t of the mother toward her child was swift as the falcon's
swoop. But swifter still was the hand of the deliverer.

Winfried's heavy staff thrust mightily against the hammer's handle as it
fell. Sideways it glanced from the old man's grasp, and the black stone,
striking on the altar's edge, split in twain. A shout of awe and joy
rolled along the living circle. The branches of the oak shivered. The
flames leaped higher. As the shout died away the people saw the lady
Irma, with her arms clasped round her child, and above them, on the
altar-stone, Winfried, his face shining like the face of an angel.

IV

A swift mountain-flood rolling down its channel; a huge rock tumbling
from the hill-side and falling in mid-stream: the baffled waters broken
and confused, pausing in their flow, dash high against the rock, foaming
and murmuring, with divided impulse, uncertain whether to turn to the
right or the left.

Even so Winfried's bold deed fell into the midst of the thoughts and
passions of the council. They were at a standstill. Anger and wonder,
reverence and joy and confusion surged through the crowd. They knew not
which way to move: to resent the intrusion of the stranger as an insult
to their gods, or to welcome him as the rescuer of their prince.

The old priest crouched by the altar, silent. Conflicting counsels
troubled the air. Let the sacrifice go forward; the gods must be
appeased. Nay, the boy must not die; bring the chieftain's best horse
and slay it in his stead; it will be enough; the holy tree loves the
blood of horses. Not so, there is a better counsel yet; seize the
stranger whom the gods have led hither as a victim and make his life pay
the forfeit of his daring.

The withered leaves on the oak rustled and whispered overhead. The fire
flared and sank again. The angry voices clashed against each other and
fell like opposing waves. Then the chieftain Gundhar struck the earth
with his spear and gave his decision.

"All have spoken, but none are agreed. There is no voice of the council.
Keep silence now, and let the stranger speak. His words shall give us
judgment, whether he is to live or to die."

Winfried lifted himself high upon the altar, drew a roll of parchment
from his bosom, and began to read.

"A letter from the great Bishop of Rome, who sits on a golden throne, to
the people of the forest, Hessians and Thuringians, Franks and Saxons.
In nomin Domini, sanctae et individuae Trinitatis, amen!"