"I hope you don't mind, Mr. Leicester, but I was obliged to make arrangements. As soon as I got the telegram saying that Parliament had dissolved, I thought I had better take the bull by the horns, and——"

"It's all right, Smith, all right. I don't feel like election speeches, but they've got to be made, and we'll fight this affair for all it's worth."

"Thank you, Mr. Leicester, you relieve my mind very much. Of course I saw that paragraph in the newspaper yesterday, and I knew that you must be greatly upset. I sincerely hope it's nothing serious, and that Miss Castlemaine will soon be well."

"We'll drop Miss Castlemaine, please."

Smith was Leicester's election agent, and seemed anxious to make certain explanations.

"Certainly, sir. I only thought——"

"All right, but there are certain subjects I wish avoided—that's one."

The man knew nothing but what had appeared in the papers; but Leicester had a feeling that he knew everything and spoke accordingly. Besides, he had scarcely slept through the night, and he was a prey to dark fancies.

Smith looked at him wonderingly. He had many doubts about telegraphing Leicester, and had feared that he would not come to Taviton at all. There had been a great deal of gossip in the town about the postponed wedding, and already the opposition party had been seeking to make capital out of it.

"Forgive me, Mr. Leicester," he said, "but my own opinion is that, properly worked, this should bring us a good many votes. Of course we had hoped that when the election took place Mrs. Leicester would appear on the platform with you, and be a kind of leader among the ladies. I have only had the pleasure of meeting her once, but from an electioneering standpoint, I should say she was just perfect, sir, just perfect. Well, if a judicious statement were made at the meeting to-night—I repeat the word judicious, sir—and delicately put, to the effect that, that is—well, sir, she is very ill, but is greatly grieved that she is not able to be with you, and that the doctors hope that in a few months, perhaps less, sir, the wedding will come off, I believe it would work wonders. Of course I don't press it, sir, but if she could send a message to be read at one of the public meetings, it would——"

But Leicester did not let him finish the sentence. At first he had listened in a dazed sort of way, scarcely realising what he was saying, but as the man continued he lost his self-control.

"Curse it, Smith," he said, "haven't I told you to drop that question."

But Smith was one of those persistent men who will not be turned aside from his purpose.

"I know it must be painful to you, sir, and you being so fond of each other, too. But the truth is, the other side is talking,—too much for your good, I am inclined to think."

"Let it talk," said Leicester angrily.

"Yes, sir, but I have my own reputation to think of, as well as yours. I've never lost an election yet, sir, and I don't mean to leave any stone unturned in order to win this. It was at my suggestion that Mr. Grayburn wired to you last night, and I've been working like a slave ever since. Judiciously managed, sir, the fact of the postponement of your wedding may do us a lot of good. Judiciously managed, sir, of course. Weak heart, sir, I was thinking about, and then excess of joy at the thought of the wedding, brought on dangerous complications which made a journey out of the country inevitable. That is what I suggest, sir. And may I also say, sir, that you made a bad move in not coming down by the six o'clock train, as I wired this morning. I could then have got a big turn-out to meet you. The proper thing was what I wanted. I had arranged for a lot of men to take the horses out of the carriage I had engaged, and have drawn you up to town in style. Your wire an hour ago, saying you would be here earlier, gave me no time, sir. Still, I must get over that; but I do urge the other, sir. I quite appreciate the delicacy of your feelings, but we must put our feelings in the background at electioneering times. In fact, as you may know, Miss Castlemaine had her photograph taken when she was down here, and I've had a slide made of it for a magic lantern. My idea is that her picture be thrown on a screen to-night before the chairman speaks, and that an explanation be made about the postponement of the wedding. I can explain about your coming down unexpectedly. I can say that after your great trouble, although your sense of duty made you overcome it in order to come down early, you did not feel like being met by a crowd of your loyal supporters. That would be a good card, sir, and it would tell with the voters."

The man's words angered him, but he controlled himself. After all, why shouldn't he let him have his way? The whole thing was a bit of play-acting, a farce, a mockery—why not play the game thoroughly then?

He had been drinking freely through the day, and while, as of old, it did not affect him outwardly, it influenced him far more than it would have done a few months before. His abstinence had made him far more susceptible to the power of whisky. Under its influence, moreover, he felt like consenting to things which without it he would have scorned. What had taken place had utterly destroyed the feelings which Olive Castlemaine had caused to take root in his heart. Besides, this would be one method of paying off old scores. Let the farce be kept up. Nothing mattered now. Even if the truth were discovered he did not care.

