was Dr. Norris.

For a moment it seemed as if they were almost struck dumb with horror;
and then her Uncle Bertrand seized her by the arm in such agitation that
he scarcely seemed himself--not the light, satirical, jesting Uncle
Bertrand she had known at all.

"What does it mean?" he cried. "What are you doing here, in this horrible
place alone? Do you know where it is you have come? What have you in your
basket? Explain! explain!"

The moment of trial had come, and it seemed even more terrible than the
poor child had imagined. The long strain and exertion had been too much
for her delicate body. She felt that she could bear no more; the cold
seemed to have struck to her very heart. She looked up at Monsieur de
Rochemont's pale, excited face, and trembled from head to foot. A strange
thought flashed into her mind. Saint Elizabeth, of Thuringia--the cruel
Landgrave. Perhaps the Saints would help her, too, since she was trying
to do their bidding. Surely, surely it must be so!

"Speak!" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont. "Why is this? The basket--what
have you in it?"

"Roses," said Elizabeth, "Roses." And then her strength deserted her--she
fell upon her knees in the snow--the basket slipped from her arm, and the
first thing which fell from it was--no, not roses,--there had been no
miracle wrought--not roses, but the case of jewels which she had laid on
the top of the other things that it might be the more easily carried.

[ILLUSTRATION: HER STRENGTH DESERTED HER--SHE FELL UPON HER KNEES IN