At one end of the terrace was situated the apartments of the superintendent, at the other was the residence of a captain, with his wife and son. When I saw any one appear from these buildings, I was in the habit of approaching near, and was invariably received with marks of courtesy and compassion.

The wife of the captain had been long ill, and appeared to be in a decline. She was sometimes carried into the open air, and it was astonishing to see the sympathy she expressed for our sufferings. She had the sweetest look I ever saw; and though evidently timid, would at times fix her eye upon me with an inquiring, confiding glance, when appealed to by name. One day I observed to her with a smile, “Do you know, signora, I find a resemblance between you and one who was very dear to me.” She blushed, and replied with charming simplicity, “Do not then forget me when I shall be no more; pray for my unhappy soul, and for the little ones I leave behind me!” I never saw her after that day; she was unable to rise from her bed, and in a few months I heard of her death.

She left three sons, all beautiful as cherubs, and one still an infant at the breast. I had often seen the poor mother embrace them when I was by, and say, with tears in her eyes, “Who will be their mother when I am gone? Ah, whoever she may be, may it please the Father of all to inspire her with love, even for children not her own.”

Often, when she was no more, did I embrace those fair children, shed a tear over them, and invoke their mother’s blessing on them, in the same words. Thoughts of my own mother, and of the prayers she so often offered up for her lost son, would then come over me, and I added, with broken words and sighs, “Oh, happier mother than mine, you left, indeed, these innocent ones, so young and fair, but my dear mother devoted long years of care and tenderness to me, and saw them all, with the object of them, snatched from her at a blow!”

These children were intrusted to the care of two elderly and excellent women; one of them the mother, the other the aunt of the superintendent. They wished to hear the whole of my history, and I gave it them as briefly as I could. “How greatly we regret,” they observed, with warm sympathy, “to be unable to help you in any way. Be assured, however, we offer up constant prayers for you, and if ever the day come that brings you liberty, it will be celebrated by all our family, like one of the happiest festivals.”

The first-mentioned of these ladies had a remarkably sweet and soothing voice, united to an eloquence rarely to be heard from the lips of woman. I listened to her religious exhortations with a feeling of filial gratitude, and they sunk deep into my heart. Though her observations were not new to me, they were always applicable, and most valuable to me, as will appear from what follows:

“Misfortune cannot degrade a man, unless he be intrinsically mean; it rather elevates him.”—“If we could penetrate the judgments of God, we should find that frequently the objects most to be pitied were the conquerors, not the conquered; the joyous rather than the sorrowful; the wealthy rather than those who are despoiled of all.”—“The particular kindness shown by the Saviour of mankind to the unfortunate is a striking fact.”—“That man ought to feel honoured in bearing the cross, when he considers that it was borne up the mount of our redemption by the Divinity himself in human form.”

Such were among the excellent sentiments she inculcated; but it was my lot, as usual, to lose these delightful friends when I had become most attached to them. They removed from the castle, and the sweet children no longer made their appearance upon the terrace. I felt this double deprivation more than I can express.