THE proposal of the Lady of Savelburg met with unqualified approval from the friends of the young Scotch girl. One and all expressed their genuine regret at losing her society, but added that it would be a pity for her to forfeit such a chance as was now offered her. She felt a little surprised, perhaps a little hurt also, by this ready acquiescence. But these feelings would have vanished could she have overheard the confidences which the Frau Rittmeisterin and the Frau Professorin exchanged in private over their knitting. “Depend upon it, my dear friend,” said the latter, “there is more in all this than meets the ear. Baron von Labeling knows what he is about when he engages our noble Fraulein to come to Nuremberg, offers her an escort, and so forth. Mark me, cousin, I do not say she knows. Your clever men and women, whose minds are in the ends of the earth, are ofttimes full slow to discern what goes on under their very eyes. There is my good man, for example, who thought young Conrad Nurbald came here in the evenings for nothing in the world but to consult him about his Greek verses, and was utterly taken by surprise when he asked him for the hand of our Latchen. Just so Fraulein Gertrud thinks of nothing but looking after her father's poor vassals, who are exiles for conscience' sake. But meanwhile Baron von Lubeling knows very well that Frederick of the Palatinate is in high favor with the conquering King of Sweden; who is like enough, some fine Jay, to bring him back to Prague in triumph, and Set him up again on the throne of Bohemia. If so, the confiscated estates will change hands once more, and our Fraulein be Countess of Savelburg. You may be sure von Lübeling has a son or nephew ready to wed the heiress and share the spoil. But, however that may be, we may trust the lady to take good care of our little Hännchen, and to do well by her, for she loves her well. We shall all be right sorry to lose her; though in another way I confess that I was beginning to suffer no small anxiety on her account. The child is very lovely, and she seems to grow in beauty every day. One can see she is as simple as a three years' babe, and quite unconscious of the admiring looks that follow her in church or street. But still, you can understand, my friend, that it is rather a charge, especially with so many fine Swedish officers in garrison here.”
“Very true; I have felt something of the kind myself,” her friend assented, while she took mental note of a little unconscious jealousy underlying the anxieties of the worthy Frau Professorin, whose own kindly, comely girls had no pretensions to remarkable beauty.
Very different were Jeanie's musings from those of her friends. She at once made up her mind that she ought to go with Fraulein Gertrud, and gave herself no further perplexity on the subject. But what perplexed and troubled her far more sorely than anything had yet done in the course of her short life, was her friend's sorrow without hope and without faith. That one who had lost her all in the cause of Christ should yet not have found Him, was a mystery she could not fathom. It was as if she had seen the Three walking in the furnace without the Fourth, whose form was like the Son of God. Surely, thought Giovana, He must be there, He must be near her, though unseen. Yet she could not say that in her case the violence of the fire had been quenched. It had scorched, if it had not consumed her. It had almost charred the living heart into a cinder, or crumbled it into ashes. Could these things be in God's world? It was too terrible to think of “Martyrs by the pang without the palm,” of suffering that brought no good, pain ending in despair, sorrow working death. Down―down into the darkness went that young perplexed spirit, groping blindly through ever-deepening abysses of doubt and dread, searching vainly for a clue to the awful mysteries of life and death.
Then all at once, with a glad, exulting spring, like that of a captive bird set free, she came back to the light. Faith resumed its reign, and whispered softly that Christ knew all about it. For He saw of the travail of His soul, and was satisfied. He saw the end, and the end was good. Those martyrs of Prague, that father and young brother so bitterly mourned, did they not see the end also, were they not also satisfied? Yes; for they had gone into the clear shining beyond the clouds, where they were at peace forever. And even now Christ was standing beside the desolate mourner with that gift of peace in His hand which He keeps for those who in the world for His sake have tribulation—only her eyes were holden, that she could not see Him. It needed nothing but that He should say to those sealed eyes, “Be opened.” He would say it, for He was good and pitiful. He would say it, for He was the hearer of prayer; and one loving heart at least would not cease to plead with Him day and night until the answer came.