quietly slid down. The girls handed their wreaths to the youths . . . it was not absolutely necessary for them to descend all the way into the valley where any moment the enemy might attack. Last came the elders with Zakhar Berkut and having reviewed the position of the armed youths and all their preparations they hastened to the narrows through which the Tukholian stream foamed and rolled in crystal waves out of the valley.
Zakhar paused before the Sentinel and began to gaze up at him intently. Peace reigned everywhere. Zakhar prayed: “Our great Guardian! You whom our forefathers regarded as their protector, whom we have reverenced until now with yearly festivities, night after night, three times in succession now, you have appeared to me in my dreams as if you were falling on top of me to crush me. I believe that you are benign and merciful and if you are calling me to yourself, then I take joy in your summons and will gladly follow you. But if you are weary of your everlastingly upright position, then destroy, oh Master, with your great weight this vicious enemy, the children of Morsanna who again today have overflowed your blessed kingdom, the Tukholian valley! Break once more her evil power as you did before when with a forcible blow of your mighty arm you cracked this solid wall of stone, allowing the waters to seep through it, and gave this beauteous valley to the people! Dam it up again and let the brutal conquerors, who are now abusing us, perish!”
At this juncture a fiery flash rent the dark heavens from south to north and far away in the mountains echoed a hollow roar of thunder.
“Yes! That was your mighty voice!” cried Zakhar joyously.
“Come children! For the last time let us crown this sacred stone.”
Four youths climbed up a ladder to the top of the column
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