often we have argued over its meaning! If we
continued the discussion, perhaps it might pleasantly shorten the next
few hours, which I dread as I do my whole future existence, but I should
be obliged in the outset to yield the victory to you. The great
Herophilus is right when he transfers the seat of thought from the heart
to the head. What a wild tumult is raging here behind my brow, and how
one voice drowns another! The medley baffles description. I could more
easily count with my blind eyes the cells in a honeycomb than refute with
my bewildered brain even one shrewd objection. It seems to me that we
need our eyes to understand things. We certainly do to taste. Whatever I
eat and drink--langustae and melons, light Mareotic wine and the dark
liquor of Byblus my tongue can scarcely distinguish it. The leech assures
me that this will pass away, but until the chaos within merges into
endurable order there is nothing better for me than solitude and rest,
rest, rest."

"We will not deny them to you," replied Thyone, glancing significantly at
Daphne. "Proclus's enthusiastic judgment was sincerely meant. Begin by
rejoicing over it in the inmost depths of your heart, and vividly
imagining what a wealth of exquisite joys will be yours through your last
masterpiece."

"Willingly, if I can," replied the blind man, gratefully extending his
hand. "If I could only escape the doubt whether the most cruel tyrant
could devise anything baser than to rob the artist, the very person to
whom it is everything, of his sight."

"Yes, it is terrible," Daphne assented. "Yet it seems to me that a richer
compensation for the lost gift is at the disposal of you artists than of
us other mortals, for you understand how to look with the eyes of the
soul. With them you retain what you have seen, and illumine it with a
special radiance. Homer was blind, and for that very reason, I think, the
world and life became clear and transfigured for him though a veil
concealed both from his physical vision."

"The poet!" Hermon exclaimed. "He draws from his own soul what sight, and
sight alone, brings to us sculptors. And, besides, his spirit remained
free from the horrible darkness that assailed mine. Joy itself, Daphne,
has lost its illuminating power within. What, girl, what is to become of
the heart in which even hope was destroyed?"

"Defend it manfully and keep up your courage," she answered softly; but
he pressed her hand firmly, and, in order not