Morning came with her silver light again, and the crucifix came slowly into view; and the face of the Saviour was full of sorrow. It matched her own unhappiness. The light of the dawn showed her how small her supply of food was. She was intensely thirsty, but she felt she must husband both bread and water. She was afraid to do more than moisten her lips and swallow a mouthful to take the dryness from her parched throat. The bread had woefully dwindled, for the rats had been at it, and one or two scrambled across the floor when she flung out her hands to drive them away. The bird came for his meal, and she could not deny him; and in payment for it he sang a song which brought the tears; for it set her thinking of freedom, and made her yearn for it more than words could ever tell. The loneliness, with nothing to do but think and pray, was intolerable. She was realising that it is never good for one to feel the sense of being absolutely alone, for one would grow morbid, and distort the realities, and become fearful or bitter, as she feared she would do. Perhaps that was a part of her torture. It was possible that the Inquisitors knew from their experience with other prisoners that loneliness was as much of pain in its way as the use of the thumbscrew or the hot pincers. Whether they did so or not, she felt that to the lonely one, robbed of liberty and companionship, the choicest and most entrancing spot on earth, "the valley of flowers and the hills of glory," becomes a desert which in time is peopled with horror and a deadly fear. How much more this dungeon in which she was lying! When evening drew on, the shadows grew deeper in the cell. The crucifix was presently barely visible, and Margaret shuddered; for it seemed to her that the noisome creatures of the place were coming out of their hiding now that the light was going. Her heart leapt at a sound she heard, but she knew not whether to hope or fear. There was the noise of a key in the lock as she had heard it before, followed by the dropping of the bars and chains and the drawing of bolts. Then, with a slowness that was trying to her nerves, the door began to open. Two Familiars entered, one blocking up the doorway, in case the prisoner should try to rush through in the wild hope of finding liberty. The other approached the straw on which Margaret sat, looking up at the cowled creature wistfully, with her hands folded, the once rosy cheeks no longer coloured, but white and wan. If this man who came disguised in that ugly cowl had known that to-morrow was her bridal day, he must have thought that there was nothing here suggestive of a happy bride as she crouched at his feet. His black robe rustled on the straw, sweeping across it when he bent to set another loaf and a jar of water on the floor. Not one word passed. Of what avail was it to ask these men why she was here? They would not deign an answer, of that she was sure.