Aranka drew still closer, that she might see the object pointed out; her head rested on Judith's shoulder, but she could not discern anything, for the starry beam of the blue eye cannot pierce the distance, like the more fiery ray of the black eye.
In a few minutes the form became more distinct, and the timid blush of love flitted over the young girl's cheek, while a deep flush of anger mantled on the mother's.
"It is he, my beloved!" murmured Aranka, pressing her small hand on her heart, as if to still the little flutterer.
"He has no arms!" cried Judith with horror, as she turned away her head, and covered her eyes with her hand; for, though still indistinct to others, the gentle girl recognised her lover, and the mother had seen her son's disgrace.
With slow and uncertain steps the figure approached; his head hung dejectedly on his breast, and he appeared to move with pain.
On seeing the women assembled in the churchyard, he bent his steps thither.
They all now recognised Judith's son, and surrounded the mother as he approached.
The churchyard moat lay between the mother and her son. Unable to cross it, the young man sank on the ground before it. His clothes were torn and covered with blood, and his hand endeavoured to conceal a wound in his breast.
"Where have you left your arms?" cried his mother in a stern voice, advancing from among the crowd.
He would have replied, that he had left it in his enemy's heart; but he had not strength to speak, and the words died on his mouth.