Until the time of admission arrived, she wandered disconsolately in front of the prison, and, on being admitted, she heard the sound as of an unruly multitude issuing from the corner of the prison whither she was conducted. She was shewn into a large and noxious apartment, where about a hundred individuals, of all ages, the accused and the condemned, were assembled together—some cooking, some practising the art of the pickpocket, and others holding mock courts of law. Her heart became motionless with horror as she gazed wildly around the den of guilt and pollution. On perceiving her, they desisted from their amusements and boisterous mirth, and gazed upon her in silent wonder. Their sudden and unusual silence aroused Alexander, who was sitting alone in a dark corner of the room; and, sorrowfully raising his head, he perceived every eye turned upon his own beautiful and afflicted wife. He sprang forward, and, forgetful of all around, she sank upon his bosom. He led her to a remote corner of the apartment, and pressing her hand to his breast—“Ah, my Isabella!” he whispered in agony, “this is indeed kind! to visit me in such a place, and in the midst of these miserable beings!” “Say not kind, dear husband,” she replied—“what is too much for the affection of a wife to do? Horrible as this place is, but yesterday to have known that you lived, and I could have been its inmate for life.” “Isabella,” added he, “for imprisonment I care but little—from a tribunal of my countrymen I have nothing to fear; but there is one constant and heart-piercing misery which is consuming me. While I am here a prisoner, who will protect, who will provide for you, my love, for you?” A faint smile trembled over her features as she replied—“HE who sheltereth the lamb from the storm! HE who provideth the ravens with food!” “But,” added he, “are not we already almost without money?—And, until I am free, until——” “Come, love,” said she tenderly, “do not afflict yourself with idle fears. The sparrow chirps not the less joyfully in the farm-yard because the last sheaf is given to the flail; but day after day finds the little flutterer happy and contented as when it nestled in profusion. You bade me come smiling, and you only are sad. Come, love—give me one smile—fear not for me; with my needle I may be enabled to provide for myself, and to assist you.” “Isabella!” he exclaimed, starting with agitation, and smiting his hand upon his brow. “Nay, love,” she added, “start not at shadows; when real deprivations are to be averted, yield not to those of pride and imagination. Adversity is a stern master, but it relaxes its brow before a cheerful pupil. Come,” she added, “let us rather speak of what I can do for my prisoner.” She endeavoured to pronounce the last word playfully; but the attempt failed, and she turned aside her head to conceal a tear.