'I have now but one wish in this world,' resumed Christine. 'Alas, but one, the fulfilment of which would soften the pangs of death; but I dare not hope.'

'Thy son is mine!' cried Arwed. 'By G.o.d and my own honor, I will adopt him and he shall bear the name and arms of Gyllenstierna.'

'I know,' answered Christine, 'that you will do whatever is great and good, and I have ceased to be anxious about the fate of my child since I confided it to you. But my poor old father--' and here her voice faltered,--'that I may not once more kneel before him and implore his pardon, that, that alone embitters my death.'

'Poor woman!' cried Arwed, who witnessed the extent of her sorrow with the perfect conviction that no consolation could be offered.

'Hope, sinner!' cried Swedenborg with emotion, laying his hand upon Christine's head. 'True repentance may do much; a weeping, penitent child, it presses strongly against the gates of heaven; and behold! the ruby gates fly open, and the eternal mercy, sitting upon a throne woven of rays of light, takes the weeping child softly to her bosom and dries her tears with maternal love!'

He stepped apart, folded his hands, and silently and fervently raised his eyes on high. Christine also folded her hands and moved her lips in a murmured prayer.

'Thou art heard!' suddenly exclaimed Swedenborg; and at the same instant Christine sprang up, and with outspread arms joyfully cried, 'my father!'

A white ray floated through the room, and the strings of the piano reverberated like the dying harmony of an Eolian harp.

'He has pardoned me, he has preceded me, he expects me there!' cried Christine in ecstasy, and immediately sank back upon her pillow.

Swedenborg approached her, and as his glance fell upon her fixed eyes, he exclaimed with emotion: 'she is dead!'

And the clock struck the third hour of the morning.

CHAPTER LIV.

The black funereal flag was waving from the towers of Gyllensten as Arwed slowly approached it with the remains of poor Christine. The tolling of bells was heard from the castle chapel and from Umea, and the domestics of the family surrounded the carriage with weeping eyes.

'How is my uncle?' asked Arwed, with fearful apprehension.

'I bring you his last greeting,' said the gray old steward, with a trembling voice. 'He went to his G.o.d early on the day before yesterday, about the third hour. His last word was, 'Christine!''

CHAPTER LV.

Long years had pa.s.sed, and Gustavus the third sat firmly upon Sweden's throne, as at Lubec a n.o.ble dame, upon whose pure beauty time had left no traces, sat upon a sofa in her cabinet. She had leaned her thoughtful head upon her full white arm, while the strong heaving of her bosom and the mild fire of her large brown eyes betrayed the sad and absorbing nature of the reminiscences which occupied her mind. The door was softly opened, and a blooming maiden cautiously protruded her head into the room and was about to withdraw it again.

'Come in, Georgina!' cried the dame. 'I am not yet asleep. Have you any thing to say to me!'

'A young officer wishes to speak with you, mamma,' answered the beautiful maiden, entering.

'An officer?--of the city militia?' asked the mother with some surprise.

'No mamma,' answered the maiden, laughing. 'He appears altogether different from them. He wears a short blue jacket with straw-colored facings turned up, a white band upon his arm, the sword belt over the shoulder, and a round hat looped up, with a black plume.'

'It is a Swede?' cried the mother with great vehemence. 'His name?'

'He will only tell it to yourself,' answered Georgina; 'which I consider particularly ill-bred.'

'It is very wonderful,' said the mother:--'ask him to come in.'

Georgina went, and soon returned, ushering in a well formed youth with the head of an Apollo, who reverently bowed to the dame, and immediately resumed his erect military position.

He would have spoken; but his eyes had wandered from the elder form to the younger, and the lovely maiden's face and figure embarra.s.sed him so much that it cost him time and effort to collect himself.

'My father begs to a.s.sure your grace of his high respect,' he finally faltered out, 'and requests permission to place in your own hands an autograph from his majesty the king of Sweden.'

'Who is your father?' asked the lady with a trembling voice, whilst her eyes seemed to be seeking for remembered features in the unknown face.

'A n.o.ble Swede,' answered the youth.

'And his name?' asked the lady, with a movement as if she would fly to him.

'He has the honor to be an old acquaintance of your grace,' continued the officer.

'And his name?' cried she, with a fire which seemed inconsistent with her years.

'The governor of West Bothnia, count Gyllenstierna,' was the answer.

The lady turned pale and sank back upon the sofa. Her bosom labored powerfully, and the anxious daughter hastened to her with Cologne water.

'Leave me,' said she, averting her head. 'My nerves are yet strong. I faint not so easily.'

With tottering steps she advanced towards the youth and examined his features yet more intently than before.

'A certain family likeness,' said she, 'is undoubtedly to be found in his face; yet I wonder that it does not appear more distinctly.'

'I am only the adopted son of the count Gyllenstierna, whose name I bear,' answered the youth. 'The count has always remained unmarried.'

The lady sighed and motioned him to retire.

'When may my father wait upon your grace?' courteously asked the youth.

'In an hour I hope to have sufficiently recovered,' answered she--and, with a glance at the charming daughter which called a blush into her cheek, he took his leave.

'Mamma,' said she at length, in a tone of timid remonstrance, 'if the Swedish count is your old acquaintance, you ought to have invited the young count to come with him. He is at any rate his foster son, and such a modest young man.'

'You appear to be pleased with him, Georgina?' said the mother, looking earnestly at her daughter. The latter dropped her eyes to the floor, blushed deeply, and remained silent.

'It is our duty to suffer ourselves to be sought,' said the matron to the maiden. 'It is proper for the other s.e.x to seek. If the young man's heart speak as prematurely as yours, he will come, even without an invitation.'

'You are wholly right, mamma!' cried the daughter, as if now first struck by an important truth, pa.s.sionately kissing her hand.

'Leave me alone, my child,' said the mother. 'I have need of solitude to prepare myself for a sweet, sad hour. Seat yourself meantime, at your piano, and practise the ba.s.s of that beautiful sonata for four hands.

'Now?' cried Georgina, clasping her hands in despair. 'Ah, mamma! I positively cannot practise now.'