Part 9 (1/2)

CHAPTER XX.

FORGIVING AN ENEMY.

And now we must return to Mary whom we left in her new surroundings.

Immediately after leaving Pine Farm, Mary went with the Count's family to the city, in which they spent part of every year. While they were there, a clergyman came one morning to their residence and asked to see Mary. He told her that he was charged with a message for her from a person who was very ill and probably near death, and who desired anxiously to speak to her. The clergyman said that the person was not willing to give her message to any one but to Mary herself.

Mary could not imagine what the woman could want with her, and she consulted the Countess as to what she ought to do. The Countess, knowing the clergyman to be a pious and prudent man, advised Mary to go with him, and at the minister's request old Anthony the huntsman accompanied them. After a long walk to the outskirts of the town, they arrived at last at a house situated in a side street, which presented a most gloomy aspect. ”Here is the house,” said the clergyman, knocking at the door, ”but wait a little.”

After a few moments he returned for Mary, who then entered with him into a most miserable room. The window was narrow and dark, and some broken panes were patched with paper. The only furniture which the room contained was a miserable truckle-bed, covered with a more miserable mattress, and a broken chair, on which stood a stone pitcher, with neither handle nor cover.

On the miserable bed lay stretched a figure which to Mary's eyes seemed more like a skeleton, but which she gradually made out was the form of a woman, in the last stages of illness.

In a voice which resembled the rattle of death, this miserable creature sought to speak with Mary, who trembled in every limb. It was with the utmost difficulty that she could make out what the poor woman said, but at last she learned, to her horror, that the frightful phantom was Juliette, who at the Castle of Eichbourg had been the beginning and cause of all her distress. After being turned away from the Castle, she had gone from bad to worse, until she had sunk into her present state.

Lying upon her miserable bed, death staring her in the face, remorse had overtaken her, and her one wish was to have Mary's forgiveness.

Learning in some way, that the Count and his family were in the city, she begged of the clergyman who was visiting her to ask Mary to come to see her. The poor woman, judging Mary by herself, had entreated the clergyman not to mention her name in case Mary would not come.

Mary was affected to the heart when she heard Juliette's story, and she shed tears of sympathy with her old enemy. She a.s.sured her that she had forgiven her long ago, and that the only feeling she experienced was that of the deepest pity for her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Mary was affected to the heart when she heard Juliette's story.”

_See page 142._]

”Alas,” said Juliette, ”I am a great sinner; I have deserved my fate.

Forgetfulness of G.o.d, contempt of good advice, love of dress, flattery, and pleasure were the first causes of misery, and these have brought me to my present state. Oh,” cried she, raising her voice to a shriek, and weeping bitterly, ”that is nothing to the fate which I fear awaits me in the world to come. You have pardoned me, it is true, but I feel the weight of G.o.d's anger now settling on my soul.”

Mary conversed long and earnestly with her, endeavouring to point her to the Saviour of the world, who would receive her if she truly repented. At last she was obliged to leave her without being satisfied as to her state of mind, but the idea of the unhappy Juliette dying without hope continually pressed on her mind and weighed down her spirits. She recollected her little apple tree in blossom, withered by the frost, and what her father had said on that occasion. The most consoling words he had said on his deathbed presented themselves to her mind, and she renewed the promise she had made to G.o.d to live entirely to His glory.

To the Countess she related her discovery, and that generous lady sent the unhappy Juliette medicine, food, and linen, and everything which might tend to relieve her illness. But it was too late, and at the age of twenty-three the once beautiful Juliette, reduced to a mere skeleton and disfigured by disease, died without having given evidence of a changed heart towards G.o.d.

CHAPTER XXI.

CONCLUSION.

The next spring, when the country was covered with verdure and flowers, the Count, accompanied by his wife, and daughter, and Mary, went to his home at Eichbourg. Towards evening they approached the village, and when Mary saw in the light of the setting sun the familiar church steeple, the Castle, and the cottage where she had spent so many happy years with her father, she was so deeply touched that tears started to her eyes.

But in the midst of the sorrowful memories which the scene called up in her mind, there came to her a devout feeling of thankfulness for the wonderful way in which G.o.d had led her back.

”When I left Eichbourg,” she said, ”it was in disgrace, and without ever expecting to come back again. The ways of Providence are mysterious, but G.o.d is good.”