The atmosphere of unparalleled devotion which this humble creature threw around him was agreeable to Emil; and the same could be said of Annie's love. Whenever he observed it, his wife's faithful affection, contributing to his egotism, helped him to work the harder. And so again with Rachel Hart's intelligent and unwavering interest in his progress; her interest so stirred in him the creative impulse that he sped ahead like a fiery steed under the plaudits of the arena. On the whole, Emil received much from the people surrounding him; and yet, in the last analysis, their devotion was not essential to the "un-named, seeing, acting, produced being" that constituted his genius. When at work, in the depths of his eye lurked the consciousness of a world; but in his mouth and chin was something less perfect and more human; they looked as if they had been slighted by the sculptor who fashioned him. For the rest, an almost supernatural serenity marked his manner, despite the often convulsive manifestations of his energy. It was as if a god drove the chariot of his forces. If allowed to emerge gently from this state, he was unfailingly good natured; but if broken in upon abruptly, "care, genius, and hell" distorted and illuminated his face. Pausing on the threshold of that narrow gateway between the world of thought and the world of materiality, Emil St. Ives was a demon. Annie, bent upon some trifling business of her own, had one day ventured so to interrupt him; the offence had never been repeated. As has been hinted, conscience played no part in him. For Annie, for Ding Dong, even for his employers, when the mood for work was upon him, Emil showed not the slightest consideration. Nor was Rachel, in this respect, an exception. Whatever his attitude was toward her--and he bore himself in her presence at moments with a strange humility, at other times with an ill-concealed turbulent admiration that threatened to break all bounds--her influence at this period had well defined limits. His mother alone had uninterrupted power over him. At a word from her, even though he were on the eve of inspiration, he would drop everything to fulfil her slightest whim. Small wonder then that the mother adored him,--that she saw in him a gifted creature not to be approached by the common run of humanity. It had come to be Emil's custom to visit his mother at least once in a fortnight, and, from the moment that they met, those thin hands of hers had power in their caresses to transform him. Under their gentle touch, the fire of his mind dwindled, the warmth of his heart grew; the genius of a world was submerged in the son of a mother. And on Mrs. St. Ives their companionship had an opposite effect. Questioning him about his work, her brain in his presence acquiring something of the agility of youth, she lit herself at the flame that was in her son.