CHAPTER VI"For you, for me, the cup of trembling...."It seemed to Farquharson in the days that followed Dora's announcement, that he lived and moved in a dream. As a rule, the realization of fatherhood only dawns upon a man when his child is in his arms. But to him, already, the dream-child was a tender promise. It swept away so many of the supernatural barriers between him and Dora. She had failed him in every office of friend and companion and wife, but she might yet redeem the past by giving him this dear possession, the child whose future he could mould in his own lines, to whom he could give the fruits of his own toil and his ambition. Beadon, Hare, Creagh and Lady Ennly alike noticed the change in his manner to his wife. Her shortcomings and failings no longer seemed to disturb him; where he had been merely patient before he was now gentle and tender. He studied her comfort even in the merest trifles; he toiled the more hopefully at his work in the knowledge that sure comfort and help would dawn presently. To a man of a certain temperament, the presence of his living child may even atone for the otherwise irreparable loss of his dearest hope. Farquharson wanted to give his son all that he himself had been robbed of in childhood. He could look back on his past life now with the detachment of a mere spectator, for every rough place that he had trod, he meant to make a happy playground for the boy. That is after all a fitting end of toil and labour, that a man should forge the sword which his heir's hand is to wield, that he should deny and discipline himself that his son may be the better braced for conflict with the foes within.So Dora's reproaches left him unmoved, only a little pitiful, perhaps, that she could not see things as he did, that to her the coming joy was no joy at all, only annoyance and restraint. Not a day passed but she made some further claim upon his purse; never economical, she became absolutely reckless in her expenditure, and when he attempted to restrain her he was met by a flood of tears and angry protestations."Any one but you would be glad to do what little you can for me at such a time," she would cry out, flushing and paling in turn. "The doctor said I was not to have one moment's worry, and anxiety about money matters is worse for me than anything. If you grudge me what I need, I shall ask Mr. Calvert for money—he wouldn't be a multi-millionaire if it were not for you. Oh, so you see reason at last! Any other man in your place would have given me a cheque at once, instead of making such a cruel scene about it."In Dora Farquharson's excuse it may be urged that she was temporarily beside herself with discomfort and anxiety. Brand had given her as his utmost limit of time a fortnight in which to do him a service which she thought it would be impossible to carry out. He had expected the papers to be in his hands within two or three days of her visit to Brighton; when they did not reach him, he wrote her the first of a series of letters which, though couched in careful language, contained veiled threats which were only too intelligible to her. Fortunately for her, the actual negotiations were suspended for a week, owing to some official delay, which gave her time to mature her plans. She was not a clever enough woman to scheme and plot for herself, she had been accustomed in the past merely to state her wants and have them fulfilled by those about her. Where other matters had been concerned, Brand had given his directions, and she had obeyed implicitly.But this was irksome, dangerous even—it required even a certain mechanical aptitude to be carried through successfully. She offered him money; besought him to release her from her promise. But Brand refused."It's not a very serious matter after all that I am asking you," he said. "A man is never surprised at his wife's curiosity. If you're careful you won't run the least chance of your husband's discovery; if he were even to find you in his room again, he would merely think you were suspecting him of some intrigue or temporary breach of faith. No one knows his movements so well as you do. You have only to take the first opportunity of his being kept late at the House to get me exactly what I want.""But sometimes he goes back to his study on his return and sits up all night working," said Dora.Brand shrugged his shoulders."What if he should on this occasion? It only means that he will discover his loss a few hours earlier, that's all. You've only got to warn me, to send me a code telegram under an assumed name three hours before you get the papers, as we have already arranged, for me to be punctually outside your window ready to receive them at the hour you name. If you do your work properly, Farquharson could turn the whole house topsy-turvy, ravage it from garret to cellar and find no traces. I assure you it's all as simple as the alphabet," he laughed; "the very ABC of trivial burglary to help a friend.""For the first time in my life I feel almost sorry for Mrs. Farquharson," said Lady Wereminster a few days later. "She's got the most extraordinarily furtive and hang-dog air; I met her just now in a Bond Street shop and touched her on the shoulder, and she started as if she were being shot. Are you going to the House to-morrow night, Evelyn? Mr. Calvert says the Government expects a rather furious attack upon this Treaty question; it will resolve itself, of course, mainly into a personal attack upon Richard Farquharson. He's hated by the Press, you know; I suppose because they can get nothing out of him. For that matter, I suppose all the public is longing to know something about this business of the Treaty; it involves so many issues. The prospect of a Continental war isn't cheering in view of the fact that our Army was decimated, and the strength of our Fleet lowered, by the late Government. One can't wipe out their mistakes with a sweep of the pen, or an eloquent word or two. By the way, my nephew was lucky in the ballot, and sent me two spare seats in the gallery. If you can come, I'll sit there with you if you like.""Oh, I've been longing to go," said Evelyn. "How good you are. It seems to me that we are on the brink of a worse crisis than we have faced for years—only absolute tact and diplomacy will see us through. Mr. Farquharson has both, luckily; he will need them to-morrow night.""I should think he would," said Lady Wereminster grimly. "What the House of Commons is coming to I don't know. We are getting as bad as the French Chamber. The language we use is absolutely scriptural in its plain speaking. At the beginning of the century it was said of our political system that it resolved itself into a succession of great duels; it seems to me now to have become an arena in which one man faces an angry rabble of men who shriek defiance and invective. We are losing our national dignity and reserve, Mr. Hare says; I think he's right. I suppose Mr. Farquharson knows what he has to expect, if not I should like to warn him. They say he exceeds his rightful powers of office—they always say that, of course, of a strong man. They forget that when he came into office he had to deal with what in many ways was an almost impossible situation, that in spite of all our royal visits to other nations and our own reception of royal guests, there is not a Power but covets our possessions. A fig for alliance, I say. There is a Power that is very nearly allied to us by blood which has done us serious mischief before now in our diplomatic relations, and will again.""I think that Mr. Farquharson can stand the sort of personal challenge you speak of better than most men," said Evelyn. "A man in his position expects disparagement and injustice. He laughs at it all, to begin with—and then he has the proud patience which lives down taint and contumely. Mud may be thrown at him; it may even soil him for a time, but not for long. Love of country is the strongest force in him, and impersonal love raises a man to great heights."She turned suddenly to Lady Wereminster, smiling. "Oh, my dear, don't let us insult him by fearing the issue of to-morrow night," she said. "I believe in atmosphere: let's surround him with trust and confidence and hope. He'll win through this time of crisis, and every other, and be successful, no matter what lies are told of him or what evil is wrought."Meantime, at home Dora, preparing for an early dinner, went into her husband's room."Father tells me that he thinks I ought to be at the House to-morrow night," she said. "He says you're going to make a speech on something important; it's a great bore, but I suppose I'll have to go.""I don't think it's in the least necessary," said Farquharson.Dora shrugged her shoulders."I at least am not accustomed to putting myself in the wrong, whatever you are," she said.CHAPTER VII"Danger, the spurre of all great mindes...."—G. CHAPMAN."Got on your coat of mail?" said Beadon cheerfully, next afternoon.Farquharson laughed."I rather enjoy a scrimmage, you know—'Though the House of Commons lately has justified its title,' to quote Lady Wereminster. As a matter of fact I think the Assembly in Taorna would hold its own against our English methods any day.""In my heart of hearts I don't approve of government by party, as you know. Party too often resolves itself into person. Political bouts are like wrestling matches: they open out a wide field of corruption. But in England, of course, there can be no other method," said Creagh."Oh, it's undoubtedly one that gives rein to intrigue and self-aggrandizement. I was talking to H—— the other day"—Farquharson mentioned a leading member of the Opposition. "There's a man with a brain if you like, virile even in his way. He knows as well as you or I that as a mere question of the country's safety it is absolutely necessary that we should keep our policy with regard to these present troubles on the Continent as secret as possible. He said as much, in fact. Yet he'll heckle and hustle and harass us to-night with the rest, running absolutely counter to his own convictions to strengthen the war-cry of his party.""Of course you're a born man of war," said Beadon. "Conflict braces you. You've got a tough job on to-night, though. To-night's questions have been framed very carefully, and have a distinct challenge in them. Our opponents aren't such fools as to think that even the British public—gullible enough, Heaven knows—would contemplate a Secretary of State giving away news about