“It is no inconvenience to me, Sir,” he replied, “and it is no inconvenience to my brother either.  Geoffrey was anxious about you too.  Geoffrey has come to London with me.”

Lord Holchester looked at his eldest son with a grimly-satirical expression of surprise.

“Have I not already told you,” he rejoined, “that my mind is not affected by my illness?  Geoffrey anxious about me!  Anxiety is one of the civilized emotions.  Man in his savage state is incapable of feeling it.”

“My brother is not a savage, Sir.”

“His stomach is generally full, and his skin is covered with linen and cloth, instead of red ochre and oil.  So far, certainly, your brother is civilized.  In all other respects your brother is a savage.”

“I know what you mean, Sir.  But there is something to be said for Geoffrey’s way of life.  He cultivates his courage and his strength.  Courage and strength are fine qualities, surely, in their way?”

“Excellent qualities, as far as they go.  If you want to know how far that is, challenge Geoffrey to write a sentence of decent English, and see if his courage doesn’t fail him there.  Give him his books to read for his degree, and, strong as he is, he will be taken ill at the sight of them.  You wish me to see your brother.  Nothing will induce me to see him, until his way of life (as you call it) is altered altogether.  I have but one hope of its ever being altered now.  It is barely possible that the influence of a sensible woman—­possessed of such advantages of birth and fortune as may compel respect, even from a savage—­might produce its effect on Geoffrey.  If he wishes to find his way back into this house, let him find his way back into good society first, and bring me a daughter-in-law to plead his cause for him—­whom his mother and I can respect and receive.  When that happens, I shall begin to have some belief in Geoffrey.  Until it does happen, don’t introduce your brother into any future conversations which you may have with Me.  To return to your election.  I have some advice to give you before you go back.  You will do well to go back to-night.  Lift me up on the pillow.  I shall speak more easily with my head high.”

His son lifted him on the pillows, and once more entreated him to spare himself.

It was useless.  No remonstrances shook the iron resolution of the man who had hewed his way through the rank and file of political humanity to his own high place apart from the rest.  Helpless, ghastly, snatched out of the very jaws of death, there he lay, steadily distilling the clear common-sense which had won him all his worldly rewards into the mind of his son.  Not a hint was missed, not a caution was forgotten, that could guide Julius safely through the miry political ways which he had trodden so safely and so dextrously himself.  An hour more had passed before the impenetrable old man closed his weary eyes, and consented to take his nourishment and compose himself to rest.  His last words, rendered barely articulate by exhaustion, still sang the praises of party manoeuvres and political strife.  “It’s a grand career!  I miss the House of Commons, Julius, as I miss nothing else!”