m THE WERE-WOLF HE WE RE-WOLF BY CLEMENCE HOUSMAN WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS BY LAURENCE HOUSMAN LONDON: JOHN LANE AT THE BODLEY HEAD CHICAGO: WAY AND WILLIAMS 1896 TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF E. W. P. YOU WILL THINK OF ME SOMETIMES, MY DEAR?" K Q Q /' n o LIST OF PLATES Holy Water . . Frontispiece Rol's Worship . . To face page 8 White Fell's Escape ,, 60 The Race . . ,, 80 The Finish . . ,, 100 Sweyn's Finding . ,, 116 THE WERE-WOLF HE great farm hall was ablaze with the fire-light, and noisy with laughter and talk and many- sounding work. None could be idle but the very young and the very old : little Rol, who was hugging a puppy, and old Trella, whose palsied hand fumbled over her knitting. The early evening had closed in, and the farm-servants, come from their out- door work, had assembled in the ample hall, which gave space for a score or more of workers. Several of the men were engaged in carving, and to these were i A The Were-Wolf yielded the best place and light ; others made or repaired fishing-tackle and harness, and a great seine net occupied three pairs of hands. Of the women most were sorting and mixing eider feather and chopping straw to add to it. Looms were there, though not in present use, but three wheels whirred emulously, and the finest and swiftest thread of the three ran between the fingers of the house-mistress. Near her were some children, busy too, plaiting wicks for candles and lamps. Each group of workers had a lamp in its centre, and those farthest from the fire had live heat from two braziers filled with glowing wood embers, replenished now and again from the generous hearth. But the flicker of the great fire was mani- fest to remotest corners, and prevailed beyond the limits of the weaker lights. Little Rol grew tired of his puppy, dropped it incontinently, and made an The Were-Wolf onslaught on Tyr, the old wolf-hound, who basked dozing, whimpering and twitching in his hunting dreams. Prone went Rol beside Tyr, his young arms round the shaggy neck, his curls against the black jowl. Tyr gave a perfunctory lick, and stretched with a sleepy sigh. Rol growled and rolled and shoved invitingly, but could only gain from the old dog placid toleration and a half- observant blink. " Take that then!" said Rol, indignant at this ignoring of his advances, and sent the puppy sprawling against the dignity that disdained him as playmate. The dog took no notice, and the child wandered off to find amusement elsewhere. The baskets of white eider feathers caught his eye far off in a distant corner. He slipped under the table, and crept along on all-fours, the ordinary common- place custom of walking down a room upright not being to his fancy. When 3 The Were-Wolf close to the women he lay still for a moment watching, with his elbows on the floor and his chin in his palms. One of the women seeing him nodded and smiled, and presently he crept out behind her skirts and passed, hardly noticed, from one to another, till he found opportunity to possess himself of a large handful of feathers. With these he traversed the length of the room, under the table again, and emerged near the spinners. At the feet of the youngest he curled himself round, sheltered by her knees from the ob- servation of the others, and disarmed her of interference by secretly displaying his handful with a confiding smile. A dubious nod satisfied him, and pre- sently he started on the play he had devised. He took a tuft of the white down, and gently shook /it free of his fingers close to the whirl of the wheel. The wind of the swift motion took it, 4 The Were-Wolf spun it round and round in widening circles, till it floated above like a slow white moth. Little Rol's eyes danced, and the row of his small teeth shone in a silent laugh of delight. Another and another of the white tufts was sent whirling round like a winged thing in a spider's web, and floating clear at last. Presently the handful failed. Rol sprawled forward to survey the room, and contemplate another journey under the table. His shoulder, thrusting forward, checked the wheel for an in- stant; he shifted hastily. The wheel flew on with a jerk, and the thread snapped. "Naughty Rol!" said the girl. The swiftest wheel stopped also, and the house-mistress, Rol's aunt, leaned forward, and sighting the low curly head, gave a warning against mischief, and sent him off to old Trella's corner. Rol obeyed, and after a discreet period of obedience, sidled out again down the 5 The Were-Wolf length of the room farthest from his aunt's eye. As he slipped in among the men, they looked up to see