Some such thoughts as these passed through Alwyn’s mind as he dreamily gazed into the red hollows of the fire, and reconsidered all that his friend had told him.  He had no personal acquaintances on the press,—­no literary club or clique to haul him up into the top-gallant mast of renown by persistent puffery; he was not related, even distantly, to any great personage, either statesman, professor, or divine—­he had not the mysterious recommendation of being a “university man”; none of the many “wheels” within wheels which are nowadays so frequently set in motion to make up a momentary literary furore, were his to command,—­and yet—­the Parthenon had praised him! ...  Wonder of wonders!  The Parthenon was a singularly obtuse journal, which glanced at the whole world of letters merely through the eyes of three or four men of distinctly narrow and egotistical opinions, and these three or four men kept it as much as possible to themselves, using its columns chiefly for the purpose of admiring one another.  As a consequence of this restricted arrangement, very few outsiders could expect to be noticed for their work, unless they were in the “set,” or at least had occasionally dined with one of the mystic Three or Four, . . and so it had chanced that Alwyn’s first venture into literature had been totally disregarded by the Parthenon.  In fact, that first venture, being a small and unobtrusive book, had, most probably, been thrown into the waste-paper basket, or sold for a few pence to the second-hand dealer.  And now,—­now because he had been imagined dead,—­the Parthenon’s leading critic had singled him out and held him up for universal admiration!

Well, well! ... after all, Nourhalma was a posthumous work,—­it had been written before, ages since, when he, as Sah-luma, had perished ere he had had time to give it to the world!  He had merely remembered it.. drawn it forth again, as it were, from the dim, deep vistas of past deeds;—­so those who had reviewed it as the production of one dead in youth, were right in their judgment, though they did not know it! ...  It was old,—­nothing but repetition,—­but now he had something new and true and passionate to say, . . something that, if God pleased, it should be his to utter with the clearness and forcibleness common to the Greek thunderers of yore, who spoke out what was in them, grandly, simply, and with the fearless majesty of thought that reeked nothing of opinions.  Oh, he would rouse the hearts of men from paltry greed and covetousness, . . from lust, and hatred, and all things evil,—­no matter if he lost his own life in the effort, he would still do his utmost best to lift, if only in a small degree, the deepening weight of self-wrought agony from self-blinded mankind!  Yes! ... he must work to fulfil the commands and deserve the blessings of Edris!