Then, at the very moment of his popularity, a terrible tragedy had
occurred. He was on the platform of the Albert Hall addressing a great
meeting at which the Prime Minister was the principal speaker. His
speech was a brilliant one, and the applause had been vociferous. Full
of satisfaction, he drove home that night to Park Street; but next
morning the report spread that his brilliant political career had ended.
He had suddenly been stricken by blindness.

In political circles and in the clubs the greatest consternation was
caused, and some strange gossip became rife.

It was whispered in certain quarters that the affliction was not
produced by natural causes. In fact, it was a mystery, and one that had
never been solved. The first oculists of Europe had peered into and
tested his eyes, but all to no purpose. The sight had gone for ever.

Therefore, full of bitter regrets at being thus compelled to renounce
the stress and storm of political life which he loved so well, Sir Henry
Heyburn had gone into strict retirement at Glencardine, his beautiful
old Perthshire home, visiting London but very seldom.

He was essentially a man of mystery. Even in the days of his universal
popularity the source of his vast wealth was unknown. His father, the
tenth Baronet, had been sadly impoverished by the depreciation of
agricultural property in Lincolnshire, and had ended his days in the
genteel quietude of the Albany. But Sir Henry, without betraying to the
world his methods, had in fifteen years amassed a fortune which people
guessed must be considerably over a million sterling.