These were the first words he had uttered, and came as if from a
distance. Without a word of hesitation Julia turned into the path with
him, yet with almost a shudder at the darkness. They had not taken
a dozen steps when an appalling, shrieking yell, a brute yell, of
ferocious animal rage--the rage for blood and lust to mangle and
tear--burst from the thicket on their right. A wild plunge through
tangled brush and limbs, another more appalling shriek, and a dark,
shadowy form, with a fierce, hungry growl, crouched in the pathway
just before them, with its yellow, tawny, cruel eyes flashing in their
faces. The first sound seemed to heat every fiery particle of the
blood of the youth into madness, and open an outlet to the burning
elements of his nature. Here was something to encounter, and for her,
and in her presence; and the brute had hardly crouched as if for its
spring, when, with an answering cry, a man's shout, a challenge and
a charge, he sprang forward, with his unarmed strength, to the
encounter. As if cowed and overcome by the higher nature, the brute
turned, and with a complaining whine like a kicked dog, ran into the
depths of the woods. Barton had momentarily, in a half frenzy, wished
for a grapple, and felt a pang of real disappointment.

"The brute is a coward," he said, as he turned back, where the white
robes of Julia were dimly visible in the darkness. She was a daughter
of the Puritans, and had the blood and high courage of her race. The
first cry of the animal had almost frozen her blood, but the eager,
proud, manly shout of Barton affected her like a trumpet-call. She
exulted in his dashing courage, and felt an irresistible impulse to
rush forward to his aid. It all occurred in the fraction of a moment;
and when she realized that the peril was over, she was well-nigh
overcome.