He inquired little as to the feeling of the electors of Strathbogy.
And had he utterly forgotten the stirring motto of his early days?
Did he ever mutter 'Excelsior' to himself, as, with weary steps, he dragged himself home from that hated counting-house?
Ah! he had fatally mistaken the meaning of the word which he had so often used.

There had been the error of his life.

'Excelsior!' When he took such a watchword for his use, he should surely have taught himself the meaning of it.
He had now learnt that lesson in a school somewhat of the sternest; but, as time wore kindly over him, he did teach himself to accept the lesson with humility.

His spirit had been wellnigh broken as he was carried from that court-house in the Old Bailey to his prison on the river-side; and a broken spirit, like a broken goblet, can never again become whole.

But Nature was a kind mother to him, and did not permit him to be wholly crushed.
She still left within the plant the germ of life, which enabled it again to spring up and vivify, though sorely bruised by the heels of those who had ridden over it.