“I have listened to you, Robert; now hear me, and heed what I say, because my heart is full of pity for you, full of hope for your future, and a desire to help you now.  I want you to go away from here, from the temptation of this place, and the sad thoughts that haunt it.  You have conquered yourself once, and I honor you for it, because, the harder the battle, the more glorious the victory; but it is safer to put a greater distance between you and this man.  I will write you letters, give you money, and send you to good old Massachusetts to begin your new life a freeman,—­yes, and a happy man; for when the captain is himself again, I will learn where Lucy is, and move heaven and earth to find and give her back to you.  Will you do this, Robert?”

Slowly, very slowly, the answer came; for the purpose of a week, perhaps a year, was hard to relinquish in an hour.

“Yes, Ma’am, I will.”

“Good!  Now you are the man I thought you, and I’ll work for you with all my heart.  You need sleep, my poor fellow; go, and try to forget.  The captain is still alive, and as yet you are spared that sin.  No, don’t look there; I’ll care for him.  Come, Robert, for Lucy’s sake.”

Thank Heaven for the immortality of love! for when all other means of salvation failed, a spark of this vital fire softened the man’s iron will until a woman’s hand could bend it.  He let me take from him the key, let me draw him gently away and lead him to the solitude which now was the most healing balm I could bestow.  Once in his little room, he fell down on his bed and lay there as if spent with the sharpest conflict of his life.  I slipped the bolt across his door, and unlocked my own, flung up the window, steadied myself with a breath of air, then rushed to Doctor Franck.  He came; and till dawn we worked together, saving one brother’s life, and taking earnest thought how best to secure the other’s liberty.  When the sun came up as blithely as if it shone only upon happy homes, the Doctor went to Robert.  For an hour I heard the murmur of their voices; once I caught the sound of heavy sobs, and for a time a reverent hush, as if in the silence that good man were ministering to soul as well as sense.  When he departed he took Robert with him, pausing to tell me he should get him off as soon as possible, but not before we met again.

Nothing more was seen of them all day; another surgeon came to see the captain, and another attendant came to fill the empty place.  I tried to rest, but could not, with the thought of poor Lucy tugging at my heart, and was soon back at my post again, anxiously hoping that my contraband had not been too hastily spirited away.  Just as night fell there came a tap, and opening, I saw Robert literally “clothed and in his right mind.”  The Doctor had replaced the ragged suit with tidy garments, and no trace of that tempestuous night remained but deeper lines upon the forehead and the docile look of a repentant child.  He did not cross the threshold, did not offer me his hand,—­only took off his cap, saying, with a traitorous falter in his voice,—­