and the trail,
through the abundant grasses crushed underfoot, was of one who had moved
rapidly. Gradually, with the upward incline, obstacles had increased,
and the footprints drew nearer together. Still higher, from a straight
line the trail had become tortuous and irregular. Here the climber had
passed around a thicket of trees; there a great boulder had stood in the
path; but, ever indomitable, the way had been steadily upward toward
some point the climber had in view. Steeper and steeper the way had
grown. The prints on the rocky mountain-side, from being those of feet
only, merged into those made by hands. The man had begun to crawl,
making his way inch by inch. Fragments of his torn clothing hung on the
points of rocks. Dim brown lines showed the path his body had taken, as
he sometimes slipped back. Breaks in the scant vegetation told where his
fingers had clutched desperately to halt his descent. Yet each time the
reverse had been but temporary; he had returned, and mounted higher and
higher. But at last there had come the end. He had reached his present
place in the picture. By gripping tightly he could hold his own, but to
advance was impossible. Straight above him, a sheer wall, many times his
own height, was the blank, unbroken face of the rock. That he had tried
to scale even this was evident, for finger-marks from bleeding hands
were thick thereon; but he had finally abandoned the effort. Physically,
he was conquered. It seemed that one could almost hear the quick coming
and going of his breath. Yet, prostrate as he lay, his eyes were turned
toward the barrier his body could not scale, to a something which
crowned its utmost height,--something indefinite and unattainable,--the
supreme desire and purpose of his life.

The two spectators sat silent. Other visitors came near, glanced at the
canvas and at the pair of observers, and passed on with muffled
footsteps.

The girl turned, and, as on the night at the roof-garden, found the
man's eyes upon her.

"What name does your friend give to his work?" she asked.

"He calls it 'The Unattainable.'"

"And what is its meaning?"

"Ambition, perfection, complete happiness--anything striven for with
one's whole soul."

Florence was studying her companion now as steadily as he had been
studying her a moment before. "To your--friend it meant--"

"Happiness."

The girl's hands were clasped in her lap in a way she had when her
thoughts were concentrated. "An