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 ?" "He is scarce a mile off." "It is well," she continued, lifting up her large black eyes; "God has designed it all! And now," she resumed, after a brief pause, "we must be alone until the baron comes." At a signal from the missionary, Albert of Hers and the wondering peasants silently withdrew.
The half hour that elapsed before Sir Sandrit's appearance, seemed like an age to the Baron of Hers, who in an agony of suspense paced up and down the clearing before the cottage.