Weeks passed, and Junius Cobb still remained the guest of the President. He investigated the many marvelous subjects which presented themselves to his view. He studied and learned, and became familiar with his new life. He visited New York and other large cities in his vicinity, and noted their growth and progress. He was astonished to find New York a city of over four millions of people, and covering nearly two hundred square miles of territory.

He visited the great tunnels which connect East and West New York to the city proper, Brooklyn and Jersey City having become a corporate part of New York City. The double streets of the city were a wonderful realization of what the needs of a great commercial center will demand of its people. From One Hundredth street south, and over the whole island from the East to the North River, was a double street—a city on top of a city. The lower streets were the originals, and were paved with roughened glass. On one side, covered, and just below the street level, were the great sewers of the city. The height from lower to upper street was twenty feet. In the center of Lower Broadway, Lower Fourth, Sixth, and Ninth Avenues (for such the under streets were designated), and below the level of the pavement, was a double tunnel carrying the rapid-transit electric trains. These trains were composed of light, cylindrical cars, about ten feet in diameter; they had no windows, light being obtained from electricity. The air was received through ventilators, a steady stream of pure, fresh air being kept circulating through the tunnels by immense fans. Automatic indices gave warning of the different stations. The normal speed of these trains was forty miles per hour, and stops were made at every half-mile between Three Hundred and Fifty-third street and the Battery, East New York (Brooklyn); and West New York (Jersey City). Handsome stations along the line, connected by hydraulic lifts with the upper-street stations, enabled the passengers to quickly take the surface lines to all parts of the city. All vehicles devoted to business purposes were confined to the lower streets, and all merchandise, also, was here received and shipped. In the roof of the street were the water-pipes, electric light, telephone, power, and other wires—all easy of access. Like the lower, the upper streets and sidewalks were of glass, which was molded into huge blocks, these resting on steel girders running across and down the streets. The sidewalks were light gray, and the street light steel-color. The thickness of these blocks of glass was four inches, and the light transmitted to the under-street had nearly its natural intensity. On the upper streets, light electric cars ran in every direction, stopping whenever desired. These surface trains were peculiar in that they sat two feet above the pavement, held aloft and in position by two wide but thin rods of steel passing through a slot in the street, the trucks for the cars running upon a roadbed just under the center of the street, or in the roof of the lower street. Upon inquiry, he was informed that the reasons for the elevation of the cars and the subterranean roadway were to avoid accidents; as a person who was so unfortunate as to be struck by a train would be knocked down but passed over by the elevated car without much injury, the steel bars having rounded guards in front to push any object aside. Cobb observed that the entrances to all of the houses, stores, theatres, churches, hotels, etc., were on the upper streets; and also, that access to the lower streets was obtained at every street-corner by flights of broad steps. He noticed that the streets and sidewalks were perfectly clean, and that an air of care, attention, and good order seemed to prevail. Light carriages to horses, electric drags, and such lighter vehicles as are used for transportation of persons only, were alone permitted upon the upper streets. At short distances upon either side of the street were electric lamps, while at one of the corners of each cross-street was a combination post of fine and handsome make. At the base it was about two feet square, decreasing in size to about eight inches at a height of six feet, the whole surmounted by a white glass shaft, twenty-five feet in length. These posts were for a variety of purposes. The lower part contained the carbons, materials, etc., for the electric lights which were placed upon the top; the next compartment was for the reception of mail matter; above these two were the fire-alarm and police boxes, while on either side were the hydrant nozzles. Just under the lamp were the names of the two streets and the ward of the city. The street name was also set into the sidewalk under foot, in different colors—two names on each corner. Red names indicated a north direction; white, east; blue, south; and green, west.

Asking Hugh, who was with him, if they had any improved method of removing the snow during the winter—for he remembered with what difficulty the streets of New York had been cleared of their snow in his time—he was informed that very little snow fell in New York, or, in fact, along the coast as far north as Maine.

“How is that?” exclaimed Cobb, in surprise. “You haven’t changed the seasons, have you?”

“Yes,” nonchalantly.

“What!”

“We have changed the possibility of a frightful winter into the reality of a very even and uniform temperature,” he continued.

