"Ah! here are quite a budget," she said. "See, grandmother, there is one for you bearing the New York mark, and another for myself from Frankfort. Ah! that must be from the uncle you spoke of, Dr. Heinz. You said he had gone there, did you not?"
Whilst Frida was talking thus, her grandmother had opened her American letter, and saw that it was from Reginald Gower. "He has heard, of course, of my dear husband's death, and writes to sympathize with me. But no; he could hardly have heard of that event, nor of the discovery of our grandchild, and replied to it. He must be writing about some other subject."
She then read as if in a dream the following words:—
"Dear Friend—if indeed I may still dare to address you thus—I write to ask forgiveness for a sore wrong which I have done to you and Mr. Willoughby. I confess with deep shame that for some years I have had a suspicion, nay, almost a certainty, that a child of your daughter was alive. Miss Drechsler, now living with Miss Warden, can tell you all. I met the girl, who plays charmingly on the violin, at a concert in the house of Sir Richard Stanford. Her face reminded me of a picture I had seen somewhere, but at first I could not recall where, until the fact, told me by the Stanfords, of a peculiar necklace which the girl possessed, and which they described to me, brought to my remembrance the picture of your daughter at Harcourt Manor with a fac-simile of the necklace on. Added to this, I had heard that the girl had been found by a wood-cutter in the Black Forest, and that of her birth and parentage nothing was known. It is now with deep repentance that I confess to having concealed these facts (though I had no doubt as to whose child she was), because I knew that by disclosing the secret my right to succeed to the property of Harcourt Manor would be done away with. I felt even then the shame and disgrace of so doing, and knew also the trouble and grief I was causing to you, whom (although you may find it difficult to believe) I really loved, and who had ever been such a kind friend to me. I now see that it was a love of self-indulgence which led me to commit so foul a sin. Conscience remonstrated, and the words of the Bible, so early instilled into my mind by my mother, constantly reproached me; but I turned from and stifled the voice of conscience, and deliberately chose the evil way. All these years I have experienced at times fits of the deepest remorse, but selfishness prevailed; and when I heard that Frida Heinz was coming to England, and that probably ere-long all might be disclosed, I resolved to leave my native land and begin a better life here. Ere I left I had reason to believe that she was unable to come to England, so even now I may be the first to reveal the secret of her existence. I do not know if even yet I would have gained strength to do this or not, had not God in His great mercy opened my eyes, during a fearful storm at sea, when it seemed as if any moment might be my last, to see what a sinner I was in His sight, and led me to seek forgiveness through the merits of Christ for all my past sins. That I believe I have obtained, and now I crave a like forgiveness from you whom I have so cruelly wronged. Should you withhold it, I dare not complain; but I have hopes that you, who are a follower of our Lord Jesus Christ, will not do so. One more request, and I have done. Comfort, I beg of you, my mother when she has to bear the bitter sorrow of knowing how shamefully the son she loves so dearly has acted. By this post I write also to her. I trust to prove to both of you by my future life that my repentance is sincere.
Reginald Gower."
Mrs. Willoughby's grief on reading this letter was profound. To think that the lad whom she had loved, and whom in many ways she had befriended, had acted such a base, selfish part, overwhelmed her; and the thought that if he had communicated even his suspicions to her so long ago the child would have been found, and probably have gladdened her grandfather's life and heart for several years ere he was taken hence, was bitter indeed. But not long could any unforgiving feeling linger in her heart, and ere many hours were over she was able fully to forgive.
Of Mrs. Gower's feelings we can hardly write. The shame and grief she experienced on reading the letter, which she received from her son by the same post as that by which Mrs. Willoughby received hers, cannot be expressed; but through it all there rang a joyful song, "This my son was dead, and is alive again." The prayers—believing prayers—of long years were answered, and the bond between mother and son was a doubly precious one, united as they now were in Christ. It was for her friend she felt so keenly, and to know how she had suffered at the hand of Reginald was a deep grief to her. Could she, she queried, as she set out letter in hand to Harcourt Manor—could she ever forgive him? That question was soon answered when she entered the room and met her friend. Ere then Mrs. Willoughby had been alone with her God in prayer, and had sought and obtained strength from her heart to say, "O Lord, as Thou hast blotted out my transgressions as a thick cloud, and as a cloud my sins, so help me to blot out from my remembrance the sorrow which Reginald has caused to me, and entirely to forgive him." After two hours spent together the two friends separated, being more closely bound together than ever before; Mrs. Willoughby saying she would write to Reginald that very night, and let him know that he had her forgiveness, and that without his intervention God had restored her grandchild to her arms.
In the meantime letters had reached Dr. Heinz telling that the search for the missing ones was at an end. His short holiday was drawing to a close, and erelong Frida was embraced by the brother of the father she had loved so much and mourned so deeply.
And ere another summer had gone she was present at her uncle's marriage with Gertie Warden, and was one of the bridesmaids. And a few days after that event it was agreed, with her grandmother's full consent—nay, at her special request—that she should accompany them on their marriage jaunt, and that that should include a visit to Miss Drechsler and a sight of her friends in the Black Forest.
Many were the presents sent by Mrs. Willoughby to Elsie, Wilhelm, and others who had been kind to her grandchild in the Forest.
"O grandmother," said Frida, as she was busy packing up the things, "do you know that I have just heard that my kind friend the German pastor has returned to Dringenstadt and settled there. He was so very kind to me when I was a little child, I should like to take him some small special remembrance—a handsome writing-case, or something of that kind."