h time reshaping it
with a master-hand. Creation is a divine prerogative. Re-creation,
infinitely more wonderful than mere calling into existence, is the
prerogative of the poet. Shakespeare took his colours from many
palettes. That is why he is so great, and why his work is incredibly
greater than he. It alone explains his unique achievement. Who was he?
What education did he have, what opportunities? None. And yet we find in
his work the wisdom of Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh's fancies and
discoveries, Marlowe's verbal thunders and the mysterious loveliness of
Mr. W.H."

Ernest listened, entranced by the sound of Clarke's mellifluous voice.
He was, indeed, a master of the spoken word, and possessed a miraculous
power of giving to the wildest fancies an air of vraisemblance.

V

"Yes," said Walkham, the sculptor, "it's a most curious thing."

"What is?" asked Ernest, who had been dreaming over the Sphinx that was
looking at him from its corner with the sarcastic smile of five thousand
years.

"How our dreams of yesterday stare at us like strangers to-day."

"On the contrary," remarked Reginald, "it would be strange if they were
still to know us. In fact, it would be unnatural. The skies above us and
the earth underfoot are in perpetual motion. Each atom of our physical
nature is vibrating with unimaginable rapidity. Change is identical with
life."

"It sometimes seems," said the sculptor, "as if thoughts evaporated like
water."

"Why not, under favorable conditions?"

"But where do they go? Surely they cannot perish utterly?"

"Yes, that is the question. Or, rather, it is not a question. Nothing
is ever lost in the spiritual universe."

"But what," inquired Ernest, "is the particular reason for your
reflection?"

"It is this," the sculptor replied; "I had a striking motive and lost
it."

"Do you remember," he continued, speaking to Reginald, "the Narcissus I
was working on the last time when you called at my studio?"

"Yes; it was a striking thing and impressed me very much, though I
cannot recall it at the moment."

"Well, it was a commission. An eccentric young millionaire had offered
me eight thousand dollars for it. I had an absolutely original
conception. But I cannot execute it. It's as if a breeze had carried it
away."

"That is very regrettable."

"Well, I should say so," replied the sculptor.

Ernest smiled. For everybody knew of Walkham's domestic troubles. Having
twice figured