In a while she quickened her pace.  From the first, Christian had judged of her speed as admirable, yet with exulting security in his own excelling and enduring whatever her efforts.  But, when the pace increased, he found himself put to the test as never had he been before in any race.  Her feet, indeed, flew faster than his; it was only by his length of stride that he kept his place at her side.  But his heart was high and resolute, and he did not fear failure yet.

So the desperate race flew on.  Their feet struck up the powdery snow, their breath smoked into the sharp clear air, and they were gone before the air was cleared of snow and vapour.  Now and then Christian glanced up to judge, by the rising of the stars, of the coming of midnight.  So long—­so long!

White Fell held on without slack.  She, it was evident, with confidence in her speed proving matchless, as resolute to outrun her pursuer as he to endure till midnight and fulfil his purpose.  And Christian held on, still self-assured.  He could not fail; he would not fail.  To avenge Rol and Trella was motive enough for him to do what man could do; but for Sweyn more.  She had kissed Sweyn, but he should not die too:  with Sweyn to save he could not fail.

Never before was such a race as this; no, not when in old Greece man and maid raced together with two fates at stake; for the hard running was sustained unabated, while star after star rose and went wheeling up towards midnight, for one hour, for two hours.

Then Christian saw and heard what shot him through with fear.  Where a fringe of trees hung round a slope he saw something dark moving, and heard a yelp, followed by a full horrid cry, and the dark spread out upon the snow, a pack of wolves in pursuit.

Of the beasts alone he had little cause for fear; at the pace he held he could distance them, four-footed though they were.  But of White Fell’s wiles he had infinite apprehension, for how might she not avail herself of the savage jaws of these wolves, akin as they were to half her nature.  She vouchsafed to them nor look nor sign; but Christian, on an impulse to assure himself that she should not escape him, caught and held the back-flung edge of her furs, running still.

She turned like a flash with a beastly snarl, teeth and eyes gleaming again.  Her axe shone, on the upstroke, on the downstroke, as she hacked at his hand.  She had lopped it off at the wrist, but that he parried with the bear-spear.  Even then, she shore through the shaft and shattered the bones of the hand at the same blow, so that he loosed perforce.

Then again they raced on as before, Christian not losing a pace, though his left hand swung useless, bleeding and broken.

The snarl, indubitable, though modified from a woman’s organs, the vicious fury revealed in teeth and eyes, the sharp arrogant pain of her maiming blow, caught away Christian’s heed of the beasts behind, by striking into him close vivid realisation of the infinitely greater danger that ran before him in that deadly Thing.