The Hour Will Come Part 23

"Nothing," said the child, for in truth she herself did not know.

"But you cannot wander about the world alone in this fas.h.i.+on," said Donatus.

"Alone! I shall be with you," answered the girl.

"But think, what will your mother say?"

The child's eyes filled with tears. "My mother is dead," said she.

"And your father?"

"He is dead too."

"Then you are an orphan?"

"Yes."

"That makes a good pair, an orphan and a blind man. Where is your home?"

"Nowhere."

"You must have been born somewhere."

"I do not know."

"But how came you here, what were you seeking in this neighbourhood?"

"I was looking for you."

"Leave her alone," Porphyrius whispered in Donatus' ear. "Do you not perceive that she is no mortal being?"

Donatus drew back a step. "What do you mean?"

"It is a spirit that has taken a maiden's form--your guardian spirit sent to you by G.o.d--believe me. Do not press her any more with questions or you will drive her away."

Donatus pondered on the marvel for a while, "Suppose it were a demon?"

he said.

"You say that only because you are blind; if you could see you could not doubt," Porphyrius persisted. But Donatus made the sign of the cross over her and drew his missal from his breast.

"If thou art born of woman or sent by G.o.d, kiss this book; but if thou art come from the nethermost pit to lead us astray, depart--in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost," and he held up the open book before her to exorcise her. She seized his hand and drew it towards her with the book to kiss it. It was still warm from the fevered heart on which it had been lying, and she pressed her lips to it long and fervently. It seemed to Donatus that the book was part of his very self, and he felt the kiss as she impressed it on the book.

"She is pure," he said, and concealed the breviary again in his bosom.

"If then you will accompany me, come on. I will ask you no more questions. If you will tell me whence you come, do so unquestioned."

The girl was silent, she knew not what to say; she took up the sick man's scrip and slung it over her shoulder with her own.

"What are you doing?" asked Donatus, feeling himself suddenly relieved of the weight.

"I will carry it for you."

"Nay indeed you shall not; you are yourself but a tender child."

"Yes, let me, let me, I will do it willingly, it is for you," said the child and they set forward. But Donatus still paused for a moment. "The log that I was carrying for a cross, can I leave that?"

"Yes, let it lie, you have cross enough in your blindness."

"Do you hear?" Porphyrius said in a low awe-stricken tone. "It is G.o.d that speaks by her."

"Then break off a twig from it and give it me that I may keep it, it will bring me a blessing."

The little girl ran back and broke off a twig which she brought to him.

"If you will only wait a few minutes longer I will make you a wreath of leaves from the little tree so that the sun may not burn your head."

The two men were quite content to do everything the child wished, was not her will G.o.d's will? And with nimble fingers that moved as if by magic, the little one twined a broad wreath to give a cool shade to the wounded man's burning head; then they went on again.

"Let me lead you, I shall do it better," said the child, and she took the blind man's hand from that of the other monk. This too they agreed to, and Donatus felt as if the child's touch infused new strength into him.

"There is a blessing in your hand, it leads me softly," he said gratefully.

The little girl was silent, only her eyes told of unutterable happiness as she looked speechlessly up at him. And on went the three, now over slippery mora.s.ses, now over green hills and fields, and after taking the little girl's hand the blind man's foot stumbled no more, and the thorns no longer tore him; she carefully cleared every stone out of his path; where it was uneven she warned him by word or sign and guided his steps slowly and cautiously. No mother could guide her child, no sister tend her infant brother, no angel lead a soul to Heaven, as she watched over the blind man in his helplessness. The girl's pure breath fanned him like forest-airs when her bosom rose and fell quickly from some steep ascent or the fatigue of guiding him. He neither saw nor heard her; for her little bare feet went on by his side as softly as those of a fairy, he only felt her. He felt as if an angel of pity was walking by his side to cool his deadly pain with the waving of tender wings.

They spoke no word and yet they understood each other as spirits do without any earthly speech. What they could say to each other was but little and very simple, but what they told in that dumb discourse was higher than human wit and worldly wisdom and echoed in their soul like angelic hymns.

It was by this time noon; the sun brooded hotly on the gorgeous landscape. The wanderers took their first rest outside the village of Glurns in the shade of the churchyard wall and eat their meagre meal, while far and near the solemn noontide peal was rung. The glaciers looked down kind and radiant from above the high cliffs of micaceous schist, which, turning here towards the south-east, form the opening of the gorge of the Munster-thal. Far and wide, spread a picture of blooming life and st.u.r.dy strength; villages and towns lay scattered all round while, veiled in the misty noon-tide blue, the haughty walls of the fortresses of Reichenberg and Rotund stared down from their rocky eminence like border watchers over the Munsterthal overlooking the smiling plain.

Porphyrius looked across at them with grave consideration. "I would we were only safely past Reichenberg," he exclaimed. "They can overlook the whole valley from thence and it seems to me that it is dangerous to take the road by day; our dress will betray us and we might be carried prisoners to the castle."

"Does any danger threaten you from thence?" asked the girl.

"Yes," said Porphyrius anxiously.

"Then let us rest in the wood till nightfall," the little one counselled, "and take the road at dusk."

"That will not do, we might lose our way in the dark," said Porphyrius.

"Not if I lead you; oh no! I am used to find my way in the dark," and a shadow of deep pain pa.s.sed across her face as she spoke. Porphyrius looked at her much disappointed. "Do you not come from higher realms than we do?"

"Oh G.o.d knows!" sighed the child, folding her little hands across her bosom. "My foot has carried me as a fugitive about the world all the days of my life, and my eyes shun the light like a nightbird's, for the sun has rarely shone on me. I have hidden myself by day in the darkness of the wood and walked about at night."

"G.o.d preserve us!" cried Porphyrius, signing himself with a cross.

"That is a hard lot," said Donatus.

"Oh, it was well that it should be so, for thus I am able to guide you wherever you must go in the dark."

"But, you poor child, you were not born merely to be my guide," said Donatus compa.s.sionately.

"What for then?" asked the child.