He ceased, and looked wistfully out through the window at the
white encircling rim of the opposite snow-mountains, now bathed in
the full splendor of noon. Heliobas advanced and laid one hand
kindly on his shoulder. ...

"And do not forget," he said, "that you have brought with you from
the higher regions a Poem that will in all probability make your
fame! 'Fame! fame! next grandest word to God!' ... so wrote one of
your craft, and no doubt you echo the sentiment! Have you not
desired to blazon your name on the open scroll of the world? Well!
... now you can have your wish--the world waits to receive your
signature!"

"That is all very well!" and Alwyn smiled rather dubiously as he
glanced at the manuscript on the table beside him. "But the
question is,--considering how it was written,--can I, dare I call
this poem MINE?"

"Most assuredly you can," returned Heliobas. "Though your
hesitation is a worthy one, and as rare as it is worthy. Well
would it be for all poets and artists were they to pause thus, and
consider before rashly calling their work their own! Self-
appreciation is the death-blow of genius. The poem is as much
yours as your life is yours--no more and no less. In brief, you
have recovered your lost inspiration; the lately dumb oracle
speaks again:--and are you not satisfied?"

"No!" said Alwyn quickly, with a sudden brightening of his eyes as
he met the keenly searching glance that accompanied this question.
"No! for I love! ... and the desire of love burns in me as