appreciates the delicacies of a
situation. Paul conceived a sudden loathing for him.

"I would give anything for it not to have happened," he said.

Wilson opened his eyes. "Why? It's our salvation. An ex-convict--it's
enough to damn any candidate. But we want to make sure. Now I've got an
idea."

Paul turned on him angrily. "I'll have no capital made out of it
whatsoever. It's a foul thing to bring such an accusation up against a
man who has lived a spotless life for thirty years. Everything in me
goes out in sympathy with him, and I'll let it be known all through the
constituency."

"If you take it that way," said Wilson, "there's no more to be done."

"There's nothing to be done, except to find out who put up the man to
make the announcement."

"He did it on his own," Wilson replied warmly. "None of our people
would resort to a dirty trick like that."

"And yet you want me to take advantage of it now it's done."

"That's quite a different matter."

"I can't see much difference," said Paul.

So Wilson, seeing that his candidate was more unmanageable than ever,
presently departed, and Paul sat down to breakfast. But he could not
eat. He was both stricken with shame and moved to the depths by immense
pity. Far removed from him as Silas Finn was in mode of life and
ideals, he found much in common with his father. Each had made his way
from the slum, each had been guided by an inner light--was Silas Finn's
fantastic belief less of an ignis fatuus than his own?--each had sought
to get away from a past, each was a child of Ishmael, each, in his own
way, had lived romantically. Whatever resentment against his father
lingered in his heart now melted away. He was very near him. The shame
of the prison struck him as it had struck the old man. He saw him bowed
down under the blow, and he clenched his hands in a torture of anger
and indignation. And to crown all, came the intolerable conviction, in
the formation of which Wilson's triumphant words had not been
necessary, that if he won the election it would be due to this public
dishonouring of his own father. He walked about the room in despair,
and at last halted before the mantelpiece on which still stood the
photograph of the Princess in its silver frame. Suddenly he remembered
that he had not told her of this incident in his family history. She
too would be reading her newspaper this morning. He saw her proud lips
curl. The son of a gaol-bird! He tore the photogr