"Ah, but this is different! I've wanted to for a long while, but I did
not know if I ought--and yet I did not quite like to ask Auntie Marie
or Julius. And, of course, one doesn't speak to the servants about
anything of that sort."

Richard's curly head went up with a fine, little air of pride as he
said the last few words. His mother smiled at him. There was no doubt
as to her son's breeding.

"Well, what then?" she said.

"I want to know--you're sure you don't mind--why you dislike the
horses, and never go to the stables or take me there? If the horses are
wrong, why do we keep them? And if they're not wrong, why, mother,
don't you see, we may enjoy them, mayn't we?"

He flushed, looking up at her, spoke coaxingly, merrily, a trifle
embarrassed by his own temerity, yet keen to prove his point and
acquire possession of this so coveted joy.

Katherine hesitated. She was tempted to put aside his question with
some playful excuse. And yet, where was the use? The question must
inevitably be answered one day; and Katherine, as had been said, was
moved just now, dumbness of long habit somewhat melted. Perhaps this
was the appointed time. She drew her arm from around the boy and took
both his hands in hers.

"My dearest," she said, "our keeping the horses is not wrong. But--one
of the horses killed your father."

Richard's lips parted. His eyes searched hers.

"But how?" he asked presently.

"He was trying it at a fence, and it came down with him--and trampled
him."

There was a pause. At last the boy asked rather breathlessly: "Was he
killed then, mother, at once?"

It had been Katharine's intention to state the facts simply, gravely,
and without emotion. But to speak of these things, after so long
silence, proved more trying than she had anticipated. The scene in the
red drawing-room, the long agony of waiting and of farewell rose up
before her after all these years with a vividness and poignancy that
refused to be gain-said.

"No," she answered, "he lived four days. He spoke to me of many things
he wished to do. And--I have done them all, I think. He spoke to me of
you----" Katherine closed her eyes. "The boy might care for the
stables. The boy must ride straight." For the moment she could not look
at Richard, knowing that which she must see. The irony of those
remembered words appeared too great.--"But he suffered," she went on
brokenly, "he suffered--ah! my dear----"

"Mummy, darling mummy, don't lo