Margaret led the way rapidly to the border of the forest, where she had left a groom with horses. She sprang lightly upon her spirited palfrey, and exchanging a few words with the old woman, dismissed both domestics to the castle, and galloped off alone in an opposite direction. As she rode along, she was greeted with smiles and blessings by all who met her; yet she seemed to heed but little the frequent reverence and heartfelt salutation.
After proceeding about three miles, she struck into a deep, dark ravine, through which there rushed a slender stream, whose waters, seldom gladdened by a sunbeam, seemed to groan and murmur like an angry captive. The way, thickly strewn with moss-bound stones and the mouldering skeletons of trees, required all the maiden's horsemanship. But she struggled on, until she reached something midway between a grotto and a hut, projecting from the side of the gully, and looking as though by some fantastic freak of nature it had grown there, so admirably was it in keeping with the character of the place.
From the time she had mounted her horse, the maiden's face expressed great anxiety, which increased as she alighted and entered the singular excrescence we have mentioned. A blazing pine-knot driven in the ground, shed a fierce, and flickering light over the interior of this gloomy abode, for it was an abode—and more, a home—the home of Bertha! The maniac was sitting upon a rude bench, close to the firebrand which gave a fearful lustre to her haggard features, while with a species of exultation she gazed upon the knife stained with Gilbert's blood, still clenched in her hand.
The husband of this unfortunate woman had, about a year before, been mortally wounded in a chance affray between the partisans of the lords of Hers and Stramen. He was brought home only to die in the arms of his wife. The shock had reduced her to this miserable extremity. She could not be prevailed upon to remain in the cottage she had occupied in the hour of her joy; and though repeatedly offered a home by Father Omehr and the Baron of Stramen, she had built for herself this wild nest, and obstinately refused to leave it except to wander to the church or to the grave-yard. She was maintained by the Lady Margaret principally, and by the charities of the peasantry. Up to the present time, she had been perfectly harmless, and was rather loved than feared by the children of the country. She had always manifested an extreme affection for the Lady Margaret, to whom she would sing her sweetest songs, and whose hand she would almost devour with kisses.
Margaret, though somewhat appalled at Bertha's frightful appearance, yet confiding in the power she had over her, advanced and silently sat down upon the bench. For some minutes Bertha seemed unconscious of the presence of her visitor, but suddenly removing her eyes from the knife, she bent them upon Margaret. In an instant a smile of strange sweetness stole over the poor creature's wasted face: every trace of anger disappeared as she fell upon her knees and raised the hem of the maiden's garment to her lips. Without rising she sang one of those simple ballads which even insanity could not make her forget. The lady of Stramen patiently permitted her to proceed without interruption. But the moment her strange companion was silent, she minted to the knife, exclaiming:
"Is this blood, Bertha?"
Still kneeling, the woman began:
The chieftain swore on bended knee,
That blood for blood should flow—
Then leaped upon his coal-black steed,
And spurred against the foe.
"Has anyone hurt you?" continued Margaret.
But Bertha only replied: