But suddenly he started up. "Great God!" exclaimed he, "time is flying and I am delaying and dreaming. Come, Beata, 'of hearts the truest,' lead me onward."
And on they went again, on and on, these two who might not rest; but was it the intoxicating perfume of the heath-flower, or his rising fever that made his steps uncertain? He knew not which; but he felt that his strength was failing.
"Hold Thou me up, O Lord!--for this day only hold Thou me up, till I have brought succour to my brethren!" so he prayed fervently, as he put his arm round the girl's shoulders for a firmer support.
"Am I too heavy for you?"
"Oh no--never!" cried the child, though she could hardly hold herself up under the beloved burden, for her long walk through the night had by degrees crippled even her young limbs and made them feel like lead. But she would rather have died than he should know it.
"Poor little one, how much rather would I carry you!" he said, and he involuntarily dropped his head on to hers which reached just to his shoulder. He felt her silky hair like a soft pillow under his cheek, and the breath of her lips came up to him like incense. Then he whispered softly--and the words sounded like a sad caress--
"Is it your heart that I have to carry in my breast that is so heavy that my feet totter under the weight of it?"
"If love and truth can be weighed in an earthly scale, then, indeed, dear master, you could hardly carry it."
"I could almost believe that you are a witch, and that your little heart was an incubus that weighed on mine!"
"What you too! you say so?" cried Beata pitifully. "Then it must be true."