ations that carried
vague uneasiness, producing restlessness. He shifted himself within
his space, and grew conscious of limitations. From without came the
voices, insistent, asking what he was doing now? Meaning, what thing
was he writing now, for a long time had passed since he had written
that which called forth the praise of men. There came to him, within
his wineglass, these demands from the outside. Therefore he grew very
uneasy, and tried to rise, and just then it was that he began to feel
how close the crystal walls surrounded him. He even wanted to break
them, but a pang at heart told him that was ingratitude. For he loved
her, you see. Never forget that.

"Now you see how it all came about. He was conscious of himself, of
his power. And while for the first years he had drifted, he was always
conscious of his power. Knew that he had but to rise, to assume
gigantic stature. And then, just because he was very stiff, and the
pain of stiffness and stretching made him uncouth, he grew angry. He
resented his captivity, chafed at his being limited like that, did not
understand how it had come about. It had come about through love.
Through sheer, sheltering love. The equivalent of his for her. She had
placed a crystal cup above him, to keep him safe. And he had sat safe
beneath it all these years, fearing to stir, because she liked him so.

"It came to a choice at last. His life of happiness with her--or his
work. Poor fool, to have made the choice at that late day. So he broke
his wineglass, and his heart and her heart too, and came away. And
then he found that he could not work, after all. Years of sitting
still had done it.

"At first he tried to recover himself by going over again the paths
of his youth. A garret in London, a studio off Montparnasse, shabby,
hungry--all no use. He was done for. Futile. Done himself in for no
purpose, for he had lost her too. For you see he planned, when he left
her, to come back shortly, crowned anew. To come back in triumph, for
she was all his life. Nothing else mattered. He just wanted to lay
something at her feet, in exchange for all she had given him. Said he
would. So they parted, heart-broken, crushed, neither one
understanding. But he promised to come back, with his laurels.

"That parting was long ago. He could not regain himself. After his
failure along the paths of his youth, his garrets and studios, he
tried to recover his genius by visiting again all the parts of t