Torfrida shuddered, as Martin wrapped her in the white bearskin.
“No! Not that! Anything but that!” and she struggled to shake it off.
“Then you will be dead ere dawn. Folks that run wild in the forest thus, for but one night, die!”
“Would God I could die!”
“That shall be as He wills; you do not die while Martin can keep you alive. Why, you are staggering already.”
Martin caught her up in his arms, threw her over his shoulder as if she had been a child, and hurried on, in the strength of madness.
At last he stopped at a cottage door, set her down upon the turf, and knocked loudly.
“Grimkel Tolison! Grimkel, I say!”
And Martin burst the door open with his foot.
“Give me a horse, on your life,” said he to the man inside. “I am Martin, Hereward’s man, upon my master’s business.”