“Poor young girl!” she cried; “what can I do to help you?” Ethel did not hear her. Her thoughts were beyond the mountains of the North, in quest of the daring traveller. Her head sank upon her breast, and her hands were unconsciously clasped. “Does your father hope to escape from this prison?” This question, twice repeated by the stranger, brought Ethel to herself. “Yes,” said she, and tears sparkled on her cheek. The stranger’s eyes flashed. “He does! Tell me how; by what means; when!” “He hopes to escape from this prison because he hopes ere long to die.” There is sometimes a power in the very simplicity of a gentle young spirit which outwits the artifices of a heart grown old in wickedness. This thought seemed to occur to the great lady, for her expression suddenly changed, and laying her cold hand on Ethel’s arm, she said in a tone which was almost sincere: “Tell me, have you heard that your father’s life is again threatened by a fresh judicial inquiry? That he is suspected of having stirred up a revolt among the miners of the North?” The words “revolt” and “inquiry” conveyed no clear idea to Ethel’s mind. She raised her great dark eyes to the stranger’s face as she asked: “What do you mean?” “That your father is conspiring against the State; that his crime is all but discovered; that this crime will be punished with death.” “Death! crime!” cried the poor girl. “Crime and death,” said the strange lady, seriously. “My father! my noble father!” continued Ethel. “Alas! he spends his days in hearing me read the Edda and the Gospel! He conspire! What has he done to you?” “Do not look at me so fiercely. I tell you again I am not your enemy. Your father is suspected of a grave crime; I am here to warn you of it. Perhaps, instead of such a show of dislike, I might lay claim to your gratitude.” This reproach touched Ethel. “Oh, forgive me, noble lady, forgive me! What human being have I ever seen who was not an enemy? I have doubted you. You will forgive me, will you not?” The stranger smiled. “What, my girl! have you never met a friend until to-day?” A hot blush mantled Ethel’s brow. She hesitated an instant. “Yes. God knows the truth, we have found a friend, noble lady,--one only!” “One only!” said the great lady, hastily. “His name, I implore. You do not know how important it is; it is for your father’s safety. Who is this friend?” “I do not know,” said Ethel. The stranger turned pale. “Is it because I wish to serve you that you trifle with me? Consider that your father’s life is at stake. Tell me, who is this friend of whom you speak?” “Heaven knows, noble lady, that I know nothing of him but his name, which is Ordener.” Ethel uttered these words with that difficulty which we all feel in pronouncing before an indifferent person the sacred name which wakes within us every emotion of love.