he
world he had visited with her. Only this time, humbly. Standing on the
outside of palaces and Embassies, recollecting the times when he had
been a guest within. Rubbing shoulders with the crowd outside, shabby,
poor, a derelict. Seeking always to recover that lost thing.

"And getting so impatient to rejoin her. Longing for her always.
Coming to see that she meant more to him than all the world beside.
Eating his heart out, craving her. Longing to return, to reseat
himself under his bell. Only now he was no longer gilded. He must gild
himself anew, bright, just as she had found him. Then he could go
back.

"But it could not be done. He could not work. Somewhere in the world,
he told me, was a spot where he could work. Where there were no
memories. Somewhere in the Seven Seas lay the place. He should know it
when he saw it. After so many years' exclusion, he was certain he
should feel the atmosphere of the place where he could work. And there
he would stay till he finished, till he produced the big thing that
was in him. Thus, regilded, he would return to her again. One more
effort, once more to feel his power, once more to hear the stimulating
rush of praise,--then he would give it up again, quite content to sit
beneath his wine-glass till the end. But this first.

"So I put him down where I have told you, on a lonely island. Somewhat
north of the Equator, ten thousand miles away from Her. Wistfully, he
said it was quite the right spot. He could feel it. So we helped him,
the China-boys and I, to build a little hut, up on stilts, thatched
with palm leaves. Very desolate it is. On all sides the burnished
ocean, hot and breathless. And the warm, moist heat, close around,
still and stifling. Like a blanket, dense, enveloping. But he said it
was the spot. I don't know. He has been there now three years. He said
he could do it there--if ever. From time to time I stop there, if the
passengers are willing for a day or two's delay. He looks very old
now, and very thin, but he always says it's all right. Soon, very soon
now, the manuscript will be ready. Next time I stop, perhaps. Once I
came upon him sobbing. Landing early in the morning, slipped ashore
and found him sobbing. Head in arms and shoulders shaking. It was
early in the morning and I think he'd sobbed all night. Somehow, I
think it was not for the gift he'd lost--but for Her.

"But he says over and over again that it is the right spot--the very
right place in