one called to talk politics with the Governor, she took Peter off to
another room, and made him tell her about the whole case, and how he
came to take it up, and why he had come to the Governor for help. She
cried over it, and after Peter had gone, she went upstairs and looked at
her own two sleeping boys, quite large enough to fight the world on
their own account, but still little children to the mother's heart, and
had another cry over them. She went downstairs later to the Governor's
study, and interrupting him in the work to which he had settled down,
put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. "You must help him,
William," she said. "Do everything you can to have those scoundrels
punished, and let him do it."

The Governor only laughed; but he pushed back his work, and his wife sat
down, and told of her admiration and sympathy for Peter's fight. There
was a bad time ahead for the criminal and his backers. They might have
political influence of the strongest character, fighting their battle,
but there was a bigger and more secret one at work. Say what we please,
the strongest and most subtle "pull" this world as yet contains is the
under-current of a woman's influence.

Peter went back to New York that night, feeling hopeful, yet doubtful.
It almost seemed impossible that he had succeeded, yet at twenty-three,
failure is hard to believe in. So he waited, hoping to see some move on
the part of the State, and dreaming of nothing better. But better came,
for only five days after his return his mail brought him a large
envelope, and inside that envelope was a special commission, which made
Peter a deputy of the Attorney-General, to prosecute in the Court of
Sessions, the case of "The People of the State of New York _versus_
James Goldman." If any one could have seen Peter's face, as he read the
purely formal instrument, he would not have called it dull or heavy. For