Part 5 (2/2)

Perhaps it belongs to yourself, and you have lent it to her for the occasion.”

”No, indeed,” was the answer; ”it is not mine. It evidently belonged to the child's mother, and was on her neck the night she was found in the Forest.”

”Then,” said Sir Richard, ”it is just possible it may be the means of leading to the discovery of the girl's parentage, for the pattern is an uncommon one. She is a striking-looking child, and it is strange that her face haunts me with the idea that I have seen it somewhere before; but that is impossible, as the girl tells me she has never been in England, and I can never have met her here.”

”It is curious,” said Miss Drechsler; ”but I also have the feeling that I have seen some one whom she greatly resembles when I was in England living in Gloucesters.h.i.+re with the Wardens.”

”'Tis strange,” said Lady Stanford, ”that you should see a likeness to some one whom you have seen and yet cannot name, the more so that the face is not a common one.”

”She is certainly a remarkable child,” continued Miss Drechsler, ”and a really good one. She has a great love for her Bible, and I think tries to live up to its precepts.”

That evening Sir Richard and his wife talked together of the possibility of by-and-by taking Frida into their house as companion to Ada, specially whilst they were travelling about; and perhaps afterwards taking her with them to England and continuing her education there, so that if her relations were not found she might when old enough obtain a situation as governess, or in some way turn her musical talents to account.

The day after the concert, Frida returned with Miss Drechsler to Dringenstadt, to remain a few days with her before returning to her Forest home.

As they were leaving the Stanfords, and Frida had just sprung into the carriage which was to convey them to the station, a young man who had been present at the concert, and was a friend of the Stanfords, came forward and asked leave to shake hands with her, and congratulated her on her violin-playing. He was a good-looking young man of perhaps three-and-twenty years, with the easy manners of a well-born gentleman.

After saying farewell, he turned into the house with the Stanfords, and began to talk about the ”fair violinist,” as he termed her. ”Remarkably pretty girl,” he said; ”reminds me strongly of some one I have seen.

Surely she cannot be (as I overheard a young lady say last night) just a wood-cutter's child.”

”No, she is not that,” replied Sir Richard, and then he told the young man something of her history, asking him if he had observed the strange antique necklace which the girl wore.

”No,” he answered, ”I did not. Could you describe it to me?” As Sir Richard did so a close observer must have seen a look of pained surprise cross the young man's face, and he visibly changed colour. ”Curious,” he said as he rose hastily. ”It would be interesting to know how it came into her possession; perhaps it was stolen, who knows?” And so saying, he shook hands and departed.

Reginald Gower was the only child of an old English family of fallen fortune. Rumour said he was of extravagant habits, but that he expected some day to inherit a fine property and large fortune from a distant relative.

There were good traits in Reginald's character: he had a kind heart, and was a most loving son to his widowed mother, who doted on him; but a love of ease and a selfish regard to his own comfort marred his whole character, and above all things an increasing disregard of G.o.d and the Holy Scriptures was pervading more and more his whole life.

As he walked away from Sir Richard's house, his thoughts were occupied with the story he had just heard of the child found in the Black Forest.

He was quite aware of the fact that the girl's face forcibly reminded him of the picture of a beautiful girl that hung in the drawing-room of a manor-house near his own home in Gloucesters.h.i.+re. He knew that the owner of that face had been disinherited (though the only child of the house) on account of her marriage, which was contrary to the wishes of her parents, and that now they did not know whether she were dead or alive; though surely he had lately heard a report that, after years of bitter indignation at her, they had softened, and were desirous of finding out where she was, if still alive. And then what impressed him most was the curious coincidence (he called it) that round the neck of the girl in the picture was just such another mosaic necklace as the Stanfords had described the one to be which the young violinist wore.

Was it possible, he asked himself, that she could be the child of the daughter of the manor of whom his mother had often told him? and if so, ought he to tell them of his suspicions--the more so that he had heard from his mother that the lady of the manor was failing in health, and longing, as she had long done, to see and forgive her child? If he were right in his surmises that this ”woodland girl,” as he had heard her called, was the daughter of the child of the manor, then even if the mother was dead, the young violinist would be received with open arms by both the grand-parents, and would (and here arose the difficulty in the young man's mind) inherit the estates and wealth which would have devolved on her mother, all of which, but for the existence of this woodland child, he, Reginald Gower, would have inherited as heir-at-law.

”Well, there is no call on you to say anything about the matter, at all events at present,” whispered the evil spirit in the young man's heart.

”You may be mistaken. Why ruin your whole future prospects for a fancy?

Likenesses are so deceptive; and as to the necklace, pooh! that is nonsense--there are hundreds of mosaic necklaces. Let the matter alone, and go your way. 'Eat, drink, and be merry.'”

All very well; but why just then of all times in the world did the words of the Bible, taught him long ago by the mother he loved, come so vividly to his remembrance--”Do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with thy G.o.d;” and those words, heard more distinctly still, which his mother had taught him to call ”the royal law of love”--”As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them”?

Good and bad spirits seemed fighting within him for the mastery; but alas, alas! the selfish spirit so common to humanity won the day, and Reginald Gower turned from the low, soft voice of the Holy Spirit pleading within him, and resolutely determined to be silent regarding his meeting with the child found in the Black Forest, and the strange circ.u.mstance of her likeness to the picture and her possession of the mosaic necklace.

Once again the G.o.d of self, who has so many votaries in this world, had gained a great triumph, and the prince of this world got a more sure seat in the heart of the young man. But all unknown to him there was one ”climbing for him the silver, s.h.i.+ning stair that leads to G.o.d's great treasure-house,” and claiming for her fatherless boy ”the priceless boon of the new heart.”

Was such a prayer ever offered in vain or unanswered by Him who hath said, ”If ye ask anything according to my will, I will do it. Ask, and ye shall receive”?

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