"Have you heard what threatens us?" asked the Abbot.
"I was standing behind the door. I kept myself discreetly hidden, for when he slashed about him with his sword it struck me that my whole head might be of more service to you than the half."
"What do you mean?" asked the Abbot.
"We are lost--lost even if we had reared a whole garden-full of such holy fruit for the Lord. Why! did you ever see a tree escape the lightning because its fruit was good? Has not the Almighty let many a cloister perish for all that it seemed a pity? Think of our convent at Schuls that was burnt to the ground, and yet it was no man's fault! But this time you yourselves are in fault! You should have listened to me when I warned you; now it has come upon you. The Count of Reichenberg neither can nor will forgive you. Either you must give the boy up to him--" a cry of horror interrupted him, but he proceeded with his speech undisturbed--"or he will hack you in pieces with your protectors and your handful of people, so that at the last day there will be no knowing the bones of priest and peasant apart. There is one, only one, who can save us--Donatus!"
"And how is that?" asked the Abbot.
"Do you not remember how he bewitched the Duchess, and how she said, 'Send this lad to me and whatsoever you desire shall be granted.'"
"Aye, aye!" murmured the brethren, beginning to understand him. "But she will turn from him in horror, now."
"Nonsense! if he pleased her then when he had his pious eyes, he will please her twice as much now because he has put them out for piety's sake. Such a thing melts a woman's heart with pity. The Duchess is now staying at Münster--Count Reichenberg is ruled by the Duke and he is ruled by the Duchess--send the boy to her and she will help us."
"It seems to me brethren, that brother Wyso's counsel is good," said the Abbot.
"Listen to me," cried Correntian; but the excited monks would listen to him no longer.