In powerful terms the gray-haired priest portrayed the miseries of discord, and the blessings of mutual forbearance; and Gilbert felt that a change was creeping over him.
He left the church when the Holy Sacrifice had been completed, meditating upon the pastor's powerful exhortation.

But the train of his thoughts was broken upon the steps by that wild face almost touching his.

As the maniac stared fixedly at him, she muttered in a hoarse whisper: They laid him 'neath a noisy tree, And his glossy head was bare; They piled the cold earth on his breast, Then left him helpless there.
While the youth listened in amazement, and almost in terror, the frantic woman drew from her bosom a long knife, and inflicted a deep wound upon him before he could wrench it from her determined grasp.

The knife had penetrated to the rib, but not farther, having glanced off to the side.
As the blood spread rapidly over his hunting-shirt, the maniac gave a wild laugh, and repeated in the same low, dismal tone: 'T is red, 't is red, as red as his; Man's blood is ever red; 'T was thus his side was crimsoned o'er When they told me he was dead.
With the last words, she laughed again, more wildly than before, and, darting into the wood, was soon lost among the gigantic trees.
Some serfs were standing around, but offered no assistance.

They seemed rooted to the ground in terror at the rash act, and crossed themselves in mute astonishment.