life."

"Count," said the old man, rising and standing before him, "you say that
you are childless--but are you really so? You once had a daughter?"

"I had, but I cruelly drove her from my door; but I know that she is
dead; for, having taken every possible means for her discovery, I could
gain no tidings; and I am very sure, knowing her disposition, that ere
this, had she been alive, she would have sought a reconciliation. Of
the death of her husband I received tidings. He died fighting in the
Spanish army against Barbarossa, and on hearing that my child was left a
widow, my heart relented towards her. But tell me, friend, have you any
tidings of my daughter?"

"You surmise too rightly, count, that your daughter is dead," answered
the woodcutter. "She died in this humble cottage, and in these arms;
but before she died she had given birth to a child,--a girl,--who was
brought up by my poor daughter, till she herself was also carried to the
grave, leaving behind her a son,--young Karl yonder."

"And my grandchild? Where is she?" exclaimed the count, casting a
glance at Meta.

"You see her there, count," answered the woodcutter. They were seated
in the porch of the cottage. Below it ran a stream, where Meta, aided
by Karl, was busily washing. The first thing, perhaps, in the once
proud noble's mind was:--

"And can a descendant of mine be thus employed?" The next instant,
however, rising from his seat, he hurried down the bank, calling Meta to
him. She was quickly by his side. "Child," he said, "which of us is
your grandfather, think you?" As he spoke he drew her towards him, and
gazed in her face. "Yes, yes, I recognise the features of my own lost
daughter!" he exclaimed. "We will ever love old Moretz, and be grateful
to him," he said, pressing a kiss on Meta's brow. "But I am your
grandfather, and you must try and give me some of the love you bear
him."

Again and again the count expressed his gratitude to old Moreu. "And
above all things," he added, "that you have brought her up as a true
Christian Protestant. Had you returned her to me as an ignorant Papist,
as I was long ago, my happiness would have been far less complete."

It was some time before Meta could understand the change in her
circumstances, never having indeed been told who was her mother, and
believing always that she was Karl's sister. The poor lad was the only
one whose spirits sunk at what he heard, when he was told that he