aph from its frame and
threw it into the fire and watched it burn. As the paper writhed under
the heat, the lips seemed to twist into sad reproach. He turned away
impatiently. That romantic madness was over and done with. He had far
sterner things to do than shriek his heart out over a woman in an alien
star. He had his life to reconstruct in the darkness threatening and
mocking; but at last he had truth for a foundation; on that he would
build in defiance of the world.

In the midst of these fine thoughts it occurred to him that he had
hidden the prison episode in his father's career from the Winwoods as
well as from the Princess. His checks flushed; it was one more strain
on the loyalty of these dear devoted friends. He went downstairs, and
found the Colonel and Miss Winwood in the dining-room. Their faces were
grave. He came to them with outstretched arms--a familiar gesture, one
doubtless inherited from his Sicilian ancestry.

"You see what has happened. I knew all the time. I didn't tell you. You
must forgive me."

"I don't blame you, my boy," said Colonel Winwood. "It was your
father's secret. You had no right to tell us."

"We're very grieved, dear, for both your sakes," Ursula added. "James
has taken the liberty of sending round a message of sympathy."

As ever, these two had gone a point beyond his anticipation of their
loyalty. He thanked them simply.

"It's hateful," said he, "to think I may win the election on account of
this. It's loathsome." He shuddered.

"I quite agree with you," said the Colonel. "But in politics one has
often to put up with hateful things in order to serve one's country.
That's the sacrifice a high-minded man is called upon to make."

"Besides," said Miss Winwood, "let us hope it won't affect votes. All
the papers say that the vote of confidence was passed amid scenes of
enthusiasm."

Paul smiled. They understood. A little while later they drove off with
him to his committee room in the motor car gay with his colours. There
was still much to be done that day.

CHAPTER XX

HICKNEY HEATH blazed with excitement. It is not every day that a thrill
runs through a dull London borough, not even every election day. For a
London borough, unlike a country town, has very little corporate life
of its own. You cannot get up as much enthusiasm for Kilburn, say, as a
social or historical entity, as you can for Winchester or Canterbury.
You may perform civic duties, if you are public-