e and place.

A date told of his change from Larmone to the village, and this was
written below it: "Too heavy a sense of obligation destroys freedom, and
only a free man can dare to love."

Then came a number of fragments indicating trouble of mind
and hesitation; the sensitiveness of the artist, the delicate,
self-tormenting scruples of the lonely idealist, the morbid pride of the
young poor man, contending with an impetuous passion and forcing it to
surrender, or at least to compromise.

"What right has a man to demand everything and offer nothing in return
except an ambition and a hope? Love must come as a giver, not as a
beggar."

"A knight should not ask to wear his lady's colours until he has won his
spurs."

"King Cophetua and the beggar-maid--very fine! but the other
way--humiliating!"

"A woman may take everything from a man, wealth and fame and
position. But there is only one thing that a man may accept from a
woman--something that she alone can give--happiness."

"Self-respect is less than love, but it is the trellis that holds love
up from the ground; break it down, and all the flowers are in the dust,
the fruit is spoiled."

"And yet"--so the man's thought shone through everywhere--"I think she
must know that I love her, and why I cannot speak."

One entry was written in a clearer, stronger hand: "An end of
hesitation. The longest way is the shortest. I am going to the city to
work for the Academy prize, to think of nothing else until I win it, and
then come back with it to Claire, to tell her that I have a future,
and that it is hers. If I spoke of it now it would be like claiming the
reward before I had done the work. I have told her only that I am
going to prove myself an artist, AND TO LIVE FOR WHAT I LOVE BEST. She
understood, I am sure, for she would not lift her eyes to me, but her
hand trembled as she gave me the blue flower from her belt."

The date of his return to Larmone was marked, but the page was blank, as
the day had been.

Some pages of dull self-reproach and questioning and bewildered regret
followed.

"Is it possible that she has gone away, without a word, without a sign,
after what has passed between us? It is not fair. Surely I had some
claim."

"But what claim, after all? I asked for nothing. And was it not pride
that kept me silent, taking it for granted that if I asked, she would
give?"

"It was a mistake; she did not understand, nor care."

"It was my fault; I