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Page 70
As the sun flashed out the Lady Margaret seemed animated with new
strength. Her father trembled at the suggestion--what if she should
recover! Thus hope feeds upon the wishes of the heart.
An hour before noon the Count Montfort, accompanied by Albert of Hers,
entered the apartment. Sir Albert, obeying a look which the maiden gave
him, advanced, and with much emotion pronounced the words, "My lady, I
am here!"
Sir Sandrit had anticipated all; nor did his son manifest the least
surprise. They both stood sorrowful and mute, nor did anger and disdain
appear in the features with which they were so familiar. Albert of Hers
saw, at a glance, the position in which he was placed.
"Father!" began the sinking girl--"father! let me die in the assurance
of meeting you hereafter. In the name of Him before whom I am soon to
appear, forgive this man!"
The struggle had already taken place in the baron's soul. When his heart
was trampled in the dust, his pride was broken. The stubborn rock was
smitten by the heaven-directed wand, and the waters of contrition gushed
forth.
"You have conquered, my child," he murmured, kneeling and kissing her
pale forehead.
"Not I, my father. God is the conqueror!"
It seemed as if her upward glance had rested upon something more than
mortal, her face assumed an expression of such unearthly meaning. Sir
Albert, too, knelt beside his ancient foe: he felt it impious to stand.
The maiden motioned to the countess, who raised and supported her in her
arms and drew back the long hair which had partially covered the hollow
cheeks. Without a word, but with an eloquence that must have charmed the
attendant Angels as much as it entranced the mortals who witnessed it,
she placed her father's hand into Sir Albert's right hand, while Henry
took the left.
"Albert de Hers," said Sir Sandrit, as the tears coursed down his brown
cheeks, "I freely forgive you and yours; and nevermore shall my hand be
raised against you."
Henry repeated the words after his father.
"And I," said the Lord of Hers, "will forget the past: and I declare,
here in the presence of dying innocence, that I am guiltless of your
brother's blood!"
The Countess of Montfort sobbed aloud, and her husband made no effort to
conceal his tears. Father Omehr, who had raised his hands to heaven in
an ecstasy of gratitude, now exclaimed:
"Let me speak for one who is not here: Gilbert de Hers has long since
forgiven those who were once his father's foes."
The object of her life was attained--the goal was reached--the victory
was won. There lay the victor, supported in the arms of her friend. The
victory was hers, for though heaven had won it, she had won heaven by
prayer. What are earth's conquests to a victory like this! What the
splendid overthrow of nations--what Thermopyl�, or Marathon, or
Trafalgar to this triumph over long-nourished hatred! When does man
appear in so magnificent an attitude as when, by fervent prayer and
complete humility, he converts heaven into an agent by which his desires
are accomplished!
Yet the dying victor felt no pride. Her heart was dissolved in
gratitude: she knew her nothingness, and ascribed all to God. She spoke
not, she wept not: even the wonted smile forsook her lips. She only felt
the immensity of the goodness of God--she only bowed before this new
manifestation of his power. The three knights, who looked up in her
face, saw she was invoking a blessing upon them, and reverently bent
their heads, as if in the feeling that the blessing was then descending.
Young girls clothed in white were noiselessly strewing with flowers the
way by which the adorable Sacrament was to pass from the chapel to the
chamber. The blessed candle, the emblem of the light of faith and of the
heavenly mansions, was lit, and the maiden, unable to kneel, received
the Sacred Body as she lay. Her eyes were closed, and, as if detached
from all earthly things, she continued to murmur, almost inaudibly,
passages from the Psalms and pious ejaculations. She raised her finger
to trace upon her lips the sign of Christ, and then fell into her agony.
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