yet fail to hunt that Thing past midnight, out of the womanly form
alluring and treacherous, into lasting restraint of the bestial,
which was the last shred of hope left from the confident purpose
of the outset?

"Sweyn, Sweyn, O Sweyn!" He thought he was praying, though his
heart wrung out nothing but this: "Sweyn, Sweyn, O Sweyn!"

The last hour from midnight had lost half its quarters, and the
stars went lifting up the great minutes; and again his greatening
heart, and his shrinking brain, and the sickening agony that swung
at either side, conspired to appal the will that had only seeming
empire over his feet.

Now White Fell's body was so closely enveloped that not a lap nor
an edge flew free. She stretched forward strangely aslant, leaning
from the upright poise of a runner. She cleared the ground at
times by long bounds, gaining an increase of speed that Christian
agonised to equal.

Because the stars pointed that the end was nearing, the black
brood came behind again, and followed, noising. Ah! if they could
but be kept quiet and still, nor slip their usual harmless masks
to encourage with their interest the last speed of their most
deadly congener. What shape had they? Should he ever know? If it
were not that he was bound to compel the fell Thing that ran
before him into her truer form, he might face about and follow
them. No--no--not so; if he might do anything but what he
did--race, race, and racing bear this agony, he would just stand
still and die, to be quit of the pain of breathing.