“‘If,’ said I, ‘I eat all this you have brought me, I shall sleep till somebody finds me.’ “Then she took away the rest of the meat. “‘Why,’ said I, ‘should I not eat?’ She looked at me in tears of fear. “‘What?’ I said, but still she had no answer. I kissed her, and the hurt of my wounded mouth angered me. “‘Now there is my blood,’ said I, ‘on your mouth.’ Wiping her smooth hand over her lips, she looked thereat, then at me. “‘Leave me,’ I said, ‘I am tired.’ She rose to leave me. “‘But bring a knife,’ I said. Then she held the lanthorn near my face, looking as at a picture. “‘You look to me,’ she said, ‘like a stirk that is roped for the axe. Your eyes are dark, but they are wide open.’ “‘Then I will sleep,’ said I, ‘but will not wake too late.’ “‘Do not stay here,’ she said. “‘I will not sleep in the wood,’ I answered, and it was my heart that spoke, ‘for I am afraid. I had better be afraid of the voice of man and dogs, than the sounds in the woods. Bring me a knife, and in the morning I will go. Alone will I not go now.’ “‘The searchers will take you,’ she said. “‘Bring me a knife,’ I answered. “‘Ah, go,’ she wept. “‘Not now—I will not——’ “With that she lifted the lanthorn, lit up her own face and mine. Her blue eyes dried of tears. Then I took her to myself, knowing she was mine. “‘I will come again,’ she said. “She went, and I folded my arms, lay down and slept. “When I woke, she was rocking me wildly to rouse me. “‘I dreamed,’ said I, ‘that a great heap, as if it were a hill, lay on me and above me.’ “She put a cloak over me, gave me a hunting-knife and a wallet of food, and other things I did not note. Then under her own cloak she hid the lanthorn. “‘Let us go,’ she said, and blindly I followed her. “When I came out into the cold someone touched my face and my hair. “‘Ha!’ I cried, ‘who now——?’ Then she swiftly clung to me, hushed me. “‘Someone has touched me,’ I said aloud, still dazed with sleep. “‘Oh hush!’ she wept. ‘’Tis snowing.’ The dogs within the house began to bark. She fled forward, I after her. Coming to the ford of the stream she ran swiftly over, but I broke through the ice. Then I knew where I was. Snowflakes, fine and rapid, were biting at my face. In the wood there was no wind nor snow. “‘Listen,’ said I to her, ‘listen, for I am locked up with sleep.’ “‘I hear roaring overhead,’ she answered. ‘I hear in the trees like great bats squeaking.’ “‘Give me your hand,’ said I. “We heard many noises as we passed. Once as there uprose a whiteness before us, she cried aloud. “‘Nay,’ said I, ‘do not untie thy hand from mine,’ and soon we were crossing fallen snow. But ever and again she started back from fear. “‘When you draw back my arm,’ I said, angry, ‘you loosen a weal on my shoulder.’ “Thereafter she ran by my side, like a fawn beside its mother.