igure which to Mary's eyes seemed
more like a skeleton, but which she gradually made out was the form of
a woman, in the last stages of illness.

In a voice which resembled the rattle of death, this miserable creature
sought to speak with Mary, who trembled in every limb. It was with the
utmost difficulty that she could make out what the poor woman said, but
at last she learned, to her horror, that the frightful phantom was
Juliette, who at the Castle of Eichbourg had been the beginning and
cause of all her distress. After being turned away from the Castle, she
had gone from bad to worse, until she had sunk into her present state.

Lying upon her miserable bed, death staring her in the face, remorse
had overtaken her, and her one wish was to have Mary's forgiveness.
Learning in some way, that the Count and his family were in the city,
she begged of the clergyman who was visiting her to ask Mary to come to
see her. The poor woman, judging Mary by herself, had entreated the
clergyman not to mention her name in case Mary would not come.

Mary was affected to the heart when she heard Juliette's story, and she
shed tears of sympathy with her old enemy. She assured her that she had
forgiven her long ago, and that the only feeling she experienced was
that of the deepest pity for her.

[Illustration: "Mary was affected to the heart when she heard
Juliette's story."
_See page 142._]

"Alas," said Juliette, "I am a great sinner; I have deserved my fate.
Forgetfulness of God, contempt of good advice, love of dress, flattery,
and pleasure were the first causes of misery, and these have brought me
to my present state. Oh," cried she, raising her voice to a shriek, and
weeping bitterly, "that is nothing to the fate which I fear awaits me
in the world to come. You have pardoned me, it is true, but I feel the
weight of God's anger now settling on my soul."

Mary conversed long and earnestly with her, endeavouring to point her
to the Saviour of the world, who would receive her if she truly
repented. At last she was obliged to leave her without being satisfied
as to her state of mind, but the idea of the unhappy Juliette dying
without hope continually pressed on her mind and weighed down her
spirits. She recollected her little apple tree in blossom, withered by
the frost, and what her father had said on that occasion. The most
consoling words he had said on his deathbed presented themselves to her
mind, and she renewed the promise