“I will see you to your carriage.”

On the threshold she turned, included Paul in a vague bow to the company, and passed through the door which Colonel Winwood held open.  Paul watched her until she disappeared—­disappeared haughtily out of his life, taking his living heart with her, leaving him with a stone very heavy, very cold, dead.  And he was smitten as with a great darkness.  He remained quite still for a few moments after the door had closed, then with a sudden jerk he drew himself up.

“Mr. Finn,” said he, “as I’ve told you, I address my first meeting to-night.  I am going to make public the fact that I’m your son.”

Silas put his hand to his head and looked at him wildly.

“No, no,” he muttered hoarsely—­“no.”

“I see no reason,” said Miss Winwood gently.

“I see every reason,” said Paul.  “I must live in the light now.  The truth or nothing.”

“Then obey your conscience, Paul,” she answered.

But Silas came forward with his outstretched hands.

“You can’t do it.  You can’t do it, I tell you.  It’s impossible.”

“Why?”

He replied in an odd voice, and with a glance at Miss Winwood.  “I must tell you afterwards.”

“I will leave you,” she said.

“Mr. Finn”—­she shook hands with him—­“I hope you’re proud of your son.”  And then she shook hands with Jane and Barney Bill.  “I’m glad to meet such old friends of Paul.”  And to Paul, as he held the door open, she said, her clear kind eyes full on him, “Remember, we want men in England.”

“Thank God, we’ve got women,” said he’ with lips from which he could not keep a sudden quiver.

He closed the door and came up to his father standing on the hearthrug.

“And now’ why shouldn’t I speak?  Why shouldn’t I be an honest man instead of an impostor?”

“Out of pity for me, my son.”

“Pity?  Why, what harm would it do you?  There’s nothing dishonourable in father and son fighting an election.”  He laughed without much mirth.  “It’s what some people would call sporting.  As for me, personally, I don’t see why you should be ashamed of owning me.  My record is clean enough.”

“But mine isn’t, Paul,” said Silas mournfully.

For the first time Paul bowed his head.  “I’m sorry,” said he.  “I forgot.”  Then he raised it again.  “But that’s all over and buried in the past.”

“It may be unburied.”

“How?”

“Don’t you see?” cried Jane.  “Even I can.  If you spring your relationship upon the public, it will create an enormous sensation—­it will set the place on fire with curiosity.  They’ll dig up everything they can about you—­everything they can about him.  Oh, Paul, don’t you see.

“It’s up agin a man, sonny,” said Barney Bill, limping towards them, “it’s up agin a candidate, you understand, him not being a Fenian or a Irish patriot, that he’s been in gaol.  Penal servitude ain’t a nice state of life to be reminded of, sonny.  Whereas if you leaves things as they is, nobody’s going to ask no questions.”