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BY
ALEXANDER LOWELL
This story was written from the Photoplay or A. W. GOLDEWEY
Stephen Arnold sat before his own hearth-fire, and as he sat he dreamed. And the dream was the gossamer, evanescent Inspiration he had wearied for so long. He dreamed a woodland glade all lightkist by the sun ; he dreamed a f aim and nymph making their pagan, soulless love ; he dreamed a note of music — a vagrant, pleading, wild refrain. The faun caught the note as it trembled and waited on the air, and, because he was a faun, he followed it. He followed it to its source — a mocking face peering into the shaded place ; a face that feeds the dreams of men when they are most alone ; a face that sets the June blood racing in one's veins — a mad, glad face — sans heart, sans soul. The Daughter of Great Pan ! The woodland glade dimmed and vanished ; the nymph, the truant faun and the daughter of the god melted and glowed to life again in the fire on the hearth. Stephen Arnold rose, with a sigh ; in his heart the weird, wild note still sang; in his soul was a mad, glad face, and the June blood leaped in his veins.
The days that followed were hard
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ones for those who loved him best — his wife and his friend, Arthur Darrell, who was visiting. They realized that his Inspiration had come ; that as yet it eluded the long, sensitive artist-fingers. And they pitied his Genius in its travail, the while it was hard to bear with the man. Followed the unendurable period for Stephen, when his nights were crazed with that mad, glad face ; when his fingers ached in their longing to capture it on canvas ; when his soul possessed it, and his finite mind missed some subtle curve, some spirit-light expression. With the frenzy came the determination to find the owner of that face. It was too warmly real to be the vision of a dream alone. Somewhere in the world it lived — warm, palpitant flesh and blood, keenly, headily alive. Somehow the determination helped. Stephen Arnold ever achieved where he attempted. He did not doubt that he would achieve now. Therefore he became himself again — interested, congenial, ready and eager to take up the life of the day.
"With the mad, glad face firing his