and
be better clothed than their honest neighbours."

It is true that most of the inhabitants of Eichbourg were sincerely
sorry for James and his daughter, although many of them felt compelled
to believe in Mary's guilt. Fathers and mothers were heard to say, "Who
would have believed this thing of these good people? Truly it proves
that the best of us are liable to fall." But there were others who were
persuaded of Mary's innocence, and said, "Perhaps it is not so bad as
it appears. May their innocence be brought out when the trial comes,
and may God help them to escape the terrible fate which now hangs over
them."

Groups of children, to whom Mary had given fruit and flowers, stood
weeping as they saw their kind friend being carried off to prison.

CHAPTER IV.

MARY IN PRISON.

We have already said that Mary was in a faint when she was carried off
to prison. When she recovered to realise her condition, she burst into
passionate sobbing, but at length, clasping her hands together, she
fell down on her knees in prayer. Overcome with terror at her
surroundings, filled with sadness at the thought of being separated
from her old father, and wearied with the excitement of the day, she
threw herself upon her hard straw couch and fell into a heavy sleep.

When she awoke it was so dark that she could hardly distinguish a
single object. At first she could not remember where she was. The story
of the lost ring came back to her as a dream, and her first idea was
that she was sleeping in her own little bed. Suddenly she felt that her
hands were chained. Instantly all the sad reality of the past day
flashed upon her mind, and, jumping from her bed, she cried out, "What
can I do but raise my heart to God?"

Falling upon her knees, Mary then engaged in prayer. She prayed for
herself, that she might be delivered, but especially she prayed for her
dear father, that in the trouble which had now come upon him the Lord
might support him. The thought of her father brought a torrent of tears
from her eyes and stopped her prayer.

Suddenly the moon, which had been covered with thick clouds, now shone
in a clear sky, and, its rays coming through the iron grating in the
prison wall, threw a silvery light on the floor of Mary's cell. By the
light thus afforded, Mary could make out the large bricks of which the
walls of her prison were built, the white mortar which united them, the
place in the wall serving as a table on which h