"Yes," said the governor in gentle assent, "I have done it." The sigh that ended this remark was one in which a heart-burdening care was dissipated. It was a sigh that resolved a vast difficulty.
When the woman came the next morning, Gilman led her at once into the governor's presence. Before him lay a large document, lettered in preposterous script, lined in red ink. The woman knew this imitation parchment to be the pardon of Thomas Whalen. The governor rose and stood until she had seated herself, and then said, drawing the pardon on the desk to him, "I have decided to grant the application for Whalen's pardon."
The woman's fingers clawed the carved arms of the chair. Gilman stared with parted lips. The governor continued as he hastily scanned the pardon:
"I take this action because circumstances recently revealed lead me to believe that Whalen is innocent."
The governor dipped his pen in the ink.
"They form a very abstruse proposition," he said, poising his pen nicely in his fingers, "and I am not sure that every one can grasp it."
