Straight on, straight on, even to the very door, where the snow failed.  His heart seemed to give a great leap and then stop.  There the track ended.

Nothing lurked in the porch, and there was no sign of return.  The firs stood straight against the sky, the clouds lay low; for the wind had fallen and a few snowflakes came drifting down.  In a horror of surprise, Christian stood dazed a moment:  then he lifted the latch and went in.  His glance took in all the old familiar forms and faces, and with them that of the stranger, fur-clad and beautiful.  The awful truth flashed upon him:  he knew what she was.

Only a few were startled by the rattle of the latch as he entered.  The room was filled with bustle and movement, for it was the supper hour, when all tools were laid aside, and trestles and tables shifted.  Christian had no knowledge of what he said and did; he moved and spoke mechanically, half thinking that soon he must wake from this horrible dream.  Sweyn and his mother supposed him to be cold and dead-tired, and spared all unnecessary questions.  And he found himself seated beside the hearth, opposite that dreadful Thing that looked like a beautiful girl; watching her every movement, curdling with horror to see her fondle the child Rol.

Sweyn stood near them both, intent upon White Fell also; but how differently!  She seemed unconscious of the gaze of both—­neither aware of the chill dread in the eyes of Christian, nor of Sweyn’s warm admiration.

These two brothers, who were twins, contrasted greatly, despite their striking likeness.  They were alike in regular profile, fair brown hair, and deep blue eyes; but Sweyn’s features were perfect as a young god’s, while Christian’s showed faulty details.  Thus, the line of his mouth was set too straight, the eyes shelved too deeply back, and the contour of the face flowed in less generous curves than Sweyn’s.  Their height was the same, but Christian was too slender for perfect proportion, while Sweyn’s well-knit frame, broad shoulders, and muscular arms, made him pre-eminent for manly beauty as well as for strength.  As a hunter Sweyn was without rival; as a fisher without rival.  All the countryside acknowledged him to be the best wrestler, rider, dancer, singer.  Only in speed could he be surpassed, and in that only by his younger brother.  All others Sweyn could distance fairly; but Christian could outrun him easily.  Ay, he could keep pace with Sweyn’s most breathless burst, and laugh and talk the while.  Christian took little pride in his fleetness of foot, counting a man’s legs to be the least worthy of his members.  He had no envy of his brother’s athletic superiority, though to several feats he had made a moderate second.  He loved as only a twin can love—­proud of all that Sweyn did, content with all that Sweyn was; humbly content also that his own great love should not be so exceedingly returned, since he knew himself to be so far less love-worthy.