"Of course the notice is short," went on the election agent, "but I thought it better to strike while the iron was hot. The dissolution yesterday came upon us like a bombshell, but I determined to make capital out of it, and I tell you, sir, there'll be a tremendous crowd to hear you to-night. There'll be two cards to play, sir. First we shall arouse a tremendous amount of sympathy for you, on account of Miss Castlemaine being taken ill, that is if the matter is judiciously worked; and then, second, the people are just burning to hear about the causes which led to the Government's downfall. Of course you've got everything first hand, sir. That's enough for to-night, and if we play our game well, the battle is nearly won before the other side have had a chance to get a look in."

"All right," said Leicester desperately, "anything to win."

"That's the proper spirit, anything to win. But I've a bit of unpleasant news, sir—perhaps you can explain it?"

"What?" asked Leicester.

"Well, you know, sir, you have generally stayed with Mr. Osborne at The Grange when you've visited the constituency. Accordingly, I took the liberty of calling upon him to-day, suggesting that he should invite you, as on other occasions, but he refused to do so."

"Just so," said Leicester; "did he tell you why?"

"Not a word, sir; as a consequence I engaged rooms for you here at the Red Lion."

"That's all right," he said. "Mr. Osborne is a little out of sympathy with us just now; but on the whole I am very glad. I would much rather be here in the hotel."

"Still, it's a bit of a knock-down blow. Mr. Osborne is the most influential man in the constituency, and the other side will be sure to ask ugly questions."

"Let them ask."

"Very well, sir. Then you'll let me arrange things in my own way, and make what explanation I think fit."

"Yes, anything you like. And look here, Smith, spare neither money nor lies. It seems they are both necessary. Only, as you say, let everything be judiciously managed." And he laughed bitterly.

"Trust me for that, sir, trust me for that. You wouldn't like to go round to the Central Committee Rooms, sir? I've arranged to meet the principal workers there."

"No, I'll not go just now. Don't let me detain you Smith. I shall want something to eat, and a little time to think of my speech. And, by the way, I don't want to be disturbed by any one, until a quarter of an hour before the meeting. You understand that?"

"Quite, Mr. Leicester. I'm glad you approve of the steps I've taken."

"Delighted, delighted. You've done marvels."

"I've worked like a slave all day; there's been a thousand things to arrange. But I'm what the Americans call a bit of a hustler, and I mean to win. One must not be too squeamish at times like these, you know. I was afraid a few weeks ago that you were going to hamper me with foolish restrictions, but I am glad you give me a free hand."

"Yes, go ahead, only be judicious. Don't give the other side any chance of making us come a cropper."

"I'll see to that," and the agent departed.

When he was gone, Leicester lay back in his chair and laughed bitterly.

"What's the odds?" he said. "Let him do what he likes. I don't care. The whole business is a piece of jobbery. Smith thinks he's clever, and is trying to outwit the agent on the other side, while he in his turn is trying to outwit Smith. Well, let them. I'll get into Parliament, and I'll play the game, and yes, I'll make Olive Castlemaine come to me on bended knees. I hurt her pride, did I, by making her the subject of a wager? Well, she would listen to no explanation afterwards, and now she shall take the consequences. I see the meaning of Osborne's action. John Castlemaine will have sent him some account of this business, and—and—well, it's no use worrying. I'll make them all squirm before I've finished; yes, and I'll win my wager too!"

His eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "High ideals! Moral purpose! Raise the standard of politics! Those were her watchwords!" And he laughed mockingly.

He was sitting in a private room in the Red Lion Hotel, and, as he had said, he was glad that he was to have the liberty of the hotel, rather than suffer the restrictions which a private house would place upon him. Moreover, Bridget Osborne, as the friend of Olive Castlemaine, would learn something of the truth, and it would be impossible for him to stay there.

"I will keep up the farce of respectability," he said; "reports have been spread that I've turned teetotaler. Well, I'll play the hypocrite."

He rang the bell and a waiter appeared.

"I'll have dinner alone here at seven o'clock," he said.

"Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"

"Yes, a bottle of soda-water."

"Nothing with it, sir?"

"No, nothing."

