y soul. They come to her like the voice of a merciful
Providence, speaking through the hushed air of midnight, and breathing
the sweet spirit of love into the dusky figures who tenant that dreary
cell. To Maria it is the last spark of hope, that rarely goes out in
woman's heart, and has come to tell her that to-morrow her star may
brighten. And now, reader, turn with us to another scene of hope and
anxiety.

The steamer which bears Tom to Charleston is off Cape Romaine. He has
already heard of the fate of the old man McArthur. But, he asks himself,
may not truth and justice yet triumph? He paces and repaces the deck,
now gazing vacantly in the direction the ship is steering, then walking
to the stern and watching the long train of phosphoric light playing on
the toppling waves.

There was something evasive in the manner of the man who communicated to
him the intelligence concerning McArthur. "May I ask another question of
you, sir?" he inquires, approaching the man who, like himself, sauntered
restlessly along the deck.

The man hesitates, lights a fresh cigar. "You desire me to be frank with
you, of course," rejoins the man. "But I observe you are agitated. I
will answer your question, if it carry no personal wound. Speak, my
friend."

"You know Maria?"

"Well."

"You know what has become of her, or where she resides?"

Again the man hesitates--then says, "These are delicate matters to
discover."

"You are not responsible for my feelings," interrupts the impatient man.

"If, then, I must be plain,--she is leading the life of an outcast. Yes,
sir, the story is that she has fallen, and from necessity. I will say
this, though," he adds, by way of relief, "that I know nothing of it
myself." The words fall like a death-knell on his thoughts and feelings.
He stammers out a few words, but his tongue refuses to give utterance to
his thoughts. His whole nature seems changed; his emotions have filled
the cup of his sorrow; an abyss, deep, dark, and terrible, has opened to
his excited imagination. All the dark scenes of his life, all the
struggles he has had to gain his manliness, rise up before him like a
gloomy panorama, and pointing him back to that goal of dissipation in
which his mind had once found relief. He seeks his stateroom in
silence, and there invokes the aid of Him who never refuses to protect
the right. And here again we must return to another scene.

Morning has come, the guard-roll has been called, a