t 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."

"My child!"

"Why do you weep?"--but Elizabeth, so speaking, bowed to the floor
by her mother's side, and wept with her, and the tender arms
maternal clasped her close; and the girl did not see when her
mother's eyes looked upward, nor did she hear when her mother's
voice said, with a saint's entreaty, and a lover's faith, "O Saviour!"

That night Elizabeth went for the tray which her father had left in
the prisoner's room when he carried him his supper. No danger that
Adolphus would stand to gossip now with any man, for a moment. His
heart was sore at the prospect of his daughter's departure, at the
prospect of actual separation, every feature of which state of being
he distinctly anticipated; and yet he would have scorned himself,
had he thrown in the way anything like the shadow of an impediment
to her departure from Foray. So far from that, he was already doing
everything, in act and thought, by which that going might be made
more certain and immediate.

Elizabeth found the prisoner sitting before his untasted supper. She
went up the room at a rapid pace.

"Strength does not come of fasting," said she, as she glanced at the
table.

"Appetite does not come of torpor," was the reply, spoken almost as
quickly; he seemed to be echoing her tone. She looked at him
surprised; so much energy of speech she had not expected of him, and
never before had heard.