shook his head sorrowfully. Instead of the angels' song, he heard the
beat of horses' hoofs coming nearer and nearer. The open heavens had
closed again; he lay a poor exhausted mortal, with burning brow, beside
the road.

Duchess Agnes, after visiting the new church at Rottenpach, rode past him
on her return to Nuremberg.

Neither she nor her train heeded the old monk. But the Italian who, as
she rode by, had been attracted by the noble features of the aged man,
whose eyes still sparkled with youthful enthusiasm, gazed at him
enquiringly. Her glance met his, and the Minorite's wrinkled features
wore a look of eager enquiry. He longed to rise and ask the name of the
black-eyed lady at the duchess's side. But ere he could stand erect, the
party had passed on.

Disturbed in mind, and scarcely able to set one sore foot before the
other, he dragged himself forward.

Before he reached Rottenpach he met one of the duchess's pages who had
remained at the village forge and was now riding after his mistress.
Father Benedictus called to him, and the boy, awed by the grey-haired
monk, answered his questions, and told him that the lady on the horse
with the white star on its face was the duchess's Italian singing
mistress, Caterina de Celano.

Every drop of blood receded from the Minorite's fever-flushed cheeks, and
the page was about to spring from his saddle to support him, but the monk
waved him back impatiently, and by the exertion of all his strength of
will forced himself to stagger on.