“Chilcote,” he had said, “when the time comes, remember you have all my confidence.”

Looking back upon that day, Loder often wondered at the calmness with which he bore the uncertainty.  To sit apparently unmoved, and wait without emotion for news that might change the whole tenor of one’s action, would have tried the stoicism of the most experienced; to the novice it was wellnigh unendurable.  And it was under these conditions, and fighting against these odds, that he sat through the long afternoon in Chilcote’s place, obeying the dictates of his chief.  But if the day was fraught with difficulties for him, it was fraught with dulness and disappointment for others; for the undercurrent of interest that had stirred at the Easter adjournment, and risen with added force on this first day of the new session, was gradually but surely threatened with extinction, as hour after hour passed, bringing no suggestion of the battle that had on every side been tacitly expected.  Slowly and unmistakably speculation and dissatisfaction crept into the atmosphere of the House, as moment succeeded moment, and the Opposition made no sign.  Was Fraide shirking the attack?  Or was he playing a waiting game?  Again and again the question arose, filling the air with a passing flicker of interest; but each time it sprang up only to die down again, as the ordinary business of the day dragged itself out.

Gradually, as the afternoon wore on, daylight began to fade.  Loder, sitting rigidly in Chilcote’s place, watched with suppressed inquiry the faces of the men who entered through the constantly swinging doors; but not one face, so eagerly scanned, carried the message for which he waited.  Monotonously and mechanically the time passed.  The Government, adopting a neutral attitude, carefully skirted all dangerous subjects; while the Opposition, acting under Fraide’s suggestion, assisted rather than hindered the programme of postponement.  For the moment the, eagerly anticipated reassembling threatened dismal failure; and it was with a universal movement of weariness and relief that at last the House rose to dine.

But there are no possibilities so elastic as those of politics.  At half-past seven the House rose in a spirit of boredom and disappointment; and at eight o’clock the lobbies, the dining-room, the entire space of the vast building, was stirred into activity by the arrival of a single telegraphic message.

The new development for which Fraide had waited came indeed, but it came with a force he had little anticipated.  With a thrill of awe and consternation men heard and repeated the astounding news that—­while personally exercising his authority on behalf of British traders—­Sir William Brice-Field, Consul-General at Meshed, had been fired at by a Russian officer and instantly killed.

The interval immediately following the receipt of this news was too confused for detailed remembrance.  Two ideas made themselves slowly felt—­a deep horror that such an event could obtrude itself upon our high civilization, and a strong personal dismay that so honored, distinguished, and esteemed a representative as Sir William Brice-Field could have been allowed to meet death in so terrible a manner.