vote of confidence in him
in a scene of tumultuous enthusiasm."

"Quite so," replied Wilson. "A crowd is generous and easily swayed. A
theatrical audience of scalliwags and thieves will howl applause at the
triumph of virtue and the downfall of the villain; and each separate
member will go out into the street and begin to practise villainy and
say 'to hell with virtue.' If last night's meeting could have polled on
the spot, they would have been as one man. To-day they're scattered and
each individual revises his excited opinion. Your hard-bitten Radical
would sooner have a self-made man than an aristocrat to represent him
in Parliament; but, damn it all, he'd sooner have an aristocrat than an
ex-convict."

"But who the devil told you I'm an aristocrat?" cried Paul.

Wilson laughed. "Who wants to be told such an obvious thing? Anyhow,
you've only got to look and you'll see how the votes are piling tip."

Paul looked and saw that Wilson spoke truly. Then he reflected that
Wilson and the others who had worked so strenuously for him had no part
in his own personal depression. They deserved a manifestation of
interest, also expressions of gratitude. So Paul pulled himself
together and went amongst them and was responsive to their prophecies
of victory.

Then just as the last votes were being counted, an official attendant
came in with a letter for Paul. It had been brought by messenger. The
writing on the envelope was Jane's. He tore it open and read.

Mr. Finn is dying. He has had a stroke. The doctor says he can't live
through the night. Come as soon as you can. JANE.

Outside the Town Hall the wide street was packed with people. Men
surged tip to the hollow square of police guarding the approach to the
flight of steps and the great entrance door. Men swarmed about the
electric standards above the heads of their fellows. Men rose in a long
tier with their backs to the shop-fronts on the opposite side of the
road. In spite of the raw night the windows were open and the arc
lights revealed a ghostly array of faces looking down on the mass
below, whose faces in their turn were lit up by the more yellow glare
streaming from the doors and uncurtained windows of the Town Hall. In
the lobby behind the glass doors could be seen a few figures going and
coming, committee-men, journalists, officials. A fine rain began to
fall, but the crowd did not heed it. The mackintosh capes of the
policemen glistened. It was an orderly cr