One keen cry shrilled out from where the women stood:  “Me! take me! not Bernhard!”

The flight of the mother towards her child was swift as the falcon’s swoop.  But swifter still was the hand of the deliverer.

Winfried’s heavy staff thrust mightily against the hammer’s handle as it fell.  Sideways it glanced from the old man’s grasp, and the black stone, striking on the altar’s edge, split in twain.  A shout of awe and joy rolled along the living circle.  The branches of the oak shivered.  The flames leaped higher.  As the shout died away the people saw the lady Irma, with her arms clasped round her child, and above them, on the altar-stone, Winfried, his face shining like the face of an angel.

IV

THE FELLING OF THE TREE

A swift mountain-flood rolling down its channel; a huge rock tumbling from the hill-side and falling in mid-stream; the baffled waters broken and confused, pausing in their flow, dash high 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.

“A letter from the great Bishop of Rome, who sits on a golden throne, to the people of the forest.  Hessians and Thuringians, Franks and Saxons.  In nomine Domini, sanctae et individuae trinitatis, amen!”

A murmur of awe ran through the crowd.  “It is the sacred tongue of the Romans:  the tongue that is heard and understood by the wise men of every land.  There is magic in it.  Listen!”

Winfried went on to read the letter, translating it into the speech of the people.