unintelligible; but Mr. Fyfe, who came in
shortly afterwards, and who was acquainted
with and tolerant of the vagaries of his
clerk's intellect, soon guessed at the situation,
and explained it to his partner. So
it fell out that the election for Brocksopp,
which had attracted attention even
amongst great people in the political
world, and which was looked forward
to with intense interest in the
neighbourhood, passed off in the quietest and
tamest manner. The mere fact of the
knowledge that there was to be no opposition,
no contest, robbed the nomination day
of all its interest to hundreds of farmers in
outlying places, who did not care to give
up a day's work when there was to be no
"scrimmage" as a requital for their sacrifice
of time; and the affair was consequently
thoroughly orderly and commonplace.
There were comparatively few
persons present, and five minutes after
Joyce's speech, in which he returned thanks
for the honour done to him, and alluded
with much nice feeling to his late opponent's
illness, had concluded, the market square
was deserted, and the clumsy hustings
remained the sole memorial of the event to
which so many had looked forward for so
long.

Jack Byrne was horribly disgusted at
the tame manner in which the victory had
been won. The old man's life had been
passed in the arena: he was never so happy
as when he or some of his chosen friends
were on the verge of conflict; and to see
the sponge thrown up, when the boy
whom he had trained with so much care,
and on whom he placed every dependence,
was about to meet with a foeman worthy
of his steel, who would take an immense
deal of beating, and whom it would be a
signal honour to vanquish, annoyed the
old free lance beyond measure. It was
only by constantly repeating to himself
that his boy, his Walter, whom he had
picked up starving and friendless at Bliffkins's
coffee-house, was now a member of
parliament, with the opportunity of uttering
in the British senate those doctrines
which he had so often thundered forth
amidst the vociferous applause of the club,
those opinions with which he, old Jack
Byrne, had indoctrinated him, that he was
able to perceive that, although without
any grand blaze of triumph, a great
result had been achieved. Mr. Harrington,
too, was by no means pleased that all
his jockeyship should have been thrown
away on so tame an event. He admitted
as much to Mr. South, the local agent,
who was mildly rejoicing in the bloodless
victory, and who was grateful for the accident
by which success had been secured.
Mr. Harrington entirely dissented from
this view of the case. "I call it hard,"
he said, " deuced hard, that when I had
reduced the thing to a moral, when I had
made all arrangements for a waiting race,
letting the other side go ahead, as I knew
they would, making the running like mad,
and getting pumped before the distance;
we waiting on them quietly, and then just
at the last coming with a rush, and beating
them on the post, I say it is deuced
hard when a fellow has given all his time
and brains to arranging this, to find he's
reduced to a mere w. o. To be sure, as
you say, one collars the stakes all the same,
but still, it ain't sport!"

There was one person, however, to whom
the knowledge that the election had gone
off flatly was delightful—Marian Creswell.
As she had stood that night in her dressing-
gown, with her dishevelled hair hanging
over her shoulders, listening to Dr. Osborne's
verdict on her husband's state, she had
seen in his strongly pronounced opinion a
safe, plausible, and immediate chance of
escape from that most dreaded defeat by
Walter Joyce at the election; and though
she had apparently received the decision
with deepest regret, she was inwardly
delighted. At all events, there would be no
absolute victory. Walter Joyce could not
go away and tell his friends in the great
world in London that he had defeated
his adversary. No one could say what
might have been the issue of the contest
had Mr. Creswell's health not given way,
and Marian was perfectly confident that
Walter's chivalrous nature would prevent
his ever mentioning to any one the
interview which had taken place between
him and her, or what passed thereat.
On the whole, it was the best thing that
could have happened for her. She had
for some time foreseen that there was no
chance of establishing herself in society
through the election as she had once
hoped, and anything would be better than
that she should suffer defeat—absolute
defeat —in a matter which she had so nearly
at heart.

Anything? her husband's illness,
dangerous illness, for instance? Yes;
anything. She had never pretended to herself
that she had loved Mr. Creswell. She had
done her duty by him strictly, even to casting
out all thoughts, all remembrance, of