The Clown is to be shot."

"Very well," he answered.

"Sleep--what troubles you, my precious," she went on. "I want it done,
now, at once.--Hush, baby, hush.--The sun shall not go down upon my
wrath, because my wrath shall be somewhat appeased before the sunset."

Katherine swayed with a rhythmic motion, holding the baby a little away
from her in her outstretched arms.

"Tell Chifney to bring the horse up to the square lawn, here, right in
front of the house.--Hush, my kitty sweet.--He is to bring the horse
himself. None of the stable boys or helpers are to come. It is not to
be an entertainment, but an execution. I wish it done quietly."

"Very well," Ormiston repeated. He hesitated, strong protest rising to
his lips, which he could not quite bring himself to utter. Katherine,
the courage and tragedy of her anger, dominated him as she moved to and
fro in the sunshine soothing her child.

"You know it's a valuable horse," he remarked, at last, tentatively.

"So much the better. You do not suppose I should care to take that
which costs me nothing? I am quite willing to pay.--Sleep, my pet,
so--is that better?--I do not propose to defraud--hush, baby darling,
hush--Richard's son of any part of his inheritance. Tell Chifney to
name a price for the Clown, an outside price. He shall have a cheque
to-morrow, which he is to enter with the rest of the stable
accounts.--Now go, please. We understand each other clearly, and it is
growing late.--Poor honey love, what vexes you?--You will shoot the
Clown, here, before sunset. And, Roger, it must lie where it falls
to-night. Let some of the men come early to-morrow, with a float. It is
to go to the kennels."

Ormiston got up, shaking his shoulders as though to rid himself of some
encumbering weight. He crossed to the fireplace and kicked the logs
together.

"I don't half like it," he said. "I tell you I don't. It seems such a
cold-blooded butchery. I can't tell if it's wrong or right. It seems
merciless. And it is so unlike you, Kitty, to be merciless."

He turned to her as he spoke, and Katherine--her head erect, her eyes
full of the sombre fire of her profound alienation and revolt--drew her
hand slowly down over the fine lawn and lace of the baby's long white
robe, and held it flat against the soles of the child's hidden feet.

"Look at this," she said. "Remember, too, that the delight of my life
has gone from me, and that I am young yet. The years will be many--and