at she is
suffering. She told me before she went away that she meant to work for
her father; but one must have learned to work very early in life to earn
a living by one's hands. My heart almost breaks when I think of it.
Perhaps that good, sweet young lady is reduced to work for other people
and labors like a slave to get a mouthful of bread! I have been a
servant, sir, and I know what it is to work from morning until night for
others. And she,--she who is so beautiful, so clever, so kind! Oh, sir,
it is terrible! I can't help crying like a child, thinking of her
miserable life!"

Gustave was overcome by the simple eloquence of the poor woman, and
remained silent.

"And then to think," continued Bess, "she might now be so happy! that
she might again become mistress of Grinselhof, where she was born and
grew up! that her father might pass his old days in quietness, and that
they are now wandering about the world poor, sick, abandoned outcasts!
Oh, sir, it is sad to know that our benefactors are unhappy, and to be
able to do nothing for them but pray to God and hope for his mercy!"

The simple-minded woman, without meaning it, had touched some tender
strings in Gustave's heart; and, as she saw the silent tears coursing
their way down his cheeks, she said, entreatingly,--

"Oh, pardon me, sir, for having grieved you so by my talk! but my heart
is full, and my feelings force their way without knowing it. If I have
done wrong, I am sure you are too kind to be angry with me for loving
our young lady so much and bemoaning her misfortune. Have you no orders
for me to-day, sir?"

She was about to go, as Gustave raised his downcast eyes and,
restraining his tears, exclaimed,--

"I--angry with you, mother Bess?--and angry, too, because you show
affection for our poor Lenora? Oh, no, no! On the contrary, I bless you
for it with all my heart! The tears you betrayed from my heart have done
me good; for I am very unhappy. Life is a burden; and if God, in his
mercy, would take me away from earth, I would gladly die. All hope of
seeing her again in this world is gone. Perhaps she is awaiting me in
the next!"

"Oh, sir! sir! how you talk!" cried the peasant-woman, in alarm. "No!
no! that cannot be!"

"You grieve, my good woman, and shed tears for her," continued Gustave,
without heeding the interruption; "but don't you see how _my_ soul must
be consumed with despair? Alas! for months and months I have implored
God for the hap