ff left by
the first train for the capital.

Now a strange thing happened. For the first time within human
recollection the newspapers were unanimous in commending the conduct of
the head of the State, the organs of the governor's own party lavishly
praising him; the opposition sheets grudgingly admitting that he had
more backbone than they had given him credit for. Public opinion, like
the cat of the simile, had jumped, and that unmistakably.

"In the name of all that's wonderful, sheriff," said the bewildered
governor, "who signed all those petitions? If the papers wanted the man
hanged, why, in the fiend's name, did they not say so before, and save
me all this worry? Now how many know of this suppressed dispatch?"

"Well, there's you and your subordinates here and----"

"_We'll_ say nothing about it."

"And then there is me and Bowen in Brentingville. That's all."

"Well, Bowen will keep quiet for his own sake, and you won't mention
it."

"Certainly not."

"Then let's _all_ keep quiet. The thing's safe if some of those
newspaper fellows don't get after it. It's not on record in the books,
and I'll burn all the documents."

And thus it was. Public opinion was once more vindicated. The governor
was triumphantly re-elected as a man with some stamina about him.

THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD.

It is a bad thing for a man to die with an unsatisfied thirst for
revenge parching his soul. David Allen died, cursing Bernard Heaton and
lawyer Grey; hating the lawyer who had won the case even more than the
man who was to gain by the winning. Yet if cursing were to be done,
David should rather have cursed his own stubbornness and stupidity.

To go back for some years, this is what had happened. Squire Heaton's
only son went wrong. The Squire raged, as was natural. He was one of a
long line of hard-drinking, hard-riding, hard-swearing squires, and it
was maddening to think that his only son should deliberately take to
books and cold water, when there was manly sport on the country side
and old wine in the cellar. Yet before now such blows have descended
upon deserving men, and they have to be borne as best they may. Squire
Heaton bore it badly, and when his son went off on a government
scientific expedition around the world the Squire drank harder, and
swore harder than ever, but never mentioned the boy's name.

Two years after, young Heaton returned, but the doors of the Hall were
closed against him. He had no