A PAINFUL MEETING.
Not for a long time had the judge been so perplexed as he was over
Mary's case.
"For three days," he said, "it has been before us, and we have not made
the least advance towards the solution of the mystery. If I could see
any possibility of the ring having been taken by any one else, I should
certainly believe this girl innocent, but the evidence is so clear
against her, that it is impossible to believe anything else."
The Countess was again examined and questioned thoroughly; the minutest
circumstances being inquired into. Juliette was also examined again.
A whole day was spent by the judge in going over their testimony, and
weighing against it the words that Mary had uttered in her examination.
It was late at night when the judge sent to the prison for Mary's
father to be brought to his house.
"James," said he kindly, "I am known perhaps as a strict man, but I do
not think that you can reproach me with ever having intentionally
injured any one. I do not need to tell you that I do not desire the
death of your daughter. All the details of the case, however, prove
that she must have committed the theft, and, under these circumstances,
you are aware that the penalty which the law requires is death. But
your daughter is young, and, notwithstanding the serious nature of the
crime, if she were to return the ring even now, a pardon might be
granted to her. To persist so obstinately in denying her guilt will
most certainly end in her death. Go to her, James; insist upon her
returning the ring, and I give you my word that the penalty of death
will not be visited upon her, but a mere trifling punishment
substituted. As her father you have great power over her. If you cannot
obtain a confession, most people will think that you have been an
accomplice with your daughter in the crime. Once more, I repeat, if the
ring is not found, I pity your case."
"My daughter has not stolen the ring," replied James sadly; "of that I
am sure. That she will not therefore acknowledge her guilt, I know
beforehand. But I will speak to her as you desire. I will employ every
means to find it out, and if it be that she is to perish,
notwithstanding her innocence, it is a comfort to know that I can see
her once again before the terrible event."
Accompanied by an officer, the old man went to the prison where Mary
was confined. The officer set a lamp upon a projection of the wall in a
corner of the cell, on which also stood an earthen pitcher of water.
Mary was lying on her straw bed, with her face turned towards the wall,
partially asleep. The light of the lamp woke her from her troubled
slumber, and, turning over and seeing her father, she uttered a cry of
joy and raised herself hastily, forgetting her chains. Almost fainting,
she threw herself upon her father's neck, and the old man sat down with
her upon her bed and pressed her in his arms. For some time they both
remained silent and mingled their tears together. At length James broke
the silence and began to speak as the judge had instructed him.
[Illustration: "She raised herself hastily, forgetting her chains."
_See page 44._]
"Oh, my father," said Mary, in a reproachful voice, interrupting him,
"surely you at least do not doubt my innocence. Alas," she continued,
weeping bitterly, "is there no one who believes me innocent, no one,
not even my father! Oh, my dear father, believe me that I am innocent."
"Calm yourself, my dear child; I believe you entirely. I am only doing
now what I have been instructed to do by the judge."
There was a silence for a little while in the cell. The old man looked
at his daughter and saw her cheeks pale and hollow with grief, her eyes
red and swollen with weeping, and her hair hanging dishevelled about
her.
"My dear child," he said, "God has suffered you to be tried very
severely; but I fear lest there should be a worse trial to come, more
painful sufferings than any you have yet undergone. Alas, perhaps even
my dear child's head may fall by the hands of the executioner!"
"My father," said Mary soothingly, "I care but little for myself. But
for you----"
"Fear nothing for me, my dear Mary," said her father, "I run no
risk----"
"Oh," cried Mary, "thank God! If that is the case, a great load is
taken off my heart. For myself, all is well. Be sure, my dear father, I
fear not to die. I shall go to God; I shall find my Saviour. I shall
also see my mother in heaven. That will be a great happiness."
Deeply moved at his daughter's words, the old man wept like a child.
"Well, God be praised," said he, clasping his aged hands together, "God
be praised for your submissive spirit. It is very hard for a man
stricken in years, for a tender father to lose his only child, the
child of his love, his only consolation, the joy of his old age, and
his last support, but," he continued, "may the will of the Lord be
done."
"One word," said he, a moment afterwards; "Juliette has sworn falsely
against you. On her oath she has declared that she saw the ring in your
hands. If you perish, you will perish by her testimony. But you will
pardon her, my Mary--is it not so? You do not take with you any feeling
of hatred towards her. Alas, even upon this bed of straw, and loaded
with chains, you are still more happy than she is, living in the
Countess's palace and dressed in fine clothes, and with everything that
her heart can desire. It is better to die innocent than to live
dishonoured. Pardon her, my child, as thy Saviour pardoned His enemies
on the cross. Do you pardon her?" the old man asked anxiously.
Mary assured her father that she did. And now the officer was heard
coming to separate them.
"Well," said her father, "I commend you to God and His grace. If I
should not see you again, if this is the last time that I am permitted
to talk with you, my daughter, at least be sure that I will not be long
in following you to heaven. You may depend upon it that I shall not
long survive this parting."
The time was now up, and, warned by the officer, the old man prepared
to take his departure. Mary clung to him with all her strength, but her
father was obliged to disengage himself as gently as he could, and Mary
fell insensible upon her bed.
As soon as James was brought before the judge, he raised his hands to
heaven, and cried out, almost beside himself--
"My daughter is innocent!"
The judge was deeply moved.
"I am disposed," he said, "for my own part to believe it.
Unfortunately, I must judge the case from the nature of the testimony,
with impartiality and even to the utmost rigour of the law."