that their tools might be, as far as possible, out of reach of Rol's hands, and close to their own. Nevertheless, before long he man- aged to secure a fine chisel and take off its point on the leg of the table. The carver's strong objections to this discon- certed Rol, who for five minutes there- after effaced himself under the table. During this seclusion he contemplated the many pairs of legs that surrounded him, and almost shut out the light of the fire. How very odd some of the legs were : some were curved where they should be straight, some were straight where they should be curved, and, as Rol said to himself, " they all seemed screwed on differently." Some were tucked away modestly under the benches, others were thrust far out under the table, encroaching on Rol's own par- 6 The Were-Wolf ticular domain. He stretched out his own short legs and regarded them critic- ally, and, after comparison, favourably. Why were not all legs made like his, or like his} These legs approved by Rol were a little apart from the rest. He crawled opposite and again made comparison. His face grew quite solemn as he thought of the innumerable days to come before his legs could be as long and strong. He hoped they would be just like those, his models, as straight as to bone, as curved as to muscle. A few moments later Sweyn of the long legs felt a small hand caressing his foot, and looking down, met the upturned eyes of his little cousin Rol. Lying on his back, still softly patting and stroking the young man's foot, the child was quiet and happy for a good while. He watched the movement of the strong deft hands, and the shifting of the bright tools. Now 7 The Were-Wolf and then, minute chips of wood, puffed off by Sweyn, fell down upon his face. At last he raised himself, very gently, lest a jog should wake impatience in the carver, and crossing his own legs round Sweyn's ankle, clasping with his arms too, laid his head against the knee. Such act is evidence of a child's most wonder- ful hero-worship. Quite content was Rol, and more than content when Sweyn paused a minute to joke, and pat his head and pull his curls. Quiet he re- mained, as long as quiescence is possible to limbs young as his. Sweyn forgot he was near, hardly noticed when his leg was gently released, and never saw the stealthy abstraction of one of his tools. Ten minutes thereafter was a lament- able wail from low on the floor, rising to the full pitch of Rol's healthy lungs ; for his hand was gashed across, and the copious bleeding terrified him. Then was there soothing and comforting, washing 8 ROLS WORSHIP The Were-Wolf and binding, and a modicum of scolding, till the loud outcry sank into occasional sobs, and the child, tear-stained and sub- dued, was returned to the chimney-corner settle, where Trella nodded. In the reaction after pain and fright, Rol found that the quiet of that fire-lit corner was to his mind. Tyr, too, dis- dained him no longer, but, roused by his sobs, showed all the concern and sym- pathy that a dog can by licking and wist- ful watching. A little shame weighed also upon his spirits. He wished he had not cried quite so much. He remem- bered how once Sweyn had come home with his arm torn down from the shoulder, and a dead bear ; and how he had never winced nor said a word, though his lips turned white with pain. Poor little Rol gave another sighing sob over his own faint-hearted shortcomings. The light and motion of the great fire began to tell strange stories to the child, 13 The Were-Wolf and the wind in the chimney roared a corroborative note now and then. The great black mouth of the chimney, impending high over the hearth, re- ceived as into a mysterious gulf murky coils of smoke and brightness of aspiring sparks ; and beyond, in the high darkness, were muttering and wailing and strange doings, so that sometimes the smoke rushed back in panic, and curled out and up to the roof, and condensed itself to invisibility among the rafters. And then the wind would rage after its lost prey, and rush round the house, rattling and shrieking at window and door. In a lull, after one such loud gust, Rol lifted his head in surprise and listened. A lull had also come on the babel of talk, and thus could be heard with strange distinctness a sound outside the door — the sound of a child's voice, a child's hands. " Open, open ; let me in ! " piped the little voice from low down, 14 The Were-Wolf lower than the handle, and the latch rattled as though a tiptoe child reached up to it, and soft small knocks were struck. One near the door sprang up and opened it. " No one is here," he said. Tyr lifted his head and gave utterance