er,
from taking possession of her. Pauline's words revived every fear,
every anxiety he had felt for their child. Generous as impetuous, he
saw now only one thing to be done, one result to be accomplished.
Elizabeth must sail in the next vessel, and he was not the man to
know another quiet moment till that vessel hove in sight. That was
his way; why hesitate a twelvemonth, when a moment sufficed for a
decision, and the good and happiness of others were concerned in the
deciding? And it was not merely his way, as has been made
sufficiently apparent,--it was his wife's way, and his daughter's.

Yet fain would Pauline have entered now upon a discussion of what
remained to be done; she could have gone on from this point at which
they suddenly found themselves standing so wistfully; she would have
made, in advance, every needful preparation and arrangement for
Elizabeth, up to the time of her return. But Adolphus was in no mood
for this. He must go and see Colonel Farel, he said, by way of excuse,
--and he must see the doctor. It would have been a dangerous
experiment, had Pauline persisted in the endeavor to discover how
much he could endure. Montier felt that he was not fit for family
deliberation now, and wisely made his escape from it.

"I know," said Pauline, when she and her child were left together,
"I know why it is the best thing in the world for you to go on this
voyage,--but--I do not know how you came by the sudden wish to go,
--or if it is sudden, Elizabeth."

No demand,--no confidence required,--not a request, even, to enter
into any secret counsel with her child. But that child saw the
relation in which she stood to the loving woman by her side, whose
eyes were gazing into her eyes, whose love was seeking to fathom her
heart, and she answered humbly, and with confidence,--

"I am going to your old home, my mother,--and to see if it is true
that Manuel is to die here in this abhorred prison. It is my secret,
--it is my errand. I trust you, for you love me; oh, love me, my
mother, and trust me! I dare not live, I cannot endure my freedom,
while he is wearing out his life in a prison. Am I ill? Has it worn
me to see him, this year past, dying by inches? I am glad of it,--I
am proud of it! Now I will see if there is any pity or justice among
rulers."

Pauline Montier was confounded by this outbreak. She had expected no
such word as this she heard. It terrified her, for she was a loving
woman, and she though