"Oh, no, John! Why, we know what that meant! No—no! The best part of it all was his sanity, his wonderful courage, his braving of almost certain death for what he believed—and knew, John—knew to be right and best. Think what he did for Alleghenia, Johnny boy. He has been almost as great an instrument in her salvation as you. Think what he has done for all of us—for you, in giving you this opportunity—for me—for Dad! John, how can you hesitate?"
The Governor shook his head.
"Dearest," he said, "you're on the wrong track, just as I have been, a dozen times since the petition came. Don't you suppose I've thought of all that? Its significance, not only to me, but, as you say, to the state, is so tremendous that, at the first glance, it seems to be an unanswerable argument. But—don't you see?—no sophistry, no contemplation of the results achieved, can ever make it justifiable for a man to arrogate to himself the power of taking human life, which is the prerogative of God and the law alone. The peculiar circumstances of Cavendish's crime plead eloquently, almost irresistibly, for his pardon. He has saved the state—yes! But the case is one in a million, and it is not an individual case alone which hangs upon my decision,—it is the establishment of a precedent, the maintenance of a principle."
"But, John," broke in Natalie eagerly, "what you've just said—isn't that the clue for which you have been groping? He saved the state! I've heard you talk of Alleghenia too often, of what you hoped for her, and what you despaired of ever bringing to pass, not to know what those four words must mean to you. Think of it! He saved the state! Without any possibility of selfish object he did this extraordinary thing—made it possible for Alleghenia to win back the honor and respect she had so nearly lost forever! He killed the man who had no thought of her purity and dignity, who used the power the people had given him for the furtherance of his own selfish and wicked ends, who made her justice a mockery, who played with her law as if"—
"Stop!" exclaimed the Governor. "Stop—I must think. Wait a moment. I must think—I must think!"
After a minute he began to speak again, this time in a lower tone, a tone which suggested self-communion rather than direct address to the girl before him.
"Yes, that's it. Wait now,—let me be sure! He killed the man who had no thought of Alleghenia's purity, who used his power to serve his own ends, who made her justice"—he was speaking very slowly, dwelling on each word as it left his lips—"her justice a mockery, who played with her law—her law—her Law"—
He paused once more, his brows knit, his firm hand slowly stroking his chin. Then, of a sudden, he drew a deep breath, flung back his shoulders, and looked at her. His eyes were blazing, his voice touched with a new meaning, an eloquence deep, firm, conclusive.
"Natalie," he said, "come here."
"You've struck the keynote," he added, when they stood face to face, a foot or two apart. "It isn't what you thought, or what you meant, but it is the keynote, just the same. The Law!"