re, they had dared to doubt.

They crowded past each other on the threshold, and stood grouped beyond
the basswood table, staring--staring--men suddenly come upon a tragedy
instead of a feast, the senator still holding the glass of water in a
hand that trembled and spilled it. And it was the senator, after all, who
first recovered his presence of mind. He set down the water, pushed his
way through the group into the hall, where the tumult and the shouting
die. Mr. Giles Henderson, escorted, is timidly making his way towards the
platform to read his speech of acceptance of a willing bondage, when a
voice rings out:--"If there is a physician in the house, will he please
come forward?"

And then a hush,--and then the buzz of comment. Back to the little room
once more, where they are gathered speechless about Hilary Vane. And the
doctor comes young Dr. Tredway of Ripton, who is before all others.

"I expected this to happen, gentlemen," he said, "and I have been here
all day, at the request of Mr. Vane's son, for this purpose."

"Austen!"

It was Hilary who spoke.

"I have sent for him," said the doctor. "And now, gentlemen, if you will
kindly--"

They withdrew and the doctor shut the door. Outside, the Honourable Giles
is telling them how seriously he regards the responsibility of the honour
thrust upon him by a great party. But nobody hears him in the wild
rumours that fly from mouth to mouth as the hall empties. Rushing in
against the tide outpouring, tall, stern, vigorous, is a young man whom
many recognize, whose name is on many lips as they make way for him, who
might have saved them if he would. The door of the little room opens, and
he stands before his father, looking down at him. And the stern
expression is gone from his face.

"Austen!" said Mr. Vane.

"Yes, Judge."

"Take me away from here. Take me home--now--to-night."

Austen glanced at Dr. Tredway.

"It is best," said the doctor; "we will take him home--to-night."

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE VOICE OF AN ERA

They took him home, in the stateroom of the sleeper attached to the night
express from the south, although Mr. Flint, by telephone, had put a
special train at his disposal. The long service of Hilary Vane was over;
he had won his last fight for the man he had chosen to call his master;
and those who had fought behind him, whose places, whose very luminary
existences, had depended on his skill, knew that the end had come; nay,
were alrea