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, 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 Christian’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 the track first on the brow of the slope, and followed it down right here to the door.  This is no delusion.”

Sweyn in his heart felt positive that it was.  Christian was given to day-dreams and strange fancies, though never had he been possessed with so mad a notion before.

“Don’t you believe me?” said Christian desperately.  “You must.  I swear it is sane truth.  Are you blind?  Why, even Tyr knows.”

“You will be clearer headed to-morrow after a night’s rest.  Then come too, if you will, with White Fell, to the Hill Cairn; and if you have doubts still, watch and follow, and see what footprints she leaves.”

Galled by Sweyn’s evident contempt Christian turned abruptly to the door.  Sweyn caught him back.

“What now, Christian?  What are you going to do?”

“You do not believe me; my mother shall.”

Sweyn’s grasp tightened.  “You shall not tell her,” he said authoritatively.

Customarily Christian was so docile to his brother’s mastery that it was now a surprising thing when he wrenched himself free vigorously, and said as determinedly as Sweyn, “She shall know!” but Sweyn was nearer the door and would not let him pass.

“There has been scare enough for one night already.  If this notion of yours will keep, broach it to-morrow.”  Christian would not yield.

“Women are so easily scared,” pursued Sweyn, “and are ready to believe any folly without shadow of proof.  Be a man, Christian, and fight this notion of a Were-Wolf by yourself.”