"They came from my heart, Trude. I am glad that I can think of my father without sorrow or reproach. We were reconciled; he often came to see me, and looked on at my work for hours together, rejoicing when I had finished a flower." "It is true," said Trude, "your father was entirely changed. I believe his conscience was awakened, and that he became aware of how greatly he had sinned against a good and lovely daughter." "Do not speak so, Trude. All else is forgotten, and I will only remember that he loved me when he died. The blessing uttered by his dying lips has wiped out his harsh words from my remembrance. Let it be so with you, too, Trude! Promise me that you will think of my father with kindness only." "I promise," said the old woman, hesitatingly, "although--well, let the dead rest, we will speak of the living. Marie, whom do you suppose I met on my return from the churchyard? Mrs. General von Leuthen!" "My mother," exclaimed Marie, raising her hand convulsively to her heart, "my mother!" "Yes, your unnatural mother," cried Trude, passionately; "the woman who is the cause of all your misfortunes and sorrows--the woman I hate, and will never forgive--no, not even in my hour of death." "I have already forgiven her, although my hour of death is, as I hope, far distant. Where did you see her?" "Riding in a beautiful carriage, and very grand and stately she looked, too. Happening to see me, she called out to the servant, who sat by the coachman's side, to halt. The carriage stopped, and her ladyship had the wondrous condescension to beckon to me to approach." "And you did so, I hope?" said Marie, eagerly.