“The time will come, my daughter, when my Judge will hear me-will judge me right.  My time will come soon—­” And here the old man pauses, and chokes with his emotions.  Maria returns the old man’s kiss, and being satisfied that he is yet in the hands of his oppressors, sets about cheering up his drooping spirits.  “Don’t think of me, father,” she says—­“don’t think of me!  Let us put our trust in Him who can shorten the days of our tribulation.”  She takes the old man’s arm, and like one who would forget her own troubles in her anxiety to relieve another, supports him on his way back to prison.

It is high noon.  She stands before the prison gate, now glancing at the serene sky, then at the cold, frowning walls, and again at the old pile, as if contemplating the wearying hours he must pass within it.  “Don’t repine-nerve yourself with resolution, and all will be well!” Having said this with an air of confidence in herself, she throws her arms about the old man’s neck, presses him to her bosom, kisses and kisses his wrinkled cheek, then grasps his hand warmly in her own.  “Forget those who persecute you, for it is good.  Look above, father-to Him who tempers the winds, who watches over the weak, and gives the victory to the right!” She pauses, as the old man holds her hand in silence.  “This life is but a transient sojourn at best; full of hopes and fears, that, like a soldier’s dream, pass away when the battle is ended.”  Again she fondly shakes his hand, lisps a sorrowing “good-bye,” watches him, in silence, out of sight, then turns away in tears, and seeks her home.  There is something so pure, so earnest in her solicitude for the old man, that it seems more of heaven than earth.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

A story without which this history would be found wanting.

On taking leave of her father, Maria, her heart overburdened with grief, and her mind abstracted, turned towards the Battery, and continued, slowly and sadly, until she found herself seated beneath a tree, looking out upon the calm bay.  Here, scarce conscious of those who were observing her in their sallies, she mused until dusky evening, when the air seemed hushed, and the busy hum of day was dying away in the distance.  The dark woodland on the opposite bank gave a bold border to the soft picture; the ships rode sluggishly upon the polished waters; the negro’s touching song echoed and re-echoed along the shore; and the boatman’s chorus broke upon the stilly air in strains so dulcet.  And as the mellow shadows of night stole over the scene-as the heavens looked down in all their sereneness, and the stars shone out, and twinkled, and laughed, and danced upon the blue waters, and coquetted with the moonbeams—­for the moon was up, and shedding a halo of mystic light over the scene-making night merry, nature seemed speaking to Maria in words of condolence.  Her heart was touched, her spirits gained strength, her soul seemed in a loftier and purer atmosphere.