" At that question she paused, and
those who heard it were struck dumb and shuddered. "The murder of one
man by the hand of his own brother! Away, Warbeck! I command."

"Shall I forget thy wrongs, Leoline?" said Warbeck.

"Wrongs! they united me to God! they are forgiven, they are no more.
Earth has deserted me, but Heaven hath taken me to its arms;--shall I
murmur at the change? And thou, Otho"--here her voice faltered--"thou,
does thy conscience smite thee not?--wouldst thou atone for robbing me
of hope by barring against me the future? Wretch that I should be,
could I dream of mercy--could I dream of comfort, if thy brother fell
by thy sword in my cause? Otho, I have pardoned thee, and blessed thee
and thine. Once, perhaps, thou didst love me; remember how I loved
thee--cast down thine arms."

Otho gazed at the veiled form before him. Where had the soft Leoline
learned to command? He turned to his brother; he felt all that he had
inflicted upon both; and casting his sword upon the ground, he knelt at
the feet of Leoline and kissed her garment with a devotion that votary
never lavished on a holier saint.

The spell that lay over the warriors around was broken; there was one
loud cry of congratulation and joy. "And thou, Warbeck!" said Leoline,
turning to the spot where, still motionless and haughty, Warbeck stood.

"Have I ever rebelled against thy will?" said he, softly; and buried
the point of his sword in the earth. "Yet, Leoline, yet," added he,
looking at his kneeling brother, "yet art thou already better avenged
than by this steel!"

"Thou art! thou art!" cried Otho, smiting his breast; and slowly, and
scarce noting the crowd that fell back from his path, Warbeck left the
lists.

Leoline said no more; her divine errand was fulfilled. She looked long
and wistfully after the stately form of the knight of Liebenstein, and
then, with a slight sigh, she turned to Otho, "This is the last time we
shall meet on earth. Peace be with us all!"

She then, with the same majestic and collected bearing, passed on
towards the sisterhood; and as, in the same solemn procession, they
glided back towards the convent, there was not a man present--no, not
even the hardened Templar--who would not, like Otho, have bent his knee
to Leoline.

Once more Otho plunged into the wild revelry of the age; his castle was
thronged with guests, and night after night the lighted halls shone
down thwart the tranquil Rhine.