BOOK I

Chapter

   I Reconstruction

  II The Woman with an Alias

 III Wanted—­A Politician

  IV The Duchess Asks a Question

   V The Hesitation of Mr. Mannering

  VI Sacrifice

 VII The Duchess’s “At Home”

VIII The Mannering Mystery

  IX The Pumping of Mrs. Phillimore

   X The Man with a Motive

  XI Mannering’s Alternative

BOOK II

   I Borrowdean makes a Bargain

  II “Cherchez la Femme”

 III One of the “Sufferers”

  IV Debts of Honour

   V Love versus Politics

  VI The Conscience of a Statesman

 VII A Blow for Borrowdean

VIII A Page from the Past

  IX The Faltering of Mannering

   X The End of a Dream

  XI Borrowdean shows his “Hand”

 XII Sir Leslie Borrowdean incurs a Heavy Debt

XIII The Woman and—­the Other Woman

BOOK III

   I Matrimony and an Awkward Meeting

  II The Snub for Borrowdean

 III Clouds—­and a Call to Arms

  IV Disaster

   V The Journalist Intervenes

  VI Treachery and a Telegram

 VII Mr. Mannering, M.P.

VIII Playing the Game

  IX The Tragedy of a Key

   X Blanche finds a Way Out

BOOK IV

   I The Persistency of Borrowdean

  II Hester Thinks it “A Great Pity”

 III Summoned to Windsor

  IV Checkmate to Borrowdean

   V A Brazen Proceeding

A LOST LEADER

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

RECONSTRUCTION

The two men stood upon the top of a bank bordering the rough road which led to the sea.  They were listening to the lark, which had risen fluttering from their feet a moment or so ago, and was circling now above their heads.  Mannering, with a quiet smile, pointed upwards.

“There, my friend!” he exclaimed.  “You can listen now to arguments more eloquent than any which I could ever frame.  That little creature is singing the true, uncorrupted song of life.  He sings of the sunshine, the buoyant air; the pure and simple joy of existence is beating in his little heart.  The things which lie behind the hills will never sadden him.  His kingdom is here, and he is content.”

Borrowdean’s smile was a little cynical.  He was essentially of that order of men who are dwellers in cities, and even the sting of the salt breeze blowing across the marshes—­marshes riven everywhere with long arms of the sea—­could bring no colour to his pale cheeks.