And well might they peal more merrily then, than at birth, or marriage, or earthly conquest.

Tears were falling fast around the bed; yet only the body wept--the soul was exulting.
On the morning of the third day after the Lady Margaret's death, a funeral procession could be seen slowly approaching, within sight of the ruins of Stramen Castle and the blackened Church of the Nativity.

The peasantry, who were expecting it, had gone forth to meet the remains of their dearly loved lady, and rosy children were scattering flowers before the bier.

They could not repress some tears and sighs for their benefactress, yet they knew it was for themselves they grieved, not for her they had lost.

How they wondered at first--and how their wonder melted into joyous thanksgivings, to see the Lord of Hers supporting the now humble and contrite Baron of Stramen! The mourners--if such they may be called--entered the grave-yard, which was near the church, and had not been violated by the sacrilegious marauders, and halted before a new-made grave.