They were sitting in Leslie's room at the top of the house one morning, Wilkinson and his daughter. The father was puffing away at a big black cigar, and looking very much out-of-place in the dainty apartment with its poppy-covered walls and chintz furnishings, the girl wearing a far more cheerful look than had been on her face for many moons, was luxuriating in a silken-covered chair. "It's coming out all right, isn't it, father? How many nights have I prayed that you would get away--even if I never saw you again. And now it's coming out all right." She smiled a sad little smile; presently she added: "You've got a man that the National Banks can't buy...." Her tone was the least bit cautious and reserved--as one who withholds judgment. This did not escape Wilkinson. But he pressed his point. "You're sure you want Leech?" he asked. "I don't want to force you, but he's a loyal friend of ours. He's run the National conspiracy to earth, is brave enough to face fire for me--he's a true friend, girlie." Leslie's eyes glowed. She caught her father about the neck, and hiding her face against his shoulder, she whispered: "Of course I want him, father. I--I would not have anybody else...." "I'm glad of that," answered her father, nodding. "He's head over heels in love with you, dear--and he seems, somehow, to make it a condition of----" "Father," she interrupted, "I knew long, long ago that he admired me. I could tell--why, I'm so glad, so glad...." Nevertheless the girl was very tired, was keyed up to the highest pitch. Her father had but three short weeks of respite, Morehead could do no more, and the legislature was ready to appoint its man in the place that Morehead with some desperate instinct had held vacant for so long. It was still a race, a running fight with Leslie, and she revelled in the fight. It was all a part of a desperate game, with her father for the stakes; and she played it with all her might and main. "You will grant a pardon to my father?" she had implored of Leech, struggling feebly in his warm embrace. "Yes," he had answered, drawing her still closer; and Leslie had submitted, persuading herself into the belief that this man was the one man for her. "You promise?" "I promise." Ten days later he resigned his office as Assistant District Attorney of New York; and two weeks later he was lifted into the high place by the legislature. One day after he took his oath of office the petition for the pardon of Peter V. Wilkinson was handed to him; and faithful to his promise, he signed it on the spot. For what did it matter to him or to Wilkinson, either, that there was a storm of protest--the storm of protest coming chiefly from the office of Murgatroyd? What did it matter to Leech that his name henceforth would be upon the black list at the Criminal Courts Building? He had made good and had won his reward--or almost. At any rate, for one thing, he was Governor....