caught a gleam of white through the trees and being
anxious to ascertain its nature. He found the remains of a small and
ancient marble temple--temple he took it to be--and he was sure that it
had been erected there perhaps fifteen centuries ago by the Romans. He
knew from his reading that they had marched and fought and settled
throughout all this region and in almost all of Austria. Marcus Aurelius
might have been here, he might even have built the temple itself, and
other Roman emperors might have stood in the shadow of its shattered
columns.

It was a round temple, like those to Ceres that he had seen in Italy,
and while some of the columns had fallen others stood, and a portion of
the roof was there. He saw for himself a place under this fragment of a
roof and against a pillar.

But he devoted his attention first to supper. A small cold stream flowed
from under a rock fifty feet away, and drinking from it now and then he
ate his bread and sausage in comfort, and even with a sense of luxury.
He was a crusader and he was upborne more strongly than ever by his
faith. Alone on the mountain in the darkness everything else had melted
away. America was an immeasurable distance from him and the figures of
his uncle, Mr. Anson and his young friends of the army became thin
shadows.

The moon, full and dominant, came out after a while and silvered the
skies. Stars in myriads trooped forth and danced. John felt that they
were friendly, that they were watching over him, and once more he saw
happy omens. Despite his long walk he was not tired and he enjoyed the
deep peace on the mountains. He might have been awed at another time,
but now he was not afraid.

Zillenstein, too, came out, bathed in silver, an immense threatening
mass set solidly in the shoulder of the opposite mountain, more sinister
even in the moonlight than in the sunlight. He wondered how many
hundreds of innocent human beings had perished in its dungeons. He had
not the slightest doubt that Julie was there, but she at least was safe
from everything, save a long imprisonment and a powerful pressure that
might compel her to become the morganatic wife of Auersperg. It might be
the old story of the drop of water wearing away the stone.

Clouds began to trail slowly up the valley, and Zillenstein faded away
again. The long columns of mist and vapor seemed so near that John felt
as if he could reach out his hand and touch them.

His day's exertions began to t