Now in the third week of their pilgrimage they came to a wide moor which they had to cross.  A heavy white mist lay on the lonely waste, and they had not gone far among the heath and grey boulders before Rheinfrid, absorbed in prayer, found himself separated from his companions.  He called aloud to them by their names, but no one answered him.  This way and that he wandered, still crying aloud, and hoping to discover some trace of the faint path which led over the moor.  Suddenly he came to the brink of a vast chasm, the depth of which was hidden by the mist.  It was a terrible place and he thanked God that he had not come thither in the darkness of the night.  As he gazed anxiously on all sides, wondering what he should do next, he perceived through the vapour a tall dark figure.  Approaching it, he saw that it was a high stone cross, and he murmured gratefully, "Here I am safe.  The foot of Thy cross is an ever-lasting refuge."  As he ascended the rough granite steps, he noticed how wonderfully the cross was sculptured, with a vine running up the shaft, and birds and small wild creatures among the vine-leaves, and he was able to read, in the centre, words from a famous old poem which he knew: