"I want to let out the Virgin's smoke. But the stopper is too stiff for my fingers, and I want you to open it and let the smoke out. Then we can leave the bottle as we found it!" Now this bottle of smoke from the Blessed Mother's hearth at Bethlehem was, indeed, our most precious relic, and was looked upon with awful reverence. I fully sympathized with Sister Sacristine's desire to save it from profanation, but I was rather scared at the idea of touching it, not knowing exactly what it might do if it got out. "Do you think it would be safe?" I asked. "You know how when the over-curious priest opened the vial to smell of it, a huge volume of black smoke issued from it and blasted him as by lightning." "Yes, but that was different. His was a profane motive, and ours is a devout one. Oh, Loveday, do help me. I can't endure to think of the blessed smoke in that wretch's hands, and, besides, who can tell what it might do." "I wish it would smother him and Father Simon both!" said I, spitefully. "And Perpetua and Regina as well." "Oh, my child, we must forgive our persecutors, you know, and I do try. But you will help me, won't you, and I will pray for you all my life." "Yes, I will help you," I said. "What do you wish me to do?" "That is a good girl. May all the saints and angels have you in their keeping." As she spoke she took from a box a little bottle of greenish material, covered with bright flowers somewhat raised. It had a stopper and cap of gold, very curiously wrought, with a hasp or clasp. I suppose no young person who has grown up under the present state of things, can guess the profound awe with which I received the little vessel into my hand. We both kissed it reverently, and then with some trouble, I loosed the hasp and took out the stopper, while we both fell on our knees. Our eyes were fixed on the precious bottle to await whatever might happen. But the surprising thing was, that nothing happened at all. The little vessel lay upon its side in my hand as innocent and pretty as a maids fairing, but there was no smoke—not even a smell of burning. "Alas! Alas!" sobbed Sister Sacristine, "The Holy Mother has already withdrawn from this house and taken her smoke with her! The glory has departed. Alas! Alas for us! Our Holy Mother has been offended and has withdrawn her protection from these walls. I fear my sins have helped to draw this judgment on us. Mea culpa! Mea culpa!"