for self-defence--his sensibilities overpowering his thoughts.

He could not comprehend it, nor could he sit quietly any longer;
so, yielding his place to the vice-chairman, he left,--and the
audience smiled.

He had come to the meeting accompanied by Lars, but returned home
alone, though the road was long. It was a cold autumn day; the way
looked jagged and bare, the meadow gray and yellow; while frost
had begun to appear here and there on the roadside. Disappointment
is a dreadful companion. He felt himself so small and desolate,
walking there; but Lars was everywhere before him, like a giant,
his head towering, in the dusk of evening, to the sky. It was his
own fault that this had been the decisive battle, and the thought
grieved him sorely: he had staked too much upon a single little
affair. But surprise, pain, anger, had mastered him; his heart
still burned, shrieked, and moaned within him. He heard the
rattling of a wagon behind; it was Lars, who came driving his
superb horse past him at a brisk trot, so that the hard road gave
a sound of thunder. Canute gazed after him, as he sat there so
broad-shouldered in the wagon, while the horse, impatient for
home, hurried on unurged by Lars, who only gave loose rein. It was
a picture of his power; this man drove toward the mark! He,
Canute, felt as if thrown out of his wagon to stagger along there
in the autumn cold.

Canute's wife was waiting for him at home. She knew there would be
a battle; she had never in her life believed in Lars, and lately
had felt a dread of him. It had been no comfort to her that they
had ridden away together, nor would it have comforted her if they