Johnson's wolves.





CHAPTER XV




For a space Philip thought that the cry must have come from Bram
Johnson himself--that the wolf-man had returned in the pit of the
storm. Against his breast Celie had apparently ceased to breathe.
Both listened for a repetition of the sound, or for a signal at
the barred door. It was strange that in that moment the wind
should die down until they could hear the throbbing of their own
hearts. Celie's was pounding like a little hammer, and all at once
he pressed his face down against hers and laughed with sudden and
joyous understanding.

"It was only the wind, dear," he said. "I never heard anything
like it before--never! It even fooled the wolves. Bless your dear
little heart how it frightened you! And it was enough, too. Shall
we light some of Bram's candles?"

He held her hand as he groped his way to where he had seen Bram's
supply of bear-dips. She held two of the candles while he lighted
them and their yellow flare illumined her face while his own was
still in shadow. What he saw in its soft glow and the shine of her