lives
in a cloud of incense, I believe is in the habit of eating garlic
at his breakfast—I will render you all the assistance in
my power!”

“Thanks, generous, noble Walter! But wait till I have

confessed that it was I who informed the Department of your
being one of the new secret order—”

“You! How in the name of wonder did you find it out?”

“We have spies in your councils—Jesuits initiated for
that purpose—with dispensations and indulgences—permitting
them to swear any thing, and to forswear themselves without
criminality. I saw you exchanging the signs, which I
knew perfectly well. The compact with the party in power
is unmitigated hostility to the Native Americans as the price
of the support of Rome. But to resume:—I delayed action
in your case. It was not deemed good policy for the sdministration,
suddenly to break with you and your friends, inasmuch
as you had not, in becoming a Know Nothing, abandoned
any principle of the party you had belonged to, and it
was known that very many thousands occupied the same position
in relation to the head of the government. But the editor
of the American paper, while protesting he would not assail
our religion, nor the spiritual ascendency of the Pope,
nor the power of angels, seemed to redouble his assaults on
the administration. It was then decided an example was
necessary to check the boldness of the order represented by
the paper, and hence the attack in the Administration journal,
which, in reality, was never seen by the editor until after its
publication. It was written by me—”

“By you, Honoria?”

“It was. It was my intention, after as many delays as you
would bear with, to have had your name sent to the Senate,
and there hung up in suspense, or promptly rejected. But you
had in the mean time won the friendship of the kind old
gentleman who wields the casting vote, and it was apparent
you would be confirmed. I knew you would not brook further
procrastination on the part of the President, and feared you
would abandon the pursuit, and leave the city. It was my
pleasure to keep you here. I knew you would demand satisfaction
of the editor of the paper in which the offensive
paragraph appeared—and I knew if you fought, whatever
might be the result of the meeting, you would cease to be a
sojourner in Washington. Therefore the marshal was apprised
of your intentions. But I did not suppose—and no one could
have foreseen—that you would consent to be incarcerated in a
vile prison! The thought was intolerable anguish to me—
and I resolved to appear before you and make—”

“I forgive you, Honoria,” said Walter; “but I should
never have deemed it possible for one of your sensibility and
delicacy to act so deceptive a part.”

“And who was the victim? I—I! I was deceived, when
I supposed my part could be played with impunity. Walter,
if you have lost the office, I have lost my heart! I love you—
you only!”

“You forget your husband, madam!” said Walter,
gazing coldly at the beautiful woman who had thrown herself
upon his breast.

“I have no husband! It was a pious fraud of Father
Xavier. Mr. Fimble is a British priest. He has, it is true,
proposed abandoning the order, if I will really marry him.
But my heart is yours alone. Do not repulse me—or I am
lost! For you I will violate my sacred obligation, brave
every danger, abandon the Church itself, and forfeit my salvation—”

“No! No, Honoria!”

“Do not deny me! Do not say no! Let us fly! I have
jewels worth immense sums. We can find some secluded
spot in the mountains, or on the vast untrodden plains, where
we can dwell in security—”

“Enough, Honoria! It is impossible. I love another.
Leave me.”

“No—oh, no! I will see the President, and you shall
abandon this place. I brought you hither—I will lead you
hence—”

“Indeed you will not. There exists but one being who
can release me. You are not that individual. I have been
the victim of intrigue—henceforth I will endeavor to play a
more skilful part. I have my stratagem, and most patiently
await the issue. Answer me this, Honoria: Have you not
contributed to produce the estrangement of Virginia?”

“She had anonymous letters. I had been educated in the
school of—”

“The abominable Jesuits!”

“But I will fly with you and—”

“You will do no such thing! Leave me, Honoria. I will
not betray you—but leave me. Abandon the wicked order to
which you belong—”

“Impossible—without you! You know not the force of
education—of their power over their members—”

“Where is their power over you, since you are willing to
desert them?”

“For you, you alone! Without you I must return to them,
and obey in all things!”

“And with me, I suspect it would be pretty much the
same thing. Go! and when you next attempt to sow the
seeds of dissension between honest lovers, remember how ineffectual
were your arts in my case. Your carriage awaits
you. I will conduct you to it.” Saying this, Walter rang
for the keeper; and when the door was thrown open, forgetful
of his loss of liberty, our hero would have accompanied the
unresisting woman into the street, had he not been gently
thrust back by the keeper. He bowed, and returned to his
chair, as the disappointed visitor departed.

“Hang me, if you are not the most extraordinary young
man that ever drew the breath of life!” said the colonel.
“When I tell Virginia what I have witnessed, if she don't
forgive you, I'll disinherit her! But who did you allude to
when you said there was but one who could release you?”

“I meant Virginia. I will confess any thing to you,
colonel; I know you will keep my secret, even from Virginia,
if you cannot be my confederate. You know I could have
avoided this confinement. My object in coming hither was to
excite the sympathy of Virginia.”

“Ha! ha! ha! good! I'll help you! I cannot make her
marry you against her will—but you have my consent. And
I will aid you in effecting a reconciliation. I will describe to
her your solitary abode—your interview with her rival—the
hundreds of visitors, the wine, the flowers—”

“For heaven's sake, colonel, don't mention them! Let
her suppose I am groaning in a damp dungeon among spiders
and rats, and living on crusts and water.”

“I should not have thought of that! You are right.
Pity is a more powerful feeling with the sex than even the
desire of excelling in the number of their conquests. But I
must describe your interview with that angelic Jesuitical
image.”

“And do not forget what she said about the anonymous
letters. I know not the nature of their contents—but I attribute
Virginia's displeasure to them.”

