But she gains the prison, and falters as she enters the cell where the old Antiquary, his brow furrowed deep of age, sleeps calmly upon his cot. Near his hand, which he has raised over his head, lays a letter, with the envelope broken. Maria’s quick eye flashes over the superscription, and recognizes in it the hand of Tom Swiggs. A transport of joy fills her bosom with emotions she has no power to constrain. She trembles from head to foot; fancies mingled with joys and fears crowd rapidly upon her thoughts. She grasps it with feelings frantic of joy, and holds it in her shaking hand; the shock has nigh overcome her. The hope in which she has so long found comfort and strength-that has so long buoyed her up, and carried her safely through trials, has truly been her beacon light. “Truly,” she says within herself, “the dawn of my morning is brightening now.” She opens the envelope, and finds a letter enclosed to her. “Oh! yes, yes, yes! it is him-it is from him!” she stammers, in the exuberance of her wild joy. And now the words, “You are richer than me,” flash through her thoughts with revealed significance. Maria grasps the old man’s hand. He starts and wakes, as if unconscious of his situation, then fixes his eyes upon her with a steady, vacant gaze. Then, with childlike fervor, he presses her hand to his lips, and kisses it. “It was a pleasant dream—ah! yes, I was dreaming all things went so well!” Again a change comes over his countenance, and he glances round the room, with a wild and confused look. “Am I yet in prison?-well, it was only a dream. If death were like dreaming, I would crave it to take me to its peace, that my mind might no longer be harassed with the troubles of this life. Ah! there, there!”—(the old man starts suddenly, as if a thought has flashed upon him)—” there is the letter, and from poor Tom, too! I only broke the envelope. I have not opened it.” “It is safe, father; I have it,” resumes Maria, holding it before him, unopened, as the words tremble upon her lips. One moment she fears it may convey bad news, and in the next she is overjoyed with the hope that it brings tidings of the safety and return of him for whose welfare she breathed many a prayer. Pale and agitated, she hesitates a moment, then proceeds to open it. “Father, father! heaven has shielded me-heaven has shielded me! Ha! ha! ha! yes, yes, yes! He is safe! he is safe!” And she breaks out into one wild exclamation of joy, presses the letter to her lips, and kisses it, and moistens it with her tears. “It was all a plot-a dark plot set for my ruin!” she mutters, and sinks back, overcome with her emotions. The old man fondles her to his bosom, his white beard flowing over her suffused cheeks, and his tears mingling with hers. And here she remains, until the anguish of her joy runs out, and her mind resumes its wonted calm.