er meals were placed.
Although her surroundings were so miserable, Mary felt that the
moonlight had soothed her heart.

To her astonishment, she became conscious of a sweet perfume filling
her cell. Suddenly she remembered that in the morning she had placed in
her bosom a bouquet of roses and other sweet flowers which remained
from the basket. Taking it in her hand she untied it, and looked at the
flowers in the moonlight. "Alas," said she mournfully, "when I gathered
these rosebuds and forget-me-nots from my garden this morning, who
would have thought that I should be confined in this gloomy prison in
the evening? When I wore garlands of flowers, who would have imagined
that on the same day I should be doomed to wear iron chains?" Then she
thought of her father, and tears fell from her eyes and moistened the
flowers which she held in her hand.

[Illustration: "Oh, my father, be sure that I have not the ring."
_See page 23._]

"Oh, my dear father," she said, "how this bouquet reminds me of the
advice which you have given me. From the midst of thorns, I plucked
these rosebuds; and thus I know that joy will come to me from the very
troubles which now cause me pain. If I had attempted with my own hands
to unfold the leaves of these rosebuds, they would have perished; but
God with a delicate finger had gradually unfolded their purple cups and
shed over them the sweet perfume of His breath. He can disperse the
evils which surround me, and make them turn to my good which seemed all
evil. Let me then patiently wait His time. These flowers remind me of
Him who created them. I will remember Him as He remembers me.

"These tender forget-me-nots, as blue as the heavens, may even be my
silent consolation in all the sufferings of earth. Here are some
sweet-peas with small delicate leaves, half white, half red. The plant
grows and winds itself around a support, that it may not grope in the
dust. And while it balances itself above the earth it displays its
flowers, which might be taken for butterflies' wings. In this way I
will cling to God and by His help raise myself above the miseries of
this earth. This mignonette is the chief source of the perfume which
fills my cell. Sweet plant, you cheer by your perfume the one who
plucked you from your home in the earth. I will try to imitate you and
to do good even to those who without cause have torn me from my garden
and thrown me into this prison. Here is a little sprig of peppermint,