Good fortune and advancement came to Nicholas Jardine too late for his wife to share in them. The once bright eyes were closed for ever before the Trade Union of which he was secretary put him forward as a Parliamentary candidate. The swing of the Labour pendulum carried him in, and Jardine, M.P., and his little daughter moved to London. They found lodgings in Guildford Place, opposite the Foundling Hospital. The child was happier now, and the memory of the mother faded year by year. Life grew more cheerful and interesting for both of them as time went on. Members of Parliament and wire-pullers of the Labour party came to the lodgings and filled the sitting-room with smoke and noisy conversation. Zenobia listened and inwardly digested what she heard. Sundays were the dullest days. She often felt that she would like to go to service in the Foundling Chapel, but that was tacitly forbidden. Religion was ignored by Mr. Jardine, and among the books he had brought up from Walsall, and those he had since bought, neither Bible nor Prayer Book found a place.
Jardine had other things to think of. He was going forward rapidly, and busy—in the world of politics—fighting Mr. Renshaw in the House of Commons. When the old Labour leader in the House of Commons had a paralytic seizure, the member for Walsall was chosen, though not without opposition, to fill the vacant place.
There were millions of voters behind him now; Nicholas Jardine had become a power. At last the popular wave carried him into the foremost position in the State. The resolute Republican mechanic of miry Walsall actually became the foremost man in what for centuries had been the greatest Empire in the world.
Before that great step in promotion was obtained, Jardine had removed from London to the riverside house, in which he still resided, when a certain young Linton Herrick came from Canada and stayed with his uncle—Jardine's next door neighbour.
According to the new Constitution, the Government held office for five years. The end of that term was now approaching, and every adult man and woman in the land would shortly have the opportunity of voting for his retention in office or for replacing him with a successor, man or woman. He talked much with his daughter of the struggle that was coming, as it had been his custom to do for years. She was his only companion, the only object of his affections, the one domestic interest in his life.
HOW ENGLAND FELL.
So much for the man. What of the Empire? Nicholas Jardine had witnessed, and assisted in, its collapse. He had witnessed the result of a "corner" in food stuffs, and discovered that Uncle Sam was not the man to miss his chance of making millions merely because in theory blood is thicker than water. He had witnessed, also, some of the effects of the great international confidence trick. The feature of the common swindle so described is that the trickster makes ingenuous professions. The dupe, not to be outdone in generous sentiments, places his watch or his bank-notes in the trickster's hands—just to show confidence. The trickster goes outside and does not come back again. So, in the matter of national armaments, Germany had avowed the friendliest disposition towards Great Britain. England, fatuously eager to believe in another entente cordiale, obligingly sapped her own resources. Germany, with her tongue in her cheek, went ahead, determined that England should not catch up to her. Thus had the way been paved for certain disastrous events: the cutting of the lion's claws, the clipping of his venerable tail, and the annexation of vast outlying domains in which the once unchallenged beast aforetime had held his own, monarch of all he surveyed.