As soon as an opportunity offered, Abbot Cralo told them about the fate of his monastery. "This time," he began, "the danger came upon us almost unawares. Scarcely had one spoken of the Huns, when the ground was already resounding, with the tramp of their horses hoofs. 'Sharp,' was the word now. The pupils of the cloister-school, I hastily sent over to the fortress of Wasserburg. Aristotle and Cicero will probably get somewhat dusty; the boys catching fish in the Bodensee, instead of studying the classics,--if they do not get more serious work to do. The old teachers fled with them over the water, in good time. We others had made ourselves a sort of stronghold, as a refuge. Where the Sitter-brook rushes through the narrow, fir-grown valley, we found an excellent hiding-place, which we thought no heathenish bloodhound would ever sniff out. There, we built ourselves a strong house, with towers and walls; and we consecrated it to the holy Trinity,--who I trust will protect it. "We had scarcely finished it, when the messengers from the lake came, crying: 'fly, the Huns are coming!' Then there came others from the Rhine valley, and 'fly!' was again the word. The sky was already dyed red, from conflagrations and camp-fires; the air was filled with the shrieks of people flying and the creaking of retreating cartwheels. So we also set out. Gold and jewels; St. Gallus' and St. Othmar's coffins, in fact all our treasures were first safely hidden; the books being carried off before to the Wasserburg, by the boys. So we left the monastery; not thinking much about eating and drinking; some scanty provisions, only having been brought to our retreat in the wood, beforehand. Thither we now went in great haste. Only on the road, the brothers perceived that we had left the blind Thieto behind in his cell; but nobody ventured to return for him, as the ground was so to say, already burning under our feet. Thus we remained for several days quietly hidden in our firwood; often jumping up at night, to seize our arms, fancying the enemy were outside; but it was but the rushing of the Sitter, or the rustling of the wind in the tree-tops. One evening however, a clear voice, demanded admittance; and on opening the door, in came Burkhard, the cloister-pupil; haggard and tired to death. Out of friendship for Romeias the cloister-watchman, he had remained behind, without our noticing it. He was the bearer of evil tidings. The terror of that which he had seen, had turned some of the hairs on his young head, quite grey."--Abbot Cralo's voice here began to tremble. He stopped a moment to take a draught of wine. "The Lord be merciful to all christian departed ones," said he with emotion. "His blessing be with them, and may He let them rest in peace." "Amen," said the others. "Of whom are you thinking?" asked the Duchess. Praxedis had left her place and gone behind her mistress's chair, where she stood breathlessly watching Abbot Cralo's lips.