He laughed as the man left the room. The old peculiar look had returned to his eyes. After the waiter had brought a bottle of soda-water and a tumbler, he went to his portmanteau, and took therefrom a bottle of whisky. He poured a large portion into the glass, added a little soda-water, and drank greedily.

"I shall suffer the torments of hell if I keep up this," he said; "but I don't care. It's better than eternally brooding. Now I'll set to work on my speech. Oh yes, she'll be sure to get a copy of the Taviton papers, trust a woman for that,—well, she shall see that I can do without her."

His brain was still clear, and he showed no outward signs of drinking. Men had said that his nerves were of steel, and that no spirits ever distilled could affect him. He outlined the address he intended to publish next day, and then sketched the speech he meant to deliver that night. He laughed as his pen moved quickly across the paper.

"They want lies," he laughed, "they want pious platitudes; well, they shall have them, and they shan't suspect that the man who utters them is drunk, and that he's living in hell."

Again and again did he replenish his glass, and as often did he empty it; but it still had no outward effect, save that his eyes became glazed, and dull, and his face assumed an unhealthy look. His hand did not shake, his writing was as clear as ever. His thoughts were expressed in clear and convincing form.

"Yes," he said presently, "that will do. Olive's illness explained in vague terms, but still explicit enough to satisfy every one. I'll arouse their sentimental feelings, and get their votes. Of course the truth will come out presently, but what do I care? Further lies will put everything right. They want lies and they shall have them—the world is built on lies. Then I'll have a fine high-sounding attack on the Government. Oh, I'll play the moral card, showing that their downfall is a judgment from heaven. That'll please the pious Nonconformists. After that I'll finish up with the statement that the battle of this election is a battle between sobriety and drunkenness, between the friends of temperance and the brewers and whisky distillers. I'll have a fine peroration on the evils of drink; I'll picture a hundred and fifty thousand poor devils staggering down to drunkards' graves every year. That'll fetch 'em. Of course I shall be drunk all the time, but what does that matter? In the old days I made my best speeches when I was drunk, and to-night I'll give them a masterpiece. Of course the other side will inquire here about what I've taken to drink, and the waiter will say I've only had a bottle of soda-water!"

He laughed grimly at the thought, then noting the time he went into his bedroom and carefully washed out his glass.

He caught a reflection of himself in a mirror, and the sight gave him a start.

"My God," he said, "I've aged ten years in three days, and my head feels a bit unsteady. I must be careful. It would spoil everything if I were bowled over."

When a quarter to eight came, Leicester was ready for the advent of his chief supporters. He was faultlessly dressed, and he looked calm and dignified. He received the chairman of the meeting with grave courtesy, and after a few minutes' conversation he walked with them to the Public Hall, which was only a few yards away.

As may be imagined, the hall was crowded. Although the country had expected the Government either to resign or to dissolve for weeks past, the news of dissolution seemed sudden. The political fires were lighted, and all the town was agog with excitement. People wanted to hear news first hand, and they imagined that Leicester would bring it. They also expected one of the brilliant speeches for which he was noted. Never before, they reflected, had such a chance been given him, and they felt sure that he would make the most of it. Therefore when the chairman, followed by Leicester and the leading magnates of the town, came upon the platform, the meeting rose en masse, and shouted until they were hoarse. The fight which they had so long desired had commenced, and the leader of the battle was before them.

Exactly as the clock struck eight the chairman rose. It was not his purpose, he said, to make a speech at that juncture. He knew that every one was eager to hear their candidate, and that he would be committing an unpardonable sin if he stood between them and the speaker of the evening, and the hero of the fight. Nevertheless, there was an explanation he would like to give. As many of them knew, Mr. Leicester had expected to be married two days before, but owing to the sudden and severe illness of the bride the wedding had not taken place. Many men would have been prostrated by such a blow, but Mr. Leicester had risen above it. The call of duty had been louder than the voice of sorrow, and though he was naturally suffering great grief, he had risen above the grief, and was with them to fight their battles.

Of course this was received with tremendous applause. It appealed to young and old alike. There was something pathetic, as well as heroic, in their candidate overcoming his grief to be with them in their battles. As for Leicester, he sat unmoved amidst the shouts of sympathy. To him it was bitter mockery, and ghastly tragedy; but he mastered his feelings, and sat pale and motionless.

