The Day of Judgment

by Joseph Hocking

"No," she replied, "he is not dead. I feel it in every fibre of my body. He is not dead! And I am going to find him. And I must not leave Brunford—something has told me I must not. And I must watch Wilson, too."

"I have been thinking about that, mother," he said; "and, after all, it's not so bad. The man was drunk, or he would not have said such a thing!"

"Drunk or sober," was her reply, "he shall pay for those words. But do not trouble, Paul. You shall be happy. And you shall have your rightful name, in spite of everything."

A week or two later, Paul had forgotten almost everything in the new life which he led. He had journeyed to London to take his seat in the House of Commons, and, amidst the excitement of his new experiences, even the incidents of the election faded away. It was wonderful to him, the nameless lad who had come to Brunford a few years before, to be one of the legislators in the greatest Empire of the world. Even yet he was little more than a youth, and he had practically no experience of life. Thus London, with all its excitement, and the world of possibilities which it revealed, made everything new to him. Never had he realised the meaning of history until now. Never had the greatness of his country so impressed him. Hitherto he had not realised what his ambitions meant. Now they became clear. The House of Commons became the pivot of the world, and it seemed to him as though he had his hand upon the pulse of humanity. London was the great heart of the Empire, sending out its streams of life-blood through the length and breadth of the world. And the heart of London was the great pile of buildings on the banks of the Thames. He was no one as yet—just one of the unknown men among nearly seven hundred who gathered there. He had an obscure seat in the House, and, unlike many of the other men with whom he came into contact, he had few friends. Still, he rejoiced in his isolation, and dreamed dreams of the time when he would emerge from his comparative obscurity, and when his voice would be heard in the councils of the Empire. No one was more regular than he in his attendance at the House, and he took a supreme delight in wandering through the buildings, and in trying to understand their significance. Westminster Hall, especially, attracted him. He thought of the scenes which had taken place in that historic building, and remembered how it had stood there through the centuries. The greater part of the parliament houses was comparatively new, but this remained almost unchanged by the ravages of time and of fire. Here great trials had taken place. Here great battles had been won—battles which had changed the destinies of the nation. Brunford, which had seemed so important to him a few years ago, was now only an insignificant manufacturing town. It had but little history, little meaning; but London—London was everything. There, in Westminster Abbey, close by him, kings had been crowned and monarchs were buried. There, too, the great ones of the world had come. Men whose names were imperishable were buried in that mausoleum of the illustrious dead! And he—well, he was nothing now, but men should hear of him in the future. While keenly observant of the procedure of the House, he sometimes found himself dreaming dreams. He thought of the time when Disraeli was refused a hearing in that historic assembly, remembered how the Irish, led by the great Daniel O'Connell, refused to listen to him, and how, when at length he had sat down, after trying to make a speech, he shook his fist in the faces of the excited crowd, and cried: "You will not hear me now, but one day you'll be glad to hear me!" Well, why not he? It is true Disraeli was a man of genius, but he was handicapped on every hand. He was a Jew, and when he commenced his career the prejudice against Jews was stronger even than it was to-day. He was in debt, too, and was hampered on every hand, and yet he had broken down all opposition. He had conquered prejudice, had mastered one of the greatest prime ministers of the age, and was for years the central figure of the Government of the Empire. It just showed what one strong man could do; and he would do it. But at the back of everything was the face of Mary Bolitho. It was for her he was going to win fame and renown. It was at her feet that he would lay all he could win.

Of course many will feel like smiling at these dreams of youth. All the same, the young man who does not dream impossible dreams and determine to win impossible battles will never do much. It is these things which keep the world young and eternally hopeful. Sad will it be for the youth of England when they cease to be!

Fleet Street, too, fascinated him beyond words. Next to the Houses of Parliament, he loved to walk along this busy thoroughfare. Sometimes he would stand there and watch the crowd as it went hurrying by—perhaps the most interesting crowd in the world. Here nameless vagrants rubbed shoulder to shoulder with men who were influencing the thought of the nation. This was the home of one of the greatest estates of the land. It was from here that millions of newspapers were sent, containing the hopes, the aspirations, the life of the people. None of these papers mentioned his name as yet, for he had never dared to try to catch the Speaker's eye, but the time would come when he would. Leading articles should be written about him, and his views of life and politics should be discussed.

In spite of all these things, however, the session came to an end without Paul Stepaside having tried to speak a word in the British House of Commons. His time had not come yet, but it was coming, and he knew how to wait. Those months were to him months of education. He was accustoming himself to his surroundings and preparing for the future. He was studying the methods of the men whose words carried weight. He was seeing the inwardness of this great parliamentary game which was being played, and he was learning to understand how he could use his knowledge, not simply as a means of self-aggrandisement, but for the betterment of the people he loved.

Three times during the session he had gone to Brunford on matters of business, but nothing had happened worthy of recording. His mother had inquired eagerly concerning his doings in London, and had stored within her memory every incident which he had related to her.

"I'm glad you have not spoken in the House yet, Paul," she said, again and again. "When you speak it must be on something which is near and dear to you—something which has gripped your life. Then you will make them feel what you feel. Ay, and you will, too, my boy! It's coming! I can see it!"

"Yes," replied Paul. "I'm going to do it, mother. I'm going to make the name of Stepaside honoured."