The Blue Ice

And now, here it is, half completed. When I began this story the days were shortening and Finse was in the grip of ice. It is still in the grip of ice. But now the days are drawing out. Spring is coming. All through the long winter months Jill and I have been living up here and the work has gone steadily forward. We have done all the exploratory work. We have proved that George Farnell did not die for nothing. Soon now we shall mine the first ore. Soon these sprawling, wooden buildings will be humming with activity. Finse will be a small town, centre of the life blood of one of the world's greatest industrial plants. Open the window now and look out across the snow. I can see from here the spot where Farnell died. And away to the right, its icy jaws seeming to grin back at me, is the Blue Ice and all he lived for.

The end.