Did not White Fell tread so?

A dreadful guess appalled him, so dreadful that he recoiled from belief.  Yet his face grew ashy white, and he gasped to fetch back motion to his checked heart.  Unbelievable?  Closer attention showed how the smaller footfall had altered for greater speed, striking into the snow with a deeper onset and a lighter pressure on the heels.  Unbelievable?  Could any woman but White Fell run so?  Could any man but Christian run so?  The guess became a certainty.  He was following where alone in the dark night White Fell had fled from Christian pursuing.

Such villainy set heart and brain on fire with rage and indignation:  such villainy in his own brother, till lately love-worthy, praiseworthy, though a fool for meekness.  He would kill Christian; had he lives many as the footprints he had trodden, vengeance should demand them all.  In a tempest of murderous hate he followed on in haste, for the track was plain enough, starting with such a burst of speed as could not be maintained, but brought him back soon to a plod for the spent, sobbing breath to be regulated.  He cursed Christian aloud and called White Fell’s name on high in a frenzied expense of passion.  His grief itself was a rage, being such an intolerable anguish of pity and shame at the thought of his love, White Fell, who had parted from his kiss free and radiant, to be hounded straightway by his brother mad with jealousy, fleeing for more than life while her lover was housed at his ease.  If he had but known, he raved, in impotent rebellion at the cruelty of events, if he had but known that his strength and love might have availed in her defence; now the only service to her that he could render was to kill Christian.

As a woman he knew she was matchless in speed, matchless in strength; but Christian was matchless in speed among men, nor easily to be matched in strength.  Brave and swift and strong though she were, what chance had she against a man of his strength and inches, frantic, too, and intent on horrid revenge against his brother, his successful rival?

Mile after mile he followed with a bursting heart; more piteous, more tragic, seemed the case at this evidence of White Fell’s splendid supremacy, holding her own so long against Christian’s famous speed.  So long, so long that his love and admiration grew more and more boundless, and his grief and indignation therewith also.  Whenever the track lay clear he ran, with such reckless prodigality of strength, that it soon was spent, and he dragged on heavily, till, sometimes on the ice of a mere, sometimes on a wind-swept place, all signs were lost; but, so undeviating had been their line that a course straight on, and then short questing to either hand, recovered them again.