His own true hidden reality that he had desired to know grew
palpable, recognisable. It seemed to him just this: a great glad
abounding hope that he had saved his brother; too expansive to be
contained by the limited form of a sole man, it yearned for a new
embodiment infinite as the stars.

What did it matter to that true reality that the man's brain
shrank, shrank, till it was nothing; that the man's body could not
retain the huge pain of his heart, and heaved it out through the
red exit riven at the neck; that the black noise came again
hurtling from behind, reinforced by that dissolved shape, and
blotted out for ever the man's sight, hearing, sense.

* * * * *

In the early grey of day Sweyn chanced upon the footprints of a
man--of a runner, as he saw by the shifted snow; and the direction
they had taken aroused curiosity, since a little farther their
line must be crossed by the edge of a sheer height. He turned to
trace them. And so doing, the length of the stride struck his
attention--a stride long as his own if he ran. He knew he was
following Christian.

In his anger he had hardened himself to be indifferent to the
night-long absence of his brother; but now, seeing where the
footsteps went, he was seized with compunction and dread. He had
failed to give thought and care to his poor frantic twin, who
might--was it possible?--have rushed to a frantic death.

His heart stood still when he came to the place where the leap had