But while Harley had thus occupied the hours of night with cares for the living, Audley Egerton had been in commune with the dead. He had taken from the pile of papers amidst which it had fallen, the record of Nora’s silenced heart. With a sad wonder he saw how he had once been loved. What had all which successful ambition had bestowed on the lonely statesman to compensate for the glorious empire he had lost,—such realms of lovely fancy; such worlds of exquisite emotion; that infinite which lies within the divine sphere that unites spiritual genius with human love? His own positive and earthly nature attained, for the first time, and as if for its own punishment, the comprehension of that loftier and more ethereal visitant from the heavens, who had once looked with a seraph’s smile through the prison-bars of his iron life; that celestial refinement of affection, that exuberance of feeling which warms into such varieties of beautiful idea, under the breath of the earth-beautifier, Imagination,—all from which, when it was all his own, he had turned half weary and impatient, and termed the exaggerations of a visionary romance, now that the world had lost them evermore, he interpreted aright as truths. Truths they were, although illusions. Even as the philosopher tells us that the splendour of colours which deck the universe is not on the surface whereon we think to behold it, but in our own vision; yet, take the colours from the universe, and what philosophy can assure us that the universe has sustained no loss?
But when Audley came to that passage in the fragment which, though but imperfectly, explained the true cause of Nora’s flight; when he saw how Levy, for what purpose he was unable to conjecture, had suggested to his bride the doubts that had offended him,—asserted the marriage to be a fraud, drawn from Audley’s own brief resentful letters to Nora proof of the assertion, misled so naturally the young wife’s scanty experience of actual life, and maddened one so sensitively pure into the conviction of dishonour,—his brow darkened, and his hand clenched. He rose and went at once to Levy’s room. He found it deserted, inquired, learned that Levy was gone forth, and had left word he might not be at home for the night. Fortunate, perhaps, for Audley, fortunate for the baron, that they did not then meet. Revenge, in spite of his friend’s admonition, might at that hour have been as potent an influence on Egerton as it had been on Harley, and not, as with the latter, to be turned aside.
Audley came back to his room and finished the tragic record. He traced the tremor of that beloved hand through the last tortures of doubt and despair; he saw where the hot tears had fallen; he saw where the hand had paused, the very sentence not concluded; mentally he accompanied his—fated bride in the dismal journey to her maiden home, and beheld her before him as he had last seen, more beautiful even in death than the face of living woman had ever since appeared to him; and as he bent over the last words, the blank that they left on the leaf, stretching pale beyond the quiver of the characters and the blister of the tears,—pale and blank as the void which departed love leaves behind it,—he felt his Heart suddenly stand still, its course arrested as the record closed. It beat again, but feebly,—so feebly! His breath became labour and pain, his sight grew dizzy; but the constitutional firmness and fortitude of the man clung to him in the stubborn mechanism of habit, his will yet fought against his disease, life rallied as the light flickers up in the waning taper.
The next morning, when Harley came into his friend’s room, Egerton was asleep. But the sleep seemed much disturbed; the breathing was hard and difficult; the bed-clothes were partially thrown off, as if in the tossing of disturbed dreams; the sinewy strong arm, the broad athletic breast, were partly bare. Strange that so deadly a disease within should leave the frame such apparent power that, to the ordinary eye, the sleeping sufferer seemed a model of healthful vigour. One hand was thrust with uneasy straining over the pillows,—it had its hold on the fatal papers; a portion of the leaves was visible; and where the characters had been blurred by Nora’s tears, were the traces, yet moist, of tears perhaps more bitter.
Harley felt deeply affected; and while he still stood by the bed, Egerton sighed heavily and woke. He stared round him, as if perplexed and confused, till his eyes resting on Harley, he smiled and said,
“So early! Ah, I remember, it is the day for our great boat-race. We shall have the current against us; but you and I together—when did we ever lose?”
