“Yes, I have, Amos; here it is. I couldn’t telegraph because the wires were down, but the Governor and the railroad superintendent fixed it so we could come on an engine. I knew you were suffering. Elly is with Mother Smith and Mrs. Raker, but I—but I wanted to come to you.” If he had thought once of himself he must have heard the new note in her voice. But he did not think once of himself; he could only think of Sol. “But the Governor, didn’t he refuse to see you?” said he. “No; he refused to see poor Mr. Dennison.” Ruth used the slighting pity of the successful. “_We_ didn’t try to go to him; we went to his wife.” Amos sat down. “Ruth,” he said, solemnly, “you haven’t got talent, you’ve got genius!” “Why, of course,” said Ruth, “he might snub _us_ and not listen to us, but he would _have_ to listen to his wife. She is such a pretty lady, Amos, and so kind. We had a little bit of trouble seeing her at first, because the girl (who was all dressed up, like the pictures, in a black dress and white collar and cuffs and the nicest long apron), she said that we couldn’t come in, the Governor’s wife was engaged, and they were going out of town that day. But when Elly began to talk to her she sympathized at once, and she got the Governor’s wife down. Then I told her all about Sol and how good he was, and I cried and Elly cried and _she_ cried—we all cried—and she said that I should see the Governor, and gave us tea. She was as kind as possible. And when the Governor came I told him everything about Sol—about his mother and the little boy at the mill and the dog, and how he saved the other boy, pulling out that big iron bar red-hot—” “But,” interrupted Amos, who would have been literal on his death-bed—“but it wasn’t a very big bar. Not the bar they begin with—a finished bar, just ready for the shears.” “Never mind; it was big when I told it, and I assure you it impressed the Governor. He got up and walked the floor, and then Elly threw herself on her knees before him; and he pulled her up, and, don’t you know, not exactly laughed, but something like it. ‘I can’t make out,’ said he, ‘from your description much about the guilt or innocence of Solomon Joscelyn, but one thing is plain, that he is too good a fellow to be hanged!’” “And did you take the dagger I sent, and my telegram?” “Your telegram? Dagger? Amos, I’m so sorry, but we didn’t go back to our lodgings at all. We had our bags with us, and came right from the Governor’s here!” “Then you didn’t say anything about evidence?” “Evidence?” Ruth looked distressed. “Oh, Amos! I forgot all about it!” Amos always supposed that he must have been beside himself, for he caught her hand and kissed it, and cried, “You darling!” Nothing more, not a word; and he went abjectly down on his knees before her chair and apologized, until, frightened by her silence, he looked up—and saw Ruth’s eyes. * * * * *