immediate object for existence.
Besides he owed the most strenuous effort of his soul to the devoted
and loyal woman whose face he saw dimly opposite. Afterwards come what
might. The Truth at any rate. Magna est veritas et praevalebit.

These were "prave 'orts" and valorous protestations.

But when their light supper was over and Colonel Winwood had retired,
Ursula Winwood lingered in the dining room, her heart aching for the
boy who looked so stern and haggard. She came behind him and touched
his hair.

"Poor boy," she murmured.

Then Paul--he was very young, barely thirty--broke down, as perhaps she
meant that he should, and, elbows sprawling amid the disarray of the
meal, poured out all the desolation of his soul, and for the first time
cried out in anguish for the woman he had lost. So, as love lay
a-bleeding mortally pierced, Ursula Win wood wept unaccustomed tears
and with tender fingers strove to staunch the wound.

CHAPTER XIX

DAYS of strain followed: days of a thousand engagements, a thousand
interviews, a thousand journeyings, a thousand speeches; days in which
he was reduced to an unresisting automaton, mechanically uttering the
same formulas; days in which the irresistible force of the campaign
swept him along without volition. And day followed day and not a sign
came from the Princess Zobraska either of condonation or resentment. It
was as though she had gathered her skirts around her and gone
disdainfully out of his life for ever. If speaking were to be done, it
was for her to speak. Paul could not plead. It was he who, in a way,
had cast her off. In effect he had issued the challenge: "I am a child
of the gutter, an adventurer masquerading under an historical name, and
you are a royal princess. Will you marry me now?" She had given her
answer, by walking out of the room, her proud head in the air. It was
final, as far as he was concerned. He could do nothing--not even beg
his dearest lady to plead for him. Besides, rumour had it that the
Princess had cancelled her town engagements and gone to Morebury. So he
walked in cold and darkness, uninspired, and though he worked with
feverish energy, the heart and purpose of his life were gone.

As in his first speech, so in his campaign, he failed. He had been
chosen for his youth, his joyousness, his magnetism, his radiant
promise of great things to come. He went about the constituency an
anxious, haggard man, working himself to death without being