“I must tax my ingenuity for a more auspicious scheme,” resumed Rodolph of Suabia, “for I begin to be distrustful of my first.  I was a little romantic, I confess; but it is thus we give the rein to some solitary impulse of youth, lingering, like a firebrand, among our more matured resolves.”

They had ridden slowly, and were now on the brink of the ravine, three miles from the Castle of Stramen.  The waning moon and the bright starlight showed them a white figure standing in the road, a few paces from the mouth of the gorge.

“Who is that before us?” asked the noble.

“Bertha, the poor crazy woman, who swore to the presence of the Lord of Hers at the spot where Robert de Stramen was found,” whispered the priest, and he advanced to where she stood.

“I heard your horse’s hoofs, Father,” she said, “and I came to get your blessing.”

“And you shall have it, Bertha,” he answered, extending his hands over her head.  “Good night,” he added, seeing that she did not move.

“Who is this you have brought us?” continued the woman, pointing to the duke.

“That,” replied Father Omehr, “is Rodolph, Duke of Suabia, and King of Arles.”

Bertha approached the duke, knelt down, and kissed his hand.  She then walked slowly up the ravine.

“A singular being,” exclaimed the duke, as they gave their horses the spur, for it was growing late.  “I have not seen any one thus afflicted for many years, and it is always a painful sight.”

The two horsemen were now at the church, but they passed it and kept on to the castle; and hearty was the welcome of the noble duke to the halls of Stramen castle.  Sir Sandrit’s eyes gleamed with delight as he saluted his liege; Henry’s cheek flushed with pleasure when Rodolph, the flower of German chivalry, spoke of his youthful prowess at Hohenburg; the Lady Margaret loved the duke for the praises he heaped upon her brother.  Nor were the domestics gazing idly on; but kept gliding to and fro, and hurrying here and there until the genial board was spread, and the fish, fresh from the Danube, smoked, and the goblet gleamed.

As it was near midnight when they sat down, Father Omehr felt at liberty to leave the room without ceremony.  The Lady Margaret stayed no longer than courtesy demanded, when she rose and retired to her chamber.  This young lady had always been noted for her piety and her charities to the poor, whose wants she was sure to discover and supply.  Under the skilful and fervent training of Father Omehr, she had learned to repress a spirit, perhaps naturally quick and imperious, and to practise on every occasion a humility very difficult to haughty natures.  There was even some austerity in her devotion; for she would subject herself to rigorous fasts and to weary vigils, and deny herself the luxuries that her father delighted in procuring for her, little dreaming that they were secretly dispensed to the sick of the neighborhood.