able to
awaken a spark of emotion in the heart of anybody. He lost ground
daily. On the other hand, Silas Finn, with his enthusiasms, and his
aspect of an inspired prophet, made alarming progress. He swept the
multitude. Paul Savelli, the young man of the social moment, had an
army of helpers, members of Parliament making speeches, friends on the
Unionist press writing flamboyant leaders, fair ladies in automobiles
hunting for voters through the slums of Hickney Heath. Silas Finn had
scarcely a personal friend. But hope reigned among his official
supporters, whereas depression began to descend over Paul's brilliant
host.

"They want stirring up a bit," said the Conservative agent
despondently. "I hear old Finn's meetings go with a bang. They nearly
raised the roof off last night. We want some roof-raising on this side."

"I do my best," said Paul coldly, but the reproach cut deep. He was a
failure. No nervous or intellectual effort could save him now, though
he spent himself to the last heartbeat. He was the sport of a mocking
Will o' the Wisp which he had taken for Destiny.

Once on coming out of his headquarters he met Silas, who was walking up
the street with two or three of his committee-men. In accordance with
the ordinary amenities of English political life, the two candidates
shook hands, and withdrew a pace or two aside to chat for a while. This
was the first time they had come together since the afternoon of
revelation, and there was a moment of constraint during which Silas
tugged at his streaked beard and looked with mournful wistfulness at
his son.

"I wish I were not your opponent, Paul," said he in a low voice, so as
not to be overheard.

"That doesn't matter a bit," Paul replied courteously. "I see you're
putting up an excellent fight."

"It's the Lord's battle. If it weren't, do you think I would not let
you win?"

The same old cry. Through sheer repetition, Paul began almost to
believe in it. He felt very weary. In his father's eyes he recognized,
with a pang, the glow of a faith which he had lost. Their likeness
struck him, and he saw himself, his old self, beneath the unquestioning
though sorrowful eyes.

"That's the advantage of a belief in the Almighty's personal interest,"
he answered, with a touch of irony: "whatever happens, one is not
easily disillusioned."

"That is true, my son," said Silas.

"Jane is well?" Paul asked, after an instant's pause, breaking off the
profitless discu