ivity. 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 Tuebingen. 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 Tuebingen.

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 w