“What haven’t you done?”

“Well, we haven’t made a California climate by our work, but we have vastly decreased the severity of our Eastern winters,” he laughingly replied.

“And how have you accomplished this great change?” Cobb asked.

“Here is the Metropolitan Club,” as they came to a grand edifice near Union Square; “let us go in, have a bottle of wine, and I will explain the methods pursued to work this beneficial change of climate.”

“Do you know,” asked Hugh, as he filled two glasses with champagne, after they had become seated in one of the reception-rooms of the club; “do you know why New York and the coast to Nova Scotia is so much colder than the Pacific coast of equal latitude?”

“Certainly. On the Pacific, we have the Kuro Sivo, or Japanese current, touching the coast; while on the Atlantic the Gulf Stream is driven off the coast from about the mouth of the James River, by an arctic current coming around Newfoundland and flowing close to the coast.”

“Exactly. And if this arctic current could be checked, or driven off, then what?”

“Why, the Gulf Stream would bring its waters close to the shore, and the temperature would be raised.”

“That’s it, precisely. And that is just what we have done.”

“How have you done this, pray?”

“The waters of the arctic current,” said Hugh, as he lighted a fresh cigar, and settled himself back in his chair, “come down Davis Strait with icy chillness and sweep around Newfoundland, over the banks and along the eastern coast. This is the main current. By the northerly point of Newfoundland projecting, as it does, into the Atlantic, a second or minor current is evolved which passes through the Straits of Belle Isle. This current, three miles wide by twenty-five fathoms deep, flows at a rapid pace through the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and turns sharp around Cape Breton and flows south. Its icy waters, as they reach the Gulf Stream, chill the latter for miles along the coast, finally disappearing under the stream about the mouth of the James River. If it was not for this minor current, the Gulf Stream would touch our eastern shores to the banks of Newfoundland; of course, more or less chilled by the arctic current, which would impinge upon and sink under the Gulf Stream off the southwest extremity of the banks. Knowing this, we have closed up Belle Isle Strait, save a ship passage.”

“That must have been a huge undertaking,” remarked Cobb.

“Yes, it was. But it was done, nevertheless.”

“How?”

“By very hard and costly work, and very little science. On the southern coast of Labrador, near the straits, are large and vast quarries of granite. Thousands upon thousands of tons of this were quarried out, and when winter came and Belle Isle Straits were frozen over, a double track was laid across the straits, on the ice; large holes cut through, and the granite blocks brought and thrown into the water. Accurate charts were made of each year’s work, so that the material should always fall upon the same line. In four years the work was finished. The sediment brought down by the arctic current soon filled all the interstices, and to-day the dam is perfect, preventing any entrance of the waters of Davis Strait into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, except through a narrow channel for the passage of vessels. Four hundred million cubic feet of material was used in this work.”

Thus, little by little, did Cobb learn of the reasons and wherefores of the many innovations and changes which he constantly saw about him. The days came and passed; Cobb finding delight in the society of Mollie Craft, and pleasure and instruction in that of Hugh, her brother.

And then, when alone, came the dream wherein the angel had led Marie Colchis to him and had spoken the prophetic words. Words prophetic of what? he asked himself. Long and long did he ponder over the vision. His was a nature to love and to desire love in return. To him, woman was an angel, a being divine. Desolate and alone, his heart demanded a companion. He admired Mollie Craft; did he love her? And when he asked the question of himself, he could give no satisfactory reply. But of one fact he felt assured: if he loved her, he loved his lost Marie more. Yet she, his Marie, was dead: was it wrong for him to seek for a companion to soothe the desolation of his heart, especially one embodying such virtues as Mollie Craft? May not the vision have been given for such an interpretation? he argued: he did not know.

One day in the latter part of November, as he and Mollie were sitting by the cheerful fire in the private parlor of the executive mansion, he looked intently into her eyes, and sadly asked:

“Do you not think me sad at times, Mollie?”

He called her Mollie, and she called him Junius; such was the President’s request, as he considered Junius Cobb his adopted son.

“Yes, Junius; and it often pains me to think that, perhaps, we are not doing all that we ought to make your life happy.”

