Hofer, for a few days, was paralysed. He left Innsbruck, now nearly deserted by his men, and returned to the Passeyrthal, to consider what was to be done in this strait. As he approached _am Sand_ by the little winding road among meadows that nearly passes the church, he heard a loved voice on the other side of the hedge; and another, neither loved nor lovely, but of unpleasant quality, alternating with it. They were not close to him, but drawing nearer, and every word, through the clear air, was distinguishable. "I don't think so, father." "You will find it so, daughter. And if Hofer has any sense in his head, he will do as I say. It is decreed by Providence that the French shall be victorious; and if he opposes that decree, he will find himself knocking his head against a stone wall. He might even do this and welcome, if his own head only were concerned; but when his refusing to lay down arms, or to call on his countrymen to do so, compromises their safety, it is nothing short of selfish cruelty." "Can it be so?" thought Hofer, pressing his hand to his brow, in painful reflection, as the voices now retired from him. He sat down under the hedge to try to settle his mind; but he could not. While thus sadly engaged, his faithful dog flew up to him, and leaping gladly upon him, prevented him from further reflection; so he rose and walked towards _am Sand_. Just outside the house stood Theresa, and the companion he had heard talking with her, a priest,--of a very different sort from Father Joachim. This man, with whom Hofer had had some previous acquaintance, had a narrow brow, a cunning eye, and something subtle in his gait and voice. As for Theresa, it could be seen by a very slight motion of the back of her neck, that she was displeased with him, and would not assent to what he said. "Ah! here's father!" joyfully exclaimed she, as she turned round and saw Hofer. Running to embrace him, she hastily whispered into his ear, "Here is a tiresome, cunning French priest, who wants to unsettle us all." Hofer's reverence for the church made him give a respectful reception to Father Donay, who, while supper was preparing, drew him into the gallery running round the first floor of the house, and there talked to him long and earnestly. "Is the soup nearly ready, mother?" said Theresa impatiently. "Nearly, child." "Then I shall call them in, for it will be quite ready by the time they are seated, and I don't like that priest to talk to my father. He's a bad one!" "Hush, child!--" "He _is_, mother, I can tell you.--Father! supper's ready!--" Hofer came in, looking gloomy, and began unlacing his boots, saying his feet had swollen. Theresa drew off his boots, and tenderly chafed his ankles. There was a subdued, glittering light in the priest's stealthy eye. "Thou hast lost thy relish, may be, Anderl, for country bread and cheese," said Anna, smiling.