re standing, a
spirit of calm determination seemed to take possession of her soul.

"What strange sort of animal is this you have caught, lad?" demanded one
of the band.

Before an answer could be given, a tall, fierce-looking woman came out
of a booth, or temporary hut, close to the camp-fire, pushed her way
through the crowd of men, who fell back respectfully, and, going up to
Branwen, grasped her by the wrist.

"Never ye mind what animal she is," cried the woman, shaking her fist at
the man who had spoken, "she is my property." Then, turning to her
captive as she led her into the hut, she said:

"Don't be afraid, my dear. Black-hearted though some of them are, not
one will dare to touch you as long as you are under my protection."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

BRANWEN IN IMMINENT DANGER.

It is a wonderful, but at the same time, we think, a universal and
important fact, that love permeates the universe. Even a female snail,
if we could only put the question, would undoubtedly admit that it loves
its little ones.

At least we have the strongest presumption from analogy that the idea is
correct, for do we not find lions and tigers, apes and gorillas, engaged
in lovingly licking--we don't mean whipping--and otherwise fondling
their offspring? Even in Hades we find the lost rich man praying for
the deliverance of his brethren from torment, and that, surely, was love
in the form of pity. At all events, whatever name we may give it, there
can be no doubt it was unselfish. And even selfishness is love
misapplied.

Yes, let us be thankful that in one form or another love permeates the
universe, and there is no place, however unfavourable, and no person,
however unlikely, that can altogether escape from its benign influence.

We have been led to these reflections by the contemplation of that
rugged, hard-featured, square-shouldered, angry old woman who so
opportunely took Branwen under her protection.

Why she did so was a complete mystery to the poor girl, for the woman
seemed to have no amiable traits of character about her, and she spoke
so harshly to every one--even to her timid captive--that Branwen could
not help suspecting she was actuated by some sinister motive in
protecting her.

And Branwen was right. She had indeed a sinister end in view--but love
was at the bottom even of that. The woman, whose name was Ortrud, had a
son who was to the full as ugly and unamiable as herself, and she loved
that son,