a Treaty before it had actually been framed. Unfortunately, a third Power is involved. The tie of blood which undoubtedly binds us to it has given the Opposition its opportunity of inflaming the country against us. The Press has taken the matter up, of course. What conscience-prick would it not stifle for the sake of a glaring headline or poster? You know, all of you, that we are hemmed in on all sides, that we are really in a tight place this time. The utmost tact has to be exercised to save our being involved in a big European war, as that third Power, which shall be nameless, has undoubtedly a right to expect its claims to weigh with us in our negotiations.""And the foreign Press, of course, is watching the issue of to-night's debate with lynx-eyes—whelps of war waiting to spring the moment they are unleashed," put in Farquharson."Farquharson trusts to his art of talking eloquently for hours without imparting one item of the required knowledge to carry him through to-night's crisis," chuckled Creagh. Then, more seriously, "All the same, you've never been present at a real scene in the House, Farquharson—I don't think you take the matter quite seriously enough. Beadon tells me that you haven't even prepared your speech; that you're trusting in that power of gripping the House, which has certainly so far never failed you.""But there's another tiresome question involved—that of the letter of the impetuous Sovereign whose facility with the pen has already led him into such regrettable complications," drawled Meavy languidly. "The halfpenny papers make great capital out of that.""But that letter wasn't written to Farquharson, but to Gaunt," said Creagh impatiently. "What has Farquharson to do with it?""He sent me a copy, unluckily," said Farquharson. "You needn't worry about that. It has never left my possession for a single instant. Personally, I should have torn it up, but our respected colleague thought it wise to keep a copy lest anything untoward should happen to the original.""You've got it locked up in there, I suppose?" said Beadon, pointing to the safe. "Well, that's right, particularly as you always lock up this room now when you leave the house.""The fact remains," said Meavy, "that no man of our time has ever been so fiercely abused as you by the Press I speak as one who knows, having had my share of it. I believe you've got a very dangerous enemy to deal with—the more dangerous because unknown. I think somebody has been stirring up the Press against you personally. Did you see that scurrilous article in theCrystallast week? It almost said in plain words that you were not to be trusted. You see, one or two minor points have leaked out lately that had no business to have got published at all, and, unfortunately, they have been matters which concerned your department."Beadon shook his head."Farquharson scoffs at all that; it is immaterial, though puzzling. Personally, I think they point the way to treachery, and in such cases"—he spoke very gravely—"one's enemies are usually those of one's own household. Farquharson has a large retinue of employés—I believe that one of them has been bought.""Impossible, my dear fellow," said Farquharson impatiently. "Your imagination runs away with you. The members of my household are kept very strictly in their own places, and I have every confidence in my secretaries. As far as the actual fight goes—well—it doesn't bother me. Remember, I was never at a public school; I had to wait to see red until I was a man."Creagh frowned."I agree with Meavy. You don't take things seriously enough, Farquharson. You men of one idea, who go straight to the point and disregard all obstacles, are the very ones who trip over a mere stone in the path."Farquharson leant back in his chair and looked from one to the other, smiling."Well, if I were ill at ease, your conversation is hardly likely to inspire me with confidence," he said. "You're wrong, though—if there's treachery anywhere it's in the F.O. itself. After all, a good many people go in there on one plea or another, and other nations employ a very much greater number of secret agents than we do. As for to-night"—he rose and stretched himself—"I'm looking forward to my scrimmage. I may get a bit knocked about myself, but I shan't let my opponents go unscathed." He looked at his watch. "I ought to be off now. Von Kirsch wants another interview; he's ill in bed, poor chap. He had a motor accident the other day, you know. I can't get down to him and back under three hours.""Isn't that running things rather close? Better dine with me; it's nearer the House," said Beadon."Thanks," said Farquharson, "I think I'll get a chop there instead. Time is short anyway, and one can't hurry a sick man. I shan't have more than ten minutes or so to spare for a meal. Good-bye, then, for the present." He went off whistling.Beadon looked after him, smiling affectionately."He's brightened up a lot lately. Success suits him.""You are the more troubled of the two about to-night," said Meavy, watching him intently."Oh, well, that's natural," said Creagh. "Besides, Beadon's been on the sick-list. His doctor threatens all sorts of complications if he goes on working as he has done lately.""The brunt of to-night's battle will fall on my son-in-law, who is more than capable of meeting it," said Beadon. "I'm a bit run down, that's all. Who's that at the door? Oh, you, my dear."He went forward and greeted Dora with a playful tap on the shoulder."You're looking very anxious, Dora; what's the matter? You mustn't worry about to-night; Farquharson's got himself well in hand, as always.""Oh, to-night—I wasn't thinking about to-night," said Dora nervously. She stood by the study table looking from one man to the other, rapping it impatiently with her fingers. "Richard says he is not coming back again. Do you know where he's gone? As usual, he didn't say.""He was hurried at the last," said her father. "He's got a long journey before him and won't be back for another three hours, he said. Then he'll go straight to the House. You are coming, of course; everybody will be there.""Three hours," repeated Dora blankly. "Are you sure he said three hours?—And he won't be dining at home, you are quite certain that he won't come back? Oh"—she looked 'round the room—"what about Mr. Blair and Mr. Jefferson? I suppose they'll be coming here to work in his absence?"Beadon produced a key from his pocket."No, my orders are to turn you all out and lock the door. Blair and Jefferson are to await Richard at the House. You're looking very pale and worried, Dora; why not come off with me now, and tell your maid to bring your evening things later? You're a grass-widow to-night, aren't you?" He glanced round the room. "Off with you all. There, now, that's right."He locked the door and pocketed the key."Don't wait for me," said Dora nervously; "I've got things to do. If you go off now I'll join you at dinner; I couldn't possibly get to you before. Good-bye, Lord Creagh. Good-bye, Lord Meavy. Yes, father, you can count upon me. But do go now, I'm really busy; I won't ring for the men, I'll go to the door with you myself."The door closed. She stood for a moment silent, fingering two keys in the bosom of her dress, looking round despairingly, starting at every sound and peering into the corners like a hunted animal at bay. Sure at last of being alone, she slipped into her boudoir, and, going to the writing-table, took out a telegraph form and proceeded to write hurriedly."I've got the three hours to myself," she said; "more, even, because he's dining out. What a fool I was to say I'd go to father. And yet I don't know, it will be better to be away in case either of the secretaries comes back and discovers the loss before to-morrow morning. I shall have to send the telegram to Mr. Brand myself; I can tell Felice that I'm going to the Park for a minute or two. Good Heavens, how white I am! I hope to goodness she won't guess there's anything wrong.""A most uncomfortable place," said Lady Wereminster. "Have you got any room at all, Evelyn?" She looked icily in the direction of the lady at Mrs. Brand's right hand. "There's only one thing in the world that would ever make me in favour of franchise for women, and that is, that I should immediately use my power to press the passing of a Bill that would enable us, as spectators, to see and hear and to be seen and heard in the House of Commons. Grilles belong to the Middle Ages, and as nobody is even middle-aged now-a-days, one resents their existence.""How full it is already," said Evelyn; "every seat taken. Look at the hats, and just see the Strangers' Gallery and the Speaker's!""Everybody flocks to a tussle like this," said Lady Wereminster, disposing of her skirts as comfortably as the limited space would allow. "Let us see what's to be the first question of the evening? These twopenny-halfpenny matters they're discussing now don't count. No, I absolutely refuse to keep quiet, Evelyn. Nothing important's going on. If the wife of the Member for East Mumsted—the mere prefix stamps the place as vulgar and suburban—is anxious to hear her husband stammering trivialities upon a matter which interests nobody except himself, she can give him unlimited scope for boredom in his own home circle. Give me the Agenda again, or whatever they call it, Evelyn. Good Heavens! we've got at least three-quarters of an hour of this before the business of the evening comes on. Who's that at the door?