“Poorlittlechap，“saidKatharine，andhertonewasatriflehuskierthanusual。“HowfondpeoplehavealwaysbeenofAdriance！Nowtellmethelatestnewsofhim。Ihaven’theard，exceptthroughthepress，forayearormore。HewasinAlgeriathen，inthevalleyoftheChelif，ridinghorsebacknightanddayinanArabiancostume，andinhisusualenthusiasticfashionhehadquitemadeuphismindtoadopttheMohammedanfaithandbecomeasnearlyanArabaspossible。Howmanycountriesandfaithshasbeadopted，Iwonder？ProbablyhewasplayingArabtohimselfallthetime。Irememberhewasasixteenth-centurydukeinFlorenceonceforweekstogether。“
“Oh，that’sAdriance，“chuckledEverett。“Heishimselfbarelylongenoughtowritechecksandbemeasuredforhisclothes。Ididn’thearfromhimwhilehewasanArab；Imissedthat。“
“HewaswritinganAlgeriansuiteforthepianothen；itmustbeinthepublisher’shandsbythistime。Ihavebeentooilltoanswerhisletter，andhavelosttouchwithhim。“
Everettdrewaletterfromhispocket。“Thiscameaboutamonthago。It’schieflyabouthisnewopera，whichistobebroughtoutinLondonnextwinter。Readitatyourleisure。“
“IthinkIshallkeepitasahostage，sothatImaybesureyouwillcomeagain。NowIwantyoutoplayforme。Whateveryoulike；butifthereisanythingnewintheworld，inmercyletmehearit。ForninemonthsIhaveheardnothingbut’TheBaggageCoachAhead’and’SheIsMyBaby’sMother。’“
Hesatdownatthepiano，andKatharinesatnearhim，absorbedinhisremarkablephysicallikenesstohisbrotherandtryingtodiscoverinjustwhatitconsisted。Shetoldherselfthatitwasverymuchasthoughasculptor’sfinishedworkhadbeenrudelycopiedinwood。HewasofalargerbuildthanAdriance，andhisshoulderswerebroadandheavy，whilethoseofhisbrotherwereslenderandrathergirlish。Hisfacewasofthesameovalmold，butitwasgrayanddarkenedaboutthemouthbycontinualshaving。HiseyeswereofthesameinconstantAprilcolor，buttheywerereflectiveandratherdull；whileAdriance’swerealwayspointsofhighlight，andalwaysmeaninganotherthingthanthethingtheymeantyesterday。Butitwashardtoseewhythisearnestmanshouldsocontinuallysuggestthatlyric，youthfulfacethatwasasgayashiswasgrave。ForAdriance，thoughhewastenyearstheelder，andthoughhishairwasstreakedwithsilver，hadthefaceofaboyoftwenty，somobilethatittoldhisthoughtsbeforehecouldputthemintowords。
Acontralto，famousfortheextravaganceofhervocalmethodsandofheraffections，hadoncesaidtohimthattheshepherdboyswhosangintheValeofTempemustcertainlyhavelookedlikeyoungHilgarde；andthecomparisonhadbeenappropriatedbyahundredshyerwomenwhopreferredtoquote。
AsEverettsatsmokingontheverandaoftheInterOceanHousethatnight，hewasavictimtorandomrecollections。HisinfatuationforKatharineGaylord，visionaryasitwas，hadbeenthemostseriousofhisboyishloveaffairs，andhadlongdisturbedhisbachelordreams。Hewaspainfullytimidineverythingrelatingtotheemotions，andhishurthadwithdrawnhimfromthesocietyofwomen。Thefactthatitwasallsodoneanddeadandfarbehindhim，andthatthewomanhadlivedherlifeoutsincethen，gavehimanoppressivesenseofageandloss。Hebethoughthimselfofsomethinghehadreadabout“sittingbythehearthandrememberingthefacesofwomenwithoutdesire，“andfelthimselfanoctogenarian。
