Hell seemed to have opened its doors. All round Eric and the child, who was crouching in an agony of fear close behind him, were blazing eyes, sharpened fangs, ravenous bleeding jaws, a medley of dark fighting bodies falling over each other with angry yells, as they one and all rallied against the single youthful hero, who stood facing them, the blood streaming from the blade of his sword.
Blood fell also in great dark drops from his lacerated hands, where more than one murderous tooth had left its mark. His pale brow was streaked with red; from off his shoulder his coat had been partially wrenched, and a great gash gaped through the torn tissue.
Still he stood his ground; many a rugged body lay dead at his feet, but always more roaring foes seemed to descend upon him, a whole army of hungry, voracious fiends that had sworn his destruction.
His force was giving out, he clearly felt that the unequal battle could last no longer; only a miracle could now save them both.
His arm became inert; the blood flowed from the open wound in his head in a trickling stream down into his eyes, clouding his sight, so that he could no longer direct his strokes.
Yes, all was over now; he was not to be of those who win.... This was to be the end ... the end.... But what was this? From beneath his clenched fingers a dazzling glare had suddenly broken forth—a glare so intense and blinding that for a moment he could see nothing but its luminous rays! Had really a miracle come to pass? Was he dreaming? But no ... his awful assailants were rapidly retreating with furious groans, as if unable to bear the sight of the thing he held in his hand!
What was it that suddenly cowed their savage force? Then all at once he understood.... The crystal hilt of his sword was blazing with light!
He fell on his knees, his forehead pressed against the shining cross, his eyes closed, his head bent in awful fatigue. But peace had come over him—a great and wonderful peace. The beasts of prey were backing, always farther, from this awesome light that had so miraculously fallen upon them.
With hanging heads they retreated, their piercing eyes fixed upon the fiery symbol they dared not face. They backed and backed, till they were but a mass of darkness, out of which their eyes glowed like a circle of Easter tapers held by pious hands in adoration before that cross of flame. Alone in the middle of that moonlit glade knelt Eric, quite still, as in a trance; the point of his sword had reddened the snow on the ground; the hilt seemed fashioned out of the stars of heaven.
The moon looked down upon his golden locks, transforming them into a mass of silver; even his torn and travel-stained clothes were turned into glowing metal like a knight of olden days.