to a howl, loud, prolonged, most dismal. Sweyn, not able to believe that his ears had deceived him, got up and went to the door. It was a dark night ; the clouds were heavy with snow, that had fallen fitfully when the wind lulled. Untrodden snow lay up to the porch ; there was no sight nor sound of any human being. Sweyn strained his eyes far and near, only to see dark sky, pure snow, and a line of black fir trees on a hill brow, bowing down before the wind. " It must have been the wind," he said, and closed the door. Many faces looked scared. The sound of a child's voice had been so distinct — and the words " Open, open ; let me is The Were-Wolf in ! " The wind might creak the wood, or rattle the latch, but could not speak with a child's voice, nor knock with the soft plain blows that a plump fist gives. And the strange unusual howl of the wolf-hound was an omen to be feared, be the rest what it might. Strange things were said by one and another, till the rebuke of the house-mistress quelled them into far-off whispers. For a time after there was uneasiness, constraint, and si- lence ; then the chill fear thawed by degrees, and the babble of talk flowed on again. Yet half-an-hour later a very slight noise outside the door sufficed to arrest every hand, every tongue. Every head was raised, every eye fixed in one direc- tion. " It is Christian ; he is late," said Sweyn. No, no ; this is a feeble shuffle, not a young man's tread. With the sound of uncertain feet came the hard tap-tap of 16 The Were-Wolf a stick against the door, and the high- pitched voice of eld, " Open, open ; let me in ! " Again Tyr flung up his head in a long doleful howl. Before the echo of the tapping stick and the high voice had fairly died away, Sweyn had sprung across to the door and flung it wide. " No one again," he said in a steady voice, though his eyes looked startled as he stared out. He saw the lonely expanse of snow, the clouds swagging low, and between the two the line of dark fir-trees bowing in the wind. He closed the door without a word of comment, and re-crossed the room. A score of blanched faces were turned to him as though he must be solver of the enigma. He could not be uncon- scious of this mute eye-questioning, and it disturbed his resolute air of composure. He hesitated, glanced towards his mother, the house - mistress, then back at the frightened folk, and gravely, before them 17 The Were-Wolf all, made the sign of the cross. There was a flutter of hands as the sign was repeated by all, and the dead silence was stirred as by a huge sigh, for the held breath of many was freed as though the sign gave magic relief. Even the house-mistress was per- turbed. She left her wheel and crossed the room to her son, and spoke with him for a moment in a low tone that none could overhear. But a moment later her voice was high-pitched and loud, so that all might benefit by her rebuke of the " heathen chatter " of one of the girls. Perhaps she essayed to silence thus her own misgivings and forebodings. No other voice dared speak now with its natural fulness. Low tones made intermittent murmurs, and now and then silence drifted over the whole room. The handling of tools was as noiseless as might be, and suspended on 18 The Were-Wolf the instant if the door rattled in a gust of wind. After a time Sweyn left his work, joined the group nearest the door, and loitered there on the pretence of giving advice and help to the unskilful. A man's tread was heard outside in the porch. " Christian ! " said Sweyn and his mother simultaneously, he con- fidently, she authoritatively, to set the checked wheels going again. But Tyr flung up his head with an appalling howl. " Open, open ; let me in ! " It was a man's voice, and the door shook and rattled as a man's strength beat against it. Sweyn could feel the planks quivering, as on the instant his hand was upon the door, flinging it open, to face the blank porch, and be- yond only snow and sky, and firs aslant in the wind. He stood for a long minute with the open door in his hand. The bitter wind swept in with its icy chill, but a 19 The Were-Wolf deadlier chill of fear came swifter, and seemed to freeze the beating of hearts. Sweyn stepped back to snatch up a great bearskin cloak. " Sweyn, where are you going ? " " No farther than the porch, mother," and he stepped out and closed the door. He wrapped himself in the heavy fur, and leaning against the most sheltered wall of the porch, steeled his nerves to face the devil and all his works. No sound of voices came from within ; the most distinct sound was the crackle and roar of the fire. It was bitterly cold. His feet