pulse of the world to
fever, to hallucination, to madness.

Crashing of steel girders falling, the hum of wheels, the clash of
cranes and winches and chains, the clang of steam-hammers at work--all
are in that roar. The fire flares up with hellish eyes in every dark
corner, and men swarm around in the red glow like evil angels. They are
the slaves of steel and fire, lashed onwards, never resting.

Is this the spirit of Prometheus? Look, the will of steel is flinging
men up into the air now. It is conquering the heavens. Why? That it may
rush the faster. It craves for yet more speed, quicker, quicker, dizzier
yet, hurrying--wherefore?--whither? Alas! it knows not itself.

Are the children of the earth grown so homeless? Do they fear to take a
moment's rest? Do they dread to look inward and see their own emptiness?
Are they longing for something they have lost--some hymn, some harmony,
some God?

God? They find a bloodthirsty Jehovah, and an ascetic on the cross. What
gods are these for modern men? Religious history, not religion.

"Peer," says Merle again, "for God's sake try to sleep."

"Merle, do you think I shall get well here?"

"Why, don't you feel already how splendid the air is? Of course you'll
get well."

He twined his fingers into hers, and at last the sound of Louise's hymn
came to him once more, lifting and rocking him gently till his eyes
closed.

Chapter II

A little road winds in among the woods, two wheel-tracks only, with a
carpet of brown pine-needles between; but there are trees and the sky,
quiet and peace, so that it's a real blessing to walk there. It rises
and falls so gently, that no one need get out of breath; indeed,
it seems to go along with one all the time, in mere friendliness,
whispering: "Take it easy. Take your time. Have a good rest here." And
so on it goes, winding in among the tree-trunks, slender and supple as a
young girl.

Peer walked here every day. He would stop and look up into the tops of
the fir trees, and walk on again; then sit down for a moment on a mossy
stone; but only for a moment--always he was up again soon and moving on,
though he had nowhere to go. But at least there was peace here. He would
linger watching an insect as it crept along a fir branch, or listening
to the murmur of the river in the valley far below, or breathing in the
health-giving scent of the resin, thick in the warm air.

This present life of his was one way of living. As he lay,