“I could not tell it to you, Father, but it is an errand of peace.  I think it the highest and holiest I could undertake, and, in undertaking it, I believe myself to be animated by such a spirit as the knights felt in the first flush of the Crusades.”

“I believe your words.  When I first looked into your eyes I said they were those of an honest young man.  We of the cloth learn to know.  We feel instinctively the presence of honesty or dishonesty.  Young sir, I hope that your quest, although it may take you far, will take you to success.”

John’s heart beat hard.  He knew that the man was only a village priest, but good wishes carry.  They might even travel upon waves of their own, and send to a happy goal those for whom they were intended.

“Father,” he said, “you and I have never met before this day, and we may never see each other after it.  As I told you, mine is a long quest and it’s full of danger.  Will you give it your blessing without asking what it is?”

“Willingly,” said the priest as he spread out his hands, and murmured rapid words in Latin.  John, Protestant though he was, felt a curious lightening of the soul.  The Crusaders always sought a blessing before going into battle, and a spiritual fire that would uphold him seemed to have passed from the mind of this humble village priest to his.

They went on now for a little while in silence.  Uhlans, hussars, infantry and cannon passed them, but few questions were asked of them.  The day remained cold, and the heavens were a brilliant blue.  It was fine weather for walking and the middle-aged man and the young man kept pace with each other, stride for stride.

By and by they drank from a brook and then ate together.  The priest also carried a knapsack under his heavy brown overcoat and they shared their food, finishing it with a sip or two from a flask of light wine.

“We come to a crossroad a mile further on,” said the priest, “and there I think we will part.  I turn into the crossroad, and you, I take it, keep the road to Stuttgart.”

“I shall be sorry.”

“The way of the world, my son.  All through life we are meeting and parting.  The number of people who travel with us all the road is very small.  It may be that I have surmised somewhat of your quest.  No, say nothing!  I would not know more, but a far greater power than mine will help you in it.”

They parted at the crossroad and John felt as if he left an old friend.  When he looked back he saw the priest on a little hill gazing after him, and he felt again as if the good wish that would count was coming on a wave of air.  Then his own road dipped into a valley and at nightfall he came to a village which had a little inn, humble but neat and clean.  Here he procured a razor and shaved the stubble from his face.  He no longer had a fear of meeting anyone whom he might know, save possibly Weber, and Weber was a friend.