"I will follow you, as faithful as a dog, for that is my destiny--but free--of my own free will. I will not be imprisoned, I will not be shut up, if you mean to rob me of my freedom, I will fly from you--and no one will ever be able to find me again."
"Woe to you, Beata! will you spurn the salvation that I offer you? Unhappy child. To-morrow I must go home to my convent and then you will see me no more. What then will be your lot? You will wander about homeless as before, and hunger and freeze, while there you would find food and nurture for soul and body."
"Do you think I am afraid of hunger and cold? I--the homeless, the vagabond? Offer a wild dove the handsomest cage under a roof, the Host for food and holy water to drink--it will sooner creep into a hollow tree in the hardest winter, and starve rather than be captive. And the Lord will have pity on the wild bird and will forgive it, for it is He himself that has made it so that it cannot live except in freedom."
Donatus stood still in astonishment and drew his hand out of hers.
"Child! what spirit is this that speaks in you? What power possesses you? You fear not that which man fears--that which tempts others does not tempt you; nothing earthly has any influence over you and you are sacred in your innocence. The beasts of the forest spare you, and sin cannot touch you. Yes, your simplicity has vanquished me, and I bow before your childish wisdom. I will lead you on, wild dove, according to your destiny. Perhaps, indeed, God has called you to bear the olive leaf to some lonely and erring soul that it may be reconciled to humanity." He took her hand again and walked on. "Now lead the blind traveller to his goal and then spread your wings and fly away--my soul will know where to find you, flee where you will. And when storms rave round our towers and a feeble wing beats against my window, when the snow covers the land and the starving birds crave their crumbs of us--then I will think of my wild dove out in the wood--God preserve her!"
He was suddenly silent; a strange and unfamiliar pain overcame him, and the words died on his lips. The child looked up at the stars with moistened eyes and an expression of immutable faith on her innocent brow. Those stars above could never purpose that they should part--it could not be--nay, it would never happen.
They neither of them spoke again till the towers of Saint Gertrude's were visible through the darkness. The little girl's heart beat faster for all her confidence, and she involuntarily slackened her pace as they neared the spot. But at last they had reached it, they stood at the gate--the moment of parting was come.
CHAPTER IV.
"The Duchess is gone," was the terrible news which the porter announced to Donatus. "There is no one here now of all the court but Count Reichenberg, whom the Duchess came here to seek. Will you speak with him?"
"God have mercy! Let me go--quickly--away at once!" cried Donatus, "he must not see me, not for worlds. Tell me which way the Duchess went, and can I overtake her?"