THE MEETING IN PRISON
THE JUDGE WAS MUCH EMBARRASSED. "This is the third day that we have tried to discover the truth," said he to his clerk, "and we have not advanced a single step. If I could see it to be possible that anyone else could have taken the ring, I would believe this young girl innocent. Such obstinacy at her age is incredible. But the evidence against her is too clear; she must have stolen it."
The judge went again to see the Countess and questioned her closely. He examined Margaret again; he spent the whole day in going over the minutes of the trial, and in considering the evidence with the utmost attention. At length, late in the evening, he ordered James to be brought into his study.
"James," said he, "you know that I have been thought severe, but you will do me the justice to say that, though strict, I am not cruel or unjust. You know that I do not wish your daughter to suffer. Unfortunately, the evidence against her is clear and indisputable, and by the law she deserves to die. The lady's-maid's evidence cannot be got over.
Nevertheless, if she would confess and restore the ring, she might receive a pardon on account of her extreme youth; but if she continue obstinate in her denial of the crime, there is no hope of saving her. Go then, James, and advise her; persuade her to restore the ring, and I pledge my word that no harm shall happen to her. You are her father; you have unbounded influence over her; if you do not make her confess, what can we think but that you are the accomplice of her crime? If the ring is not found, it will go hard with you."
"I will gladly see her and speak with her," said James; "but I know that she has not stolen the ring, and that, consequently, she has nothing to confess. I will, however, converse with her; and if, innocent as she is, she must die, it will at least be a great consolation to me to see her once more."
The jailer conducted the old man to his daughter's cell; and having set down a lamp on the stone table, he withdrew, locking the door as he went out.
On the table, beside the lamp, stood a pitcher of water and a morsel of coarse bread, intended for Mary's supper, but it was untouched. She was lying with her face turned to the wall, and appeared to have been sleeping. The sound of footsteps and the glimmer of the lamp roused her. She turned and saw her father; and starting up, she threw herself into his arms. They wept for some time in silence. At last James told her the commission he had received.
"O my dear father!" said Mary, "surely you do not doubt my word? Is it possible that there is no one, not even my good father, who believes me innocent? I implore you to believe me! Indeed—indeed—I am not a thief!"
"Be calm, my dear child," said her father. "I do most firmly believe you. I did not doubt you for a moment. I was merely telling you, as I promised to do, the commission with which I was charged."
James saw, with extreme pain, the change that a few days of suffering had made upon Mary. Her cheeks were pale and hollow, her eyes red and swollen, and her hair had fallen in heavy and disordered masses over her face and neck.
"My poor child," said he, "God has sent you a severe trial. You have suffered much already; and I fear—I much fear—that the worst is yet to come. Innocent as you are, they will not believe it. They may be permitted to carry their cruelty still further. You ought to be prepared for this, my poor child. Do you know that they have the power to take away your young life?"
"My dearest father," said Mary, "I have no fears for myself. I could bear all they could inflict, if it would save you. But you—my dear father—the judge threatened you. He told me they would kill you. Oh, I cannot bear even to think of it!"
"Compose yourself, my dear Mary," said James. "Have no fear for me; the judge said this only to try you. I am in no danger; but with you it is different—"
"Oh!" interrupted Mary joyfully; "then my heart is relieved of a heavy burden. If you are safe, my dear father, all is well; I do not fear death. I hope to go to God my Savior. I shall meet my dear mother in heaven. What happiness this will be!"
These words pierced to the very heart of the poor old man, and he wept like a child.
"God be praised!" said he, as soon as be could speak. "God be praised for the happy state of mind in which I find you, my darling Mary! But it is cruel, very cruel, for an old father thus to lose his beloved child—his only comfort, his last earthly treasure, the crown and joy of his old age!
"But, O Lord, Thy will be done," continued he in a faltering voice. "Thou demandest a great sacrifice, but I give it cheerfully. If it please Thee to take my daughter, I am resigned to Thy will; Thou knowest what is best. And oh, dear Mary, better lose you thus than see you spared and led astray from what is right. Better you should die innocent, better be early removed from this cold world to heaven, than be spared for perhaps severer sufferings. May God strengthen you, my child! May He enable you to feel that His will is best!"
A torrent of tears interrupted his words. After a pause, he added—"There is one thing more, dear Mary. Margaret has witnessed falsely against you. If you are condemned, it will be on her testimony—she will be the cause of your death. But you pardon her, do you not, my child? You are free from any feeling of hatred to her? Ah! you are happier than she is, though you are lying on this straw in this gloomy cell, and she is living in comfort and luxury in the castle. It is better to die innocent than to live with a guilty conscience. Forgive her, my dear Mary, as your Savior forgave His murderers. You have done so, have you not?"
Mary answered, "Yes, my dear father, I forgive her, and I pity her. She must feel very miserable when she thinks of what she has done. May God give her repentance and change her heart!"
At that moment they heard the jailer's step in the passage. "I must leave you, my beloved child," said James. "I commend you to God and to your Savior. Trust in Him, dear Mary; He will strengthen you. And if I am never permitted to see you again, my darling—if this is the last time we are ever to meet on earth—we shall soon meet in heaven, for I feel that I cannot long survive you."
The jailer warned James that it was time to go; but Mary still held him fast—she could not part with him. He gently disengaged himself from her arms, kissed her for the last time, and turning quickly away, she fell fainting back on her straw.
James was conducted again to the presence of the judge. There in a solemn voice he said, "I believe my daughter innocent."
“I could almost believe it too," said the judge; "but, unfortunately, my decision must be given, not according to what you and your daughter say, but according to the evidence in the case, and the strict letter of the law."