"I will let you bear the pardon to him," said the Governor, and he unfolded one of the papers which lay on the table by his side and signed it. "Here it is."
The old man seized the paper with a convulsive clutch. His knees trembled as his eyes read the pardon swiftly.
The door of the parlor opened, and the secretary returned.
The old man grasped his hat. "Do you know when the next train leaves for Auburn?" he inquired, hastily.
"There's one at four o'clock, I think," the secretary answered.
"I shall be in time," said the old man; and then, the pardon in his twitching fingers, he left the parlor without another word. He passed quickly through the corridors of the hotel, down the stairs, and out into the street. When he reached the pavement he stood still for a moment and bared his head, quite unconscious of the rain-storm which had broken but a minute before.
A small boy came running to him across the street, crying, "Evening papers—four o'clock Gazette!"
Seemingly the old man did not hear him.
"Terrible loss of life!" the newsboy shrilled out, as he moved away. "Riot at Auburn! Attempted escape of the prisoners!"
Then a clutch of iron was fastened on the newsboy's arm, and the old man towered above him, asking hoarsely: "What's that you say? A loss of life in the prison at Auburn? Give me the paper!"