Sweyn stood before him, and surely, the shadow that went was White Fell.

They had been together—­close.  Had she not been in his arms, near enough for lips to meet?

There was no moon, but the stars gave light enough to show that Sweyn’s face was flushed and elate.  The flush remained, though the expression changed quickly at sight of his brother.  How, if Christian had seen all, should one of his frenzied outbursts be met and managed:  by resolution? by indifference?  He halted between the two, and as a result, he swaggered.

“White Fell?” questioned Christian, hoarse and breathless.

“Yes?”

Sweyn’s answer was a query, with an intonation that implied he was clearing the ground for action.

From Christian came:  “Have you kissed her?” like a bolt direct, staggering Sweyn by its sheer prompt temerity.

He flushed yet darker, and yet half-smiled over this earnest of success he had won.  Had there been really between himself and Christian the rivalry that he imagined, his face had enough of the insolence of triumph to exasperate jealous rage.

“You dare ask this!”

“Sweyn, O Sweyn, I must know!  You have!”

The ring of despair and anguish in his tone angered Sweyn, misconstruing it.  Jealousy urging to such presumption was intolerable.

“Mad fool!” he said, constraining himself no longer.  “Win for yourself a woman to kiss.  Leave mine without question.  Such an one as I should desire to kiss is such an one as shall never allow a kiss to you.”

Then Christian fully understood his supposition.

“I—­I!” he cried.  “White Fell—­that deadly Thing!  Sweyn, are you blind, mad?  I would save you from her:  a Were-Wolf!”

Sweyn maddened again at the accusation—­a dastardly way of revenge, as he conceived; and instantly, for the second time, the brothers were at strife violently.

But Christian was now too desperate to be scrupulous; for a dim glimpse had shot a possibility into his mind, and to be free to follow it the striking of his brother was a necessity.  Thank God! he was armed, and so Sweyn’s equal.

[Illustration:  The Race]

Facing his assailant with the bear-spear, he struck up his arms, and with the butt end hit hard so that he fell.  The matchless runner leapt away on the instant, to follow a forlorn hope.  Sweyn, on regaining his feet, was as amazed as angry at this unaccountable flight.  He knew in his heart that his brother was no coward, and that it was unlike him to shrink from an encounter because defeat was certain, and cruel humiliation from a vindictive victor probable.  Of the uselessness of pursuit he was well aware:  he must abide his chagrin, content to know that his time for advantage would come.  Since White Fell had parted to the right, Christian to the left, the event of a sequent encounter did not occur to him.  And now Christian, acting on