ngs of
the Holy Ghost and of fire,--baptisms too deep for a child like thee
to understand how they affected my soul.'

Mary nodded her head gently and said to herself, 'Perhaps I can
understand already, better than my grandfather thinks. Have I not
twice already in my young years been brought nigh to death? Even now
death seemeth to me often not far away.'

'Wouldst thou then fear to die, Grandfather?' she added aloud.

'No more than a bird would fear to leave its cage and fly, were once
the door but open,' the old man answered. 'But the door is still
securely fastened for me, it seems; and since I had thee, my little
bird, to share my captivity I am no longer anxious to leave my cage. I
was younger by four years than thou art now, my child, when I lost my
fear of the grave. It was on this wise. I was but a little lad of
eight years old, mourning and weeping for the loss of my dear father,
who had been taken from us. As the tears streamed down my cheeks,
methought I heard a Voice saying: "Weep for thyself; thy father is
well." Never since that day, Mary child, have I doubted for one moment
that for those who go hence in peace, it is well indeed.'

'Dear Grandfather, there is a sad sound in thy voice,' said little
Mary. 'It is too dark by this time to see thy face, but I cannot let
thee be sad. How shall I cheer thee? Ah! I know! how could I have
forgotten? My aunt charged me to say she hath news by a sure hand that
my dear mother may be coming hither to visit thee and me before many
days are over.'

'My daughter Mary is ever welcome,' said the old man dreamily, 'and in
the darkness thy voice is so like to hers, I could almost deem she
herself was sitting by my side. Already the young moon has disappeared
behind the battlements of the castle. Yet I need not her silver light
to tell me that thy hair is softer and straighter than thy mother's,
and without the golden lights and twining curls that hers had when she
was thy age.'

'The moon truly has left us, Grandfather,' Mary interrupted, springing
from his knee. 'Yet what matters the darkness while we are close
together? I can still see to get thy supper ready for thee. Thou must
eat first, and then we will talk further, until it is time to go to
rest.'

Deftly the little prison maid moved about the bare cell, drawing her
grandfather's chair to the rough oak table. On this she arranged the
loaf of bread and bottle of milk from her basket, setting them and the
ear