es, the approaching honors of knighthood, with a golden
chance of winning his spurs, assisted in diverting his mind from a
melancholy contemplation of the hopelessness of his love. But even when
brandishing his stout lance, or wheeling his good war-horse, he would
hear those withering words: "_The grave will anticipate her choice!_"
followed by the fatal echo which came from her own lips, in solemn
confirmation of the prophecy: "_My days are numbered here!_" Nor could
the dazzling dreams of young ambition shut out the still more delicious
sight of the Lady Margaret, now kneeling before the _Mater Dolorosa_,
now appealing to him with the pure emotion and wondrous beauty of an
Angel, and now clinging to her father between him and the battle-axe.

While the stern Sandrit de Stramen was preparing his vassals for the
impending strife, and literally converting the scythe into the
sword--while he spared no expense or trouble in supplying his men with
arms and horses, all gayly decorated to make a gallant show at
Tribur--while the sturdy yeomen were leaving their ploughs in the field
to pay their rent by the service of shield and sword--the Lady Margaret,
uninfluenced by the war-like bustle, calmly pursued her meditations, her
daily visits to the church, and her numberless acts of charity. She had
a delicate and difficult duty to perform in soothing the proud mind of
her brother, stung to the quick by his unlucky encounter with Gilbert.
The young knight of Stramen was panting for an opportunity to retrieve
his misfortune and wipe out his fancied disgrace. When in conversation
with his sister, to whom he would outpour his passionate impulses, he
pledged himself over and over again to bring the daring stripling to his
knee, who had dared to insult her in his absence. To his fiery threats,
Margaret would offer no direct opposition, for she feared to awaken an
easily excited suspicion that she sympathized far too warmly with the
culprit. This suspicion would have paralyzed her influence. She
contented herself with pointing out the impossibility of settling a
domestic quarrel at the present moment, and the imperative duty of
considering rather the public weal than the gratification of a private
inclination. And at times, when Henry appeared more tractable, and when,
moved by her tender affection and earnest discourse, he exhibited a
disposition more closely resembling her own, she would suggest what a
nobler and better revenge it wou