“This flush,” replied Myrtilus gravely, “is the sunset of life’s closing day, not the dawn of approaching convalescence.  But let us drop the subject.  I allude to these sorrowful things only to prevent your praises of me at Hermon’s expense.  True, even while a student I possessed wealth far beyond my needs, but the early deaths of my brother and sister had taught me even then to be economical of the brief span of life allotted to me.  Hermon, on the contrary, was overflowing with manly vigour, and the strongest among the Ephebi in the wrestling school.  After three nights’ revel he would not even feel weary, and how difficult the women made it for the handsome, black-bearded fellow to commence his work early!  Did you ever ask yourself why young steeds are not broken in flowery meadows, but upon sand?  Nothing which attracts their attention and awakens their desires must surround them; but your father’s gold led Hermon, ere the season of apprenticeship was over, into the most luxuriant clover fields.  Honour and respect the handsome, hot-blooded youth that, nevertheless, he allowed himself to be diverted from work only a short time and soon resumed it with ardent zeal, at first in superabundance, and then amid fresh need and privation.”

“O Myrtilus,” the girl interrupted, “how terribly I suffered in those days!  For the first time the gods made me experience that there are black clouds, as well as bright sunshine, in the human soul.  For weeks an impassable gulf separated me from my father, with whom I had always had one heart and soul.  But I never saw him as he was then.  The first prize had been awarded to you for your Aphrodite, radiant in marvellous beauty, and your brow had also been already crowned for your statue of Alexander, when Hermon stepped forward with his works.  They were at the same time the first which were to show what he believed to be the true mission of art—­a hideous hawker, hide in hand, praising his wares with open mouth, and the struggling Maenads.  Surely you know the horrible women who throw one another on the ground, tearing and rending with bestial fury.  The spectacle of these fruits of the industry of one dear to me grieved me also, and I could not understand how you and the others saw anything to admire in them.  And my father!  At the sight of these things the colour faded from his cheeks and lips, and, as if by virtue of his guardianship he had a right to direct Hermon in the paths of art also, he forbade his ward to waste any more time in such horrible scarecrows, and awaken loathing and wrath instead of gratification, exultation, and joy.  You know the consequences, but you do not know how my heart ached when Hermon, frantic with wounded pride and indignation, turned his back upon my father and severed every tie that united him to us.  In spite of his deep vexation and the unbridled violence with which the nephew had allowed himself to address his uncle, my father did not dream of withholding his assistance from him.  But Hermon no longer came to our house, and when I sent for him to bring him to reason, he positively declared that he would not accept another obolus from my father—­he would rather starve than permit any one to dictate to him in the choice of his subjects.  Liberty was worth more than his uncle’s gold.  Yet my father sent him his annual allowance.”