bringest to us from the Almighty. What is thy counsel for the
tribes of the woodland on this night of sacrifice?"

"This is the word, and this is the counsel," answered Winfried.
"Not a drop of blood shall fall to-night, save that which pity has
drawn from the breast of your princess, in love for her child. Not
a life shall be blotted out in the darkness to-night; but the
great shadow of the tree which hides you from the light of heaven
shall be swept away. For this is the birth-night of the white
Christ, son of the All-Father, and Saviour of mankind. Fairer is
He than Baldur the Beautiful, greater than Odin the Wise, kinder
than Freya the Good. Since He has come to earth the bloody
sacrifices must cease. The dark Thor, on whom you vainly call, is
dead. Deep in the shades of Niffelheim he is lost forever. His
power in the world is broken. Will you serve a helpless god? See,
my brothers, you call this tree his oak. Does he dwell here? Does
he protect it?"

A troubled voice of assent rose from the throng. The people
stirred uneasily. Women covered their eyes. Hunrad lifted his head
and muttered hoarsely, "Thor! take vengeance! Thor!"

Winfried beckoned to Gregor. "Bring the axes, thine and one for
me. Now, young woodsman, show thy craft! The king-tree of the
forest must fall, and swiftly, or all is lost!"

The two men took their places facing each other, one on each side
of the oak. Their cloaks were flung aside, their heads bare.
Carefully they felt the ground with their feet, seeking a firm
grip of the earth. Firmly they grasped the axe-helves and swung