Kaiuolani

The militia, at last a sole charge, became the one all absorbing interest that Young would encourage.

Love had passed from his reach, as a thing beneath him.

The elections, now close at hand, were of no moment; Cole had selected his man, whose broadening comprehension and settled opportunity fired ambition with larger aims, conjuring a grander, more comprehensive union than theirs had in fact foreshadowed.

“War is vital, peace an ignoble thought,” said he, in reply to Cole’s friendly protestations. “True we are Americans, and our governmental institutions are founded upon the principle that all men are equal, but—excepting only the most trivial circumstance of birth or death—this is no less false than just. It is with the living, life, that we have to do; and not until mankind, not men, is enlightened can the ideal attain reality; art alone equalizes all things accidental: that we are moving in that direction, the works of man speak in no uncertain tone, but—the force, with which we advance, whether industrially, socially, or spiritually, is war.”

As a compromise, Aokahameha had finally consented to stand for election to the lower house in Congress, their duly allotted representative at Washington, and when the poles closed and the votes were counted, Kaiuolani truly rejoiced.

Her ideal lay deeper than state or fancy, hearkened the voice of love.

Nor was Norton oblivious to the new, that hers had perished. Duty called, and was she in turn justified?

The inauguration ball approached with a brilliancy that dazzled even those who had witnessed the oldtime fétes at their best. Cole’s election had stirred them to loftier thought and a better appreciation. They would now do honor to their chief, and wealth nor show, culture, refinement, modesty or sincerity ever proffered heartier representation.

Kaiuolani at first rebelled against the growing spectacle.

“Democracy, the kind that I foresee,” said she to Aokahameha, whose every effort was putting forth to win her over, “does not abide where pampered worth obtains; it is elemental within every human heart, and real beauty conserves better a more harmonious adjustment—the real and the ideal shall sometime marry, and forsooth joy shall truly reign.”

“And America is the span over which that civilization shall pass but to merge with the greater, if silent Orient. Let us, then, be doing; the time draws near at hand, and I promise I cannot be happy, at the festivities, unless you too are there.”

“Then I shall go,” said she, with the sweetest possible assurance.

Young, too, declined the privilege of attending in just the manner that Norton had planned.

“It is revolutionary,” said he, in reply to her anticipations.

“What of that?” queried she. “Each revolution places man on a higher plane of civilization and opportunity: then comes the slow process of legislating or lapsing his rights and liberties away. You would not rest oars at mid stream?”

“Conquest makes toward larger accomplishment—however, I shall not deny you; I but serve your pleasure, Martha.”

The night came on, under the starriest kind of skies, and all nature seemed like to make this a fitting finale, as well an auspicious beginning. Rich and poor, great or small, the new and the old, were there in one sympathetic accord. No expense had been spared to make those halls and that scene a brilliant setting. On the outside, flowers and bunting stretched away to the humblest cottage or grandest palace, and everywhere the stars and stripes waved a glorious freedom.

“Liberty? No,” said Cole, looking out at the stirring scenes around him; “freedom and liberty are antithetical: continuance of the one necessitates restraining the other—it is, freedom!”

The governor and Mrs. Cole led the march down through the long, pillared and arched-over halls. Visiting dignitaries and ranking officials followed, with Norton and Young arm in arm abreast the procession.

Pale and severe, Norton heeded anxiously every word so earnestly or kindly spoken. Her simple dress and plain adornment contrasted severely with Young’s elaborate regalia. These were serious.

After them, statesmen and representatives lined up, in order. Kaiuolani leaned gracefully upon Aokahameha’s arm. He tall and genteel, she gowned in purple and gold, they were the admired of all who chanced to look or fashioned themselves to learn and know the sequel to these long and arduous friendships. This two chatted in livelier vein.

Perhaps they had forgotten former rank and place, or had become too interested in the future to observe well the present.

The march over and the dance begun, Norton and Young seated themselves, at one side, under the mistletoe, that hung in large epaulet-like bunches, quite round the edges. Norton flushed the least bit, perhaps her heart beat faster, for presently Kaiuolani and her escort bore directly down upon them.

Both Young and Norton arose: the latter’s face brightened, and Aokahameha looked deep, and knowingly into Young’s eyes.

Turning to Kaiuolani and begging excuses—it was Aokahameha and Norton, now, who fell back, and away, again, into the crowds that whirled and surged, on and on, round and round.

“By jove!” said Elmsford, confronting them, at the opposite side of the room, “you both did yourselves clever.”

“Not I, Elmsford; nor half as nicely as you yourself shall do, if I am privileged to guess,” replied Aokahameha, begging Norton’s pardon and once more turning to enter the swirl.

“Oh, well; it’s British, you know; and, I dare say, this little American quite suits my fancy, after all,” shouted Elmsford, laughingly, over the shoulder and after his rapidly retreating friend.

A lonely but satisfied man presently appeared at the opposite end of the halls. Behind him stood the dumb walls, echoing the dead and spent vibrations of an ever-living, all sufficient time; and his eyes fell wistfully and his heart beat warmly toward those there repeating the lesson, so simple yet true, that now and always leads on to empire.