That they resented his presence, since it was not due to motives of piety, they very plainly signified. They feared that the intrusion at such a time of a personality so worldly must raise fresh difficulties against the performance of the expected miracle. Nor were matters improved when at the crowd's edge he halted and questioned one of them as to the meaning of this pilgrimage. I did not hear the peasant's answer; but I saw the white, haughty face suddenly thrown up, and I caught his next question: “When did it last bleed?” Again an inaudible reply, and again his ringing voice--“That would be before this young hermit came? And to-day it will not bleed, you say?” He flashed me a last keen glance of his eyes, which had grown narrow and seemed laden with mockery. The little lady whispered something to him, in answer to which he laughed contemptuously. “Fool's mummery,” he snapped, and drew her on, she going, it seemed to me, reluctantly. But the crowd had heard him and the insult offered to the shrine. A deep-throated bay rose up in menace, and some leapt to their feet as if they would attack him. He checked, and wheeled at the sound. “How now?” he cried, his voice a trumpet-call, his eyes flashing terribly upon them; and as dogs crouch to heel at the angry bidding of their master, the multitude grew silent and afraid under the eyes of that single steel-clad man. He laughed a deep-throated laugh, and strode down the hill with his little lady on his arm. But when he had mounted and was riding off, the crowd, recovering courage from his remoteness, hurled its curses after him and shrilly branded him, “Derider!” and “Blasphemer!” He rode contemptuously amain, however, looking back but once, and then to laugh at them. Soon he had dipped out of sight, and of his company nothing was visible but the fluttering red pennons with the device of the white horse-head. Gradually these also sank and vanished, and once more I was alone with the crowd of pilgrims. Enjoining prayer upon them again, I turned and re-entered the hut. CHAPTER VIII. THE VISION Pray as we might, night came and still the image gave no sign. The crowd melted away, with promises to return at dawn--promises that sounded almost like a menace in my ears.