he was none the better of it, for her prayers had come from
a heart unwarmed by love, and could not ascend to the throne of God. In
this faithful way did he talk to her, but only with the result of
making her burst into a fit of passionate sobbing.

The illness from which she suffered was a long and trying one. She
spent whole nights in coughing, and yet the ruling passion of avarice
was so strong that she would scarcely take sufficient nourishment to
sustain her. No consoling thought came to her to mitigate her
suffering. She was utterly unwilling to resign herself to God and to
submit to His will.

The good minister tried in every imaginable way to bring her to a
better frame of mind. During the last days of her life she was
occasionally a little softened in her manners, but she never evinced
any true repentance. In the flower of her age she died, a sad instance
of the effects of avarice, passion, and love of the world.

CHAPTER XX.

FORGIVING AN ENEMY.

And now we must return to Mary whom we left in her new surroundings.

Immediately after leaving Pine Farm, Mary went with the Count's family
to the city, in which they spent part of every year. While they were
there, a clergyman came one morning to their residence and asked to see
Mary. He told her that he was charged with a message for her from a
person who was very ill and probably near death, and who desired
anxiously to speak to her. The clergyman said that the person was not
willing to give her message to any one but to Mary herself.

Mary could not imagine what the woman could want with her, and she
consulted the Countess as to what she ought to do. The Countess,
knowing the clergyman to be a pious and prudent man, advised Mary to go
with him, and at the minister's request old Anthony the huntsman
accompanied them. After a long walk to the outskirts of the town, they
arrived at last at a house situated in a side street, which presented a
most gloomy aspect. "Here is the house," said the clergyman, knocking
at the door, "but wait a little."

After a few moments he returned for Mary, who then entered with him
into a most miserable room. The window was narrow and dark, and some
broken panes were patched with paper. The only furniture which the room
contained was a miserable truckle-bed, covered with a more miserable
mattress, and a broken chair, on which stood a stone pitcher, with
neither handle nor cover.

On the miserable bed lay stretched a f