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ts are propelled in Mizora either by electricity or compressed air, and glide through the water with soundless swiftness. As we neared the island I could perceive the mingling of natural and artificial attractions. We moored our boat at the foot of a flight of steps, hewn from the solid rock. On reaching the top, the scene spread out like a beautiful painting. Grottos, fountains, and cascades, winding walks and vine-covered bowers charmed us as we wandered about. In the center stood a medium-sized residence of white marble. We entered through a door opening on a wide piazza. Art and wealth and taste had adorned the interior with a generous hand. A library studded with books closely shut behind glass doors had a wide window that commanded an enchanting view of the lake, with its rippling waters sparkling and dimpling in the light. On one side of the mantelpiece hung a full length portrait of a lady, painted with startling naturalness. "That," said Wauna, solemnly, "was the last prisoner in Mizora." I looked with interested curiosity at a relic so curious in this land. It was a blonde woman with lighter colored eyes than is at all common in Mizora. Her long, blonde hair hung straight and unconfined over a dress of thick, white material. Her attitude and expression were dejected and sorrowful. I had visited prisons in my own land where red-handed murder sat smiling with indifference. I had read in newspapers, labored eloquence that described the stoicism of some hardened criminal as a trait of character to be admired. I had read descriptions where mistaken eloquence exerted itself to waken sympathy for a criminal who had never felt sympathy for his helpless and innocent victims, and I had felt nothing but creeping horror for it all. But gazing at this picture of undeniable repentance, tears of sympathy started to my eyes. Had she been guilty of taking a fellow-creature's life? "Is she still living?" I asked by way of a preface. "Oh, no, she has been dead for more than a century," answered Wauna. "Was she confined here very long?" "For life," was the reply. "I should not believe," I said, "that a nature capable of so deep a repentance could be capable of so dark a crime as murder." "Murder!" exclaimed Wauna in horror. "There has not been a murder committed in this land for three thousand years." It was my turn to be astonished. "Then tell me what dreadful crime she committed." "She struck her child
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