She looked around in the darkness, trying to think of some means of defence, security, or escape, but found none. If she should open the door and fly from the house, she must inevitably fall an instant victim to their rapacity. That plan was rejected at once, as not to be thought of, except as the drowning think of catching at straws. And then her eyes flew wildly around in the darkness for means of defence or retreat. Alas! there was not a chance of either. She could go up into the loft, or climb up into the chimney, or bury herself in the bed; but an instant’s reflection convinced her that there was no place within the walls to which the fell wolves would not climb with more facility than she could, and no retreat to which their keen scent would not guide them, and from which they would not drag her to death. And oh! in the midst of all her desperate thoughts, their frantic onsets to the walls, their horrible baying, barking, and tearing, nearly drove her mad with terror. Every instant she expected death! How thin, how slight the barrier that kept them out! The moment they should chance to strike the broken windows, protected only by the thin sheets, and so find the way of entrance, that very moment must the cabin be filled by the hungry and ravening beasts. For an instant, perhaps, the beef, whose scent had drawn them to the spot, might divert them from herself, but only for an instant, for that flesh would be swiftly torn in pieces and devoured; and then what a fate would be hers! To perish so sharply and suddenly, and by such a ghastly death! And not of herself alone did she think in that hour of dread, but of all whom her death would appal and afflict; and of him, oh! of him whom it would most awfully bereave. For herself—for her own person—it would not be so dreadful, after all, she thought. The sharp agony would soon be over—in a very few minutes most likely—and then all that was mortal and perishable of her—her small, frail body—would be totally destroyed; and her soul, she trusted, would be at rest. But, of the distant loved ones, whose hearts would thrill with horror at hearing of her fate, and of him whose life would be made desolate by her loss—whose arm, whose brain would be stricken powerless by the terrible doom of her who was at once his inspiration and his object—this, oh! this was the bitterness of death! But oh! the frightful, the maddening howls of the demoniacs outside scattered all her thoughts so quickly, it was impossible to reflect to any good end. But suddenly athwart the stormy chaos of deafening noise, despairing terror, and distracting thought, darted, like lightning, an inspiration! She had grown conscious that the storm outside had drawn itself to a point nearest the spot where the barrel and the meat stood; and the wolves were scratching and tearing furiously, and hurling themselves at the wall, baying all the while in full cry, or barking and fighting among themselves, like demons. And now her idea was further to decoy them from the windows, the weak parts of the cabin. She went to the barrel. She could not lift the quarter of beef, but she pushed it off, letting it fall heavily upon the floor. For an instant the noise outside ceased, but soon burst forth again with renewed violence. She dragged the beef close as she could get it to the door, and then she got a knife, and close to the floor she cut the flesh in gashes, so that the juices might run under the door to the outside, and draw and hold the frantic wolves to that spot. For this she knew was the safest place of attack—it was the farthest removed from the windows, and the door was too strong and well barred to give way. She knew this, but yet when it rattled violently at their furious assaults, her very heart nearly died within her.
She thought of her husband’s return with extreme anxiety; she feared full as much as she hoped it. She had perfect faith in his courage and presence of mind, and she knew, besides, he would be well armed when he should return; and yet she sickened with fear for him when she thought of that return. She remembered that he said he would be back by ten. She wished to know the hour. It was still pitch dark, but she went to the chimney shelf, and opened the clock, and with her delicate fingers and nice touch she felt for the hour and the minute hands, and for the raised figures, and ascertained that it was already after ten. She felt again, and was sure there was no mistake. After ten, and Mark not yet returned! What could have detained him? This source of anxiety was beginning to add its sting to the others, when a new ground of alarm, of despair, fixed her panic-stricken where she stood. The wolves, who had not ceased to howl and cry, and hurl themselves against the walls, now led by a surer instinct, were careering around and around the cabin, leaping up at the walls, and leaping up at the window sashes, which shook at each bound! The clamour outside was now deafening, appalling. She heard the frail sashes shake—she heard them give way—she heard the whole hungry, horrible pack burst with full cry into the room; and mortal terror whirled away her consciousness, and, with an agonizing cry to Heaven, she fell to the floor insensible.
When consciousness came back, Rosalie found herself lying upon her bed. The room was quiet, cool, and dimly lighted by a candle on the hearth, whose glare was shaded from her eyes by an intervening chair with a shawl thrown over it. Mark was standing by her, bathing her face with cold water. As memory returned, she shuddered violently several times; and her first words, gasped out, were, “The wolves! Oh! the wolves!”
“They are gone, love; put to flight!” said Mark Sutherland, soothingly.
“And you—you?” she asked, wildly gazing at him.
“Safe, as you see, love!” he answered, as he lifted her head, and placed a glass of cold water to her lips.
“How did it happen, Mark?” she questioned, as he laid her head once more upon the pillow.
“What happen, love?”
“My escape, your safety, and the flight of the wolves.”