Your feet falter and stumble. You can not see. But the shadows are falling in vain."
I ask you, Why is this life not mine?
I implore and wring my hands in agonized entreaty, and almost it seems sometimes my fingers can grasp these things—but there is something cold and strong between them and me. Oh, what is it!
There was a picture of various castles in Spain. They were most beautiful, were those castles. The lights that shone on the battlements were soft, bright lights. For one thing, I fancied I saw myself and Fame with me. Fame is very fine. The sun and moon and stars may go dark in the Heavens. Bitter rain may fall out of the clouds. But never mind. Fame has a sun and moon and gently brilliant stars of her own, and these, shining once, shine always. The green river may run dry in the land. But Fame has a green river that never runs dry. One may
