When Mr. Thomas Ardmore had read this message half a dozen times with increasing satisfaction he folded it carefully and put it away in his pocket-book. Taking half a sheet of note paper he wrote as follows: Appleweight and his gang are cowards. Within ten days those that have not been hanged will be in jail at Kildare. He studied the phraseology critically and then placed the paper in the cob stopper whose halves he tied together with a bit of twine. As the jug stood on the table it was, to all appearances, exactly as it had been when delivered to Ardmore on the rear of the train at Kildare, and he was thoroughly well pleased with himself. He changed the blue scarf with which he had begun the day for one of purple with gold bars, and walked up the street toward the state house. This venerable edifice, meekly reposing amid noble trees, struck agreeably upon Ardmore's fancy. Here was government enthroned in quiet dignity, as becomes a venerable commonwealth, wearing its years like a veteran who has known war and tumult, but finds at last tranquillity and peace. He experienced a feeling of awe, without quite knowing it, as he strolled up the walk, climbed the steps to the portico and turned to look back from the shadow of the pillars. He had never but once before visited an American public building--the New York city hall--and he felt that now, indeed, he had turned a corner and entered upon a new and strange world. He had watched army maneuvers abroad with about the same attention that he gave to a ballet, and with a like feeling of beholding a show contrived for the amusement of spectators; but there was not even a policeman here to represent arsenals and bayonets. The only minion of government in sight was the languid operator of a lawn-mower, which rattled and hummed cheerily in the shadow of the soldiers' monument. There was something fine about a people, who, as he learned from the custodian, would not shake down these historic walls obedient to the demands of prosperity and growth, but sent increased business to find lodgment elsewhere. He ascended to the toy-like legislative chambers, where flags of nation and state hung side by side, and where the very seats and desks of the law-makers spoke of other times and manners. Mr. Ardmore, feeling that he should now be about his business, sought the governor's office, where a secretary, who seemed harassed by the cares of his position, confirmed Ardmore's knowledge of the governor's absence. "I didn't wish to see the governor on business," explained Ardmore pleasantly, leaning upon his stick with an air of leisure. "He and my father were old friends, and I always promised my father that I would never pass through Raleigh without calling on Governor Dangerfield." "That is too bad," remarked the young man sympathetically, though with a preoccupation that was eloquent of larger affairs. "Could you tell me whether any members of the governor's family are at home?"