ONE evening-twilight in spring, a young English
student, who had wandered northwards as far as the outlying fragments of Scotland
called the Orkney and Shetland Islands, found himself on a small island of
the latter group, caught in a storm of wind and hail, which had come on suddenly.
It was in vain to look about for any shelter; for not only did the storm entirely
obscure the landscape, but there was nothing around him save a desert moss.
At length, however, as he walked on for mere walking's sake, he found
himself on the verge of a cliff, and saw, over the brow of it, a few feet
below him, a ledge of rock, where he might find some shelter from the blast,
which blew from behind. Letting himself down by his hands, he alighted upon
something that crunched beneath his tread, and found the bones of many small
animals scattered about in front of a little cave in the rock, offering the
refuge he sought. He went in, and sat upon a stone. The storm increased in
violence, and as the darkness grew he became uneasy, for he did not relish
the thought of spending the night in the cave. He had parted from his companions
on the opposite side of the island, and it added to his uneasiness that they
must be full of apprehension about him. At last there came a lull in the storm,
and the same instant he heard a footfall, stealthy and light as that of a
wild beast, upon the bones at the mouth of the cave. He started up in some
fear, though the least thought might have satisfied him that there could be
no very dangerous animals upon the island. Before he had time to think, however,
the face of a woman appeared in the opening. Eagerly the wanderer spoke. She
started at the sound of his voice. He could not see her well, because she
was turned towards the darkness of the cave. "Will you tell me how to find
my way across the moor to Shielness?" he asked. "You cannot find it to-night,"
she answered, in a sweet tone, and with a smile that bewitched him, revealing
the whitest of teeth. "What am I to do, then?" "My mother will give you shelter,
but that is all she has to offer." "And that is far more than I expected a
minute ago," he replied." I shall be most grateful." She turned in silence
and left the cave. The youth followed. She was barefooted, and her pretty
brown feet went catlike over the sharp stones, as she led the way down a rocky
path to the shore. Her garments were scanty and torn, and her hair blew tangled
in the wind. She seemed about five and twenty, lithe and small. Her long fingers
kept clutching and pulling nervously at her skirts as she went. Her face was
very grey in complexion, and very worn, but delicately formed, and smooth-skinned.
Her thin nostrils were tremulous as eyelids, and her lips, whose curves were
faultless, had no colour to give sign of indwelling blood. What her eyes were
like he could not see, for she had never lifted the delicate films of her
eyelids. At the foot of the cliff. they came upon a little hut leaning against
it, and having for its inner apartment a natural hollow within. Smoke was
spreading over the face of the rock, and the grateful odour of food gave hope
to the hungry student. His guide opened the door of the cottage; he followed
her in, and saw a woman bending over a fire in the middle of the floor. On
the fire lay a large fish broiling. The daughter spoke a few words, and the
mother turned and welcomed the stranger. She had an old and very wrinkled,
but honest face, and looked troubled. She dusted the only chair in the cottage,
and placed it for him by the side of the fire, opposite the one window, whence
he saw a little patch of yellow sand over which the spent waves spread themselves
out listlessly. Under this window there was a bench, upon which the daughter
threw herself in an unusual posture, resting her chin upon her hand. A moment
after, the youth caught the first glimpse of her blue eyes. They were fixed
upon him with a strange look of greed, amounting to craving, but, as if aware
that they belied or betrayed her, she dropped them instantly. The moment she
veiled them, her face, notwithstanding its colourless complexion, was almost
beautiful. When the fish was ready, the old woman wiped the deal table, steadied
it upon the uneven floor, and covered it with a piece of fine table-linen.
She then laid the fish on a wooden platter, and invited the guest to help
himself. Seeing no other provision, he pulled from his pocket a hunting knife,
and divided a portion from the fish, offering it to the mother first, "Come,
my lamb," said the old woman; and the daughter approached the table. But her
nostrils and mouth quivered with disgust. The next moment she turned and hurried
from the hut. "She doesn't like fish," said the old woman, "and I haven't
anything else to give her." "She does not seem in good health," he rejoined.
The woman answered only with a sigh, and they ate their fish with the help
of a little rye bread. As they finished their supper, the youth heard the
sound as of the pattering of a dog's feet upon the sand close to the door;
but ere he had time to look out of the window, the door opened, and the young
woman entered. She looked better, perhaps from having just washed her face.
She drew a stool to the corner of the fire opposite him. But as she sat down,
to his bewilderment, and even horror, the student spied a single drop of blood
on her white skin within her torn dress. The woman brought out a jar of whisky,
put a rusty old kettle on the fire, and took her place in front of it. As
soon as the water boiled, she proceeded to make some toddy in a wooden bowl.
Meantime the youth could not take his eyes off the young woman, so that at
length he found himself fascinated, or rather bewitched. She kept her eyes
for the most part veiled with the loveliest eyelids fringed with darkest lashes,
and he gazed entranced; for the red glow of the little oil-lamp covered all
the strangeness of her complexion. But as soon as he met a stolen glance out
of those eyes unveiled, his soul shuddered within him. Lovely face and craving
eyes alternated fascination and repulsion. The mother placed the bowl in his
hands. He drank sparingly, and passed it to the girl. She lifted it to her
lips, and as she tasted-only tasted it-looked at him. He thought the drink
must have been drugged and have affected his brain. Her hair smoothed itself
back, and drew her forehead backwards with it; while the lower part of her
face projected towards the bowl, revealing, ere she sipped, her dazzling teeth
in strange prominence. But the same moment the vision vanished; she returned
the vessel to her mother, and rising, hurried out of the cottage. Then the
old woman pointed to a bed of heather in one corner with a murmured apology;
and the student, wearied both with the fatigues of the day and the strangeness
of the night, threw himself upon it, wrapped in his cloak. The moment he lay
down, the storm began afresh, and the wind blew so keenly through the crannies
of the hut, that it was only by drawing his cloak over his head that he could
protect himself from its currents. Unable to sleep, he lay listening to the
uproar which grew in violence, till the spray was dashing against the window.
