retreated down the moist brick walk. At the street he paused. Then he turned on toward Second Street. The woman closed the door, and her key grated in the lock.
The governor strode on into Second Street, past the residence of the Bishop of Springfield, standing behind white pillars deep in its naked grove, past St. Agatha's Seminary sleeping in its gloom, until he reached the state house. The brooding building loomed above him, dark and dour, heaving its great gray dome into the grim night. Huge granite pillars lifted themselves above him, he was lost in the shades of the lofty portico. He unlocked and pushed open the heavy door. The great marble corridors were dark and echoed to the touch of his heel upon the stones. In the wide rotunda, under the enormous dome, thick with billowing gloom, a janitor, the people's solitary night watch, slept profoundly in his chair, his mouth open, his white beard upon his breast. His gossips had departed. Their deserted chairs stood aimlessly about. He had finished the nightly recital of the strenuous part he had borne in the great rebellion, and he slumbered, his snores echoing in the monstrous inverted bowl above him.