grew numb, but he forbore stamping them into warmth lest the sound should strike panic within ; nor would he leave the porch, nor print a foot-mark on the un- trodden white that declared so absolutely how no human voices and hands could have approached the door since snow fell two hours or more ago. " When 20 The Were-Wolf the wind drops there will be more snow," thought Sweyn. For the best part of an hour he kept his watch, and saw no living thing — heard no unwonted sound. " I will freeze here no longer," he muttered, and re-entered. One woman gave a half-suppressed scream as his hand was laid on the latch, and then a gasp of relief as he came in. No one questioned him, only his mother said, in a tone of forced unconcern, " Could you not see Christian coming ? " as though she were made anxious only by the absence of her younger son. Hardly had Sweyn stamped near to the fire than clear knocking was heard at the door. Tyr leapt from the hearth, his eyes red as the fire, his fangs showing white in the black jowl, his neck ridged and bristling ; and overleaping Rol, ramped at the door, barking furiously. Outside the door a clear mellow voice 21 B The Were-Wolf was calling. Tyr's bark made the words undistinguishable. No one offered to stir towards the door before Sweyn. He stalked down the room resolutely, lifted the latch, and swung back the door. A white-robed woman glided in. No wraith ! Living — beautiful — young. Tyr leapt upon her. Lithely she baulked the sharp fangs with folds of her long fur robe, and snatching from her girdle a small two- edged axe, whirled it up for a blow of defence. Sweyn caught the dog by the collar, and dragged him off yelling and strug- The stranger stood in the doorway motionless, one foot set forward, one arm rlung up, till the house-mistress hurried down the room ; and Sweyn, relinquish- ing to others the furious Tyr, turned 22 The Were-Wolf again to close the door, and offer excuse for so fierce a greeting. Then she lowered her arm, slung the axe in its place at her waist, loosened the furs about her face, and shook over her shoulders the long white robe — all as it were with the sway of one movement. She was a maiden, tall and very fair. The fashion of her dress was strange, half masculine, yet not unwomanly. A fine fur tunic, reaching but little below the knee, was all the skirt she wore ; below were the cross-bound shoes and leggings that a hunter wears. A white fur cap was set low upon the brows, and from its edge strips of fur fell lappet-wise about her shoulders; two of these at her entrance had been drawn forward and crossed about her throat, but now, loosened and thrust back, left unhidden long plaits of fair hair that lay forward on shoulder and breast, down to the ivory- studded girdle where the axe gleamed. 23 The Were-Wolf Sweyn and his mother led the stranger to the hearth without question or sign of curiosity, till she voluntarily told her tale of a long journey to distant kindred, a promised guide unmet, and signals and landmarks mistaken. "Alone! "exclaimed Sweyn in astonish- ment. " Have you journeyed thus far, a hundred leagues, alone ? " She answered "Yes" with a little smile. " Over the hills and the wastes ! Why, the folk there are savage and wild as beasts." She dropped her hand upon her axe with a laugh of some scorn. " I fear neither man nor beast ; some few fear me." And then she told strange tales of fierce attack and defence, and of the bold free huntress life she had led. Her words came a little slowly and deliberately, as though she spoke in a scarce familiar tongue ; now and then 24 The Were-Wolf she hesitated, and stopped in a phrase, as though for lack of some word. She became the centre of a group of listeners. The interest she excited dissi- pated, in some degree, the dread inspired by the mysterious voices. There was nothing ominous about this young, bright, fair reality, though her aspect was strange. Little Rol crept near, staring at the stranger with all his might. Unnoticed, he softly stroked and patted a corner of her soft white robe that reached to the floor in ample folds. He laid his cheek against it caressingly, and then edged up close to her knees. "What is your name?" he asked. The stranger's smile and ready answer, as she looked down, saved Rol from the rebuke merited by his unmannerly ques- tion. " My real name," she said, " would be uncouth to your ears and tongue. The folk of this country have given me 25 The Were-Wolf another name, and from this " (she laid her hand on the fur robe) " they call me < White Fell.' " Little Rol repeated it to himself, stroking and patting as before. " White Fell, White