She had failed--miserably failed; she thought of it until she went mad--stark, staring mad.

Her piercing shrieks rang through the stony prison all day and all night long, until one night, in a paroxysm of frenzy, she had dashed her head against the wall.

They found her, in the morning, dead.
* * * * * Out into the lazy June sunshine the steamer glided.

With his handsome wife on his arm, the young baronet stood looking his last at his native land, his face infinitely happy.
"For years," he said, with a smile--"for life, perhaps, Harriet.

I feel as if I never wished to return." "But we shall," she said.