se first acts were proofs positive of
strength, integrity, and singleness of purpose. The revulsion of feeling
was overwhelming. Even the press which had sneered at and cried down
John Barclay was forced to the other extreme. Relieved from the burden
of lawlessness which had lain on Kenton City for close upon three
months, the citizens went over in a body to the support of their new
Governor. He was cheered on his every appearance in public as
assiduously as he had been ignored before, and, responding with the
whole force of his sensitive nature to this longed-for and unexpected
popularity, he devoted himself more and more earnestly, day by day, to
the welfare of the state which was his idol.

But following in the wake of this revulsion of feeling in favor of
Barclay came one, hardly less complete, in favor of Spencer Cavendish.
While strictly speaking there could be no condoning his act, it was none
the less evident to even the most rigid adherents of law that by it he
had conferred an indisputable benefit upon the state of Alleghenia, and
his open statement of his reasons at the time of his trial militated for
rather than against him. So it was that a public petition was framed and
circulated, asking, at the hands of Governor Barclay, the commutation of
the death sentence to one of life imprisonment. Little by little the
list of signatures grew, until, a week before the date fixed for
Cavendish's execution, they were numbered by tens of thousands. Then the
petition, rolled into a cylinder, was presented to the Governor by a
committee, and left for his consideration.

To Barclay the intervening time had passed with almost incredible
rapidity. His days, filled as they were to overflowing with numberless
and complex duties, were yet the pleasantest he had ever known. At last,
he was what he had dreamed of being--an active factor, the most active
of all factors, in the advancement of his state. Redeemed, as if by a
miracle, from the disgrace which had laid her low, Alleghenia arose, in
his eyes, like a phoenix, throwing off the ashes of her reproach, and
blazing, with new wings of burnished beauty, in the sunlight of hope and
peace.

Barclay had retained his old office, not caring to make use of a room so
permeated with associations of recent tragedy as was that which had
formerly been Governor Abbott's. Now, with the windows open and the
soft May air stirring the papers on his desk, he sat, looking vacantly
across the