"I know your heart's desire, Ruth," he said, slowly, "I have an officer of the law here to perform a marriage ceremony. Holding your first marriage a divine sacrament, you once planned a civil one in this grim prison. No matter how I learned this: it shall be so to-day." The magistrate advanced and pronounced them husband and wife, sat down by a desk, and made out the record. The Governor rose and handed the official pardon to Gordon. "To you I give life." He tore the other paper into two parts by its dotted lines, handed Ruth one half and held the other in his trembling fingers. "This, Ruth, is your marriage certificate"--he paused--"and my death warrant. Frank Gordon, we have changed places." Again the woman sobbed. "You have forgotten something, Morris," she answered, wistfully. "Yes, I know: myself." "It is your right to kiss the bride," she said, softly, "and I wish it." He stooped and reverently touched her forehead. And when he turned away Lucy stood before him, her soft young bosom, neck and face crimson, her eyes dancing, and the sweet little mouth quivering. "May I kiss you, Governor?" she cried, tremblingly. "You are my hero!" Her bare arms flashed around his neck, and her warm lips met his. In the mansion on the hill at Albany, the Governor sat that night in his magnificent room alone until the dawn of day, holding in his hand an old battered tintype picture of a laughing girl standing beside a poor young lawyer. THE END