Audley’s mind was wandering; it had gone back to the old Eton days. But Harley thought that he spoke in metaphorical allusion to the present more important contest.
“True, my Audley,—you and I together—when did we ever lose? But will you rise? I wish you would be at the polling-place to shake hands with your voters as they come up. By four o’clock you will be released, and the election won.”
“The election! How! what!” said Egerton, recovering himself. “I recollect now. Yes,—I accept this last kindness from you. I always said I would die in harness. Public life—I have no other. Ah, I dream again! Oh, Harley my son, my son!”
“You shall see him after four o’clock. You will be proud of each other. But make haste and dress. Shall I ring the bell for your servant?”
“Do,” said Egerton, briefly, and sinking back. Harley quitted the room, and joined Randal and some of the more important members of the Blue Committee, who were already hurrying over their breakfast.
All were anxious and nervous except Harley, who dipped his dry toast into his coffee, according to his ordinary abstemious Italian habit, with serene composure. Randal in vain tried for an equal tranquillity. But though sure of his election, there would necessarily follow a scene trying to the nerve of his hypocrisy. He would have to affect profound chagrin in the midst of vile joy; have to act the part of decorous high-minded sorrow, that by some untoward chance, some unaccountable cross-splitting, Randal Leslie’s gain should be Audley Egerton’s loss. Besides, he was flurried in the expectation of seeing the squire, and of appropriating the money which was to secure the dearest object of his ambition. Breakfast was soon despatched. The Committee-men, bustling for their hats, and looking at their watches, gave the signal for departure; yet no Squire Hazeldean had made his appearance. Harley, stepping from the window upon the terrace, beckoned to Randal, who took his hat and followed.
“Mr. Leslie,” said Harley, leaning against the balustrade, and carelessly patting Nero’s rough, honest head, “you remember that you were good enough to volunteer to me the explanation of certain circumstances in connection with the Count di Peschiera, which you gave to the Duke di Serrano; and I replied that my thoughts were at present engaged on the election, but as soon as that was over, I should be very willing to listen to any communications affecting yourself and my old friend the duke, with which you might be pleased to favour me.”
This address took Randal by surprise, and did not tend to calm his nerves. However, he replied readily,
“Upon that, as upon any other matter that may influence the judgment you form of me, I shall be but too eager to remove a single doubt that, in your eyes, can rest upon my honour.”
“You speak exceedingly well, Mr. Leslie; no man can express himself more handsomely; and I will claim your promise with the less scruple because the duke is powerfully affected by the reluctance of his daughter to ratify the engagement that binds his honour, in case your own is indisputably cleared. I may boast of some influence over the young lady, since I assisted to save her from the infamous plot of Peschiera; and the duke urges me to receive your explanation, in the belief that, if it satisfy me, as it has satisfied him, I may conciliate his child in favour of the addresses of a suitor who would have hazarded his very life against so redoubted a duellist as Peschiera.”
“Lord L’Estrange,” replied Randal, bowing, “I shall indeed owe you much if you can remove that reluctance on the part of my betrothed bride, which alone clouds my happiness, and which would at once put an end to my suit, did I not ascribe it to an imperfect knowledge of myself, which I shall devote my life to improve into confidence and affection.”
“No man can speak more handsomely,” reiterated Harley, as if with profound admiration; and indeed he did eye Randal as we eye some rare curiosity. “I am happy to inform you, too,” continued L’Estrange, “that if your marriage with the Duke of Serrano’s daughter take place—”
“If!” echoed Randal.
“I beg pardon for making an hypothesis of what you claim the right to esteem a certainty,—I correct my expression: when your marriage with that young lady takes place, you will at least escape the rock on which many young men of ardent affections have split at the onset of the grand voyage. You will form no imprudent connection. In a word, I received yesterday a despatch from Vienna, which contains the full pardon and formal restoration of Alphonso, Duke di Serrano. And I may add, that the Austrian government (sometimes misunderstood in this country) is bound by the laws it administers, and can in no way dictate to the duke, once restored, as to the choice of his son-in-law, or as to the heritage that may devolve on his child.”
