The Wooden Horse

g, and the sparrows were twittering on the terrace outside as though they considered it highly improper fo

eview concerning the inadequacy of our present soluti

afraid that its defenders were few; but she blinded herself to the dangers of attack. "There are no Greeks, there are no Greeks." Clare stood alone on the Trojan walls and defied that world of superstition and pagan creeds. With the armour of tradition and an implici

eard that there was a son and heir, and her one thought had been of capture, deliverance of the new son of the House from his father's influence. She was not deliberately cruel in her determination; she saw that the separation must hurt the father, but she herself was ready to make sacrifice for the good of the House and she expected the same self-denial in others. Harry made no difficulties. New Zealand was no place for a lonely widower to bring up his boy, and Robin was sent home. From that moment he was the centre of Clare's world; much self-denial can make a woman good, only maternity can make her divine. To bring the boy up for the House, to tutor him in all the little and big things that a Trojan must know and do, to fit him to take his place at the head of the family on a later day; all these things she laboured for, day and night without ceasing, and without divided interests. She loved the boy, too, passionately, with more than a mother's love, and now she looked back over what had been her life-work with pride

rry was threatening to take from her the one great thing around which her life was centred; if he robbed her of Robin he robbed her of everything, and she must fight to keep him. That it would come to a duel between them she had long foreseen, she had governed for so long that she would not easily yield her place now; but she had not known that she would feel as she did about Robin, she had not known that she would be jealous-jealous of every look and word and motion. She had never known what jealousy was before, but now in the silen

eat expanse of sea and sky stretching before him. His room was full of light and air. Its white walls and ceiling, great bowls of some of the last of the summer's roses, made

to her father from a distance, admiring his reserve and pride but never loving him; and now that respect had become pity, and above all a great longing that he might live for many, many years, securing the household gods from shame and tending the fire on the Trojan hearth. For at

ope of ever answering the question. His moods were more strongly contrasted than ever. He often passed quickly from one to the other. If she had only known which was the real one; she felt at times that his garrulity was a blind-that he watched her almost satirically whilst he talked. She feared his silences terribly, and she used often to feel that a momen

d watched him carefully she had discovered nothing. He had not mentioned his son-a stranger might have thought that he

tched the gulls fly past the open window, his eyes rested on a golden flash of sun that struck some shining roof in the Cove

at White's, Rendle and Sallust and Crayle; Jack bet Rendle he wouldn't stop the next man he met in the street and claim him as an old friend and bring him in-and, by Jove, he took it and brought him in, too-sort of tramp chap he was, too-dirty, untidy fellow-but Rendl

ther," said Clare, breaking ruth

Yes, yes, well, well; in '63 that was. I remember it like yesterday-old Tom-particular friend he

apkin round his neck lest she should spill the d

for method," he said a

ened, as she so often was when he laughed like that. She always expected th

some ways. It is nice to have him back again-but-well, he wil

ntied the napkin, and put back the medicine, and wheeled the

Harry, Clare," he sa

g at things was always a little different-even, perhaps, a little difficult to understand"; and th

ling at the sun, and the birds on the lawn,

aid at last. "You want to be old to

s vaguely uneasy. What was he thinking about Harr

hat he took in the cries of birds, the plunge and chatter of the sea as it rose and fell on the southern shore, the glint of the sun on the gold and green distances of rock and moor was alarming. She herself did not understand those things; indeed, she scarcely saw them, and was inclined to despise any one who loved any unpractical beau

she knew nothing, and she was afr

r unjust; indeed the cook, who had been there for many years, said that she had never seen Miss Clare angry, and her justice was a thing to marvel at. She always gave people their

Conservatism they were examples of the true spirit of Feudalism. Beldam, the butler, had long ago graduated as Professor in the system. Coming as page-boy in earlier years, he had acquired the by no means easy art of Trojan diplomacy. It was now his duty to overhaul, as it were, every servant that passed the gates; an overhauling, moreover, done seriously and with much searching of the heart. Were you a Trojan? That is, do you conside

ace Marks, after Beldam had spoken to her severely for half-an-hour, burst out with an impetuous, "Thank Gawd, she was a Marks, wh

r dismissal tha

ay was good, and partly because the very reiteration of Trojan supremacy gave them a feeling of elevation very pleasant to their pride. In accordance with

was able to finish her duties speedily, and devote her

racy: its Threatened Supremacy." He was still engaged on the preliminary chapter, "Some aspects of historical aristocracy," and it had developed into a somewhat minute account of Tro

onplace; but his rather minute output allowed him to rank, in his own estimation, with Pater and Omar Khayyám, and disdain the voluminous facility of Thackeray and D

as a clever fellow-was writing a book-said to be brilli

at his sister a

time for work, and once one gets off the track it's difficult to get back; not that

t you've got to talk to me. There are

of conduct, and nothing that he could say would alter he

nd coming to the fire, "if it's anything I can do- W

disturb you, and there's really nothing-only-well, after all, there is only us, is

ngerous things." He implied that he was above them. "Of course there are times when it is necessary to-well, t

