The Truce of God. George Henry Miles
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!
"Bertha! Bertha! this is wrong: I hope you have committed no violence?"
But the answer, as before, was given in rude, indefinite verse.
It may be unnecessary to say that the object of the lady's visit was to discover if the knife had been poisoned. Finding that all question would be useless, she had recourse to an artifice to effect her purpose, suggested by the discovery of a splinter buried in Bertha's thumb.
"Let me remove this—it must give you pain," she said, examining the hand she had taken in hers, and reaching after the knife. Bertha passively resigned the weapon, but rapidly withdrew her hand, just as her mistress feigned to prepare for the incision. Margaret shuddered, for she naturally saw in that quick gesture a confirmation of her worst fears. For some moments they gazed at each other in mute anxiety. Bertha was the first to break the silence, and her words revived a gleam of hope in the bosom of her companion.
"No! no!" she exclaimed, slowly and sternly, "his blood must not mix with mine!"
"Is there poison here?" pursued the lady, in a low searching tone.
She received in reply:
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