McMillan here? No doubt. And maybe gladly, too. And yet—
In his momentary trance he was unconscious of the fact
that the Reverend Duncan was whispering:
“But you see we haven’t reached the end of this yet. There
is a new Governor coming into office in January. He is a
very sensible and kindly man, I hear. In fact I know several
people who know him—and it is my plan to see him
personally—as well as to have some other people whom I
know write him on the strength of what I will tell them.”
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But from Clyde’s look at the moment, as well as what he
now said, he could tell that he was not listening.
“My mother. I suppose some one ought to telegraph her.
She is going to feel very bad.” And then: “I don’t suppose
they believed that those letters shouldn’t have been
introduced just as they were, did they? I thought maybe
they would.” He was thinking of Nicholson.
“Don’t worry, Clyde,” replied the tortured and saddened
McMillan, at this point more eager to take him in his arms
and comfort him than to say anything at all. “I have already
telegraphed your mother. As for that decision—I will see
your lawyers right away. Besides—as I say—I propose to
see the Governor myself. He is a new man, you see.”.
Once more he was now repeating all that Clyde had not
heard before.
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Chapter 34
THE scene was the executive chamber of the newly elected
Governor of the State of New York some three weeks after
the news conveyed to Clyde by McMillan. After many
preliminary and futile efforts on the part of Belknap and
Jephson to obtain a commutation of the sentence of Clyde
from death to life imprisonment (the customary filing of a
plea for clemency, together with such comments as they
had to make in regard to the way the evidence had been
misinterpreted and the illegality of introducing the letters of
Roberta in their original form, to all of which Governor
Waltham, an ex-district attorney and judge from the
southern part of the state, had been conscientiously
compelled to reply that he could see no reason for
interfering) there was now before Governor Waltham Mrs.
Griffiths together with the Reverend McMillan. For, moved
by the widespread interest in the final disposition of Clyde’s
case, as well as the fact that his mother, because of her
unshaken devotion to him, and having learned of the
decision of the Court of Appeals, had once more returned
to Auburn and since then had been appealing to the
newspapers, as well as to himself through letters for a
correct understanding of the extenuating circumstances
surrounding her son’s downfall, and because she herself
had repeatedly appealed to him for a personal interview in
which she should be allowed to present her deepest
convictions in regard to all this, the Governor had at last
consented to see her. It could do no harm. Besides it would
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tend to soothe her. Also variable public sentiment, whatever
its convictions in any given case, was usually on the side of
the form or gesture of clemency —without, however, any
violence to its convictions. And, in this case, if one could
judge by the newspapers, the public was convinced that
Clyde was guilty. On the other hand, Mrs. Griffiths, owing to
her own long meditations in regard to Clyde, Roberta, his
sufferings during and since the trial, the fact that according
to the Reverend McMillan he had at last been won to a
deep contrition and a spiritual union with his Creator
whatever his original sin, was now more than ever
convinced that humanity and even justice demanded that at
least he be allowed to live. And so standing before the
Governor, a tall, sober and somewhat somber man who,
never in all his life had even so much as sensed the fevers
or fires that Clyde had known, yet who, being a decidedly
affectionate father and husband, could very well sense
what Mrs. Griffiths’ present emotions must be. Yet greatly
exercised by the compulsion which the facts, as he
understood them, as well as a deep-seated and
unchangeable submission to law and order, thrust upon
him. Like the pardon clerk before him, he had read all the
evidence submitted to the Court of Appeals, as well as the
latest briefs submitted by Belknap and Jephson. But on
what grounds could he—David Waltham, and without any
new or varying data of any kind—just a re-interpretation of
the evidence as already passed upon—venture to change
Clyde’s death sentence to life imprisonment? Had not a
jury, as well as the Court of Appeals, already said he should
die?
In consequence, as Mrs. Griffiths began her plea, her voice
shaky—retracing as best she could the story of Clyde’s life,
his virtues, the fact that at no time ever had he been a bad
or cruel boy—that Roberta, if not Miss X, was not entirely
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guiltless in the matter—he merely gazed at her deeply
moved. The love and devotion of such a mother! Her agony
in this hour; her faith that her son could not be as evil as the
proven facts seemed to indicate to him and every one else.
“Oh, my dear Governor, how can the sacrifice of my son’s
life now, and when spiritually he has purged his soul of sin
and is ready to devote himself to the work of God, repay the
state for the loss of that poor, dear girl’s life, whether it was
accidentally or otherwise taken—how can it? Can not the
millions of people of the state of New York be merciful?
Cannot you as their representative exercise the mercy that
they may feel?”
Her voice broke—she could not go on. Instead she turned
her back and began to cry silently, while Waltham, shaken
by an emotion he could not master, merely stood there.
This poor woman! So obviously honest and sincere. Then
the Reverend McMillan, seeing his opportunity, now
entering his plea. Clyde had changed. He could not speak
as to his life before—but since his incarceration—or for the
last year, at least, he had come into a new understanding of
life, duty, his obligations to man and God. If but the death
sentence could be commuted to life imprisonment——
And the Governor, who was a very earnest and
conscientious man, listened with all attention to McMillan,
whom, as he saw and concluded was decidedly an intense
and vital and highly idealistic person. No question in his
own mind but what the words of this man—whatever they
were, would be true—in so far as his own understanding
would permit the conception of a truth.
“But you, personally, Mr. McMillan,” the Governor at last
found voice to say, “because of your long contact with him
in the prison there—do you know of any material fact not
introduced at the trial which would in any way tend to
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invalidate or weaken any phase of the testimony offered at
the trial? As you must know this is a legal proceeding. I
cannot act upon sentiment alone—and especially in the
face of the unanimous decision of two separate courts.”
He looked directly at McMillan, who, pale and dumb, now
gazed at him in return. For now upon his word—upon his
shoulders apparently was being placed the burden of
deciding as to Clyde’s guilt or innocence. But could he do
that? Had he not decided, after due meditation as to
Clyde’s confessions, that he was guilty before God and the
law? And could he now—for mercy’s sake—and in the face
of his deepest spiritual conviction, alter his report of his
conviction? Would that be true—white, valuable before the
Lord? And as instantly deciding that he, Clyde’s spiritual
adviser, must not in any way be invalidated in his spiritual
worth to Clyde. “Ye are the salt of the earth; but if the salt
have lost his savor, wherewith shall it be salted?” And
forthwith he declared: “As his spiritual advisor I have
entered only upon the spiritual, not the legal aspect of his
life.” And thereupon Waltham at once deciding, from
something in McMillan’s manner that he, like all others,
apparently, was satisfied as to Clyde’s guilt. And so, finally
finding courage to say to Mrs. Griffiths: “Unless some
definite evidence such as I have not yet seen and which will
affect the legality of these two findings can be brought me, I
have no alternative, Mrs. Griffiths, but to allow the verdict as
written to stand. I am very sorry—oh, more than I can tell
you. But if the law is to be respected its decisions can never
be altered except for reasons that in themselves are full of
legal merit. I wish I could decide differently. I do indeed. My
heart and my prayers go with you.”
He pressed a button. His secretary entered. It was plain