from the day that leah first found her husband in the prison, and observed the coarse, uninviting fare that was served to the prisoners, she had daily prepared his food herself, and supplied it, too, from her scanty purse. by the permission of the jailer, this food was received twice a day from the hands of a trusty negro woman, known to many of the prison inmates as aunt dinah.

on this same evening when leah parted so sadly from her husband, she went at once to her lodging place, and quickly prepared the tempting evening meal. after she had gone, emile, once more alone, crouched down in a corner of his shadowy cell, and was lost in sorrowful revery, till the jailer, unheeded, opened the cell-door and handed in a basket, saying:

"le grande, here's a supper for a king. cheer up, man, and eat it. old dinah brought it from your wife, and she says the bread is 'perticklar fine.'"

"i want no supper to-night, jailer. but i'll keep it, for my wife's sake."

"old dinah said you must eat, whether you craved food or not; said you must eat to be strong." the jailer deposited the small basket that contained the tempting brown buns and some cold slices of ham, and departed.

for a moment emile still remained crouched in his corner, and listened to the dying footsteps of the retreating jailer; then rousing himself, he moved forward, and lifting up the basket, said:

"for love's sake, i'll taste the bread, not from hunger. heaven knows when i shall feel hunger again." the daylight was nearly gone, but enough light penetrated the dismal cell to reveal the contents of the basket. taking up a soft brown loaf, he turned it in his hand, then laid it down. again he picked it up, and said, "it is so nice, for love's sake i'll taste it." then he broke it gently, and there fell into his hand from it a small piece of brown paper. astonished, he opened it, and read these words:

"an unknown friend wishes to help you. meet me at midnight at the prison gate. i'll save you. skeleton keys and wires will enable you to escape, find them in the buns. as you value your life and liberty meet me."

"what means this?" said the terrified prisoner. "is heaven kind at last?" and then he curiously and cautiously opened the bread that, sure enough, yielded up the secreted appliances for effecting his escape. in astonishment, even terror, emile held these unlawful little contrivances in his hand for a time, eyeing them curiously, and then half-fearfully tucked them away in his bosom.

"who is this unknown friend, i wonder, that so desires my escape?" pondered emile, as he watched the darkening twilight as it withdrew the last vestige of daylight from his cell. "can it be leah who has done this, my own desolate leah? can she save me at last? she upon whose heart i have innocently brought such sorrow and disappointment? alas! alas! dear heart! but should it prove some one else, how can i leave my wife and child? what if it should prove to be an enemy trying to betray me into further trouble? and yet i do not fear. this dreary cell has made me tired of life, and death were welcome if it comes in the struggle for freedom! no, i cannot stay; i'll leave this cursed place, though i be betrayed again-leave it, though my escape may take me heaven knows where-leave it, and hope a brighter future is bringing me prosperity and a peaceful reunion with those who are so dear to me. stay i cannot, i dare not. my tormentors are insatiable, my innocence disbelieved, my friends gone; money i have none. i shrink from the coming ordeal. the promise of freedom is offered me. i accept it.

"the clock is striking midnight. it is dark, very dark, little keys; but perhaps you will not fail me. now i leave this cursed place; yes, leave it, i hope, to walk the earth again in freedom. blast my accusers!" whispered the excited prisoner as he softly applied the mysterious, slender-looking key to the heavy lock. "ha! how the lock yields to this delicate spring! softly! softly! or i may disturb some sleeping inmate! god knows how many weary vigils are kept in this wretched abode. i'll tread this narrow corridor no more, i hope. heavens! the outer bolt, too, withdraws, and god's blue dome and bright stars are above me! i am free from these cursed walls! now the gate yields, too! i am free! free! thank god, free once more!"

as emile emerged from the prison-gate, and it swung noiselessly back to its place, he gazed anxiously about, and at once descried a dark, half-bent figure of a man approaching him. his heart trembled.

"mars' emile," said a low voice, as the unknown figure approached close to him, "mars' emile le grande, don't you know me? i am here as i promised."

affrighted at this seeming apparition, emile shrank back, saying, "stand back, man or devil, whatever you may be! who are you? what do you want?" he continued, as the unknown figure essayed to lay hold of his arm.

"hush! hush! we may be overheard. don't be afraid. i come to befriend you. mars' emile, don't you know me?" said the little old man, as he pushed back the slouched hat from his face, and peered into emile's eyes. "don't you know old peter martinet?"

"what! old uncle peter, who carried the 'courier' so long ago?" said emile in astonishment.

"de very same, mars' emile. i'se de same old darkey now dat i was years ago, only not quite so spry. you see i'se crippled wid de rheumatiz a little. but come along wid me, man; don't wait here any longer; we may be found out."

"is my wife with you?" whispered emile eagerly.

"la, no, man; your wife knows nuffin ob dis plot. we must hurry."

and can i not see her, peter?"

"no, man, if you wish to escape de bloodhounds dat are on your track. you had better be quick, too."

"i must see my wife."

"be brave, man; be brave. why did you leave de jail, if you didn't wish to 'scape? come along faster."

"but where are you going?" replied emile, as he mechanically followed the hobbling guide.

"here, this way, follow me. i'll tell you by'mby;" and then halting within the shadow of a protecting building, the old man stooped to rub the afflicted limbs, and said softly, "you see, mars' emile, i'se kept my eye on you, eber since dey brought you here to jail. i'se nebber left the queen city, and nebber will, an' i 'tended all de w'ile, dat you should git away, if you wanted to. i'se made plan after plan, and dey would not work, but at last i got help from inside, an' den i got de keys; den i knew you was safe, if you could only git 'em. so i hired ole dinah to make some extry bread and slip into your basket after your wife had fixed your supper. dat was all i could do. i heard de trial was to come off to-morrow, and but for de rheumatiz, de keys would have been ready a week ago. you know, mars' emile, old peter part affikin, and what he can't do, no udder nigger need try. he, he, he!"

