test. He nestled happily, fingering
the axe head, the ivory studs in her girdle, the ivory clasp at
her throat, the plaits of fair hair; rubbing his head against the
softness of her fur-clad shoulder, with a child's full confidence
in the kindness of beauty.

White Fell had not uncovered her head, only knotted the pendant
fur loosely behind her neck. Rol reached up his hand towards it,
whispering her name to himself, "White Fell, White Fell," then
slid his arms round her neck, and kissed her--once--twice. She
laughed delightedly, and kissed him again.

"The child plagues you?" said Sweyn.

"No, indeed," she answered, with an earnestness so intense as to
seem disproportionate to the occasion.

Rol settled himself again on her lap, and began to unwind the
bandage bound round his hand. He paused a little when he saw where
the blood had soaked through; then went on till his hand was bare
and the cut displayed, gaping and long, though only skin deep. He
held it up towards White Fell, desirous of her pity and sympathy.

At sight of it, and the blood-stained linen, she drew in her
breath suddenly, clasped Rol to her--hard, hard--till he began to
struggle. Her face was hidden behind the boy, so that none could
see its expression. It had lighted up with a most awful glee.

Afar, beyond the fir-grove, beyond the low hill behind, the absent
Christian was hastening his return. From daybreak he had been
afoot, carrying notice of a bear hunt to all the best hunters of
the farms and hamlets that lay within a radius of twelve miles.
Nevertheless, having been detained till a late hour, he now broke
into a run, going with a long smooth stride of apparent ease that
fast made the miles diminish.

He entered the midnight blackness of the fir-grove with scarcely
slackened pace, though the path was invisible; and passing through
into the open again, sighted the farm lying a furlong off down the
slope. Then he sprang out freely, and almost on the instant gave
one great sideways leap, and stood still. There in the snow was
the track of a great wolf.

His hand went to his knife, his only weapon. He stooped, knelt
down, to bring his eyes to the level of a beast, and peered about;
his teeth set, his heart beat a little harder than the pace of his
running insisted on. A solitary wolf, nearly always savage and of
large size, is a formidable beast that will not hesitate to attack
a single man. This wolf-track was the largest Christian had