Where human eloquence failed, one of those miracles, common enough in the ages of credulity, the result of overheated imaginations and excited brains, succeeded. A vision of the night came to one Peter Bartholomæus, a monk, of two men in shining raiment. One of them, St. Andrew himself, took the monk into the air, and brought him to the Church of St. Peter, and set him at the south side of the altar. He then showed him the head of a lance. “This,” he said, “was the lance which opened the side of Our Lord. See where I bury it. Get twelve men to dig in the spot till they find it.” But in the morning Peter was afraid to tell his vision. This was before the taking of Antioch. But after the town was taken, the vision came again, and in his dream Peter saw once more the apostle, and received his reproaches for neglect of his commands. Peter remonstrated that he was poor and of no account; and then he saw that the apostle’s companion was none other than the Blessed Lord himself, and the humble monk was privileged to fall and kiss His feet. We are not of those who believe that men are found so base as to contrive a story of this kind. There is little doubt in our minds that this poor Peter, starving as he was, full of fervour and enthusiasm, dreamed his dream, not once but twice, and went at last, brimful of pious gratitude, to Adhémar with his tale. Adhémar heard him with incredulity and coldness. But Raymond saw in this incident a means which might be turned to good account. He sent twelve men to the church, and from morning till night they dug in vain. But at length Peter himself, leaping into the hole they had made, called aloud on God to redeem his promise, and produced a rusty spear-head. Adhémar acquiesced with the best grace in his power; the lance was exhibited to the people the next morning, and the enthusiasm of the army, famished, and ragged, and dismounted, once more beat as high as when they sewed the red Cross badge upon their shoulders, and shouted “Dieu le veut.”