At length the door opened, and the young woman came in, made up the fire,
drew the bench before it, and lay down in the same strange posture, with her
chin propped on her hand and elbow, and her face turned towards the youth.
He moved a little; she dropped her head, and lay on her face, with her arms
crossed beneath her forehead. The mother had disappeared. Drowsiness crept
over him. A movement of the bench roused him, and he fancied he saw some four-footed
creature as tall as a large dog trot quietly out of the door. He was sure
he felt a rush of cold wind. Gazing fixedly through the darkness, he thought
he saw the eyes of the damsel encountering his, but a glow from the falling
together of the remnants of the fire revealed clearly enough that the bench
was vacant. Wondering what could have made her go out in such a storm, he
fell fast asleep. In the middle of the night he felt a pain in his shoulder,
came broad awake, and saw the gleaming eyes and grinning teeth of some animal
close to his face. Its claws were in his shoulder, and its mouth in the act
of seeking his throat. Before it had fixed its fangs, however, he had its
throat in one hand, and sought his knife with the other. A terrible struggle
followed; but regardless of the tearing claws, he found and opened his knife.
He had made one futile stab, and was drawing it for a surer, when, with a
spring of the whole body, and one wildly contorted effort, the creature twisted
its neck from his hold, and with something betwixt a scream and a howl, darted
from him. Again he heard the door open; again the wind blew in upon him, and
it continued blowing; a sheet of spray dashed across the floor, and over his
face. He sprung from his couch and bounded to the door. It was a wild night-dark,
but for the flash of whiteness from the waves as they broke within a few yards
of the cottage; the wind was raving, and the rain pouring down the air. A
gruesome sound as of mingled weeping and howling came from somewhere in the
dark. He turned again into the hut and closed the door, but could find no
way of securing it. The lamp was nearly out, and he could not be certain whether
the form of the young woman was upon the bench or not. Overcoming a strong
repugnance, he approached it, and put out his hands-there was nothing there.
He sat down and waited for the daylight: he dared not sleep any more. When
the day dawned at length, he went out yet again, and looked around. The morning
was dim and gusty and grey. The wind had fallen, but the waves were tossing
wildly. He wandered up and down the little strand, longing for more light.
At length he heard a movement in the cottage. By and by the voice of the old
woman called to him from the door. "You're up early, sir. I doubt you didn't
sleep well." "Not very well," he answered. "But where is your daughter?" "She's
not awake yet," said the mother. "I'm afraid I have but a poor breakfast for
you. But you'll take a dram and a bit of fish. It's all I've got." Unwilling
to hurt her, though hardly in good appetite, he sat down at the table. While
they were eating, the daughter came in, but turned her face away and went
to the farther end of the hut. When she came forward after a minute or two,
the youth saw that her hair was drenched, and her face whiter than before.
She looked ill and faint, and when she raised her eyes, all their fierceness
had vanished, and sadness had taken its place. Her neck was now covered with
a cotton handkerchief. She was modestly attentive to him, and no longer shunned
his gaze. He was gradually yielding to the temptation of braving another night
in the hut, and seeing what would follow, when the old woman spoke. "The weather
will be broken all day, sir," she said. "You had better be going, or your
friends will leave without you." Ere he could answer, he saw such a beseeching
glance on the face of the girl, that he hesitated, confused. Glancing at the
mother, he saw the flash of wrath in her face. She rose and approached her
daughter, with her hand lifted to strike her. The young woman stooped her
head with a cry. He darted round the table to interpose between them. But
the mother had caught hold of her; the handkerchief had fallen from her neck;
and the youth saw five blue bruises on her lovely throat-the marks of the
four fingers and the thumb of a left hand. With a cry of horror he darted
from the house, but as he reached the door he turned. His hostess was lying
motionless on the floor, and a huge grey wolf came bounding after him. There
was no weapon at hand; and if there had been, his inborn chivalry would never
have allowed him to harm a woman even under the guise of a wolf. Instinctively,
he set himself firm, leaning a little forward, with half outstretched arms,
and hands curved ready to clutch again at the throat upon which he had left
those pitiful marks. But the creature as she sprung eluded his grasp, and
just as he expected to feel her fangs, he found a woman weeping on his bosom,
with her arms around his neck. The next instant, the grey wolf broke from
him, and bounded howling up the cliff. Recovering himself as he best might,
the youth followed, for it was the only way to the moor above, across which
he must now make his way to find his companions. All at once he heard the
sound of a crunching of bones-not as if a creature was eating them, but as
if they were ground by the teeth of rage and disappointment; looking up, he
saw close above him the mouth of the little cavern in which he had taken refuge
the day before. Summoning all his resolution, he passed it slowly and softly.
From within came the sounds of a mingled moaning and growling. Having reached
the top, he ran at full speed for some distance across the moor before venturing
to look behind him. When at length he did so, he saw, against the sky, the
girl standing on the edge of the cliff, wringing her hands. One solitary wail
crossed the space between. She made no attempt to follow him, and he reached
the opposite shore in safety.
Source : "The Grey Wolf" by George McDonald was
first published in 1871 in volume X of 'Works of Fancy and Imagination' by
Strahan & Co. This version taken from "The Portent and Other Stories'
by Fisher & Unwin, London, 1909. Although not strictly a folk story
but rather a work of fiction the tale is based upon local legends and beliefs.