The Governor went back to his chair, and sat down in it.  He wrinkled his brows and took a long survey of his embarrassed caller.

“I’m afraid I spoke of the case of our mutual friend Presson in rather harsh terms.  It would not work like that.  Of course, he would bow to the inevitable if such a law were passed.  But if it becomes a personal matter in any respect, Mr. Thornton, do you believe that any member of Presson’s family would be offended if Presson were made to obey the law?”

“Well, if he persisted against the new law, it would be a pretty hard position for any fair person to defend,” admitted the young man.

“I think we may depend on it that this young person, admittedly ’fair’—­at my age I can be allowed to bestow that compliment—­will respect your integrity.  I do not command you to do the service—­I cannot do that.  But I shall be disappointed if you allow personal reasons to interfere with your public duties.  I have depended on you to do it.  I have only a few that I can trust.”

At that instant, in the presence of this man who had sacrificed so much, Harlan felt that his own interests were too petty for consideration.

He put the document into his pocket.

“Forgive me for hesitating, Governor Waymouth.  I’m afraid I’ll never make a very good public servant.  But I’ll try to hold my eyes straight ahead after this.”

“Keep the paper in your pocket.  Think it all over.  You’re at the place every man reaches.  What you want to do and what you ought to do split very sharply sometimes.  I’ll let you decide.  I have no more to say.”

Harlan walked back to the hotel, trying to adjust himself to this new phase of the question.  Once more he had been called upon to lead the charge of the forlorn hope.  He had not the same thrill of zealous loyalty as before.  He was a little hurt because the Governor had made the affairs of his heart of so small importance.  An old man’s austerity could not understand, perhaps, but nevertheless Harlan felt that he was entitled to some consideration.  He had not acquired an old man’s calm poise—­he was not entirely willing to put politics ahead of everything else, now that he found there were so many other things in life.  Was it not true that the mass preferred to pay court to high ideals in the abstract, and bitterly resented any attempt by sincere individuals to enforce the actual?  He understood rather vaguely that he would be applauded by the radicals—­he had met their leaders and did not like them—­he would get the applause the mob gives to “a well-meaning fellow,” but more than all he would be sneered at behind his back as “a crank trying to reorganize human nature,” and therefore to be shunned.  He had been mingling intimately with the chief men of the State; he knew what kind of comment they had for others.  Most of all, he knew that the mild applause of the mob would not be loud enough to drown out those familiar voices nearest him—­he had heard those voices many times before:  there was his grandfather, there was Luke Presson, there were the political associates with whom he had already begun to train on the basis of compromise.