All the evil days before are as a nightmare that is past.
Once more they will be young, go out on ski together, and dine together
after, and drink champagne, and look at each other with love in their
eyes. Once more--and many times again.
"Good-night, Merle."
"Good-night, Peer, and sleep well."
Day after day the hammering went on in the smithy.
A few years back he could have finished the whole business in a couple
of days. But now, half an hour's work was enough to tire him out. It is
exhausting work to concentrate your thoughts upon a single point, when
your brain has long been used to play idly with stray fancies as they
came. He found, too, that there were defects to be put right in the
parts he thought were complete before, and he had no assistants now, no
foundry to get castings from, he must forge out each piece with his own
hands, and with sorry tools.
What did it matter?
He began to discipline his brain, denying himself every superfluous
thought. He drew dark curtains across every window in his consciousness,
save one--the machine. After half an hour's work he would go back to bed
and rest--just close his eyes, and rest. This too was discipline. Again
he flooded all his mind with darkness, darkness, to save his strength
for the half-hour of work next day.
Was Merle fearful and anxious? At all events she said no word about the
work that so absorbed him. He was excited enough as it was. And now when
he was irritable and angry with the children, she did not even look
at him reproachfully.
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