Fell." The fair face, and soft, beautiful dress pleased Rol. He knelt up, with his eyes on her face and an air of uncertain determination, like a robin's on a door- step, and plumped his elbows into her lap with a little gasp at his own audacity. " Rol ! " exclaimed his aunt ; but, " Oh, let him ! " said White Fell, smil- ing and stroking his head ; and Rol stayed. He advanced farther, and panting at his own adventurousness in the face of his aunt's authority, climbed up on to her knees. Her welcoming arms hin- dered any protest. He nestled happily, fingering the axe head, the ivory studs 26 The Were-Wolf 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 confid- ence 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 dis- proportionate 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 27 The Were-Wolf 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, de- sirous 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 Chris- tian 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 28 The Were-Wolf 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 ever seen, and, so far as he could judge, recently 29 The Were-Wolf made. It led from under the fir-trees down the slope. Well for him, he thought, was the delay that had so vexed him before : well for him that he had not passed through the dark fir-grove when that danger of jaws lurked there. Going warily, he followed the track. It led down the slope, across a broad ice-bound stream, along the level be- yond, making towards the farm. A less precise knowledge had doubted, and guessed that here might have come straying big Tyr or his like ; but Christian was sure, knowing better than to mistake between footmark of dog and wolf. Straight on — straight on towards the farm. Surprised and anxious grew Christian, that a prowling wolf should dare so near. He drew his knife and pressed on, more hastily, more keen-eyed. Oh that Tyr were with him ! 30 The Were-Wolf Straight on, straight on, even to the very door, where the snow failed. His heart seemed to give a great leap and then stop. There the track ended. Nothing lurked in the porch, and there was no sign of return. The firs stood straight against the sky, the clouds lay low ; for the wind had fallen and a few snowflakes came drifting down. In a horror of surprise, Christian stood dazed a moment : then he lifted the latch and went in. His glance took in all the old familiar forms and faces, and with them that of the stranger, fur-clad and beauti- ful. The awful truth flashed upon him : he knew what she was. Only a few were startled by the rattle of the latch as he entered. The room was filled with bustle and movement, for it was the supper hour, when all tools were laid aside, and trestles and tables shifted. Christian had no knowledge of what he said and did; he moved and spoke 31 The Were-Wolf mechanically, half thinking that soon he must wake from this horrible dream. Sweyn and his mother supposed him to be cold and dead -tired, and spared all unnecessary questions. And he found himself seated beside the hearth, opposite that dreadful Thing that looked like a beautiful girl ; watching her every move- ment, curdling with horror to see her fondle the child Rol. Sweyn stood near them both, intent upon White Fell also ; but how differ- ently ! She seemed unconscious of the gaze of both — neither aware of the chill dread in the eyes of Christian, nor of Sweyn's warm admiration. These two brothers, who were twins, contrasted greatly, despite their striking likeness. They were alike in regular profile, fair brown hair, and deep blue eyes; but Sweyn's features were perfect as a young god's, while Christian's showed faulty details. Thus, the line of his 32 The Were-Wolf mouth was set too straight, the eyes shelved too deeply back, and the contour of the face flowed in less generous curves than Sweyn's. Their height was the same, but Christian was too slender for perfect proportion, while Sweyn's well- knit frame, broad shoulders, and muscular arms, made him pre-eminent for manly beauty as well as for strength. As a hunter Sweyn was without rival ; as a fisher without rival. All the country- side acknowledged him to be the best wrestler, rider, dancer, singer. Only in speed could he be surpassed, and in that only by his younger brother. All others Sweyn could distance fairly ; but Chris- tian could outrun him easily. Ay, he could keep pace with Sweyn's most breathless burst, and laugh and talk the while. Christian took little pride in his fleetness of foot, counting a man's legs to be the least worthy of his members. He had no envy of his brother's athletic 33 The Were-Wolf