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Page 33
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 God, and invoke His
assistance, 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: God, 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 passed 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 gratitude, 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 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.
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