But, Felix, you must not kill that man: I cannot have him die so. Let him live to conquer all his enemies, the worst in himself; then, if you must end tragically, let the woman go; she would not care, if he were safe."

"But she is the heroine of the piece; and, if it does not end with her lamenting over the fallen hero, the dramatic point is lost," said Helwyze; for Canaris had sprung up, and was walking restlessly about the room, as if the spirits he had evoked were too strong to be laid even by himself.

"I know nothing about that; but I feel the moral point would be lost, if it is not changed. Surely, powerful as pity is, a lofty admiration is better; and this poem would be nobler, in every way, if that man ends by living well, than by dying ignominiously in spite of his courage. I cannot explain it, but I am sure it is so; and I will not let Felix spoil his best piece of work by such a mistake."

"Then you like it? You would be happy if I changed and let it go before the world, for your sake more than for my own?"

Canaris paused beside her, pale with some emotion stronger than gratified vanity or ambitious hope. Gladys thought it was love; and, carried out of herself by the tender pride that overflowed her heart and would not be controlled, she let an action, more eloquent than any words, express the happiness she was the first to feel, the homage she would be the first to pay. Kneeling before him, she clasped her hands together, and looked up at him with cheeks still wet, lips still tremulous, eyes still full of wonder, admiration, fervent gratitude, and love.

In one usually so self-restrained as Gladys such joyful abandonment was doubly captivating and impressive. Canaris felt it so; and, lifting her up, pressed her to a heart whose loud throbbing thanked her, even while he gently turned her face away, as if he could not bear to see and receive such worship from so pure a source. The unexpected humility in his voice touched her strangely, and made her feel more deeply than ever how genuine was the genius which should yet make him great, as well as beloved.

"I will do what you wish, for you see more clearly than I. You shall be happy, and I will be proud of doing it, even if no one else sees any good in my work."

"They will! they must! It may not be the grandest thing you will ever do, but it is so human, it cannot fail to touch and charm; and to me that is as great an act as to astonish or dazzle by splendid learning or wonderful wit. Make it noble as well as beautiful, then people will love as well as praise you."

"I will try, Gladys. I see now what I should have written, and--if I can--it shall be done."

"I promised you inspiration, you remember: have I not kept my word?" asked Helwyze, forgotten, and content to be forgotten, until now.

Canaris looked up quickly; but there was no gratitude in his face, as he answered, with his hand on the head he pressed against his shoulder, and a certain subdued passion in his voice--

"You have: not the highest inspiration; but, if she is happy, it will atone for much."


XI

And Gladys was happy for a little while. Canaris labored doggedly till all was finished as she wished. Helwyze lent the aid which commands celerity; and early in the new year the book came out, to win for itself and its author the admiration and regard she had prophesied. But while the outside world, with which she had little to do except through her husband, rejoiced over him and his work, she, in her own small world, where he was all in all, was finding cause to wonder and grieve at the change which took place in him.

"I have done my task, now let me play," he said; and play he did, quite as energetically as he had worked, though to far less purpose. Praise seemed to intoxicate him, for he appeared to forget every thing else, and bask in its sunshine, as if he never could have enough of it. His satisfaction would have been called egregious vanity, had it not been so gracefully expressed, and the work done so excellent that all agreed the young man had a right to be proud of it, and enjoy his reward as he pleased. He went out much, being again caressed and fêted to his heart's content, leaving Gladys to amuse Helwyze; for a very little of this sort of gayety satisfied her, and there was something painful to her in the almost feverish eagerness with which her husband sought and enjoyed excitement of all kinds. Glad and proud though she was, it troubled her to see him as utterly engrossed as if existence had no higher aim than the most refined and varied pleasure; and she began to feel that, though the task was done, she had not got him back again from that other mistress, who seemed to have bewitched him with her dazzling charms.

"He will soon have enough of it, and return to us none the worse. Remember how young he is; how natural that he should love pleasure overmuch, when he gets it, since he has had so little hitherto," said Helwyze, answering the silent trouble in the face of Gladys; for she never spoke of her daily increasing anxiety.

"But it does not seem to make him happy; and for that reason I sometimes think it cannot be the best kind of pleasure for him," answered Gladys, remembering how flushed and weary he had been when he came in last night, so late that it was nearly dawn.

"He is one who will taste all kinds, and not be contented till he has had his fill. Roaming about Europe with that bad, brilliant father of his gave him glimpses of many things which he was too poor to enjoy then, but not too young to remember and desire now, when it is possible to gratify the wish. Let him go, he will come back to you when he is tired. It is the only way to manage him, I find."

But Gladys did not think so; and, finding that Helwyze would not speak, she resolved that she would venture to do it, for many things disturbed her, which wifely loyalty forbade her to repeat; as well as a feeling that Helwyze would not see cause for anxiety in her simple fears, since he encouraged Felix in this reckless gayety.

Some hours later, she found Canaris newly risen, sitting at his escritoire in their own room, with a strew of gold and notes before him, which he affected to be counting busily; though when she entered she had seen him in a despondent attitude, doing nothing.

"How pale you look. Why will you stay so late and get these weary headaches?" she asked, stroking the thick locks off his forehead with a caressing touch.

""Too late I stayed, forgive the crime;
Unheeded flew the hours;
For lightly falls the foot of time,
That only treads on flowers.'"

sang Canaris, looking up at her with an assumption of mirth, sadder than the melancholy which it could not wholly hide.

"You make light of it, Felix; but I am sure you will fall ill, if you do not get more sleep and quieter dreams," she said, still smoothing the glossy dark rings of which she was so proud.

"Cara mia, what do you know about my dreams?" he asked, with a hint of surprise in the manner, which was still careless.

"You toss about, and talk so wildly sometimes, that it troubles me to hear you."

"I will stop it at once. What do I talk about? Something amusing, I hope," he asked, quickly.

"That I cannot tell, for you speak in French or Italian; but you sigh terribly, and often seem angry or excited about something."

"That is odd. I do not remember my dreams, but it is little wonder my poor wits are distraught, after all they have been through lately. Did I talk last night, and spoil your sleep, love?" asked Canaris, idly piling up a little heap of coins, though listening intently for her reply.

"Yes: you seemed very busy, and said more than once, "Le jeu est fait, rien ne va plus.' "Rouge gagne et couleur'--or, "Rouge perd et couleur gagne.' I know what those words mean, because I have read them in a novel; and they trouble me from your lips, Felix."

"I must have been dreaming of a week I once spent in Homberg, with my father. We don't do that sort of thing here."

"Not under the same name, perhaps. Dear, do you ever play?" asked Gladys, leaning her cheek against the head which had sunk a little, as he leaned forward to smooth out the crumpled notes before him.

"Why not? One must amuse one's self."

"Not so. Please promise that you will try some safer way? This is not--honest." She hesitated over the last word, for his tone had been short and sharp, but uttered it bravely, and stole an arm about his neck, mutely asking pardon for the speech which cost her so much.

"What is? Life is all a lottery, and one must keep trying one's luck while the wheel goes round; for prizes are few and blanks many, you know."

"Ah, do not speak in that reckless way. Forgive me for asking questions; but you are all I have, and I must take care of you, since no one else has the right."

"Or the will.