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 darling 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.