ectator, looked for the natural outburst of youth
at that point. But he stared at the young man, and decided that he truly
had inherited the Thornton grit and self-restraint which the Duke seemed
now to have lost all at once after all the years.

Harlan gazed after his grandfather, lips tightening. He was an
embodiment of wholesome young manhood, as he stood there, struggling
with the passion that prompted him to unfilial reproaches. Then he
turned to the girl. He had a wistful smile for her.

"I'm sorry, little Clare," he said, softly. She slipped her hands under
the belt of his corduroy jacket and gazed up at him tearfully.

"He had no right to say that I--that I--oh, he doesn't understand
friendship!" she cried.

"No, and we'll not try to explain--not now! But I have some serious
matters to talk over with my grandfather. Ride home, dear; I'll see you
before I go back to the woods again."

"And you _are_ going back to the woods? You are not going to let them
send you away where you'll forget your best friends?"

"I never shall forget my friends. And I can't believe that you heard
right, little girl. My grandfather will not put me in politics. Don't
worry. I'll straighten it all out before I leave."

He lifted her to her horse and sent her away with a pat. She went
unprotesting, with a trustful smile. The hounds raced wildly after her.

"Woof!" remarked the Hon. Luke Presson to himself, "there's a kitten
that's been fed on plenty of raw meat!" And as he always compared all
women with his daughter, reigning beauty of the State capital, he added:
"I'd like to have Madeleine get a glimpse of that. She'd be glad that
it's the style to bring girls up on a cream diet."

He hurried away behind Harlan, who had given him rather curt greeting,
and had followed the Duke around to the front of the house. The old man
was tramping the porch from end to end.

The boarding creaked under him as he strode, his gait a lurch that moved
one side of his body at a time. The smoke from his cigar streamed past
his ears.

It was silent at the front of the big house, and in that silence the
three of them could hear the occasional shouts that greeted demagogic
oratory down in the village. The comment of the lord of Canibas was the
anathema that he growled to himself.

His grandson faced him twice on his turns along the porch, protest in
his demeanor. But the old man brushed past.

"Grandfather, I want a word with you," Harlan ventu