“And does the duke yet know of his recall?” exclaimed Randal, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling.
“No. I reserve that good news, with other matters, till after the election is over. But Egerton keeps us waiting sadly. Ah, here comes his valet.”
Audley’s servant approached. “Mr. Egerton feels himself rather more poorly than usual, my Lord; he begs you will excuse his going with you into the town at present. He will come later if his presence is absolutely necessary.”
“No. Pray tell him to rest and nurse himself. I should have liked him to witness his own triumph,—that is all. Say I will represent him at the polling-place. Gentlemen, are you ready? We will go on.”
The polling booth was erected in the centre of the marketplace. The voting had already commenced; and Mr. Avenel and Leonard were already at their posts, in order to salute and thank the voters in their cause who passed before them. Randal and L’Estrange entered the booth amidst loud hurrahs, and to the national air of “See the Conquering Hero comes.” The voters defiled in quick succession. Those who voted entirely according to principle or colour—which came to much the same thing—and were therefore above what is termed “management,” flocked in first, voting straightforwardly for both Blues or both Yellows. At the end of the first half-hour the Yellows were About ten ahead of the Blues. Then sundry split votes began to perplex conjecture as to the result; and Randal, at the end of the first hour, had fifteen majority over Audley Egerton, two over Dick Avenel, Leonard Fairfield heading the poll by five. Randal owed his place in the lists to the voters that Harley’s personal efforts had procured for him; and he was well pleased to see that Lord L’Estrange had not withdrawn from him a single promise so obtained. This augured well for Harley’s ready belief in his appointed “explanations.” In short, the whole election seemed going just as he had calculated. But by twelve o’clock there were some changes in the relative position of the candidates. Dick Avenel had gradually gained ground,—passing Randal, passing even Leonard. He stood at the head of the poll by a majority of ten. Randal came next. Audley was twenty behind Randal, and Leonard four behind Audley. More than half the constituency had polled, but none of the Committee on either side, nor one of the redoubted corps of a Hundred and Fifty.
The poll now slackened sensibly. Randal, looking round, and longing for an opportunity to ask Dick whether he really meant to return himself instead of his nephew, saw that Harley had disappeared; and presently a note was brought to him requesting his presence in the Committee-room. Thither he hastened.
As he forced his way through the bystanders in the lobby, towards the threshold of the room, Levy caught hold of him and whispered, “They begin to fear for Egerton. They want a compromise in order to secure him. They will propose to you to resign, if Avenel will withdraw Leonard. Don’t be entrapped. L’Estrange may put the question to you; but—a word in your ear—he would be glad enough to throw over Egerton. Rely upon this, and stand firm.”
Randal made no answer, but, the crowd giving way for him, entered the room. Levy followed. The doors were instantly closed. All the Blue Committee were assembled. They looked heated, anxious, eager. Lord L’Estrange, alone calm and cool, stood at the head of the long table. Despite his composure, Harley’s brow was thoughtful. “Yes,” said he to himself, “I will give this young man the fair occasion to prove gratitude to his benefactor; and if he here acquit himself, I will spare him, at least, public exposure of his deceit to others. So young, he must have some good in him,—at least towards the man to whom he owes all.”
“Mr. Leslie,” said L’Estrange, aloud, “you see the state of the poll. Our Committee believe that, if you continue to stand, Egerton must be beaten. They fear that, Leonard Fairfield having little chance, the Yellows will not waste their second votes on him, but will transfer them to you, in order to keep out Egerton. If you retire, Egerton will be safe. There is reason to suppose that Leonard would, in that case, also be withdrawn.”
“You can hope and fear nothing more from Egerton,” whispered Levy. “He is utterly ruined; and, if he lose, will sleep in a prison. The bailiffs are waiting for him.”
