His mind was filled with history and old romance, and it made him think of Valhalla.  Here certainly was the dusk of the gods.  Auersperg was one of the last representatives of the old order that troubled Europe so much in its going, for to John, a keen and intense lover of freedom and of the career open to all the talents, the present war was in its main feature a death struggle between autocracy and democracy.

He stared at the gigantic ramparts of Zillenstein, as long as the sun endured.  He would have given much then to have had a powerful pair of glasses, but no horse-buying peasant could carry such equipment without arousing suspicion.

The day sank into the night and the last tower of Zillenstein was hid by the dusk.  Just before going, and, when all the red light had faded, the castle showed huge, black and sinister.  But John’s soul was not cast down by it.  Uncommon situations bred uncommon feelings and impulses.  His imaginative mind still retained the impression that all the signs and omens were in his favor, and that the prayers of the righteous availed.

He came out of his dreams, and began to think of his night’s lodging.  The air was turning cold on the mountain and an unpleasant wind was trying to strike through his clothing, but he still carried his pair of blankets, and he had become hardened to all kinds of weather.  He had a good supply, too, of the inevitable bread and sausage, and there was water for the taking.

He turned from the road and walked through a wood higher up the side of the mountain, having caught a gleam of white through the trees and being anxious to ascertain its nature.  He found the remains of a small and ancient marble temple—­temple he took it to be—­and he was sure that it had been erected there perhaps fifteen centuries ago by the Romans.  He knew from his reading that they had marched and fought and settled throughout all this region and in almost all of Austria.  Marcus Aurelius might have been here, he might even have built the temple itself, and other Roman emperors might have stood in the shadow of its shattered columns.

It was a round temple, like those to Ceres that he had seen in Italy, and while some of the columns had fallen others stood, and a portion of the roof was there.  He saw for himself a place under this fragment of a roof and against a pillar.

But he devoted his attention first to supper.  A small cold stream flowed from under a rock fifty feet away, and drinking from it now and then he ate his bread and sausage in comfort, and even with a sense of luxury.  He was a crusader and he was upborne more strongly than ever by his faith.  Alone on the mountain in the darkness everything else had melted away.  America was an immeasurable distance from him and the figures of his uncle, Mr. Anson and his young friends of the army became thin shadows.

The moon, full and dominant, came out after a while and silvered the skies.  Stars in myriads trooped forth and danced.  John felt that they were friendly, that they were watching over him, and once more he saw happy omens.  Despite his long walk he was not tired and he enjoyed the deep peace on the mountains.  He might have been awed at another time, but now he was not afraid.