The Basket of Flowers Part 9

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."

When the carriage stopped at the Castle, the servants and officers belonging to the Count's household were waiting to receive them. Mary had a warm welcome from them all. Every one showed the greatest joy at seeing her again, and their congratulations on her innocence having been proved were manifestly sincere. The old judge who had sent her into banishment was among those who welcomed her most cordially. Taking her hand in the presence of all the servants, he asked her pardon for the mistake he had made. He expressed his grat.i.tude to the Count and Countess for having so n.o.bly repaired the injustice, a.s.sured them that he reproached himself for the misfortune, and that he was willing to do everything in his power to discharge his debt.

The exciting day came to an end, and Mary was glad to escape to her chamber. Next morning, the sun s.h.i.+ning brightly into her room woke her early. As soon as she was dressed she ran to visit her father's cottage, and to walk once more round the old familiar garden. On her way she met numbers of the villagers, and all of them showed great happiness at seeing her.

The old farmer and his wife, who had now been settled some time in the cottage, were delighted to meet her again. They kissed her affectionately and a.s.sured her of the happiness of their new life.

"When you were without a home," said the farmer, with tears in his eyes, "we received you and your father into our own, and now that we are old and had no place that we could call our own, you give us this charming cottage in which we might spend our declining years."

"Yes," said his wife, "it is always well to be generous and hospitable.

We never know how soon we shall receive it again."

"Well, well," said her husband, "I am glad we did not think of that then. We took Mary and her father in without hope of reward. However, the maxim is not the less true, 'Do good to others and you will always find some one to do good to you.'"

When Mary entered the cottage, the sight of the place where her father used to sit raised a host of sad but sweet recollections in her mind.

She walked round the garden and kissed every tree planted by his hand, seeing in each an old acquaintance. The little apple tree which had been their favourite, was just now covered with blossom, and before it she stopped to meditate for a little on man's brief life, which fades away before the tree which he has planted. In the arbour where she had pa.s.sed so many happy hours with her father, she rested a little, and gave herself up to reflection. Looking around on the garden, which he had cultivated so diligently by the sweat of his brow, she fancied that she could still see him, and tears streamed from her eyes, when she remembered that he had gone from her for ever. But one thought soothed her heart and made her calm, the thought that he had gone to a better world, and was now reaping the reward of his beautiful life.

As long as Mary lived she spent some weeks every spring at the Castle, cherished and honoured by every one there, and endearing herself to the people of the village, and particularly to the children, among whom she was a great favourite. Her delight was to take them apart and to talk to them of the Saviour, and she had the happiness of believing that many of them under her instructions gave their hearts to G.o.d.

A monument had been erected to her father in fulfilment of a promise which Amelia had made to Mary that evening when she found her sitting on her father's grave. It was an elegant monument of white marble, ornamented with an epitaph in gold letters. Besides the name of the deceased, his age and occupation, nothing in the way of epitaph was added but these words of Jesus--

"I am the Resurrection and the Life: He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."

Underneath these words a beautiful basket of flowers had been cut from a design drawn by Amelia herself. Underneath the basket was written--

"_All flesh is gra.s.s, and all the goodliness thereof as the flowers of the field. The gra.s.s withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of the Lord endureth for ever._"

The erection of this monument gave great satisfaction to the good old minister of Erlenbrunn. The dark background of the fir trees threw the monument into relief, and gave it a very beautiful appearance; and when the rose tree planted by his grave was in bloom, and its branches covered with roses bent over the marble, which was of dazzling whiteness, the sight was a striking one. The humble old man's monument was the most beautiful ornament of the rural churchyard, and the good minister never allowed strangers to leave the church without taking them to see it.

When some people observed that it was a good idea to have put a basket of flowers on the tomb of a man who was at the same time a gardener and a basket-maker, the old minister would say--

"But it is something better than a good idea. The basket of flowers tells more than you know, and it is not without reason that our villagers look upon it as the symbol of a touching story. The ground on which we tread has been bathed with a daughter's tears."

Then he would pour into the attentive ears of strangers the familiar story of the basket of flowers, concluding his recital with the a.s.surance which this whole story is intended to ill.u.s.trate: That piety towards G.o.d and truth towards men will never fail to triumph over the malice of the worst of foes.

Let our readers who have followed this touching story be a.s.sured that under all circ.u.mstances it is best to do as Mary did--walk in the fear of G.o.d, love and obey their earthly parents, stand fast by the truth, and under all circ.u.mstances trust fully in G.o.d. Thus they will live happy and die with a sure prospect of eternal glory.

THE END