Randal was still silent, and at that silence an indignant murmur ran through the more influential members of the Committee. For, though Audley was not personally very popular, still a candidate so eminent was necessarily their first object, and they would seem very small to the Yellows, if their great man was defeated by the very candidate introduced to aid him,—a youth unknown. Vanity and patriotism both swelled that murmur. “You see, young sir,” cried a rich, blunt master-butcher, “that it was an honourable understanding that Mr. Egerton was to be safe. You had no claim on us, except as fighting second to him. And we are all astonished that you don’t say at once, ‘Save Egerton, of course.’ Excuse my freedom, sir. No time for palaver.”
“Lord L’Estrange,” said Randal, turning mildly from the butcher, “do you, as the first here in rank and influence, and as Mr. Egerton’s especial friend, call upon me to sacrifice my election, and what appear to be the inclinations of the majority of the constituents, in order to obtain what is, after all, a doubtful chance of returning Mr. Egerton in my room?
“I do not call upon you, Mr. Leslie. It is a matter of feeling or of honour, which a gentleman can very well decide for himself.”
“Was any such compact made between your Lordship and myself, when you first gave me your interest and canvassed for me in person?”
“Certainly not. Gentlemen, be silent. No such compact was mentioned by me.”
“Neither was it by Mr. Egerton. Whatever might be the understanding spoken of by the respected elector who addressed me, I was no party to it. I am persuaded that Mr. Egerton is the last person who would wish to owe his election to a trick upon the electors in the midst of the polling, and to what the world would consider a very unhandsome treatment of myself, upon whom all the toil of the canvass has devolved.”
Again the murmur rose; but Randal had an air so determined, that it quelled resentment, and obtained a continued, though most chilling and half-contemptuous hearing.
“Nevertheless,” resumed Randal, “I would at once retire were I not under the firm persuasion that I shall convince all present, who now seem to condemn me, that I act precisely according to Mr. Egerton’s own private inclinations. That gentleman, in fact, has never been amongst you, has not canvassed in person, has taken no trouble, beyond a speech, that was evidently meant to be but a general defence of his past political career. What does this mean? Simply that his standing has been merely a form, to comply with the wish of his party, against his own desire.”
The Committee-men looked at each other amazed and doubtful. Randal saw he had gained an advantage; he pursued it with a tact and ability which showed that, in spite of his mere oratorical deficiencies, he had in him the elements of a dexterous debater. “I will be plain with you, gentlemen. My character, my desire to stand well with you all, oblige me to be so. Mr. Egerton does not wish to come into parliament at present. His health is much broken; his private affairs need all his time and attention. I am, I may say, as a son to him. He is most anxious for my success; Lord L’Estrange told me but last night, very truly, ‘more anxious for my success than his own.’ Nothing could please him more than to think I were serving in parliament, however humbly, those great interests which neither health nor leisure will, in this momentous crisis, allow himself to defend with his wonted energy. Later, indeed, no doubt, he will seek to return to an arena in which he is so distinguished; and when the popular excitement, which produces the popular injustice of the day, is over, what constituency will not be proud to return such a man? In support and proof of what I have thus said, I now appeal to Mr. Egerton’s own agent,—a gentleman who, in spite of his vast fortune and the rank he holds in society, has consented to act gratuitously on behalf of that great statesman. I ask you, then, respectfully, Baron Levy, Is not Mr. Egerton’s health much broken, and in need of rest?”
“It is,” said Levy.
“And do not his affairs necessitate his serious and undivided attention?”
“They do indeed,” quoth the baron. “Gentlemen, I have nothing to urge in behalf of my distinguished friend as against the statement of his adopted son, Mr. Leslie.”
“Then all I can say,” cried the butcher, striking his huge fist on the table, “is, that Mr. Egerton has behaved d—-d unhandsome to us, and we shall be the laughing-stock of the borough.”
“Softly, softly,” said Harley. “There is a knock at the door behind. Excuse me.”
