--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 thought she heard in the voice of her daughter the
voice of a woman who loved,--the impassioned, daring voice of one
whom love incited to action such as sober reason never would attempt.
She repented already the words she had spoken to her husband. She
had no power then, could not prevail then, or the misgivings which
sent Adolphus weeping into the wood, and not in search of doctor or
colonel, would have drawn him back to her side, and against their
love and their authority this girl had not prevailed. A question
trembled on her lips. But how should she ask it of her child? She
could not ask it of her child,--but as woman of woman. The simplest
and the shortest speech was best; and far away were curiosity and
authority.

"Elizabeth, do you love this prisoner?"

The answer did not linger.

"He is dying,--a noble man perishing unrighteously! Oh, my mother, in
that land there is a lady waiting to know why the arm of the Lord so
long delays! He shall not die a prisoner! She loves him,--_he loves
her_. I will give them to each other. Only keep him alive till I come."