superiority, though to several feats he had made a moderate second. He loved as only a twin can love — proud of all that Sweyn did, content with all that Sweyn was ; humbly content also that his own great love should not be so exceedingly returned, since he knew himself to be so far less love-worthy. Christian dared not, in the midst of women and children, launch the horror that he knew into words. He waited to consult his brother; but Sweyn did not, or would not, notice the signal he made, and kept his face always turned towards White Fell. Christian drew away from the hearth, unable to remain passive with that dread upon him. " Where is Tyr ? " he said suddenly. Then, catching sight of the dog in a distant corner, " Why is he chained there ? " "He flew at the stranger," one an- swered. 34 The Were-Wolf Christian's eyes glowed. "Yes?" he said, interrogatively. " He was within an ace of having his brain knocked out." "Tyr?" " Yes ; she was nimbly up with that little axe she has at her waist. It was well for old Tyr that his master throttled him off." Christian went without a word to the corner where Tyr was chained. The dog rose up to meet him, as piteous and indignant as a dumb beast can be. He stroked the black head. "Good Tyr! brave dog ! " They knew, they only ; and the man and the dumb dog had comfort of each other. Christian's eyes turned again towards White Fell : Tyr's also, and he strained against the length of the chain. Chris- tian's hand lay on the dog's neck, and he felt it ridge and bristle with the 35 The Were-Wolf quivering of impotent fury. Then he began to quiver in like manner, with a fury born of reason, not instinct ; as im- potent morally as was Tyr physically. Oh ! the woman's form that he dare not touch ! Anything but that, and he with Tyr would be free to kill or be killed. Then he returned to ask fresh ques- tions. " How long has the stranger been here ? " " She came about half-an-hour before you." " Who opened the door to her ? " " Sweyn : no one else dared." The tone of the answer was mysterious. " Why ? " queried Christian. " Has anything strange happened ? Tell me." For answer he was told in a low under- tone of the summons at the door thrice repeated without human agency ; and of Tyr's ominous howls ; and of Sweyn's fruitless watch outside. 36 The Were-Wolf Christian turned towards his brother in a torment of impatience for a word apart. The board was spread, and Sweyn was leading White Fell to the guest's place. This was more awful : she would break bread with them under the roof-tree ! He started forward, and touching Sweyn's arm, whispered an urgent en- treaty. Sweyn stared, and shook his head in angry impatience. Thereupon Christian would take no morsel of food. His opportunity came at last. White Fell questioned of the landmarks of the country, and of one Cairn Hill, which was an appointed meeting-place at which she was due that night. The house -mistress and Sweyn both exclaimed. " It is three long miles away," said Sweyn ; " with no place for shelter but a wretched hut. Stay with us this 37 c The Were-Wolf night, and I will show you the way- to-morrow." White Fell seemed to hesitate. " Three miles," she said ; " then I should be able to see or hear a signal." " I will look out," said Sweyn ; " then, if there be no signal, you must not leave us. He went to the door. Christian rose silently, and followed him out. " Sweyn, do you know what she is ? " Sweyn, surprised at the vehement grasp, and low hoarse voice, made answer : " She ? Who ? White Fell ? " " Yes." " She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen." " She is a Were-Wolf." Sweyn burst out laughing. " Are you mad ? " he asked. " No ; here, see for yourself." Christian drew him out of the porch, 33 The Were-Wolf pointing to the snow where the footmarks had been. Had been, for now they were not. Snow was falling fast, and every dint was blotted out. " Well ? " asked Sweyn. " Had you come when I signed to you, you would have seen for yourself." " Seen what ? " " The footprints of a wolf leading up to the door ; none leading away." It was impossible not to be startled by the tone alone, though it was hardly above a whisper. Sweyn eyed his brother anxiously, but in the darkness could make nothing of his face. Then he laid his hands kindly and re-assuringly on Chris- tian's shoulders and felt how he was quivering with excitement and horror. " One sees strange things," he said, " when the cold has got into the brain behind the eyes; you came in cold and worn out." " No," interrupted Christian. " I saw 39 The Were-Wolf the track first on the brow of the slope, and followed it down ri