And when the bell rings, come quietly to the
church."

Not until his little flock had dispersed did Father Omehr perceive that
the Lady Margaret was standing almost at his side.

The Lady Margaret has changed since we saw her return the parting salute
of Rodolph and Henry. Her cheek has grown brighter, but her brow is
smoother and paler. Her face is sweeter than ever, though still more
melancholy. It may have been the balminess of the afternoon, solicitude
for her brother's return, or a transient feeling, that controlled the
expression of the maiden's face, but it seemed to have still less of
earth in its exquisite proportions, and her eye was softer and deeper.

It was Monday afternoon; and on this day every week, the missionary
instructed the children of the neighborhood and prepared them for
Communion. There still remained an hour before the time for evening
service, and Father Omehr proposed to the Lady Margaret a walk along the
shady avenue at the border of the forest. Disengaging herself from the
children, who loved her and were clustering about her, she readily
assented.

"Father," began the maiden, as they walked together, "when may we expect
the duke?"

"Before long, I hope," replied the missionary; "the conventicle at Worms
will decide at once which of his barons are for and which against him. I
should not be surprised to see them returning at any moment."

"Are they in no danger from ill-disposed chieftains?" asked the lady.

"The duke will pass through a friendly country, and is too much loved
and feared to be assailed in his own dominions. Your father, I presume,
is not anxious about their safety?"

"Oh, no! He talks as if they were invulnerable."

"At least," returned the priest, "you should rest content with praying
for them, and not distress yourself with idle fears."

A pause of some minutes ensued here, during which Margaret's mind seemed
actively and painfully employed. She broke the silence by exclaiming, in
a low but earnest tone:

"I have always been too much influenced by idle fears--my whole life has
been a tissue of timidity."

"Do not accuse yourself unjustly, my child," said her companion; "we
must beware, even in reproaching ourselves, that we do not despise the
favors of God, and lose the grace of perseverance in virtue."

The fair girl was again silent, but she suddenly exclaimed, with much
emotion:

"Year after year I felt a strong impulse to join the convent at Cologne,