Rudolph and Alice [pp. 263-275]

RudolpI end Alice. [MAV,
with the deepest anxiety, the coming of the schoolmaster. This soon happened, and Alice told him
how she served a lord in Brunswick, how she had
fallen among strangers without gold and without
friends, and she thought if she could reach Brunswick, in a few weeks she could reach her friends.
This relation, which appeared probable, awakened
the schlool-master's deepest compassion for the forlorn woman, whose clothes and appearance confirmed her speech. He asked her what she had
resolved to do.
"Ah! if I could find any one who would take
me in their service as a maid or shepherdess. I
am a woodman's daughter, know how to labor,
and fear nothing."
The old man looked at her awhile-" truly,"
said he, at last, "it appears Heaven has sent you
to me, my daughter. I am a school-master in the
village, and live with my wife entirely alone, who,
for some time past, has been sickly. There stands
the house, with the linden before it. Yesterday
our maid died, who has served us faithfully for
sixteen years. My wife would not be comforted
for her loss; but to day, God has sent us, unhoped
for, one to supply her place. It seems so ordered;
so, in his name, we will try each other, and I
ture from sinking wholly in to night. But w hen
we can trust the Almighty, who chastens because
he os s e li me rg w he loves us, the glimmering light wi ll he n ot e xtinguish, nor break the bruis ed reed.
Thus passed two sorrowful years; all inquiries
she ma de were w ithout success; there appeared to
her no way to regain he r ho me, -scarcely a piossibility; it h t an with out hr old and wit hout knowledge, h ow
could she find her w ay back At the end of this
time, after a long illness, Alice's mistress died, and
soo n the lonely widower followed her. HTe c ould
not remai n without his wife, with whom, in peace,
he had trod so large a portion of the road of life.
The pious Alice nursed them both with childlike
care, and closed their eyes with grief, yet her heart
was struck with joy, when on their wills being
opened, she found they had left her a small sum,
yet one sufficient to enable her to gratify her only
desire, which was, to travel to see her husband and
child again.
Great was now her desire to return; the long
lost feeling of hope bloomed anew in her heart.
All her sorrows were forgotten in the possibility of
again seeing her home; and she was filled with
still transport. She instantly determined to carry
her resolution into effect and accomplish her desire
in the best way she could. She took her seat in
a post-wagon; she fell in with kind people. At
last, she came to the mountains near her home, and
when she saw the well-known rocky spires, all
seemed to vanish from her sight. The thought
she was near, and should soon see her husband and
child, filled her with unspeakable emotion. Tears
streamed from her eyes; her travelling companion,
an old burgornaster's wife, from a neighboring village, could, with difficulty, keep her life's spirit
within her. She determined to travel the last stage
to her birth-place on foot, and entirely unknown.
She yet knew not where she should find her home;
what every one would think of her, nor how she
would be received. These cares which she had
often felt before, now rose with double force; they
trust we shall agree."n
These words sounded to Alice like a message
from Heaven. She was no longer wholly abandoned; she raised herself and followed the old man
as fast as her weakness would permit to his dwelling. Yet the old woman raised some objections to
Alice's youth and beauty; her husband soon conquered these, and before long, Alice's conduct
convinced the old people that their confidence
was not misplaced. There never was maid so
active, so patient. She aided the old woman who
felt the weight of years, in every thing; she tried
to learn her wishes from her looks, and obeyed all
her commands with punctuality. She appeared
like a good spirit in the house where she had been
so kindly received. In a few months, she no longer
appeared as a maid they had taken, but as a dear
daughter, and the old people were to her as beloved
parents. As pleasant as Alice's situation here was,
yet, could she not conquer her deep grief and inexpressible longings for her dear home, and still
dearer objects of affection. In the still loneliness of the night, flowed her tears; daily, in her
prayers to God, she besought his pity on her distress, and prayed he would make her a way to return to her own. She thought with anguish of
Rudolph,-of his distress, of the strange appearance her vanishing must have to him, and to all
the world. She grieved for her child, and made
herself the bitterest reproaches. Grief and fright
at the purposes of the godless Gertrude, which
now flashed on her mind in an instant, and brought
with them such despair, that nothing but the fatherly goodness of God prevented the tremnbling crea
[MA'V,
2 7 -)
P,ttdolpli and Alice.
crippled the quick step with which she had travelled the first half mile of her way back. Now
she passed the woody hollow,-which hid from her
the view of the sea and her dwelling. Her an,,uish,
her distress increased in every step. Now the valley opened on her, and suddenly, the sea, with its
crown of mountains, and the village on the beach,
lay before her. To the left, behind the woods,
where in vain her eyes sought roof or gable, a
dark risino, smoke showed the place where Rudolpti
and her child lived, if indeed they yet lived. Overcome with this thoucht, weeping with violence, she
knelt on the sea sbore, raising her heart in fervent
prayer to God. She rose, one hour more, and
what would she find, how should she be received!
No, it was not possible, without previous knowledge of what frightful things mi,,ht perhaps await
her at her dwelling, she could summon resolution