"This, surely," thought Rheinfrid, "is the journey appointed me," and his spirit was at last peaceful and contented. Now in the third week of their pilgrimage they came to a wide moor which they had to cross. A heavy white mist lay on the lonely waste, and they had not gone far among the heath and grey boulders before Rheinfrid, absorbed in prayer, found himself separated from his companions. He called aloud to them by their names, but no one answered him. This way and that he wandered, still crying aloud, and hoping to discover some trace of the faint path which led over the moor. Suddenly he came to the brink of a vast chasm, the depth of which was hidden by the mist. It was a terrible place and he thanked God that he had not come thither in the darkness of the night. As he gazed anxiously on all sides, wondering what he should do next, he perceived through the vapour a tall dark figure. Approaching it, he saw that it was a high stone cross, and he murmured gratefully, "Here I am safe. The foot of Thy cross is an ever-lasting refuge." As he ascended the rough granite steps, he noticed how wonderfully the cross was sculptured, with a vine running up the shaft, and birds and small wild creatures among the vine-leaves, and he was able to read, in the centre, words from a famous old poem which he knew: _Rood is my name; long ago I bore a goodly King; trembling,_ _dripping with blood._ As he read them he became aware that some one had come out of the mist and was standing near him. "In the darkness the danger is great," said the stranger; "another step would have carried thee over the brink; and none who have fallen therein have ever returned. But the wind is rising, and this mist will speedily be lifted." While he was yet speaking a great draught of air drove the mist before it, and shifted and lifted it, and rolled it like carded wool, and in front all was clear, but the light was of an iron-grey transparency, and Rheinfrid saw into the depths of the chasm into which he had well-nigh fallen. Far down below lay the jagged ridges and ghastly abysses of a gigantic crater, the black walls of which were so steep that it was impossible to climb them. Smoke and steam rose in incessant puffs from the innermost pit of the crater and trailed along the floor and about the rocky spikes and jagged ridges. Then, as Rheinfrid gazed, his face grew pale, and he turned to the stranger. "What are these," he asked, "men, or little statues of men, or strangely shaped rocks?" "They are living men and women," said the stranger. "They seem as small as images," said Rheinfrid. "They are very far distant from us," replied the stranger, "although we see them so clearly." "There seem to be hundreds of them standing in crowds," said Rheinfrid. "There are thousands and hundreds of thousands," said the stranger. "And they do not move; they are motionless as stone; they do not even seem to breathe." "They are waiting," said the stranger.