"There has been scare enough for one night already. If this notion
of yours will keep, broach it to-morrow." Christian would not
yield.
"Women are so easily scared," pursued Sweyn, "and are ready to
believe any folly without shadow of proof. Be a man, Christian,
and fight this notion of a Were-Wolf by yourself."
"If you would believe me," began Christian.
"I believe you to be a fool," said Sweyn, losing patience.
"Another, who was not your brother, might believe you to be a
knave, and guess that you had transformed White Fell into a
Were-Wolf because she smiled more readily on me than on you."
The jest was not without foundation, for the grace of White Fell's
bright looks had been bestowed on him, on Christian never a whit.
Sweyn's coxcombery was always frank, and most forgiveable, and not
without fair colour.
"If you want an ally," continued Sweyn, "confide in old Trella.
Out of her stores of wisdom, if her memory holds good, she can
instruct you in the orthodox manner of tackling a Were-Wolf. If I
remember aright, you should watch the suspected person till
midnight, when the beast's form must be resumed, and retained ever
after if a human eye sees the change; or, better still, sprinkle
hands and feet with holy water, which is certain death. Oh! never
fear, but old Trella will be equal to the occasion."
Sweyn's contempt was no longer good-humoured; some touch of
irritation or resentment rose at this monstrous doubt of White
Fell.
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