“And who tells you that this is one?” rejoined Ordener, whose eyes were not blinded by fear. “Keep up your courage, my valiant guide; I recognize this traveller. Let us wait for him.”
The keeper was forced to submit. A moment later the horseman came up with them, and Spiagudry ceased to tremble when he saw the grave, calm face of the chaplain, Athanasius Munder.
The latter greeted them with a smile, and reined in his steed, saying in an almost breathless voice, “My dear children, it is for your sake that I retrace my steps; and the Lord will surely not permit my absence, prolonged with a charitable intent, to injure those who sorely need my presence.”
“Sir minister,” answered Ordener, “we shall be happy to aid you in any way we can.”
“On the contrary, it is I, noble young man, who desire to serve you. Will you deign to tell me the object of your journey?”
“Reverend sir, I cannot.”
“All I ask, my son, is that your refusal may proceed from inability, and not from distrust. If not, I am indeed unhappy! Unhappy is he whom the good man distrusts, even if he have seen him but once!”
The priest’s modesty and unction touched Ordener deeply.
“All that I can tell you, Father, is that we are bound to the mountains of the North.”
“So I thought, my son, and that is why I followed you. There are bands of roving hunters and miners in those mountains who might injure travellers.”