r hearts leaped into their
throats. They were travelling along the edge of a black ravine. Halting,
they stood with suspended breath, staring down into the darkness.

The cry came again, yet more piercing; then suddenly it split into a
hissing sound like a kettle boiling over. Alwin broke into a nervous
laugh. "Cats!" he said.

But Sigurd stiffened as quickly as he had relaxed. "One of Skroppa's!
She swarms with them. See! Is not that a light down there?"

A sudden flicker there certainly was,--if it was not a ghost-fire. The
last cloud scurried from before the face of the long-suffering moon;
before the wind could bring up another fleecy flock, the pale light
crept down into the hollow and revealed the dark outline of a cabin
clinging among the rocks.

Alwin slipped out of his skees and made sure of his knife. "That, then,
is her house. We will leave the skees here."

"Though you never were known to heed advice, I will offer you another
piece," Sigurd answered. "We must go softly; and if we find the door
unlocked, enter quickly and without knocking. Otherwise it is possible
that we will stay outside and talk to the stones."

It was a tedious descent, yet somehow the time seemed plenty short
enough before they stood at the threshold. The stillness at the bottom
of the hollow was death-like; only the flickering light on the window
spoke of life. Silently the door yielded to Alwin's touch.

Darkness and a dying fire were all that met their eyes. They thought the
room empty, and took a step forward. Instantly the space was alive with
the green eyes of countless cats. The air was split with yowlings and
spittings and hissing. Soft furry bodies bounced against them and bit
and clawed around their legs. From the farthest corner came the lisping
voice of a toothless old woman.

"Who dares interrupt my sleep when the visions of things I wish to know
are passing before me? Better would it be for him to put his hand into
the mouth of the Fenriswolf."

Alwin said slowly, "It is the English thrall."

After a pause, the voice answered crossly, "I know no English thrall."

"How comes it, then, that more than a year ago you told something
concerning him which made Egil Olafsson his mortal foe?"

Out of the darkness came a sudden cackling laugh. "That is true. I told
the Black One that the maiden he loved would love an English thrall
instead. And he wished to stick his sword through me!"

"Is that what you told him?" cri