“I come on a holy errand.”
“Hoch! I’m just the scoundrel to halt an angel, or even to test the thickness of his head!”
Down crashed the halberd, but the staff flew up to meet it. The lanzknecht scarce knew how, but his weapon twirled out of his hands and whisked over into a thicket. Miracle or magic,—this strange being’s power was dangerous. The six recoiled toward the fire, then as the flame glittered across the hermit’s face with one accord that evil crew sank on knees,—cheeks white, teeth a-chattering.
“The Saint! The Saint of the Dragon’s Dale. Woe! Miserere! We are damned!”
But Jerome, without a word, went up the long way to the Wartburg.
