claims the warmth of your fire in the winter night."

Swiftly, and as with a single motion, a thousand eyes were bent upon the
speaker. The semicircle opened silently in the middle; Winfried entered
with his followers; it closed again behind them.

Then, as they looked round the curving ranks, they saw that the hue of
the assemblage was not black, but white,--dazzling, radiant, solemn.
White, the robes of the women clustered together at the points of the
wide crescent; white, the glittering byrnies of the warriors standing in
close ranks; white, the fur mantles of the aged men who held the central
palace in the circle; white, with the shimmer of silver ornaments and
the purity of lamb's-wool, the raiment of a little group of children who
stood close by the fire; white, with awe and fear, the faces of all who
looked at them; and over all the flickering, dancing radiance of the
flames played and glimmered like a faint, vanishing tinge of blood on
snow.

The only figure untouched by the glow was the old priest, Hunrad, with
his long, spectral robe, flowing hair and beard, and dead-pale face,
who stood with his back to the fire and advanced slowly to meet the
strangers.

"Who are you? Whence come you, and what seek you here?"

"Your kinsman am I, of the German brotherhood," answered Winfried, "and
from England, beyond the sea, have I come to bring you a greeting from
that land, and a message from the All-Father, whose servant I am."

"Welcome, then," said Hunrad, "welcome, kinsman, and be silent; for
what passes here is too high to wait, and must be done before the moon
crosses the middle heaven, unless, indeed, thou hast some sign or token
from the gods. Canst thou work miracles?"

The question came sharply, as if a sudden gleam of hope had flashed
through the tangle of the old priest's mind. But Winfried's voice sank
lower and a cloud of disappointment passed over his face as he replied:
"Nay, miracles have I never wrought, though I have heard of many; but
the All-Father has given no power to my hands save such as belongs to
common man."

"Stand still, then, thou common man," said Hunrad, scornfully, "and
behold what the gods have called us hither to do. This night is the
death-night of the sun-god, Baldur the Beautiful, beloved of gods and
men. This night is the hour of darkness and the power of winter, of
sacrifice and mighty fear. This night the great Thor, the god of thunder
and war, to whom this oak is sac