CHAPTER VII.
SENTENCED.
In the village of Eichbourg the case of Mary and the missing ring werethe only subjects of conversation, and many were the speculations as towhat the result of the case would be. At the period when Mary lived,the crime of theft was always visited with severe punishment, and inmany cases the sentence of death was carried out when the theft was ofa much less valuable article than the Countess's ring.
The Count himself wished for nothing so much as to find Mary innocent.In his anxiety to give her the advantage of any doubt there might be,he himself read all the testimony and conversed with the judge forhours at a time, but, after all had been done, he was unable topersuade himself of Mary's innocence. Amelia and her mother were, asmay be imagined, in deep distress, and begged with tears that Mary'slife might be spared. As for the old man, Mary's father, he spent hisdays and nights in unceasing prayer that God would be pleased to proveto the world the innocence of his daughter.
All this time the preparations for the execution were being rapidlypushed forward, and whenever Mary heard an officer enter her cell, shethought it was to announce to her that her hour had come to die.
But if Mary was thus distressed at the preparations for the execution,there was another person for whom the thought had infinite terror.Amelia's maid, Juliette, for the first time realised the crime of whichshe had been guilty, and when she saw the executioner at his work,horror seemed to deprive her of her reason. When she sat down to eatshe could not swallow a bite, and her spirits became so low that shewas an object of general remark. When she retired to rest, her sleepwas disturbed by ghastly dreams, in which she saw Mary's head severedfrom her body. But in spite of the remorse which gnawed her day andnight, the heart of the unhappy woman was hardened against the idea ofconfessing her falsehood, and so Mary remained guilty in the eyes ofthe law.
After much anxious deliberation the judge pronounced sentence uponMary. In consideration of her extreme youth and the unblemishedcharacter which, up till now, she had enjoyed, the sentence of deathwas not to be carried out; but instead, Mary and her father were to bebanished from the country, and all their furniture and possessions wereto be sold to make up, as far as possible, for the value of the ring,and to pay the expenses of the trial.
Next morning at break of day the sentence was carried into execution,and Mary and her father were conducted from the prison. Their road laypast the Castle gate, and just then Juliette came out. Since thepublication of the news that the sentence of death was not to becarried out, this wicked girl had recovered her spirits, and once moreallowed all her evil feelings against Mary to revive. So far from beingsorry for the banishment that was now inflicted upon Mary, she rejoicedin the thought that Mary could no longer be feared as a rival in hermistress's favour. After the trial was over, the Countess, seeingMary's basket of flowers on the sideboard, had said to Juliette, "Takeaway that basket, that I may never have it before my eyes. Therecollections which it arouses in me are so painful that I cannotendure the sight of it."
Now, as Mary and her father were passing the Castle gate, Juliettecalled out to them, "Stop a minute. Here is your fine present; mymistress would keep nothing from such people as you. Your glory haspassed away with the flowers for which you were paid so well." Sosaying, she threw the basket at Mary's feet, re-entered the Castle, andbanged the door with great violence after her. Mary took the basket insilence, and, with tears in her eyes, continued her way, while herfather dragged his aged limbs alongside of her.
"She threw the basket at Mary's feet."_See page 52._]
Many a time on the journey Mary turned back to look, with tear-dimmedeyes, towards the cottage where they had spent so many happy years,until the roof of the Castle and even the church steeple disappearedfrom her sight. At last they came to the limits of the country beyondwhich their exile was to be; and, having conducted them thus far, theofficer left them. They were now in the heart of a forest, and the oldman, though overwhelmed with grief and anxiety for the future, seatedhimself upon the grass under the shade of an oak tree and comforted hisdaughter.
"Come, my child," said he, taking Mary's hands in his own and raisingthem to heaven, "before we go on let us thank God who has taken us outof the gloomy prison, and allowed us to enjoy once more the sight ofheaven and the freshness of the air; who has saved our lives, and whohas returned you, my dear daughter, to your father's arms." The old manthen fell upon his knees, and out of a thankful heart commended himselfand his daughter to the protection of their heavenly Father.
With the prayer of faith, which was thus offered up, feelings of joyand courage began to fill their hearts. And now it was seen that God'sprovidence had not left them. An old huntsman--Anthony by name--withwhom James had been in service when he accompanied the Count on histravels, had set out before daybreak to hunt a stag, and now came uponJames and his daughter seated under the oak.
"God bless you, James," said Anthony. "It does me good to hear yourvoice. Is it then true that they have banished you? Truly it is hard tosee a man obliged, in his old age, to quit his country."
"As far as the reach of heaven extends," answered James, "the earth isthe Lord's, and His kindness is extended to all. Our country--our realcountry--is in heaven."
"Tell me," said the huntsman, with sympathy in his face, "if they havebanished you just as you are, without food or clothing necessary forthe journey."
"He who clothes the flowers of the field will know how to provide forus also!"
"That is so; but you are provided at least with money?" insistedAnthony, whose kind heart was filled with sympathy and indignation.
"We have a good conscience," replied the old man, "and with that we arericher than if the stone upon which I sit was gold. My father was abasket-maker. He taught me his trade besides that of gardening, inorder that, during the dark winter months, I might have a usefuloccupation. This has done more for me, and has been better for myprosperity, than if he had left me a fortune. A good conscience, healthof body, and an honourable trade, are the best and surest fortunes wecan have on earth."
"God be praised," answered the huntsman, "that you bear yourmisfortunes so well. I am forced to confess that you are right, andthat you have still a good resource in gardening. But I cannot seewhere you expect to get employment."
"Far from here," answered James; "in places where we are not known.Wherever, in short, God will conduct us."
"James," said the huntsman, "take this stout stick in your hand. I haveused it to assist me in climbing up the mountains, but I can easily getanother. And here," he added, drawing from his pocket a little leatherpurse, "is some money that I received in payment for some wood in thevillage where I passed the night."
"I gladly accept the cane," replied James, "and I will cherish it inremembrance of a generous man; but it is impossible for me to acceptthe money, as it is payment for wood that belongs to the Count."
"Good old James," the huntsman replied, "if that is your fear, you maytake the money with an easy mind. Some years ago a poor old man, whohad lost his cow, could not pay for the wood which he had bought fromthe Count. I advanced him the sum, which he paid to the Count, andthought no more about it. Now he has got out of his difficulties, andyesterday, when I had forgotten all about it, he returned it to me withhearty thanks. So you see it is truly a present which God sends you."
"I accept it," said James, "with thanks, and may God return it to you.See, Mary," he said, turning to his daughter, "with what goodness Godprovides for us at the very commencement of our banishment, here almostbefore we have passed the limits of the country, and sends us our goodold friend who has given us money. Courage, my daughter; our heavenlyFather will watch over us." The huntsman then took leave of them withtears in his eyes.
"Farewell, honest James," said he, "farewell, my good Mary," extendinghis hands to both. "I always thought you innocent, and I still thinkso. Do not despair. Do not surrender your honesty because you aresuspected. Yes, yes; whosoever does well and has confid
ence in God, maybe assured of His protection. May God be with you."
Hand in hand Mary and her father now continued their way through theforest, not knowing at what spot they would rest, and without a friendin the world but God.
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