their conversation, and a discussion inevitably followed a reminder
from Cardington that this was the evening in which the people were to
celebrate their victory by a procession. Miss Wycliffe jestingly
proposed an illumination of the house; but her father's patience with
her perversity was exhausted. Doubtless the triumph of the cause he
hated intensified his emotion. Had the judge been elected, he could
easily have been magnanimous, or could have twitted her with good
humour. But there comes a time, even to the most philosophical parent,
when the independent judgment of a child seems a personal affront, an
ingratitude "sharper than a serpent's tooth." He loved the beautiful
old city in which his life had been spent, and wished to see it ruled
always by men of his own class. To him the outcome of the election was
really a significant calamity, the beginning of the end of the
aristocratic democracy he cherished. Not Lincoln, the dissenter and
man of the people, but Washington, the gentleman and Churchman, was his
ideal of an American statesman. It is perhaps not too much to say that
he would prefer to see the wheels of government falter for a while in
the hands of an aristocrat rather than to see them turn smoothly under
the propelling power of a plebeian, were it in his suffrage to make the
choice.

"An illumination of the house," he echoed bitterly. "We might put some
flaming hoops out in the street, so that the clown can turn a
somersault through them as he passes by."

The taunt was greeted by Cardington with something of excessive
appreciation, and the bishop, softened by his success, threw back his
head and smiled broadly at his daughter, regarding her through
half-closed eyes.

It was evident that Miss Wycliffe did not relish the absurd picture of
her _protege_ thus presented to her mind, and a reply in kind seemed to
hover in the scornful curves of her lips; but she was a woman of finer
mettle than to show either her anger or her hurt.

"Mr. Cardington," she said with subtle mockery, "your part in the
performance is plain"--

She broke off, attracted by the unusual manner of the maid, whose hand,
as she placed a plate before her mistress, shook violently, so that she
overturned a glass of wine. Miss Wycliffe glanced up, surprised at
this awkwardness in one usually so adroit, and pushed back her chair to
avoid the crimson stain that was slowly spreading toward the edge of
the table. Unconsciousl