etters sent to him
would be safely passed on to her. If, however, it was difficult to keep
the secret from the public, it was still more difficult for one man to
maintain two distinct personalities. William Sharp of course had to
live, while Fiona might die any day. Her life entailed upon him another
burden, not of personification only, but of subject and research, and he
was driven to sore passes to keep both himself and her alive. For each
was truly alive and individual--two distinct people, one of whom thought
of the other as if she were "asleep in another room." Even the double
correspondence was a severe burden and strain, for Fiona Macleod had her
own large post-bag which had to be answered, just as William Sharp had
his. But far beyond any such outward expressions of themselves as these,
the difficulty of the double personality lay in deep springs of
character and of taste. Sharp's mind was keenly intellectual, observant,
and reasoning; while Fiona Macleod was the intuitional and spiritual
dreamer. She was indeed the expression of the womanly element in Sharp.
This element certainly dominated him, or rather perhaps he was one of
those who have successfully invaded the realm of alien sex. In his
earlier work, such as _The Lady of the Sea_,--"the woman who is in the
heart of woman,"--we have proof of this; for in that especially he so
"identified himself with woman's life, seeing it through her own eyes
that he seems to forget sometimes that he is not she." So much was this
the case that Fiona Macleod actually received at least one proposal of
marriage. It was answered quite kindly, Fiona replying that she had
other things to do, and could not think of it; but the little incident
shows how true the saying about Sharp was, that "he was always in love
with something or another." This loving and love-inspiring element in
him has been strongly challenged, and some of the women who have judged
him, have strenuously disowned him as an exponent of their sex. Yet the
fact is unquestionable that he was able to identify himself in a quite
extraordinary degree with what he took to be the feminine soul.

It seems to have something to do with the Celtic genius. One can always
understand a Scottish Celt better by comparing him with an Irish one or
a Welsh; and it will certainly prove illuminative in the present case to
remember Mr. W.B. Yeats while one is thinking of Fiona Macleod. To the
present writer it seems that the woman-so