"Oh, my dear, dear master," said the child, her voice husky with blissful joy.
But Porphyrius shook his head. "What are you doing, Donatus? I am only a humble lay-brother, but it seems to me that it can be no duty of yours to pick up girls by the wayside, and offer them a home in your affections."
"The brethren picked me up by the wayside, and shall I not pity the forsaken? Rather is it well for me that I may at last know the joys of compassion."
"But you lack moderation in it, as in everything," warned Porphyrius.
"Moderation! Who shall set the limits to loving kindness? This is the first creature to whom I have ever been able to do any good; do you know what that is?"
"A vagabond girl who herself confesses that she has been driven out wherever she went; is she worthy of your kindness?" grumbled the more deliberate monk. "Child," he shouted at her, "confess, why have you not earned your bread honestly by the labour of your hands, why were you hunted from place to place, if no evil report attached to you?"
The girl turned pale and trembled, "I--I cannot tell you."
"What, you hesitate!" cried Porphyrius. "Why do you tremble so if your conscience is clear?"
"Oh, my lord, you will abominate me and drive me away from you."
"Is it so? God preserve us! we have indeed been deceived in you," roared Porphyrius. "Confess at once, confess, are you a witch or a sorceress?"