Sir Sandrit forced the troubadour to sit at his side, while Gilbert occupied a seat at the lower end of the table, among the dependents of the house; for the arrival of a minstrel was one of those momentous occasions when the lord of the fee welcomed his retainers to his own board, and extended equal favor and protection to the highest and the lowest. Humbert's animation increased as the sumptuous meal progressed, while his naturally brilliant qualities, and a remarkable fund of wit and anecdote, so fascinated the baron that he was wholly absorbed in the charming Ailred. Gilbert sat silent and watchful, eating just enough to avoid observation. When the banquet was drawing to a close, the Lady Margaret entered the room, and glided to a seat beside the priest. The blood rushed to Gilbert's face with such a burning thrill, that he bent his head to hide his confusion. He trembled in the violence of his smothered emotion. It was some minutes before he dared to look up. Her face was exposed to his gaze, and he could see every feature distinctly. She was still the same—ay, more than the same—she was lovelier than ever. Regardless of discovery, he fixed his eyes upon the apparition that had haunted him so long, and was only recalled to a sense of his position by a loud call from the baron for the harp.
As he carried the instrument to the spot indicated by Ailred, the baron presented the minstrel to his daughter. Humbert behaved with becoming reverence. He took his station a few feet from the table, between Sir Sandrit and his daughter, and began to prelude with decision and great sweetness. Gilbert stood behind him, with his back to the baron and his face to the Lady Margaret. Humbert, emboldened by his reception, and perhaps inspirited by the wine, sounded the chords with admirable effect; and when the expectation of the audience was at the highest, he introduced a beautiful ballad, and raising his voice, sang the praises of Rodolph of Suabia. The baron and all his followers were listening intently to the minstrel, as, with a heaving breast and flashing eye, he recited the glory of Suabia and of her majestic duke. Even Father Omehr was carried away by the excited Humbert. But Gilbert's eyes and soul were riveted upon the Lady Margaret. What was the strain to him? he heard it not. The violent hopes and fears that had alternately shaken him, had given way to a silent rapture; the unnatural tension of his nerves was relaxed, and in spite of all his efforts, the tears gleamed in his eyes. When the lay was over, the room resounded with loud praises, and the baron threw a chain of gold around the minstrel's neck.
At this moment Margaret encountered Gilbert's eyes; she reddened with anger at first, but almost instantaneously became pale as death. Gilbert saw that he was recognized—he bent his head upon his breast, and prepared for the worst. But so completely had Humbert engrossed all eyes, that the maiden's agitation was not observed. She had penetrated the youth's disguise, and the discovery stunned her. She was bewildered, and could not determine what course to pursue. Humbert sounded his harp again, and began a wild romance. Concealing her agitation, she endeavored during the song to collect her thoughts. What embarrassed her most, was to divine whether Gilbert's purpose in his mad visit were hostile or merely a piece of bravado. But she resolved to take no step without mature reflection. She was deliberating whether she could communicate her secret to Father Omehr, without so surprising him as to excite remark, when he rose and left the room.
The Lady Margaret was detained to hear some verses improvised to herself, which she rewarded with a slight token; she then withdrew, without raising her eyes to Gilbert. After she had disappeared, the baron dismissed the guests and retained the minstrel. Seizing this opportunity, Humbert told Gilbert he might retire until he was called, and the youth passed out, leaving behind only a few favorite retainers with Sir Sandrit and the minnesinger. As the door closed behind him, Gilbert found himself in a long and dimly lighted corridor. He saw a black figure enter at the other end—it was Father Omehr.
"It rains too hard at present to venture out," said the priest, in passing, and he re-entered the hall to wait till the gust had exhausted itself.
Gilbert wandered along the arched gallery without any definite aim, yet expecting to see the Lady Margaret start from some secret niche. Suddenly his cloak was pulled so sharply, that he grasped his sword, which he had been prudent enough to conceal beneath the ample folds of his gown. As he turned, he saw a woman with her finger on her lips, but it was not the Lady Margaret: that shrivelled face and curved back belonged to Linda. The old neif, after thus enjoining silence, made a gesture for the youth to follow, and shuffled noiselessly before him. Gilbert's heart was well-nigh bursting with anxiety as they strode along. When they reached the point where the corridor branched off into many smaller passages, Linda entered one that opened through a sharp-arched door upon the top of a battlemented tower. The youth felt relieved by the cold, damp wind that drove through the aperture against his burning cheeks. As they reached a recess near the tower, Linda stopped and leaned against a buttress with her arms crossed on her breast. At this moment, Gilbert became aware of the presence of a third figure, muffled from head to foot in a mantle of fur; he felt that the Lady Margaret stood before him, but all his gallant resolutions melted away, and he remained mute and motionless, powerless to speak or act. Apparently unconscious of Gilbert's presence, the lady stepped within the recess and knelt before a statue of the Mater Dolorosa; the youth was awed and abashed: he began to consider his daring adventure an unwarrantable intrusion; he meditating kissing the hem of her garment and retiring with all his love unspoken. In the midst of his suspense Margaret arose and confronted him; her manner was formal and dignified without being cold or stern.
"Are you Gilbert de Hers?" she said, in an undertone, but her voice was firm and clear.
Gilbert bowed, but made no other reply.
"What is your motive in coming here?" pursued the maiden, still calmly.
The youth was silent, his eyes fixed on the pavement.