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!

CHAPTER IX

  Glory is like a circle in the water,
  which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
  Till, by wide spreading, it disperse to nought.

  SHAKESPEARE.

The battle of Fladenheim was fought just as Gregory VII was opening his seventh synod at Rome.  Hardly had the ancient canons been renewed and Guibert of Ravenna excommunicated, before the envoys of Rodolph appeared, and, after reciting Henry’s fresh iniquities, supplicated their master’s coronation and his rival’s deposition.

The Pope had not failed to invite his impious antagonist to abide by his decision, but his recent defeat seemed only to have confirmed his obstinacy.  It was evident that Henry would keep the field while a hope of success remained, and that peace could not be recovered but by the complete triumph of one of the hostile parties.  The Pontiff no longer hesitated.  Since all hope of an amicable adjustment had fled, the interests of the Church and of mankind required the ascendency of Rodolph; and Gregory saw that to withhold his sanction now, was to peril his cause, or at least to prolong the contest.  The victory of Fladenheim had calmed the impetuosity of the Italian nobles who burned to declare for Henry; and they were disposed to preserve a safe neutrality.  The cruelties and vices of the Franconian were past endurance; the moment for which the Suabian so patiently and yet so ardently looked, had at length arrived.  Rising