The conspiracy against us three cousins was being gradually unraveled, but the suffering of our enemy made us forget our enmity.
“We can hate no longer, Claud, for God hath taken unto himself the punishment of the robber of the orphan.”
“But we can do more, my cousins,” said Marie, and slipping down the side of the elephant before we could even go to her aid, she ran to the dying man, and, kneeling, added, “We can forgive, for we are Christians.”
“Marie,” exclaimed Martin, as, going forward, he and I knelt by her side, “you have taught us our duty; let us pray God to pardon this dying sinner.”
What must have been the feelings of that bad man, as, recovering from his swoon, he saw kneeling and praying to God for his forgiveness, the orphans he had so deeply injured, I know not; but with his last breath he said,—
“Marie, I have heard of angels—surely you must be akin to them, for you pray for me who ruined you. Boys! had I lived another month, your whole fortune would also have been lost to you; Prince,” he added, turning to the Pangeran, “to thee as to all I have been false, examine the papers in my house, and you will see that had Heaven extended my life another moon, you would have been sacrificed; but I ask not your forgiveness, it is not in the nature of a Javanese to pardon so great an enemy.”
At this but too plain intimation of his treachery toward himself, the Pangeran gnashed his teeth, but the sight of three young people in prayer for the forgiveness of their direst enemy softened even his savage nature.
“Ebberfeld, thou bold, bad man,” he said, taking his hand, “thou art wrong even in this; there is no nature so savage that may not be taught by good deeds; even I forgive thee, for the voice of Allah speaks to my heart through the lips of these children.”
But Mynheer spoke no more—he had died; and let us hope in such a thorough heartfelt repentance that his soul passed into the keeping of his Creator. But enough of this sorry scene and sad ending to that day’s sport for which Martin had so long wished; such an ending, however, is not an uncommon one in the East, but then hunters are more prone to describe their victories than their defeats. But there were two other sufferers by the day’s hunting—the poor mahout who had been slain by the tiger, and the noble elephant. It was with difficulty we could coax the beast from the body of his late friend and master. His almost human sorrow reminded me of a story I had once read, and which I must be pardoned for repeating here.
“A tiger having attacked a party who were traveling in a howdah, and slain the mahout or driver, the elephant slew the beast with his feet; but the noble animal had not saved his friend, so, says the narrator, he became abstracted in gloomy contemplation, and gazed with more than human sympathy upon the dying mahout. He noticed us not! and as his eye fell on the dead tiger, he stamped, looked fierce, and made a trumpeting noise as if in triumph at having avenged his friend’s death! Then, as if remembering he had avenged, but not saved, his ears and trunk drooped, and though he himself was torn and bleeding, his moist and thoughtful eye gave token that all his feelings were absorbed in grief for him he had lost. He stood over and watched the men who were making a kind of litter for the purpose of carrying away the dead man, with the anxiety and grief of the most affectionate of friends, nor would he touch food for some days afterwards. Truly, I could never tire of relating anecdotes of this noble creature.”