The poor little head had sunk wearily on his breast like a scared bird, he felt her painful breathing, and rage and grief gave him a giant's strength; still the imprudent monk ventured once more to try to part them, but the fist of his aggravated companion, though blindly aimed, hit his temple so that he fell tottering on to a stone and lay there unconscious.
"Woe is me!" cried Donatus who heard the heavy fall. "Is he dead?"
The child knelt down by the fallen foe and rubbed his brow and temples. "No, he is alive, but he has hit himself against a stone and is bleeding."
"Great God, what have I done? Raised my hand against a brother; what evil spirit possesses me? God have mercy upon me!"
The girl meanwhile had sprinkled water on the unconscious man and he opened his eyes; Donatus stood by wringing his hands and helpless. The monk pointed up in the direction of Reichenberg. "Look there!" he exclaimed.
The little girl looked up--lights were glancing in the castle, and just above a low copse they could see the heads of men on horseback who were riding quickly down the road.
"Those are the Count's men--we are lost!" groaned the wounded monk, "If you are not wholly a child of hell, save him, in God's name."
"And you? can you not come with us?" she asked.
"No, my strength fails me, I cannot stand; leave me, it matters little; but everything depends on him, save him and God will show you mercy for his sake."
The riders were already turning the corner of the copse. "Away, away!"