The night was spent in pain of mind, and the comfort the
ex-Minister gave him, that a seat would be found for him by the
Government, gave him no thrill. He knew he had enemies in the Government,
that the Prime Minister was the friend of the successful only, and that
there were others, glad of his defeat, who would be looking for his
place. Also he was sure he had injured the chances of the Government by
the defeat of his policy.
As though Creation was in league against him, a heavy storm broke about
two o'clock, and he went to bed cursed by torturing thoughts. "Chickens
come home to roost--" Why did that ancient phrase keep ringing in his
ears when he tried to sleep? Beaten by his illegitimate son at the polls,
the victim of his own wrong-doing--the sacrifice of penalty! He knew that
his son, inheriting his own political gifts, had done what could have
been done by no one else. All the years passed since Carnac was begotten
laid their deathly hands upon him, and he knew he could never recover
from this defeat. How much better it would have been if he had been
struck twenty-seven years ago!
Youth, ambition and resolve would have saved him from the worst then. Age
has its powers, but it has its defects, and he had no hope that his own
defects would be wiped out by luck at the polls.
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