They had reached St. Mary's, here was the same terrible news. "The Duchess is gone."
"Whither?"
"On a pilgrimage to Trafoy, to the three Holy Wells."
"All-merciful God!"
Trafoy was eight miles away--a day's journey; and his feet would hardly carry him. They must return all the way to Glurns, almost three miles, for there was no path which a blind man could climb across the mountains that divide the three valleys. Past the convent at Münster and the towers of Reichenberg, where they might meet the dreaded Count, once more under the burning sun, over the shadeless fields of Galfa, which they had traversed last night in the cool moonlight, and all this with strength impaired by fever and pain.
"Almighty God, Thy hand is heavy upon me!" sighed Donatus. But he did not pause to consider, he did not hesitate.
"Forwards," he exclaimed seizing the child's hand, "God will help us; Beata, we must go on!"
A short rest, for Beata's sake and not for his own, at the farm in the village he did however allow; once more she dressed his wounds. Then they set out on the whole weary way back to Glurns, and from thence to the wild valley of Trafoy and the three Holy Wells.
"Oh, my brethren, how anxiously you will be waiting," lamented Donatus. "Woe is me, for a useless worm that can only crawl when wings are needed. Woe is me--I have done you an injury by injuring myself, and you were very right to punish me; my eyes belonged to you, I had no right to rob you of them."
"Do not be disheartened, dear master. When we reach Trafoy you can moisten your eyes at the Holy Wells; perhaps that may make you see again."