He dismounted, strode to the hag and held out his hand to her, some silver pieces on its palm, saying: "My master thanks you for your warning and offers you these as a guerdon." "Greek!" she screamed.

"I warn not for guerdons, but at the behest of the God of Prophecy.

Begone with your silver! Silver I scorn and gold and all the treasures of mankind's folly and all the joys of mankind's life.

I am the Sibyl!" And she tramped off through the crackling underbrush till the trees hid her and the noise of her going died away, till she was so far off that we heard the rain drops drip from the boughs and the horses fret at their bits.
So at a standstill, as we stared expectantly up the crossroad, we saw come into sight, not a travelling carriage, but a horseman, looming huge out of the fog, a vast bulk of a man on a big black horse like a farm work-horse.
He drew rein and saluted civilly, tilting up his hat.

His face was ruddy, his eyes blue, his expression that of a mountaineer from a village or small town.
"I have lost my way," he said.