not unequal
to conjectures in which he had never previously indulged even in
imagination. His had been an ambitious, rather than a soaring spirit. He
had never contemplated the possession of power except under the aegis of
some commanding chief. Now it was for him to control senates and guide
councils. He screwed himself up to the sticking-point. Desperation is
sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius.
The great man was alone,--calm, easy, and courteous. He had sent for
Mr. Ferrars, because having had one interview with him, in which his
co-operation had been requested in the conduct of affairs, the Duke
thought it was due to him to give him the earliest intimation of the
change of circumstances. The vote of the house of Commons on the motion
of Lord Ebrington had placed an insurmountable barrier to the formation
of a government, and his Grace had accordingly relinquished the
commission with which he had been entrusted by the King.
CHAPTER IX
Availing himself of his latch-key, Ferrars re-entered his home
unnoticed. He went at once to his library, and locked the door of the
apartment. There sitting before his desk, he buried his face in his
hands and remained in that posture for a considerable time.
They were tumultuous and awful thoughts that passed over his brain.
The dreams of a life were dissipated, and he had to encounter the stern
reality of his position--and that was Ruin. He was without hope and
without resource. His debts were vast; his patrimony was a fable; and
the mysterious inheritance of his wife had been tampered with. The
elder Ferrars had left an insolvent estate; he had supported his son
liberally, but latterly from his son's own resources. The father had
made himself the principal trustee of the son's marriage settlement. His
colleague, a relative of the heiress, had died, and care was taken that
no one should be substituted in his stead. All this had been discovered
by Ferrars on his father's death, but ambition, and the excitement of
a life of blended elation and peril, had sustained him under the
concussion. One by one every chance had vanished: first his private
means and then his public prospects; he had lost office, and now he was
about to lose parliament. His whole position, so long, and carefully,
and skilfully built up, seemed to dissolve and dissipate into
insignificant fragments. And now he had to break the situation to his
wife. She was to become the unprepared partner of th
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