—Mr. Beadon, Mrs. Farquharson and Mr. Calvert. Fancy Dora honouring her husband by coming! Let's go and speak to them outside, shall we? I hope your husband's in vein to-night, Mrs. Farquharson.""Well, we're in for a stormy evening," said Beadon cheerfully, piloting Lady Wereminster to a place of comparative seclusion. "Farquharson hasn't turned up yet even. I never saw such a man, he thrives on criticism. He knows as well as I that there is a regular organized claque of Irish Members here to-night ready to shriek him down, 'spoiling for a row,' as we used to say at Eton.""Now, I'm not a betting man, as you know, Lady Wereminster," interposed Calvert, smiling genially, "but I'm ready to lay you long odds that that boy of mine arrives at the last moment cool and collected, with every fact marshalled and an indomitable flow of courage and good-will that would break the back of the most determined enemy. He's got the gift of humour, and in time that tells with the most angry crowd. They're up in arms against him to-night, I know; I can't quite make it out. He's got on too quickly, I suppose, and made enemies.""A strong man is always loved or hated," said Evelyn. "Mr. Farquharson is not only an orator, but he knows how to hold his tongue. Such men are always attacked. Think what Cobden and Bright had to suffer in the Anti-Corn League agitation, and O'Connell in the Repeal year! And they were men with vulnerable spots, and the world hasn't found out Mr. Farquharson's weak spot yet.""If they once rouse him they'll be amazed," Beadon said. "He's a man who asks no quarter and gives none. Well, I think you'd better take your seats, don't you?" He glanced at his watch. "In a quarter of an hour or so Farquharson will be speaking. Oh, there's Jefferson calling me; I expect Farquharson's come. Take care of yourself, my dear." He gave Dora's hand an affectionate squeeze before hurrying away."So your seat's near ours?" said Lady Wereminster, somewhat displeased. "Evelyn"—in urgent parenthesis—"if that woman begins cackling at inopportune moments, you have my full permission to envelop her in my chuddah, and make the attendant take her out.—Well, the hats have been replaced by their owners now—I really don't know that the change is for the better. We were a middle-class lot enough eight or nine years ago, but now so many Labour Members have come in——!" She raised her eyes expressively. "One vacant seat only on the Ministerial benches—Mr. Farquharson's—oh, he's filled it now. A man of great distinction, your husband, Mrs. Farquharson; he's got the hall-mark of birth upon him as well as intellect. Thank goodness no one would ever think that his seat was paid for by working men's sixpences.""Oh, he's very well in his way, as husbands go," said Mrs. Farquharson. "My father was certainly right in taking him up so warmly.""That's the third time you've had to pick up that odious creature's bag," said Lady Wereminster in an undertone. "I never saw anybody's fingers shake so. I wish to goodness she was sitting further off. She makes me feel quite nervous.""Oh, do be quiet now, there's a dear," said Evelyn. "Mr. Farquharson's rising. Ah!"Farquharson's opening words were drowned in a low rumble of muttered comments and hisses. Then suddenly, as if at some preconcerted signal, the Labour Members, the Irish Party, and a great number of the Opposition, whose voices were never heard except on these occasions, broke into a clamour of groans. Evelyn grew pale. The scene was so overwhelming, coming as it did after a period of slackness and indifference, that even the Speaker's call to order was disregarded, and when eventually there came a lull, it was tense with envy and hatred.Calvert was right. Farquharson faced the storm with the air of one who, at a policeman's bidding, is held up by street traffic. He looked perhaps a trifle bored at first; the delay was not serious, but inconvenient.When at last he could make himself heard, he repressed the cheers of his colleagues with a gesture; Beadon, knowing his wishes, also hushed them down. There was a speck of dust on his right-hand shirt-cuff; he waited to flick it off deliberately with his handkerchief in the pause before he took up the broken thread of his speech.When, in next day's papers, Evelyn read the report of his words, she wondered no longer at the spell he exercised over his audience, as, every nerve quickened by the strain he had just gone through, he spoke straight to the heart in simple language and a voice that even his enemies declared brought back memories of O'Connell in its passion and sweetness. The silence of the great hall is often broken by voices raucous and harsh and stammering; there were some who listened now for the mere sake of hearing the silver tongue ring unaccustomed echoes. Others, again, were swept away by the flow of easy words, chosen apparently with consummate care, yet which were in reality inspired by the moment's conflict; words carrying conviction because they were given with all the force of personal magnetism, and all the art of accomplished extempore oratory. Men shifted their positions as they listened; the anxious expression on Beadon's face and that of Farquharson's colleagues deepened into pride. On the Opposition benches lounging and brooding figures braced themselves. It was as though a clear flood and torrent had swept suddenly throughout the House, breaking down barriers, washing away envy and malice and lack of charity by sheer force of its onslaught, by reason of its purity and its wholesomeness.Farquharson spoke to a silent House, a House which hung upon his words. But suddenly from the distance another noise made itself heard—cries, shouting and disturbance. Evelyn and those about her did not take the interruption seriously at first. Yet presently it penetrated to the body of the House; Members broke free from the spell of Farquharson's words and turned, uneasily aware that some important matter was in progress.The shouts concentrated, then reached even to the gallery. One or two Members left their places, attendants were seen hurrying, now at the gallery door, and again in the lobby below that immediately faced the Ladies' Gallery. Farquharson went on speaking, apparently unmoved, but he had lost his hold upon his hearers. Every eye was turned away from him in the direction of a white-faced member of the Government who, at Beadon's direction, handed him a slip of paper.Outside the House the noise reached its climax, the shouting of an angry mob at bay. Evelyn saw other Members come back hurriedly; there were whispered colloquies between separate members of the Opposition; the Irish benches were almost deserted. Then suddenly Beadon rose to his feet, catching convulsively his collar; he flung his hands up, with an inarticulate cry, and fell down as though he had been shot.Evelyn heard the outside cry taken up again by those within the House itself, and saw peace broken visibly as though an earthquake had rent the whole assembly. Farquharson had leapt to Beadon's side, and was bending over him; for a moment the business of the House was set aside in the sense of imminent personal disaster. Impervious to private sorrow, the Leader of the Irish Party sprang upon his feet, gesticulating and pointing at the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. And Evelyn saw the men of his own party turn to look at Farquharson as though they could not trust the evidence of their own eyes; she saw him break and falter as the word "traitor" rang through the House.In the Speaker's Gallery, confusion, horror; in the Peeresses' Gallery, a flash of light as women in evening dress rose hurriedly from their seats; in the Strangers' Gallery, a murmur of comment and dissension; the body of the House, convulsed with new and overwhelming emotion, collapsing like a house of cards.An attendant with papers was at the door of the Ladies' Gallery; there was a rush in his direction. Evelyn must have pushed forward and bought one, how she hardly knew. She was just about to open it when Dora Farquharson, at her side, caught at her arm and fell, terror-stricken, across the seat; she felt Lady Wereminster snatch the paper from her with shaking fingers, and, while she was lifting Dora to her feet, she looked over her shoulder and read the headlines of the page aloud."Treachery in the Foreign Office; the text of the secret Treaty in the hands of a Foreign Power. A European war inevitable."Below: "The Emperor's letter to Lord Gaunt given verbally. Startling disclosures."CHAPTER VIII"The longer I live the more I am certain that the great difference between men—between the feeble and the powerful, the great and the insignificant, is energy, invincible determination—a purpose once fixed, and then death or victory. That quality will do anything that can be done in this world; and no talents, no circumstances, no opportunities will make a two-legged creature a man without it."—SIR F. FOWELL BUXTON."I have been sitting here with my pen in my hand, wondering how to find words in which to tell you what really happened at that awful scene in the House of Commons," Lady Wereminster wrote to Hare next day, with shaking hand. "I want to put it all down in plain English, to make myself see the main facts more clearly—at present my whole vision seems blurred and vague. I now know something of what women felt when they stood outside a door and knew that within the room their husbands were being racked. One of my nieces was out in South Africa during the war, you know. She told me that one of the most terrible things she saw was a man, a common soldier, in one of the hospitals at Kimberley, who had been wounded by expanding bullets in the hand between the thumb and forefinger, and in the thigh. Both, under ordinary conditions, would have been mere flesh-wounds; as things were, the space between the forefinger and thumb had swollen as high as a muscular man's arm, and the wound in the thigh was in the same condition. But the man could not die, and medical convention prevented his doctor from putting him out of pain. He lingered on, to Mary's knowledge, in agony, from the battle of Roidam, which took place on the fifth of May, until she left Kimberley on the thirty-first of the month. Throughout that time he had not even momentary cessation from torture. And when she went away the doctor told her that the man's vitality was such that he might well last a fortnight longer."A fortnight—think! Remembrance of that suffering man flashed back to me the other night in the House. Nobody likes having to see physical pain; as for mental pain, the only way we treat it is to slur it over. Like St. Thomas, we can only understand wounds we can put our fingers into and probe."But you have imagination; you can guess what last night meant to Richard Farquharson and us all. He had been warned that some mischief was afloat, but he never dreamed how far it could go. He came in quite buoyant and undismayed; the first taunts and invective left him unmoved. He bore them down by sheer force of will; giving one rather the impression of facing his enemies 'with his tongue in his cheek,' as Shakespeare says. But presently he began to realize that matters were serious enough to bring the best he had in him to the fore, and then he did indeed give us the best he had of truth and sincerity. He shook off his cynicism and indifference like a cloak. The words sound cold—oh, if I could but make you hear the man's speech as