all have freedom, if woman can ask or man can give it."

She had advanced a single step towards him, in thus speaking. She
stood now with hands folded, quiet, waiting his answer.

"Noble girl!" he began; then he paused. Full of reverence was his
gaze.

"Do not praise,--direct me," she said, hurriedly. "I know what I
shall say. But to whom shall I say it?--Yes, I will find her whom
you love. I will carry balm across the sea to heal her breaking heart.
_I_ will join together whom,"--here for an instant she hesitated,
then began again,--"whom God has joined, whom man dared separate.
Direct me, Sir."

And there she stood, waiting. Who sighing beholds her? No
pusillanimity there; but on the very heights of danger, which none
other than the bravest could have gained, dauntless and safe, let her
stand and fight her battle. So strong, yet so defenceless, so
conspicuous for purpose and position there, the arrows rain upon her,
--yet not one is poisoned to the power of hurting her sacred life.
Listen, Elizabeth, while he speaks of _her_! Deeply can his voice
grave every word of direction; not one wilt thou lose! Chosen of the
few from among the many called, go, woman to love, and hero to endure,
--yea, if thou must, as gentle and dauntless martyr, to die before
the stronghold thou wouldst summon to surrender!

Later in the day the prisoner heard Elizabeth singing, as not rarely
he heard her,--for, knowing that the sound of her voice was pleasant
to him, and that its cheerfulness cheered him, she had the habit of
frequenting with her songs that part of the house in which his room
was. The prisoner heard her singing later in the day, and thanked
her for the grace, but did not catch the words whose sound swept
past him. It was an ancient hymn she sang,--one that she often sang;
and that she sang it this day of all days, I copy here the first
verse:--

"Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle,
With completed victory rife,
And above the Cross's trophy
Tell the triumph of the strife,
How the world's Redeemer conquered
_By surrendering of his life_."

* * * * *

The Drummer's Daughter has crossed the sea,--has landed on the
shores of Fatherland. She has even parted from her fellow-voyagers
at the station whence the coach shall take her on to Chalons, that
venerable town and well-beloved, where the lives whence her own
sprung were born and blended. She is in the land of wonders,