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“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.”

“If you would believe me,” began Christian.

“I believe you to be a fool,” said Sweyn, losing patience. “Another, who was not your brother, might believe you to be a knave, and guess that you had transformed White Fell into a Were-Wolf because she smiled more readily on me than on you.”

The jest was not without foundation, for the grace of White Fell’s bright looks had been bestowed on him, on Christian never a whit. Sweyn’s coxcombery was always frank, and most forgiveable, and not without fair colour.

“If you want an ally,” continued Sweyn, “confide in old Trella. Out of her stores of wisdom, if her memory holds good, she can instruct you in the orthodox manner of tackling a Were-Wolf. If I remember aright, you should watch the suspected person till midnight, when the beast’s form must be resumed, and retained ever after if a human eye sees the change; or, better still, sprinkle hands and feet with holy water, which is certain death. Oh! never fear, but old Trella will be equal to the occasion.”

Sweyn’s contempt was no longer good-humoured; some touch of irritation or resentment rose at this monstrous doubt of White Fell. But Christian was too deeply distressed to take offence.

“You speak of them as old wives’ tales; but if you had seen the proof I have seen, you would be ready at least to wish them true, if not also to put them to the test.”

“Well,” said Sweyn, with a laugh that had a little sneer in it, “put them to the test! I will not object to that, if you will only keep your notions to yourself. Now, Christian, give me your word for silence, and we will freeze here no longer.”

Christian remained silent.

Sweyn put his hands on his shoulders again and vainly tried to see his face in the darkness.

“We have never quarrelled yet, Christian?”

“I have never quarrelled,” returned the other, aware for the first time that his dictatorial brother had sometimes offered occasion for quarrel, had he been ready to take it.

“Well,” said Sweyn emphatically, “if you speak against White Fell to any other, as to-night you have spoken to me–we shall.”

He delivered the words like an ultimatum, turned sharp round, and re-entered the house. Christian, more fearful and wretched than before, followed.

“Snow is falling fast: not a single light is to be seen.”