[Illustration: Child with basket of flowers]
"Look here," said the jailer to his little daughter, "there is a flower I have just taken away from the prisoner in the tower. I don't know how he got it, but he cried like a baby when I took it away."
"Poor prisoner!" said the little girl, with tears in her own eyes.
"Nay, my little maid, do not weep," said the jailer, taking the child in his arms.
But the little one hid her face against her father's breast and sobbed.
"See, my Lily, I will take his flower back to him, only do not cry so," said the jailer.
"Father, may I take it to him?" said the little girl, raising her tear-stained face to her father's, and gazing at him eagerly.
"Won't it do if I take it?" asked the jailer.
"Oh, please let me take it," said the child.
The rough jailer had such tenderness for his child that it was difficult for him to refuse her anything. So it was that when the prisoner lifted his weary head as he heard his door open, he beheld a beautiful child with blue eyes and yellow hair, and in her hand stretched out to him was the water-lily.
"Oh, but it is an angel!" cried the prisoner, a smile lighting his haggard face. "An angel from heaven; I must be going to die."
"No, poor man, it's little Lily," said the child, and she slid a round arm about his neck. "I am so sorry for you!"
The prisoner burst into passionate weeping, and kissed the small hand that lay upon his shoulder.
The jailer blew his nose like a trumpet.
"You may be called anything," said the prisoner, "but you are surely an angel."
From this time Lily came to see her prisoner every day, and he grew almost gay.
In the meantime the water-lily drooped and died, but she was happy, for she had fulfilled her mission.
The prisoner took the dead flower and laid it on his heart. "Poor little dead flower," he said, "it was you who brought me my little comforter."
As he said these words he fancied he felt the dead flower move; but it might have been the beating of his own heart.