When the women reached Paula’s cell their hearts throbbed painfully, for within the door which the warder unlocked anguish and despair must dwell.

The prisoner was standing at the window, pressing her brow against the iron bars and listening to the lute played by her lover, which sounded, amid the turmoil of the other prisoners, like a bell above the roar of thunder and the storm.  By the bed sat Betta on a low stool, asleep with the distaff in her lap; and neither she nor her mistress heeded the entrance of the visitors.  A miserable lamp lighted the squalid room.

Mary would have flown to her friend, but Joanna held her back and called Paula tenderly by name in a low voice.  But Paula did not hear; her soul was no doubt absorbed in anguish and the terror of death.  The widow now raised her voice, and the ill-fated girl turned round; then, with a little cry of joy, she hastened to meet 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.”