we heard it, spell-bound, breathless! Old members of the House, who had been there for forty and fifty years, say they never heard any speech approach it. I suppose he actually reached the summit of his power in those few moments. Then downfall came."The panic that spread as the news about the Treaty filtered through the House was absolutely indescribable. Farquharson never flinched. That's where blood tells. A man of the people in a like crisis would have wavered and lost his head. But when our class is face to face with imminent peril, mental or physical, we are encompassed with a host of silent witnesses, before whom it is impossible to quail. Voices of our dead forbears murmur, 'We are watching you from the heights. We, too, knew danger in our day, and met it. And our blood flows in you, remember. Be true, not only to yourself, but to the dignity of your race.'"You will remember the story of that Marquis in the Revolution who, driving to the guillotine with other aristocrats, finely attired, sniffed at a rose to the last, because, as he explained, the smell of the rabble so annoyed him?"We found afterwards that influence had been at work undermining all one side of the House with suggestions and innuendoes. It appears that the whole of the Opposition was expecting some dramaticdénoûmentto Farquharson's speech; what it was they didn't know, but they were prepared for some great climax which would tell in their favour. Anonymous letters had been sent to individual members; the whole work had been done subtly. But for that I doubt if there would have been that instantaneous reaction, the sudden change of aspect between a great assembly hanging on a man's words, one with him in spite of themselves, and a body of men scenting treachery and dishonour, furious at having been fooled and tricked. It took one back to Pilate's house, to the judgment of Christ, when the crowd cried 'Crucify Him, crucify Him!'"They say that but for Mr. Beadon's seizure a vote of censure would have been moved at once. Under the circumstances it was impossible to go on with the ordinary business of the day; at the moment we all feared that the poor Prime Minister would actually die in his seat. The House was adjourned. There are rumours of Mr. Farquharson's resignation, but I heard just now that he absolutely refuses to give up his post until he is assured that he has lost the confidence of the country. It seems as though he could not take in the fact that he had hardly a friend in the world except our own little coterie. He got on too well and too quickly not to arouse envy and jealousy on all sides."I send you, under separate cover, some cuttings from the papers; the leading ones were of course non-committal, the others are full of invective and denunciation. As for theMoon, it did not mince matters at all. Caring not a jot what it said so long as it just escaped the law of libel, it practically accused Farquharson of selling the nation for his own ends. As you know, he has never been popular with the Press. No newspaper can say of him, 'This is my puppet; I pull the strings and he does as I direct.'"It is now supposed that Mr. Farquharson's study and safe must have been opened by duplicate keys on the afternoon of the great crisis in the House. The question is how an impression could have possibly been taken of the key of the safe, as it never leaves Mr. Farquharson's personal possession. The safe was ransacked, nearly everything in it being taken—everything official, I mean; private papers were left. Detectives are at work on the affair, of course."It appears that Mr. Farquharson went out early that afternoon, leaving the Prime Minister to lock the door. Lord Creagh, who was with Mr. Beadon all the time, says that he never parted with the key until he returned it to his son-in-law. Both of Mr. Farquharson's secretaries can prove alibis on the day in question; the servants have borne irreproachable characters for years. The fact that Richard himself spent the afternoon with Herr von Kirsch, the representative of that Government into whose possession this special information was proved to have been given that very day, is dead against him. Mr. Farquharson means, I hear, 'to face the music' to-night; the papers will tell you that most of the other Ministers have been suddenly stricken down with influenza. Wereminster says that the party is in a state of absolute panic; they got into office on a wave of public emotion, and are terrified lest the tide should turn."Did I tell you that Dora Farquharson was there? Somehow or other, I don't know how, the three of us got together at the door of the Ladies' Gallery, and were the first to read the paper—Evelyn, Dora and I. I think Evelyn did one of the pluckiest things I ever saw a woman do in my life. There was such confusion in the House below that no noise in the Ladies' Gallery was likely to be specially noticed. The tumult was shocking and the rush. With Dora Farquharson clinging to her arm she read the news aloud, and calmed the tumult. 'They dare to say Mr. Farquharson has done this thing,' she said; 'it is a lie. It may not be proved to-day or to-morrow, but it is a lie all the same.' You should have seen those women pause. We are like sheep, after all; we follow our strong leader, be it man or woman. Another woman took Evelyn's cue; she was, I think, one of the heads of the women's franchise movement, or some such thing. Anyway she was quick enough to see that in a moment of national excitement it would speak well for women if they could comport themselves quietly and with dignity. To quote the morning papers, 'In spite of the disturbance and dissension below, the occupants of the Ladies' Gallery withdrew in perfect order, and with no signs of excitement, a great contrast to the prevailing attitude of the House.'"Evelyn and I led the way with Dora Farquharson. She had, of course, to be taken home at once and put to bed. One dreads the advent of the evening papers; more still the comments of the foreign Press. And if we dread them, what must Richard Farquharson feel? I never knew how much I loved my country until now. These low little papers!—every stone they fling hurts me personally. To hint of corruption and bribery here, in England!—I am only a woman, and I feel this acutely. Again, what can it be to Richard Farquharson? As things stand, it is as though he had wounded almost to death what he loves best and would sacrifice most for. This is a blow at his heart, and a blow at the nation. How to meet it, decadent as we are, demoralized by that love of luxury and advertisement which brings us day by day nearer disaster and downfall?"CHAPTER IX"Never make a defence ... before you are accused."—CHARLES I.In youth, a great crisis may only spiritualize and refine the features; in maturity, it leaves ineradicable scars.The first great blow of Calvert's life had embittered him; the second left him shattered. Farquharson was like his son, more to him in some ways than his own son would have been. Parents have always to face the possibility that their children may go absolutely contrary to their wishes; the transfusion of two souls may create a being which develops on entirely different lines from those desired by they who willed it to exist. But Farquharson had fulfilled Calvert's every hope; his appointment in the Ministry was the culmination of Calvert's ambition. Calvert, looking upon him, felt that he could say hisNunc Dimittisthankfully; how easy to depart in peace when one had left behind, as legacy to the empire, so strong a man of war!But human strength is, after all, limited; no single unit can hold on steadily against a battalion of armed foes. Farquharson woke the day after the attack in the House to find himself hemmed in, surrounded by enemies, his name bandied from one man to another, in the dockyard, on tubs at Hyde Park Corner, in open booths at Walworth Bridge Road. The socialists saw their opportunity and made the most of it: "A starving man may steal a loaf of bread and be sent to prison for five days—this man, who has sold the secrets of his nation, will probably go unscathed because he is of gentle birth."It was torture to Calvert to go out that day; he never knew when in 'bus or tube or district railway he would hear Farquharson's name spoken contemptuously by strangers. For men spoke of circumstantial evidence, and "Circumstantial evidence is the hardest to disprove, and frequently unreliable," as a great criminal lawyer once said. Brand had done his work well. But—"In so gloomy a climate as ours we must expect the powers of darkness to prevail," said Lady Wereminster.Stunned and horrified, Farquharson himself did not at first take in the full force of the rumours that were being spread about him. It was impossible to conceive that he should be suspected of treachery. When, the night before, he lost grip of his audience, he had at first believed that it was through some fault of his own. He had never seen suspicion in men's eyes before. But next day's papers were more explicit. Men and women discussed the subject over the luncheon table, at Princes or the Piccadilly Hotel. "Such a pity—one had always thought Mr. Farquharson quite a nice-minded man." There is after all no ball so light to fling as that of a man's or woman's character, and no sport so amusing to the players.When the question of moving the vote of censure was fixed for the next evening, Calvert's last hope died. Who was there to stand by Farquharson? Beadon was lying sick to death. Shock had snapped some lesion of the brain, and he lay paralyzed. Richard would pull through, of course—what would he not pull through? But the older man felt the shame, the ignominy of his position almost as keenly as he did himself. Farquharson, called to account for his actions by a set of men who did not know the meaning of the word honour; Farquharson, impeached by some who could scarcely spell the word—Farquharson, steady of purpose, sure of aim, a king amongst puppets, held in contumely, derided, blackened a little as a man or woman must always be blackened by the mud thrown even by the very scum of humanity.It was bitter, it was unbearable. Calvert counted the hours until the moment when, across the Bar of the House, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs would have publicly to repudiate a deed which the powers of hell themselves would never have forced him to commit.
CHAPTER VI
"For you, for me, the cup of trembling...."
