Some weeks before the expiration of the first term of imprisonment, she gathered together all her little store, and having sold many heavy articles, packed the rest, and had them started for Columbus, the capital of the state.  She then took a deck-passage for herself and children in a steamboat for Portsmouth, from which place she determined to walk, carrying her youngest child, a little girl of nearly three years, in her arms.  I will not linger with her, nor trace her toilsome and lonely journey through strange places, continued without a day’s intermission, until she at last came in sight of the long-looked-for place.  After the time-worn state-house, the next building that met her eye, was the old, dark-looking prison, in which was confined her husband.  How gladly did her eyes greet its sombre walls!  It was the dwelling-place of one, for whom, in all his wanderings, her heart retained its warm emotions of love.  Suddenly, like a parching wind of the desert, came upon her the thought that he might be dead.  For three long years she had not been permitted to receive tidings from him, and who could tell, if in that time, the wing of death had not o’ershadowed him?  Trembling, weary, and sick at heart, she made her way first to the prison-gate, and there, to her unspeakable joy, she learned that he still lived.

For many nights previous to the day on which permission would be granted her to see him, sleep had parted from her eyelids; and when the time did come, she was in a high state of mental excitement.  Morning slowly dawned upon her anxious eyes, but seemed as if it would never give place to the broad daylight.  At last the sun came slowly up from his bright chambers in the east.  It was the day on which she should again see her husband; the long-looked-for, the long-hoped-for.  Tremblingly she stole out, ere the day was an hour old, and ran, not walked, to the gloomy dwelling-place of her husband.

For several days previous she had not been able to keep away from the prison, and the keeper, who knew her errand, had become much interested in her case.  He received her kindly, and made instant preparation for the desired interview.

For three years Warburton had not heard the music of a human voice.  Far away from the sight or sound of his fellow-prisoners, he had dwelt alone, visited only by the mute keeper who had brought his daily food, or otherwise ministered to his wants.  To his earnest and oft-repeated inquiries if nothing was known of his wife and children, for whose welfare a yearning anxiety had sprung up in his breast, he was answered only by a gloomy silence.  He did not know, even on the morning of his release from solitary confinement, that the all-enduring companion of his better days had come to cheer his anxious eyes with her presence.  Soon after daylight of this morning the door of his cell turned heavily on its hinges, and he was brought out among his fellows, and heard again the sweetest music that had ever fallen