"There is not much more to tell," and Alwyn sighed a little as he spoke. "I wandered further and further into the gloom, oppressed by many thoughts and troubled by vague fears, till presently it grew so dark that I could scarcely see where I was going, though I was able to guide myself in the path that stretched before me by means of the pale luminous rays that frequently pierced the deepening obscurity, and these rays I now noticed fell ever downwards in the form of a cross. As I went on I was pursued as it were by the sound of those delicate harmonies played on invisible, sweet strings; and after a while I perceived at the extreme end of the long, dim vista a door standing open, through which I entered and found myself alone in a quiet room. Here I sat down to rest,--the melody of the distant harps and lutes still floated in soft echoes on the silence ... and presently words came breaking through the music, like buds breaking from their surrounding leaves.. words that I was compelled to write down as quickly as I heard them ... and I wrote on and on, obeying that symphonious and rhythmical dictation with a sense of growing ease and pleasure, ... when all suddenly a dense darkness overcame me, followed by a gradual dawning gray and golden light ... the words dispersed into fragmentary half-syllables ... the music died away, ... I started up amazed ... to find myself here! ... here in this monastery of Lars, listening to the chanting of the Angelus!" He ceased, and looked wistfully out through the window at the white encircling rim of the opposite snow-mountains, now bathed in the full splendor of noon. Heliobas advanced and laid one hand kindly on his shoulder.... "And do not forget," he said, "that you have brought with you from the higher regions a Poem that will in all probability make your fame! 'Fame! fame! next grandest word to God!' ... so wrote one of your craft, and no doubt you echo the sentiment! Have you not desired to blazon your name on the open scroll of the world? Well! ... now you can have your wish--the world waits to receive your signature!" "That is all very well!" and Alwyn smiled rather dubiously as he glanced at the manuscript on the table beside him. "But the question is,--considering how it was written,--can I, dare I call this poem MINE?" "Most assuredly you can," returned Heliobas. "Though your hesitation is a worthy one, and as rare as it is worthy. Well would it be for all poets and artists were they to pause thus, and consider before rashly calling their work their own! Self-appreciation is the death-blow of genius. The poem is as much yours as your life is yours--no more and no less. In brief, you have recovered your lost inspiration; the lately dumb oracle speaks again:--and are you not satisfied?"