in the library, a woman so beautiful and
so strong you would not have thought that trouble could approach her.
It came through me. I opened those ancient gates for the black train,
--I, who loved no mortal as I loved her! But I lost her in my fight
for Truth. Shall I complain? Her heart was with mine in that struggle.
Cannot Truth comfort her?"

"She is not lost to you. Sir,--you are not lost to her," cried
Elizabeth, in a voice as strong as breaks sometimes through dying
agony.

"I know," said he, more gently. His thought was not the same as hers;
he was taking refuge in that future which remains to the loving when
this life wholly fails in hope.

"You shall go back to that old place, Sir! You shall--you two--shall
forget all this!"

The prisoner smiled to hear her,--a sad smile, yet a sweet smile too.
He did not despise the comfort she would give him, nor resent her
presumptuous speech.

"As when I dream sometimes," said he, gently,--"or in some pleasant
vision. Yes, that is true, Elizabeth. I have been back, and I shall
go again."

Vehemently now she broke forth. It was love defying the whole
universe, if the whole universe opposed itself to the sovereign
rights of love, the divine strength and the divine courage of love.
--"You shall go on board some vessel, a passenger; you shall see
with your own eyes; your hands shall be free to gather the sweetest
rose that--ever blossomed in the world for you. Mr. Manuel, do not
look so doubting,--do not smile so! Am I not in earnest? Do you not
hear me? As God lives, and as I live, I will do what I promise. Why,
what do you think I am here for?"

Wondering, doubting if he heard aright, Manuel looked at Elizabeth.
The painful, kindly smile, the incredulity, had disappeared from his
face; the power and confidence of her words seemed to persuade him
that at least she purposed seriously and was not uttering mere wishes.
It might be the enthusiasm and generosity of a child that inspired
her speech, but its determination and gravity of utterance demanded
at least a respectful hearing.

"What do you mean, Elizabeth?" he asked.

"I mean that I will go home and explain, and you shall be set free."

He shook his head. "There is nothing to be explained," said he.
"I am not here by mistake. I am very clearly guilty, if there is
guilt in doing what I am accused of. The hearts of those who
condemned me must be changed, and their eyes opened, or I shall
never be set free."