“Would you do more if you could?” and he fixed his eyes with a loving expression upon hers, which fell at his glance.

“I am sure, Junius, that never was a sister—” and she emphasized the word—“more ready and willing to make a brother happy, than I.”

“Were you ever in love, Mollie?” He jerked the words out as if fearful of the answer she might give.

“Why! what a question!”

“But were you?” he persisted.

“Now, Junius, that is not fair, to ask a girl such a question. Were you ever in love?” She laughed, but anxiously awaited his answer.

“Yes.” He spoke slowly and with an absent air. “Twice have I known what it was to love a woman.”

A tear seemed to glisten in his eye as his memory carried him back a hundred years.

“Twice?” inquiringly.

“Yes; or rather might I say, once to love a woman, and once to love a child.”

“You surprise me greatly, Junius. Will you not make a confidant of me and tell me all about your loves?” and she put her hand upon his shoulder.

That touch, so gentle and light, sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. He turned and seized her hands in his, and looked long and lovingly into her eyes.

“Can man forswear his soul?” he cried, harshly, while his tight grasp of her hands gave her pain.

“Do not hurt me, Junius!” she cried, trying to free her hands. He released her, and sat down in his chair.

“I did not mean to hurt you, Mollie. I am torn by contending passions of right and wrong. My soul is athirst. I long to quench its burning fires, but dare not speak my thoughts. Alone in a new world, I am barren of kith or kin to fill the aching void in my heart. And, though knowing this, yet am I bound by chains of honor, respect and manly devotion from speaking the words which might, perchance, secure me that greatest of God’s blessings to man, a woman’s love.”

He bowed his head, and remained silent.

Mollie Craft was no child, no affected school-girl, nor hardened society woman. She was a true, noble-hearted being, and read this man’s secret without his lips framing its confession: he loved her.

With sorrow in her voice, she said:

“Junius, you are not alone in the world. You have a father, mother, brother, and sister, though not of the same blood, yet are they as loving as your own relatives could be.”

“I know,” he returned; “but my heart craves more—a being like you, Mollie, to love me and be loved by me in return.”

It was out. He had avowed his love, but not in such passionate terms as one would have used if a reply had been expected. He meant not to ask her heart and hand; he merely told her what his heart craved.

She made no answer; gave no reply.

Then, with a burst of increased sadness, Cobb continued:

“I crave this love, Mollie, but cannot ask for it. I have already given my pledge to a woman—have promised to marry none but her.”

“Then, Junius, you should not break that promise,” and a relieved expression came over the fair face.

“But she can never be mine; she is dead!” and the strong man bowed his head and wept like a child.

Going up to him, she put her arms about his neck, and kissed him on the forehead, then silently left the room.

As the dial in the executive mansion sounded the hour of 22 that night, a figure wrapped in a black cloak stole silently from the rear entrance of the building, through the gardener’s gate and into the conservatory. An instant later and a tall man had clasped her in his arms, and lovingly pressed her to his heart.

“Ah, Lester, you are waiting for me,” looking up into his manly face.

“Yes, dearest; waiting and watching. These moments by your side, stolen though they are, become the happiest in my life. Ah, Mollie! would that you could be with me forever. Why must I thus always beat about the bush to seek your society?”

Reluctantly he released her, but held one dainty hand in his, as he led her to a wicker seat just beside the daisy rows at the lower end of the conservatory and seated himself by her side.

Throwing her large black cloak over the back of the seat, Mollie turned her great blue eyes toward her lover.

“Why must you seek me thus stealthily, Lester, you ask? You know.”

Her eyes dropped, and a shade of shame overspread her fair face.

“Yes, I know. For you have told me that your father has taken a dislike to me in particular, and against all army officers as suitors for your hand in general. But he can find no cause to be prejudiced against me—at least, none that I am aware of,” looking into her eyes inquiringly.

“No, Lester,” quickly returned the girl, “he can certainly find no stain upon your character, else his daughter would not have entered here to-night to meet you.” This with a proud knowledge that, wrong as she was in disobeying her father’s wishes, she was conscious of the nobleness of her lover’s character.

