The young secretary turned his own grave eye upon the cluttered desk; but it was not dread of the redoubtable tasks awaiting him that gave his face all the gravity it bore.
"Mr. Jefferson--" he began, but paused, for he could see now standing before him his friend, the man whom, of all in the world, he loved, and the man who believed in him and loved him.
"Yes, my son?"
"Your burden is grievous hard, and yet----"
"Yes, my son?"
But Meriwether Lewis could not speak further. He stood now, his jaws set hard, looking out of the window.
The older man came and gently laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Come, come, my son," said he, his own voice low and of a kindness it could assume at times. "You must not--you must not yield to this, I say. Shake off this melancholy which so obsesses you. I know whence it comes--your father gave it you, and you are not to blame; but you have more than your father's strength to aid you. And you have me, your friend, who can understand."
Lewis only turned on him an eye so full of anguish as caused the older man to knit his brow in deep concern.
"What is it, Merne?" he demanded. "Tell me. Ah, you cannot tell? I know! 'Tis the old melancholy, and something more, Merne, my boy. Tell me--ah, yes, it is a woman!"
The young man did not speak.
"I have often told all my young friends," said Mr. Jefferson slowly, after a time, "that they should marry not later than twenty-three--it is wrong to cheat the years of life--and you approach thirty now, my son. Why linger? Listen to me. No young man may work at his best and have a woman's face in his desk to haunt him. That will not do. We all have handicap enough without that."
But still Meriwether could only look into the face of his superior.
"I know very well, my son," the President continued. "I know it all. Put her out of your heart, my boy. Would you shame yourself--and her--and me?"
"No! Never would I do that, Mr. Jefferson, believe me. But now I must beg of you--please, sir, let me go soon--let it be at once!"
The older man stood looking at him for a time in silence, as he went on hurriedly: "I must say good-by to you, best and noblest of men. Indeed, I have said good-by to--everything."
"As you say, your case is hopeless?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, well, we have both been planning for our Western expedition these ten years, my son; so why should we fret if matters conspire to bring it about a trifle earlier than we planned?"