While the Lord of Hers was engaged in persuading the Duke of Bohemia and the bishops of Wuertzburg and Worms to repair to Ulm without delay, Gilbert was polishing his armor and exercising his barb.  The stirring spirit of the times, the approaching honors of knighthood, with a golden chance of winning his spurs, assisted in diverting his mind from a melancholy contemplation of the hopelessness of his love.  But even when brandishing his stout lance, or wheeling his good war-horse, he would hear those withering words:  “The grave will anticipate her choice!” followed by the fatal echo which came from her own lips, in solemn confirmation of the prophecy:  “My days are numbered here!” Nor could the dazzling dreams of young ambition shut out the still more delicious sight of the Lady Margaret, now kneeling before the Mater Dolorosa, now appealing to him with the pure emotion and wondrous beauty of an Angel, and now clinging to her father between him and the battle-axe.

While the stern Sandrit de Stramen was preparing his vassals for the impending strife, and literally converting the scythe into the sword—­while he spared no expense or trouble in supplying his men with arms and horses, all gayly decorated to make a gallant show at Tribur—­while the sturdy yeomen were leaving their ploughs in the field to pay their rent by the service of shield and sword—­the Lady Margaret, uninfluenced by the war-like bustle, calmly pursued her meditations, her daily visits to the church, and her numberless acts of charity.  She had a delicate and difficult duty to perform in soothing the proud mind of her brother, stung to the quick by his unlucky encounter with Gilbert.  The young knight of Stramen was panting for an opportunity to retrieve his misfortune and wipe out his fancied disgrace.  When in conversation with his sister, to whom he would outpour his passionate impulses, he pledged himself over and over again to bring the daring stripling to his knee, who had dared to insult her in his absence.  To his fiery threats, Margaret would offer no direct opposition, for she feared to awaken an easily excited suspicion that she sympathized far too warmly with the culprit.  This suspicion would have paralyzed her influence.  She contented herself with pointing out the impossibility of settling a domestic quarrel at the present moment, and the imperative duty of considering rather the public weal than the gratification of a private inclination.  And at times, when Henry appeared more tractable, and when, moved by her tender affection and earnest discourse, he exhibited a disposition more closely resembling her own, she would suggest what a nobler and better revenge it would be to seek an opportunity of saving Gilbert’s life in the coming struggle.  Henry’s chivalrous nature was easily attracted by this suggestion, and he determined to prove his superiority over his rival, before attempting his ultimate revenge.