"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 Thermopylae, 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 no