For a long time Paul lay thinking of what his mother had said and of the strange look in her eyes. It seemed as though he had roused something evil in her nature, and for a time he wondered whether her brain had not been unhinged. He knew she was a proud woman, and that she was jealous beyond words of her good name. The thought of Wilson's words being bandied around the town must be worse than death to her, and yet what could he do? He blamed himself more than he could say for having told her the truth so brutally. Had he not himself been so overwrought he would have acted with more deliberation. He remembered, too, what his mother had said when they had first met, and he wondered whether Wilson had proposed marriage to Mary Bolitho before she had left Brunford, and whether she had accepted him. It might be so. And then all the joy of his winning the election would be as nothing.

For the last three weeks he had been looking forward to this day with great antic.i.p.ation. He felt sure he would win from the beginning, and he had wondered whether Mary would send him some word of congratulation. He did not expect she would, but she would hear of his victory, and perhaps their next meeting would be under more favourable circ.u.mstances. He knew that, in spite of the fact that he had been elected for Brunford, the sky of his life was black again. The words he had heard had filled him with black shame and feelings of deadly anger, while the look on his mother's face aroused in him an unnameable fear.

When morning came, however, he felt better. A few hours' sleep had restored him to something like normal health. The excitement of the last few weeks had told upon him, and the strain upon his nerves had been tremendous. Now that the fight was over, however his splendid const.i.tution stood him in good stead, and he felt strong and vigorous.

That which had appeared black at night a.s.sumed less sombre colours in the light of day. After all, he had won a great victory. He had received nearly a thousand votes more than his opponent. He had wrested a seat for the cause in which he believed, and he was member for Brunford!

He slept until nearly nine o'clock, and when he came downstairs he found, to his delight, a heap of congratulatory messages lying upon the table. After all, it was delightful to be a victor, delightful to have won in the battle of life! He noticed, too, that his mother had become like her old self again. She spoke in her natural voice, and made no reference whatever to what had taken place the night before.

"I shall have to go to London, to-day or to-morrow, mother," he said.

"I hope you won't be lonely while I'm away."

"Oh, never fear for me, Paul, my son!" she replied. "I shall be all right."

"I do not like the idea of your being alone, though," said Paul. "And I shall have to be away from Brunford a great deal when Parliament meets. I think I shall have to take you to London with me!"

"No," she replied. "I would rather stay here. I should only be in your way if I went to London, besides increasing your expenses--and that I must not do."

"Why not, mother? I can afford it very well. We're having a specially good run of luck just now, and the extra expense would not bother me at all. Besides, I want you to be near me!"

"No, Paul. I would rather remain in Brunford. I have my work to do."

"Your work, mother! What do you mean?"

She did not reply, and Paul could not understand the look on her face.

"Tell me, mother," he said, "what do you mean by having your work to do?"

"There's only one work for me now, Paul--only one thing I care about--and that is to give you your rightful name, and to make you happy!"

"I have thought lately he's dead," said Paul.

"No," she replied, "he is not dead. I feel it in every fibre of my body. He is not dead! And I am going to find him. And I must not leave Brunford--something has told me I must not. And I must watch Wilson, too."

"I have been thinking about that, mother," he said; "and, after all, it's not so bad. The man was drunk, or he would not have said such a thing!"

"Drunk or sober," was her reply, "he shall pay for those words. But do not trouble, Paul. You shall be happy. And you shall have your rightful name, in spite of everything."

A week or two later, Paul had forgotten almost everything in the new life which he led. He had journeyed to London to take his seat in the House of Commons, and, amidst the excitement of his new experiences, even the incidents of the election faded away. It was wonderful to him, the nameless lad who had come to Brunford a few years before, to be one of the legislators in the greatest Empire of the world. Even yet he was little more than a youth, and he had practically no experience of life. Thus London, with all its excitement, and the world of possibilities which it revealed, made everything new to him.

