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
was heavy and toneless as a muffled bell.

"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?"