This was all the missionary could glean from his guide, as they walked swiftly toward the shed pointed out by the peasant.
They found her lying motionless upon a bed in a corner of the room. As they entered, she opened her eyes, and, after keenly scanning the Lord of Hers, raised herself with difficulty upon her arm. Father Omehr started. The wild light of insanity had left her eyes, and her glance, though firm and resolute, was gentle and natural.
"Do you know me, Bertha?" said the missionary, springing trembling to the bedside.
"Oh, yes," was the reply. "I have been in a long, wild dream!" and she passed her hand over her high, clammy forehead. "And I know you, Sir Albert of Hers, and I know that God has brought you here at this moment."
The stout warrior, who never quailed before any odds, and whose self-possession was as remarkable as his valor, quivered before the mournful gaze of that weak woman. The room seemed to reel, and he leaned against the wall for support.
"There is one other I must see—Sandrit of Stramen. Father, have him brought here now; there is not one moment to be lost."
The missionary whispered a few words to a youth who was present, and the stripling passed hurriedly out.
"Have you sent for him?" she inquired.
"Yes."
"Will he soon be here?"