Canaris reddened like a girl, and gave a disdainful shrug; but vanity was tickled, nevertheless, and he betrayed it by the sidelong glance he stole towards the polished doors of glass reflecting his figure like a mirror.
“Nay, never frown and blush, man; ‘beauty is its own excuse for being,’ and you may thank the gods for yours, since but for that I should send you away to fight your dragons single-handed,” said Helwyze, with a covert smile, adding, as he leaned forward to read the face which could wear no mask for him, “Come, you shall give me a year of your liberty, and I will help you to prove Forsythe a liar.”
“You will bring out my book?” cried Canaris, clasping his hands as a flash of joy irradiated every lineament.
“Why not? and satisfy the hunger that torments you, though you try to hide it. I cannot promise success, but I can promise a fair trial; and if you stand the test, fame and fortune will come together. Love and happiness you can seek for at your own good pleasure.”
“You have divined my longing. I do hunger and thirst for fame; I dream of it by night, I sigh for it by day; every thought and aspiration centres in that desire; and if I did not still cling to that hope, even the perfect home you offer me would seem a prison. I must have it; the success men covet and admire, suffer and strive for, and die content if they win it only for a little time. Give me this and I am yours, body and soul; I have nothing else to offer.”
Canaris spoke with passionate energy, and flung out his hand as if he cast himself at the other’s feet, a thing of little worth compared to the tempting prize for which he lusted.
Helwyze took the hand in a light, cold clasp, that tightened slowly as he answered with the look of one before whose will all obstacles go down,—
“Done! Now show me the book, and let us see if we cannot win this time.”