Those gems of immortality,
And calm and peaceful be my sleep
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.”
Like the morning dawn on a calm sea, after a night of fierce storm, so came now great peace to Miriamne. The heaviest sorrow of her life was lifting. Her father was recovering; his mind becoming rational; and chief of Miriamne’s joys, was the fact that his convalescence was accompanied by the appearance of a deep trusting love for herself. He seemed to lean on his daughter for help; cling to her for hope and aim, by every way, not only to express his sense of dependence on but his deep and abiding gratitude toward the patient, chief minister, in the mission of his recovery. He seemed for a long time to be haunted by a fear of relapse into some great misery that he but dimly remembered and could not define, beyond a shudder. He dreaded to be alone, and often clung to his daughter with furtive glances of fear, even as a terrified child clings to its mother. One day, months after he had begun to be rational, he addressed Miriamne: “We must soon seek another abiding place, daughter. Our Grand Master has discharged with overflowing payment, every debt of hospitality.”
“True, father, and I’m glad; the thought for weeks in my mind, is now in yours. But where shall we go?”
“I think, to France, and immediately.”
“France?”
“Yes, there I’ll seek out some of the De Griffins. They may be able to mend my shattered fortunes, and if I find none of my kin, I shall not be lacking in any thing, for there are many of our Teutonic knights. While they prosper, no want shall harass me or mine.”
“Father, I do not want to go to France.”