men who have
climbed high are always thirsty to climb higher? No! "What is my feeling
now? Simply a sense of _opportunity_. A man may be glad to have the
chance of leaving his mark on England."

Thoughts rose in him which were not those of a pessimist--thoughts,
however, which the wise man will express as little as possible, since
talk profanes them. The concluding words of Peel's great Corn Law speech
ran through his memory, and thrilled it. He was accused of indifference
to the lot of the poor. It was not true. It never had been true.

"Hullo! who comes?"

Mrs. Colwood was running over the lawn, bringing apparently a letter,
and a newspaper.

She came up, a little breathless.

"This letter has just come for you, Mr. Ferrier, by special messenger.
And Miss Mallory asked me to bring you the newspaper."

Ferrier took the letter, which was bulky and addressed in the Premier's
handwriting.

"Kindly ask the messenger to wait. I will come and speak to him."

He opened the letter and read it. Then, having put it deliberately in
his pocket, he sat bending forward, staring at the grass. The newspaper
caught his eye. It was the _Herald_ of that morning. He raised it from
the ground, read the first leading article, and then a column "from a
correspondent" on which the article was based.

As he came to the end of it a strange premonition took possession of
him. He was still himself, but it seemed to him that the roar of some
approaching cataract was in his ears. He mastered himself with
difficulty, took a pencil from his pocket, and drew a wavering line
beside a passage in the article contributed by the _Herald's_
correspondent. The newspaper slid from his knee to the ground.

Then, with a groping hand, he sought again for Broadstone's letter, drew
it out of its envelope, and, with a mist before his eyes, felt for the
last page which, he seemed to remember, was blank. On this he traced,
with difficulty, a few lines, replaced the whole letter in the torn
envelope and wrote an address upon it--uncertainly crossing out his
own name.

Then, suddenly, he fell back. The letter followed the newspaper to the
ground. Deadly weakness was creeping upon him, but as yet the brain was
clear. Only his will struggled no more; everything had given way, but
with the sense of utter catastrophe there mingled neither pain nor
bitterness. Some of the Latin verse scattered over the essay he had been
reading ran vaguely through his mind--t