And therefore the words which Elizabeth only by an effort restrained, as she crossed the prison-threshold, could come from her now by effort only. If she had found him drooping, despairing, utterly cast down,--no hinderance then to a full utterance of the heroic purpose which death alone could dampen or defeat! But now some strength seemed in himself--and liberty would give him to others, of whom he could not think as quietly as he could think of her. Could she, then, better afford to weep than to rejoice with him? Before he had pushed away the table and its contents, before time constrained her to speak, she said,-- "I promised you something, Mr. Manuel. You remember what. I may go tomorrow. So tell me,--how shall I serve you best? Tell me now; something may happen; and I wish my work to be clear." The prisoner started from the table at these words. He hastily approached the quiet speaker, his face brightened not more by hope than by wondering admiration. "What do you mean?--tomorrow? I am waiting, Elizabeth." "Colonel Farel and his lady are going home. He has leave of absence. I have spoken to my father and mother. I have told my mother everything. She knows that I am going to visit your relations as well as hers. Tell me how I shall find them. Tell me what I must do. You shall have freedom, if woman can ask or man can give it." She had advanced a single step towards him, in thus speaking. She stood now with hands folded, quiet, waiting his answer. "Noble girl!" he began; then he paused. Full of reverence was his gaze. "Do not praise,--direct me," she said, hurriedly. "I know what I shall say. But to whom shall I say it?--Yes, I will find her whom you love. I will carry balm across the sea to heal her breaking heart. _I_ will join together whom,"--here for an instant she hesitated, then began again,--"whom God has joined, whom man dared separate. Direct me, Sir." And there she stood, waiting. Who sighing beholds her? No pusillanimity there; but on the very heights of danger, which none other than the bravest could have gained, dauntless and safe, let her stand and fight her battle. So strong, yet so defenceless, so conspicuous for purpose and position there, the arrows rain upon her, --yet not one is poisoned to the power of hurting her sacred life. Listen, Elizabeth, while he speaks of _her_! Deeply can his voice grave every word of direction; not one wilt thou lose! Chosen of the few from among the many called, go, woman to love, and hero to endure, --yea, if thou must, as gentle and dauntless martyr, to die before the stronghold thou wouldst summon to surrender!