"Nevertheless," went on the chairman, "we have the sympathy and good wishes of the lady, whom we hoped would be with us in this fight. She is not with us in person, but she is with us in spirit, aye, and more than spirit, for——"

And here the agent's eye for dramatic effect came in. At that moment, the electric lights in the building were suddenly extinguished, and the picture of Olive Castlemaine was thrown on the canvas, which had been placed on the wall behind the platform.

Again there was a shout of enthusiasm. "Three cheers for the lady, and may she soon be well enough to be Mrs. Leicester," some one shouted.

The suggestion was taken up with a will. Cheer after cheer filled the hall, and Mr. Smith, the election agent, felt rather glad that he wedding had not come off. Her introduction in this way was worth more votes, he reflected, than if she had appeared in person. In truth, the face thrown upon the screen was sufficient to arouse the enthusiasm of any crowd. Olive Castlemaine had been very happy when that photograph had been taken. She had gone to the photographer's the day after Leicester had made his memorable speech, and she appeared at her best. Moreover, the photographer, and the maker of the slide, were to be congratulated. It was a fine picture. There was a smile upon her lips, the light of gladness was in her eyes, while the nobility of her face impressed all who saw it.

Almost without realising it, Leicester turned and saw. He remembered accompanying her to the photographer's, and he recalled the happy day they had spent afterwards. Yes, this was the woman he had won—and lost. All the ghastly mockery of the business came to him as he beheld the beautiful woman who had sent him away from her home in scorn and anger. The shouts of the multitude maddened him. He wanted to rise and tell them that the whole thing was a shameful lie, a bitter mockery. But he sat still, looking and looking. Presently he became almost unconscious of the shouting crowd, in his consciousness of his hopeless misery, and wrecked hopes. Great God! what was this election to him now, when his heart was all torn and bleeding, and when, to forget everything, he had debauched himself in whisky! Never had he realised his loss more than he realised it then. She was his no longer, she had driven him from her because he had outraged her woman's pride, because he had made her the subject of a drunken jest.

In a moment all had changed again. The hall was ablaze with light, and the slide had been removed from the lantern. They were again brought back to the business of the meeting.

"And now," said the chairman, "I have pleasure, unbounded pleasure, in asking our brilliant candidate, who I am sure will be not only your future member, but in good time will occupy Cabinet rank in this country, to address you. Moreover, I want, in your name, to assure him that we are all anxious, not only to welcome him as our future member, but to tell him that we look forward to the time when we shall see him and his beautiful wife upon this platform."

The chairman was not possessed of a very sensitive nature, or he would not have uttered this last sentiment. Besides, he was carried away with the ardour of the meeting and the dignity of his own position.

As Leicester rose to speak he felt that his head was swimming, and he realised that his brain refused to fasten upon the things he wanted to say. The atmosphere of the ill-ventilated hall had now become stifling to a degree, and the whisky he had been drinking during the last two days was having its effect. As he had said, his long abstinence had made him more susceptible to its power, and he not only knew that he was drunk, but he also realised that others were in danger of knowing it as well.

He stood staring stupidly at the audience, as cheer followed cheer. At first a great dread filled his heart, only to be followed by a kind of idiotic mirth, over which he had no control. When he spoke it seemed to him that his voice was not his own; it sounded ludicrous in the extreme; it was like the babble of a senseless idiot, rather than that of a strong, self-contained man.

"Ladies and gen'l'men," he said, and felt himself rocking to and fro as he spoke, "I'm 'bliged to you, verr-y 'bliged to you, for the kind sen'iments you've 'spressed f'r my beau'ful bride." Here he stopped; he felt that the people were looking towards him with wonder. He heard derisive laughter in the hall. He tried to think of something else to say, but his brain refused to act: the whisky had taken effect. The scenes through which he had passed and the stifling atmosphere of the room had mastered him. For the first time in his life he revealed the fact that he was drunk. For several seconds he stood, staring at the people with lack-lustre eyes, and rocking to and fro in his helplessness.

"Ladies and gen'l'men," he hiccoughed, "I've been drinking to her health t'day, and I b'leeve I'm lill bit drunk. Never'less, I'll 'nde'vour to——"

He tried to speak further, but in vain; then, looking around the hall, he broke into a senseless laugh, and fell on the floor of the platform in a state of imbecility.