And the dead man in his arms, knowing the full horror, had
followed and faced it for his sake; had suffered agony and death
for his sake; in the neck was the deep death gash, one arm and
both hands were dark with frozen blood, for his sake! Dead he knew
him, as in life he had not known him, to give the right meed of
love and worship. Because the outward man lacked perfection and
strength equal to his, he had taken the love and worship of that
great pure heart as his due; he, so unworthy in the inner reality,
so mean, so despicable, callous, and contemptuous towards the
brother who had laid down his life to save him. He longed for
utter annihilation, that so he might lose the agony of knowing
himself so unworthy such perfect love. The frozen calm of death on
the face appalled him. He dared not touch it with lips that had
cursed so lately, with lips fouled by kiss of the horror that had
been death.

He struggled to his feet, still clasping Christian. The dead man
stood upright within his arm, frozen rigid. The eyes were not
quite closed; the head had stiffened, bowed slightly to one side;
the arms stayed straight and wide. It was the figure of one
crucified, the blood-stained hands also conforming.

So living and dead went back along the track that one had passed
in the deepest passion of love, and one in the deepest passion of
hate. All that night Sweyn toiled through the snow, bearing the
weight of dead Christian, treading back along the steps he before
had trodden, when he was wronging with vilest thoughts, and
cursing with murderous hatred, the brother who all the while lay
dead for his sake.