Awe-stricken, Dare rose to his feet to obey, but then paused as though transfixed. Then a joyous look overspread his face, as he sprung forward, crying:
"Edith, my darling! alive—thank God!"
CHAPTER VII.
THE WHITE WOLF SHOWS HIS FANGS.
With a low, glad cry the maiden sprung forward and was clasped tightly to the breast of her lover, whose eager lips rained hot kisses upon her face; for it was indeed Edith Mordaunt—Yellow-hair. It was a rapturous meeting, so unexpected. For a time their speech was broken, inarticulate.
The hermit turned his head at the cry, and now stared at the young couple in seeming surprise. As if by magic the old half-wild, half-vacant expression came back to his face. One hand pressed his bow with an impatient gesture, as he partially raised himself. A sharp, spiteful report rung out from below, and a few threads of the iron-gray locks fell upon his breast, severed by the passage of the renegade's bullet. This seemed to break the spell that bound him, and the hermit sunk back, saying, carelessly:
"So you know the lady, then?"
"Know her—But tell me, Edith, has this man dared to—"
"No, he has treated me kindly—I believe I owe him my life," quickly replied the maiden.