across the deep-blue sky. High over the snowy peaks of the Arran
mountains the full moon shone like a great silver shield and cast its
radiance upon the glassy surface of the lake. The wintry night was
almost as light as day, and every rock and tree stood out distinct and
black.

Kenric left the uneven ground and stepped upon the thick strong ice,
which was so clear at the edge that he could even see the shadowy reeds
below. He walked outward with steady steps, and bent his course
southward in the shimmering track of the moon's light. The lake was very
deep, but Kenric had no fear, for the ice was many inches thick and his
foothold was sure.

As he reached the middle of the lake, where no sound came to him but the
regular tread of his soft hide shoes and the tinkling ring of the ice, a
feeling of awe came over him. He solemnly remembered that it was the
last hour of the passing year -- it might also be his last hour upon
earth. He was not afraid; but the deadly silence, the wan light of the
moon, the piercing cold, his lonely situation upon that shining stretch
of ice, and his knowledge that he would soon be engaged in a mortal
combat, whose results must determine so much for himself and for his
people, oppressed his mind very strangely; nor could he dismiss from his
thoughts the surprising things that he had heard that day concerning
Aasta the Fair.

Suddenly, as he looked before him towards the shore that he was
approaching, he was startled at seeing a black shadow upon the ice. It
was as though some human being were lying there. He saw the figure move.
Slowly, stealthily it crept towards him. Kenric stood still, taking off
his fur gauntlets and putting his hand to his sword. Then the figure
crept more rapidly. Nearer and yet nearer it came. He saw now that it
was a large animal. Its glistening eyes and long legs showed that it was
a wolf.

He drew his sword and went to meet it. The wolf growled as in hungry
anger, and crouched down as though preparing to spring upon him. Kenric
raised his sword to strike, the wolf bounded forward, and as his weapon
was about to descend upon its head the animal swerved. The moon's light
revealed a white patch of hair upon its breast.

Kenric staggered backward, unwilling now to strike.

"Aasta!" he cried. "Aasta? The werewolf?"

At the same moment he loosed his grip of the sword, and the weapon,
impelled by the force his arm had given it, flew from his hand, and
falling upon