er, when Hermon stepped forward with his works. They were at the
same time the first which were to show what he believed to be the true
mission of art--a hideous hawker, hide in hand, praising his wares with
open mouth, and the struggling Maenads. Surely you know the horrible
women who throw one another on the ground, tearing and rending with
bestial fury. The spectacle of these fruits of the industry of one dear
to me grieved me also, and I could not understand how you and the others
saw anything to admire in them. And my father! At the sight of these
things the colour faded from his cheeks and lips, and, as if by virtue
of his guardianship he had a right to direct Hermon in the paths of
art also, he forbade his ward to waste any more time in such horrible
scarecrows, and awaken loathing and wrath instead of gratification,
exultation, and joy. You know the consequences, but you do not know how
my heart ached when Hermon, frantic with wounded pride and indignation,
turned his back upon my father and severed every tie that united him to
us. In spite of his deep vexation and the unbridled violence with which
the nephew had allowed himself to address his uncle, my father did not
dream of withholding his assistance from him. But Hermon no longer
came to our house, and when I sent for him to bring him to reason, he
positively declared that he would not accept another obolus from my
father--he would rather starve than permit any one to dictate to him
in the choice of his subjects. Liberty was worth more than his uncle's
gold. Yet my father sent him his annual allowance."

"But he refused it," added Myrtilus. "I remember that day well, how I
tried to persuade him, and, when he persisted in his intention, besought
him to accept from my abundance what he needed. But this, too, he
resolutely refused, though at that time I was already so deeply in his
debt that I could not repay him at all with paltry money."

"You are thinking of the devotion with which he nursed you when you were
so ill?" asked Daphne.

"Certainly; yet not of that alone," was the reply. "You do not know how
he stood by me in the worst days. Who was it that after my first great
successes, when base envy clouded many an hour of my life, rejoiced with
me as though he himself had won the laurel? It was he, the ambitious
artist, though recognition held even farther aloof from his creations
than success. And when, just at that time, the insidious disease
attacked me