with Steve and Jason Hawn.  Indeed, the Democrats were busy unearthing, as they claimed, a gigantic Republican conspiracy.  No less than one hundred thousand dollars was offered as a reward for the conviction of the murderers, and the Republican cry was that with such a sum it was possible to convict even the innocent.  In turn, Liberty Leagues were even formed throughout the State to protect the innocent, and lives and property were pledged to that end, but the ex-secretary of state fled for refuge across the Ohio, and the governor over there refused to give him up.

The Democrats held forth at the Capitol Hotel—­the Republicans at the executive building.  The governor sent arms from the State arsenal to his mountain capital.  Two speakers were always on hand in the Senate, and war talk once again became rife.  There was a heavy guard of soldiers at every point in the Capitol Square, there were sentries at the governor’s mansion, and the rumor was that the militia would try to arrest the lieutenant-governor who now was successor to the autocrat.  So, to guard him, special police were sworn in—­police around the hotel, police in the lobby, police patrolling the streets day and night; a system of signals was formed to report suspicious movements of troops, and more men were stationed at convenient windows and in dark alleyways, armed with pistols, but with rifles and shot-guns close at hand, while the police station was full of arms and ammunition.  To the courts it was at last agreed that the whole matter should go, and there was panting peace for a while.

A curious pall overhung the college the morning of Jason’s flight for the hills.  The awful news spread from lip to lip, hushing shouts and quelling laughter.  The stream of students moved into the chapel with little noise—­a larger stream than usual, for the feeling was that there would be comment from the old president.  A common seriousness touched the face of every teacher on the platform and deepened the seriousness of the young faces that looked expectantly upward.  In the centre of the freshman corner one seat only was vacant, and that to John Burnham suggested the emptiness of even more than death.  Among the girls one chair, too, yawned significantly, for Mavis was not there and the two places might have been side by side, so close was the mute link between them.  But no word of Jason reached any curious ear, and only a deeper feeling in the old president’s voice when it was lifted, and a deeper earnestness in his prayer that especial guidance might now be granted the State in the crisis it was passing through, showed that the thought of all hearts was working alike in his.  At noon the news of Jason’s escape and flight spread like fire through town and college—­then news that bloodhounds were on his trail, that the trail led to the hills, and that a quick capture was certain.  Before night the name of the boy was on the lips of the State and for a day at least on the lips of the nation.