In spite of her exemplary life, the mind of the illustrious princess was ill at ease.
The silver-toned clock on the mantel struck the hour of midnight. The bells in the tower of St. Gudule sounded forth the Annunciation chimes. The sick woman stirred uneasily, and opened her eyes.
“What o’clock is it, Gretchen?” she inquired of the nurse.
“It is Christmas morning, gracious lady.”
“Has his reverence Monseigneur Ryder come?”
“No, my lady.”
“Pray, my good Gretchen, that he may not arrive too late to hear my confession.”
“Father Heemskirk is here and desires to see you,” said the nurse hesitatingly.
“I shall talk with no one except Monseigneur Ryder,” said the Princess with emphasis.
The hours sped by. The sick woman fell into a troubled slumber. Now and then her lips moved rapidly, and bending lower Gretchen caught these disjointed sentences:
“A prince of Aremburg, the Prince of Aremburg a Protestant! My God, that such should be the truth!... No one robbed him of his rightful heritage... He renounced it that he might follow his mad delusion... I did not disinherit him; his father did it. The blame is not mine... but it weighs heavily on my soul. I must try to make
