nged, like an empty grave which
does not close until it has received its denizen. If only the gap were
closed the charm would lose its potency. He might authorize a workman
to do the job, but the thought of leaving his neglected work to
another brought a flush of shame to his pale cheeks. The sheet of lead
nailed by another would be certain to fall; the gap cried out for him,
and he alone could close it. Or the destruction which he had forged
there would seize hold of the workman, dizziness would overtake him
and he would plunge into the depths.

Since his brother's wife had lain in his arms he had lived a double
life. During the day he worked outside and at night he sat in his room
among his books, all that went on mechanically; in spite of his
efforts his heart was only half in his work; the other half lived its
own life, hovering with the jackdaws about the flaw in the tower-roof
and brooding over the coming disaster which he had forged that
morning. His soul fought ever anew the battle with his brother. Was it
his brother's fall that he had forged? Perhaps it would have been
possible to save the madman. Anxiously he sought for possibilities,
and shrank with horror from the thought that he might find one. All
his good qualities became overwrought--his loyalty, his
conscientiousness, his scrupulousness. He did not try to put his
shortcomings upon his brother; with loving hand he took his brother's
guilt and placed it on his own shoulders. It became ever clearer in
his mind that he might have saved his brother. He could have found
some way if his heart and head had not been full of wild, forbidden
desires, if he had not been full of wrath against the madman instead
of feeling pity for him. With his evil thoughts he had forged disaster
for his brother. Without those thoughts his work would have been
finished and his brother would not have found him in the tower, would
have come too late and would have repented of his resolve. Or, if he
had still been there, he was the stronger, cooler headed, and he
should have found a way to prevent the calamity.

It was natural that people should chaff him about the marriage that
seemed a necessity to them. He had to confess to himself that they
were right and that his desires were no longer forbidden ones. But the
fact that they had once been so cast its shadow over the blameless
present. His love seemed sullied to him. Reason and love might say
what they would, he felt that there