Harley quitted the room, but only for a minute or two. On his return he addressed himself to Randal.
“Are we then to understand, Mr. Leslie, that your intention is not to resign?”
“Unless your Lordship actually urge me to the contrary, I should say, Let the election go on, and all take our chance. That seems to me the fair, manly, ENGLISH [great emphasis on the last adjective], honourable course.”
“Be it so,” replied Harley; “‘let all take their chance.’ Mr. Leslie, we will no longer detain you. Go back to the polling-place,—one of the candidates should be present; and you, Baron Levy, be good enough to go also, and return thanks to those who may yet vote for Mr. Egerton.”
Levy bowed, and went out arm-in-arm with Randal. “Capital, capital,” said the baron. “You have a wonderful head.”
“I did not like L’Estrange’s look, nevertheless. But he can’t hurt me now; the votes he got for me instead of for Egerton have already polled. The Committee, indeed, may refuse to vote for me; but then there is Avenel’s body of reserve. Yes, the election is virtually over. When we get back, Hazeldean will have arrived with the money for the purchase of my ancestral property; Dr. Riccabocca is already restored to the estates and titles of Serrano; what do I care further for Lord L’Estrange? Still, I do not like his look.”
“Pooh, you have done just what he wished. I am forbidden to say more. Here we are at the booth. A new placard since we left. How are the numbers? Avenel forty ahead of you; you thirty above Egerton; and Leonard Fairfield still last on the poll. But where are Avenel and Fairfield?” Both those candidates had disappeared, perhaps gone to their own Committee-room.
Meanwhile, as soon as the doors had closed on Randal and the baron, in the midst of the angry hubbub succeeding to their departure, Lord L’Estrange sprang upon the table. The action and his look stilled every sound.
“Gentlemen, it is in our hands to return one of our candidates, and to make our own choice between the two. You have heard Mr. Leslie and Baron Levy. To their statement I make but this reply,—Mr. Egerton is needed by the country; and whatever his health or his affairs, he is ready to respond to that call. If he has not canvassed, if he does not appear before you at this moment, the services of more than twenty years plead for him in his stead. Which, then, of the two candidates do you choose as your member,—a renowned statesman, or a beardless boy? Both have ambition and ability; the one has identified those qualities with the history of a country, and (as it is now alleged to his prejudice) with a devotion that has broken a vigorous frame and injured a princely fortune. The other evinces his ambition by inviting you to prefer him to his benefactor, and proves his ability by the excuses he makes for ingratitude. Choose between the two,—an Egerton or a Leslie.”
“Egerton forever!” cried all the assembly, as with a single voice, followed by a hiss for Leslie.
“But,” said a grave and prudent Committee-man, “have we really the choice? Does not that rest with the Yellows? Is not your Lordship too sanguine?”
“Open that door behind; a deputation from our opponents waits in the room on the other side the passage. Admit them.”
The Committee were hushed in breathless silence while Harley’s order was obeyed. And soon, to their great surprise, Leonard Fairfield himself, attended by six of the principal members of the Yellow party, entered the room.
LORD L’ESTRANGE.—“You have a proposition to make to us, Mr. Fairfield, on behalf of yourself and Mr. Avenel, and with the approval of your Committee?”
LEONARD (advancing to the table).—“I have. We are convinced that neither party can carry both its candidates. Mr. Avenel is safe. The only question is, which of the two candidates on your side it best becomes the honour of this constituency to select. My resignation, which I am about to tender, will free sufficient votes to give the triumph either to Mr. Egerton or to Mr. Leslie.”
