Donatus shook his head with a bitter smile.
"Everything else on earth may heal and grow again--a withered stick may blossom again as a sign of grace; the body of the Lord may grow for us in the dryest bread, but eyes cannot grow again--never, never."
He was forced to stand still, a dull groan broke from his lips. He felt something light and soft laid upon his breast; it was the child's hand, she dared not speak, but she longed to comfort him, and a stream of sweet peace seemed to flow from that little hand; the tumult of his despairing heart subsided under that innocent touch. He stood for some time struggling for breath and holding the consoling hand tightly to his breast.
"You heal every pain," he said. "You are one of those of whom the Lord said, 'Behold, in thy hands I have signed thee'--!"
"They belong to you, so you may make use of them; my hands, my eyes--all that I have is yours," said the child, and a solemn thrill ran through the blind man.
The sun shone with pitiless heat down in the valley, the naked cliffs of gneiss and micaceous schist that shut it in reflected the burning rays with double fervour, and out of the sea of glowing vapour uprose the frowning towers of Reichenberg on their rocky height. The girl shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up--a line of armed men at that moment were riding up the mountain-side, at their head a leader on a black horse--the child thought she recognised the Count; she clung to Donatus in terror.
"There they are," she whispered, "they can see us as well as we can see them--your black robe betrays you."
"What can we do?" said Donatus.
"All around is bare--but there is a shepherd's cart and close by it the man himself minding his flock. I will ask him to hide you in it till night-fall--we cannot go on by daylight. I will mind his sheep for him till evening, in return."
"Great God! must another day be wasted without our being any nearer to the goal?" said Donatus.