that Marston was the master for me to study, and he advised me to go
further East where I could see and understand his work. I came, and
saw, 'The Sunset in Winter.' You know the rest."

"But, now," Steele found himself speaking with a sense of relief,
"now, you are Robert A. Saxon. You have made yourself from unknown
material, but you have made yourself a great painter. Why not be
satisfied to abandon this unknown past as the past has abandoned you?"

"Wait," the other objected, with the cold emphasis of a man who will
not evade, or seek refuge in specious alternatives.

"Forget to-night who I am, and to-morrow I shall have no assurance
that the police are not searching for me. Why, man, I may have been a
criminal. I have no way of knowing. I am hand-tied. Possibly, I have a
wife and family waiting for me somewhere--needing me!"

His breath came in agitated gasps.

"I am two men, and one of them does not know the other. Sometimes, it
threatens me with madness--sometimes, for a happy interval, I almost
forget it. At first, it was insupportable, but the vastness of the
prairie and the calm of the mountain seemed to soothe me into sanity,
and give me a grip on myself. The starlight in my face during nights
spent in the saddle--that was soothing; it was medicine for my sick
brain. These things at least made me physically perfect. But, since
yesterday is sealed, I must remain to some extent the recluse. The
sort of intercourse we call society I have barred. That is why I am
anxious for your cabin, rather than your clubs and your
entertainments."

"You didn't have to tell me," said Steele slowly, "but I'm glad you
did. I and my friends are willing to gauge your past by your present.
But I'm glad of your confidence."

Saxon raised his face, and his eyes wore an expression of
gratification.

"Yes, I'm glad I told you. If I should go out before I solve it, and
you should ever chance on the answer, I'd like my own name over
me--and both dates, birth as well as death. My work is, of course, to
learn it all--if I can; and I hope--" he forced a laugh--"when I meet
the other man, he will be fit to shake hands with."

"Listen," Steele spoke eagerly. "How long has it been?"

"Over six years."

"Then, why not go on and round out the seven? Seven years of absolute
disappearance gives a man legal death. Let the old problem lie, and go
forward as Robert Saxon. That is the simplest way."

The other shook his head.

"That