lity over art. The ugly memories
of the recent scene faded away; local struggles were forgotten; Emmet
and Cobbens receded equally into the background, and only the country's
glory and interests filled the minds of the listeners.

During all this time the bishop's daughter sat as one rapt in a reverie
that had little connection with the emotions that swayed the crowded
house before her. Emmet made no further attempt to look at her, and to
do so would have necessitated a conspicuous movement and turning; but
the young mathematician gazed in her direction from time to time,
wondering at the nature of her thoughts, and hoping that their eyes
might meet. As often before, he noted that her expression in repose
suggested a profound sadness, as if her beauty had brought its heritage
of unrest. There is a type of beauty that suggests a setting of
fashion and clothes and jewelry; but Felicity's loveliness was of the
twilight kind, far removed from realism, setting the imagination free
with fancies of the mountains and the woods. To the man who loved her
and had seen her in just such a setting, the appeal was all the more
powerful. Even now the shadows of the trees seemed to lurk in her
eyes, in her hair, and in the exquisite curve of her lips. It was
difficult for him to realise that she was a fashionable woman, loving
the opportunities of her social life, for he saw her otherwise. Hers
was a face toward which men gravitated, not drawn by her beauty alone,
nor by the brilliancy of her mind, but by a sense of mystery beyond the
outward seeming.

The atmosphere which the President's speech had created outlasted the
effort itself, and remained warmly in the minds of the hearers. All
too soon they were reaching for their hats and coats and beginning to
realise that the great occasion was over. Soon the stage was bare, and
the receding tide in the pit had left large patches of empty seats.

The experience had wrought a wonderful transformation in Leigh.
Emmet's initial triumph and his claims were now forgotten. Had the
mayor been allowed to speak, he would doubtless have scored a hit, but
Cobbens had succeeded in reducing him to a mere pawn. The people had
thrust him forward on the board; Cobbens had neatly lifted him off and
usurped his square. The mayor's position had been far from heroic,
battered between contending forces and finally rescued by the
President's strong arm. Doubtless Cobbens had killed himself
poli