Herememberedhowbitterandmorosehehadgrownduringhisstayathisbrother’sstudiowhenKatharineGaylordwasworkingthere，andhowhehadwoundedAdrianceonthenightofhislastconcertinNewYork。HehadsatthereintheboxwhilehisbrotherandKatharinewerecalledbackagainandagainafterthelastnumber，watchingtherosesgoupoverthefootlightsuntiltheywerestackedhalfashighasthepiano，brooding，inhissullenboy’sheart，uponthepridethosetwofeltineachother’swork——spurringeachothertotheirbestandbeautifullycontendinginsong。Thefootlightshadseemedahard，glitteringlinedrawnsharplybetweentheirlifeandhis；acircleofflamesetaboutthosesplendidchildrenofgenius。HewalkedbacktohishotelaloneandsatinhiswindowstaringoutonMadisonSquareuntillongaftermidnight，resolvingtobeatnomoreatdoorsthathecouldneverenterandrealizingmorekeenlythaneverbeforehowfarthisgloriousworldofbeautifulcreationslayfromthepathsofmenlikehimself。Hetoldhimselfthathehadincommonwiththiswomanonlythebaserusesoflife。
Everett’sweekinCheyennestretchedtothree，andhesawnoprospectofreleaseexceptthroughthethinghedreaded。Thebright，windydaysoftheWyomingautumnpassedswiftly。Lettersandtelegramscameurginghimtohastenhistriptothecoast，butheresolutelypostponedhisbusinessengagements。ThemorningshespentononeofCharleyGaylord’sponies，orfishinginthemountains，andintheeveningshesatinhisroomwritinglettersorreading。Intheafternoonhewasusuallyathispostofduty。Destiny，hereflected，seemstohaveverypositivenotionsaboutthesortofpartswearefittedtoplay。Thescenechangesandthecompensationvaries，butintheendweusuallyfindthatwehaveplayedthesameclassofbusinessfromfirsttolast。Everetthadbeenastopgapallhislife。Herememberedgoingthroughalookingglasslabyrinthwhenhewasaboyandtryinggalleryaftergallery，onlyateveryturntobumphisnoseagainsthisownface——which，indeed，wasnothisown，buthisbrother’s。Nomatterwhathismission，eastorwest，bylandorsea，hewassuretofindhimselfemployedinhisbrother’sbusiness，oneofthetributaryliveswhichhelpedtoswelltheshiningcurrentofAdrianceHilgarde’s。Itwasnotthefirsttimethathisdutyhadbeentocomfort，asbesthecould，oneofthebrokenthingshisbrother’simperiousspeedhadcastasideandforgotten。Hemadenoattempttoanalyzethesituationortostateitinexactterms；buthefeltKatharineGaylord’sneedforhim，andheaccepteditasacommissionfromhisbrothertohelpthiswomantodie。Daybydayhefeltherdemandsonhimgrowmoreimperious，herneedforhimgrowmoreacuteandpositive；
anddaybydayhefeltthatinhispeculiarrelationtoherhisownindividualityplayedasmallerandsmallerpart。Hispowertoministertohercomfort，hesaw，laysolelyinhislinkwithhisbrother’slife。Heunderstoodallthathisphysicalresemblancemeanttoher。Heknewthatshesatbyhimalwayswatchingforsomecommontrickofgesture，somefamiliarplayofexpression，someillusionoflightandshadow，inwhichheshouldseemwhollyAdriance。Heknewthatsheliveduponthisandthatherdiseasefeduponit；thatitsentshuddersofremembrancethroughherandthatintheexhaustionwhichfollowedthisturmoilofherdyingsenses，shesleptdeepandsweetanddreamedofyouthandartanddaysinacertainoldFlorentinegarden，andnotofbitternessanddeath。
Thequestionwhichmostperplexedhimwas，“HowmuchshallI
know？Howmuchdoesshewishmetoknow？“AfewdaysafterhisfirstmeetingwithKatharineGaylord，hehadcabledhisbrothertowriteher。Hehadmerelysaidthatshewasmortallyill；hecoulddependonAdriancetosaytherightthing——thatwasapartofhisgift。Adriancealwayssaidnotonlytherightthing，buttheopportune，graceful，exquisitething。Hisphrasestookthecolorofthemomentandthethen-presentcondition，sothattheyneversavoredofperfunctorycomplimentorfrequentusage。Healwayscaughtthelyricessenceofthemoment，thepoeticsuggestionofeverysituation。Moreover，heusuallydidtherightthing，theopportune，graceful，exquisitething——except，whenhedidverycruelthings——bentuponmakingpeoplehappywhentheirexistencetouchedhis，justasheinsistedthathismaterialenvironmentshouldbebeautiful；lavishinguponthosenearhimallthewarmthandradianceofhisrichnature，allthehomageofthepoetandtroubadour，and，whentheywerenolongernear，forgetting——forthatalsowasapartofAdriance’sgift。
