her to credit the confused story of the
unfortunate woman, Sir Sandrit had ordered Gilbert's arrest, rather to
get rid of Bertha's importunity than as a prudent or necessary measure.
When the youth entered the room with Margaret, Bertha, and his armed
escort, the baron said, without any irritation:

"Is this a Bohemian, my daughter? Has he been telling your fortune?"

But the Lady Margaret was silent.

"Unmuffle that churl," pursued the knight, manifesting some impatience;
"let us see what lurks beneath that sordid cowl."

"Hold!" cried the youth, arresting the lifted arm of his guard and
uncovering his head with his own hand. "There is no motive for
concealment now, sir," he continued, meeting without flinching the
kindling eye of the baron. "I am Gilbert de Hers!"

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