This dog of the House People had dared, under veil of darkness, to creep into the Gray Wolf's den. He, Ulick, had captured him alone and unaided; surely such an exploit deserved recognition, and Ulick desired to keep the prisoner as his own property. Could he do so, no matter what claim might be urged against his right?
The old man listened, and looked at Constans indifferently. Then he spoke in the inflectionless monotone of extreme old age:
"A House-dweller and a snake, my son—crush them when you can, for the woods are full of shadows, and a man cannot always see where to plant his foot. I have lived very long, and I know."
"But, my father, if you will only let me——"
"I am tired," interrupted the even, expressionless tones. "Go away and leave me to sleep. To-morrow we will cut out this Houseman's eyes and tongue, so that he may see nothing and tell nothing. Then you may have him for your plaything—it will be better so."
The eyelids fell, and the old man slept placidly, his face serene as that of a babe. The two boys stole quietly away.
Down a narrow passage and a flight of stairs into a dark, cool room, underground, as Constans conjectured. Ulick left him there, counselling quiet and repose for the next few hours.
It was night when Ulick finally appeared and conducted his departing guest to the open air. The moon had not yet risen, and the danger of detection was practically past.
"You are sure that you can find your boat," whispered Ulick, as they stood facing each other, curiously loath to part.
"Yes," answered Constans, "for I shall follow the river straight down. It will take a little longer, but that matters not. Good-bye; I sha'n't forget."