clouds. I didn't feel the shackles on my ankle and arm, and the low
singing of Seventy-two in his cell was as sweet as far-off celestial
music. I remember he called out to me just before bed-time, 'Brother,
how goes it?' and for the first time I answered, with a sob in my
throat: 'I'm all right, Seventy-two--I'm all right!' And I heard him
say, 'Thank the Lord, blessed be His holy name!'

"Now comes the best part, friends--I'm glad to see you've been so
quiet and attentive. Lo and behold! One morning the warden sent for me
to come to his private sitting-room, and there sat a dignified, kind-
faced man. It was the Governor. He wanted to talk to me, he said,
about Seventy-two. I don't know how it was, but I give you my word
that somehow I didn't have a single thought beyond trying to get
Seventy-two pardoned. Once the Governor broke in and said, 'But how
about _your own_ case?' And I told him I was guilty and had no hope as
far as I was concerned. He put a lot of questions to me about Seventy-
two, about his habits and talk to me and other prisoners; and I heard
him say to the warden, 'This is an interesting case; I must look
further into it.'

"Then I was sent back, and Seventy-two was ordered out. He was with
the Governor for about an hour, and then he came back to his cell, and
I heard him praying and sobbing. Once I heard him say, 'Lord, Lord,
Thou hast answered my call. Justice is to be done.'

"The next day it went around that Seventy-two was pardoned. He put on
his old clothes, packed up his things, and come to shake hands with
us. When he come to me he pulled me to one side and clung to my hand
and began to cry. 'It was all through you,' he said. 'The Governor
wouldn't have believed it in any other way.' Then he told me not to