"Werewolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Housman Clarence)

and turned bright and shining upon Sweyn.

'Nor any signal to be heard?' she queried. 'Did you not hear the
sound of a sea-horn?'

'I saw nothing, and heard nothing; and signal or no signal, the
heavy snow would keep you here perforce.'

She smiled her thanks beautifully. And Christian's heart sank like
lead with a deadly foreboding, as he noted what a light was
kindled in Sweyn's eyes by her smile.

That night, when all others slept, Christian, the weariest of all,
watched outside the guest-chamber till midnight was past. No
sound, not the faintest, could be heard. Could the old tale be true
of the midnight change? What was on the other side of the door, a
woman or a beast? he would have given his right hand to know.
Instinctively he laid his hand on the latch, and drew it softly,
though believing that bolts fastened the inner side. The door
yielded to his hand; he stood on the threshold; a keen gust of air
cut at him; the window stood open; the room was empty.

So Christian could sleep with a somewhat lightened heart.

In the morning there was surprise and conjecture when White
Fell's absence was discovered. Christian held his peace. Not even
to his brother did he say how he knew that she had fled before
midnight; and Sweyn, though evidently greatly chagrined, seemed
to disdain reference to the subject of Christian's fears.

The elder brother alone joined the bear hunt; Christian found
pretext to stay behind. Sweyn, being out of humour, manifested his
contempt by uttering not a single expostulation.

All that day, and for many a day after, Christian would never go
out of sight of his home. Sweyn alone noticed how he manoeuvred
for this, and was clearly annoyed by it. White Fell's name was
never mentioned between them, though not seldom was it heard in
general talk. Hardly a day passed but little Rol asked when White
Fell would come again: pretty White Fell, who kissed like a
snowflake. And if Sweyn answered, Christian would be quite sure
that the light in his eyes, kindled by White Fell's smile, had not yet
died out.

Little Rol! Naughty, merry, fair-haired little Rol. A day came when
his feet raced over the threshold never to return; when his chatter
and laugh were heard no more; when tears of anguish were wept
by eyes that never would see his bright head again: never again,
living or dead.