movements of her enemies, although she had not
perhaps always the foresight to prevent them.
The correspondence about her brother, and the
bringing Mr. O'Rind forward as a candidate,
she saw through quite clearly, and felt certain
from whom these ideas had come. "You have
checkmated us, I fear," she said to me in a
shop where I met her. "No, my lady," I
replied, "we can only as yet say check to your
queen." She took the reply and the compliment
together very kindly, laughed, and said
that she had still a move to make on behalf of
her brother, of which I should hear presently.

The next day, much to my surprise, I saw
Sir Charles Vance ride into Northenville, and
go straight up to the lodgings where O'Rind
was living. For Sir Charles to call upon any
one of lower rank than himself would have
been thought a marvel in the place. But for
him to pay this attention to an utter stranger,
a poor barrister who made his living by his pen,
and had had the impudence to oppose Sir
Charles's brother-in-law, was a miracle which
was the talk of the town that night. Sir
Charles, although a very kind hearted, was a
most haughty man. His family was one of the
oldest in England, and, as he used to boast,
his estates had come down from father to
son for nearly six hundred years, without a
break. He was wealthy, was proud of his
position, proud of being one of the leading
man amongst the gentlemen of the county,
which he had represented ever since he was of
age. A well read man, but taking great pleasure
in all the usual pursuits of an English
gentleman, he was fastidious in the acquaintances
he made, although his hospitality was unbounded.
His place, Llanholme Court, situated
about six miles from Northenville, was a splendid
old residence, and was kept up in a princely
style. Sir Charles lived at it from July to Easter
every year, the intervening months being
always spent at his house in Berkeley-square.
As I said before, to see the baronet ride into
town and call upon Mr. O'Rind was not only a
marvel; it showed that the Streatham party
were really afraid of this new enemy which I
had brought into the field.

It did not do, of course, for me to be seen
much with Mr. O'Rind, nor to profess more
than a mere passing acquaintanceship with him.
I was not a little curious to know what had
passed at Sir Charles's visit, but had to put off
all inquiries until the next evening, when I
walked over to his lodging. And my surprise
was not small when I was told by the servant,
who opened the door, that Mr. O'Rind had
gone to dine, and was to sleep and pass the
next day at Llanholme Court—Sir Charles
Vance's place. I felt that Lady Vance had
made a move upon the board which would
diminish our chance of winning the game,
but what that move was I could not yet
imagine.

It was on the Friday that O'Rind went to
Llanholme. He was to remain there all the
Saturday and Sunday, and return on Monday.
On Tuesday the nomination was to take place.
Coming events cast their shadows before. I
felt that there was something wrong in the plot,
or rather that the counterplot was working
against me, but I never dreamed of the nature
of the blow.

On Monday afternoon I had strolled down
into the coffee-room of the hotel used as our
head quarters, to get some luncheon. The
waiter put the Times, which had just come,
into my hand, and the first paragraph that
caught my eye was the following from the
Observer of the previous day:

"We understand that D. O'Rind, Esq., of
the Middle Temple, has been appointed Puisne
Judge for the colony of Tansgoria. Mr.
O'Rind was called to the Bar about fifteen
years ago, and goes the home circuit. He has
lately been talked about as a candidate for
Northenville, but will, of course, now retire
from the contest."

No wonder that Lady Vance looked triumphantly
at me the next time we met.

THE SAILORS' SHOW ON THE SEINE.

IN the roadstead, the Lovely Helena from
Buenos Ayres; the Magician from Costa Rica;
the Moonshine from Trinidad; Queen
Marguerite from the Havannah; the Europe and
the Rothschild from New York; together with
a fleet of smaller craft, all standing toward the
wide mouth of the Seine, in a brisk, invigorating,
cheering breeze, in the month of August! The
stages of the signalling stations are crowded,
seaward, with bronzed port authorities; and
over their heads is a maze of cordage displaying
every variety of signal. The pier head is
thronged with friends of sailors who are coming
home; with rough gamins who would be
better off afloat than loafing and begging in
most unsavoury rags; with Paris dandies in
stage-nautical costume accompanied by ladies
in the latest out-of-town fashions, who give a
sharp little scream at every wave that laps the
stone front of the noble port. Struggling with
the broken sea, a little steamer comes puffing
across from Trouville, laden with a tumbled
throng of fashionable people, very sea-sick.
Great bustle on the jetty. Three baskets
are slung up to the signalling post, and the
ships that were standing bravely in, tack off
with much plunging and clatter, and screaming
from the shrouds. A hundred telescopes
are projected seaward. A confident little
skipper's clerk, who has been zealously misinforming
a select group of Parisians during the last
half hour, confidently opines that the Pereire,
from New York, is in the roadstead. A black
hull breaks through the haze. The fleet of
sailing vessels have made way for her, and the
Napoleon Jerome, Imperial yacht, enters the
port. Then the fleet tacks about, and a line of
three-masted vessels glides home to the docks.
Flags of many nations pass the signalling station.
Far away as the base of the hills, far as the eye