er
thoughts of life; she was making him realise the great powers which had
been lying dormant. It was something to be proud of. To be the means of
making a possible great man to realise his greatness, and of bringing
into life latent powers of which even he had not been conscious.

Visions rose before her mind of what he would be. She had read the
history of the career of men like the younger Pitt, of John Bright, of
Disraeli, of Gladstone, and she believed that Leicester was equal to the
best of them. She saw him the leader of a people, voicing their wants,
and interpreting their language; she saw him a prophet, revealing to the
world the deeper meanings of a nation's life. And she was the instrument
chosen for his salvation. He had learnt to love her, he had declared
that if he was to be anything but a cynic, a scoffer, it must be through
her. She was his inspiration, his lode-star, his hope. For her, and
with her by his side, he could do anything.

She believed it now. In her excitement she compared his speech with the
brilliant orations of the great leaders. She was sure that Leicester's
powers were of the same order as the powers of Macaulay and Burke. And
she--_she_ was the instrument used by God to make everything possible.

As she walked back to Taviton Grange, her hand resting on his arm, she
seemed to be treading on air. Her life seemed enlarged, her purpose in
living seemed greater. She was willing to forget herself, to sink her
own personality, so that the man she had accepted as her husband might
be the man God intended him to be.

John Castlemaine had been at the meeting also, and while not a believer
in all his political doctrines, was also carried away by the brilliance
of Leicester's speech. He felt proud of his future son-in-law; and he
was sure that Olive had done wisely in accepting him as her husband.

So far Leicester had been true to his promise to Olive. He had never
touched alcohol since the day he had asked her to be his wife. Sometimes
the craving had been terrible, but he had resisted. He had even borne
the covert sneers of his acquaintances without retort. What had begun in
a grim and unworthy joke had become to him the great motive power of his
life.

Indeed, but for one thing, Leicester was supremely happy. He could never
think of the compact which led to his introduction to her without shame,
and he had a great dread lest in some way it should come to her ears.
More than once, after