It seemed to Farquharson in the days that followed Dora's announcement, that he lived and moved in a dream. As a rule, the realization of fatherhood only dawns upon a man when his child is in his arms. But to him, already, the dream-child was a tender promise. It swept away so many of the supernatural barriers between him and Dora. She had failed him in every office of friend and companion and wife, but she might yet redeem the past by giving him this dear possession, the child whose future he could mould in his own lines, to whom he could give the fruits of his own toil and his ambition. Beadon, Hare, Creagh and Lady Ennly alike noticed the change in his manner to his wife. Her shortcomings and failings no longer seemed to disturb him; where he had been merely patient before he was now gentle and tender. He studied her comfort even in the merest trifles; he toiled the more hopefully at his work in the knowledge that sure comfort and help would dawn presently. To a man of a certain temperament, the presence of his living child may even atone for the otherwise irreparable loss of his dearest hope. Farquharson wanted to give his son all that he himself had been robbed of in childhood. He could look back on his past life now with the detachment of a mere spectator, for every rough place that he had trod, he meant to make a happy playground for the boy. That is after all a fitting end of toil and labour, that a man should forge the sword which his heir's hand is to wield, that he should deny and discipline himself that his son may be the better braced for conflict with the foes within.
So Dora's reproaches left him unmoved, only a little pitiful, perhaps, that she could not see things as he did, that to her the coming joy was no joy at all, only annoyance and restraint. Not a day passed but she made some further claim upon his purse; never economical, she became absolutely reckless in her expenditure, and when he attempted to restrain her he was met by a flood of tears and angry protestations.
"Any one but you would be glad to do what little you can for me at such a time," she would cry out, flushing and paling in turn. "The doctor said I was not to have one moment's worry, and anxiety about money matters is worse for me than anything. If you grudge me what I need, I shall ask Mr. Calvert for money—he wouldn't be a multi-millionaire if it were not for you. Oh, so you see reason at last! Any other man in your place would have given me a cheque at once, instead of making such a cruel scene about it."
In Dora Farquharson's excuse it may be urged that she was temporarily beside herself with discomfort and anxiety. Brand had given her as his utmost limit of time a fortnight in which to do him a service which she thought it would be impossible to carry out. He had expected the papers to be in his hands within two or three days of her visit to Brighton; when they did not reach him, he wrote her the first of a series of letters which, though couched in careful language, contained veiled threats which were only too intelligible to her. Fortunately for her, the actual negotiations were suspended for a week, owing to some official delay, which gave her time to mature her plans. She was not a clever enough woman to scheme and plot for herself, she had been accustomed in the past merely to state her wants and have them fulfilled by those about her. Where other matters had been concerned, Brand had given his directions, and she had obeyed implicitly.
But this was irksome, dangerous even—it required even a certain mechanical aptitude to be carried through successfully. She offered him money; besought him to release her from her promise. But Brand refused.
"It's not a very serious matter after all that I am asking you," he said. "A man is never surprised at his wife's curiosity. If you're careful you won't run the least chance of your husband's discovery; if he were even to find you in his room again, he would merely think you were suspecting him of some intrigue or temporary breach of faith. No one knows his movements so well as you do. You have only to take the first opportunity of his being kept late at the House to get me exactly what I want."
"But sometimes he goes back to his study on his return and sits up all night working," said Dora.
Brand shrugged his shoulders.
"What if he should on this occasion? It only means that he will discover his loss a few hours earlier, that's all. You've only got to warn me, to send me a code telegram under an assumed name three hours before you get the papers, as we have already arranged, for me to be punctually outside your window ready to receive them at the hour you name. If you do your work properly, Farquharson could turn the whole house topsy-turvy, ravage it from garret to cellar and find no traces. I assure you it's all as simple as the alphabet," he laughed; "the very ABC of trivial burglary to help a friend."
"For the first time in my life I feel almost sorry for Mrs. Farquharson," said Lady Wereminster a few days later. "She's got the most extraordinarily furtive and hang-dog air; I met her just now in a Bond Street shop and touched her on the shoulder, and she started as if she were being shot. Are you going to the House to-morrow night, Evelyn? Mr. Calvert says the Government expects a rather furious attack upon this Treaty question; it will resolve itself, of course, mainly into a personal attack upon Richard Farquharson. He's hated by the Press, you know; I suppose because they can get nothing out of him. For that matter, I suppose all the public is longing to know something about this business of the Treaty; it involves so many issues. The prospect of a Continental war isn't cheering in view of the fact that our Army was decimated, and the strength of our Fleet lowered, by the late Government. One can't wipe out their mistakes with a sweep of the pen, or an eloquent word or two. By the way, my nephew was lucky in the ballot, and sent me two spare seats in the gallery. If you can come, I'll sit there with you if you like."
"Oh, I've been longing to go," said Evelyn. "How good you are. It seems to me that we are on the brink of a worse crisis than we have faced for years—only absolute tact and diplomacy will see us through. Mr. Farquharson has both, luckily; he will need them to-morrow night."
"I should think he would," said Lady Wereminster grimly. "What the House of Commons is coming to I don't know. We are getting as bad as the French Chamber. The language we use is absolutely scriptural in its plain speaking. At the beginning of the century it was said of our political system that it resolved itself into a succession of great duels; it seems to me now to have become an arena in which one man faces an angry rabble of men who shriek defiance and invective. We are losing our national dignity and reserve, Mr. Hare says; I think he's right. I suppose Mr. Farquharson knows what he has to expect, if not I should like to warn him. They say he exceeds his rightful powers of office—they always say that, of course, of a strong man. They forget that when he came into office he had to deal with what in many ways was an almost impossible situation, that in spite of all our royal visits to other nations and our own reception of royal guests, there is not a Power but covets our possessions. A fig for alliance, I say. There is a Power that is very nearly allied to us by blood which has done us serious mischief before now in our diplomatic relations, and will again."
"I think that Mr. Farquharson can stand the sort of personal challenge you speak of better than most men," said Evelyn. "A man in his position expects disparagement and injustice. He laughs at it all, to begin with—and then he has the proud patience which lives down taint and contumely. Mud may be thrown at him; it may even soil him for a time, but not for long. Love of country is the strongest force in him, and impersonal love raises a man to great heights."
She turned suddenly to Lady Wereminster, smiling. "Oh, my dear, don't let us insult him by fearing the issue of to-morrow night," she said. "I believe in atmosphere: let's surround him with trust and confidence and hope. He'll win through this time of crisis, and every other, and be successful, no matter what lies are told of him or what evil is wrought."
Meantime, at home Dora, preparing for an early dinner, went into her husband's room.
"Father tells me that he thinks I ought to be at the House to-morrow night," she said. "He says you're going to make a speech on something important; it's a great bore, but I suppose I'll have to go."
"I don't think it's in the least necessary," said Farquharson.
Dora shrugged her shoulders.
"I at least am not accustomed to putting myself in the wrong, whatever you are," she said.
CHAPTER VII
"Danger, the spurre of all great mindes...."—G. CHAPMAN.
"Got on your coat of mail?" said Beadon cheerfully, next afternoon.
Farquharson laughed.
"I rather enjoy a scrimmage, you know—'Though the House of Commons lately has justified its title,' to quote Lady Wereminster. As a matter of fact I think the Assembly in Taorna would hold its own against our English methods any day."
"In my heart of hearts I don't approve of government by party, as you know. Party too often resolves itself into person. Political bouts are like wrestling matches: they open out a wide field of corruption. But in England, of course, there can be no other method," said Creagh.
"Oh, it's undoubtedly one that gives rein to intrigue and self-aggrandizement. I was talking to H—— the other day"—Farquharson mentioned a leading member of the Opposition. "There's a man with a brain if you like, virile even in his way. He knows as well as you or I that as a mere question of the country's safety it is absolutely necessary that we should keep our policy with regard to these present troubles on the Continent as secret as possible. He said as much, in fact. Yet he'll heckle and hustle and harass us to-night with the rest, running absolutely counter to his own convictions to strengthen the war-cry of his party."
"Of course you're a born man of war," said Beadon. "Conflict braces you. You've got a tough job on to-night, though. To-night's questions have been framed very carefully, and have a distinct challenge in them. Our opponents aren't such fools as to think that even the British public—gullible enough, Heaven knows—would contemplate a Secretary of State giving away news about a Treaty before it had actually been framed. Unfortunately, a third Power is involved. The tie of blood which undoubtedly binds us to it has given the Opposition its opportunity of inflaming the country against us. The Press has taken the matter up, of course. What conscience-prick would it not stifle for the sake of a glaring headline or poster? You know, all of you, that we are hemmed in on all sides, that we are really in a tight place this time. The utmost tact has to be exercised to save our being involved in a big European war, as that third Power, which shall be nameless, has undoubtedly a right to expect its claims to weigh with us in our negotiations."
