This warfare raged throughout the month of November, with various success; but the conquest of the country became inevitable, though the peasantry might retain possession of particular passes and fastnesses. Early in December, the struggle was over. The peasantry were scattered; Father Joachim had escaped to the Grisons; Peter Mayer was shot; Speckbacher, who was the last to lay down arms, found himself deserted; Hofer had disappeared. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XVIII. DANGER. It has been snowing all night. The Passeyrthal is mantled in a garment of white; at first not thicker than the fleece of a young lamb, but now ankle-deep; and there is more snow above, ready to fall. A young girl, with drooping head and careworn mien, is issuing from _am Sand_ with her milk-pail, and making her way to the cow-house, while it is yet scarcely day-dawn. Suddenly she stumbled over a man, bending down to the ground, and so intently engaged in measuring a foot-print on the snow, as not to have been aware of her vicinity. Instantly her voice is raised in shrill indignation. "You pitiful priest! You mean, sneaking man! You may measure that foot-print as long as you will, for it was not made by father! You base, wicked Frenchman!--" "My pretty girl--" "Call me so again if you dare! Oh, you wretch! it isn't the first time you've tried the power of your sweet words with me! Caitiff priest! Some of these days your frock will be pulled off; aye, and your mask first! Oh, you wicked, wicked man!" Donay was actually petrified by her objurgations. He slunk away; but still, with an eye to his original purpose, in the track of the footsteps he had been measuring. Theresa, white with rage, was standing like a statue, watching his retreating form, when she found a strong arm thrown around her, and drawing her into the cow-house. Rudolf was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Theresa! let the old hound follow the false scent," said he. "What do you think I did? I found this fellow lurking about, overnight; so I got a pair of the Sandwirth's old laced boots, put them over my own, and trudged right away with them to the edge of a steep bank, where the snow has drifted to the depth of seven or eight feet! Then I crawled along to the top of the hedge, without minding scratches, shovelling the snow about, here and there, so as to leave no track by which I could be traced, and returned in my own boots. Into that pitfall he'll go! Ha, ha, ha!--And serve him right!" "Quite right," said Theresa, between laughing and crying; "but, you see, he has got the measure of father's foot."