eft the miles behind, while Odin's pack and rifle grew heavier and
heavier. But Gunnar did not stop. So Jack gritted his teeth and stumbled
after him, while the dead things grinned at them from the dark.

At last they saw a reddish light ahead.

Gunnar paused and pointed with a gnarled forefinger. "Opal ahead. All that
is left of it."

They came out upon a narrow ledge high up in the cliff wall. Odin filled
his lungs with clear air and gasped at the changes. Above them the little
sun had dwindled to a red coal. The crimson-flecked clouds of Opal steamed
and boiled beneath it. The sluggish sea was black now, and the long low
waves were crested with bloody foam.

Something was choking in his throat. All the wealth of June-land had
spilled over into the night. Gone, all gone! And for what reason? It was
not enough to say that time, and gravity worked against the things of men's
hands. It was not enough to say that all good things must pass. No, here
was Old Loki the Mischief-maker at work. The one who destroyed for no
reason at all--who ran through space like quicksilver and laughed as
blossoms and leaves, towers and trees, the old and the young, fell before
his senseless jests.

Tears came to Odin's eyes as he looked out there at the ruins and
remembered the splendor that had been. As he thought of all who had
died there, his hands were begging for the feel of Grim Hagen's throat.
Darkling he stood there on that narrow ledge and thought how strange he
and Gunnar must seem. Like two trolls peering out of Hell's Gate.

As though fanned by a tiny wind the red coal of a sun flamed up. Out there,
far away, its red beams flashed upon the topmost turrets of the Tower. They
bathed it in reddish light, and it loomed halfway out of the slate-black
sea like something left alone in a ruined world. An emblem of man's pride
and his love for beautiful things, it stood there bravely and held back the
night.

There were tears in Gunnar's eyes also. Nearly two heads shorter than Odin,
he stood beside him and clutched the taller man's forearm with a huge,
gnarled hand.

"Over there," he said, pointing in a direction opposite from the Tower, "is
where I was raised. Ah, it was good in those days, Odin. Very good. We of
the Neeblings do not care for cities, but our farms and pastures were so
arranged that there were several houses close together. And what fun the
boys had hunting and fishing. Then I would straggle home for supper--and