the dim glimpse he had had, just as Sweyn turned upon him, of something that moved against the sky along the ridge behind the homestead, was staking his only hope on a chance, and his own superlative speed.  If what he saw was really White Fell, he guessed she was bending her steps towards the open wastes; and there was just a possibility that, by a straight dash, and a desperate perilous leap over a sheer bluff, he might yet meet her or head her.  And then:  he had no further thought.

It was past, the quick, fierce race, and the chance of death at the leap; and he halted in a hollow to fetch his breath and to look:  did she come? had she gone?

She came.

She came with a smooth, gliding, noiseless speed, that was neither walking nor running; her arms were folded in her furs that were drawn tight about her body; the white lappets from her head were wrapped and knotted closely beneath her face; her eyes were set on a far distance.  So she went till the even sway of her going was startled to a pause by Christian.

“Fell!”

She drew a quick, sharp breath at the sound of her name thus mutilated, and faced Sweyn’s brother.  Her eyes glittered; her upper lip was lifted, and shewed the teeth.  The half of her name, impressed with an ominous sense as uttered by him, warned her of the aspect of a deadly foe.  Yet she cast loose her robes till they trailed ample, and spoke as a mild woman.

“What would you?”

Then Christian answered with his solemn dreadful accusation: 

“You kissed Rol—­and Rol is dead!  You kissed Trella:  she is dead!  You have kissed Sweyn, my brother; but he shall not die!”

He added:  “You may live till midnight.”

The edge of the teeth and the glitter of the eyes stayed a moment, and her right hand also slid down to the axe haft.  Then, without a word, she swerved from him, and sprang out and away swiftly over the snow.

And Christian sprang out and away, and followed her swiftly over the snow, keeping behind, but half-a-stride’s length from her side.

So they went running together, silent, towards the vast wastes of snow, where no living thing but they two moved under the stars of night.

Never before had Christian so rejoiced in his powers.  The gift of speed, and the training of use and endurance were priceless to him now.  Though midnight was hours away, he was confident that, go where that Fell Thing would, hasten as she would, she could not outstrip him nor escape from him.  Then, when came the time for transformation, when the woman’s form made no longer a shield against a man’s hand, he could slay or be slain to save Sweyn.  He had struck his dear brother in dire extremity, but he could not, though reason urged, strike a woman.

For one mile, for two miles they ran:  White Fell ever foremost, Christian ever at equal distance from her side, so near that, now and again, her out-flying furs touched him.  She spoke no word; nor he.  She never turned her head to look at him, nor swerved to evade him; but, with set face looking forward, sped straight on, over rough, over smooth, aware of his nearness by the regular beat of his feet, and the sound of his breath behind.