Fiction  |  Clemence Housman  |  Werewolf  |  The Werewolf

Werewolf — The Werewolf (Part 8 of 24)

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 entreaty. 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 night, and I will show you the way tomorrow.’

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 werewolf.’

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.’