s
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,