ThreeweeksafterEveretthadsenthiscable，whenhemadehisdailycallatthegailypaintedranchhouse，hefoundKatharinelaughinglikeaschoolgirl。“Haveyoueverthought，“
shesaid，asheenteredthemusicroom，“howmuchtheseseancesofoursarelikeHeine’s’FlorentineNights，’exceptthatIdon’tgiveyouanopportunitytomonopolizetheconversationasHeinedid？“Sheheldhishandlongerthanusual，asshegreetedhim，andlookedsearchinglyupintohisface。“Youarethekindestmanliving；thekindest，“sheadded，softly。
Everett’sgrayfacecoloredfaintlyashedrewhishandaway，forhefeltthatthistimeshewaslookingathimandnotatawhimsicalcaricatureofhisbrother。“Why，whathaveIdonenow？“heasked，lamely。“Ican’trememberhavingsentyouanystalecandyorchampagnesinceyesterday。“
Shedrewaletterwithaforeignpostmarkfrombetweentheleavesofabookandhelditout，smiling。“Yougothimtowriteit。Don’tsayyoudidn’t，foritcamedirect，yousee，andthelastaddressIgavehimwasaplaceinFlorida。ThisdeedshallberememberedofyouwhenIamwiththejustinParadise。
Butonethingyoudidnotaskhimtodo，foryoudidn’tknowaboutit。Hehassentmehislatestwork，thenewsonata，themostambitiousthinghehaseverdone，andyouaretoplayitformedirectly，thoughitlookshorriblyintricate。Butfirstfortheletter；Ithinkyouwouldbetterreaditaloudtome。“
Everettsatdowninalowchairfacingthewindowseatinwhichshereclinedwithabarricadeofpillowsbehindher。Heopenedtheletter，hislasheshalf-veilinghiskindeyes，andsawtohissatisfactionthatitwasalongone——wonderfullytactfulandtender，evenforAdriance，whowastenderwithhisvaletandhisstableboy，withhisoldgondolierandthebeggar-womenwhoprayedtothesaintsforhim。
TheletterwasfromGranada，writtenintheAlhambra，ashesatbythefountainofthePatiodiLindaraxa。Theairwasheavy，withthewarmfragranceoftheSouthandfullofthesoundofsplashing，runningwater，asithadbeeninacertainoldgardeninFlorence，longago。Theskywasonegreatturquoise，heateduntilitglowed。ThewonderfulMoorisharchesthrewgracefulblueshadowsallabouthim。Hehadsketchedanoutlineofthemonthemarginofhisnotepaper。ThesubtletiesofArabicdecorationhadcastanunholyspelloverhim，andthebrutalexaggerationsofGothicartwereabaddream，easilyforgotten。
TheAlhambraitselfhad，fromthefirst，seemedperfectlyfamiliartohim，andheknewthathemusthavetrodthatcourt，sleekandbrownandobsequious，centuriesbeforeFerdinandrodeintoAndalusia。Theletterwasfullofconfidencesabouthiswork，anddelicateallusionstotheiroldhappydaysofstudyandcomradeship，andofherownwork，stillsowarmlyrememberedandappreciativelydiscussedeverywherehewent。
AsEverettfoldedtheletterhefeltthatAdriancehaddivinedthethingneededandhadrisentoitinhisownwonderfulway。Theletterwasconsistentlyegotisticalandseemedtohimevenatriflepatronizing，yetitwasjustwhatshehadwanted。Astrongrealizationofhisbrother’scharmandintensityandpowercameoverhim；hefeltthebreathofthatwhirlwindofflameinwhichAdriancepassed，consumingallinhispath，andhimselfevenmoreresolutelythanheconsumedothers。Thenhelookeddownatthiswhite，burnt-outbrandthatlaybeforehim。
“Likehim，isn’tit？“shesaid，quietly。
“IthinkIcanscarcelyanswerhisletter，butwhenyouseehimnextyoucandothatforme。Iwantyoutotellhimmanythingsforme，yettheycanallbesummedupinthis:Iwanthimtogrowwhollyintohisbestandgreatestself，evenatthecostofthedearboyishnessthatishalfhischarmtoyouandme。Doyouunderstandme？“