A Prince of Sinners | Page 8

I have a very evil habit of putting off
things concerning which there is no urgency. I called at Ascough's, and
learned that you were in practice in Medchester. I am now living for a
short time not far from here, and reading of the election, I drove in
to-night to attend one of the meetings--I scarcely cared which. I heard
your name, saw you on the platform, and called here, hoping to find
you."
"It was very kind," Brooks said.
He felt curiously tongue-tied. This sudden upheaval of a past which he
had never properly understood affected him strangely.
"I gathered from Mr. Ascough that you were left sufficient means to
pay for your education, and also to start you in life," his visitor
continued. "Yours is considered to be an overcrowded profession, but I
am glad to understand that you seem likely to make your way."
Brooks thanked him absently.
"From your position on the platform to-night I gather that you are a
politician?"
"Scarcely that," Brooks answered. "I was fortunate enough to be
appointed agent to Mr. Henslow owing to the illness of another man. It
will help me in my profession."
The visitor rose to his feet. He stood with his hands behind him,
looking at the younger man. And Brooks suddenly remembered that he

did not even know his name.
"You will forgive me," he said, also rising, "if I have seemed a little
dazed. I am very grateful to you for coming. I have always wanted
more than anything in the world to meet some one who saw my father
after he left England. There is so much which even now seems
mysterious with regard to his disappearance from the world."
"I fear that you will never discover more than you have done from me,"
was the quiet reply. "Your father had been living for years in profound
solitude when I found him. Frankly, I considered from the first that his
mind was unhinged. Therein I fancy lies the whole explanation of his
silence and his voluntary disappearance. I am assuming, of course, that
there was nothing in England to make his absence desirable."
"There was nothing," Brooks declared with conviction. "That I can
personally vouch for. His life as a police-court missionary was the life
of a militant martyr's, the life of a saint. The urgent advice of his
physicians alone led him to embark upon that voyage; I see now that it
was a mistake. He left before he had sufficiently recovered to be safely
trusted alone. By the bye," Brooks continued, after a moment's
hesitation, "you have not told me your name, whom I have to thank for
this kindness. Your letters from Canada were not signed."
There was a short silence. From outside came the sound of the pawing
of horses' feet and the jingling of harness.
"I was a fellow-traveller in that great unpeopled world," the visitor said,
"and there was nothing but common humanity in anything I did. I lived
out there as Philip Ferringshaw, here I have to add my title, the
Marquis of Arranmore. I was a younger son in those days. If there is
anything which I have forgotten, I am at Enton for a month or so. It is
an easy walk from Medchester, if your clients can spare you for an
afternoon. Good-night, Mr. Brooks."
He held out his hand. He was sleepy apparently, for his voice had
become almost a drawl, and he stifled a yawn as he passed along the
little passage. Kingston Brooks returned to his little room, and threw

himself back into his easy-chair. Truly this had been a wonderful day.
CHAPTER IV
A QUESTION FOR THE COUNTRY
For the first time in many years it seemed certain that the Conservatives
had lost their hold upon the country. The times were ripe for a change
of any sort. An ill-conducted and ruinous war had drained the empire of
its surplus wealth, and every known industry was suffering from an
almost paralyzing depression--Medchester, perhaps, as severely as any
town in the United Kingdom. Its staple manufactures were being
imported from the States and elsewhere at prices which the local
manufacturers declared to be ruinous. Many of the largest factories
were standing idle, a great majority of the remainder were being
worked at half or three-quarters time. Thoughtful men, looking ten
years ahead, saw the cloud, which even now was threatening enough,
grow blacker and blacker, and shuddered at the thought of the tempest
which before long must break over the land. Meanwhile, the streets
were filled with unemployed, whose demeanour day by day grew less
and less pacific. People asked one another helplessly what was being
done to avert the threatened crisis. The manufacturers, openly
threatened by their discharged employees, and cajoled