“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？“