In the cold hour the fire began to die, and I was about stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flying sweeps and with it a chill mist.

Even in the dark there was a light of some kind, as there ever is over snow, and it seemed as though the snow flurries and the wreaths of mist took shape as of women with trailing garments.

All was in dead, grim silence only that the horses whinnied and cowered, as if in terror of the worst.

I began to fear, horrible fears.

But then came to me the sense of safety in that ring wherein I stood.