The white knight stood before her toweringly; but, as she stepped forward, he, with all his power, was forced to give way. “Robert, I bring thee a happy message. The duke of Grenada cannot pass the holy threshold of the cathedral.” “Come, my son, leave this woman.” “And the princess awaits thee.” “Come, let us depart, Robert.” “Thou darest not forget thy oath to her.” “Hasten, Robert, the clock is near the hour, the last hour of my stay. We may not part, my son--my only son--we may not part.” “My heart turns to thee--yet my vow!” “But thy duty--thy duty!” “Our duty,” cried Alice. “Our duty is to him whom thou fearest.” And without fear she stepped up to the white knight. “My son--my only joy--thou wilt not hear her!” “Let him hear me--I speak as I am bidden.” “See, Robert; here is the parchment. Turn from her, fix thine eyes upon me, and let us go, to be for ever near each other.” “And thy mother’s will--O Robert.” Quickly he turned from the tempter to the holy maiden, who held in her hand his mother’s will. “My son, turn thy face from her, and look on me.” “My mother’s writing--my own mother!” As he perused the paper Bertram stretched forth his hands towards the youth, placed them pleadingly together, and even wept. The knight read the paper, and then, looking up from it, the white knight knew that his power was gone, for Robert drew away from him, and taking the hand of Alice, placed it on his own head. As he did so, the clanging of the church-bell told them that midnight was come. Then despair, horrible despair, crept over the face of the white knight. He came one step forward, placed his trembling claw-like hands above the head of the saved knight and vanished. Vanished in the black night, as a wailing cry filled all the air. Saved! the good spirit had saved him--the good spirit working through a poor country girl! See him creeping to the church he spurned till now. Saved--saved! “Holy, holy, holy!” Behold the sanctuary, and the sacred priests, ready with open arms to receive the sinning, but now repentant Robert! And so was the spell his father’s wicked vow entwined about his life, for ever broken and destroyed. So was Robert the Devil transformed to Robert the Man, loving and beloved. IL TROVATORE. (VERDI.) THE MINSTREL. PART I.--THE DUEL. In the fifteenth century, and away in Spain, lived the Count di Luna--he was as handsome as he was implacable, and folks said he was as implacable as death. In the fifteenth century too, and in Spain, a great lord was a petty king, and would as frequently make war against his neighbor on his own account, as on account of their common country. But proud and implacable as he was, he had bowed to the power of love, and weak and pliant in the presence of the Lady Leonora.