Gerhardt held on but a little longer. Doubly branded, and more brutally scourged than the rest, he was so ill from the first that he had to be helped along by Wilhelm and Conrad, two of the strongest in the little company. How Ermine fared they knew not: they could only tell that when they reached Bensington, she was no longer among them. Most of the children sank early. Little Rudolph fared the best, for a young mother who had lost her baby gave him such poor nourishment as she could from her own bosom. It was just as they came out of Dorchester, that they laid him down tenderly on a bed of leaves in a sheltered corner, to sleep out his little life. Then they passed on, still southwards--still singing "Glory to God in the highest!" and "Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake!" Oh, what exquisite music must have floated up through the gates of pearl, and filled the heavenly places, from that poor faint song, breathed by those trembling voices that could scarcely utter the notes! A few hours later, and only one dark figure was left tottering through the snow. Old Berthold was alone. Snow everywhere!--and the night fell, and the frost grew keen; and Bensington had not long been left behind when old Berthold lay down in the ditch at the road-side. He had sung his last song, and could go no further. He could only wait for the chariot of God--for the white-winged angels to come silently over the white snow, and carry him Home. "The Lord will not forget me, though I am the last left," he said to himself. "His blessings are not mere empty words. `Glory to God in the highest!'" And Berthold slept. "Rudolph!" The word was breathed softly, eagerly, by some moving thing closely wrapped up, in the dense darkness of the field outside Dorchester. There was no answer. "Rudolph!" came eagerly again. The speaker, who was intently listening, fancied she heard the faintest possible sound. Quickly, quietly, flitting from one point to another, feeling with her hands on the ground, under the bushes, by the walls, she went, till her outstretched hands touched something round and soft, and not quite so chillingly cold as every thing else seemed to be that night. "Rudolph! art thou here?" "Yes, it's me," said the faint childish voice. "Where am I?--and who are you?" "Drink," was the answer; and a bottle of warm broth was held to the boy's blue lips. Then, when he had drunk, he was raised from the ground, clasped close to a woman's warm breast, and a thick fur mantle was hastily wrapped round them both. "Who are you?" repeated the child. "And where--where's Mother?" "I am an old friend, my little child. Hast thou ever heard the name of Countess?" "Yes," murmured the child feebly. He could not remember yet how or where he had heard it; he only knew that it was not strange to him. "That is well. Glory be to the Blessed that I have found thee in time to save thee!"