He turns upon her: “Why are they so long?

I can not eat! I’ve done a mighty wrong;

It chokes me! Oh no, no, I must not die

Until the Black Robe comes!” His feeble cry

Sinks to a whisper. “Tell me, did they go—

Your kinsmen?”

“They went south before the snow.”

“And will they tell the Black Robe?”

“They will tell.”

The crackling of the faggots for a spell