ABSTRACT
Helen's fleet steps carried her in a few minutes through the intervening dungeons to the door which would restore to her eyes the being with whose life her existence seemed blended. The bolts had yielded to her hands. The iron latch now gave way, and the ponderous oak grating dismally on its hinges, she looked forward, and beheld the object of all her solicitude seated at a stone table, apparently writing. He raised his head at the sound. The peace of heaven was in his eyes, and a smile on his lips as if he had expected an angel visitant.
