“Adore God, my son!” said Gottfried, overcoming his grief, “and do not murmur!  Especially, my son, do not grow angry, and do not hate!”

“But, grandpapa,” replied Erard, with anguish, “it was he who was struck!  It was my father whom he killed!”

“No, my son; the warrior killed one whom he fancied an enemy, Erard!  Theobald believed himself serving God, and doing a holy work, in killing a Calixtan.”

“He then does not love Jesus—­this poor chevalier!” exclaimed the pious child.  “O, grandpapa, how unhappy he must be!”

“Yes, my son—­very unhappy!” replied Gottfried.  “Do not hate him, therefore, but pray to God for him.  Was it not God who conducted him hither—­and was it not that we might speak to him of Jesus, and that we might love him—­yes, Erard, that we might love him, for the sake of our Saviour?”

“But,” exclaimed the old man, rising and advancing towards the window of his room, “what is this?  What do I see in the distance, toward the rocks, at the entrance to the wood?” Erard looked also, and was sure that he saw men.  “Yes—­soldiers!” exclaimed he; “for I see their helmets glisten.  There are many of them, grandpapa!  Are they coming to kill us also, because we love Jesus?”

“Yes,” continued the old man, without replying to the child; “they are, indeed, soldiers.  But they are marching slowly, and it would seem——­ Ah, my child! they are our own warriors; and it is my son—­it is the body of your father—­that they are bearing.  O God of mercy, support us at this hour!”

“I dare not see him!” exclaimed Erard, running after the old man, who hastened to the road.  “Grandpapa, hide me! hide me, I pray you!”

“Here is some one coming to us,” said Gottfried:  and at the same time, and in the opposite direction, Matthew and Ethbert ran out of the house, from which they had perceived the convoy; and all together hastened to meet a warrior, who advanced, waving a scarf, and exclaiming, “Praise God!  Arnold is living!”

Gottfried staggered, and his servants received him in their arms, where he remained weak and motionless.  Erard embraced him, sobbing.

The soldier, all out of breath, reached them, and taking the cold hands of the old man, said, “Joy, my dear lord!  Bless God! your son is living!  Here he is!  Come, come; he desires your presence—­he calls for you!”

“Grandpapa, he is calling for you!” repeated Erard, approaching the pale countenance of the old man.  “Do not weep any more.  Come, come quickly, and embrace him!”

“O the kindness of God! the mercy of Jesus!” said Gottfried, as he recovered; Arnold is living!  He is restored to me!”—­and leaning on the arms of his servants, he walked to meet the approaching troops.

“My father!—­my son!” was soon heard.  “Let us bless God!  I am restored to you.  He has preserved my life!”

This was Arnold—­who had just perceived his father and his child, and was making an effort to glorify the Lord with them.