Going warily, he followed the track.
It led down the slope, across a broad ice-bound stream, along the
level beyond, making towards the farm. A less precise knowledge
had doubted, and guessed that here might have come straying big
Tyr or his like; but Christian was sure, knowing better than to
mistake between footmark of dog and wolf.
Straight on--straight on towards the farm.
Surprised and anxious grew Christian, that a prowling wolf should
dare so near. He drew his knife and pressed on, more hastily, more
keen-eyed. Oh that Tyr were with him!
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.
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