The sight of the trinkets moved her deeply, especially the wedding ring. She took them into her bedroom and sat down near the window. Taking one of the envelopes, dated October —, she broke the seal and read. It seemed to her as if she were holding a communion with the spirit of her father—as if she were listening to a message from the grave:
“My most beloved child,” it began:
“The mission I had undertaken has failed; my journey ended in nothing. It has left me so enfeebled that I am not able to move with any freedom from pain. The doctor tells me I am very ill, and I realize that I am a doomed man.
“How long a time is still left me I know not; but I must write to you while I still have the strength. If this letter should reach you, you will know that I have not been vouchsafed the blessing of coming to you myself.
“And in this there is no cause for either tears or mourning. I ran a good race and have reached the goal. My one great grief is born of the knowledge of the pain my going will give you, my dearest child. You are so young to be left friendless in this world!
“But I have arranged with my dear friend, Baron Robert de Haas, to undertake your guardianship. He is in possession of my will. You know him and like him. He is a man of noble mind and large heart and he will take my place worthily. I cannot leave you riches, my darling, but I comfort myself with the thought that you will not regret that fact. What I have is yours, and, with Baron de Haas’s help, it will be sufficient to keep you independent and free from want. For the rest you will, I know, bravely work out your destiny in your own way.
“And now, dear one of my heart, a few last words from your father. A woman was created by God to be the mate of a man—a good man. If, as I fervently pray, such a man should enter your life and win your love, think of your gracious mother to whose influence I owe so much. A man deserving of your love should be honorable in the absolute sense of that word—a gentleman, not in title, but in thought and deed. He must be such that you will always be proud of him and proud to be the mother of his children, if God so give it. You will recognize him by these signs: that he is a good son to his parents, loyal to his country and God and proud of his honor. And if I have judged my child aright, you will deserve him. In body and in mind, you are your mother over again, and the earth knew not her like in beauty of form and nobility of spirit.
“Forgive me for seeming to preach— Your happiness is so close to my heart. You have been the reward of my life, my pride and my joy. May you find peace and love all your life. I am holding you in my arms as I write these last words:
“Mein Liebchen—Good-bye, until we meet again in God’s own good time.
“Your Father.”
A postscript, dated the same month and written at Suez, followed:
“I have forgotten my illness in my anxiety about you. Word has just reached me that de Haas is no more, and I know not now to whom to turn. With this news came terrible tidings of the happenings in our poor, stricken Roumelia. I am so far from you and cannot help you. God alone must help—and He will.
“I think it was God’s Providence that sent me Mr. John Morton, a young American. He agreed, last night, to take my place and go to Roumelia and rescue you from the clutches of those rebels. He is to bring you and Princess Marie-Louise to Weimar. If he succeeds, and I am confident he will, let him guide you in your next step. He is a gentleman, and he can help you. You may rely on his word and, if I am a judge of human nature, he will not fail you.
“It is useless to say much—and needless to say more.
“If I could have come myself, I would not have sent a substitute.
“May God take you under His protection.”
Helène’s face was bathed in tears. It was with trembling hands that she opened the second letter. The handwriting was feebler and the lines very uneven. Evidently, her father had written it under great mental stress.
“Brindisi, November 6, 189—
“My Darling Child:
“Mr. Morton left two days ago for Roumelia with my prayers. I have heard no news of what is happening there and I fear the worst.
“My strength is failing fast and the doctor sent me from Rome by my American friend has been very frank with me. I have but a few days more in which to live.
“As I am still able to think clearly and write, I must make full use of the time left me. I omitted to tell you in my previous letter something which I think you ought to know. When I first spoke to Mr. Morton of going to Roumelia, I spoke on behalf of the Princess. He refused absolutely to undertake the journey or to mix in any way with the political affairs of the country. Indeed, he was indignant with me for what he considered my presumption in asking him to engage himself in an enterprise of such danger and risk. His first duty was to his parents and he was called to them. I was not surprised at his attitude, but I had no alternative.
“It was during my pleading that I accidentally uncovered a portrait of yourself, and, to my utter astonishment, he suddenly changed his mind and accepted the task. I tell you this because I think you should know it. The man is a noble fellow. I feel that in my heart. If he should succeed in his mission and you are once more free, do not hesitate to accept his friendship. If I knew that you would do this I should die the happier for knowing it.
“I can say no more, but pray and hope.
“God bless you and protect you, dearest.”
The third unsealed envelope contained a simple note written in a strange, feminine hand, in French.
“Brindisi, November 14, 189—
“I am Paola Rimoni, nurse and attendant to his Excellency Count Rondell-Barton who has requested me to write down his last words, as follows:
“A telegram from Monsieur Morton has just arrived announcing that his party has safely crossed the border. The man has justified my faith in him. May God reward and bless him.
“I send my daughter my blessing and my dearest love. I die happy knowing that she is safe.
“My gratitude to Monsieur Morton, my homage to Her Highness, my last kiss and blessing to my beloved child. Roumelia forever!”
Below was scrawled in letters that were barely decipherable—“Rondell.”