There was a murmur amongst the young men, and Anna trembled. She knew full well that human sacrifices were a part of her old religion, for the Briton’s religion was then chiefly represented by the Druidical faith. But Anna need not have been afraid. The old priest waved his hand, and then, disappearing in a thicket with his followers, chanting a low dirge-like monotone, he returned with a large cluster of the mistletoe, the sacred plant which was cut and offered on the altar at intervals at the morning worship. Then followed a strange invocation muttered in a low, guttural voice, the Druid priest raising his hands to the summer sky. The sun was just high enough to strike athwart the grassy glade, and illuminated the boles of the trees with a golden radiance. The priest’s white robe shone in the new-born light, and every leaf was turned to an emerald, every dew-drop to a diamond. The birds sang, and there was the rustle of awakening activity in the forest. A squirrel hopped from the overhanging boughs of a tall larch, and the wood pigeons told their sweet monotonous story of love. All things seemed to swell the chorus of the earth’s thanksgiving hymn for light and blessing bestowed. And who shall say what dim visions of a beautiful and unknown God filled the heart of the aged priest, as he offered his orison according to the form hallowed to him by the usage of ages! When all was over he waved his hand, and his little congregation dispersed, the priest returning presently with a quantity of dried fruits and cakes which had been baked over an open fire. There was also a rudely-shaped stone jar, from which was poured a drink distilled from certain herbs, and pleasant to the taste. That beverage, the priest said, had wonderful properties, and he continually dispensed it as a medicine when strength was exhausted. Agatha ate a hearty meal, and so did the old man and his daughter, but Anna could not eat. She was weighed down with a sense of danger and distress, and her heart turned continually to those whom she had left behind at Verulam. At Agatha’s order, however, she drank a little from the jar, and ate a few crumbs broken off the thick mass of dried cake, which had a bitter rather than a sweet flavour, as it was mixed with the flour ground out of acorns. Presently the old priest said-- “Ye are Christians, you say. There has been an arm of fury stretched out against you, so we have heard. For ourselves, we have no bitterness against you. The Romans are our conquerors as well as yours, but they leave us to our old faith undisturbed for the most part. How have you incurred their dire displeasure? I tell you, you cannot resist the Romans’ power; they are the masters of the world. They will treat you like beasts of burden if you resist not, but they will kill you if you are rebellious. From whom do you flee?”