"His wrists, you know,--locked," he explained.

"Oh!" groaned the gentle soul, and she walked off, forgetful of the
flowers, tools, Sandy, everything. But Sandy followed her; she heard
him calling to her, and before the garden-gate she waited for him; he
was following on a run.

"I can tell you what it's for," said he, for he had no idea of keeping
the secret to himself, and he dared not trust it to any other friend.

"What is it?" she asked,--and she trembled when she asked, and while
she waited for his answer.

"For lighting the Church. Would you think that? He did such damage, it
wasn't safe for him to be at liberty. That's how it was. I think he
must be a Lutheran;--you know they don't believe in the Holy Ghost! Of
course,--poor fellow!--it's right he should be shut up for warring with
the Church that came down through the holy Apostles, when you know all
the rest only started up with Luther and Calvin. He ought to have
knowed better."

"Who told you, Sandy?" asked Elizabeth, as if her next words might
undertake to extenuate and justify.

"It came straight enough, I understand. But--remember--you don't know
anything about it. His name is Manuel, though;--don't dare to mention
it;--that's what Mr. Laval calls him. Are you going? I wouldn't have
told you a word, but you took his trouble so to heart. You see, now,
it's right he should be shut up. But let on that you know anything, all