is own voice through the mist. So
he began to strike about him with his sword to the right and left,
before and behind, in every direction, and with all the strength he
had--as a man does when he sees that matters are growing serious. So
he fought on during a day and a night, without seeing any thing
except thick darkness, or hearing any thing except his own
perspiration trickling down his horse's flanks. For some time he had
even felt as if he were no longer alive, but had died long before.
Suddenly the fog began to scatter. At dawn on the second day it
disappeared entirely, and when the sun rose in the sky Petru's eyes
again saw the light. He felt as if he had been born anew.

The Welwa? it seemed to have vanished from the earth.

"Get your breath now, for the battle will begin again presently," said
the bay.

"What was that?" asked Petru.

"The Welwa," replied the horse, "the Welwa changed into fog. Get your
breath, it is coming again."

The bay had hardly spoken and Petru had hardly had time to breathe,
when he saw approaching from one side something,--but what it was he
did not know. Water, yet it was not like water, for it did not seem to
flow on the earth, but in some queer fashion to fly, or move in some
way--Enough, it left no trace behind and did not fly high. It was
something that appeared to be nothing.

"Oh, dear!" cried Petru.

"Take courage and defend yourself, don't stand still," said the bay,
but could not utter another word, for the water filled its mouth.

The fight began again. Petru struck about him without stopping for a
day and a night, not knowing at what he was aiming, and fought without
knowing with whom. When the next day dawned he felt that his feet
were paralyzed.

"Now I am lost!" he cried somewhat angrily; yet he began to show
himself doubly brave and dealt still stronger blows. The sun rose and
the water vanished, one could not tell how or when.

"Get your breath!" said the bay, "get your breath, for you haven't
much time to lose. The Welwa will come back directly."

Petru made no answer; the poor fellow was so tired that he did not
know what to do. So he settled himself more firmly in the saddle,
seized his sword with a tighter grip, and thus prepared awaited the
approach of the foe he saw advancing.

Such a thing, how can I describe it? It was like a man dreaming that
he sees something which has what it has not, and has not what it
has--this was the shape in which the We