Unbelievable? Could any woman but White Fell run so? Could
any man but Christian run so? The guess became a certainty. He was
following where alone in the dark night White Fell had fled from
Christian pursuing.
Such villainy set heart and brain on fire with rage and
indignation: such villainy in his own brother, till lately
love-worthy, praiseworthy, though a fool for meekness. He would
kill Christian; had he lives many as the footprints he had trodden,
vengeance should demand them all. In a tempest of murderous hate
he followed on in haste, for the track was plain enough, starting
with such a burst of speed as could not be maintained, but brought
him back soon to a plod for the spent, sobbing breath to be
regulated. He cursed Christian aloud and called White Fell's name
on high in a frenzied expense of passion. His grief itself was a
rage, being such an intolerable anguish of pity and shame at the
thought of his love, White Fell, who had parted from his kiss free
and radiant, to be hounded straightway by his brother mad with
jealousy, fleeing for more than life while her lover was housed at
his ease. If he had but known, he raved, in impotent rebellion at
the cruelty of events, if he had but known that his strength and
love might have availed in her defence; now the only service to
her that he could render was to kill Christian.
As a woman he knew she was matchless in speed, matchless in
strength; but Christian was matchless in speed among men, nor
easily to be matched in strength.
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