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Page 71
Three times the bell had tolled when the last absolution was given, and
its solemn voice still sounded at regular intervals, mingling with the
sublime words that bade the faint soul go forth from the world in the
name of God the Father Almighty, who created it, in the name of Jesus
Christ, the Son of the living God, who suffered for it, in the name of
the Holy Spirit, which had been imparted to it: in the name of Angels
and Archangels, in the name of Thrones and Dominations, in the name of
Principalities and Powers, in the name of Cherubim and Seraphim, in the
name of Patriarchs and Prophets, in the name of holy Apostles and
Evangelists, in the name of holy martyrs and confessors, in the name of
holy monks and hermits, in the name of holy virgins and all the Saints
of God, that its rest that day might be in peace, and its habitation in
holy Sion!
There was no struggle, no contortion, to mark the moment of
dissolution. The face only grew more serene and less death-like, as the
soul passed from its frail tenement.
The bells no longer swung slowly and solemnly, but poured forth a
festive sound. And well might they peal more merrily then, than at
birth, or marriage, or earthly conquest. Tears were falling fast around
the bed; yet only the body wept--the soul was exulting.
On the morning of the third day after the Lady Margaret's death, a
funeral procession could be seen slowly approaching, within sight of the
ruins of Stramen Castle and the blackened Church of the Nativity. The
peasantry, who were expecting it, had gone forth to meet the remains of
their dearly loved lady, and rosy children were scattering flowers
before the bier. They could not repress some tears and sighs for their
benefactress, yet they knew it was for themselves they grieved, not for
her they had lost. How they wondered at first--and how their wonder
melted into joyous thanksgivings, to see the Lord of Hers supporting the
now humble and contrite Baron of Stramen!
The mourners--if such they may be called--entered the grave-yard, which
was near the church, and had not been violated by the sacrilegious
marauders, and halted before a new-made grave. In those days, it was the
peculiar privilege of bishops, abbots, and holy priests to be buried
within the church, or only extended to laics of distinguished sanctity.
Yet Father Omehr had assured the maiden that she might be interred in
the choir at T�bingen. Margaret had declined a privilege of which she
deemed herself unworthy, saying that she did not wish to be associated
in sepulture with those from whom she was far separated in merit, and
expressing a wish to be placed beside her mother. And they laid her,
with prayers and unbidden tears, in the place she had chosen.
The gorgeous sun of ancient Suabia was beaming out in cloudless
splendor, and the mountains and the Danube, the forest and the fields
looked lovely in the glittering day; yet not one of those who stood
around the grave would have said to the dead, "_Awake!_" if the word
could have recalled her to share the beauty of the world before them.
When the Count and Countess of Montfort saw that their longer presence
would only impose a restraint upon the family group, they bade the
missionary a silent adieu, and began to retrace their steps to T�bingen.
The cottage of the missionary was spared on account of its
insignificance; and Father Omehr led the Lord of Hers and the father and
son into his humble apartments, which had been zealously tended by his
pious penitents. All was arranged just as he had left it, to his own bed
and the corner where Gilbert had slept. There was nothing here to mark
the scourge which had desolated the smiling country without. The Baron
of Stramen sat down upon a bench, covering his face with his hands.
Here, in the sight of his ruined castle, and with the funeral tears of
his only daughter undried upon his cheeks, he was happier than he had
been for many a year: happier than when carousing in his father's
halls--happier than when proudly embracing his darling child--happier
than when engaged in avenging his brother--happier than when exulting in
the victories of Rodolph! And Henry, too, shared in this blessed change
wrought by his sister's prayers. Each heart was too full for speech;
words would have fallen meaningless and cold.
At this eloquent moment, a man, exhausted with running, and greatly
agitated, abruptly entered the cottage. He checked himself, however, and
stood as if petrified at the sight of the group before him. Father
Omehr, who rightly judged that his rude intrusion must have been caused
by no ordinary occurrence, rose, and in a whisper commanded him to
explain himself.
"Bertha seems adying!" said the man.
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