[Illustration--The fields around lay bare to the moon.]



II

THE TRAIL THROUGH THE FOREST


II

Two years had passed, to a day, almost to an hour, since that
Christmas eve in the cloister of Pfalzel. A little company of
pilgrims, less than a score a men, were creeping slowly northward
through the wide forest that rolled over the hills of central
Germany.

At the head of the band marched Winfried, clad in a tunic of fur,
with his long black robe girt high about his waist, so that it
might not hinder his stride. His hunter's boots were crusted with
snow. Drops of ice sparkled like jewels along the thongs that
bound his legs. There was no other ornament to his dress except
the bishop's cross hanging on his breast, and the broad silver
clasp that fastened his cloak about his neck. He carried a strong,
tall staff in his hand, fashioned at the top into the form of a
cross.

Close beside him, keeping step like a familiar comrade, was the
young Prince Gregor. Long marches through the wilderness had