No sooner was this work off her hands than another engaged her. With a purpose prompted may-be by her angel, certainly by no human word, and unshared by any human intelligence, Elizabeth began to make a sketch of the island as seen from Manuel's prison-window. She made the sketch from memory, correcting it by observation when occasion called her to the prisoner's room. At length she brought the sheet of paper, on which this sketch was drawn, to Manuel, and laid it before him. She did this without any accompanying word of explanation. In the foreground was the garden, stretching up the slope of the hill towards the top, where the fort-wall began; beyond, fort, barracks, settlement,--and still beyond, the sea. The island of Foray, as thus represented, appeared like many other views on paper, very pleasing and attractive. Nature is not responsible for sin and suffering, that she should veil her glory wherever these may choose to pitch their tent. The prisoner took the drawing from the table where she had laid it, and scanned it closely. "You have left out my house," said he. "There was no room for it," she answered. "True!" He understood her. "Do you know whom this is for, Mr. Manuel? "Whom is it for, Elizabeth?" "For Madeline; is it a pretty view?" "Really for her, Elizabeth?" "Surely. Her eyes shall look on the same view as yours." "The fort, flag, sea-wall, burial-ground, ocean, barracks, garden; --it is well done.--Now I will tell you of the place where it will find her." He paused a moment ere he began that description. He looked at the quiet figure of the child for whom he dared recall the past. She stood with folded hands, so fair, so young, the sight was a refreshment, and a strange assurance always, to his weary eyes and weary heart. Never did she look so lovely to him as now when he was about to speak again to her of his life's love for another. "It was once a magnificent estate," he began. "Oh, is she a grand lady?" broke from Elizabeth.