But thenceforward all Sweyn’s reasoning and mastery could not uphold White Fell above suspicion.  He was not called upon to defend her from accusation when Christian had been brought to silence again; but he well knew the significance of this fact, that her name, formerly uttered freely and often, he never heard now:  it was huddled away into whispers that he could not catch.

The passing of time did not sweep away the superstitious fears that Sweyn despised.  He was angry and anxious; eager that White Fell should return, and, merely by her bright gracious presence, reinstate herself in favour; but doubtful if all his authority and example could keep from her notice an altered aspect of welcome; and he foresaw clearly that Christian would prove unmanageable, and might be capable of some dangerous outbreak.

For a time the twins’ variance was marked, on Sweyn’s part by an air of rigid indifference, on Christian’s by heavy downcast silence, and a nervous apprehensive observation of his brother.  Superadded to his remorse and foreboding, Sweyn’s displeasure weighed upon him intolerably, and the remembrance of their violent rupture was a ceaseless misery.  The elder brother, self-sufficient and insensitive, could little know how deeply his unkindness stabbed.  A depth and force of affection such as Christian’s was unknown to him.  The loyal subservience that he could not appreciate had encouraged him to domineer; this strenuous opposition to his reason and will was accounted as furious malice, if not sheer insanity.

Christian’s surveillance galled him incessantly, and embarrassment and danger he foresaw as the outcome.  Therefore, that suspicion might be lulled, he judged it wise to make overtures for peace.  Most easily done.  A little kindliness, a few evidences of consideration, a slight return of the old brotherly imperiousness, and Christian replied by a gratefulness and relief that might have touched him had he understood all, but instead, increased his secret contempt.

So successful was this finesse, that when, late on a day, a message summoning Christian to a distance was transmitted by Sweyn, no doubt of its genuineness occurred.  When, his errand proved useless, he set out to return, mistake or misapprehension was all that he surmised.  Not till he sighted the homestead, lying low between the night-grey snow ridges, did vivid recollection of the time when he had tracked that horror to the door rouse an intense dread, and with it a hardly-defined suspicion.

His grasp tightened on the bear-spear that he carried as a staff; every sense was alert, every muscle strung; excitement urged him on, caution checked him, and the two governed his long stride, swiftly, noiselessly, to the climax he felt was at hand.

As he drew near to the outer gates, a light shadow stirred and went, as though the grey of the snow had taken detached motion.  A darker shadow stayed and faced Christian, striking his life-blood chill with utmost despair.