ced
by trying to improve whole districts-I ended with the individual."

Brooks' wineglass fell with a little crash upon the tablecloth. The
wine, a long silky stream, flowed away from him unstaunched, unregarded.
His eyes were fixed upon Lord Arranmore. He leaned forward.

"A police-court missionary!" he cried, hoarsely.

Lord Arranmore regarded him for a moment in silence.

"Yes. As you doubtless surmise, I am your father. Afterwards you may
ask me questions."

Brooks sat as one stupefied, and then a sudden warm touch upon his hand
sent the blood coursing once more through his veins. Sybil's fingers
lay for a moment upon his. She smiled kindly at him. Lord Arranmore's
voice once more broke the short silence.

"The individual was my greatest disappointment," he continued. "Young
and old, all were the same. I took them to live with me, I sent them
abroad, I found them situations in this country, I talked with them,
read with them, showed them the simplest means within their reach by
means of which they might take into their lives a certain measure of
beautiful things. Failure would only make me more dogged, more eager.
I would spend months sometimes with one man or boy, and at last I
would assure myself of success. I would find them a situation, see them
perhaps once a week, then less often, and the end was always the same.
They fell back. I had put the poison to sleep, but it was always there.
It was their everlasting heritage, a gift from father to son, bred in
the bone, a part of their blood.

"In those days I married a lady devoted to charitable works. Our
purpose was to work together, but we found it impracticable. There was,
I fear, little sympathy between us. The only bond was our work--and
that was soon to be broken. For there came a time, after ten breathless
years, when I paused to consider."

He raised his glass to his lips and drained it. The wine was powerful,
but it brought no tinge of colour to his cheeks, nor any lustre to his
eyes. He continued in the same firm, expressionless tone.

"There came a night when I found myself thinking, and I knew then that a
new terror was stealing into my life. I made my way up to the roof of
the house where that old man had first taken me, and I leaned once more
over the palisading and looked eastwards. I fancied that I could still
hear the echoes of his frenzied words, and for the first time I heard
the note of mockery ringing clearly through them. There they