to tell it beautifully, and to tell the truth.

The first is the Gift of God, the second is the Vision of Genius, but
the third is the Reward of Honesty.

In _The Quest of the Silver Fleece_ there is little, I ween, divine or
ingenious; but, at least, I have been honest. In no fact or picture have
I consciously set down aught the counterpart of which I have not seen or
known; and whatever the finished picture may lack of completeness, this
lack is due now to the story-teller, now to the artist, but never to the
herald of the Truth.

NEW YORK CITY

_August 15, 1911_

THE AUTHOR




_One_

DREAMS


Night fell. The red waters of the swamp grew sinister and sullen. The
tall pines lost their slimness and stood in wide blurred blotches all
across the way, and a great shadowy bird arose, wheeled and melted,
murmuring, into the black-green sky.