THE YOUNG COUNTESS'S STORY.
Having made Mary sit down beside her, the young Countess began her
story.
"God is surely with you, dear Mary," said she, "and has taken you under
His protection. I see now that He has guided my steps here in order
that I might find you for whom we have sought so long. Simple as are
the events which I am about to relate to you, we can see in them a
chain of truly providential circumstances.
"From the time that your innocence was discovered I had no more rest.
You and your father were always pressing on my mind, wandering without
home and friends. Believe me, my dear Mary, I have shed many bitter
tears on your account. My parents were also deeply distressed at the
injustice they had unwittingly done you, and sought for you everywhere;
but, as you know, without being able to obtain any trace of you.
"Two days ago we came to a hunting-lodge of the Prince in the forest,
not far from this village. For twenty years at least this castle has
not been visited, the only occupant being a gamekeeper. My father had
gone on business, and had spent the whole day in the forest in company
with two noblemen whose wives were staying at the castle. It had been a
very warm day, and the evening was very fresh. The setting sun, the
mountain covered with pines interspersed with picturesque rocks offered
such a beautiful spectacle that I begged permission to take a walk.
Accompanied by the gamekeeper's daughter I set out, and as we passed
along we found the graveyard gate open, and the tombstones gilded by
the light of the setting sun.
"Since my childhood I have always had a pleasure in reading
inscriptions and epitaphs on tombstones. I am moved when one tells of a
young man or woman carried off in the bloom of youth, and I feel a sort
of melancholy pleasure if it concerns a person who had reached advanced
age. The verses themselves, poor as they may be from a poetical point
of view, stir serious feelings within me, and I never fail to carry
away with me from a graveyard good thoughts and pious resolutions.
"Entering the graveyard with the gamekeeper's daughter, I began as
usual to read the inscriptions. After a little while the girl said to
me, 'Come, I will show you something very beautiful. It is the grave of
an old man, who has neither tombstone nor epitaph, but it has been
ornamented with taste and beauty by the tender piety of his daughter.
See, you can just distinguish it through the thick leaves of these
pines--the beautiful rose tree and the basket of flowers.'
"You can imagine, dear Mary, the shock I received, when at the first
glance I recognised the basket of flowers which had never been out of
my mind since that sad day when you left Eichbourg. If there had been
any doubts in my mind as to it being the same basket, the initials of
my name and the coat-of-arms of my family would have dispelled them.
Turning to my companion, I asked if she knew anything of you and your
father. She told me all about your life at Pine Farm, your father's
sickness and death, and your great grief. After hearing all that the
gamekeeper's daughter could tell me, I went to the minister, only to
hear the same story with very much praise of yourself added. I would
have gone off to Pine Farm immediately, but while the story was being
told me, time had passed rapidly, and it was now already quite dark.
'What shall I do,' said I; 'it is now too late to go to the farm, but
to-morrow at daybreak we will set out.' Your good friend the minister
sent for the schoolmaster to charge him to go and bring you without
delay to the castle.
"'My dear young friend,' said the schoolmaster, 'you need not go far to
look for her. She has gone to her father's grave to weep there. Alas,
poor child!' he continued, 'I saw her sitting there from an opening in
the steeple when I went this afternoon to wind up the clock.'
"I at once determined to find you, and the minister wanted to accompany
me, but I begged to be allowed to come to you alone, that my first
meeting with you might be as affectionate as I desired. While I came
here the old minister went to tell my parents where I was, and to
prepare them for your arrival. This accounts, my dear Mary, for my
sudden appearance before you. You can now see, through God's
providence, this basket of flowers which separated us has reunited us
by your father's grave--that father who is now inhabiting the home
above."
"Yes," said Mary, clasping her hands and raising her grateful eyes to
heaven, "God has done it all. He has had pity on my tears and on my
needs. How can I thank Him for His goodness and His boundless
tenderness?"
"I have still one thing to tell you yet," answered the Countess Amelia,
interrupting her, "and it is one which seems to me singularly touching,
and inspires me with an awe for the justice of God who directs our lot
even when we are unconscious of it. My maid, Juliette, had but one
thought, one desire. It was to banish you from my heart and to take
your place in my affections. It was with that design that she made up
her terrible falsehood, and her wicked plan succeeded too well. But
that very falsehood was the means of her afterwards losing her place
and our confidence, and that made you dearer than ever to our hearts.
Juliette endeavoured to estrange you from me for ever, and your
banishment was a constant subject of triumph to her.
"You know how that, in her wickedness, she threw this basket at your
feet with an insulting laugh. Well, it was exactly this event which was
afterwards, although she little thought it then, to reunite us for
ever. For was it not indeed through this basket on your father's grave
that I discovered you to-day? Truly, those who have the love of God
have nothing to fear from any enemies. God knows how to turn to our
advantage all the ill that wicked people do to us; and our most cruel
enemies, although for a while they may bring us to unhappiness, can do
nothing but contribute to our real and lasting happiness. We may say in
this case that our safety comes from our enemies.
"But now, dear Mary," said the Countess, "tell me what brought you so
late to your father's grave, and why, when I found you, you were
weeping so bitterly."
When Mary had told her story, of how they had driven her from the Pine
Farm on a false charge, the Countess was astonished still more at the
providence which had brought her and Mary together.
"Yes, indeed," said the Countess to Mary, "it is by God's will that I
have found you to-day, just when you were again plunged into the
deepest distress. You were imploring His assistance with burning tears
running down your cheeks. This is another proof of what we have been
speaking, that God knows how to turn to our advantage the ill which our
enemies design to do us. The farmer's wicked wife, who drove you from
her house, thought she would make you unhappy. Without knowing it she
has brought you to my arms and those of my parents, who, as well as
myself, are desirous of making your life happy.
"But it is now time to set out," said Amelia. "My parents will be
anxious at my long absence. Come, dear Mary, I will never leave you any
more. Let us go to my parents."