the circular lay in the tail, and it was contained in these words:
"Stepaside is the man that controls Stepaside and Preston. Is he the
man whom we can trust to represent Brunford?"

A meeting of the general committee was called next night. If anything
could be done, it must be done quickly. No one knew who had issued
this circular--the name of the printer was not there. It had come by
post from London. Who had sent it no one could tell. But here was the
fact--its contents were of the most damning nature. It hinted that
Paul was on the verge of bankruptcy, and that he owed his position to
wild speculation, if not to fraudulent dealings. Paul's face was pale
when he met the committee. "I want to face this matter fairly,
gentlemen," he said. "You know that it was under pressure that I
consented to fight for the seat, and to represent your interests. I
did so in good faith. I believed my business was on a sound basis;
nevertheless, many things in the circular are true." He then went on
to tell how he stood commercially. He described his position in terms
with which his hearers were familiar, but which I need not try and
reproduce here. Indeed, it will be well that I should not, because the
matter is still discussed in the town of Brunford. But he had no
difficulty in convincing all present that he had acted honourably, and
that an enemy had been at work. Still, what was he to do? He could
not deny the statements made, and it was, doubtless, a fact that he
stood on the verge of ruin. His supporters, moreover, were mainly of
the working class, and the rich men, the employers, were supporters of
Mr. Bolitho. Besides, as was natural, the bank which had backed him
was anxious concerning the whole matter.

"The question is," said Paul, "what do you wish me to do? Shall I
resign, now at the eleventh hour? If I do, it will be a sign of
weakness. It will be a confession that every word in this circular is
true. It will proclaim the fact that I am afraid to face the future."

"Can'st a face the future, Paul?" asked one.

"I believe I can," he said, "and yet it is so uncertain that I feel I
must place myself in your hands."

"And let t'other side beat us?" cried an old weaver. "Nay, nay, Paul.
We mun fight to the end!"

This was unanimously agreed upon, but Paul knew that a deadly blow had
been struck, struck by an unseen hand, and in such a way that he had no
means of parrying it. He knew, too, that