"Your flowers had a pretty rough time of it in the storm," said Jailer
Laval, as he drew near. He addressed the drummer's daughter,--but his
eyes were on Sandy, with the suspicious and stern inquiry common to men
who have betrayed a secret. But Sandy was busy with his delving.

"Yes," answered Elizabeth, and she looked from the ground up to the
faces of these men.

"Is that a rose-bush? That was roughly handled," said Laval, pointing
with his stick to the twisted rose-stalk covered with buds, over whose
blighted promise she had been lamenting.

"Yes," said Elizabeth again; but she hardly knew what she said, still
less was she aware of the expression her face wore when she looked at
the prisoner. Yes,--even as Sandy said, big wrists were chained
together; he was more like a ghost than a man; his face was pale and
hopeless, and woful beyond her understanding was the majesty of his
mien.

At such a price he paid for fights against _the Church!_ But in truth
he had not the look of an evil, warring man. His gravity, indeed, was
such as it seemed impossible to dispel. But only pity stirred the heart
of Elizabeth Montier as she looked on him. Surely it was a face that
never, in any excess of passion, could have looked malignance. Ah! and
at such a price he purchased his sunshine, the fresh air, and a near
vision of this flower-garden!--in chains!

When she looked at him, his gaze was on her,--not upon the roses. She
smiled, for pity's sake; but the smile met no return. His countenance
had not the habit of responding to such glances. Sombre as death was