h those
strange, restless eyes of his, the great 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 it seem young and vigorous and alive. It was almost a
shock to see that huddled, dying old man with his bent head and
trembling hands--but his eyes were young, and his heart.

As she looked at him, she wondered why she had never really cared for
him. At first she had been afraid; then, as she grew older and a
passionate love for and pride in the family as a conservative and
ancient institution developed in her, that fear became respect, and she
looked up 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 the moment of his death would come the crisis--the
question of the new rule. At one time it had seemed certain that Robin
would be king, with herself a very vigilant queen-regent. But now that
was all changed. Harry had come home, and it was into his hands that
the power would fall.

She had often wondered that she knew her father so little. He had
always been difficult to understand; a man of two moods strongly
opposed--strangely taciturn for days together, and then brilliantly
conversational, amusing, and a splendid companion. She had never known
which of these attitudes was the real one, and now that he was old she
had abandoned all hope 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 moment was approaching when he would
reveal to her definitely and finally some plot that he had during those
many watchful years been forming. She knew that he had never let her
see his heart--he had never taken her into his confidence. She had
tried to establish some more intimate relationship, but she had failed;
and now, for many years, she had left it at that.

But she wanted to know what he thought of Harry. She had waited for a
sign, but he had given none; and although sh