"Dear Mary," said the lady, with tenderness in her voice, "do not be alarmed; I am not a spirit, but a human being like yourself. God has heard your fervent prayers, and I have come to help you. Look at me; is it possible you do not know me?" The moon was shining brightly upon her face, and with an exclamation of surprise, Mary cried out, "Is it you, the Countess Amelia? Oh, how did you get here--here in so lonely a place at this hour of the night, so far from your home?" The Countess raised Mary gently from the ground, pressed her to her heart, and kissed her tenderly. "Dear Mary," said she, "we have done you great injustice. You have been ill rewarded for the pleasure which you gave me with the basket of flowers, but at last your innocence has been made known. Can you ever forgive my parents and me? We are ready to make amends as far as it lies in our power. Forgive us, dear Mary." Mary was distressed at these words, and begged the Countess not to talk of forgiveness. "Considering the circumstances," she said, "you showed great indulgence towards me, and it never entered my mind to nourish the least resentment towards you. I had grateful thoughts of all your kindness, and my only sorrow was that you and your dear parents should regard me as ungrateful enough to be guilty of stealing your ring. My great desire was that you might one day be convinced of my innocence, and God has granted this desire. May His name be praised!" The Countess pressed Mary to her heart, and bathed her face in tears. Afterwards she looked at James's grave and, clasping her hands, she cried out passionately, "Oh, noble man, whose body lies here, whom I learned to love in my tender youth, whose affectionate counsels I have often received, and whose fervent prayers I have so often listened to, why cannot I see your face to ask pardon for all the injustice done you? Oh, if we had only taken more precaution, if we had placed more confidence in an old servant who had always shown unimpeachable honesty and faithfulness, perhaps thou hadst still been living with us!" "Believe me, good Countess," said Mary, "my father was far from feeling the least resentment towards you. He prayed for you daily, as he was accustomed to do when he lived at Eichbourg, and at the hour of his death he blessed you all. "'Mary,' said he to me, a little before he died, 'I feel confident that those whom we once served will one day recognise your innocence, and recall you from exile. When that day comes, assure the Countess and Count and Amelia that my heart was full of respect and love and gratitude towards them till my last breath.' These, my dear Countess, were his last words." The tears of the good Amelia flowed copiously. "Come, Mary," said she, "and sit down here with me on the stone. We are safe here in the sanctuary of the Lord. Let me tell you of all the strange events that have happened." CHAPTER XV. THE YOUNG COUNTESS'S STORY.