"Oh, the house--the very air and feeling of it. There are strange voices in it that seem to mutter at me--to say dreadful things as I pass. I mean the general consciousness and responsibility of what I'm doing. Of course it hasn't been easy for me--not a bit. I assure you I don't enjoy it." With a light in them that was like a longing for justice Owen again bent his eyes on those of the little coach; then he pursued: "I've started up all the old ghosts. The very portraits glower at me on the walls. There's one of my great-great-grandfather (the one the extraordinary story you know is about--the old fellow who hangs on the second landing of the big staircase) that fairly stirs on the canvas--just heaves a little--when I come near it. I have to go up and down stairs--it's rather awkward! It's what my aunt calls the family circle. It's all constituted here, it's a kind of indestructible presence, it stretches away into the past, and when I came back with her the other day Miss Wingrave told me I wouldn't have the impudence to stand in the midst of it and say such things. I had to say them to my grandfather; but now that I've said them it seems to me that the question's ended. I want to go away--I don't care if I never come back again." "Oh, you _are_ a soldier; you must fight it out!" Mr. Coyle laughed. The young man seemed discouraged at his levity, but as they turned round, strolling back in the direction from which they had come, he himself smiled faintly after an instant and replied: "Ah, we're tainted--all!" They walked in silence part of the way to the old portico; then Spencer Coyle, stopping short after having assured himself that he was at a sufficient distance from the house not to be heard, suddenly put the question: "What does Miss Julian say?" "Miss Julian?" Owen had perceptibly coloured. "I'm sure _she_ hasn't concealed her opinion." "Oh, it's the opinion of the family circle, for she's a member of it of course. And then she has her own as well." "Her own opinion?" "Her own family circle." "Do you mean her mother--that patient lady?" "I mean more particularly her father, who fell in battle. And her grandfather, and _his_ father, and her uncles and great-uncles--they all fell in battle." "Hasn't the sacrifice of so many lives been sufficient? Why should she sacrifice you?" "Oh, she _hates_ me!" Owen declared, as they resumed their walk. "Ah, the hatred of pretty girls for fine young men!" exclaimed Spencer Coyle.