hat it held by its immortality. The
love that pleaded with her appealed to recollections the most sacred,
the most dear, the perpetual,--knowing what was in her heart, knowing
how _it_ would respond.

But there, where Julius left the miniature, it lay; a letter beside it
now, and a purse of gold,--pure gold,--not a Confederate note among it.

Poor Julia Edgar! she need not open the case that shone with such starry
splendor. Never could be hidden from her eyes the face of the child. How
should she not see again, in all its beauty, the garden where her
darling had played, little hands filled full of blooms, little face
whose smiling was as that of angels, butterflies sporting around her as
the wonderful one of old flitted about St. Rose,--alas! with as sure a
prophecy as that black and golden one? How clearly she saw again,
through heavy clouds of tears that never broke, the garden's glory, all
its peace, its happiness, its pride, and love!

No argument, no word, could have pleaded for the father of the child
like this. But it was love pleading against love,--Earth's beseeching
and need, against Heaven's warning and sufficience.

At last she spoke again.

"What is your reward, Julius, for all this danger you've incurred for
him, and for me?"

"He said it should be my liberty."

How he spoke those words! LIBERTY! it was the golden dream of
the man's life, yet he named it with a self-control that commanded her
admiration and reverence.

"I give it to you at this moment, here!" she said.

For an instant the slave seemed to hesitate; but the hesitation was of
utterance merely, not of will.

"My errand isn't half done, Madam. I never broke my word yet. I'll go
back."

"Tell him, then, that I gave you your freedom, and you would not accept
it. And--_go_ back! 't is a noble resolve, worthy of you. Take the
purse. I do not need it. Say that I have no need of it. And you will,
perhaps."

No other message for him? Not one word from herself to him! For she knew
where safety lay.

The slave looked at her, helpless, hopeless, with indecision. The woman
was incomprehensible. He had set out on his errand, had persevered
through difficulties, and had withstood temptations too many to be
written here, with not a doubt as to the success that would attend him.
He remembered the wife of General Edgar in her home; to that home of
happy love and noble hospitality, and of all social dignities, he had no
doubt he should restore