In another moment Josephine had stepped lightly over the side in a
foot of water. He could not see what happened then, except that
the bar was filled with a shadowy horde of leaping, crowding,
yelping beasts, and that Josephine was the centre of them. He
heard her voice clear and commanding, crying out their names--
Tyr, Captain, Bruno, Thor, Wamba--until their number seemed
without end; he heard the metallic snap of fangs, quick, panting
breaths, the shuffling of padded feet; and then the girl's voice
grew more clear, and the sounds less, until he heard nothing but
the bated breath of the pack and a low, smothered whine.

In that moment the wind-blown clouds above them broke in a narrow
rift across the skies, and for an instant the moon shone through.
What he saw then drew Philip's breath from him in a wondering
gasp.

On the white bar stood Josephine. The wind on the lake had torn
the strands of her long braid loose and her hair swept in a damp
and clinging mass to her hips. She was looking toward him, as if
about to speak. But it was the pack that made him stare. A sea of
great shaggy heads and crouching bodies surrounded her, a fierce
yellow and green-eyed horde flattened like a single beast upon
their bellies their heads turned toward her, their throats
swelling and their eyes gleaming in the joyous excitement of her
return. An instant of that strange and thrilling picture, and the
night was black again. The girl's voice spoke softly. Bodies
shuffled out of her path. And then she said, quite near to him;

"Are you coming, Philip?"