And with that I fell back into deeper gloom. I have not tried to paint myself other than I am. I had never reached the height of pure endeavour to which Nordenholt had attained, though sometimes, under his influence, I came near it. And now, at the recollection of our dream-city, I felt a keen pang. Why should I attempt to raise that fabric to the skies, why should I wear myself out in toiling to erect these halls and palaces through which I must wander alone? Why, indeed? What was the population of the Area to me, after all? But even amid my most bitter reflections I knew that I would do my best. Nordenholt had trusted me. A fresh chime from the great bell overhead roused me from my musings. I went across to Nordenholt, not knowing whether to wake him or not. When I reached his side, something in his attitude struck me. I touched his hand and found it cold. For a moment, I think I failed to recognise what had happened. Then I shook him gently; and the truth broke upon my mind. That great engine which had wrought so hard and so long would never move again. The brain which had guided the fortunes of the Area up to the last moment had sunk to its eternal rest. It was some minutes before I was able to pull myself together after the discovery. When I got my feelings under control, I was still badly shaken; for otherwise I would never have done what I did do. I went straight to the door and called Elsa. She was sitting at her desk and she looked up at my voice. “Well, what is it, Mr. Flint?” “It’s.... Come here.... It’s Nordenholt; he....” Before I had completed the sentence she had risen and passed me. I think she must have seen something in my face which led her to expect the worst news. She went up to the desk where Nordenholt was still leaning with his face on his arms. Like me, she did not immediately grasp what had happened. “Uncle Stanley! What’s wrong? Aren’t you well?” She rested her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently, just as I had done. In the silence, I heard, far down the Clyde, the roaring of the atomic engine--the great call sweeping across the Area and bearing with it the news of Nordenholt’s final triumph. They were varying the running of the machine and the waves of sound rose and fell like the beating of gigantic wings above the city. Suddenly she turned to me. “What is it? You don’t mean he’s _dead_?” I could only nod in answer; I could not find words. For an instant she stood, leaning over him, and then she slipped down beside his chair and put her arms round him. “Oh, he’s dead. He’s dead. He’ll never speak to me again!... And I hated him, I hated him.... I made it hard for him.... And now he can’t tell me if he forgives me.... Oh, what shall I do, Jack? What shall I do? Please help me. He was so good to me; and I hurt him so.... Oh, please help me, Jack. Tell me he forgave me.... I’ve only got _you_ now....” CHAPTER XX Asgard