Facing his assailant with the bear-spear, he struck up his arms,
and with the butt end hit hard so that he fell. The matchless
runner leapt away on the instant, to follow a forlorn hope.
Sweyn, on regaining his feet, was as amazed as angry at this
unaccountable flight. He knew in his heart that his brother was no
coward, and that it was unlike him to shrink from an encounter
because defeat was certain, and cruel humiliation from a
vindictive victor probable. Of the uselessness of pursuit he was
well aware: he must abide his chagrin, content to know that his
time for advantage would come. Since White Fell had parted to the
right, Christian to the left, the event of a sequent encounter did
not occur to him. And now Christian, acting on the dim glimpse he
had had, just as Sweyn turned upon him, of something that moved
against the sky along the ridge behind the homestead, was staking
his only hope on a chance, and his own superlative speed. If what
he saw was really White Fell, he guessed she was bending her steps
towards the open wastes; and there was just a possibility that, by
a straight dash, and a desperate perilous leap over a sheer bluff,
he might yet meet her or head her. And then: he had no further
thought.

It was past, the quick, fierce race, and the chance of death at
the leap; and he halted in a hollow to fetch his breath and to
look: did she come? had she gone?

She came.

She came with a smooth, gliding, noiseless speed, that was neither
walking nor running; her arms were folded in her furs that were