ses.

The Chief Magistrate sat within, unconscious of the hideous tragedy that
was being enacted in his name. When he discovered the infamy by which he
had been made the executioner of an innocent woman, he made his first
demand that Edwin M. Stanton resign from his cabinet as Secretary of War.
And for the first time in the history of America, a cabinet officer waived
the question of honour and refused to resign.

With a shudder and blush of shame, strong men saw that day the executioner
gather the ropes tightly three times around the dress of an innocent
American mother and bind her ankles with cords. She fainted and sank
backward upon the attendants, the poor limbs yielding at last to the
mortal terror of death. But they propped her up and sprung the fatal
trap.

A feeling of uncertainty and horror crept over the city and the Nation, as
rumours of the strange doings of the "Bureau of Military Justice," with
its secret factory of testimony and powers of tampering with verdicts,
began to find their way in whispered stories among the people.

Public opinion, however, had as yet no power of adjustment. It was an hour
of lapse to tribal insanity. Things had gone wrong. The demand for a
scapegoat, blind, savage, and unreasoning, had not spent itself. The
Government could do anything as yet, and the people would applaud.

Mrs. Cameron had tried in vain to gain a hearing before the President.
Each time she was directed to apply to Mr. Stanton. She refused to attempt
to see him, and again turned to Elsie for help. She had learned that the
same witnesses who had testified against Mrs. Surratt were being used to
convict Doctor Cameron, and her heart was sick with fear.

"Ask your father," she pleaded, "to write President Johnson a letter in my
behalf. Whatever his politics, he can't be _your_ father and not be good
at heart."

Elsie paled for a moment. It was the one request she had dreaded. She
thought of her father and Stanton with dread. How far he was supporting
the Secretary of War she could only vaguely guess. He rarely spoke of
politics to her, much as he loved her.

"I'll try, Mrs. Cameron," she faltered. "My father is in town to-day and
takes dinner with us before he leaves for Pennsylvania to-night. I'll go
at once."

With fear, and yet boldly, she went straight home to present her request.
She knew he was a man who never cherished small resentments, however cruel
and implacable might be his public policies.