By a blazing fire were seated the baron and Father Omehr, and some paces behind them stood several attendants.  Sir Sandrit rose and saluted the minstrel with much courtesy, and bade him warm himself at the genial hearth.  Humbert received the baron’s congratulations without embarrassment, and pledged his health in a brimming bowl.  While the minnesinger and the noble were exchanging compliments, Gilbert kept a respectful distance, supporting the harp.  He feared to look at the missionary, who sat, evidently little concerned about Ailred of Zurrich, wrapped in meditation.  His heart had grown cold when, on entering the room, as he glanced around, he missed the Lady Margaret.  Was she sick?  Was the prophecy to be so swiftly consummated?  He maintained his position unnoticed, save by the domestic who offered him wine, until the diligent seneschal had spread a long table, which soon presented a most tempting appearance.  Venison, boar’s flesh, fish, fowl, pastries of various kinds, and generous bowls of wine, proclaimed the hospitality of the proud baron.  Father Omehr blessed the board, but declined participating in the repast.

Sir Sandrit forced the troubadour to sit at his side, while Gilbert occupied a seat at the lower end of the table, among the dependents of the house; for the arrival of a minstrel was one of those momentous occasions when the lord of the fee welcomed his retainers to his own board, and extended equal favor and protection to the highest and the lowest.  Humbert’s animation increased as the sumptuous meal progressed, while his naturally brilliant qualities, and a remarkable fund of wit and anecdote, so fascinated the baron that he was wholly absorbed in the charming Ailred.  Gilbert sat silent and watchful, eating just enough to avoid observation.  When the banquet was drawing to a close, the Lady Margaret entered the room, and glided to a seat beside the priest.  The blood rushed to Gilbert’s face with such a burning thrill, that he bent his head to hide his confusion.  He trembled in the violence of his smothered emotion.  It was some minutes before he dared to look up.  Her face was exposed to his gaze, and he could see every feature distinctly.  She was still the same—­ay, more than the same—­she was lovelier than ever.  Regardless of discovery, he fixed his eyes upon the apparition that had haunted him so long, and was only recalled to a sense of his position by a loud call from the baron for the harp.

As he carried the instrument to the spot indicated by Ailred, the baron presented the minstrel to his daughter.  Humbert behaved with becoming reverence.  He took his station a few feet from the table, between Sir Sandrit and his daughter, and began to prelude with decision and great sweetness.  Gilbert stood behind him, with his back to the baron and his face to the Lady Margaret.  Humbert, emboldened by his reception, and perhaps inspirited by the wine, sounded the chords with admirable effect; and when the expectation