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than her own feeble lines。 She had imitated him； and her inability
to touch his level would send her into fits of despondency。 Months
passed away thus； till she observed from the publishers' list that
Trewe had collected his fugitive pieces into a volume； which was
duly issued； and was much or little praised according to chance； and
had a sale quite sufficient to pay for the printing。
This step onward had suggested to John Ivy the idea of collecting
her pieces also； or at any rate of making up a book of her rhymes by
adding many in manuscript to the few that had seen the light； for
she had been able to get no great number into print。 A ruinous
charge was made for costs of publication； a few reviews noticed her
poor little volume； but nobody talked of it； nobody bought it； and
it fell dead in a fortnightif it had ever been alive。
The author's thoughts were diverted to another groove just then by
the discovery that she was going to have a third child； and the
collapse of her poetical venture had perhaps less effect upon her
mind than it might have done if she had been domestically
unoccupied。 Her husband had paid the publisher's bill with the
doctor's； and there it all had ended for the time。 But； though less
than a poet of her century； Ella was more than a mere multiplier of
her kind； and latterly she had begun to feel the old afflatus once
more。 And now by an odd conjunction she found herself in the rooms
of Robert Trewe。
She thoughtfully rose from her chair and searched the apartment with
the interest of a fellow…tradesman。 Yes； the volume of his own
verse was among the rest。 Though quite familiar with its contents；
she read it here as if it spoke aloud to her； then called up Mrs。
Hooper； the landlady； for some trivial service； and inquired again
about the young man。
'Well； I'm sure you'd be interested in him； ma'am； if you could see
him； only he's so shy that I don't suppose you will。' Mrs。 Hooper
seemed nothing loth to minister to her tenant's curiosity about her
predecessor。 'Lived here long？ Yes； nearly two years。 He keeps on
his rooms even when he's not here： the soft air of this place suits
his chest； and he likes to be able to come back at any time。 He is
mostly writing or reading； and doesn't see many people； though； for
the matter of that； he is such a good； kind young fellow that folks
would only be too glad to be friendly with him if they knew him。
You don't meet kind…hearted people every day。'
'Ah； he's kind…hearted 。 。 。 and good。'
'Yes； he'll oblige me in anything if I ask him。 〃Mr。 Trewe；〃 I say
to him sometimes； 〃you are rather out of spirits。〃 〃Well； I am；
Mrs。 Hooper；〃 he'll say； 〃though I don't know how you should find it
out。〃 〃Why not take a little change？〃 I ask。 Then in a day or two
he'll say that he will take a trip to Paris； or Norway； or
somewhere； and I assure you he comes back all the better for it。'
'Ah； indeed！ His is a sensitive nature； no doubt。'
'Yes。 Still he's odd in some things。 Once when he had finished a
poem of his composition late at night he walked up and down the room
rehearsing it； and the floors being so thinjerry…built houses； you
know； though I say it myselfhe kept me awake up above him till I
wished him further 。 。 。 But we get on very well。'
This was but the beginning of a series of conversations about the
rising poet as the days went on。 On one of these occasions Mrs。
Hooper drew Ella's attention to what she had not noticed before：
minute scribblings in pencil on the wall…paper behind the curtains
at the head of the bed。
'O！ let me look；' said Mrs。 Marchmill； unable to conceal a rush of
tender curiosity as she bent her pretty face close to the wall。
'These；' said Mrs。 Hooper； with the manner of a woman who knew
things； 'are the very beginnings and first thoughts of his verses。
He has tried to rub most of them out； but you can read them still。
My belief is that he wakes up in the night； you know； with some
rhyme in his head； and jots it down there on the wall lest he should
forget it by the morning。 Some of these very lines you see here I
have seen afterwards in print in the magazines。 Some are newer；
indeed； I have not seen that one before。 It must have been done
only a few days ago。'
'O yes！ 。 。 。 '
Ella Marchmill flushed without knowing why； and suddenly wished her
companion would go away； now that the information was imparted。 An
indescribable consciousness of personal interest rather than
literary made her anxious to read the inscription alone； and she
accordingly waited till she could do so； with a sense that a great
store of emotion would be enjoyed in the act。
Perhaps because the sea was choppy outside the Island； Ella's
husband found it much pleasanter to go sailing and steaming about
without his wife； who was a bad sailor； than with her。 He did not
disdain to go thus alone on board the steamboats of the cheap…
trippers； where there was dancing by moonlight； and where the
couples would come suddenly down with a lurch into each other's
arms； for； as he blandly told her； the company was too mixed for him
to take her amid such scenes。 Thus； while this thriving
manufacturer got a great deal of change and sea…air out of his
sojourn here； the life； external at least； of Ella was monotonous
enough； and mainly consisted in passing a certain number of hours
each day in bathing and walking up and down a stretch of shore。 But
the poetic impulse having again waxed strong； she was possessed by
an inner flame which left her hardly conscious of what was
proceeding around her。
She had read till she knew by heart Trewe's last little volume of
verses； and spent a great deal of time in vainly attempting to rival
some of them； till； in her failure； she burst into tears。 The
personal element in the magnetic attraction exercised by this
circumambient； unapproachable master of hers was so much stronger
than the intellectual and abstract that she could not understand it。
To be sure； she was surrounded noon and night by his customary
environment； which literally whispered of him to her at every
moment； but he was a man she had never seen； and that all that moved
her was the instinct to specialize a waiting emotion on the first
fit thing that came to hand did not； of course； suggest itself to
Ella。
In the natural way of passion under the too practical conditions
which civilization has devised for its fruition； her husband's love
for her had not survived； except in the form of fitful friendship；
any more than； or even so much as； her own for him； and； being a
woman of very living ardours； that required sustenance of some sort；
they were beginning to feed on this chancing material； which was；
indeed； of a quality far better than chance usually offers。
One day the children had been playing hide…and…seek in a closet；
whence； in their excitement； they pulled out some clothing。 Mrs。
Hooper explained that it belonged to Mr。 Trewe； and hung it up in
the closet again。 Possessed of her fantasy； Ella went later in the
afternoon； when nobody was in that part of the house； opened the
closet； unhitched one of the articles； a mackintosh；