I must have your help. Harry has been back a week; he is, for you and me, unchanged. The situation, as far as we go, is the same as it was twenty years ago. He is not one of us, h

for granted, it's true en

ather, and Robin. Father has taken to Harry str

rrett drily. "Have you seen th

gain and laughed. "And

omething. We don't like him, Garrett. Why be sentimental about it? He will follow father-and it will be soon-après, le déluge. For ourselves, it does not matter. It is hard, of course,

uld no

a boy. Of course Harry shocks him now, shocks everything-his sense of decency,

esented itself. After all those years he would surely remain where he was. In yielding his son he had seemed to abandon all claim to any rights of inheritance, and Garrett had thought of him as one comfortably dead. He had contemplated his own ultimate succession with

g that made life worth living was threatened. Not that his brother would turn him out; he granted Harry the very un-Trojan virtues of generosity and affection for humanity in general-a rather foolish, gregarious open-handedness opposed obviously to all decent eco

action should be adopted, and he was gl

d doubtfully, "that he co

s waited! Why, remember that first evening! He will never

soon. He has been saying curious things to a good many people. He object

a little, when he takes father's place, what people think odd and unpleasant now will be

e curious to watch developments the

delightful boy. I'm afraid th

e we shall see better. But, Clare, don't be rash. Ther

rds the door. "Only, we understand each other, Garrie.

with a sigh of rel

pictures that had lightened many dreary and lonely hours in Auckland. He was to come back; away from that huge unwieldy life in which comfort had no place and rest was impossible, back to all the old things, the wonderful glorious things that meant home and tradition and, above all, love. He was a sentimentalist, he knew that now

y had made no advances and had shown him quite plainly, in the courteous Trojan fashion, that they considered his presence an intrusion, that they had no place in their ranks that he coul

t to Miss Ponsonby, he was a kind of too terrible bushranger without the romance! He was gauche, he knew, and he hated the tea-parties. They talked about things of which he knew nothing; he was too sin

here had been wild rebellion and impatient discontent with the world. He had thought Pendragon amazing in its utter disregard of the things that were to him necessities, but he had forgotten that he himself despised so completely things that were to Pendragon essenti

ughed at the Club and detailed Harry Trojan's latest with added circumstances and incident, and for a while this was amusing. But his vehemence knew no pause, and he stated his dis

end of the first week after h

m"-but he had seen, at once, that his way must be apart from theirs, and in that knowledge he had tried to find the comfort of a minority certain of i

self again and again that the boy was naturally a little awkward at first-careless perhaps-certainly constrained. But gradually a wall had been built up between them; they were greater strangers now than they had been on that first evening of the return. Ah! how he had tried! He

fferent. They had had a walk together, and Harry had tried his best-but the attempt had been obvious, and at

en contemptuous. He had never heard of Pater and had confounded Ibsen with Jerome K. Jerome. He had praised cri

t in touch with some of the fishermen. But they scarcely solaced his loneliness. He had met Mary Bethel on the downs, and for a moment

looked up with great admiration. Perhaps he would form in some way a link, would understand the difficulties of both,

th his blue suit-the brown was dull and uninteresting-it lacked character; any one might have worn it, and he flung it back almost scornfully into the box. The black was really best, but how dismal! He seemed to see all his miserable loneliness and disappointment in its dark, sombre colour. No, that would never do! He must be bright, amusing, cheerful-anything but dull and dismal. So he put on the green again, and went down to the drawing-room. Randal was a young man of twenty-four-dark, tall, and slight, with a rather weary look

liked to mother him; she also respected his opinions. The windows looked over the sea and the blinds were not drawn. The twilight, l

d, taking his tea, went and sat in the window and watched the town. The first white colours of the young moon, slipping from the rosy-grey cloud, touched faintly the towers of the ruined church on the moor; he fancied that he could just see the four stones shini

st. "Rather a nice girl, though," he said. "Only such a dreadful mother. Young Page-Rellison would have had a shot, I

ut the book?"

w. It fairly goes for their methods, and I flatter myself hits them pretty hard once or twice. You know, Miss Trojan, it's the young school you've got to look to nowadays; it's no use g

id Clare, smiling. "We're fighting a regular battle

. "And you, sir," he s

ised at the strides that things have made. Twenty years is a long time, and I was romantic and perhaps foolish enough to e

," she said, "and I don't think quite sees what is good for the

ent, forgotten his very presence. He sat in the dusk by the window, his head in his hands, and terrible loneliness at his heart; it hurt as he had never known before that anything could hurt. He had never known that he was sensitive; in Auckland it had not been so. He had never felt things then, and had a little despised people t

the Mays and they were actually running with the boats-they seem

a little anxiously. "I hope you will be able to stay with us some days, Mr. Randal,"

back to London almost immediately. He was going over to Ger

not his usual one. It was alive, vibrating, startli

ers-you remember them, Miss Trojan-are going over to the Beethoven Festival at Bonn and are ke

go-Germany, I mean-and lo

erg, Worms--" He stopped and his voice broke. "I'm a little absurd about

-well, it hardly lasts, I think. Rügen-why, it rained and there were mists round the Studenkammer, and how those people eat at the Jagdschlo

t had been a new note. There had been an eagerness,

he window, seemed to carry the light of the moon in its tempestuous track, blowing it lightly in silver mists and clouds over the moor. The Wise Men were there, strong and dark and sombre, watching over the lighted town and listening patiently to the ripple and murmur and life of the sea at t

y. He must have sympathy and warmth and friendship; he had come back to his own people with open arms and they had no place for him. His own son had repulsed him. But Cornwall, the country of his dreams, the mo

ten him and left him-without a word. The light of the lamp caught

d into the dim twilight of the hall, picke