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:

Sir Arthur swung his falchion keen--
The serf implored in vain;--
The knight is galloping away--
The serf lies on the plain!