"Oh! Ruth," he cried, bitterly, "why do you cling to this man? He is regarded as the most dangerous firebrand in America. I could show you hundreds of letters piled on that desk begging me in the name of law and order and all the forces of civilised society not to interfere with his sentence. Come, you know how I love you. This is horrible cruelty to me. The doors of the White House are opening. You know that what I have, am now, and ever may be, is yours. It will all be ashes without you. I offer you a deathless love, honour and glory, and you come here to tell me you prefer a convicted felon in his cell. My God, it is too much!" The Governor leaned on his desk and shaded his face with his hands. "How can I help it, Morris, if I love him?" she asked, piteously. He raised his head, looked away, and softly said: "Ruth, could you never love me?" She was silent a moment and her lips trembled. "If he dies, I cannot live," she gasped. He leaned close, took her hand, and said: "I'll order a stay of sentence for three months." She kissed his hand, and murmured: "Thank you." From the telegraph office at Albany over the wires to Sing Sing's house of death flew the message: "Sentence stayed for three months while the Governor considers your pardon. Faith and hope eternal. RUTH." The next express carried her to him with the copy of the Governor's order in her bosom. The warden smiled and congratulated her. She had long before won his heart, and there was no favour within the limits of law that he had not granted to the man she loved. Ruth looked at Gordon tenderly through the barred opening of his cell. Her heart ached as she saw the ashen pallor of his face and the skin beginning to draw tight and slick across the protruding cheek-bones of his once magnificent face. Three years of prison had bent his shoulders and reduced his giant frame to a mere shadow of his former self. Only the eyes had grown larger and softer, and their gaze now seemed turned within. They burned with a feverish mystic beauty. Ruth fixed on him a look of melting tenderness and asked: "Do you not long for the open fields, the sky and sea, my dear?" He gazed at her hungrily. "No. Sometimes I've felt a queer homesickness in these dying muscles that thirst for the open world, but I've no time to think of mountain or lake, or hear the call of field or sea---Ruth, I can only think of you! I have but one interest, but one desire of soul and body--that you may be happy. I would be free, not because I fear death or covet life"--his voice sank to a broken whisper--"but that I might crawl around the earth on my hands and knees and confess my shame and sorrow that I deserted you." "Hush, hush, my love; I forgive you," she moaned. "Yes, I know; but all time and eternity will be too short for my repentance." The woman was sobbing bitterly.