he new Ministry went without saying.
Ferrier felt no particular dismay at the prospect, and amused himself
with speculations on the letters which had probably passed that very day
between Broadstone and the "iratus Achilles" in Northamptonshire.

And from Lord Philip, Ferrier's thoughts--shrewdly indulgent--strayed to
the other conspirators, and to Oliver Marsham in particular, their
spokesman and intermediary. Suddenly a great softness invaded him toward
Oliver and his mother. After all, had he not been hard with the boy, to
leave him to his fight without a word of help? Oliver's ways were
irritating; he had more than one of the intriguer's gifts; and several
times during the preceding weeks Ferrier's mind had recurred with
disquiet to the letters in his hands. But, after all, things had worked
out better than could possibly have been expected. The _Herald_, in
particular, had done splendid service, to himself personally, and to the
moderates in general. Now was the time for amnesty and reconciliation
all round. Ferrier's mind ran busily on schemes of the kind. As to
Oliver, he had already spoken to Broadstone about him, and would speak
again that night. Certainly he must have something--Junior Lordship at
least. And if he were opposed on re-election, why, he should be
helped--roundly helped. Ferrier already saw himself at Tallyn once more,
with Lady Lucy's frail hand in one of his, the other perhaps on Oliver's
shoulder. After all, where was he happy--or nearly happy--but with them?

* * * * *

His eyes returned to his book. With a mild amusement he saw that it had
opened of itself at an essay, by Abraham Cowley, on "Greatness" and its
penalties: "Out of these inconveniences arises naturally one more, which
is, that no greatness can be satisfied or contented with itself; still,
if it could mount up a little higher, it would be happy; if it could not
gain that point, it would obtain all its desires; but yet at last, when
it is got up to the very top of the peak of Teneriffe, it is in very
great danger of breaking its neck downward, but in no possibility of
ascending upward--into the seat of tranquillity about the moon."

The new Secretary of State threw himself back in his garden chair, his
hands behind his head. Cowley wrote well; but the old fellow did not,
after all, know much about it, in spite of his boasted experiences at
that sham and musty court of St.-Germain's. Is it true that