It is while gazing upon Marguerite Verne that our thoughts carry us
back to the ill-fated queen and as we note the striking personal
resemblance, thank a kind Providence that the maiden's lot has been
cast in happier days and in a land not blighted by the harrowing
associations of those stormy times.
But to our subject. The dutiful daughter goes softly toward the bed
and raising the shrivelled hand from the snowy coverlid looks into
the languid eyes as if she would read the thoughts which she now
longed to hear.
"Papa I want to say something. Will you promise me that you will not
get excited. You know I am under orders."
"Nothing will excite me now my child. Excitement is only fit for the
people of the earth, and I am now already on the verge of another
and I trust a better world."
Marguerite would fain have urged her father to forbear, but she knew
full well that it was the truth.
"Well, papa, we are all in the hands of God. He will do what he
thinks is best for us."
The quivering lips and tremulous tones gave expression to the
overflowing heart, but the girl bore up bravely.
"Papa, here is my accuser," said she, grasping Cousin Jennie by the
hand and drawing her forcibly to his side.
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