"Of course it is the place for me, on the prisoner's account. I hate
the prison just the same, though. But if I was mistaken, so was
Elizabeth. She thought it would seem like home to her;--it never has;
it never will. But I do not think there is a chance of our being
kept here long by poor Mr. Manuel. Adolphus, I am for Elizabeth's
going home."

"Colonel Farel and his lady are getting ready to go in the next
vessel," said Adolphus, as if in a sleep, or as though his power of
speech opposed and defied him in its activity,--so bewildered did he
look at his wife and daughter.

"Oh, then, may I go? It is only out and back. I will not be long away.
Then we shall all go some day together, and never, never return."

"That is my wish," said Pauline; "isn't it yours, Adolphus?"

"Yes!" And this answer was given by a man who was neither asleep nor
bewildered, but by one who had put himself out of sight, and was
thinking only of others.

Adolphus had not been as blind as Pauline must have supposed him when
she bade him remember what their daughter was a year ago. He, too,
had seen that the bloom was fading from her face, and by many a
device he had striven to divert the gravity, descending upon her,
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