two of the men to guard it, and the rest of the company moved
forward across the open ground. They approached unnoticed, for all
the multitude were looking intently towards the fire at the foot
of the oak.

Then Winfried's voice rang out, "Hail, ye sons of the forest! A
stranger 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 place 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?" His voice