strongly-built forehead and in the deep eyes. His mouth was
compressed, the straw still hung playing in its corner, but great
strength lay around. He kept his hands behind him, standing erect,
while his low deep intonations seemed as if from the ground in
which he was rooted. Canute saw him for the first time in his
life, and from his inmost soul felt a dread of him; for
unmistakably this man had always been his superior! He had taken
all Canute himself knew or could impart, but retained only what
had nourished this strong hidden growth.

He had loved and cherished Lars, but now that he had become a
giant, he hated him deeply, fearfully; he could not explain to
himself why he thought so, but he felt it instinctively, while
gazing upon him; and in this forgetting all else, he exclaimed:

"But Lars! Lars! what in the Lord's name ails you?"

He lost all self-control,--"you, whom I have"--"you, who have"--he
couldn't get out another word, and seated himself, only to
struggle against the excitement which he was unwilling to have
Lars see; he drew himself up, struck the table with his fist, and
his eyes snapped from below the stiff disorderly hair which always
shaded them. Lars appeared as if he had not been interrupted, only
turning his head to the assembly, asking if this should be
considered the decisive blow in the matter, for in such a case
nothing more need be said.

Canute could not endure this calmness.

"What is it that has come among us?" he cried. "Us, who to this