"Is it because Hillsborough, the stupidest of your brother peers, paid
you such fine compliments on your speech?" he asked.

Lyttelton smiled faintly. "No, it was not of that I was thinking," he
answered. "Those are things of yesterday. Hillsborough was wrong; the
majority who voted with him were wrong; and I was right with my
minority. They don't know Ireland as I do. But a Government which can
lose America can do anything. I have done with politics. I was thinking
of something entirely different when you came upon me. I was
thinking--of death."

Fortescue laughed. But, when he had heard the story of Lyttelton's
dream, something in the manner of the narrator conveyed to him a feeling
of uneasiness.

"No man has more thoroughly enjoyed doing wrong than I have," continued
Lyttelton. "But I should not have enjoyed it so much if I believed in
nothing. With me sin has been conscientious; and I enjoyed the wrong
thing not only for itself but also because it was wrong. Suppose it be
true that I have not more than three days to live--"

"You take the thing too seriously," interposed his cousin.

"Join me at Pit Place to-morrow," said Lyttelton. "Then you shall see if
I take it too seriously."

During the intervening two days he fluctuated between profound gloom and
boisterous hilarity. One hour he was plunged into the depths of despair,
the next he was the soul of gaiety, laughing hysterically at his fears,