ed as though wishing to avoid a blow. Harry
was with him continually now, and the old man was never happy if his
son was not there. He rambled at times and fancied himself back in his
youth again. Harry had found his father's room a refuge from the
family, and he sat, hour after hour, watching the old man asleep,
thinking of his own succession and puzzling over the hopeless tangle
that seemed to surround him. How to get out of it! He had no longer
any thought of turning his back; he had gone too far for that, and they
would think it cowardice, but things couldn't remain as they were.
What would come out of it?

He had, as Robin had said, changed. The effect of the explosion had
been to reveal in him qualities whose very existence he had formerly
never expected. He even found, strangely enough, a kind of joy in the
affair. It was like playing a game. He had made, he felt, the right
move and was in the stronger position. In earlier days he had never
been able to quarrel with any one. Whenever such a thing had happened,
he had been the first to make overtures; he hated the idea of an enemy,
his happiness depended on his friends, and sometimes now, when he saw
his own people's hostility, he was near surrender. But the memory of
his sister's words had held him firm, and now he was beginning to feel
in tune with the situation.

He watched Robin furtively at times and wondered how he was taking it
all. Sometimes he fancied that he caught glances that pointed to
Robin's own desire to see how _he_ was taking it. Once they had passed
on the stairs, and for a moment they had both paused as though they
would speak. It had been all Harry could do to restrain himself from
flinging his arms on to his son's shoulders and shaking him for a fool
and then forcing him into surrender, but he had held himself back, and
they had passed on without a word.

After all, what children they all were! That's what it came
to--children playing a game that they did not understand!

"I wish it would end," said Sir Jeremy; "I'm getting damned sick of it.
Why can't he take you out straight away, and be done with it? Do you
know, Harry, my boy, I think I'm frightened. It's lying here thinking
of it. I never had much imagination--it isn't a Trojan habit, but it
grows on one. I fancy--well, what's the use o' talking?" and he sank
back into his pillows again.

The room was dark save for the leaping light of the fire. It was
almost t