Margaret shuddered, for she naturally saw in that quick gesture a confirmation of her worst fears.

For some moments they gazed at each other in mute anxiety.

Bertha was the first to break the silence, and her words revived a gleam of hope in the bosom of her companion.
"No! no!" she exclaimed, slowly and sternly, "his blood must not mix with mine!" "Is there poison here ?" pursued the lady, in a low searching tone.
She received in reply: There was no poison on the steel That robbed Sir James of breath; There was no poison on the blade That well avenged his death.
Greatly relieved, but still unsatisfied, the high-born damsel sprang to her feet.
"It is the blood of Hers!" she cried, exultingly.
The maniac's face assumed a look of savage triumph.
"Then will I keep this blood-stained instrument as a precious jewel.
Farewell, Bertha; you shall hear from me soon." She passed rapidly through the narrow aperture by which she had entered, leaving Bertha in blank amazement, utterly unable to comprehend what had passed.
Emerging from the dark ravine, the Lady Margaret rode straight toward the old castle of Stramen, whose gray towers retained their sombre majesty, which the merry sun could not entirely dispel.

It was not long before she passed the drawbridge, sped through the massive gate, and reined in her palfrey upon the ample terrace; when, having thrown her bridle to an attendant, she proceeded at once to her chamber, and summoned Linda, the old domestic, to her side.
"You are skilled in such matters, Linda," she said, producing the knife, before the faithful neif had finished her salutation; "is there poison on this blade ?" Linda took the knife, and having examined it attentively, returned it to her mistress; after which she left the room, making a signal that she would soon return.

After the lapse of a few minutes, she reappeared with a vessel of boiling water, which she placed upon a marble slab.