me.

"Grace au ciel!" she exclaimed, a great joy in her eyes and voice.
"It is M'sieur Bell. Sister--baroness--it is M'sieur Bell!"

I advanced to meet her, and took her hand, kissing it reverently.
She covered her face, her hand upon my shoulder, and wept in
silence. If it meant my death, I should die thanking God I knew,
or thought I knew, that she loved me.

"Ah, yes; it is M'sieur Bell--poor fellow!" said Louison, coming
quickly to me. "And you, my dear, you are Ma'm'selle Louise."

She spoke quickly in French, as if quite out of patience with the
poor diplomacy of her sister.

"I knew it was you, for I saw the emerald on your finger," she
added, turning to me, "but I could not tell her."

"I am glad, I am delighted, that she spoke to me," I said. I
desired to save the fair girl, whose heart was ever as a child's,
any sorrow for what she had done. "I was about to speak myself.
It is so great a pleasure to see you all I could not longer endure
silence."

"They made us prisoners; they bring us here. Oh, m'sieur, it is
terrible!" said the baroness.

"And he is such a horrible-looking monkey!" said Louison.

"Do they treat you well?" I asked.

"We have a big room and enough to eat. It is not a bad prison, but
it is one terrible place," said the baroness. "There is a big
wall; we cannot go beyond it."

"And that hairy thing! He is in love with Louise. He swears he
will never let us go," said Louison, in a whisper, as she came
close to me, "unless--unless she will marry him."

"Ah! a tea-party," said his Lordship, coming toward us. "Pardon
the interruption. I have promised to return these men at nine. It
is now ten minutes of the hour. Ladies, I wish you all a very good
night."

He bowed politely. They pressed my hand, leaving me with such
anxiety in their faces that I felt it more than my own peril,
Louison gave me a tender look out of her fine eyes, and the thought
of it was a light to my soul in many an hour of darkness. She had
seemed so cool, so nonchalant, I was surprised to feel the tremor
in her nerves. I knew not words to say when Louise took my hand.

"Forgive me--good-by!" said she.

It was a faint whisper out of trembling lips. I could see her soul
in her face then. It was lighted with trouble and a nobler beauty
than I had ever seen. It was full of tenderness and pity and
things I could not understand.

"Have courage!" I called as they went away.

I was never in su