“Soon I was risen again, and we were running downwards towards the stream. We felt ourselves eased when the smooth road of ice was beneath us. For a while it was resting, to travel thus evenly. But the wind blew round us, the snow hung upon us, we leaned us this way and that, towards the storm. I drew her along, for she came as a bird that stems lifting and swaying against the wind. By and by the snow came smaller, there was not wind in the wood. Then I felt nor labour, nor cold. Only I knew the darkness drifted by on either side, that overhead was a lane of paleness where a moon fled us before. Still, I can feel the moon fleeing from me, can feel the trees passing round me in slow dizzy reel, can feel the hurt of my shoulder and my straight arm torn with holding her. I was following the moon and the stream, for I knew where the water peeped from its burrow in the ground there were shelters of the outlaw. But she fell, without sound or sign. “I gathered her up and climbed the bank. There all round me hissed the larchwood, dry beneath, and laced with its dry-fretted cords. For a little way I carried her into the trees. Then I laid her down till I cut flat hairy boughs. I put her in my bosom on this dry bed, so we swooned together through the night. I laced her round and covered her with myself, so she lay like a nut within its shell. “Again, when morning came, it was pain of cold that woke me. I groaned, but my heart was warm as I saw the heap of red hair in my arms. As I looked at her, her eyes opened into mine. She smiled—from out of her smile came fear. As if in a trap she pressed back her head. “‘We have no flint,’ said I. “‘Yes—in the wallet, flint and steel and tinder box,’ she answered. “‘God yield you blessing,’ I said. “In a place a little open I kindled a fire of larch boughs. She was afraid of me, hovering near, yet never crossing a space. “‘Come,’ said I, ‘let us eat this food.’ “‘Your face,’ she said, ‘is smeared with blood.’ “I opened out my cloak. “‘But come,’ said I, ‘you are frosted with cold.’ “I took a handful of snow in my hand, wiping my face with it, which then I dried on my cloak. “‘My face is no longer painted with blood, you are no longer afraid of me. Come here then, sit by me while we eat.’ “But as I cut the cold bread for her, she clasped me suddenly, kissing me. She fell before me, clasped my knees to her breast, weeping. She laid her face down to my feet, so that her hair spread like a fire before me. I wondered at the woman. ‘Nay,’ I cried. At that she lifted her face to me from below. ‘Nay,’ I cried, feeling my tears fall. With her head on my breast, my own tears rose from their source, wetting my cheek and her hair, which was wet with the rain of my eyes. “Then I remembered and took from my bosom the coloured light of that night before. I saw it was black and rough. “‘Ah,’ said I, ‘this is magic.’ “‘The black stone!’ she wondered. “‘It is the red light of the night before,’ I said.