nswered by Mrs. Costello's voice.

"But why are you so late?" was the next question.

"I will tell you all presently. Pay the man, dear, and let him go. Or
stay, tell him to come for me at ten o'clock to-morrow morning."

Mrs. Costello was sitting by the fire when Lucia came back from her
errand. She looked excessively pale and tired, but in her face and in
that of Mr. Strafford as he stood opposite to her there was a light and
flicker of strong excitement. Both turned to Lucia, and Mrs. Costello
held out her hand.

Lucia came forward, and seeing something she could not understand, knelt
down by her mother's knee and said, "What is it?"

"Good news, darling, good news at last!" Mrs. Costello tried to speak
calmly, but her voice shook with this unaccustomed agitation of joy. "He
is innocent!" she cried, and covered her face with her hands.

CHAPTER XIV.

It was long before the one single fact of Christian's innocence--proved,
unquestionable innocence--had become sufficiently real and familiar for
the mother and daughter to hear or to tell how the truth had come to
light, and the justice of Heaven been swifter and surer than that of
man. But at length all that Mrs. Costello knew was told; and in the deep
joy and thankfulness with which they saw that horrible stain of murder
wiped out, they were ready to forget even more completely than before,
all the disgrace which still clung to the miserable prisoner, and to
welcome him on his release with no forced kindness.

"On his release? Ought he not to be with them now?"

Lucia asked the question.

"He does not yet even know all," Mrs. Costello answered. "He is so
excessively weak that they dared not tell him till to-morrow."

"To-morrow, then, he will be here?"

"No, that is impossible. There is much to be done first; but very soon I
hope."

Yet both doubted in their hearts whether the shadow--ever deepening--of
approaching death could yet be so checked as to suffer the prisoner to
breathe the free air for which he pined.

Meanwhile, the story was being told by every fireside in Cacouna with
more of wonder and of comment than by that one where it had the deepest
interest. And it was a tale that would be remembered and repeated for
years, though no living man could tell it all.

That morning Clarkson had been for some hours at Cacouna. He had various
places to go to, and both sales and purchases to make, but he found
time, as usual, to visit more than o