no use of the tense in her reminiscences of the master s intellectual life of his habits of thought and work she never wearied of talking she knew the history of each poem by what scene or episode each image had been how many times the words in a certain line had been how long a certain had been sought and what had at last suggested it she could even explain that one impenetrable line the torment of critics the joy of the last line of the old felt that in talking of these things she was no mere echo of s thought if her identity had appeared to be in his it was because they thought alike not because he had thought for her posterity is apt to regard the women whom poets have sung as chance on which they hung their but mrs s mind was like some fertile garden wherein inevitably s imagination had rooted itself and began to see how the muse s tragedy many threads of his complex mental the poet had owed to the of her temperament with his in a certain sense had herself created the to to be the of s inner self the door as it were to the had at first seemed to so comprehensive a privilege that he had the sense as his friendship with mrs advanced of forcing his way into a life already crowded what room was there among such towering memories for so small an as his quite suddenly after this he discovered that mrs knew better his fortunate friend was bored as well as lonely you have had more than any other woman he had exclaimed to her one day and her smile flashed a light on his blunder fool that he was not to have seen that she had not had enough that she was young still � do years count � tender human a woman that the living have need of the living after that when they climbed the of the hanging park resting in one of the little ruined temples or watching through a ripple of foliage the remote blue flash of the lake they did not always talk of or of literature she encouraged to speak of himself to confide his to her she asked him the questions which are the wise woman s substitute for advice the muse s tragedy yoa must write she said the most exquisite flattery that human lips could give of course he meant to write � why not to do something great in his turn his best at least with the resolve at the outset that his best should be the best nothing less seemed possible with that in his ears how she had divined him lifted and his groping laid the awakening touch on his spirit with her let there be light it was his last day with her and he was feeling veiy hopeless and happy you ought to write a book about him she went on gently started he was beginning to dislike s way of walking in you ought to do it she insisted a complete interpretation � a up of his style his purpose his theory of life and art no one else could do it as weu he sat looking at her suddenly � dared he guess i couldn t do it without you he faltered i could help you � i would help you of course they sat silent both looking at the lake it was agreed when they parted that he should her six weeks later in there they were to talk about the book the muse s tragedy iii d august ij when i said good by to you yesterday i promised to come back to in a week i was to give you your answer then i was not honest in saying that i didn t mean to go back to or to see you again i was running away from you � and i mean to keep on running if you won t must somebody must save you from marrying a disappointed woman of � well you say years don t count and why should they after all since you are not to marry me that is what i dare not go back to say you are not to marry me we have had our month together in such a good month was it not and now you are to go home and write a book � any book but the one we � didn t talk of � and i am to stay here among my memories like a sort of female the of this enforced immortality but you shall know the truth i care for you or at least for your love enough to owe you that you thought it was because had loved me that there was so little hope for you i had had what i wanted to the full wasn t that what you said it is just when a man begins to think he understands a woman that he may be sure the muse s tragedy he doesn t it is because didn t love me that there is no hope for you i never had what i wanted and never never never will i stoop to wanting anything else do you begin to understand it was all a sham then you say no it was all real as far as it went you are young � you haven t learned as you will later the thousand signs by which one one s way through the of human nature but didn t it strike you sometimes that i never told you any foolish little anecdotes about him his for instance of a paper knife round and round between his thumb and forefinger while he talked his for saving the backs of notes his for wild the little ones his childish delight in and his way of always calling 