PART II. THE DECREE.

Not far from the camp stood the poor minstrel, waiting for his sweetheart Alice. While he was waiting, the knight Robert’s catastrophe was achieved, and he was lying in the white knight’s camp; lying with his face upon the ground, and the will to evil strong within him.

Raimbault the minstrel waited for some little time, and was beginning to think Alice would never come; when he heard a footstep, a light footstep, like but yet unlike the step of Alice. He turned, and before him stood the knight Bertram, his face more pallid than ever in the moonlight.

“Thou art Raimbault.”

“Verily; whom the knight Robert would have hanged.”

“He hath a strong will. Wherfore art thou here?”

“To meet Alice, my good wife, so please thee.”

“She is very poor.”

“She hath a rich heart, and is no poorer than I.”

“See, now, thou art richer than she is now.”

“Verily, he hath given me gold; real, real gold!”

And the minstrel did not read contempt in the pale face; contempt that gold should make men happy.

“Thou art noble, and I will obey thee.”

(Oh! man, man, how weak art thou.) “So thou art to be married?”

“Yes, now that the young prince has been discovered.”

“Folly!”

“Folly, nay, Alice is a good girl!”

“Good! Were I thee, I would wait, and be joyful. Thou art rich; with gold man can do all things; and I have given thee gold.”

“Verily.”

“Be happy--feast--sin! Thou art young, there is time to repent--_time to repent_! (He smileth; his eyes brighten; he is lost.) Go, good Raimbault, Alice will follow thee; she may be thy slave. Go, go!”

The minstrel, weak and maimed with evil thoughts, went away stumbling in the darkness.

Then the smile passed away from Bertram’s face--there was only to be read in it terrible despair battling with small hope! As a faint, warning, unearthly sound swept through the air, he trembled; and then he muttered that he had gained another soul! That he should have mercy shown him--mercy to him, the ambassador! Again the wild cry swept through the air, and Bertram’s head fell. Clasping his hands together, he moved slowly into a deep lightless cavern, and was lost in the darkness.

Treading lightly through the moonlight then came Alice, to meet Raimbault, who was surely waiting for her--surely.

“Raimbault--Raimbault!”

No answer.

“When I bade Normandy adieu, Thus said a hermit sage to me, Damsel, to one beloved and true, Thou shalt e’er long united be. Raimbault--Raimbault!”

The wild, wailing cry swept past her very lips as she ended her little ditty. As she heard it she trembled, and felt sure the very ground below her shook.

She began to run away, afraid, but a single word detained her--a single word, streaming through all the air--“Robert!”

“Robert!” She knew her duty was to watch over him till he had read his mother’s will, so she stood still, trembling no longer. Then she thought the sound came from a dark corner near, and lightly walking to it, she peered in, and then drew back with mighty fear. She sped quickly to a rustic cross by the roadside; she fell at its feet, and lay senseless.

Forth from the cavern came the white knight. The doom, then, was irrevocable; unless Robert freely gave himself up--and before the morrow--they would be parted. Parted from Robert, whom he loved so much. “By his own will--by his own will, he must be won.”

Suddenly he turned, as he heard a weak womanly cry, and he saw Alice lying at the foot of the cross.

“Thou here, Alice? What ailest thee? Thou dost draw away. Nearer--come nearer; nearer, I say. Dost fear me?”

Still she clung to the cross, the closer and more firmly as he approached.

“What didst thou hear?”

“Nothing.”

“What didst thou see?”

“Nothing--nothing.”

“Come near me.”

With a loud cry, she crossed herself.

“Ah! thou knowest me!”

“I do not fear.”

“Thou shalt surely perish, utterly--thou and thine! What hast thou seen? What hast thou heard?”

“Nothing--nothing.”

“By a lie thou fallest.”

As she flinched from him she saw Robert approaching, his head drooping, and his hands clasped.

“Speak not--fall away from the cross thou hast shadowed. Fall away, I say.”

By the power of the untruth she had spoken, she was for a while conquered. Yet as Robert came near them, she felt her strength renewed. She ran to him to warn him. But yet again she was weak. The white knight raised high his glistening right hand, and she fled.

“What aileth her?”

“She is jealous of thee. Ah well--wilt thou not look upon thy best friend?”

“Best friend--thou art my only friend on earth!”

“Earth--what is earth? But thy fortune--Robert--thy fortune! I tell thee ’twas wrested from thee by unholy arts. Regain it by them. Where others have ventured fear not to venture thou!”

“What--can the demon have power on earth?”

“Power! Power! There is but one power equal, or superior to his own. Power! Hast thou courage--is thy heart firm?”

“Lay thy hand upon it ... ah, thou seemst to burn me with thy touch--take thy hand away.”

“Thy heart is firm;--e’en now firmer than before. Thou hast heard of the ruined abbey, whose inhabitants with itself were delivered to the powers of hell.”

“I have heard, but not believed.”

“Believe. In the midst stands the tomb of Bertha--why dost thou tremble?”

“‘Twas my mother’s name--’twas my mother’s name.”

“Think of thy fortune, Robert! Those who go to this tomb--speak not to the mysterious beings they see. But--over the marble effigy waves a branch of cypress. Who holdeth it holdeth power--Power! wouldst thou be powerful?”

“Feel my heart again--I fear not thy hand now!”