Without rising she sang one of those simple ballads which even insanity could not make her forget.

The lady of Stramen patiently permitted her to proceed without interruption.

But the moment her strange companion was silent, she minted to the knife, exclaiming: "Is this blood, Bertha ?" Still kneeling, the woman began: The chieftain swore on bended knee, That blood for blood should flow-- Then leaped upon his coal-black steed, And spurred against the foe.
"Has anyone hurt you ?" continued Margaret.
But 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.