“I will forget nothing that will do you good, my brave
fellow, if I can help it. But I have something to remember
for myself, and you know my ideas can travel but in one

direction at a time. So you must not be too impatient if
there is some little delay in your business.”

“Tell her colonel, that I have made up my mind to perish
here. That since I have incurred her displeasure there remains
nothing else in the world I can desire to live for.
Between us, however, I have written my mother every thing,
including my purpose on coming hither.”

“I'll see if am to be sold to the infernal Jesuits!” continued
the incensed senator.

“Tell her, colonel, the unwholesome atmosphere of my
prison, combined with the depressing consciousness of having
for ever—italicize that word, colonel—forfeited her good opinion,
will soon make an end of me.”

“My constituent—the son of my old friend Winkle—and
because the foreigners have some 600,000 votes—”

“Recollect, colonel, how promptly I rejected the proposal of
Honoria, and that I vowed my eternal constancy to Virginia.”

“And, merely because he was an American! I am an
American myself—and would these papal devils have us forfeit
our birthright, or disavow our country, and become the
servile instruments of the arrogant prince of Rome?”

“But, you will forget me, I fear, colonel.”

“Forget you! nonsense! I will go to the President
immediately, and I will shout in his ear, that I, too, am an
American—and that Americans shall rule America! Good
night, Walter. Be comfortable, and rely upon me.” And he
departed hastily, as if impelled by the one purpose of confronting
the President, and avowing his nativity.

Walter, after quaffing another glass of the delicious wine,
which had been sent him by his unknown friends, resumed his
book, which, it may as well be owned, was “Smollet's Peregrine
Pickle,” which the keeper had loaned him.

He had not been thus engaged many minutes, before the
keeper again appeared, bearing in his hand a finely enamelled
card.

“Boozle!” said Walter, with a sneer. “But let him
come in.”

Boozle made his appearance with a sympathizing smile,
but with astonished glances at the evidences of luxurious
living by which the prisoner was surrounded.

“I am glad you seem comfortable!” said he. “I was
fearful you might be suffering.”

“Suffering! my suffering were all over when I escaped
the clutches of the secretary and our noble President. Come,
Boozle, help yourself. Here are cakes, and there the sparkling
juice of the grape. I drank with you at the secretary's table,
and you must drink with me here. This is my table.”

“I will drink your health with a great deal of pleasure.
It is excellent! But, Winkle, nothing can compensate for the
loss of liberty. I am astonished that you should persist in
coming hither.”

“I don't doubt it, Boozle. Be candid, and tell me if the
President himself is not likewise astonished?”

“He is. And more than that—much annoyed. He has
received many indignant letters, and has been compelled to
listen to some rather threatening speeches, from influential
members of Congress.”

“Did you see Colonel Oakdale?”

“He was driving furiously towards the White House
a few minutes ago.”

“Well, you have sown the wind, you know the rest.”

“But, without having to tip any one, you may yet win.
This last move of yours has taken every body by surprise,
and the high powers are prepared to treat on your own terms.”

“I have no terms to propose.”

“If you will sign a pledge to support the administration,
your name will be sent in to-morrow, and you will be confirmed
immediately. I am authorized to say so!”

“You remember the words uttered in the French Chamber
of Deputies, when the royal family offered terms to the incensed
revolutionists. It is too late!”

“Do you mean that you will not accept the office?”

“I do. The only position I now court is Plastic's. I
made him what he is, and I can unmake him. I want nothing
from the administration.”

“But you must not remain here. The President will
appoint you without your consent!”

“He should have given me the appointment when I
desired it. I should decline it now, even if it were advised
and consented to by the Senate. And I would prepare a
document for the press, setting forth the history of the entire
proceedings in my case, and showing that the government is
in the hands of the foreigners—the miserable Jesuits—whose
entire vote is represented here by a woman!”

“She deserves your enmity, but—”

“I shall not say one word in her disparagement. She is
a woman, and a most beautiful one; eh, Boozle?”

“That is incontrovertible. But she has never had a smile
for me. And you will not accept the office? That is most
extraordinary!”

“I believe it is, truly. For the post is said to be worth
not less than five thousand dollars.”

“There must be some great inducement—some equivalent,
which has not been discovered by the astute secretary—”

“To induce me to decline such an appointment —”

“And resolve to remain in prison!”

“There must be—there is—but all the mere diplomatists
in creation could never find it out. And I won't tell what it
is. So you see your mission is not likely to be crowned with
success. I will say, however, that there is one person—one
only—who can lead me hence—who must release me, if ever
I regain my liberty—and neither the President, nor the
secretary—”

“Nor Honoria?”

“Nor Honoria is that person!”

“Then I cannot conjecture who you mean. But I think
you are mistaken. You must not remain here.”

“Must not?”

“Must not. The President will order your release—will
pardon—”

“Tell him if he does I'll cane him! I have an invincible
respect for the President, but none whatever for the man.
And when I am punishing the individual, I will make a protestation
of not assaulting the office. Tell him, he is warned
not to meddle further in my affairs. I will not promise to
keep the peace, if they discharge me before I am ready to
come out—”

“But what can be your motive—”

“That's none of his business, nor yours. I may have a
little game of my own to play—a private matter, with which
you can have no concern, and which I don't choose to explain
to any one. The President did not send me hither, nor did
he desire it. That much I will admit. Let him say so in
his organ. When I am ready to come forth, I will find the
requisite sureties. But no pardon. That is suggestive of
antecedent guilt. I have committed no crime. If he pardons

me, I shall regard it as an insult. Tell him so. I want to
see how Peregrine conducted himself in his difficulty. Good
night.”

And Boozle, without being able to penetrate the young
man's motives, reluctantly withdrew.