"My lord," said he, "the winter-night sky was my parental roof; the bare earth was my cradle; the snow-storm sweeping down from the heights gave me the first fatherly kiss. Hunger and cold, exhaustion and death were the nurses that tended your wife in her need. Pitying love came in monk's garb through the night, and snow, and storm, and snatched the deserted woman and child from the cruel earth, and carried them home, and warmed them, and laid them on a soft bed. And when my mother succumbed to her miseries, again they were monks--these whom you see here--that made me a cradle in the name of Him who is Love. They have carried me in their arms, they have sheltered and tended me, and watched over me all my life; and shall I leave them and follow a stranger only because an accidental tie of blind nature binds me to him? My lord, sooner could I tear all love out of my heart, as I have torn out my eyes, than do such a thing!"
The Count had listened to the words of the son he had lost with apparent composure, but he now said to the Abbot in a sullen tone, and with lips that were white with anger,
"That will do; command him to follow me without resistance, or mischief will come of all this."
The Abbot drew back a step. "I cannot," he said; "I desired him to choose, I cannot compel him."
The Count grew paler and colder.
"Then I will compel him," he answered. "Send down to the village for a strong horse that may carry me and the boy."
"My lord," urged the Abbot, "you surely will not against his will--"
"Do you think I will entreat him any longer? He must obey, willingly or not; he is my son, and he belongs to me," and with a rapid movement he snatched the enfeebled boy from the midst of the brethren, and threw his mailed arm round his slight form. "Sooner would I throw you to the wolves, unnatural child, than leave you here with these monks, and come what may, I will carry you away."
"Oh, God, help me!" cried the blind man, and in an instant the brethren had flung themselves on the father, and freed the son; the solitary man was forced to yield to numbers. Donatus clung to the Abbot and Correntian who supported him. The Count drew his sword.
"You will have it!" he cried. "Then take it," and he flew like an infuriated wild boar on the unarmed group, so that the foremost recoiled in terror.