o glowing that his own youth came back, and a better spirit took
residence in him. He gave thanks to the Returning Officer, and then,
with his agent, left the building by the back door. He did not wait for
the announcement of Carnac's triumph, and he knew his work was done for
ever in public life.

Soon he had said his say at the club where his supporters, discomfited,
awaited him. To demands for a speech, he said he owed to his workers
what he could never repay, and that the long years they had kept him in
Parliament would be the happiest memory of his life.

"We'll soon have you back," shouted a voice from the crowd.

"It's been a good fight," said Barode Barouche. Somehow the fact he
had not beaten his son by the story of his secret marriage was the sole
comfort he had. He advised his followers to "play the game" and let the
new member have his triumph without belittlement.

"It's the best fight I've had in thirty years," he said at last, "and
I've been beaten fairly."

In another hour he was driving into the country on his way to visit an
old ex-Cabinet Minister, who had been his friend through all the years
of his Parliamentary life. It did not matter that the hour was late. He
knew the veteran would be waiting for him, and unprepared for the bad
news he brought. The night was spent in pain of mind, and the comfort
the ex-Minister gave him, that a seat would be found for him by
the Government, gave him no thrill. He knew he had enemies in the
Government, that the Prime Minister was the friend of the successful
only, and that there were others, glad of his defeat, who would be
looking for his place. Also he was sure he had injured the chances of
the Government by the defeat of his policy.

As though Creation was in league against him, a heavy storm broke about
two o'clock, and he went to bed cursed by torturing thoughts. "Chickens
come home to roost--" Why did that ancient phrase keep ringing in his
ears when he tried to sleep? Beaten by his illegitimate son at the
polls, the victim of his own wrong-doing--the sacrifice of penalty! He
knew that his son, inheriting his own political gifts, had done what
could have been done by no one else. All the years passed since Carnac
was begotten laid their deathly hands upon him, and he knew he could
never recover from this defeat. How much better it would have been if he
had been struck twenty-seven years ago!

Youth, ambition and resolve would have saved him from the