last few months acting upon a singularly nervous and excitable
organization, rendered even more susceptible by her present condition,
which was that of pregnancy.

At this word Lyon Berners started, threw his hands to his head, and
uttered a cry of insupportable anguish.

Ishmael Worth laid his hand soothingly, restrainingly upon him, saying:

"Be patient! Even this circumstance, sad as it seems, may save her life.
We do not 'cut down the tree with blossoms on it.' This report, as I
said, must go up with the petition to the governor. The petition prays
for her full pardon on the grounds set forth in this report. The
governor may or may not grant the full pardon; but if he does not, he
_must_ grant her a respite until after the birth of her child. Thus her
life is sure to be prolonged, and may, probably _will_, be saved. For if
the governor does not pardon her, still in the long interval afforded by
the respite, we may, with the help of Providence, be able to discover
the real criminal in this case, and bring him to justice; and thus
vindicate her fame, as well as save her life."

"You give me hope and courage; you always do," answered Lyon Berners,
gratefully.

"I only remind you of what you yourself know to be facts and
probabilities; and would recognize as such, but for the excitement and
confusion of your mind. And now, do you know what I mean to do?"

Mr. Berners gravely shook his head.

"I mean to leave for Richmond by to-night's stage-coach, taking with me
the original attested medical report and the petition for her pardon. I
mean to travel day and night, so as to lay the documents before the
governor at the earliest possible moment. And as soon as he shall have
acted upon them I shall leave Richmond for this place, travelling day
and night until I bring you her pardon or her respite."

"How shall I thank you? What words can express how much--" began Mr.
Berners, with emotion; but Ishmael Worth scarcely heard him. He had
stepped across the room and touched the bell-pull.

"Send my attendant here," he said to the waiter who appeared at the
door.

A few moments elapsed, and a venerable old negro man of stately form and
fine features, with a snow-white head and beard, and dressed quite like
a gentleman--a sort of an ideal Roman senator carved in ebony, entered
the room, bowed, and stood waiting.

"Be so kind as to pack my portmanteau, professor. I go to Richmond by
the nights coach."

The "professor"