hat Merle's eyes were red, though she
sang cheerily as she went about the house. It seemed to him that she had
begged him to go to bed and rest, and he had gone to bed. It would be
delicious to sleep. But in the middle of the night it was borne in upon
him that the fault lay in the shape of the shears after all, and
then there was no stopping him from getting up and hurrying in to the
workshop. Winter has come round again, and he fights his way in through
a snow-storm. And in the quiet night he lights his lamp, kindles the
forge fire, screws off the blades of the shears once more. But when he
has altered them and fixed them in place again, he knows at once that
the defect was not in them after all.

Coffee is a good thing for keeping the brain clear. He took to making it
in the workshop for himself--and at night especially a few cups did him
good. They were so satisfying too, that he felt no desire for food. And
when he came to the conclusion that the best thing would be to make each
separate part of the machine over again anew, coffee was great help,
keeping him awake through many a long night.

It began to dawn upon him that Merle and his father-in-law and the Bank
Manager had taken to lurking about the place night and day, watching and
spying to see if the work were not nearly done. Why in the devil's name
could they not leave him in peace--just one week more? In any case, the
machine could not be tried before next summer. At times the workers at
the foundry would be startled by their master suddenly rushing out from
his inner room and crying fiercely: "No one is to come in here. I WILL
be left in peace!"

And when he had gone in again, they would look at each other and shake
their heads.

One morning Merle came down and walked through the outer shops, and
knocked at the door of her husband's room. There was no answer; and she
opened the door and went in.

A moment after, the workmen heard a woman's shriek, and when they ran in
she was bending over her husband, who was seated on the floor, staring
up at her with blank, uncomprehending eyes.

"Peer," she cried, shaking his shoulder--"Peer, do you hear? Oh, for
God's sake--what is it, my darling--"

*****

One April day there was a stir in the little town of Ringeby, and
a stream of people, all in their best clothes (though it was only
Wednesday), was moving out along the fjord road to Loreng. There were
the two editors, who had just settled one of their ever