room, with the huge petition spread out before him. His
attention, long absorbed by the problem in hand, was diverted by a tap
on the ante-room door, and, in answer to his call, Natalie Rathbawne
stood before him, smiling out of the exquisite daintiness of a fresh
spring frock.

"You've forgotten!" she said immediately, at sight of his knit brows.

"Forgotten what?" inquired the Governor inadvisedly.

The girl's little foot stamped almost noiselessly upon the thick carpet.

"Upon my word!" she exclaimed, "if there's one thing worse than being
engaged to the Lieutenant-Governor, it's being engaged to the Governor
himself! Forgotten, of course, that we are to lunch together, and look
at wall-papers afterwards! Do you know, John Barclay, I don't believe
you mean to marry me, after all? We'll be just approaching the altar,
when"--

She was interrupted in characteristic fashion, and disengaged herself,
with a great air of indignation, from Barclay's arms.

"If you want to take lunch in the company of a rag carpet," she said
severely, "that's the very best way to go about it. Get your hat."

There was a little pause as Barclay filed some papers in his private
safe, and then one startled word from the girl.

"_John!_"

Wheeling abruptly, he saw her standing at the desk, with her hand on the
petition, and her eyes, wide and wonderstruck, searching his face.

"Dearest!" he said impulsively, "I wish you hadn't."

But Natalie only laughed joyfully.

"But I'm glad, Johnny boy," she answered, "glad--glad--glad! What a
wonderful thing it is to be Governor, boy dear! I don't think I ever
really understood before. Think of it! To have the power of life and
death--to be able to right the wrongs of justice with a single stroke of
the pen. Oh, John! Sign it now--before we go. I shall be so much
happier."

The Governor made no reply. He stood, with his head bent, smoothing his
hat with the fingers of his right hand. Gradually the expression of
eager expectation on her face changed to one of anxiety.

"John," she said in a half whisper, "you _are_ going to sign it, aren't
you, boy dear?"

"I'm not sure," faltered the Governor. "I'm not quite sure, dearest. It
is the hardest problem I've ever had given me to solve. I can understand
now the meaning of something your father said to me just before the
strike,--that, for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to
do, because right seemed to be hopelessly entangled with