He was no coward; he faced facts unflinchingly when alone. Only a fool makes the same mistake twice in life, the wise man turns mistakes to his own ends. He knew well enough where he had gone wrong.... Handicapped at the outset, he had still won some prizes early in his career. The first years of his social life were eminently successful; he played a good hand at whist, and learned the knack of paying compliments discreetly. He made himself indispensable to the type of person anxious to give parties, but unluckily a trifle hazy as to how the actual invitations should be worded. He dabbled tentatively in stocks and shares, with singular good fortune, as it appeared to those who did not know his methods, paying part of his way by taking boys abroad at the request of their parents. After a time it became known amongst his friends that "Brand was a good fellow, always ready with a pony when you needed one!"—at sixty per cent. interest, and the amount doubled if the day of reckoning brought no cheque. His influence grew; amongst those who had not borrowed from him he began to be quoted as a man to apply to when you were in difficulties of any doubtful nature, one who would help you pleasantly to evade the consequences of almost any imaginable action. Oh yes, Brand, too, had been a favourite in his day. But night falls suddenly upon tropical days; it had so fallen upon Brand’s. He dated his ill-luck to the hour of meeting Cummings. Yet he had never paid more attention to the development of any scheme. At the beginning everything seemed to play into his hands. His idea, of course, was ultimately to oust Cummings from his position as Calvert’s heir, and afterwards very delicately to insinuate himself into the vacant place. He manoeuvred Cummings through the open door of the Catholic Church with quite consummate skill—no female convert could have thrown herself into the task with greater ardour. From thence to the priesthood, after Calvert’s indignant repudiation of Cummings and his creed, was an easy, and obviously a final, step. But the sincerity of Cummings’ detachment had lifted him to heights which Brand could never realize. Never for one moment did he regret his vocation, his only sorrow being at his relations’ pain and the withdrawal of his uncle’s trust. Actual financial loss affected him not at all. The priest’s eyes now were as clear and steady as when, a boy, he had stood upon the Glune road, nervously trying to match his untried blade of argument against the older man’s skilled weapons. His smile, when it came, illumined his whole face. If it were possible—yet how could it be possible?—Brand might have thought him happy in his life.