"I am not Miss Ilingsworth," she returned in a strong, rich, full voice, vibrant with pathos. "I have no card. My name is Madeline Braine. I'm a saleswoman in Satterthwaite's department store in New York." The Governor looked at her questioningly. "I was informed that you had received the Ilingsworth papers," she began, going right to the point, "and that Mr. Higgins had been here to see you. I have come about it, too." The Governor drew a chair forward for her; and the young woman leaning across a table, her figure half-resting lightly upon it, her slender arm stretching toward him, continued: "Yes, I have come to plead for Giles Ilingsworth, to save him from----" She stopped suddenly, and for an instant her eyes held the other's glance. "Who sent you here?" presently asked the Governor. "I came of my own accord, sir." "You are not allied with the Ougheltree crowd?" he asked, and his eyes narrowed. Madeline Braine opened hers wide. "What Ougheltree crowd?" she queried in return. "Come, come," he said a bit impatiently, "you must know what I mean. I've heard all about this Ilingsworth case. It's been a handle in the hands of a lot of people for the purpose of hounding Peter V. Wilkinson." "Peter V. Wilkinson," she breathed, a sharp note of enmity in her tone that the Governor recognised for the thing it was. "Ah, you know something of what I say?" he said. "I have heard," she began. "Then why do you come here?" he interrupted testily. Madeline Braine leaned toward him a bit closer, persisting: "Because I know that this man Ilingsworth isn't guilty." "How do you know it?" he asked. "I just know," she replied with feminine logic. "You think he was insane? That seems to be the chief argument of his friends." "He isn't guilty of the murder, that's all," she declared, her eyes glittering for an instant. "I wish you'd tell me how you know this?" asked the Governor, firmly. He was fast getting out of patience with her. "Because I've heard him tell his story, and I know it's true," she insisted stubbornly. "But twelve men heard his story," went on the Governor, disturbed out of his gubernatorial dignity by her evident distress, "and they felt it wasn't true." "They didn't hear it as I heard it," she declared with great earnestness. "You ought to hear it from him--not read it. Just hear the sound of his voice, see his face, his eyes! You'd believe him--you'd know it was true." The Governor was interested, not only at her words, but at her forceful manner; moreover, he was attracted not a little by the young woman's great beauty. Presently he asked: "You were in the crowd the day of the murder? Or perhaps you know someone who was?" But both these questions she answered negatively. The Governor was puzzled. Dealing with the Honourable Worth Higgins had been an easy matter compared to this. Nevertheless, there was a wonderfully convincing stubbornness about the woman that disturbed him.