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her wedding, if the sleigh-bells had been the church
chimes calling the neighbors to witness her union
with old Dahlberg, still she must have eloped with
Gösta Berling, so powerful is fate.
They had passed the parsonage and Munkerud.
They had about two miles before them to Berga,
and then two again to Ekeby. The road followed
the edge of the wood, and to the right of them lay
dark mountains, to the left a long white valley.
Suddenly Tankred rushed after the sledge wildly.
He seemed to lie at full stretch upon the ground,
he passed over it so quickly, and shuddering with
fear he leaped into the sledge and crouched at Anna’s
feet.
Don Juan started and broke into a gallop.
“Wolves,” said Gösta.
They saw a long grey line following them near
the fence. There were at least a dozen wolves.
Anna was not afraid. The day had been full of
adventure, the night promised to be the same. That
was life—to speed over the sparkling snow, defiant
of men and beasts.
Gösta swore, bent forward, and brought the whip
heavily over Don Juan.
“Are you afraid?” she asked.
“They are taking a short cut to that corner and
will meet us where the road turns.”
Don Juan was putting forth all his speed in the
race with the wild beasts, and Tankred howled in
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