Never had he realised the meaning of history until now. Never had the greatness of his country so impressed him. Hitherto he had not realised what his ambitions meant. Now they became clear. The House of Commons became the pivot of the world, and it seemed to him as though he had his hand upon the pulse of humanity. London was the great heart of the Empire, sending out its streams of life-blood through the length and breadth of the world. And the heart of London was the great pile of buildings on the banks of the Thames. He was no one as yet--just one of the unknown men among nearly seven hundred who gathered there. He had an obscure seat in the House, and, unlike many of the other men with whom he came into contact, he had few friends.

Still, he rejoiced in his isolation, and dreamed dreams of the time when he would emerge from his comparative obscurity, and when his voice would be heard in the councils of the Empire. No one was more regular than he in his attendance at the House, and he took a supreme delight in wandering through the buildings, and in trying to understand their significance. Westminster Hall, especially, attracted him. He thought of the scenes which had taken place in that historic building, and remembered how it had stood there through the centuries. The greater part of the parliament houses was comparatively new, but this remained almost unchanged by the ravages of time and of fire. Here great trials had taken place. Here great battles had been won--battles which had changed the destinies of the nation. Brunford, which had seemed so important to him a few years ago, was now only an insignificant manufacturing town. It had but little history, little meaning; but London--London was everything. There, in Westminster Abbey, close by him, kings had been crowned and monarchs were buried. There, too, the great ones of the world had come. Men whose names were imperishable were buried in that mausoleum of the ill.u.s.trious dead! And he--well, he was nothing now, but men should hear of him in the future. While keenly observant of the procedure of the House, he sometimes found himself dreaming dreams. He thought of the time when Disraeli was refused a hearing in that historic a.s.sembly, remembered how the Irish, led by the great Daniel O'Connell, refused to listen to him, and how, when at length he had sat down, after trying to make a speech, he shook his fist in the faces of the excited crowd, and cried: "You will not hear me now, but one day you'll be glad to hear me!" Well, why not he?

It is true Disraeli was a man of genius, but he was handicapped on every hand. He was a Jew, and when he commenced his career the prejudice against Jews was stronger even than it was to-day. He was in debt, too, and was hampered on every hand, and yet he had broken down all opposition. He had conquered prejudice, had mastered one of the greatest prime ministers of the age, and was for years the central figure of the Government of the Empire. It just showed what one strong man could do; and he would do it. But at the back of everything was the face of Mary Bolitho. It was for her he was going to win fame and renown. It was at her feet that he would lay all he could win.

Of course many will feel like smiling at these dreams of youth. All the same, the young man who does not dream impossible dreams and determine to win impossible battles will never do much. It is these things which keep the world young and eternally hopeful. Sad will it be for the youth of England when they cease to be!

Fleet Street, too, fascinated him beyond words. Next to the Houses of Parliament, he loved to walk along this busy thoroughfare. Sometimes he would stand there and watch the crowd as it went hurrying by--perhaps the most interesting crowd in the world. Here nameless vagrants rubbed shoulder to shoulder with men who were influencing the thought of the nation. This was the home of one of the greatest estates of the land. It was from here that millions of newspapers were sent, containing the hopes, the aspirations, the life of the people.

None of these papers mentioned his name as yet, for he had never dared to try to catch the Speaker's eye, but the time would come when he would. Leading articles should be written about him, and his views of life and politics should be discussed.

In spite of all these things, however, the session came to an end without Paul Stepaside having tried to speak a word in the British House of Commons. His time had not come yet, but it was coming, and he knew how to wait. Those months were to him months of education. He was accustoming himself to his surroundings and preparing for the future. He was studying the methods of the men whose words carried weight. He was seeing the inwardness of this great parliamentary game which was being played, and he was learning to understand how he could use his knowledge, not simply as a means of self-aggrandis.e.m.e.nt, but for the betterment of the people he loved.

Three times during the session he had gone to Brunford on matters of business, but nothing had happened worthy of recording. His mother had inquired eagerly concerning his doings in London, and had stored within her memory every incident which he had related to her.

"I'm glad you have not spoken in the House yet, Paul," she said, again and again. "When you speak it must be on something which is near and dear to you--something which has gripped your life. Then you will make them feel what you feel. Ay, and you will, too, my boy! It's coming!

