“You must lean on me, Father; the night air is fresh and bracing, and after a little it will revive you.”
The old man rose without speaking, and taking my arm, began the descent of the mountain. His steps, however, were tottering and uncertain, his breathing hurried and difficult, and his carriage indicated the very greatest debility.
“I cannot do it, my son,” said he, sinking upon the grassy bench which skirted the way; “you must leave me. It matters little now where this frail body rests; a few hours more, and the rank grass will wave above it and the rain beat over it unfelt. Let us part here: an old man's blessing for all your kindness will follow you through life, and may cheer you to think on hereafter.”
“Do you then suppose I could leave you thus?” said I, reproachfully. “Is it so you think of me?”
“My minutes are few now, my child,” replied he, more solemnly, “and I would pass the last moments of my life alone. Well, then, if you will not,—leave me now for a little, and return to me; by that time my mind will be calmer, and mayhap, too, my strength greater, and I may be able to accompany you to the village.”
I acceded to this proposal the more willingly, because it afforded me the hope of finding some means to convey him to Heimbach; and so, having wrapped him carefully in my cloak, I hastened down the mountain at the top of my speed.
The zigzag path by which I went discovered to me from time to time the lights of the little hamlet, which twinkled star-like in the valley; and as I drew nearer, the confused hum of voices reached me. I listened, and to my amazement heard the deep, hoarse bray of a trumpet. How well I knew that sound! it was the night-call to gather in the stragglers. I stopped to listen; and now, in the stillness, could mark the tramp of horsemen and the clank of their equipments: again the trumpet sounded, and was answered by another at some distance. The road lay straight below me at some hundred yards off, and leaving the path, I dashed directly downwards just as the leading horsemen of a small detachment came slowly up. To their loud Qui vive? I answered by giving an account of the sick man, and entreating the sergeant who commanded the party to lend assistance to convey him to the village.
“Yes, parbleu! that we will,” said the honest soldier; “a priest who has made the campaign of Egypt and Austria is worthy of all our care. Where is he?”
“About a mile from this; but the road is not practicable for a horseman.”
“Well, you shall have two of my men; they will soon bring him hither.” And as he spoke, he ordered two troopers to dismount, who, quickly disencumbering themselves of their sabres, prepared to follow me.