I had promised Etherell to breakfast with him.  A note—­a faint scream—­despatched by Mrs. Waddy to Mr. Temple’s house informed me that ‘the men’ were upon them.  If so, they were the forerunners of a horde, and my father was as good as extinguished.  He staked everything on success; consequently, he forfeited pity.

Good-bye to ambition, I thought, and ate heartily, considering robustly the while how far lower than the general level I might avoid falling.  The report of the debates in morning papers—­doubtless, more flowing and, perhaps, more grammatical than such as I gave ear to overnight—­had the odd effect on me of relieving me from the fit of subserviency into which the speakers had sunk me.

A conceit of towering superiority took its place, and as Etherell was kind enough to draw me out and compliment me, I was attacked by a tragic sense of contrast between my capacities and my probable fortunes.  It was open to me to marry Janet.  But this meant the loosening of myself with my own hand for ever from her who was my mentor and my glory, to gain whom I was in the very tideway.  I could not submit to it, though the view was like that of a green field of the springs passed by a climber up the crags.  I went to Anna Penrhys to hear a woman’s voice, and partly told her of my troubles.  She had heard Mr. Hipperdon express his confident opinion that he should oust me from my seat.  Her indignation was at my service as a loan:  it sprang up fiercely and spontaneously in allusions to something relating to my father, of which the Marquis of Edbury had been guilty.  ‘How you can bear it!’ she exclaimed, for I was not wordy.  The exclamation, however, stung me to put pen to paper—­the woman was not so remote in me as not to be roused by the woman.  I wrote to Edbury, and to Heriot, bidding him call on the young nobleman.  Late at night I was at my father’s door to perform the act of duty of seeing him, and hearing how he had entertained Eckart, if he was still master of his liberty.  I should have known him better:  I expected silence and gloom.  The windows were lighted brilliantly.  As the hall-door opened, a band of stringed and wood instruments commenced an overture.  Mrs. Waddy came to me in the hall; she was unintelligible.  One thing had happened to him at one hour of the morning, and another at another hour.  He was at one moment suffering the hands of the ‘officers’ on his shoulder: 

’And behold you, Mr. Harry! a knock, a letter from a messenger, and he conquers Government!’ It struck me that the epitome of his life had been played in a day:  I was quite incredulous of downright good fortune.  He had been giving a dinner followed by a concert, and the deafening strains of the music clashed with my acerb spirit, irritating me excessively.  ‘Where are those men you spoke of?’ I asked her.  ‘Gone,’ she replied,’gone long ago!’

‘Paid?’ said I.

She was afraid to be precise, but repeated that they were long since gone.