But the governor’s refusal to see them at once rankled within him.  His sunburnt cheeks were a brick red and there was an angry light in his gray eyes.  The servant did not return, but in his stead came a dapper young fellow, the governor’s private secretary.

“General Herbert?” he asked inquiringly, as he entered the room.

The general acknowledged his identity by an inclination of the head.

“The governor will be most happy to see you at any time after three o’clock.  May I tell him you will call then?” asked the secretary, and he glanced, not without sympathy and understanding, at Elizabeth.

“We will return at three,” the general said.

“He regrets his inability to see you now,” murmured the secretary, and again he permitted his glance to dwell on the girl’s pale beauty.

He bowed them from the room and from the house.  When the door closed on them, Elizabeth turned swiftly to her father.

“He is cruel, heartless, to keep us in suspense.  A word, a moment—­might have meant so much to us—­” she sobbed.

A spasm of pain contracted her father’s rugged features.

“He will see us; he is a busy man with unceasing demands on his time, but we have this appointment.  Be brave, dear, just a little longer!” he said tenderly.

“I’ll try to be, but there is only to-day—­and to-morrow—­” she faltered.

“Hush, you must not think of that!”

“I can think of nothing else!”

How they lived through the long hours the general never knew, but at last three o’clock came and they were again at the governor’s door.  It was opened by the servant who had admitted them earlier in the day.

“We have an appointment with the governor,” said General Herbert briefly, pushing past him.

“Yes, sir; I will tell him you are here as soon as he comes in,” said the man.

“He’s out, then?” and General Herbert wheeled on the man.

“Yes, but he’s expected back any moment, sir.”

“It will be all right,” her father again assured Elizabeth, speaking with forced cheerfulness when they were alone.

Ten—­twenty minutes slipped by; minutes that were infinitely precious, then a step sounded in the hall.  It was the servant who entered the room, however.  He came to say that a message had that moment been received from the governor; he was detained at the capitol, and probably would not reach home before five o’clock.

“Does he say he will see us there?” asked the general.

“He didn’t mention you, sir; perhaps he has forgotten, but I thought you’d wish to know.”

“Thank you.”  The general turned to his daughter.  “I think we’d better go to the capitol.”

The carriage was still at the door and they hurried out to it and were whirled across town.  As they came to a stand before the capitol, General Herbert, without waiting for Elizabeth, sprang out and strode into the building and up the familiar stairs to the executive chambers.  The door of the outer office stood open.  A colored janitor was sweeping the room.