A minute had changed his face, as if a year had been ravaging there: it was so furrowed, so haggard.

He gazed but an instant at his daughter; then hid his face again, muttering but one word: "Margaret!" "Father," said the maiden to Father Omehr, who now stood at her at her pillow, "is Albert of Hers at home ?" The missionary nodded.
"Let him know that Margaret of Stramen, on her death-bed, entreated him to fly here without a moment's delay." Even the sound of that hated name produced no perceptible impression upon the heart-broken baron.

The Count Montfort, who had just entered the room, suddenly exclaimed: "I, myself, will deliver your message, my child, as quickly as horse can speed." Margaret endeavored to thank him, but, exhausted by excitement and exertion, she fell back upon her pillow.

The countess prudently led the unresisting father from the room, and despatched Henry to administer to his grief.
"I am changed," said Margaret to the missionary, as she recovered.
"God has changed you for Himself, my child," replied the old man, struggling with the weakness of human nature, for he had known and loved her from her infancy.
"I have hoped so, even in the recollection of my many sins, for His mercy is infinite.

May He uphold and strengthen my father, and teach him to rejoice in the change he now deplores!" The countess left the room, and once more the Lady Margaret opened her soul to her first confessor.
The baron knelt all night beside his dying child.