Julius found his father alarmingly altered in personal appearance, but in full possession of his faculties nevertheless.  Unable to return the pressure of his son’s hand—­unable even to turn in the bed without help—­the hard eye of the old lawyer was as keen, the hard mind of the old lawyer was as clear, as ever.  His grand ambition was to see Julius in Parliament.  Julius was offering himself for election in Perthshire, by his father’s express desire, at that moment.  Lord Holchester entered eagerly into politics before his eldest son had been two minutes by his bedside.

“Much obliged, Julius, for your congratulations.  Men of my sort are not easily killed. (Look at Brougham and Lyndhurst!) You won’t be called to the Upper House yet.  You will begin in the House of Commons—­precisely as I wished.  What are your prospects with the constituency?  Tell me exactly how you stand, and where I can be of use to you.”

“Surely, Sir, you are hardly recovered enough to enter on matters of business yet?”

“I am quite recovered enough.  I want some present interest to occupy me.  My thoughts are beginning to drift back to past times, and to things which are better forgotten.”  A sudden contraction crossed his livid face.  He looked hard at his son, and entered abruptly on a new question.  “Julius!” he resumed, “have you ever heard of a young woman named Anne Silvester?”

Julius answered in the negative.  He and his wife had exchanged cards with Lady Lundie, and had excused themselves from accepting her invitation to the lawn-party.  With the exception of Blanche, they were both quite ignorant of the persons who composed the family circle at Windygates.

“Make a memorandum of the name,” Lord Holchester went on.  “Anne Silvester.  Her father and mother are dead.  I knew her father in former times.  Her mother was ill-used.  It was a bad business.  I have been thinking of it again, for the first time for many years.  If the girl is alive and about the world she may remember our family name.  Help her, Julius, if she ever wants help, and applies to you.”  The painful contraction passed across his face once more.  Were his thoughts taking him back to the memorable summer evening at the Hampstead villa?  Did he see the deserted woman swooning at his feet again?  “About your election?” he asked, impatiently.  “My mind is not used to be idle.  Give it something to do.”

Julius stated his position as plainly and as briefly as he could.  The father found nothing to object to in the report—­except the son’s absence from the field of action.  He blamed Lady Holchester for summoning Julius to London.  He was annoyed at his son’s being there, at the bedside, when he ought to have been addressing the electors.  “It’s inconvenient, Julius,” he said, petulantly.  “Don’t you see it yourself?”

Having previously arranged with his mother to take the first opportunity that offered of risking a reference to Geoffrey, Julius decided to “see it” in a light for which his father was not prepared.  The opportunity was before him.  He took it on the spot.