Chapter 6
Sentenced
In the village of Eichbourg, the case of Mary and the missing ring was the only subject of conversation, and many were the speculations as to what the result of the case would be.
At the period when Mary lived, the crime of theft was always visited with severe punishment, and in many cases, the sentence of death was carried out even with the theft of a much less valuable article than the countess’ 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 for hours at a time, but, after all had been done, he was unable to persuade himself of Mary’s innocence.
Amelia and her mother were, as may be imagined, in deep distress, and begged with tears that Mary’s life might be spared.
As for the old man, Mary’s father, he spent his days and nights in unceasing prayer that God would be pleased to prove to the world the innocence of his daughter.
All this time the preparations for the execution were being rapidly pushed forward, and whenever Mary heard an officer enter her cell, she thought it was to announce to her that the hour had come for her 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 which she 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 eat she could not swallow a bite, and her spirits became so low that she was an object of general remark.
When she retired to rest, her sleep was disturbed by ghastly dreams, in which she saw Mary’s head severed from her body; but in spite of the remorse that gnawed her day and night, the heart of the unhappy woman was hardened against the idea of confessing her falsehood, and so Mary remained guilty in the eyes of the law.
After much anxious deliberation the judge pronounced sentence upon Mary.
In consideration of her extreme youth and the unblemished character which, up till now, she had enjoyed, the sentence of death was not to be carried out; but instead, Mary and her father were to be banished from the country, and all their furniture and possessions were to 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 lay past the castle gate, and just then Juliette came out. Since the publication of the news that the sentence of death was not to be carried out, this wicked girl had recovered her spirits, and once more allowed all her evil feelings against Mary to revive.
So far from being sorry for the banishment that was now inflicted upon Mary, she rejoiced in the thought that Mary could no longer be feared as a rival in her mistress’ favour.
After the trial was over, the countess seeing Mary’s basket of flowers on the sideboard, had said to Juliette, “Take away that basket, that I may never have it before my eyes. The recollections which it arouses in me are so painful that I cannot endure the sight of it.”
Now, as Mary and her father were passing the castle gate, Juliette called out to them, “Stop a minute. Here is your fine present; my mistress would keep nothing from such people as you. Your glory has passed away with the flowers for which you were paid so well.”
So saying, she threw the basket at Mary’s feet, re-entered the castle, and banged the door with great violence after her.
Mary took the basket in silence, and, with tears in her eyes, continued on her way, while her father dragged his aged limbs alongside her.
Many a time on the journey Mary turned back to look with tear-dimmed eyes towards the cottage where they had spent so many happy years; until the roof of the castle and even the church steeple disappeared from her sight.
At last, they came to the limits of the country beyond which their exile was to be; and, having conducted them thus far, the officer left them.
They were now in the heart of a forest, and the old man, though overwhelmed with grief and anxiety for the future, seated himself upon the grass under the shade of an oak tree and comforted his daughter.
“Come, my child,” said he, taking Mary’s hands in his own and raising them to heaven, “before we go on let us thank God who has taken us out of the gloomy prison, and allowed us to enjoy once more the sight of heaven and the freshness of the air; who has saved our lives, and who has returned you, my dear daughter, to your father’s arms.”
The old man then fell upon his knees, and out of a thankful heart committed himself and his daughter to the protection of their heavenly Father.
With the prayer of faith, which was thus offered up, feelings of joy and courage began to fill their hearts.
And now it was seen that God’s providence had not left them. An old huntsman—Anthony by name—with whom James had been in service when he accompanied the count on his travels, had set out before daybreak to hunt a stag and now came upon James and his daughter seated under the oak.
“God bless you, James,” said Anthony. “It does me good to hear your voice. Is it then true that they have banished you? Truly it is hard to see a man obliged, in his old age, to quit his country.”
“As far as the reach of heaven extends,” answered James, “the earth is the Lord’s, and His kindness is extended to all. Our country—our real country—is in heaven.”
“Tell me,” said the huntsman, with sympathy in his face, “have they banished you just as you are, without food or clothing necessary for the journey?”
“He who clothes the flowers of the field will know how to provide for us also!”
“That is so; but you are provided at least with money?” insisted Anthony, whose kind heart was filled with sympathy and indignation.
“We have a good conscience,” replied the old man, “and with that we are richer than if the stone upon which I sit was gold. My father was a basket-maker. He taught me his trade besides that of gardening, in order that, during the dark winter months, I might have a useful occupation. This has done more for me, and has been better for my prosperity, than if he had left me a fortune. A good conscience, health of body, and an honourable trade, are the best and surest fortunes we can have on earth.”
“God be praised,” answered the huntsman, “that you bear your misfortunes so well. I am forced to confess that you are right, and that you have still a good resource in gardening. But I cannot see where 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 have used it to assist me in climbing up the mountains, but I can easily get another. And here,” he added, drawing from his pocket a little leather purse, “is some money that I received in payment for some wood in the village where I passed the night.”
“I gladly accept the cane,” replied James, “and I will cherish it in remembrance of a generous man; but it is impossible for me to accept the money, as it is payment for wood that belongs to the count.”
“Good old James,” the huntsman replied, “if that is your fear, you may take the money with an easy mind. Some years ago a poor old man, who had lost his cow, could not pay for the wood which he had bought from the count.
“I advanced him the sum, which he paid to the count, and thought no more about it. Now he has got out of his difficulties, and yesterday, when I had forgotten all about it, he returned it to me with hearty 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 God provides for us at the very commencement of our banishment, here almost before we have passed the limits of the country, and sends us our good old friend who has given us money. Courage, my daughter; our heavenly Father will watch over us.” The huntsman then took leave of them with tears in his eyes.
“Farewell, honest James,” said he, “farewell, my good Mary,” extending his hands to both. “I always thought you innocent, and I still think so. Do not despair. Do not surrender your honesty because you are suspected. Yes, yes; whosoever does well and has confidence in God, may be assured of His protection. May God be with you.”
Hand in hand Mary and her father now continued their way through the forest, not knowing at what spot they would rest, and without a friend in the world but God.✿