But her labors were interrupted by the harsh music of war, by gong and tymbalon.
What could she do now?
Nothing.

Nothing?
When she knelt before the altar at Tuebingen before the sun had risen, and the Countess of Montfort felt as if she had given shelter to an Angel, was she doing nothing?
When she lingered in the oratory of our Blessed Mother long after the sun had set, and the menials passed by on tiptoe lest they should mar the celestial expression of her face, was she doing nothing?
There had come a deeper lustre still into the Lady Margaret's eye, and the blush on her cheek mingled not so freely with the pure white in which it was cradled.
Perhaps her head was not so erect--perhaps the line of the back had lost in firmness what it gained in grace.

Already the men and women of Montfort had learned to love and bless her, and as she passed among them serenely and silently, like a spirit of light, and as they marked the strange transparency of her features, they would salute her with a feeling in which awe prevailed, and, after thoughtfully gazing at her awhile, transfer their glance to the skies.

The Lady of Montfort loved to hear the maiden sweetly singing the _Salve Regina_, for which Humbert had invented or selected a melody of singular beauty, but often, when the hymn was concluded, the countess's cheeks would be bathed in tears, and she would fold the Lady Margaret in her arms, and gaze up earnestly into her face.
Gilbert! Gilbert! come read this face of more than earthly beauty! See if the words that haunt you are chiselled there!.