pressing on every side to
overwhelm them. Gnarled oaks, with branches twisted and knotted as if
in rage, rose in groves like tidal waves. Smooth forests of beech-trees,
round and gray, swept over the knolls and slopes of land in a mighty
ground-swell. But most of all, the multitude of pines and firs,
innumerable and monotonous, with straight, stark trunks, and branches
woven together in an unbroken flood of darkest green, crowded through
the valleys and over the hills, rising on the highest ridges into ragged
crests, like the foaming edge of breakers.

Through this sea of shadows ran a narrow stream of shining
whiteness,--an ancient Roman road, covered with snow. It was as if
some great ship had ploughed through the green ocean long ago, and
left behind it a thick, smooth wake of foam. Along this open track the
travellers held their way,--heavily, for the drifts were deep; warily,
for the hard winter had driven many packs of wolves down from the moors.

The steps of the pilgrims were noiseless; but the sledges creaked over
the dry snow, and the panting of the horses throbbed through the still
air. The pale-blue shadows on the western side of the road grew
longer. The sun, declining through its shallow arch, dropped behind the
tree-tops. Darkness followed swiftly, as if it had been a bird of prey
waiting for this sign to swoop down upon the world.

"Father," said Gregor to the leader, "surely this day's march is done.
It is time to rest, and eat, and sleep. If we press onward now, we
cannot see our steps; and will not that be against the word of the
psalmist David, who bids us not to put confidence in the legs of a man?"

Winfried laughed. "Nay, my son Gregor," said he, "thou hast tripped,
even now, upon thy text. For David said only, 'I take no pleasure in the
legs of a man.' And so say I, for I am not minded to spare thy legs or
mine, until we come farther on our way, and do what must be done this
night. Draw thy belt tighter, my son, and hew me out this tree that is
fallen across the road, for our campground is not here."

The youth obeyed; two of the foresters sprang to help him; and while the
soft fir-wood yielded to the stroke of the axes, and the snow flew from
the bending branches, Winfried turned and spoke to his followers in a
cheerful voice, that refreshed them like wine.

"Courage, brothers, and forward yet a little! The moon will light us
presently, and the path is plain. Well know I that the journey i