truth. If you were to die, there is
one person who would--"

Blake's face softened. He was surprised and touched.

"What? You'd care?"

Max nodded.

"Thank you, boy! Thank you for that!"

They stood silent for a moment, looking through the uncurtained window
at the February breezes ruffling the holly bushes in the plantation,
each unusually aware of the other's presence, each unusually
self-conscious.

"But if it comes to pass--your miracle--you will forget me? You will no
longer have need of me, is that not so?"

Max spoke softly, a disproportionate seriousness darkening his eyes,
causing his voice to quiver.

Blake turned to answer in the same vein, but something checked him--some
embarrassment, some inexplicable doubt of himself.

"Boy," he said, sharply, "we're running into deep waters. Don't you
think we ought to steer for shore? I came to smoke, you know, and watch
you at your work."

The words acted as a charm. Max threw up his head and gave a little
laugh, a trifle high, a shade hysterical.

"But, of course! But, of course! I believe I, too, was falling into a
dream; and the dream comes after, the work first, is it not so? The work
first; the work always first. Place another log upon the fire and begin
to smoke, and I swear to you that before the day is finished I will make
you proud of me. I swear it to you!"

CHAPTER XVII

There is impetus, if not necessarily inspiration in a goading thought,
and Max returned to his interrupted task with a zeal almost in excess of
his protestations. He worked with vigor--with an exuberant daring that
seemed to suggest that the creation of his picture was rather the
creation of a mental narcotic than the expression of an idea.

He had given rein to sentiment in the moment with Blake, and now he was
applying the curb, working incessantly--- never pausing to speak--never
casting a glance at the corner where his companion was smoking and
dreaming over the fire.

To the casual observer it might have seemed a scene of ideal
comradeship; yet in the minds of the comrades there lurked an
uneasiness, an uncertainty not lightly to be placed--not easily to be
clothed in words. A certain warmth was stirring in Blake's heart,
coupled with a certain wonder at his sudden discovery of the depth of
the boy's regard; while in the boy's own soul a tumult of feelings ran
riot.

Shame burned him that he should have confessed himself; amazement seared
him that the conf