"And the foreign Press, of course, is watching the issue of to-night's debate with lynx-eyes—whelps of war waiting to spring the moment they are unleashed," put in Farquharson.
"Farquharson trusts to his art of talking eloquently for hours without imparting one item of the required knowledge to carry him through to-night's crisis," chuckled Creagh. Then, more seriously, "All the same, you've never been present at a real scene in the House, Farquharson—I don't think you take the matter quite seriously enough. Beadon tells me that you haven't even prepared your speech; that you're trusting in that power of gripping the House, which has certainly so far never failed you."
"But there's another tiresome question involved—that of the letter of the impetuous Sovereign whose facility with the pen has already led him into such regrettable complications," drawled Meavy languidly. "The halfpenny papers make great capital out of that."
"But that letter wasn't written to Farquharson, but to Gaunt," said Creagh impatiently. "What has Farquharson to do with it?"
"He sent me a copy, unluckily," said Farquharson. "You needn't worry about that. It has never left my possession for a single instant. Personally, I should have torn it up, but our respected colleague thought it wise to keep a copy lest anything untoward should happen to the original."
"You've got it locked up in there, I suppose?" said Beadon, pointing to the safe. "Well, that's right, particularly as you always lock up this room now when you leave the house."
"The fact remains," said Meavy, "that no man of our time has ever been so fiercely abused as you by the Press I speak as one who knows, having had my share of it. I believe you've got a very dangerous enemy to deal with—the more dangerous because unknown. I think somebody has been stirring up the Press against you personally. Did you see that scurrilous article in theCrystallast week? It almost said in plain words that you were not to be trusted. You see, one or two minor points have leaked out lately that had no business to have got published at all, and, unfortunately, they have been matters which concerned your department."
Beadon shook his head.
"Farquharson scoffs at all that; it is immaterial, though puzzling. Personally, I think they point the way to treachery, and in such cases"—he spoke very gravely—"one's enemies are usually those of one's own household. Farquharson has a large retinue of employés—I believe that one of them has been bought."
"Impossible, my dear fellow," said Farquharson impatiently. "Your imagination runs away with you. The members of my household are kept very strictly in their own places, and I have every confidence in my secretaries. As far as the actual fight goes—well—it doesn't bother me. Remember, I was never at a public school; I had to wait to see red until I was a man."
Creagh frowned.
"I agree with Meavy. You don't take things seriously enough, Farquharson. You men of one idea, who go straight to the point and disregard all obstacles, are the very ones who trip over a mere stone in the path."
Farquharson leant back in his chair and looked from one to the other, smiling.
"Well, if I were ill at ease, your conversation is hardly likely to inspire me with confidence," he said. "You're wrong, though—if there's treachery anywhere it's in the F.O. itself. After all, a good many people go in there on one plea or another, and other nations employ a very much greater number of secret agents than we do. As for to-night"—he rose and stretched himself—"I'm looking forward to my scrimmage. I may get a bit knocked about myself, but I shan't let my opponents go unscathed." He looked at his watch. "I ought to be off now. Von Kirsch wants another interview; he's ill in bed, poor chap. He had a motor accident the other day, you know. I can't get down to him and back under three hours."
"Isn't that running things rather close? Better dine with me; it's nearer the House," said Beadon.
"Thanks," said Farquharson, "I think I'll get a chop there instead. Time is short anyway, and one can't hurry a sick man. I shan't have more than ten minutes or so to spare for a meal. Good-bye, then, for the present." He went off whistling.
Beadon looked after him, smiling affectionately.
"He's brightened up a lot lately. Success suits him."
"You are the more troubled of the two about to-night," said Meavy, watching him intently.
"Oh, well, that's natural," said Creagh. "Besides, Beadon's been on the sick-list. His doctor threatens all sorts of complications if he goes on working as he has done lately."
"The brunt of to-night's battle will fall on my son-in-law, who is more than capable of meeting it," said Beadon. "I'm a bit run down, that's all. Who's that at the door? Oh, you, my dear."
He went forward and greeted Dora with a playful tap on the shoulder.
"You're looking very anxious, Dora; what's the matter? You mustn't worry about to-night; Farquharson's got himself well in hand, as always."
"Oh, to-night—I wasn't thinking about to-night," said Dora nervously. She stood by the study table looking from one man to the other, rapping it impatiently with her fingers. "Richard says he is not coming back again. Do you know where he's gone? As usual, he didn't say."
"He was hurried at the last," said her father. "He's got a long journey before him and won't be back for another three hours, he said. Then he'll go straight to the House. You are coming, of course; everybody will be there."
"Three hours," repeated Dora blankly. "Are you sure he said three hours?—And he won't be dining at home, you are quite certain that he won't come back? Oh"—she looked 'round the room—"what about Mr. Blair and Mr. Jefferson? I suppose they'll be coming here to work in his absence?"
Beadon produced a key from his pocket.
"No, my orders are to turn you all out and lock the door. Blair and Jefferson are to await Richard at the House. You're looking very pale and worried, Dora; why not come off with me now, and tell your maid to bring your evening things later? You're a grass-widow to-night, aren't you?" He glanced round the room. "Off with you all. There, now, that's right."
He locked the door and pocketed the key.
"Don't wait for me," said Dora nervously; "I've got things to do. If you go off now I'll join you at dinner; I couldn't possibly get to you before. Good-bye, Lord Creagh. Good-bye, Lord Meavy. Yes, father, you can count upon me. But do go now, I'm really busy; I won't ring for the men, I'll go to the door with you myself."
The door closed. She stood for a moment silent, fingering two keys in the bosom of her dress, looking round despairingly, starting at every sound and peering into the corners like a hunted animal at bay. Sure at last of being alone, she slipped into her boudoir, and, going to the writing-table, took out a telegraph form and proceeded to write hurriedly.
"I've got the three hours to myself," she said; "more, even, because he's dining out. What a fool I was to say I'd go to father. And yet I don't know, it will be better to be away in case either of the secretaries comes back and discovers the loss before to-morrow morning. I shall have to send the telegram to Mr. Brand myself; I can tell Felice that I'm going to the Park for a minute or two. Good Heavens, how white I am! I hope to goodness she won't guess there's anything wrong."
"A most uncomfortable place," said Lady Wereminster. "Have you got any room at all, Evelyn?" She looked icily in the direction of the lady at Mrs. Brand's right hand. "There's only one thing in the world that would ever make me in favour of franchise for women, and that is, that I should immediately use my power to press the passing of a Bill that would enable us, as spectators, to see and hear and to be seen and heard in the House of Commons. Grilles belong to the Middle Ages, and as nobody is even middle-aged now-a-days, one resents their existence."
"How full it is already," said Evelyn; "every seat taken. Look at the hats, and just see the Strangers' Gallery and the Speaker's!"
"Everybody flocks to a tussle like this," said Lady Wereminster, disposing of her skirts as comfortably as the limited space would allow. "Let us see what's to be the first question of the evening? These twopenny-halfpenny matters they're discussing now don't count. No, I absolutely refuse to keep quiet, Evelyn. Nothing important's going on. If the wife of the Member for East Mumsted—the mere prefix stamps the place as vulgar and suburban—is anxious to hear her husband stammering trivialities upon a matter which interests nobody except himself, she can give him unlimited scope for boredom in his own home circle. Give me the Agenda again, or whatever they call it, Evelyn. Good Heavens! we've got at least three-quarters of an hour of this before the business of the evening comes on. Who's that at the door?—Mr. Beadon, Mrs. Farquharson and Mr. Calvert. Fancy Dora honouring her husband by coming! Let's go and speak to them outside, shall we? I hope your husband's in vein to-night, Mrs. Farquharson."
"Well, we're in for a stormy evening," said Beadon cheerfully, piloting Lady Wereminster to a place of comparative seclusion. "Farquharson hasn't turned up yet even. I never saw such a man, he thrives on criticism. He knows as well as I that there is a regular organized claque of Irish Members here to-night ready to shriek him down, 'spoiling for a row,' as we used to say at Eton."
"Now, I'm not a betting man, as you know, Lady Wereminster," interposed Calvert, smiling genially, "but I'm ready to lay you long odds that that boy of mine arrives at the last moment cool and collected, with every fact marshalled and an indomitable flow of courage and good-will that would break the back of the most determined enemy. He's got the gift of humour, and in time that tells with the most angry crowd. They're up in arms against him to-night, I know; I can't quite make it out. He's got on too quickly, I suppose, and made enemies."