"but where are you going?" interrupted emile.

"well, mars' emile, der's a blockader lying off de bar. i'se gwine to take you to it." emile shuddered.

"nebber fear. if you stays on land, dey'll git you, shure, an' i knows ebry foot ob de harbor as well as i do de city. ain't peter martinet been here eber since the revolution war? no man here knows de harbor better dan me, tripedoes or no tripedoes. dey can't blow me up, dat's shure. come, let's go, be quick, and be sly too."

emile followed as one in a dream. not daring, or caring, to question his guide, until they were safely on the edge of a pier that was several feet above the sea.

"what now?" he said.

"all right. i have a bateau tied down da, waitin' for us. her's de rope to slide down. but as you'se afeerd, mebbe i'd better go down fust. here goes! i'se afeerd of nuffin, 'specially in de harbor." emile peered over the edge of the pier, and shuddered, as he saw the dark figure disappear below.

"all right agin, safe and sound. come on. mind yer hold. be brave, man, don't lose yer courage now, or you may be a jail-bird de rest of yer days. he, he, he!"

stimulated to action by this stinging remark of old peter, emile seized the rope, glided slowly down the wall, and landed safely in the boat below.

"now i guess we's safe; no one can git us now," chuckled old peter, as he grasped the oars and rowed away.

emile made no reply, and for a time the plash of the oars was the only sound that broke the stillness.

"do you know that they'll receive me?" at length said emile, as he saw the shore receding.

"oh, yes; more'n once have i carried men to the blockaders-some who didn't want to fight, and some who had friends on the udder side. dey allus paid ole peter well, and he nebber fail to git 'em away safe. he, he, he."

"why did you do this for me, peter? for me who had scarcely a friend in the world; for me, who can repay you in nothing but gratitude?" asked emile with emotion.

"oh, old peter don't always work for money; sometime he do for love. it's for love this time, mars' emile."

"how far is the vessel away, peter?"

"five mile from de pier; you see de lights ob de vessel yonder, sir."

emile was silent, thinking of the desolate wife and unfortunate child whom he was leaving farther behind at every stroke of the oars.

"i must send a letter back by you, peter; promise me that my wife shall get it."

"i promise, mars' emile. but be brave, man, be brave; remember you'se a free man now; freedom mighty sweet, mars' emile. i'se ben free dese twenty years, eber sence old marster martinet died. he gin me freedom. ship ahoy, here we are," said the old negro, as he came alongside of the grim iron-clad, that stood like a huge rock in mid-ocean. then the old man blew a shrill whistle through his hands that penetrated to the inmost recess of the man-of-war.

"halloo! is it you, peter?" screamed back the mate, as he swung a huge lantern over the side of the vessel and looked down into the water below. "what brings you now, old humpback?"

"a friend, a man, a recruit to your sarvice, if ye wish. take him, an' do as you please."

"won't you come aboard, old peter?" added the jolly tar, aroused to receive the escaping prisoner. "it's been so long since we saw you, we did not know but a shell had picked you up. come aboard, general, we'll show you some more bombs."

"not this time, cap'n, my rheumatiz is rather bad for so much climbin.' i'll jes' wait down here for a letter. ole peter martinet ain't feered of fishes. he, he, he!"

emile's letter was written and handed to old peter, who was soon again steering landward. when the sun shone again in the queen city, old peter was hobbling along his daily round of duty, singing occasionally in his own peculiar way, and wearing an expression as innocent as though the night-time had been an undisturbed season of peaceful repose and beautiful dreams.

a letter found upon the door-way of leah's lodgings, addressed to her, was picked up and handed to her about the hour that the jail was thrown into a tumult of consternation over the discovery that emile le grande had escaped.

how and whence this letter came was ever a mystery. "u. s. blockader "thunderbolt." "two o'clock a. m.

"beloved leah: the die is cast, that divides us again. fate, that has so long seemed cruel, has again been kind. unlooked-for, unhoped-for aid reached me in my prison-cell, and enabled me to escape. i know i am innocent of crime; heaven knows it; but i feared my tormentors. those who sought me on a foreign shore, would certainly move earth and sky to prove my guilt. i hope for a brighter day, when we shall be reunited in peace and happiness. i could do nothing for you, were i to stay and brave the storm that awaits me. it might engulf me. i go, with the hope of a bright future yet. whither i shall go i know not. maybe to france, where my father has gone. i have nothing to remain in this country for but yourself; and i cannot, and dare not stay near you. heaven shield and keep you and my child till i can send you succor! if i live, it will come, though it cost my life to obtain it. i dare not look ahead; but be hopeful and brave, faithful, loving leah, and patiently await a brighter day. when this wretched war is ended, if i cannot come to you, you shall come to me. living, longing, hoping, for that coming time, with a thousand embraces i am, and shall ever be,

"your devoted emile.

"my time is short, i can write no more."

bravely, calmly, leah read this fatal letter; and then, with a fortitude and heroism peculiar to her own glorious people, she folded it, and placed it upon her heart, so torn by sorrow and suspense. after the first shock of disappointment was over, she turned her thoughts to the formidable question, how she should earn bread for herself and her child; and when once her plans were made, she carried them out resolutely, in poverty, weakness, and obscurity. of the days, months, and years that passed over her heroic head, with their trials, struggles, disappointments, tears, heart-aches, and agonies, before death brought relief, this record, in pity, is silent.