Radio and television mirror (May-Oct 1940)

was all fiiished, but I persuaded him to let Mr. Cunningham read what he'd written. This ought to spur him on. Ned needed little spurring on just then. Page 125 had been left far behind, and he was working swiftly, efficiently, every night. It was only in the short, cloudy moments between sleeping and waking that his old fear came to trouble him, reminding him that his parentage was still shrouded in mystery. Fredrika Lang kept her promise to herself. She held grimly to her refusal to testify in her own behalf. The trial was almost routine, and its outcome fore-ordained. Fredrika was pronounced guilty, and sentenced to death. They took her away to the State Penitentiary to await the day of her execution. But there were still delays. Months passed while the law ran its careful course. All trials, it seemed, which had resulted in a death penalty must be carried automatically to the Court of Appeals for affirmation; so once more lawyers argued and judges listened. Then the higher court handed down its approval of the lower court's decision, and at last the' date for the execution was set. DR. RUTHLEDGE felt a strange little thrill of horror when he read the date in a small story buried on an inside page of his newspaper — for Fredrika Lang's case had long since lost its fascination for the public. May the fourteenth. The day before that which Ned and Mary had set for their wedding. Only a week away. As if the imminence of Fredrika's penalty had given him new wisdom, I he suddenly saw what he must do. I Early the next morning, he departed quietly for the state capital. He had already arranged, by telephone, an appointment with the Governor, whom he knew slightly, and he was admitted at once when he arrived at the State Building. He told the Governor the whole story of Frances Holden, alias Fredrika Lang, as he knew it. When he had finished, there was a long silence. THE Governor's chair creaked slightly as his heavy body shifted m it. "Why have you told me all this. Dr. Ruthledge?" he asked. "Are you hoping I'll pardon her?" "I hope nothing," the minister told him. "I've told you her story because someone in authority should know it. It is too heavy a responsibility for me to bear alone. I do not judge Mrs. Lang — but you may. If, on the basis of the information I have just given you, you feel some sort of clemency is justified . . . why, I shall be happy, but only because I feel that punishment should be in God's hands, not man's." ' Mmm," said the Governor. "I see what you mean. Unfortunately, most voters don't feel that way. It would be political suicide for me to pardon Mrs. Lang without making some sort of public explanation." Dr. Ruthledge felt a sort of dismal weariness, not because of the refusal, but because of the motive of expediency which prompted it. He bent his head and rose to go. But the Governor was speaking again, a slight smile on his lips: "In the present case, I don't have to consider that aspect of the situation. Strictly in confidence, I am retiring from politics at the end of my present term — so Mrs. Lang's pardon is entirely between me and my con science. I'll talk to her, Dr. Ruthledge, and make my decision in a day or so." Neither Fredrika Lang nor the Governor ever divulged what was said at the interviev/ which took place two days later. But an executive pardon was issued soon afterwards. Fredrika came io Five Points on the afternoon of May fourteenth, the day she was to have been executed, the day before that set for Ned's and Mary's wedding. She had only one purpose there — to see Dr. Ruthledge and thank him for what he had done. And then, she told herself, she would go away and never return. CHE waited until evening, and then *^ called Dr. Ruthledge on the telephone, asking him if she might come to the parsonage to see him. "Of course, Mrs. Lang," his deep voice answered. "Come right over." She hesitated. "Ned — where is he?" she asked. "I don't want to see him. ." "That's all right," he told her. "He was here for dinner, but I heard him and Mary go out a few minutes ago — to take a last look at the cottage they're going to live in, I suppose. They're being married tomorrow, you know." "Yes," she murmured. "I — know." As she hurried through the crowded streets of Five Points toward the parsonage, she tried not to wish that she could be at the wedding. It was quite impossible, she reminded herself. Every contact with her son had brought only trouble. She dared not risk another — not even so slight a one as that of creeping into the church and watching the marriage ceremony from the shadows. BARBARA KINDT, FRESHMAN AT UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT BERKELEY, SAYS: a Deau Ca1cnc/i , . . moTwioclje/iH vtatu/iot locfli, I AND IT'S YOI"?S WITH THIS FACE POWDER YOU CHOOSE BY THE COLOR OF YOUR EYES! 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