the wretched Hochmair, with his hands
clasped on the lock of his gun and his eyes rolling in frenzy.
Everybody perceived the crime he had committed, and remained
motionless, whilst he beckoned wildly to the priest, who came up in
gloomy silence. After they had talked together alone for some time,
the priest went into the church, where he remained all night in
prayer. The wretched man, whom nobody dared to touch, disappeared
into the thicket, and all trace was lost of him. In the mean while
the injured image of the Saviour was removed into the church. So years
went on, and then one Sunday after service the priest announced from
the pulpit that the former sinner Hochmair was dead, but that after
years of penitence he had received the forgiveness of the Church and
of God. 'Therefore,' said the good man, 'let all forgive him, and
remember only their own sins, and pray Christ to be merciful to them.'
After that it was known that he had become possessed with the crazy
notion that if he fired into the breast of the Saviour on Corpus
Christi Day, just when the Host was being elevated and the benediction
spoken, it would make his gun unerring. He fired therefore, and at the
same moment the Saviour on the cross raised His head and, fixing on
him His eyes full of tears, gave him a look which pierced him to the
very marrow, and that terrified him far more than the lightning
which, flashing from his forehead, set fire to his house, whilst the
thorn-crowned countenance seemed to float before him, and he knew that
this was his punishment. Such was his confession at the time to the
priest who laid the penance of the Church upon him. So he went out
into the world like another Cain, and God in His own time was merciful
to him. Still, the wounded effigy of the Saviour and the blasted larch
tree remain as witnesses on earth against him.

"And," continued Schuster Alois, "that is only one tale amongst the
hundreds which could be related concerning these crucifixes. Ah,
there is many an old, bleached, weather-beaten crucifix on crag or
highway-side from which the anguished face of the Saviour has both
smitten and healed the sinner. Crucifixes cut deeper into most
Tyrolese hearts than shrines, some way."

"Strange," we replied, "for these old shrines are not only quaint,
but often beautiful, as, for instance, the one on the roadside turning
into town."

"Ah, I am glad you like it," said Alois, "for there are those who
would wish it pulled