The young man was standing erect now on the side of the road.  His companion shrank away somewhat fearful lest he should turn upon him and smite him.

“You seem to have suffered,” he at length remarked.  “You appear to be annoyed at people who have money.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” was the savage reply.  “Haven’t I suffered at their hands, young as I am?  Haven’t I been scorned by them to the limit of all endurance?  Haven’t they made a mock of me for years, calling me names behind my back?  And why?  Just because I happen to be poor, and have tried honestly to make my way in life.  But there, enough of this.  What’s the use of talking about such things?  It will do no more good than the voice of the waters which you are continually hearing.”

Along the road the two walked in deep silence.  The old man found it hard to keep up with his companion, and he was at last forced to fall behind.  Soon he was alone, and then his thoughts went once more back to the falls, and the glorious vision which was in his mind.

It was only when he reached a small building by the side of the road that he stopped.  Pushing open the door, he entered.  All was dark and silent within.  The strange loneliness of the place would have smitten any one else with the feeling of dread.  But the old man never seemed to mind it.  Fumbling in his vest pocket, he found a match.  This he struck and lighted a tallow dip which was stuck into a rude candle-stick upon a bare wooden table.  One glance at the room revealed by the dim light showed its desolate bareness.  Besides the table there were two small benches and a wash-stand, containing a granite-iron basin.  A small broken-down stove stood at one end of the room, by the side of which was a couch.  Not a scrap of mat or rug adorned the floor.  There were no blinds or curtains to the cheerless, windows, and not a picture adorned the walls.

But the old man did not notice the desolation of the place.  It was quite evident that he was beyond the influence of earthly surroundings for the moment.  Going at once to the couch, he brought forth a roll of paper hidden away beneath the pillow.  Carrying this over to the table, he sat down upon one of the benches and spread the paper out before him.  By the light of the candle it was easy for him to study the carefully-made lines upon the large sheet.  Eagerly he scanned the drawings, and then placing the forefinger of his right hand upon one central point, he moved it along one line extending farther than the rest until it stopped at a small square in which was the word “City.”  This action gave him much satisfaction and a pleased expression lighted up his face.  “Power, power,” he murmured.  “Ay, quicker than thought, and bright as the sun shining in its strength.  Great, wonderful! and yet they do not realise it.  But they shall know, and understand.”

Along the other lines he also ran his finger, pausing at the end of each where was marked “Town,” “Village,” or “Settlement.”  He talked continually as he did so, but it was all about “glory” and “power.”  Over and over again he repeated these words, now in a soft low voice, and again in a loud triumphant manner.