A glimpse of a red stocking up on the crest of the mound, and the
hunted creature vanished on the farther side, the hunter after her.

The final heat was but short. The girl was wearying already, and had
made for the shelter of the hill on purpose to avoid being caught in
sight of the rest. Olof tore madly down the slope. The girl gave one
glance round, turned vaguely with an instinct of defence; next moment
she felt Olof's two hands grasping her waist.

"You--gazelle!" he shouted triumphantly. But the pace was too hot for
a sudden stop; they lost their balance, and came down together, breast
to breast and eye to eye, rolling over on the slope.

It was all like a dream to Olof--he hardly knew what had happened.
Only that the girl was lying there across his breast, with her
loosened hair streaming over his face. It was like a caress in payment
for his exertions, and it almost stifled him. Still holding her, he
looked into her flushed face, into her wonderful eyes--Gazelle! He
felt like sinking off to sleep, to dream it over again, the charm and
wonder of it all....

"Oh, but come! The others...."

They looked at each other in confusion, and loosed their hold, but
were still so agitated they could hardly rise. Olof handed her the
shoe.

"Quick--put it on, and we'll go back."

She put on her shoe, but stood still, as if unable to move.