"A strong man is always loved or hated," said Evelyn. "Mr. Farquharson is not only an orator, but he knows how to hold his tongue. Such men are always attacked. Think what Cobden and Bright had to suffer in the Anti-Corn League agitation, and O'Connell in the Repeal year! And they were men with vulnerable spots, and the world hasn't found out Mr. Farquharson's weak spot yet."
"If they once rouse him they'll be amazed," Beadon said. "He's a man who asks no quarter and gives none. Well, I think you'd better take your seats, don't you?" He glanced at his watch. "In a quarter of an hour or so Farquharson will be speaking. Oh, there's Jefferson calling me; I expect Farquharson's come. Take care of yourself, my dear." He gave Dora's hand an affectionate squeeze before hurrying away.
"So your seat's near ours?" said Lady Wereminster, somewhat displeased. "Evelyn"—in urgent parenthesis—"if that woman begins cackling at inopportune moments, you have my full permission to envelop her in my chuddah, and make the attendant take her out.—Well, the hats have been replaced by their owners now—I really don't know that the change is for the better. We were a middle-class lot enough eight or nine years ago, but now so many Labour Members have come in——!" She raised her eyes expressively. "One vacant seat only on the Ministerial benches—Mr. Farquharson's—oh, he's filled it now. A man of great distinction, your husband, Mrs. Farquharson; he's got the hall-mark of birth upon him as well as intellect. Thank goodness no one would ever think that his seat was paid for by working men's sixpences."
"Oh, he's very well in his way, as husbands go," said Mrs. Farquharson. "My father was certainly right in taking him up so warmly."
"That's the third time you've had to pick up that odious creature's bag," said Lady Wereminster in an undertone. "I never saw anybody's fingers shake so. I wish to goodness she was sitting further off. She makes me feel quite nervous."
"Oh, do be quiet now, there's a dear," said Evelyn. "Mr. Farquharson's rising. Ah!"
Farquharson's opening words were drowned in a low rumble of muttered comments and hisses. Then suddenly, as if at some preconcerted signal, the Labour Members, the Irish Party, and a great number of the Opposition, whose voices were never heard except on these occasions, broke into a clamour of groans. Evelyn grew pale. The scene was so overwhelming, coming as it did after a period of slackness and indifference, that even the Speaker's call to order was disregarded, and when eventually there came a lull, it was tense with envy and hatred.
Calvert was right. Farquharson faced the storm with the air of one who, at a policeman's bidding, is held up by street traffic. He looked perhaps a trifle bored at first; the delay was not serious, but inconvenient.
When at last he could make himself heard, he repressed the cheers of his colleagues with a gesture; Beadon, knowing his wishes, also hushed them down. There was a speck of dust on his right-hand shirt-cuff; he waited to flick it off deliberately with his handkerchief in the pause before he took up the broken thread of his speech.
When, in next day's papers, Evelyn read the report of his words, she wondered no longer at the spell he exercised over his audience, as, every nerve quickened by the strain he had just gone through, he spoke straight to the heart in simple language and a voice that even his enemies declared brought back memories of O'Connell in its passion and sweetness. The silence of the great hall is often broken by voices raucous and harsh and stammering; there were some who listened now for the mere sake of hearing the silver tongue ring unaccustomed echoes. Others, again, were swept away by the flow of easy words, chosen apparently with consummate care, yet which were in reality inspired by the moment's conflict; words carrying conviction because they were given with all the force of personal magnetism, and all the art of accomplished extempore oratory. Men shifted their positions as they listened; the anxious expression on Beadon's face and that of Farquharson's colleagues deepened into pride. On the Opposition benches lounging and brooding figures braced themselves. It was as though a clear flood and torrent had swept suddenly throughout the House, breaking down barriers, washing away envy and malice and lack of charity by sheer force of its onslaught, by reason of its purity and its wholesomeness.
Farquharson spoke to a silent House, a House which hung upon his words. But suddenly from the distance another noise made itself heard—cries, shouting and disturbance. Evelyn and those about her did not take the interruption seriously at first. Yet presently it penetrated to the body of the House; Members broke free from the spell of Farquharson's words and turned, uneasily aware that some important matter was in progress.
The shouts concentrated, then reached even to the gallery. One or two Members left their places, attendants were seen hurrying, now at the gallery door, and again in the lobby below that immediately faced the Ladies' Gallery. Farquharson went on speaking, apparently unmoved, but he had lost his hold upon his hearers. Every eye was turned away from him in the direction of a white-faced member of the Government who, at Beadon's direction, handed him a slip of paper.
Outside the House the noise reached its climax, the shouting of an angry mob at bay. Evelyn saw other Members come back hurriedly; there were whispered colloquies between separate members of the Opposition; the Irish benches were almost deserted. Then suddenly Beadon rose to his feet, catching convulsively his collar; he flung his hands up, with an inarticulate cry, and fell down as though he had been shot.
Evelyn heard the outside cry taken up again by those within the House itself, and saw peace broken visibly as though an earthquake had rent the whole assembly. Farquharson had leapt to Beadon's side, and was bending over him; for a moment the business of the House was set aside in the sense of imminent personal disaster. Impervious to private sorrow, the Leader of the Irish Party sprang upon his feet, gesticulating and pointing at the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. And Evelyn saw the men of his own party turn to look at Farquharson as though they could not trust the evidence of their own eyes; she saw him break and falter as the word "traitor" rang through the House.
In the Speaker's Gallery, confusion, horror; in the Peeresses' Gallery, a flash of light as women in evening dress rose hurriedly from their seats; in the Strangers' Gallery, a murmur of comment and dissension; the body of the House, convulsed with new and overwhelming emotion, collapsing like a house of cards.
An attendant with papers was at the door of the Ladies' Gallery; there was a rush in his direction. Evelyn must have pushed forward and bought one, how she hardly knew. She was just about to open it when Dora Farquharson, at her side, caught at her arm and fell, terror-stricken, across the seat; she felt Lady Wereminster snatch the paper from her with shaking fingers, and, while she was lifting Dora to her feet, she looked over her shoulder and read the headlines of the page aloud.
"Treachery in the Foreign Office; the text of the secret Treaty in the hands of a Foreign Power. A European war inevitable."
Below: "The Emperor's letter to Lord Gaunt given verbally. Startling disclosures."
CHAPTER VIII
"The longer I live the more I am certain that the great difference between men—between the feeble and the powerful, the great and the insignificant, is energy, invincible determination—a purpose once fixed, and then death or victory. That quality will do anything that can be done in this world; and no talents, no circumstances, no opportunities will make a two-legged creature a man without it."—SIR F. FOWELL BUXTON.
"I have been sitting here with my pen in my hand, wondering how to find words in which to tell you what really happened at that awful scene in the House of Commons," Lady Wereminster wrote to Hare next day, with shaking hand. "I want to put it all down in plain English, to make myself see the main facts more clearly—at present my whole vision seems blurred and vague. I now know something of what women felt when they stood outside a door and knew that within the room their husbands were being racked. One of my nieces was out in South Africa during the war, you know. She told me that one of the most terrible things she saw was a man, a common soldier, in one of the hospitals at Kimberley, who had been wounded by expanding bullets in the hand between the thumb and forefinger, and in the thigh. Both, under ordinary conditions, would have been mere flesh-wounds; as things were, the space between the forefinger and thumb had swollen as high as a muscular man's arm, and the wound in the thigh was in the same condition. But the man could not die, and medical convention prevented his doctor from putting him out of pain. He lingered on, to Mary's knowledge, in agony, from the battle of Roidam, which took place on the fifth of May, until she left Kimberley on the thirty-first of the month. Throughout that time he had not even momentary cessation from torture. And when she went away the doctor told her that the man's vitality was such that he might well last a fortnight longer.
"A fortnight—think! Remembrance of that suffering man flashed back to me the other night in the House. Nobody likes having to see physical pain; as for mental pain, the only way we treat it is to slur it over. Like St. Thomas, we can only understand wounds we can put our fingers into and probe.
"But you have imagination; you can guess what last night meant to Richard Farquharson and us all. He had been warned that some mischief was afloat, but he never dreamed how far it could go. He came in quite buoyant and undismayed; the first taunts and invective left him unmoved. He bore them down by sheer force of will; giving one rather the impression of facing his enemies 'with his tongue in his cheek,' as Shakespeare says. But presently he began to realize that matters were serious enough to bring the best he had in him to the fore, and then he did indeed give us the best he had of truth and sincerity. He shook off his cynicism and indifference like a cloak. The words sound cold—oh, if I could but make you hear the man's speech as we heard it, spell-bound, breathless! Old members of the House, who had been there for forty and fifty years, say they never heard any speech approach it. I suppose he actually reached the summit of his power in those few moments. Then downfall came.
