The woman and the girl looked in alarm at the powerful man; but after a pause he spoke more calmly,
"I am the Count of Reichenberg," he said, "whose guilty wife gave this child into your charge."
"Great God!" cried the nurse, crossing herself. "Do not harm her, my lord, she could not help it."
The count's gaze gradually softened as he looked at the girl's childish beauty.
"No, you cannot help it. You have your mother's eyes, but they are not false like hers. I forgave her on her death-bed, and how could I be cruel to you? By Heaven, the child bewitches me as her mother did before her. Be off with your sick nurse there to Reichenberg; you shall no longer wander about homeless. Give this ring to the warder as a token that I have sent you, and that he is to take you in to the castle, and take care of you. I shall come after you later, but first I have important work to do in this neighbourhood."
"Thank you, my lord, and may God reward you," cried the nurse, who was almost bewildered by such unexpected good fortune; "I cannot get so far, for I feel my end is near, but the child--I will send her to you at once."
But the little girl shook her head, and threw the ring from her.
"No," she said, "I will not go with the strange man, I will stay with you, mother."
"Child, do not be foolish; when I am dead, what then?"
"Then I will stay with the angel, he will take care of me."
"Oh, you silly child!" wailed the woman. "He cannot help you, for he is only a man, and is himself shut up a prisoner among the monks there."
"Then I will go to the blessed maidens that they may set him free," said the child confidently.
The Count had not been listening to the last words; he had thrown himself on horseback and set off again--away through wind and weather, straight across country, over roots and broken branches in fevered haste, to the heath of Mals, and he raised his fist threateningly at the convent on the height where the gleaming windows shone far out over the dark scene around.
Up in the convent all were astir. The monks were assembled for a solemn and fearful task; they were sitting in judgment on a breach of their holy rule--the crime of self-mutilation--of which Donatus was guilty.
This was _culpa gravis_, punishable by the heaviest penance that could be inflicted.