Lycurgus Griffiths, for reasons of their own, had decided not
to aid him further. But she—if she were but able to face the
world with a sound claim—might still aid him. Had not the
Lord aided her thus far? Yet to face the world and the Lord
with her just one plea she must know from him—now—the
truth as to whether he had intentionally or unintentionally
struck Roberta—whether intentionally or unintentionally he
had left her to die. She had read the evidence and his
letters and had noted all the defects in his testimony. But
were those things as contended by Mason true or false?
Clyde, now as always overawed and thrown back on
himself by that uncompromising and shameless honesty
which he had never been able quite to comprehend in her,
announced, with all the firmness that he could muster—yet
with a secret quavering chill in his heart—that he had sworn
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to the truth. He had not done those things with which he
had been charged. He had not. But, alas, as she now said
to herself, on observing him, what was that about his eyes—
a faint flicker perhaps. He was not so sure—as self-
convinced and definite as she had hoped—as she had
prayed he would be. No, no, there was something in his
manner, his words, as he spoke—a faint recessive
intonation, a sense of something troubled, dubious,
perhaps, which quite froze her now.
He was not positive enough. And so he might have plotted,
in part at least, as she had feared at first, when she had first
heard of this—might have even struck her on that lone,
secret lake!—who could tell? (the searing, destroying power
of such a thought as that). And that in the face of all his
testimony to the contrary.
But “Jehovah, jirah, Thou wilt not require of a mother, in her
own and her son’s darkest hour, that she doubt him,—
make sure his death through her own lack of faith? Oh, no—
Thou wilt not. O Lamb of God, Thou wilt not!” She turned;
she bruised under her heel the scaly head of this dark
suspicion—as terrifying to her as his guilt was to him. “O
Absalom, my Absalom!” Come, come, we will not entertain
such a thought. God himself would not urge it upon a
mother. Was he not here—her son—before her, declaring
firmly that he had not done this thing. She must believe—
she would believe him utterly. She would—and did—
whatever fiend of doubt might still remain locked in the
lowest dungeon of her miserable heart. Come, come, the
public should know how she felt. She and her son would
find a way. He must believe and pray. Did he have a Bible?
Did he read it? And Clyde having been long since provided
with a Bible by a prison worker, assured her that he had
and did read it.
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But now she must go first to see his lawyers, next to file her
dispatch, after which she would return. But once out on the
street being immediately set upon by several reporters and
eagerly questioned as to the meaning of her presence here.
Did she believe in her son’s innocence? Did she or did she
not think that he had had a fair trial? Why had she not
come on before? And Mrs. Griffiths, in her direct and
earnest and motherly way, taking them into her confidence
and telling how as well as why she came to be here, also
why she had not come before.
But now that she was here she hoped to stay. The Lord
would provide the means for the salvation of her son, of
whose innocence she was convinced. Would they not ask
God to help her? Would they not pray for her success? And
with the several reporters not a little moved and impressed,
assuring her that they would, of course, and thereafter
describing her to the world at large as she was—middle-
aged, homely, religious, determined, sincere and earnest
and with a moving faith in the innocence of her boy.
But the Griffiths of Lycurgus, on hearing this, resenting her
coming as one more blow. And Clyde, in his cell, on reading
of it later, somewhat shocked by the gross publicity now
attending everything in connection with him, yet, because of
his mother’s presence, resigned and after a time almost
happy. Whatever her faults or defects, after all she was his
mother, wasn’t she? And she had come to his aid. Let the
public think what it would. Was he not in the shadow of
death and she at least had not deserted him. And with this,
her suddenly manifested skill in connecting herself in this
way with a Denver paper, to praise her for.
She had never done anything like this before. And who
knew but that possibly, and even in the face of her dire
poverty now, she might still be able to solve this matter of a
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new trial for him and to save his life? Who knew? And yet
how much and how indifferently he had sinned against her!
Oh, how much. And still here she was—his mother still
anxious and tortured and yet loving and seeking to save his
life by writing up his own conviction for a western paper. No
longer did the shabby coat and the outlandish hat and the
broad, immobile face and somewhat stolid and crude
gestures seem the racking and disturbing things they had
so little time since. She was his mother and she loved him,
and believed in him and was struggling to save him.
On the other hand Belknap and Jephson on first
encountering her were by no means so much impressed.
For some reason they had not anticipated so crude and
unlettered and yet convinced a figure. The wide, flat shoes.
The queer hat. The old brown coat. Yet somehow, after a
few moments, arrested by her earnestness and faith and
love for her son and her fixed, inquiring, and humanly clean
and pure blue eyes in which dwelt immaterial conviction
and sacrifice with no shadow of turning.
Did they personally think her son innocent? She must know
that first. Or did they secretly believe that he was guilty?
She had been so tortured by all the contradictory evidence.
God had laid a heavy cross upon her and hers.
Nevertheless, Blessed be His name! And both, seeing and
feeling her great concern, were quick to assure her that
they were convinced of Clyde’s innocence. If he were
executed for this alleged crime it would be a travesty on
justice.
Yet both, now that they saw her, troubled as to the source
of any further funds, her method of getting here, which she
now explained, indicating that she had nothing. And an
appeal sure to cost not less than two thousand. And Mrs.
Griffiths, after an hour in their presence, in which they made
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clear to her the basic cost of an appeal—covering briefs to
be prepared, arguments, trips to be made—asserting
repeatedly that she did not quite see how she was to do.
Then suddenly, and to them somewhat inconsequentially,
yet movingly and dramatically, exclaiming: “The Lord will
not desert me. I know it. He has declared himself unto me.
It was His voice there in Denver that directed me to that
paper. And now that I am here, I will trust Him and He will
guide me.”
But Belknap and Jephson merely looking at one another in
unconvinced and pagan astonishment. Such faith! An
exhorter! An Evangelist, no less! Yet to Jephson, here was
an idea! There was the religious element to be reckoned
with everywhere—strong in its agreement with just such
faith. Assuming the Griffiths of Lycurgus to remain obdurate
and unmoved—why then—why then—and now that she
was here—there were the churches and the religious
people generally. Might it not be possible, with such a
temperament and such faith as this, to appeal to the very
element that had hitherto most condemned Clyde and
made his conviction a certainty, for funds wherewith to carry
this case to the court of appeals? This lorn mother. Her faith
in her boy.
Presto!
A lecture, at so much for admission, and in which hard-
pressed as she was and could show, she would set forth
the righteousness of her boy’s claim—seek to obtain the
sympathy of the prejudiced public and incidentally two
thousand dollars or more with which this appeal could be
conducted.
And now Jephson, turning to her and laying the matter
before her and offering to prepare a lecture or notes—a
condensation of his various arguments—in fact, an entire
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lecture which she could re-arrange and present as she
chose—all the data which was the ultimate, basic truth in
regard to her son. And she, her brown cheeks flushing and
her eyes brightening, agreeing she would do it. She would