For the theater she did not have to feign enthusiasm. And though she privately thought both the productions and the actors far inferior to those in New York, she admired the graceful pseudo-Greek building on New Street with its white-and-silver interior, which set off the ladies' gowns to such advantage. Here she laughed or thrilled with the others to the drama of Gustavus Vassa, The Mountaineers, and Blue Beard or Feminine Curiosity, forgetting for a little while even the delicious consciousness of 'X.'

She and Joseph did not often discuss the project. There was little that she knew tangibly to discuss, and he was often absent from her in Columbia, where the House had appointed him its Speaker. It made her happy, however, to know that she might mention it to him. It would have been a weighty secret to carry alone, and the knowledge brought them closer together.

Sooner or later she knew that Aaron would summon her to a more active part in the project, and she waited with what patience she could, devouring his letters and training Gampy for his exalted rôle to the best of her abilities, in view of her son's extremely tender years.

She unearthed an exiled Spaniard in Charleston and began Spanish lessons with him, for the French and smattering of German and Italian which she already possessed would be of scant use in Mexico.

The call came at last, in the spring of 1806. 'This time I wish you to accompany me on my trip to the West,' Aaron wrote her, 'and come alone for the present. Joseph and Gampy may follow later, if all goes as I expect. Prepare yourself to endure some hardships, and I want no mournful complaints about them. You will be surfeited with luxury in time.'

She joined Aaron in Philadelphia, having left the Waccamaw with a heart fast beating with hope. Perhaps she need never see it again. Somewhere in the West a new home must be waiting, prelude to the magnificent one she would eventually inhabit. This hope lightened her parting from the baby; he would be well tended by Eleanore; and 'It won't be for long, darling,' she assured the solemn child. 'Your papa shall bring you to me soon.'

Eleanore came into the room on this sentence and exclaimed: 'Nom de Dieu, Madame, what do you mean by that? You arc not going to drag lc petit across those horrible mountains! The savages will massacre him and me too. I do not go.'

'Oh, yes, you will, my good Eleanore,' said Theo, laughing. 'You would not let Gampy move one foot without you, I know. You don't realize what is waiting for us all out there: a golden future. Ah, I can't tell you, but you must trust me'. 'Pfoui!' snorted Eleanore rudely. 'There is no future out there, nozzing but log cabins and savages and wolves.'

Theo hugged her and laughed again. 'You will see.'