curiosity to hear White Fell's smooth excuses and smiling
apologies for her strange and uncourteous departure; or her easy
tale of the circumstances of her return; or to watch her bearing
as she heard the sad tale of little Rol.

The swiftest runner of the country-side had started on his hardest
race: little less than three leagues and back, which he reckoned
to accomplish in two hours, though the night was moonless and the
way rugged. He rushed against the still cold air till it felt like
a wind upon his face. The dim homestead sank below the ridges at
his back, and fresh ridges of snowlands rose out of the obscure
horizon-level to drive past him as the stirless air drove, and
sink away behind into obscure level again. He took no conscious
heed of landmarks, not even when all sign of a path was gone under
depths of snow. His will was set to reach his goal with unexampled
speed; and thither by instinct his physical forces bore him,
without one definite thought to guide.

And the idle brain lay passive, inert, receiving into its vacancy
restless siftings of past sights and sounds: Rol, weeping,
laughing, playing, coiled in the arms of that dreadful Thing:
Tyr--O Tyr!--white fangs in the black jowl: the women who wept on
The foolish puppy, precious for the child's last touch: footprints
from pine wood to door: the smiling face among furs, of such
womanly beauty--smiling--smiling: and Sweyn's face.

"Sweyn, Sweyn, O Sweyn, my brother!"

Sweyn's angry laugh possessed his ear within the sound of the wind
of his speed; Sweyn's scorn assailed more quick and keen than the