“Egerton forever!” cried once more the excited Blues. “Yes, Egerton forever!” said Leonard, with a glow upon his cheek. “We may differ from his politics, but who can tell us those of Mr. Leslie? We may differ from the politician, but who would not feel proud of the senator? A great and incalculable advantage is bestowed on that constituency which returns to parliament a distinguished man. His distinction ennobles the place he represents, it sustains public spirit, it augments the manly interest in all that affects the nation. Every time his voice hushes the assembled parliament, it reminds us of our common country; and even the discussion amongst his constituents which his voice provokes, clears their perceptions of the public interest, and enlightens themselves, from the intellect which commands their interests, and compels their attention. Egerton, then, forever! If our party must subscribe to the return of one opponent, let all unite to select the worthiest. My Lord L’Estrange, when I quit this room, it will be to announce my resignation, and to solicit those who have promised me their votes to transfer them to Mr. Audley Egerton.”
Amidst the uproarious huzzas which followed this speech, Leonard drew near to Harley. “My Lord, I have obeyed your wishes, as conveyed to me by my uncle, who is engaged at this moment elsewhere in carrying them into effect.”
“Leonard,” said Harley, in the same undertone, “you have insured to Audley Egerton what you alone could do,—the triumph over a perfidious dependent, the continuance of the sole career in which he has hitherto found the solace or the zest of life. He must thank you with his own lips. Come to the Park after the close of the poll. There and then shall the explanations yet needful to both be given and received.”
Here Harley bowed to the assembly and raised his voice: “Gentlemen, yesterday, at the nomination of the candidates, I uttered remarks that have justly pained Mr. Fairfield. In your presence I wholly retract and frankly apologize for them. In your presence I entreat his forgiveness, and say, that if he will accord me his friendship, I will place him in my esteem and affection side by side with the statesman whom he has given to his country.”
Leonard grasped the hand extended to him with both his own, and then, overcome by his emotions, hurried from the room; while Blues and Yellows exchanged greetings, rejoiced in the compromise that would dispel all party irritation, secure the peace of the borough, and allow quiet men, who had detested each other the day before, and vowed reciprocal injuries to trade and custom, the indulgence of all amiable and fraternal feelings—until the next general election.
In the mean while the polling had gone on slowly as before, but still to the advantage of Randal. “Not two-thirds of the constituency will poll,” murmured Levy, looking at his watch. “The thing is decided. Aha, Audley Egerton! you who once tortured me with the unspeakable jealousy that bequeaths such implacable hate; you who scorned my society, and called me ‘scoundrel,’ disdainful of the very power your folly placed within my hands,—aha, your time is up! and the spirit that administered to your own destruction strides within the circle to seize its prey!”
“You shall have my first frank, Levy,” said Randal, “to enclose your letter to Mr. Thornhill’s solicitor. This affair of the election is over; we must now look to what else rests on our hands.”
“What the devil is that placard?” cried Levy, turning pale.
Randal looked, and right up the market-place, followed by an immense throng, moved, high over the heads of all, a Yellow Board, that seemed marching through the air, cometlike:—
Two o’clock p.m.
RESIGNATION OF FAIRFIELD.
———
YELLOWS!
Vote For
AVENEL AND EGERTON.
(Signed) Timothy Alljack
Yellow Committee Room.
“What infernal treachery is this?” cried Randal, livid with honest indignation.
“Wait a moment; there is Avenel!” exclaimed Levy; and at the head of another procession that emerged from the obscurer lanes of the town, walked, with grave majesty, the surviving Yellow candidate. Dick disappeared for a moment within a grocer’s shop in the broadest part of the place, and then culminated at the height of a balcony on the first story, just above an enormous yellow canister, significant of the profession and the politics of the householder. No sooner did Dick, hat in hand, appear on this rostrum, than the two processions halted below, bands ceased, flags drooped round their staves, crowds rushed within hearing, and even the poll clerks sprang from the booth. Randal and Levy themselves pressed into the throng. Dick on the balcony was the Deus ex machina.
