heard another kind of howl from the wolves--that of pursuit. It
strengthened and swelled, growing nearer and nearer, till at last,
through the stillness of the night and the moveless forest and the
dead snow, came to my ear a kind of soft rushing sound. I don't know
how to describe it. The rustle of dry leaves is too sharp; it was
like a very soft heavy rain on a window--a small dull padding
padding: it was the feet of the wolves. They came nearer and grew
louder and louder, but the noise was still muffled and soft. Their
howling, however, was now loud and horrid. I suppose they cannot
help howling; if they could, they would have too much power over
poor creatures, coming upon them altogether at unawares; but as it
is, they tell, whether they will or no, that they are upon the way.
At length, dark as a torrent of pitch, out of the forest flowed a
multitude of obscure things, and streamed away, black over the snow,
in the direction the child had taken. They passed close to the foot
of my tree, but did not even look up, flitting by like a shadow
whose substance was unseen. Where the child had vanished they also
disappeared: plainly they were after her!

"It was only a dream, mother! don't be so frightened," interrupted
lan, for here his mother gave a little cry, almost forgetting what
the narration was.

"Then first," he went on, "I seemed to recover my self-possession. I
saw that, though I must certainly be devoured by the wolves, and the
child could not escape, I had no choice but go down and follow, do
what I could, and die with her. Down I was the same instant, running
as I had never run before even in a dream, along the track of the
wolves. As I ran, I heard their howling, but it seemed so far off
that I could not hope to be in time to kill one of them ere they