He had ridden there in the first vagueness and weakness of his recovery, without purpose, yet feeling that he must go.

What he found there made him believe he had been led to the spot.

Stark against the glow of the western sky as he rode up, was a huge cross.

He stopped, staring in wonder, believing it to be another vision; but it stayed before him, rigid, bare, and uncompromising.

He left his horse and climbed up to it.