et the faithful creatures who could
find her even in prison, and clasped first the widow, then Pulcheria,
then the child in a tender embrace. Joanna put her hands fondly round her
face to kiss it, and to see how far fear and affliction had altered her
lovely features, and a faint cry of astonishment escaped her, for she was
looking, not at a grief and terror-stricken face, but a glad and calm
one, and a pair of large eyes looked brightly and gratefully into hers.

Had she not been told then what was hanging over her? Nay--for she at
once asked whether they had heard that she was condemned to die. And she
went on to tell them how things had gone with her at her trial, and how
her good Philip's friend and foster-father had suddenly and inexplicably
become her bitterest foe.

At this the others could not check their tears; it was Paula who had to
comfort and soothe them, by telling them that she had found a paternal
friend in the Kadi who had promised to intercede for her with the
Khaliff.

Dame Joanna could scarcely take it all in. This girl and her heroic
demeanor, in the face of such disaster, seemed to her miraculous. Her
trust was beautiful; but how easily might it be deceived! how insecure
was the ground in which she had cast the anchor of hope.

Even little Mary seemed more troubled than her friend, and threw herself
sobbing on her bosom. And Paula returned her fondness, and tried to
mollify Pulcheria as to the disgraceful conduct of their old housemate,
and smiled kindly at the widow when she asked where she had found such
composure in the face of so much misfortune, saying that it was from her
example that she had learnt resignation to the worst that could befall
her. Even in this dark hour she found more to be thankful for than to
lament over; indeed, it had brought her a glorious joy. And this for the
first time reminded Joanna and the girls that she was now betrothed, and
again she was clasped in their loving arms.

Just then the warder rapped; Paula rose thoughtfully, and exclaimed in a
low voice: "I have something to send to Orion that I dare not entrust to
a stranger: but now, now I have you, my Mary, and you shall take it to
him."

As she spoke she took out the emerald, gave it to the little girl, and
charged her to deliver it to her uncle as soon as they should be alone
together. In the little note which she had wrapped around it she implored
her lover to regard it as his own property, and to use it