“Oh, my dear,” she cried, with tears in her eyes, “If we only had some wise and powerful friend! We are both of us dependent on the charity of strangers.”
A friend’s troubles act as a salve to our own troubles, as fire extinguishes fire, and in her loyalty to the Princess, Helène realized that she was not alone in her sorrow. The two girls thus helped each other in their hour of need.
Mr. Tyler kept his word and came, courteously kind and sympathetic as always. He had seen to everything. He brought with him a considerable sum of money—her father’s possession—and he proposed to deposit that in the local bank in the Comtesse’s name. There were a few formalities to be gone through in that matter, and he had brought Herr Blume of the Laenderbank to witness her signature to some documents.
Mr. Tyler reassured her of his devotion and begged her to keep her courage—for her father’s sake.
“You owe it to him, Comtesse,” he said, “as his daughter. Here in this package you will find his letters. They will tell you everything you ought to know.”
She took the package reverently.
“I do not know how to thank you, dear sir, for all you have done. I shall never forget it.”
Mr. Tyler smiled, and with the liberty of his years, bent over and kissed her hair. “Fear not, be of good heart, and all will be well. Good-by, and God bless you.”
For some minutes she sat alone, staring straight before her with unseeing eyes, her fingers playing nervously with the package on her knees. Then slowly she broke the seals and listlessly removed the contents of a small box.
She found in it her father’s watch, some rings, a small locket containing a miniature of her mother, a bundle of letters tied with a faded ribbon and inscribed, “To my daughter—to be retained, but not read,” and three envelopes, two of which were sealed and addressed to her.