Портрет художника в юності

           Isityou?Youpoorpoet,you!

           —Andyoumademeconfesstoyou,Stephensaid,thrilledbyhistouch,asIhaveconfessedtoyousomanyotherthings,haveInot?

           —Yes,mychild,Cranlysaid,stillgaily.

           —YoumademeconfessthefearsthatIhave.ButIwilltellyoualsowhatIdonotfear.IdonotfeartobealoneortobespurnedforanotherortoleavewhateverIhavetoleave.AndIamnotafraidtomakeamistake,evenagreatmistake,alifelongmistake,andperhapsaslongaseternitytoo.

           Cranly,nowgraveagain,slowedhispaceandsaid:

           —Alone,quitealone.Youhavenofearofthat.Andyouknowwhatthatwordmeans?Notonlytobeseparatefromallothersbuttohavenotevenonefriend.

           —Iwilltaketherisk,saidStephen.

           —Andnottohaveanyoneperson,Cranlysaid,whowouldbemorethanafriend,moreeventhanthenoblestandtruestfriendamaneverhad.

           Hiswordsseemedtohavestrucksomedeepchordinhisownnature.Hadhespokenofhimself,ofhimselfashewasorwishedtobe?Stephenwatchedhisfaceforsomemomentsinsilence.Acoldsadnesswasthere.Hehadspokenofhimself,ofhisownlonelinesswhichhefeared.

           —Ofwhomareyouspeaking?Stephenaskedatlength.Cranlydidnotanswer.

           ***

           MARCH20.LongtalkwithCranlyonthesubjectofmyrevolt.

           Hehadhisgrandmanneron.