even if he lost money by it. His
envious rivals who had lately begun to run down his projects in the
technical papers--he would make them look foolish yet.

And then?

Well, it may be that the Promethean spirit is preparing a settling day
for the universe somewhere out in infinity. But what concern is that of
mine? What about my own immortal soul?

Silence--push on, push on. There may be a snowstorm any minute. Come
up--get along, you scarecrow.

The dun struggles on to the end of a twelve-mile stage, and then the
valley ends and the full blast from the plateau meets them. Here lies
the posting station, the last farm in the valley. He swings into the
yard and is soon sitting in the room over a cup of coffee and a pipe.

Merle? How are things with Merle now?

Ah! here comes his own horse, the big black stallion from Gudbrandsdal.
This beast's trot is a different thing from the poor dun's--the sleigh
flies up to the door. And in a moment Peer is sitting in it again in his
furs.

Ah! what a relief to have a fresh horse, and one that makes light of
the load behind him. Away he goes at a brisk trot, with lifted head and
bells jingling, over the frozen lakes. Here and there on the hillslopes
a grey hut or two show out--saeters, which have lain there unchanged
for perhaps a couple of thousand years. But a new time is coming. The
saeter-horns will be heard no longer, and the song of the turbines will
rise in their place.

An icy wind is blowing; the horse throws up its head and snorts. Big
snowflakes come driving on the wind, and soon a regular snowstorm is
raging, lashing the traveller's face till he gasps. First the horse's
mane and tail grow white with snow, then its whole body. The drifts grow
bigger, the black has to make great bounds to clear them. Bravo, old
boy! we must get there before dark. There are brushwood brooms set out
across the ice to mark the way, but who could keep them in sight in a
driving smother like this? Peer's own face is plastered white now, and
he feels stunned and dazed under the lash of the snow.

He has worked under the burning suns of Egypt--and now here. But the
steel will on. The wave rolls on its way over all the world.

If this snow should turn to rain now, it will mean a flood. And then the
men will have to turn out to-night and work to save the dams.

One more disaster, and he would hardly be able to finish within the
contract time. And that once exceeded, each day's delay me