The lady took the letter and glanced her eye over the address, "Joseph Cole, Sing-Sing Prison, Auburn, New York State." The writing was scarcely intelligible, but Marion was not thinking of that. She could not endure the thought that Esther in her childish trust might bind herself irrevocably to his future. "His sister told me how to write that," murmured Esther, in a hesitating tone. "'T isn't my place, ma'am, to ask you to give your time to it; but if you'll please to read it, and say I may send it to him, I shall be very happy." This was what Marion wished to do. She seated herself instantly and unfolded the paper, not yet sealed, Esther meanwhile ruffling the edge of her apron as though her life depended on her doing it quickly. Marion had never perused a letter in which all the rules of grammar and spelling were so wholly set at defiance; but seldom had she read one which touched her heart more. It was very brief, but to the point, and correcting the spelling, read as follows:— Dear Jo,— It's a good while now since you and me see each other. I thought, maybe, you'd like to know that a dear, kind lady, as used to teach me in the Mission, is giving me a home. I'm happy, or I would be if I could forget where you are. I'm learning to pray, Jo; and when I say my prayers I never forget that God can look right into your cell and see you, though I can't; so I tell him all about you, and ask him to make this the best time in your life, as it may be if you will learn to love Him. You are not yet twenty years old, and when you come out of prison you will be young enough to begin life again. This is what I am praying for you all the time. Your little wife, ESTHER. "If she had left out the words 'your little wife,'" said Marion to herself, "I would not have objected to her writing him for once." Then glancing up, she saw Esther's eyes fixed upon her with a mournfully earnest expression, and without another word went to her desk, took out an envelope, enclosed the letter in it, copied the address, and let it go. Afterward she confessed, "I believe at that moment I felt far more unforgiving toward the prisoner than the innocent victim of his brutality did." CHAPTER VIII. GAMES AND ENTERTAINMENTS. ALL this time the building committee in Grantbury were pressing on the work most vigorously. The edifice was unlike any other in the town. It was of Gothic architecture. The walls were, as I have mentioned of native stone, the windows high, narrow, with stained glass. "They will have a cross on the spire," said one, "I'm sure of it, and I'll tell you what it will end in, they'll all go to Rome together." The work proceeded so well, notwithstanding these prophecies, that it was hoped it would be ready for occupation by Christmas. Mr. Angus's taste was consulted during the entire progress.