“’Tis the old story, Lester,” she continued, after a moment—“a father’s ambition. Papa is ambitious, but his ambition no longer centers in himself, but in his children. Reaching, as he has, to the highest position within the gift of the nation, he hopes to see his children, when he descends from his station, still moving onward and upward toward renown, popularity, and—and—O Lester, I hate to say it—wealth.”

She hung her head as if ashamed to confess that her father for a moment considered pecuniary matters in connection with the disposal of her hand.

Taking her hand in his, he calmly said:

“Mollie, I blame him not. ’Tis a father’s first duty to seek the welfare of his children. But, darling,” drawing her toward him, “though I have not wealth, yet have I my pay as a Captain in the army, a sum sufficient to enable me to provide a cozy, happy home for us. Do you not think it would be cozy and happy?” looking tenderly into her eyes, which had been raised and turned upon him as he spoke.

“Ah, Lester, to me, yes,” she returned, petting the hand that held hers. “I am your promised wife, Lester—promised by me, but not by my father. Let us hope, dearest, that time will make some change in his determination to find a suitor of greater wealth; he could not find one more noble,” blushing sweetly at the confession.

Lester Hathaway drew her closer to him, and kissed her rich, red lips in appreciation of her kind and loving words.

“We will hope,” he said, as she modestly drew away. “I dislike, dearest, as much as you, to have our meetings clandestine, but I could not live throughout the day without at least a moment of your sweet society. You do not blame me, Mollie, do you?” lovingly pressing the hand that lay in his.

“Of course not, Lester, if you say so; for I believe you to be the very soul of truth,” she returned, smiling archly.

“And when I avow that no fairer woman ever lived, that my heart beats but in love for you, that I adore you, Mollie, you believe me sincere, do you not, dearest?” and his arm stole gently about her slender waist, drawing her unresisting form closer to his heart.

“Lester, my own, I do; and your love is reciprocated with all the depth of my heart.” She spoke with truth and pathos.

Raising her face to his, he looked into her eyes.

“You will marry none other than me? You will wait until I can claim you from your father? Speak, dearest.”

“I will,” came the words, lowly but lovingly spoken.

He kissed her lips even as the words were uttered.

“Now, Lester, I have something to communicate to you,” continued Mollie, as Hathaway finally released her. “Mr. Cobb half proposed to me to-day,” and she related the whole conversation. “Now, Lester; I could not tell him I was engaged. He loves me, I can see it; but he is laboring under the restrictions which an honorable heart has imposed. If he succeeds in holding to his sense of duty, he will never ask me to be his wife; if he wavers, I may expect an open declaration. Be not angry with him, Lester. He knows not our relations; for if he did, his lips would be sealed forever. I know the honorable and true heart that beats within his breast.”

“What will you do? You should not have encouraged his love,” reprovingly said Hathaway.

“I, Lester? I did not encourage it. I tried from the first to teach him that I could be only a sister to him. I know not what to do! If I had a handsome, jolly girl friend to come and remain with me for a month or two, perhaps his thoughts and love might be transferred to her.”

“You have never seen my sister, dearest; but I think she would meet all the requirements, exactly,” with an air of pride.

“O Lester! papa wouldn’t like to have your sister come as a guest at the house, and be compelled to keep the brother out; and, besides, he might fear her influence in your behalf; and she might help your case, too,” with a sly glance.

“That would be terrible intriguing, wouldn’t it?” laughing. “But couldn’t she come as somebody else? your friend, for instance, at school?”

“Capital! That’s it! I will introduce her as Miss Marie Colchester, my old chum at Weldon. Send for her, Lester; and when she comes I will meet her at the hotel and instruct her in her duties.”

“I will send for her to-morrow.”

“But I had forgotten; is she engaged, or in love?”

“Neither; I am positive of it.”

“And you will send for her to-morrow?”

“Yes, my darling. She will be here by the 20th of the month.”

“Good! And now, Lester, you may have just one kiss, and I must go.”

She put up her lips, and raised on the tips of her toes to meet his kiss.

“Oh!—oh!—don’t smother me, Lester,” disengaging herself.

“Will I see you here to-morrow evening?” he anxiously asked.

“I don’t know; but you can come,” laughing as she passed through the door.