As the night wore on and no one entered the door, his soul illumined with hope and seemed loosening itself from pain and desire.
Presently there was a sound, a sight that startled him. A messenger was at the door holding a yellow slip. The sheriff came out rubbing his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked sleepily.
“A reprieve! A reprieve!”
Holding it to the lamp in the hall, the sheriff read:
“Sheriff of Scott County, Georgetown, Ky.—Ephriam Cooley’s sentence commuted to life imprisonment. Hurry prisoner to Frankfort. ——, Governor.”
The sheriff hastily pencilled an answer and sent the boy speeding back.
“Hitch the horse!” he called to his man.
“Oh my God!” In that supreme cry, hope quivered in its death throb. Elliott Harding received the lance thrust of despair. He stood defenseless: alone with Destiny.
All was done quietly and swiftly. The sleeping town knew nothing of the change.