HELP IN NEED
MARY SAT DOWN ON THE MOSS-covered stone near the wall, under the dark shade of the fir trees, and hid her face in her hands. She prayed earnestly to God for strength and help. At length she thought she heard a gentle voice calling, "Mary! Mary!" She started up and saw in the twilight a beautiful figure standing near her, dressed in white. Mary, surprised at the sudden apparition, exclaimed, "Has God indeed sent one of his angels to help me?"
"I am no angel, dear Mary," said the gentle voice. "I am a human being like yourself, but I am come, to help you. God has heard your prayers and sent me to you. Do you not know me, dear Mary? Do you not remember Amelia?"
"Yes," said Mary, "it is indeed you, my dear lady, but how did you come here? How is it possible that you are alone at this hour in this lonely churchyard, so far from your home?"
Amelia embraced her tenderly, and, sitting down on the tombstone, drew Mary gently to her side. "It is a long story, dear Mary, and you shall hear it all in time, but I must first tell you, however, how glad I am that I have found you-how sorry we all are that you were unjustly blamed. We discovered your innocence too late. Oh, how ill we all behaved to you! What a poor return I made you for your kindness in bringing me the pretty basket! Can you forgive us, dear Mary?
We are most anxious to do all we can to atone for our injustice. Will you forgive us?"
"Oh, do not speak of pardon or of injustice, dear lady," said Mary; "you were justified in suspecting me, the evidence against me seemed so strong, and you behaved kindly and gently, believing as you did that I was guilty. I have never felt any resentment to you or to your noble parents. I have only remembered your kindness. But one thing continued to pain me, and that was, that you should still believe me guilty and ungrateful. I often prayed earnestly that God would be pleased to make manifest my innocence, and now He has heard my prayer. You believe me innocent, and I am happy."
Amelia kissed Mary again, and praised her for her gentle and forgiving spirit; then, casting her eyes on the grave, she said bitterly: "Oh, there is an injustice for which we cannot atone. Worthy, excellent old man! How could we suspect you? Your long and faithful service should have placed you above suspicion. You made the cradle in which I first slept, and your last work at Eichbourg was this basket for my birthday present. Your whole life was spent in our service, and how did we repay it? By suspicion, and distrust, and ingratitude. Oh, if we had not been so rash in judging—if we had but been charitable—if we had thought the best—if we had refused to believe that such an old faithful servant as you could shield dishonesty even in your own child, perhaps you might still have been with us, respected and happy, and your poor daughter would have been spared all this agony. O Mary, when I think how we have injured you, I scarcely know what to say; but if kindness can atone for it, you shall never know want or suffering more. Did your father forgive us, dear Mary? Did he ever speak of us?"
"My dear lady," said Mary, "believe me, my father never felt the least resentment towards you. He always said you had acted gently, believing us guilty, and that you had reason to think so from the evidence. I assure you that he never forgot to pray for you, as he always had done at Eichbourg. He often spoke of you. He said that he was sure that sooner or later you would find out that we were innocent, and that you would recall us from banishment. 'If I do not live to see that day,' said he to me, 'I want you will tell the young Countess Amelia how much I always loved her. I carried her in my arms when she was a little child; I know her amiable disposition; I am sure she will grieve deeply when she discovers that we have been falsely accused."
Amelia wept bitterly on hearing these words. At last she said, "Generous old man, how I honor him! Here, by his grave, dear Mary, I must tell you how God sent me to help you."