I can see it!"

"Yes," replied Paul. "I'm going to do it, mother. I'm going to make the name of Stepaside honoured."

"Nay, but you're going to have another name, Paul--your own!"

"Have you found out anything yet?" he asked repeatedly. But at this she would shake her head, as if all her efforts had been in vain, and yet Paul felt a.s.sured that she knew more than she cared to tell him.

During the second session Paul made his first speech. As he thought of it afterwards, he was terribly disappointed. It seemed to him that he had not said the things he wanted to say, while the things he had said seemed crude and unimportant. The atmosphere of the House of Commons was so utterly different from that of any a.s.sembly he had ever addressed, and he knew that he was speaking to what was perhaps one of the most critical audiences in the world. As fortune would have it, too, the House was full when he spoke, and a great deal of interest was attached to the Bill that was being discussed. That was why he was so disappointed that his language, especially during the first few minutes, was so poor and stilted. He imagined, too, that he had been listened to respectfully, and even cordially, because it was his maiden speech. As a matter of fact, however, Paul had made a great impression. Something of his history was known, and his striking appearance told in his favour. Indeed, it was remarked freely that his speech was one of the most promising that had been heard for years from a new and untried member. Consequently, when Paul returned to Brunford the next time, he was met with congratulations on every hand. He was beginning to fulfil the promises he had made, and many prophesied a great career for him.

And Paul was greatly elated. Indeed, so much was he carried away by visions of the future that he never dreamed of the dark, ominous clouds that were filling his horizon.

CHAPTER XI

PAUL'S DARING

One of the results of Paul's success was entirely unexpected by him.

He suddenly found himself made much of by what is called Society.

Hitherto he had been altogether unnoticed in this direction. While he was scarcely looked upon as a Labour Member, he was regarded by many as belonging to that cla.s.s. Moreover, he had done nothing to bring himself into notice, and so, having no advantages of birth, and no circle of acquaintances in London, he had been comparatively neglected.

Suddenly, however, he had become a public man. His speech was not only talked about in the Members' Lobby, but it was discussed by a number of society women who professed to be interested in politics. More than one paper devoted articles to him, and many spoke of him as a coming man. This meant that Paul received invitations to society functions which hitherto had been unknown to him.

The wife of a Cabinet Minister gave a reception, and Paul was among the invited guests. "It's a risk!" said that lady to her husband, when the invitations had been sent out, "but, as you know, I love risks, and these things are usually so tame! Will he come in his working-clothes, do you think?"

"Everything is possible!" laughed her husband. "Still, I don't think you need be afraid!"

"I do hope he'll do something shocking!" said the lady. "From what I've heard, he's young and handsome, and if he does something outrageous it'll make the thing go!"

"I should not be surprised if he does not appear in good clothes," said the Cabinet Minister.

"Let's hope they'll be badly fitting, anyhow!" said the wife.

Paul felt very strange as he joined the gay throng. It was his first experience of that sort, and he had not the slightest idea as to what would be expected of him. He had always refused to go to the social functions in Brunford, and now to be ushered suddenly into what he had heard was to be one of the most brilliant political gatherings of the season was staggering. With a fast-beating heart he saw conveyance after conveyance arrive at the scene of gaiety, and men in immaculate evening clothes and ladies in gay attire emerging from them. But Paul quickly gained the mastery over himself. "After all, what does it matter?" he said. "I don't care about this kind of life. These chattering, overfed women have no attraction for me! Still, it may be interesting."

It was a large gathering, and he noticed that many of the most prominent people in the country were present. When he heard his name mentioned to the host and hostess he saw a look of surprise on the latter's face. Evidently she was altogether disappointed, although she was much interested.

"Mr. Paul Stepaside!" said a man in a loud voice, and Paul was shaking hands with one of the leaders of London society.

"So glad to see you," said the lady. "Did I catch your name aright--Mr. Stepaside?"

Paul bowed, uttered a few commonplaces, and pa.s.sed on.

"I thought you told me he was a working-man?" said the lady to her husband. "I hoped he would come in his working-clothes. This fellow is immaculate!"