Page:Elizabeth, or, The exiles of Siberia (2).pdf/18

18 zeal and intrepidity the restoration of possessions, when I no longer desire but to heap on you, this letter will call to memory our benefactors; your heart, Elizabeth, should be grateful, and the alliance of virtue may honour even the blood of kings." The maiden pressing the letter to her heart, said, “The remembrance of him who mourned for you will never quit me." During several days no further mention was made of Elizabeth's journey. Her mother had not yet consented; but from the melancholy of her looks, it was evident that in her heart consent prevailed.

On Sunday evening, the family were at prayers, when they heard somebody knock with a staff, Springer opened the door: Phedora exclaimed, "Ah! my God! here is the person whose coming was announced, and who is to take away our daughter!" She fell, weeping, with her face upon the table. The missionary entered: a large white beard descended upon his breast, his countenance had a mournful expression, and he seemed bent with fatigues rather than with years.

“Sir," said he, “I enter your cabin with joy: the benediction of God is upon it. I know that it contains wealth more precious than pearls and gold. I come to solicit a night's repose here." Elizabeth eagerly placed a seat for him. " Young damsel," said he, "you are for advanced in the career of virtue, and in your very first steps you have left us far behind." As he sat down, he heard the sobs of Phedora. "Christian mother," said he to her, "why weepest thou? May you not say that you are happy among women? And if you shed tears because virtue separates you from your child awhile, what should those mothers feel who are divided from their children by vice, and who lose them eternally!" "Oh, my father! if I should never see her again." "You would see her again," replied he warmly, "in heaven, which is already her dowry; but yon will also see her again on earth. The fatigues are great, but God will support her-"He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb!"-After the evening repast, the good monk surveyed them with tender compassion-he had seen many sorrows, and the art of soothing them was the study of his life. He related his long journeys, and the disasters he had witnessed, making the exiles to consider, that in comparison of such miseries theirs were but light. During the evening, the good father informed the exiles, that he was returning on foot into Spain, his native country, and had yet to traverse through Russia, Germany, and France. He had for years travelled over deserts, where he found no shelter but a cave, no pillow but a stone, and no food but rice-flour and water. He thought himself at the end of his labours on arriving among civilized nations.

Next morning, Elizabeth arose with the dawn, and found