"Well, I did not know at the time all that might come of it—I merely amused myself by showing the clumsy proportions to one or two in the camp; but there must have been something pre-ordained—I was but an instrument," said this pious priest. "On coming to am Sand this morning, to look about a little, what should I see but numerous footprints in the new-fallen snow, different from those of any who are supposed to be sleeping in the house, namely, women and children. I dropped on my knees, and—measured them! they were Hofer's! I afterwards tracked them across the pastures, full half a mile, till—plump!—into the snow I sank till it was above my head!"
Franz burst out laughing, and suddenly stopped short, as he saw Father Donay turn red with wrath.
"You are rude to laugh," said the priest, with displeasure. "I nearly lost my life, I can tell you! When I floundered out, I found so many foot-tracks that I got confused, and could make none of them out to be Hofer's; yet, whoever it was who had walked up to that spot, must have turned back or gone on, unless, indeed, they could have been smothered in the snow."
"Which he may have been, in the darkness of night," cried Franz.
"Well, I think not; he might have floundered about as I did," said Father Donay. "Life is equally dear to us all, I suppose.—So, now I leave it to you to find where he is, whether there or anywhere else; and, when you do, you know your reward."
"Well, I can't say I like this job," cried Franz, after a pause. "Do you know, father, in a miracle-play, I once played Judas—"
"Well, you've only got to play Judas again," said the priest, with a sinister smile.
"What, and hang myself?" cried Franz, hoarsely. "Why, father, what is it you are asking me?"
"You fool!" cried Father Donay, in a rage, "the cases are not parallel: your allusion is blasphemous. Let me hear no more of it, I pray."