The Truce of God Part 8

"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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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.

"Margaret!" he repeated, as their eyes met, "you have done much to soften your father's anger and your brother's impetuosity, and your mediation has perhaps endeared you to heaven--but you can do _more_!

Devote your life to the extinction of the feud between the houses of Stramen and Hers--look to the duty that stares you in the face, and fulfil that vocation before you seek another! Make peace between these houses the first object of your prayers, and the aim of all your efforts, and G.o.d will soon determine whether the cloister or the castle requires your presence in the accomplishment of your n.o.ble end!"

As Father Omehr concluded, the Lady Margaret, yielding to the impulse she had till then controlled, wept like a child. Yet it was not deeper dejection that made her sob as though her heart would break, but rather a sense of relief, and a sweet consolation that banished all spiritual dryness. Her instructor had often before suggested her obligation to consecrate herself to the task of healing the feud; but never had he so solemnly warned her, and never had she seen her duty so clearly.

"Be calm, my child," continued the missionary; "you can compose yourself in the church, while I prepare for the service. Prostrate yourself before the infinite majesty and goodness of G.o.d, and invoke His a.s.sistance, with a determination to accept with resignation whatever trial He may send. And forget not to supplicate the intercession of the Blessed Mary. Open your heart to her; beg her to discover and obtain its pious wants. _She_ whom Jesus obeyed on earth, will not ask in vain in His eternal kingdom: G.o.d, who made her the medium of salvation to man while she remained a poor Jewish virgin, cannot deem her unworthy of being the channel of His choicest graces to us, now that she stands beatified in heaven!"

The Lady Margaret pa.s.sed into the church and knelt before the altar.

There she remained until the psalms were sung and the evening hymn was over. When she rose, her face was calm, and even joyous. There was no exultation in her look, but it was full of meek serenity. As she left the church, she met Father Omehr. She greeted him with a smile that told what a load was taken off her heart. There was grat.i.tude, esteem, and a holy joy in that smile--it was full of tender and indescribable sweetness--it was an expression of the happiness and purity of her soul.

It was not the bright smile of youth, or the warm smile of affection; it had none of the witchery of woman, but much of the devotion of the Saint: beautiful as she was, and still more beautiful as it made her, it suggested the Creator, not the creature.

"We shall expect you to-night, Father," she said, pausing but a moment.

Father Omehr nodded, and dismissed the children, who had come for a parting blessing, while the maiden turned her palfrey toward the castle.

She rode swiftly, for dark clouds were climbing up the knew the extent of his infatuation, he was revolving the feasibility of revealing his attachment. At last he had determined to embrace the first chance of declaring a love now past concealment.

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 ma.s.ses 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 n.o.ble with a comic surprise.

"Had we not better wait until the rain abates?"

"It is abating now," replied Gilbert.

It was true: the first frenzy of the storm was over, and there was coming a pause in its wild career.

"There!" resumed the youth; "you can ride to the castle and bring two good horses before it begins again. Quick! I shall wait here."

"You had better wait upstairs, out of sight," suggested Humbert.

"You are right."

"This way, my lord;" and, followed by his retainer, the young n.o.ble ascended to a room that might have been called Humbert's studio. The latter, descending at once, called his wife, exchanged a few words with her, the import of which was to keep herself invisible, and, accustomed to a ready obedience, he leaped upon his horse and spurred for the castle. The distance was not greater than half a league, yet to Gilbert he was absent an age.

It was quite dark before Humbert had completed the disguises to his satisfaction. His own was a masterpiece in its way. He a.s.sumed a grace and a lightness that might well become a minstrel of no ordinary degree.

The character of his face was completely changed, and was reduced, by means of long flaxen curls and other artificial additions, from frank manliness to almost feminine delicacy. The Lord of Hers himself could not have recognized his son in the drooping, swarthy, gypsy-looking figure that stood beside Humbert. Gilbert's head was enveloped in something like a cowl, and his whole figure was m.u.f.fled up in a coa.r.s.e brown cloak. Thus attired, he was to play the part of a Bohemian harp-bearer.

The moment the finis.h.i.+ng touches were put, the impatient youth hurried the more cautious yeoman to the saddle. The rain had ceased to fall, but the sky was still overcast and threatening. Though the moon was more than half full, they had barely light enough to justify the rapid pace at which the n.o.ble led the way. It was a little out of character for the minnesinger to carry his own instrument when a harp-bearer was so near at hand. But Humbert knew how to sling the harp across his back, and Gilbert, a mere novice in the art, would have found the burden excessively embarra.s.sing. Gilbert pressed forward without opening his lips or looking behind, until they had entered the lords.h.i.+p of Stramen.