table, to prepare
the heads of the critical speech he would have now very soon to deliver
on the day of nomination,--critical speech when, in the presence of foes
and friends, reporters from London, and amidst all the jarring interests
that he sought to weave into the sole self-interest of Randal Leslie,
he would be called upon to make the formal exposition of his political
opinions. Randal Leslie, indeed, was not one of those speakers whom
either modesty, fastidiousness, or conscientious desire of truth
predisposes towards the labour of written composition. He had too much
cleverness to be in want of fluent period or ready commonplace,--the
ordinary materials of oratorical impromptu; too little taste for the
Beautiful to study what graces of diction will best adorn a noble
sentiment; too obtuse a conscience to care if the popular argument
were purified from the dross which the careless flow of a speech wholly
extemporaneous rarely fails to leave around it. But this was no ordinary
occasion. Elaborate study here was requisite, not for the orator,
but the hypocrite. Hard task, to please the Blues, and not offend the
Yellows; appear to side with Audley Egerton, yet insinuate sympathy with
Dick Avenel; confront, with polite smile, the younger opponent whose
words had lodged arrows in his vanity, which rankled the more gallingly
because they had raised the skin of his conscience.

He had dipped his pen into the ink and smoothed the paper before him,
when a knock was heard at the door.

"Come in," said he, impatiently. Levy entered saunteringly.

"I am come to talk over matters with you, mon cher," said the baron,
throwing himself on the sofa. "And, first, I wish you joy of your
prospects of success."

Randal postponed his meditated composition with a quick sigh, drew his
chair towards the sofa, and lowered his voice into a whisper. "You think
with me, that the chance of my success--is good?"

"Chance! Why, it is a rubber of whist, in which your partner gives you
all the winnings, and in which the adversary is almost sure to revoke.
Either Avenel or his nephew, it is true, must come in; but not both. Two
parvenus aspiring to make a family seat of an earl's borough! Bah! too
absurd!"

"I hear from Riccabocca (or rather the Duke di Serrano) that this same
young Fairfield is greatly indebted to the kindness of Lord L'Estrange.
Very odd that he should stand against the Lansmere interest."

"Ambition, mon cher. You yours