urance with you,--you have not been cruel or careless. You have done
as well as you could. I thank you for it."

"You don't ask me where I'm going," said the jailer, after a silence
that seemed but brief to him,--such a deal of argument he had
dispatched, so many difficulties he had overcome in those few moments,
whose like, for mental activity and conclusiveness, he had never seen
before, and never would see again. "I shall be asked if I have told
you. But--where did you come from? Do not tell me your name. But whom
did you leave behind you that you would care most should know you are
alive and in good hands?"

These questions, asked in good faith, would have had their answer; but
while the prisoner was preparing such reply as would have proceeded,
brief and wholly to the point, from the confusion of hope and surprise,
the Governor of Foray came in sight, drew near, and, suspicious, as
became him, walked in silence by the prisoner's side, while Laval
obeyed his mute instructions, leading Manuel back to his cell. A vessel
was approaching the shore of Foray.

Having disposed of his prisoner, the jailer in turn was marched, like
one under arrest, up to the fort, where he remained, an object of
suspicion, until his time came for sailing, and, without knowing it, he
went home under guard.

When Adolphus Montier ascended to the prisoner's room that night, he
found him standing by the window. After Laval left him, he had looked
from out that window, and seen the white sail of a vessel; he could not
see it now, but there he stood, watching, as though he knew not that
his chance of hope was over.

As Adolphus entered the room, the prisoner turned immediately to
him,--asking quietly, as if he had not been suddenly tossed into a gulf
of despair by the breeze that brought him hope,--

"Has Laval sailed?"

"When the cannon fired," was the answer.

Then Adolphus placed the dish containing the prisoner's supper on the
table; he had already lighted the lamp in the hall. And now he wanted
to say something, on this his first appe