Franz walked on, silent and astounded, doubting which of them were the wickeder man. "The Sandwirth," resumed he, at length, with a choke in his voice, "has never done me a wrong—on the contrary, nothing but good. It is only Theresa—"
"Ah, if you can put up with that girl's scorn, you can put up with anything," said Father Donay contemptuously.
"I can't put up with it, and won't!" cried Franz; "but it's making her pay pretty dearly, too, if her father gets shot."
"Don't be such a dolt as to suppose it," said Father Donay pacifyingly; "the worst he and she will get is a good fright. He will be tried by court-martial; probably acquitted, or reprimanded, or sentenced to a short imprisonment, from which, at Austria's intercession, he will be released."
"If I were sure of that—" said Franz, hesitating.
"Why, don't you know I speak with authority? You know my credentials pretty well," said Father Donay. "I have all but told you who empowers me—"
"And you have promised me absolution, if any unforeseen evil comes of it—" said Franz, still uneasily.
"How should I do otherwise, my son? I will promise it twenty times, if that will make it any stronger."
"No, no—of course it will not. Well, then, I'll think about it, father: and—"
"And, if somebody else should do it while you are only thinking about it, he'll get the reward instead of you."