“You are not responsible, my child,” rejoined her companion, “for the blind violence of a crazy woman.  I am confident that the wound is not dangerous.  Perhaps the accident, apparently so untoward, may in the end be productive of good.  We are too apt to receive as good what should be avoided as evil, and to deem that a curse which should be considered a blessing.”

The young lady made no reply, but advanced to Gilbert’s bedside.

“Believe me, sir,” she began with dignity but in some confusion, “that I sincerely regret the accident which has confined you here, and that I desire and will pray for your speedy recovery.  You cannot suspect the house of Stramen of conniving at such a cowardly assault; they are too powerful in the field to resort to such a pitiful stratagem.  Our effort shall now be to secure you from further violence.”

The blood returned to Gilbert’s cheek as she spoke.  Feeble with pain and the loss of blood, he with difficulty replied: 

“I little expected ever to receive such kindness as you have shown me from the daughter of my father’s foes; but come what may, kind lady, I shall never forget your services.  I feel assured that the kinsmen of her whom I address, could never be guilty of so ignoble an action.”

It was not without pleasure that the noble maiden heard an answer so flattering to her pride, and so earnestly pronounced.  Her cheek became brighter than Gilbert’s as she bowed and left the apartment, attended by the old woman servant.

We will leave Gilbert, for the present, in the care of Father Omehr, to follow the footsteps of the fair lady of Stramen.

Margaret led the way rapidly to the border of the forest, where she had left a groom with horses.  She sprang lightly upon her spirited palfrey, and exchanging a few words with the old woman, dismissed both domestics to the castle, and galloped off alone in an opposite direction.  As she rode along, she was greeted with smiles and blessings by all who met her; yet she seemed to heed but little the frequent reverence and heartfelt salutation.

After proceeding about three miles, she struck into a deep, dark ravine, through which there rushed a slender stream, whose waters, seldom gladdened by a sunbeam, seemed to groan and murmur like an angry captive.  The way, thickly strewn with moss-bound stones and the mouldering skeletons of trees, required all the maiden’s horsemanship.  But she struggled on, until she reached something midway between a grotto and a hut, projecting from the side of the gully, and looking as though by some fantastic freak of nature it had grown there, so admirably was it in keeping with the character of the place.

From the time she had mounted her horse, the maiden’s face expressed great anxiety, which increased as she alighted and entered the singular excrescence we have mentioned.  A blazing pine-knot driven in the ground, shed a fierce, and flickering light over the interior of this gloomy abode, for it was an abode—­and more, a home—­the home of Bertha!  The maniac was sitting upon a rude bench, close to the firebrand which gave a fearful lustre to her haggard features, while with a species of exultation she gazed upon the knife stained with Gilbert’s blood, still clenched in her hand.