The One Woman (Dixon, 1903)/Chapter 35
Ruth trembled at the thought of her appeal to King. She knew his iron will, his intense love, and the certainty with which he had long regarded their coming union. His ambitions were still mounting, and daily with better assurances of success. His party had chosen another man their candidate for the Presidency, and had been overwhelmed in defeat, while he had been re-elected Governor by a larger plurality.
He received her with grave tenderness.
"Morris," she cried, pathetically, seizing his hand and holding it, "he is not guilty of murder. Everything has been against him in these trials. They were not fair. He killed that man in what men have always called a fair fight. You are a manly man. You believe in justice. You will not let them kill him!"
She could feel the strong man's hand tremble in hers, looked up into his face, and saw a tear quiver on his lashes.
"Oh! Ruth," he cried, bitterly, "why do you cling to this man? He is regarded as the most dangerous firebrand in America. I could show you hundreds of letters piled on that desk begging me in the name of law and order and all the forces of civilised society not to interfere with his sentence. Come, you know how I love you. This is horrible cruelty to me. The doors of the White House are opening. You know that what I have, am now, and ever may be, is yours. It will all be ashes without you. I offer you a deathless love, honour and glory, and you come here to tell me you prefer a convicted felon in his cell. My God, it is too much!"
The Governor leaned on his desk and shaded his face with his hands.
"How can I help it, Morris, if I love him?" she asked, piteously.
He raised his head, looked away, and softly said:
"Ruth, could you never love me?"
She was silent a moment and her lips trembled.
"If he dies, I cannot live," she gasped.
He leaned close, took her hand, and said:
"I'll order a stay of sentence for three months."
She kissed his hand, and murmured:
"Thank you." ······· From the telegraph office at Albany over the wires to Sing Sing's house of death flew the message:
The next express carried her to him with the copy of the Governor's order in her bosom.The warden smiled and congratulated her. She had long before won his heart, and there was no favour within the limits of law that he had not granted to the man she loved.
Ruth looked at Gordon tenderly through the barred opening of his cell.
Her heart ached as she saw the ashen pallor of his face and the skin beginning to draw tight and slick across the protruding cheek-bones of his once magnificent face. Three years of prison had bent his shoulders and reduced his giant frame to a mere shadow of his former self. Only the eyes had grown larger and softer, and their gaze now seemed turned within. They burned with a feverish mystic beauty.
Ruth fixed on him a look of melting tenderness and asked:
"Do you not long for the open fields, the sky and sea, my dear?"
He gazed at her hungrily.
"No. Sometimes I've felt a queer homesickness in these dying muscles that thirst for the open world, but I've no time to think of mountain or lake, or hear the call of field or sea Ruth, I can only think of you! I have but one interest, but one desire of soul and body—that you may be happy. I would be free, not because I fear death or covet life"—his voice sank to a broken whisper—"but that I might crawl around the earth on my hands and knees and confess my shame and sorrow that I deserted you."
"Hush, hush, my love; I forgive you," she moaned.
"Yes, I know; but all time and eternity will be too short for my repentance."
The woman was sobbing bitterly.
"These prison bars," he went on with strange elation, "are nothing. The old queer instinct of asceticism within me, that made a preacher of an Epicurean and an athlete, has come back to its kingship. Its sublime authority is now supreme. I despise life, and have learned to live. There is no task so hard but that the king within demands a harder. There can be no pain so fierce and cruel but that it calls my soul to laughter. As for Death"
His voice sank to dreamy notes.
"She who comes at last with velvet feet and the tender touch of a pure woman's hand—her face is radiant, her voice low music. She will speak the end of strife and doubt, and loose these bars. With friendly smile she will show me the path among the stars, until I find the face of God. I'll tell Him I'm a son of His who lost the way on life's great plain, and that I am sorry for all the pain I've caused to those who loved me."
Ruth felt through the bars and grasped his hand, sobbing.
"Don't, don't, don't, Frank! Stop! I cannot endure it!"
The warden turned away to hide his face.