extinguished what was then the one light in my
sufficiently dreary life. Fortune has given
me the chance, I think, of returning the
compliment, and I intend to do it."

Jack Byrne turned uneasily in his chair;
it was evident that his sentiments were not
in accord with those of his friend. After
a minute's pause, he said, "Even
supposing that the old eye for eye and tooth
for tooth retribution were allowable—which
I am by no means disposed to grant,
especially where women are concerned—are
you quite sure that in adopting it you
are getting at what you wish to attain?
You have never said so, but it must be as
obvious to you, as it is to me, that Mrs.
Creswell does not care for her husband.
Do you think, then, she will be particularly
influenced by a matter in which his personal
vanity is alone involved?"

Joyce smiled somewhat grimly. "My
dear old friend, it was Mrs. Creswell's
ambition that dealt me what might have
been my coup de grace. My anxiety about
this contest at Brocksopp springs from my
desire to wound Mrs. Creswell's ambition.
My knowledge of that lady is sufficient to
prove to me, as clearly as though I were in
her most sacred confidence, that she is most
desirous that her husband should be
returned to Parliament. The few words that
were dropped by that idiot Bokenham the
other day, pointed to this, but I should have
been sure of it if I had not heard them.
After all, it is the natural result, and what
might have been expected. During her
poverty her prayer was for money. Money
acquired, another want takes its place, and
so it will be to the end of the chapter."

As Joyce ceased speaking there was a
knock at the door, and Jack Byrne opening
it, admitted young Mr. Harrington,
the confidential clerk of Messrs. Potter and
Fyfe. Young Mr. Harrington was festively
attired in a garb of sporting cut, and
wore his curved-rimmed hat on the top
of his right ear, but there was an
unusual, anxious look in his face, and he
showed signs of great mental perturbation,
not having, as he afterwards allowed to
his intimate friends, "been so thoroughly
knocked out of time since Magsman went a
mucker for the Two Thou'." This perturbation
was at once noticed by Mr. Byrne.

"Ah, Mr. Harrington," said he; "glad
to see you, sir. Not looking quite so fresh
as usual," he added, with a cynical grin.
"What's the matter, nothing wrong in the
great turf world, I trust? Sister to Saucebox
has not turned out a roarer, or Billy
Billingsgate broken down badly?"

"Thank you very much for your kind
inquiries, Mr. Byrne," said Mr. Harrington,
eyeing the old man steadily without changing
a muscle of his face. "I'll not forget to
score up one to you, sir, and I'll take care
to repay you that little funniment on the
first convenient opportunity. Just now,
I've got something else in hand. Look
here, let's stow this gaff! Mr. Joyce, my
business is with you. The fact is, there
is an awful smash-up at Brocksopp, and
my governors want to see you at once."

"At Brocksopp?" said Joyce, with a
start. "A smash at Brocksopp?"

"Yes," said Mr. Harrington. "The man
that we were all depending on, young Mr.
Bokenham, has come to grief."

"Dead?" exclaimed old Byrne.

"O no, not at all; political, rather than
social grief, I should have said. The fact
is, so far as we can make out, Lord and
Lady Steppe—you know Lady Steppe, Mr.
Joyce, or, at all events, your friend Shimmer
of the Comet could tell you all about
her, she was Miss Tentose in the ballet at
the Lane—have persuaded our sucking
senator to go to Egypt with them for the
winter. Lady S.'s influence is great in
that quarter I understand—so great that he
pitches up Brocksopp, and lets us all slide!"

"Given up Brocksopp?" said old Byrne.

"Chucked up his cards, sir," said
Harrington, "when the game was in his hand.
My governors' people are regularly up a
tree, cornered, and all that, so they want
to see you, Mr. Joyce, at once, and have
sent me to fetch you."

"To fetch him! Potter and Fyfe of
Abingdon-street have sent you to fetch
him!" cried old Byrne, in great excitement.
"Walter, do you think—do you recollect
what I said to you some time ago? Can it
be that it's coming on now?"

Joyce made him no verbal reply, but he
grasped his old friend's hand warmly, and
immediately afterwards started off with
Mr. Harrington in the hansom cab which
that gentleman had waiting at the door.

The idea that had flashed through old
Jack Byrne's mind, preposterously exaggerated
as it had at first seemed to him, was
nevertheless correct. When Joyce arrived
at Messrs. Potter and Fyfe's office, he found
there, not merely those gentlemen, but, with
them, several of the leading members of the
party, and a deputation of two or three
Liberals from Brocksopp, with whom Joyce
was acquainted. Mr. Moule and Mr. Spalding,
nervously excited, stepped forward,
and shook hands with the young man in