"The panic that spread as the news about the Treaty filtered through the House was absolutely indescribable. Farquharson never flinched. That's where blood tells. A man of the people in a like crisis would have wavered and lost his head. But when our class is face to face with imminent peril, mental or physical, we are encompassed with a host of silent witnesses, before whom it is impossible to quail. Voices of our dead forbears murmur, 'We are watching you from the heights. We, too, knew danger in our day, and met it. And our blood flows in you, remember. Be true, not only to yourself, but to the dignity of your race.'
"You will remember the story of that Marquis in the Revolution who, driving to the guillotine with other aristocrats, finely attired, sniffed at a rose to the last, because, as he explained, the smell of the rabble so annoyed him?
"We found afterwards that influence had been at work undermining all one side of the House with suggestions and innuendoes. It appears that the whole of the Opposition was expecting some dramaticdénoûmentto Farquharson's speech; what it was they didn't know, but they were prepared for some great climax which would tell in their favour. Anonymous letters had been sent to individual members; the whole work had been done subtly. But for that I doubt if there would have been that instantaneous reaction, the sudden change of aspect between a great assembly hanging on a man's words, one with him in spite of themselves, and a body of men scenting treachery and dishonour, furious at having been fooled and tricked. It took one back to Pilate's house, to the judgment of Christ, when the crowd cried 'Crucify Him, crucify Him!'
"They say that but for Mr. Beadon's seizure a vote of censure would have been moved at once. Under the circumstances it was impossible to go on with the ordinary business of the day; at the moment we all feared that the poor Prime Minister would actually die in his seat. The House was adjourned. There are rumours of Mr. Farquharson's resignation, but I heard just now that he absolutely refuses to give up his post until he is assured that he has lost the confidence of the country. It seems as though he could not take in the fact that he had hardly a friend in the world except our own little coterie. He got on too well and too quickly not to arouse envy and jealousy on all sides.
"I send you, under separate cover, some cuttings from the papers; the leading ones were of course non-committal, the others are full of invective and denunciation. As for theMoon, it did not mince matters at all. Caring not a jot what it said so long as it just escaped the law of libel, it practically accused Farquharson of selling the nation for his own ends. As you know, he has never been popular with the Press. No newspaper can say of him, 'This is my puppet; I pull the strings and he does as I direct.'
"It is now supposed that Mr. Farquharson's study and safe must have been opened by duplicate keys on the afternoon of the great crisis in the House. The question is how an impression could have possibly been taken of the key of the safe, as it never leaves Mr. Farquharson's personal possession. The safe was ransacked, nearly everything in it being taken—everything official, I mean; private papers were left. Detectives are at work on the affair, of course.
"It appears that Mr. Farquharson went out early that afternoon, leaving the Prime Minister to lock the door. Lord Creagh, who was with Mr. Beadon all the time, says that he never parted with the key until he returned it to his son-in-law. Both of Mr. Farquharson's secretaries can prove alibis on the day in question; the servants have borne irreproachable characters for years. The fact that Richard himself spent the afternoon with Herr von Kirsch, the representative of that Government into whose possession this special information was proved to have been given that very day, is dead against him. Mr. Farquharson means, I hear, 'to face the music' to-night; the papers will tell you that most of the other Ministers have been suddenly stricken down with influenza. Wereminster says that the party is in a state of absolute panic; they got into office on a wave of public emotion, and are terrified lest the tide should turn.
"Did I tell you that Dora Farquharson was there? Somehow or other, I don't know how, the three of us got together at the door of the Ladies' Gallery, and were the first to read the paper—Evelyn, Dora and I. I think Evelyn did one of the pluckiest things I ever saw a woman do in my life. There was such confusion in the House below that no noise in the Ladies' Gallery was likely to be specially noticed. The tumult was shocking and the rush. With Dora Farquharson clinging to her arm she read the news aloud, and calmed the tumult. 'They dare to say Mr. Farquharson has done this thing,' she said; 'it is a lie. It may not be proved to-day or to-morrow, but it is a lie all the same.' You should have seen those women pause. We are like sheep, after all; we follow our strong leader, be it man or woman. Another woman took Evelyn's cue; she was, I think, one of the heads of the women's franchise movement, or some such thing. Anyway she was quick enough to see that in a moment of national excitement it would speak well for women if they could comport themselves quietly and with dignity. To quote the morning papers, 'In spite of the disturbance and dissension below, the occupants of the Ladies' Gallery withdrew in perfect order, and with no signs of excitement, a great contrast to the prevailing attitude of the House.'
"Evelyn and I led the way with Dora Farquharson. She had, of course, to be taken home at once and put to bed. One dreads the advent of the evening papers; more still the comments of the foreign Press. And if we dread them, what must Richard Farquharson feel? I never knew how much I loved my country until now. These low little papers!—every stone they fling hurts me personally. To hint of corruption and bribery here, in England!—I am only a woman, and I feel this acutely. Again, what can it be to Richard Farquharson? As things stand, it is as though he had wounded almost to death what he loves best and would sacrifice most for. This is a blow at his heart, and a blow at the nation. How to meet it, decadent as we are, demoralized by that love of luxury and advertisement which brings us day by day nearer disaster and downfall?"
CHAPTER IX
"Never make a defence ... before you are accused."—CHARLES I.
In youth, a great crisis may only spiritualize and refine the features; in maturity, it leaves ineradicable scars.
The first great blow of Calvert's life had embittered him; the second left him shattered. Farquharson was like his son, more to him in some ways than his own son would have been. Parents have always to face the possibility that their children may go absolutely contrary to their wishes; the transfusion of two souls may create a being which develops on entirely different lines from those desired by they who willed it to exist. But Farquharson had fulfilled Calvert's every hope; his appointment in the Ministry was the culmination of Calvert's ambition. Calvert, looking upon him, felt that he could say hisNunc Dimittisthankfully; how easy to depart in peace when one had left behind, as legacy to the empire, so strong a man of war!
But human strength is, after all, limited; no single unit can hold on steadily against a battalion of armed foes. Farquharson woke the day after the attack in the House to find himself hemmed in, surrounded by enemies, his name bandied from one man to another, in the dockyard, on tubs at Hyde Park Corner, in open booths at Walworth Bridge Road. The socialists saw their opportunity and made the most of it: "A starving man may steal a loaf of bread and be sent to prison for five days—this man, who has sold the secrets of his nation, will probably go unscathed because he is of gentle birth."
It was torture to Calvert to go out that day; he never knew when in 'bus or tube or district railway he would hear Farquharson's name spoken contemptuously by strangers. For men spoke of circumstantial evidence, and "Circumstantial evidence is the hardest to disprove, and frequently unreliable," as a great criminal lawyer once said. Brand had done his work well. But—"In so gloomy a climate as ours we must expect the powers of darkness to prevail," said Lady Wereminster.
Stunned and horrified, Farquharson himself did not at first take in the full force of the rumours that were being spread about him. It was impossible to conceive that he should be suspected of treachery. When, the night before, he lost grip of his audience, he had at first believed that it was through some fault of his own. He had never seen suspicion in men's eyes before. But next day's papers were more explicit. Men and women discussed the subject over the luncheon table, at Princes or the Piccadilly Hotel. "Such a pity—one had always thought Mr. Farquharson quite a nice-minded man." There is after all no ball so light to fling as that of a man's or woman's character, and no sport so amusing to the players.
When the question of moving the vote of censure was fixed for the next evening, Calvert's last hope died. Who was there to stand by Farquharson? Beadon was lying sick to death. Shock had snapped some lesion of the brain, and he lay paralyzed. Richard would pull through, of course—what would he not pull through? But the older man felt the shame, the ignominy of his position almost as keenly as he did himself. Farquharson, called to account for his actions by a set of men who did not know the meaning of the word honour; Farquharson, impeached by some who could scarcely spell the word—Farquharson, steady of purpose, sure of aim, a king amongst puppets, held in contumely, derided, blackened a little as a man or woman must always be blackened by the mud thrown even by the very scum of humanity.
It was bitter, it was unbearable. Calvert counted the hours until the moment when, across the Bar of the House, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs would have publicly to repudiate a deed which the powers of hell themselves would never have forced him to commit.