It was Monday afternoon; and on this day every week, the missionary instructed the children of the neighborhood and prepared them for Communion.  There still remained an hour before the time for evening service, and Father Omehr proposed to the Lady Margaret a walk along the shady avenue at the border of the forest.  Disengaging herself from the children, who loved her and were clustering about her, she readily assented.

“Father,” began the maiden, as they walked together, “when may we expect the duke?”

“Before long, I hope,” replied the missionary; “the conventicle at Worms will decide at once which of his barons are for and which against him.  I should not be surprised to see them returning at any moment.”

“Are they in no danger from ill-disposed chieftains?” asked the lady.

“The duke will pass through a friendly country, and is too much loved and feared to be assailed in his own dominions.  Your father, I presume, is not anxious about their safety?”

“Oh, no!  He talks as if they were invulnerable.”

“At least,” returned the priest, “you should rest content with praying for them, and not distress yourself with idle fears.”

A pause of some minutes ensued here, during which Margaret’s mind seemed actively and painfully employed.  She broke the silence by exclaiming, in a low but earnest tone: 

“I have always been too much influenced by idle fears—­my whole life has been a tissue of timidity.”

“Do not accuse yourself unjustly, my child,” said her companion; “we must beware, even in reproaching ourselves, that we do not despise the favors of God, and lose the grace of perseverance in virtue.”

The fair girl was again silent, but she suddenly exclaimed, with much emotion: 

“Year after year I felt a strong impulse to join the convent at Cologne, founded by the sainted Anno, but was withheld by a fear of my own weakness; I resolved to seek the cloister and forget the garb and customs of the world, but I feared that I might thus confirm my father in his indifference to religion and my brother in his antipathy to the house of Hers.  The months kept gliding by, and still I was irresolute.  I have prayed, with all the ardor I could command, for light to see my vocation; and if God have mercifully granted it, I wilfully remain blind.  This self-made uncertainty and irresolution cost me many a pang; nor have I even the merit of patiently and cheerfully enduring what they inflict.”

Margaret was violently agitated as she spoke, but was not entirely subdued by her excited heart, though more than one big tear went down her cheeks.

“Margaret!” said her venerable companion, stopping short and speaking so impressively that the maiden looked up through her tears.