The howls of the pack as they stayed to fall on the carcass of their fellow, after their wont, died away behind us, and before they were heard again my friend had come across a half-frozen brook, and for a furlong or more had crashed and waded through its ice and water that our trail might be lost in it.  Then he lit on the path that a sounder of wild swine had made through the snow on either side of it as they crossed it, and that he followed, in hopes that the foe would leave us to chase the more accustomed quarry.  From that he leapt aside presently with a wondrous leap and struck off away from it.  He would leave nothing untried, though indeed by this time he had reason to think that the pack had lost us at the brook, for he heard no more of them.

So at last he came within sound of some far-off shouts of those who were seeking me, and he guessed well what those shouts meant, and turned in their direction.  Had he not heard them I do not know what place of refuge, save the trees, he would have found that night, for he was then passing across the valley that winds down to our home.

So it happened that when at last he saw the red light from the door of our hall gleaming across the snow, for it had been left open that perchance I might see it, he was close to the place, and he came into the courtyard inside the stockading without meeting any one, for he came from the side on which the village is not.

There I woke as the house dogs barked, and at first it was with a cry of fear lest the wolves were on us again; but the fear passed as I saw my father come quickly into the light of the doorway, and heard his voice as he stilled the dogs and cried to ask if the boy was found.

“Ay, Thane, he is here, and safe,” my friend answered, and he set me down in the midst of the court, while the dogs leapt and fawned round me.

Then I ran to the arms that were held out for me, forgetting for the moment the one who had brought me back to them, and left him standing there.

Then the man who had saved me turned after one long look at that meeting, and I think that he was going his way in silence, content with that he had done, but my father saw it and called to him: 

“Friend, stay, for I have not thanked you, and I hold that there is reward due to you for what you have brought back to me.”

“It was a chance meeting, Thane, and I am glad to have been of use.  No need to speak of reward, for it is indeed enough to have seen the boy home safely.”

“Why, then,” said my father, “I cannot have a stranger pass my hall at this time in the evening, when it is too late to reach the town in safety.  Here you must at least lodge for the night, or Eastdean will be shamed.  Your voice tells me that you are a stranger—­but maybe you have your men waiting for you at hand?  There will be room for them also.”

For there was that in the tones of the voice of this man which told my father that here he had no common wanderer.