"Tomorrow, Elizabeth."
"Are you ready?"
"I will be."
"Then I will give you to him. I promised that, too. I can fulfill that, at least. You must not think the prison-walls too dreary. My mother"—
"I understand, Elizabeth."
And they sailed on the morrow. No delay for wandering among the meadows of the pleasant town, for gossip with the men and women who were in childhood playmates of her father and her mother; no strolling along lovely river-banks. Chalons had nothing for Elizabeth; only one green nook of all the world had anything for her,—an island in the sea,—a prison on that island,—and there work to do worthy of Gabriel.
But—wonder of wonders!
Paul and Silas sang songs in their prison, and the jailer heard them; then there came an earthquake.
Who was he that found his cell-doors opened suddenly, and a messenger from out the courts of heaven there to guide his steps?
History is full of marvellous records; I add this to those. The eleventh hour goes always freighted with the weightiest events.