The Basket of Flowers Part 7

"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 n.o.blemen 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d'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, "G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d have nothing to fear from any enemies. G.o.d 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 G.o.d's will that I have found you to-day, just when you were again plunged into the deepest distress. You were imploring His a.s.sistance with burning tears running down your cheeks. This is another proof of what we have been speaking, that G.o.d 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."

CHAPTER XVI.

HOW THE RING WAS FOUND.

The road to the castle towards which the Countess now led Mary, lay through a long and dark walk of tall old linden trees. For a while they walked in silence together, each wrapped in her own thoughts, but at last the Countess said to Mary--

"Oh, I must now tell you how the ring was found. My father's affairs requiring his presence at Eichbourg, we left Court earlier than usual this year--in the beginning of March. When we arrived at the Castle, the weather was very boisterous, and one night in particular we had a tremendous storm. You remember the great pear tree we had in our garden at Eichbourg? It was very old, and bore scarcely any fruit. That night the wind, which blew with great violence, had shaken it so much that it threatened every moment to fall, and my father ordered it to be cut down.

"My father, and mother, the children, and servants, and indeed all of the people in the Castle, came into the garden to see it fall. As soon as it was cut down, my two little brothers ran immediately towards a magpie's nest in the tree, which had for a long time been a coveted object, but had hitherto been out of their reach. Now they seized upon the nest and busied themselves examining its contents.

"'Look, Albert!' said Augustus, 'what is that s.h.i.+ning among the twigs?

How bright it is!'

"'It sparkles like gold,' said Albert.

"My maid, Juliette, ran forward to look at it, and immediately uttered a scream.

"'Oh,' she cried, 'it is the ring!' and became as pale as death.

"The children extricated the ring from among the twigs, and carried it in great glee to my mother.

"'Yes, indeed it is my ring,' said my mother, with deep emotion. 'Oh, good and honest James! oh, poor Mary, what injustice we have done you!

I am glad enough to find my ring again, but if I could find James and Mary, I would gladly sacrifice the ring to repair the wrong which we have done them.'

"I was curious to know by what chance the ring was carried into the magpie's nest at the top of the tree, and the old huntsman, Anthony, gave a ready explanation.

"'Neither the gardener James nor his daughter could have hidden the ring in this place, that is very clear,' said he. 'The tree was too high, and it would have been impossible to climb up so far. Besides which, they had not time to do so. Mary had scarcely returned to the house when she and her father were both arrested. Magpies are greatly attracted by anything that s.h.i.+nes, and if they can find anything sparkling, they carry it off immediately to their nests. One of these birds must have stolen the ring, and carried it to the tree. That is all the mystery. The only thing that astonishes me is that an old hunter, as I am, should not have thought sooner of this explanation.'

"The old man spoke with deep feeling and with tears in his eyes, but they were tears of joy at seeing your innocence proved.

"'Anthony,' said my mother, 'I believe you are perfectly right, and now I remember quite distinctly that very often these birds came from the top of this tree to my window, that the sash was open when the ring disappeared, that the table on which I put the ring was close to the window, and that, after having shut the door and bolted it, I went into the next room, where I stayed for some time. No doubt one of these mischievous birds saw the ring from his nest, and, while I was in the other room, he must have darted in and carried it off.'

"My father was deeply troubled at the conviction, which he could not resist, that you and your father had been unjustly condemned.

"'My heart is almost broken,' said he, 'for having done these good people so much injury. My only consolation is that it was not done from ill-will, but in ignorance and error.'

"My father now turned to Juliette, who in the universal rejoicing at the discovery of the ring remained silent and pale.

"'False woman,' said he, 'deceitful servant! How could you have the hardihood to lie to me and to the judge, and to compel us to commit an action unwillingly, the iniquity of which now calls for vengeance? What tempted you to plunge into suffering an old and honest man, and his poor and virtuous daughter?'

"'Officers, do your duty,' he said to two constables, who had a.s.sisted in cutting down the tree, and who now approached the unhappy Juliette to carry out my father's orders. 'Let her be put in chains,' he added, in a grave tone,--'the same chains that Mary wore,--and let her be thrown into the same prison in which she caused Mary to languish. She must suffer all that Mary suffered, only that, unlike Mary, she has deserved it. What she has been able to h.o.a.rd of money or clothes shall be taken from her, to compensate, if it be possible, the unhappy old man and his daughter who have had to suffer an unjust sentence. The officer who conducted Mary out of my dominions shall also conduct Juliette, just as she is, to the same place.'

"No one had ever seen my father so exasperated, never had any one heard him speak in such pa.s.sionate tones. For a while every one was silent, but at last the officers and servants gave voice to their sentiments and thoughts.

"'It is well done,' said one of the officers, seizing Juliette by the arm; 'when one digs another's grave he must fill it himself.'

"'That is what is gained by telling falsehoods,' said the other officer. 'It is true that no thread is so fine that it cannot be seen in the suns.h.i.+ne.'

"'It was a pretty dress which the young Countess gave to Mary,' said the cook in her turn, 'that made Juliette angry. In her rage, and not knowing well what she was about, she began to tell lies, and then it was impossible to retract without acknowledging her guilt. The proverb is true which says that, once the devil has us by the hair, he will hold fast to us afterwards.'

"'It is well, it is well,' said the coachman, who had just finished cutting the tree, and who still had the axe over his shoulder. 'Let us hope she will mend her ways, if she does not wish to be worse off in the next world. The tree that bears not good fruit,' said he, shaking his axe, 'shall be cut down, and cast into the fire.'

"The news of the finding of the ring spread through Eichbourg in a very short time, and every one ran to the place, so that in a little while a great crowd had gathered. The judge who condemned you came also, and every witness of the discovery was as eager as possible to tell him all about it.

"You cannot imagine, my dear Mary," the Countess proceeded, "the effect that the story produced on the good man. Notwithstanding his severity respecting you, he is a man of great probity, and one who has all his life tried to administer justice with strict fidelity.

"'I would give half of my goods,' said he, in a tone that went to the heart of every one who heard him--'yes, I would willingly have given everything I possess if this misfortune had not happened. To have condemned innocence is a frightful thought.' Then, looking round him at the people, he said, in a solemn voice, 'G.o.d is the only infallible judge, the only one that cannot be deceived. He knows everything. He alone knew the hiding-place in which the ring had remained until now.

The judges of the earth are near-sighted and p.r.o.ne to be deceived. It is rare here below that innocence suffers and vice triumphs. The invisible Judge, who will recompense one day all good actions and punish all bad ones, has decreed that even here innocence shall not always suffer from suspicion, nor hidden crime remain always concealed.'"

While Amelia had been relating this interesting narrative, Mary had been lifting up her heart in silent thanksgiving to G.o.d for clearing her character from every stain of suspicion and establis.h.i.+ng her innocence in the minds of her friends. By the time Amelia had finished her story, they had arrived at the door of the castle.

CHAPTER XVII.