He bravely set his face to the dangerous pass, and very carefully, his hands clutching at the rough surface of the rock, he managed to turn the dreaded corner; as he did so, there, right in the middle of his path, blocking his way, was a very old man.
He sat with head bent, his long grey beard dragging on the ground; within his clasped hands he grasped a thick stick against which he was leaning.
He looked sad and weary, and yet he was full of quiet dignity; a surprising figure to meet in a lonely place. His grey clothing hung loosely over his emaciated body, his wide mantle fell in thin folds about him; on his head he wore a broad-brimmed, weather-beaten hat.
At the young man's exclamation of surprise he raised his head and looked keenly at him, but spoke not a word. Yet this old man was not a spectre like the others, but in verity a living human creature, and for that reason welcome to our lonely wanderer.
"Speak to me," cried Eric. "I am half mad with the longing to hear a human voice. Tell me, if thou canst, who are these silent ones that dog my steps, and make these mountains horrible to me? Fain would I be rid of them!"
He turned to look behind him and there they were, close upon his footsteps, huddled together on the narrow shelf he had just passed; and all of them looked at him with hungry, expectant eyes; and yet through their bodies the rocks could be distinctly seen. It was a grim sight! The old man did not reply, but turned his head towards the silent apparitions and scrutinized them long and earnestly, then a slow smile broke over his face.
At last he spoke:
"Be not hard upon those that are dead, my son; these here find no peace because they did not receive a holy burial, nor were prayers said over their silent hearts; they felt thy coming, so they have arisen from where they lay in waiting, to follow thee. Let thy heart be soft unto them. Their presence around thee speaks in thy favour, for they try to follow only those whose conscience is without stain, for those alone can help them whose lives have been pure."
"Who are they?" asked the young man, and the old one answered:
"They are the restless souls of those who died here amongst the mountains. They all had hopes in their hearts when they started, and dreams or ambitions; each thought himself strong enough to scale these cruel heights, but they dropped down on the way; few, very few, ever reach the top. They lose courage or weary and try to turn back; but it is difficult to go back for those who have started on these paths that lead so high."