And then there came to him another thought. Since he
was being cast forth from Church and State, could he not play the fallen
spirit like a man--be Lucifer, and destroy! And instinctively he at once
saw himself returning to those towers, and beneath them crossing the
floor; joining the revolutionaries, the Radicals, the freethinkers,
scourging his present Party, the party of authority and institutions.
The idea struck him as supremely comic, and he laughed out loud in the
street....
The Club which Lord Dennis frequented was in St. James's untouched by
the tides of the waters of fashion--steadily swinging to its moorings
in a quiet backwater, and Miltoun found his uncle in the library. He was
reading a volume of Burton's travels, and drinking tea.
"Nobody comes here," he said, "so, in spite of that word on the door, we
shall talk. Waiter, bring some more tea, please."
Impatiently, but with a sort of pity, Miltoun watched Lord Dennis's
urbane movements, wherein old age was, pathetically, trying to make
each little thing seem important, if only to the doer. Nothing his
great-uncle could say would outweigh the warning of his picturesque old
figure! To be a bystander; to see it all go past you; to let your sword
rust in its sheath, as this poor old fellow had done! The notion of
explaining what he had come about was particularly hateful to Miltoun;
but since he had given his word, he nerved himself with secret anger,
and began:
"I promised my mother to ask you a question, Uncle Dennis.
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