sky. He did not hear the woman enter. She coughed to attract his attention. This did not arouse him from his reverie, and after a moment's timid hesitation, she said:
"May I come in?"
The governor turned. "Be seated, madam," he said. "I shall be quite frank with you. I am acquainted with this case, and do not believe it to be one justifying executive clemency."
When she spoke her voice was tremulous.
"Will you hear my story?"
"You may proceed," the governor replied. He had pushed the papers aside and was drumming lightly with his long, white fingers on his desk.
The woman nervously pleated her handkerchief, fearing to begin. "You must excuse me," she said presently, "I can not tell my story very well. I do not come here for mercy or anything like that. It is only a matter of justice."
Had it not been for the gloom, she might have seen a smile steal over the face of the dark figure at the desk. Once plunged into her narrative, her words flowed rapidly, until—suddenly she ceased to speak.
