At the same time that the Lady Margaret was speeding to Stramen Castle, Gilbert was standing on the top of a steep hill that rose abruptly some distance to the north of that on which the towers of his fathers were built.  He found a pleasure in surveying the majestic masses of thick dark clouds, that slowly overspread the West and swallowed up the sun.  There seemed to be a mysterious sympathy between him and the angry elements, or perhaps he felt flattered to find the deep thunder and arrowy lightning less potent than the feelings within his bosom.  He laughed at the coming storm, while the eagle flew by with a shriek, and the cattle sought any casual shelter.  But, as he was not ambitious of becoming thoroughly wet, he sprang down the hill when the big drops began to fall, and entered a neat cottage situated in the opening of a rich valley, that swept from the hills toward the lake.

“What! alone, Humbert?” said the youth.  “Your wife and children are not out in this storm, I hope?”

“They are praying in the next room,” replied the man, sinking his voice.

Gilbert turned to the window; but the rain was now pouring down in torrents, and he could discern nothing but the lightning.  Humbert was a favorite with the Lord of Hers.  He played upon the harp with more than common skill, and could personate the regular minnesinger to perfection.  His stock of ballads was inexhaustible, and some of his original songs might well compare with his borrowed lore.  Besides this, he was a daring huntsman, an expert falconer, and a trusty follower.

“Humbert!” exclaimed the youth, in a searching whisper, “would you like to play the minnesinger in this storm?”

The retainer smiled and replied, “Yes, if I were a bull, and could bellow the lay.”

But Gilbert answered, without relaxing a muscle, “You will not be called upon to play until you can be heard.”

“Then we might as well wait until to-morrow,” said the other, with great sangfroid, looking over Gilbert’s shoulder at the rain.

“But understand me!” muttered the youth, rather sternly; “I am in earnest!  Will your harp weather this storm?”

“Yes,” returned Humbert, still playfully, “if we loosen its strings:  I have a water-proof case for it.  But I have no water-proof case for myself; and being compelled to brace my nerves for the encounter, they will be apt to snap.”

“You incorrigible trifler, can you disguise yourself as well now, as when you palmed yourself upon us all for the minstrel Guigo?”

“Certainly.”

“And can you array me as your harpbearer, and alter this face and form of mine?”

“With much more ease than I can play the minstrel in this storm.”

“Then do it at once,” said Gilbert.

“My lord!”

“Yes!”

“Where?”

“Here!”

“When?”

“Now!”

Humbert eyed the young noble with a comic surprise.