There was a general hush in the room as these words fell.

“Don’t let it be me!” whispered Olwen hurriedly, clapping her hand over his mouth.

But Wolf’s half-muffled voice must have been audible to them all.

“ ‘Let the one who can best bear to be alone, be the one to go,’ cried the swallow. And as he spoke, he snatched up the trembling Olwen-bird with his beak and claws, and spread his great, pointed wings for flight. Over Wilton he flew, over Semley, over Gillingham, over Templecombe, over Ramsgard, over King’s Barton! And as he flew, the Olwen-bird’s feathers were so ruffled by the speed, that she turned into a little girl again; and when he set her down at last on the windowsill, and she clambered back into the room, and called down the stairs to Christie and Darnley, it seemed as if she had never been out of the house at all.”

Wolf was almost embarrassed by the grave hush that followed his conclusion.