The blind man spread out his arms as though he would clasp them all in one embrace, "If I had eyes to weep, my brethren, it should be for you all and not for myself."
The Abbot could contain himself no longer; with a cry of anguish he flung himself upon Donatus; "My son, my son--why have you done this to me?"
The youth sank into his arms with unutterable affection and they stood in close embrace through a long silence.
But even these loving arms, which had once rescued him from Correntian's iron grip, could not save him now; that iron hand tore him from them and led him away--an unresisting prey. Correntian remained the victor.
"Let us mourn and fast for forty days, my brethren, as for one that is dead," said the Abbot to the conclave. "And send for brother Eusebius--why is he not here?--He must bind up that poor boy's eyes to the best of his skill--the law does not forbid that," and as he spoke he tottered and put out his hand to cling to the man nearest to him--the strong man's powers were spent and the brethren had to support him, or he would have fallen.
Correntian led his victim down the slippery dungeon stair; two of the convent servants followed him with hand-cuffs. They reached the damp vault in silence. Correntian led his prisoner to a bed made of a heap of straw in a corner, close to which, riveted to the wall, were the rings to which he was to be fastened.
"Chains too?" said Donatus; and in the tone in which he spoke these two words there was something which penetrated even Correntian's hard heart to that secret human core, which up to this minute no lament, no dying sigh of any mortal had ever touched; but he strangled the emotion before it found birth, and said calmly, "So it must be."
"If it is possible," said Donatus humbly, "spare me that--Yet, not my will but thine be done."
"So it must be," repeated Correntian, and the lad was silent. Only once he pressed his hand on the bandage which covered his burning sockets, then he submissively held out his trembling hands for the chains; it was quickly done, the irons were riveted and the servants went away. The two monks were alone.
"Now you have indeed preserved yourself from temptation!" cried Correntian, as Donatus dropped his fettered hands without a sound of lamentation passing his lips. "Martyr! open the eyes of your soul, the crown is hanging above your head!"