ts are
propelled in Mizora either by electricity or compressed air, and glide
through the water with soundless swiftness.

As we neared the island I could perceive the mingling of natural and
artificial attractions. We moored our boat at the foot of a flight of
steps, hewn from the solid rock. On reaching the top, the scene spread
out like a beautiful painting. Grottos, fountains, and cascades, winding
walks and vine-covered bowers charmed us as we wandered about. In the
center stood a medium-sized residence of white marble. We entered
through a door opening on a wide piazza. Art and wealth and taste had
adorned the interior with a generous hand. A library studded with books
closely shut behind glass doors had a wide window that commanded an
enchanting view of the lake, with its rippling waters sparkling and
dimpling in the light. On one side of the mantelpiece hung a full length
portrait of a lady, painted with startling naturalness.

"That," said Wauna, solemnly, "was the last prisoner in Mizora."

I looked with interested curiosity at a relic so curious in this land.
It was a blonde woman with lighter colored eyes than is at all common in
Mizora. Her long, blonde hair hung straight and unconfined over a dress
of thick, white material. Her attitude and expression were dejected and
sorrowful. I had visited prisons in my own land where red-handed murder
sat smiling with indifference. I had read in newspapers, labored
eloquence that described the stoicism of some hardened criminal as a
trait of character to be admired. I had read descriptions where mistaken
eloquence exerted itself to waken sympathy for a criminal who had never
felt sympathy for his helpless and innocent victims, and I had felt
nothing but creeping horror for it all. But gazing at this picture of
undeniable repentance, tears of sympathy started to my eyes. Had she
been guilty of taking a fellow-creature's life?

"Is she still living?" I asked by way of a preface.

"Oh, no, she has been dead for more than a century," answered Wauna.

"Was she confined here very long?"

"For life," was the reply.

"I should not believe," I said, "that a nature capable of so deep a
repentance could be capable of so dark a crime as murder."

"Murder!" exclaimed Wauna in horror. "There has not been a murder
committed in this land for three thousand years."

It was my turn to be astonished.

"Then tell me what dreadful crime she committed."

"She struck her child