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Page 39
At this bold declaration, Sir Sandrit started up, almost livid with
anger, while the corded veins swelled in his menacing brow; Father Omehr
clasped his hands, despondingly at first, and then, raising them as if
in prayer, kept his eye fixed on the baron; the Lady Margaret bent her
head in deep affliction, and Humbert involuntarily struck his harp. The
single note sounded like a knell: a death-like silence ensued. Already
four stalwart soldiers had secured Gilbert's arms, and with determined
looks they waited but a signal from their chief: still the infuriated
knight scowled at Gilbert, and still the latter firmly bore the storm.
"To prison with him!" at length exclaimed the baron. "Instant death were
too good for the designing villain who has stolen like a snake into our
midst. Away with the deceiver, who would stoop, to seek by a most
unmanly stratagem the revenge he dared not openly attempt."
"The bravest of your name," retorted Gilbert, "has not yet dared to set
foot within my father's halls."
"Because we murder not by stealth!" shouted Sir Sandrit, stung by the
sarcasm.
"I meant no murder in coming here!"
"Aha! you find it easy to disguise your designs as well as your person!"
"I came to renounce the foe at your daughter's feet, and tell her that I
loved her. I have done so--do your worst!"
While the youth was speaking, the maddened baron snatched a heavy mace
from a man who stood by. Already the ponderous mass quivered in his
powerful grasp, when his daughter, with a piercing shriek, threw herself
upon his arm. After a vain effort to free himself, the ready knight
seized the weapon with his left hand, and with wonderful adroitness and
strength prepared for the blow. But the baron's arm was again arrested.
Between the chieftain and the motionless object of his wrath stood
Father Omehr. The mace must crush that majestic forehead, that
benevolent eye, must steep those venerable hairs in blood, before it can
reach the unfortunate Gilbert. Calm, but stern, the missionary, stood,
superior to the frenzy of the noble.
"Forbear! In the name of God I command you--forbear!" Such was his
exclamation, as, with one arm outstretched, he opposed his hand to the
mace.
"Tempt me not!" cried the baron, growing pale, and stamping in his rage.
"Tempt not your God!" returned the fearless priest.
"Stand aside! Beware! You shelter a miscreant!"
"Beware yourself of the fiend at your heart!" replied the old man,
maintaining his perilous position.
"Think not to thwart me always," resumed Sir Sandrit. "I have too long
permitted your interference. Again and again have you thrust yourself
between me and the objects of my wrath! You have ever sided with my
inferiors--protected my serfs, and insulted their master."
"I have sided with mercy and with your better nature. You are a demon
now--and seek what, if obtained, would make you even loathe yourself,
and would, in the pure eye of God--"
A shrill blast of a bugle sounded at the castle gate.
"The duke! the duke!" exclaimed the Lady Margaret, throwing her arms
around her father's neck.
The mace was still uplifted, the priest was still before it, Gilbert was
still pinioned by the men of Stramen, and all was silent as the tomb,
when Rodolph and Henry entered the room.
"Did you listen to that minion, Margaret?" said the baron to his
daughter, without seeming to notice the presence of the duke.
"It is because she gave me no hope," interposed Gilbert, "that I am
indifferent to your anger."
Rodolph, perceiving the difficulty at a glance, put his arm in his angry
baron's and led him aside, while Henry advanced to his sister. After a
long and vehement discussion, the King of Arles left the knight standing
with his arms folded on his breast and his back to the group, and
released Gilbert from the close grasp of his captors.
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