"Would I could, my child! But they will not allow it--these jailors.
They will part us."

"I wish these chains could bind me too--these very links--that I might
never leave you," cried Aimee, kissing the fetters which bound her
father's arms.

"Your mother's heart, Aimee; that remains."

"I will keep it from breaking, father, trust me."

And the mother and daughter tasted something like happiness, even in an
hour like this, in their re-union. It was a strange kind of comfort to
Aimee to hear from her mother how long ago her father had foreseen, at
Pongaudin, that the day might come when her heart would be torn between
her lover and her family. The impending blow had been struck--the
struggle had taken place: and it only remained now to endure it.

"Father!" said Genifrede, appealing to Toussaint, with a grave
countenance, "you say that none but brave and steady souls must go with
you on your way to martyrdom. You know me to be cowardly as a slave,
and unstable as yonder boat now tossing on the waves. Do you see that
boat, father?"

"Surely--yes; it is Paul;" said Toussaint, looking through his glass.
"Paul is coming to say farewell."

"Let me return with him, father. Let me become his child. I am
unworthy to be yours. And he and I are so forlorn!"

Her father's tender gaze encouraged her to say more. Drawing closer,
she whispered--

"I have seen Moyse--I have seen him more than once in the Morne; and I
cannot leave this place. Let me stay."

"Stay, my child. Seek consolation in your own way. We will all pray
for you; we will all console your mother for your absence. We shall not
meet again on earth, Genifrede."

"I know it, father. But the time of rest--how long it is in coming!"

"My child, our rest is in the soul--it lies not either in place or time.
Do not look for it in the grave, unless you have it first in the soul."

"Then would I had never been born!"

"How different will be your cry when you have been a daughter to Paul
for a while! When you see him consoled, and reposing upon your care,
you will say, `I thank God that I have lived for this!' A great duty
lies before you, my dear child; and in the heart of duty lies rest--a
deeper than that of the grave. Shall I give you a duty to discharge for
me?"

"Oh, yes! I will take it as your blessing."

"Convey to Christophe my last message. Bid him rejoice for me that my
work is done. My work is now his. Bid him remember how w