ed
to carve out for himself a place of position and power. His party had
found a constituency for him, and he had contested it. At the time of
the contest, however, the political opinions which Radford had adopted
were not popular. His opponent won the seat.

Again he was embittered, again his pride was wounded, and the habit
which had been gaining in strength now seemed to have obtained a
complete mastery over him. Thus Radford Leicester, who had never been
known to be drunk, was a drunkard. He had no faith in man; he had no
faith in God.

There was one power in his life, however--ambition. He wanted to be
renowned. He knew that he possessed unusual abilities; his career in
Oxford had proved it; his friends had admitted it a hundred times in a
hundred ways. Moreover, the vice which had mastered him had not degraded
him in the eyes of men. Only a very few knew that he was a hard drinker.
He always dressed well, spoke clearly, and walked steadily. Of his
cynicism he made no secret, of his repudiation of the Christian story
and of Christian morals he almost boasted; nevertheless, nearly every
one spoke of him as a man who would make a great name.

Besides, to weaker men he had a kind of fascination. He inspired others
with his own recklessness, and many almost admired his scorn of
conventional beliefs. In a way, moreover, he was liked. While
repudiating accepted morality in theory, he was in many respects most
punctilious about points of honour. When he gave his word he never broke
it. In his political speeches he never pandered to popular cries. He did
not say things because they were popular, and even while he declared
that all men had their price, he was never known to sell himself.

At the present time many eyes were turned towards him. He had become a
great favourite in his constituency. The leader of his party had come to
speak at a great gathering, and when, as the accepted candidate, he had
also to address the meeting, the great man had been simply carried away
by his speech. As he remarked afterwards to his colleagues, it was the
speech of a statesman and an orator. It might have been Macaulay, or
Burke, who had come to life again.

At times Leicester pretended to despise all this, but at heart he was
proud of it. Indeed, as I have said before, ambition was the one thing
which kept him from being a wastrel.

No doubt Radford Leicester's story has been repeated many times in many
ways; nevertheless, it is n