“And the cause of your fear? Not wolves? If so, I can release you from it. It’s now quite half a century since there was a wolf seen in this Forest; and he—poor, lonely creature, the last of his race—was most unmercifully slain. The Foresters, being mostly of Welsh ancestry, have an hereditary hatred of the lupine species, I suppose from that mischance which befel the infant Llewellyn.” Vaga laughed, as she rejoined:—“Instead of having a fear of wolves, I’d like to see one just now. Hector, I’m sure, would show fight; ay, and conquer it, too, as did the famed Beth-Gelert his. Wouldn’t you, old Hec? Ay! that you would.”
At which the mastiff, rearing up, set his paws against her breast to receive the caressess extended; and, after these being given him, scampered off again in search of more sheep.
“Then what are you afraid of?” asked Sabrina, “Ghosts? There are none of them in the Forest either. If there were, no danger of their showing themselves by daylight, and we’ll be back home long before the sun goes down. Ha, ha, ha!”
It was as unusual for the older of the sisters to talk in such a light strain as it was for the younger to speak otherwise. Just then each had a reason for this reversion of their rôles.
Further questioned as to the cause of her fear, Vaga made answer, saying,—
“You’re merry, sister Sab, and I’m right glad to see you so. But what I meant isn’t a matter for jest; instead, something to be really alarmed about.”
“When you’ve told me what it is, I’ll give my opinion upon it. If neither wolves nor ghosts, what can it be? Bipeds or quadrupeds?”
“Bipeds, and of the sort most to be dreaded—brutal men.”
“Oh! that’s it. But what men are there about here deserving to be so characterised?”
“None about here, I hope and believe. But you know, sister, what’s going on all around the Forest: those mobs of lawless fellows down at Monmouth and Lydney. Suppose some of them to be coming this way and meet us?”