“Freemen and electors!” said Dick, with his most sonorous accents, “finding that the public opinion of this independent and enlightened constituency is so evenly divided, that only one Yellow candidate can be returned, and only one Blue has a chance, it was my intention last night to retire from the contest, and thus put an end to all bickerings and ill-blood (Hold your tongues there, can’t you!). I say honestly, I should have preferred the return of my distinguished and talented young nephew—honourable relation—to my own; but he would not hear of it, and talked all our Committee into the erroneous but high-minded notion, that the town would cry shame if the nephew rode into parliament by breaking the back of the uncle.” (Loud cheers from the mob, and partial cries of “We ‘ll have you both!”)
“You’ll do no such thing, and you know it; hold your jaw,” resumed Dick, with imperious good-humour. “Let me go on, can’t you?—time presses. In a word, my nephew resolved to retire, if, at two o’clock this day, there was no chance of returning both of us; and there is none. Now, then, the next thing for the Yellows who have not yet voted, is to consider how they will give their second votes. If I had been the man to retire, why, for certain reasons, I should have recommended them to split with Leslie,—a clever chap, and pretty considerable sharp.”
“Hear, hear, hear!” cried the baron, lustily.
“But I’m bound to say that my nephew has an opinion of his own,—as an independent Britisher, let him be twice your nephew, ought to have; and his opinion goes the other way, and so does that of our Committee.”
“Sold!” cried the baron; and some of the crowd shook their heads, and looked grave,—especially those suspected of a wish to be bought.
“Sold! Pretty fellow you with the nosegay in your buttonhole to talk of selling! You who wanted to sell your own client,—and you know it. [Levy recoiled.] Why, gentlemen, that’s Levy the Jew, who talks of selling! And if he asperses the character of this constituency, I stand here to defend it! And there stands the parish pump, with a handle for the arm of Honesty, and a spout for the lips of Falsehood!”
At the close of this magniloquent period, borrowed, no doubt, from some great American orator, Baron Levy involuntarily retreated towards the shelter of the polling-booth, followed by some frowning Yellows with very menacing gestures.
“But the calumniator sneaks away; leave him to the reproach of his conscience,” resumed Dick, with a generous magnanimity.
“SOLD! [the word rang through the place like the blast of a trumpet] Sold! No, believe me, not a man who votes for Egerton instead of Fairfield will, so far as I am concerned, be a penny the better—[chilling silence]—or [with a scarce perceivable wink towards the anxious faces of the Hundred and Fifty who filled the background]—or a penny the worse. [Loud cheers from the Hundred and Fifty, and cries of ‘Noble!’] I don’t like the politics of Mr. Egerton. But I am not only a politician,—I am a MAN! The arguments of our respected Committee—persons in business, tender husbands, and devoted fathers—have weight with me. I myself am a husband and a father. If a needless contest be prolonged to the last, with all the irritations it engenders, who suffer?—why, the tradesman and the operative. Partiality, loss of custom, tyrannical demands for house rent, notices to quit,—in a word, the screw!”
“Hear, hear!” and “Give us the Ballot!”
“The Ballot—with all my heart, if I had it about me! And if we had the Ballot, I should like to see a man dare to vote Blue. [Loud cheers from the Yellows.] But, as we have not got it, we must think of our families. And I may add, that though Mr. Egerton may come again into office, yet [added Dick solemnly] I will do my best, as his colleague, to keep him straight; and your own enlightenment (for the schoolmaster is abroad) will show him that no minister can brave public opinion, nor quarrel with his own bread and butter. [Much cheering.] In these times the aristocracy must endear themselves to the middle and working class; and a member in office has much to give away in the Stamps and Excise, in the Customs, the Post Office, and other State departments in this rotten old—I mean this magnificent empire, by which he can benefit his constituents, and reconcile the prerogatives of aristocracy with the claims of the people,—more especially in this case, the people of the borough of Lausmere. [Hear, hear!]
