they like that; and a self-made man, and
they like that; and he speaks capitally,
tells 'em facts which they can understand,
and they like that. He has done capitally
from the first, and now they've got up
some story—Harrington did that, I fancy,
young Harrington acting for Potter and
Fyfe, very clever fellow—they've got up
some story that Joyce was jilted some
time ago by the girl he was engaged to,
who threw him over because he was poor,
or something of that sort, I can't recollect
the details, and that has been a splendid
card with the women; they are insisting on
their husbands' voting for him, so that
altogether we're in a bad way."

"Do you think Mr. Creswell will be
defeated, Mr. Gould? You'll tell me honestly,
of course!"

"It's impossible to say until the day,
quite impossible, my dear Mrs. Creswell;
but I'm bound to confess it looks horribly
like it. By what I understand from Mr.
Croke, who wrote to me the other day,
Mr. Creswell has given up attending public
meetings, and that kind of thing, and
that's foolish, very foolish!"

"His health has been anything but good
lately, and—"

"I know, and of course his spirits have
been down also! But he must keep them
up, and he must go to the poll, even if he's
beaten."

"And the chances of that are, you
think, strong?"

"Are, I fear, very strong! However,
something might yet be done if he were to
do a little house-to-house canvassing in his
old bright spirits. But in any case, Mrs.
Creswell, he must stick to his guns, and
we look to you to keep him there!"

"I will do my best," said Marian, and
the interview was at an end.

As the door closed behind Mr. Gould,
Marian flung herself into an easy chair,
and the bitter tears of rage welled up into
her eyes. So, it was destined that this
man was to cross her path to her detriment
for the rest of her life. Oh, what terrible
shame and humiliation to think of him
winning the victory from them, more
especially after her interview with him, and the
avowal of her intense desire to be
successful in the matter! There could be no
doubt about the result. Mr. Gould was
understood, she had heard, to be in general
inclined to take a hopeful view of affairs;
but his verdict on the probable issue of
the Brocksopp election was unmistakably
dolorous. What a bitter draught to swallow,
what frightful mortification to undergo!
What could be done? It would be impolitic
to tell Mr. Creswell of his agent's fears, and
even if he were told of them, he was just
the man who would more than ever insist
on fighting until the very last, and would
not imagine that there was any disgrace
in being beaten after gallant combat by an
honourable antagonist. And there was no
possible way out of it, unless—Great
Heaven, what a horrible thought!—unless
he were to die. That would settle it; there
would be no defeat for him then, and
she would be left free, rich, and with the
power to—She must not think of
anything so dreadful. The noise of wheels
on the gravel, the carriage at the door, and
her husband descending. How wearily he
drags his limbs down the steps, what lassitude
there is in every action, and how wan
his cheeks are! He is going towards the
drawing-room on the ground-floor, and she
hastens to meet him there.

"What is the matter? Are you ill?"

"Very—very ill! but pleased to see you,
to get back home!" This with a touch of
the old manner, and in the old voice.
"Very ill, Marian, weak, and down, and
depressed. I can't stand it, Marian, I feel
I can't."

"What is it that seems too much for
you?"

"All this worry and annoyance, this
daily contact with all these horrible people!
I must give it up, Marian! I must give it
up!"

"You must give what up, dear?"

"This election! all the worry of it, the
preliminary worry, has been nigh to kill
me, and I must have no more of it!"

"Well, but think—"

"I have thought, and I'm determined,
that is, if you think so too! I'll give it
up, I'll retire, anything to have done with
it!"

"But what will people say—?"

"What people, who have a right to say
anything?"

"Your committee, I mean—those who
have been working for you so earnestly and
so long!"

"I don't care what they say! My
health is more important than anything
else—and you ought to think so, Marian!"

He spoke with a nervous irritability
such as she had never previously noticed
in him, and looked askance at her from
under his grey eyebrows. He began to
think that there might be some foundation
of truth in Gertrude's out-blurted sentiment,