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's 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 her way, while her father dragged his aged limbs alongside of her. [Illustration: "She threw the basket at Mary's feet." _See page 52._] 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 commended 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.