The meaning of his words dawned on me at last, but, filled with a happy, deep-felt trust, I shook my head.
"You are no wolf in sheep's clothing."
He drew a deep breath again, just as he had done before, and looked hard in front of him.
"You are mistaken. I am a wolf—a heartless, terrible wolf; one that would never hesitate a second to devour a sheep that comes his way without a shepherd and a hound."
I glanced at him, and it seemed to me that his face looked haggard and worn. I grew very quiet and very sad. The whole world looked dark all at once, and the joyous song that, like a glorious promise, had filled my brain and soul ceased with a dissonance.
But then a minute later it rose again, shy and soft, at first no more than a quiver, but gaining force and power until it grew into a thrill of notes so sweet and persuasive that I could and would not check them.
True that there was something crying within me, but the thing that had rejoiced before was rejoicing still.
"Did you get my letter?" I asked him after a while.
"Yes, and many thanks for it."
"May I write to you again?"