“And therefore, sacrificing party inclinations (since it seems that I can in no way promote them) on the Altar of General Good Feeling, I cannot oppose the resignation of my nephew,—honourable relation!—nor blind my eyes to the advantages that may result to a borough so important to the nation at large, if the electors think fit to choose my Right Honourable brother—I mean the Right Honourable Blue candidate—as my brother colleague. Not that I presume to dictate, or express a wish one way or the other; only, as a Family Man, I say to you, Electors and Freemen, having served your country in returning me, you have nobly won the right to think of the little ones at home.”
Dick put his hand to his heart, bowed gracefully, and retired from the balcony amidst unanimous applause.
In three minutes more Dick had resumed his place in the booth in his quality of candidate. A rush of Yellow electors poured in, hot and fast. Up came Emanuel Trout, and, in a firm voice, recorded his vote, “Avenel and Egerton.” Every man of the Hundred and Fifty so polled. To each question, “Whom do you vote for?” “Avenel and Egerton” knelled on the ears of Randal Leslie with “damnable iteration.” The young man folded his arms across his breast in dogged despair. Levy had to shake hands for Mr. Egerton with a rapidity that took away his breath. He longed to slink away,—longed to get at L’Estrange, whom he supposed would be as wroth at this turn in the wheel of fortune as himself. But how, as Egerton’s representative, escape from the continuous gripes of those horny hands? Besides, there stood the parish pump, right in face of the booth, and some huge truculent-looking Yellows loitered round it, as if ready to pounce on him the instant he quitted his present sanctuary. Suddenly the crowd round the booth receded; Lord L’Estrange’s carriage drove up to the spot, and Harley, stepping from it, assisted out of the vehicle an old, gray-haired, paralytic man. The old man stared round him, and nodded smilingly to the mob. “I’m here,-I’m come; I’m but a poor creature, but I’m a good Blue to the last!”
“Old John Avenel,—fine old John!” cried many a voice.
And John Avenel, still leaning on Harley’s arm, tottered into the booth, and plumped for “Egerton.”
“Shake hands, Father,” said Dick, bending forward, “though you’ll not vote for me.”
“I was a Blue before you were born,” answered the old man, tremulously; “but I wish you success all the same, and God bless you, my boy!”
Even the poll-clerks were touched; and when Dick, leaving his place, was seen by the crowd assisting Lord L’Estrange to place poor John again in the carriage, that picture of family love in the midst of political difference—of the prosperous, wealthy, energetic son, who, as a boy, had played at marbles in the very kennel, and who had risen in life by his own exertions, and was now virtually M. P. for his native town, tending on the broken-down, aged father, whom even the interests of a son he was so proud of could not win from the colours which he associated with truth and rectitude—had such an effect upon the rudest of the mob there present, that you might have heard a pin fall,—till the carriage drove away back to John’s humble home; and then there rose such a tempest of huzzas! John Avenel’s vote for Egerton gave another turn to the vicissitudes of that memorable election. As yet Avenel had been ahead of Audley; but a plumper in favour of Egerton, from Avenel’s own father, set an example and gave an excuse to many a Blue who had not yet voted, and could not prevail on himself to split his vote between Dick and Audley; and, therefore, several leading tradesmen, who, seeing that Egerton was safe, had previously resolved not to vote at all, came up in the last hour, plumped for Egerton, and carried him to the head of the poll; so that poor John, whose vote, involving that of Mark Fairfield, had secured the first opening in public life to the young ambition of the unknown son-in-law, still contributed to connect with success and triumph, but also with sorrow, and, it may be, with death, the names of the high-born Egerton and the humble Avenel.
The great town-clock strikes the hour of four; the returning officer declares the poll closed; the formal announcement of the result will be made later. But all the town knows that Audley Egerton and Richard Avenel are the members for Lausmere. And flags stream, and drums beat, and men shake each other by the hand heartily; and there is talk of the chairing to-morrow; and the public-houses are crowded; and there is an indistinct hubbub in street and alley, with sudden bursts of uproarious shouting; and the clouds to the west look red and lurid round the sun, which has gone down behind the church tower,—behind the yew-trees that overshadow the quiet grave of Nora Avenel.
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