s not to miss a word she
should say. It was a picture long to be remembered. Even to this day
it is talked about in Brunford. She only spoke a few words, but her
voice rang out clearly in the still air.

"I am glad I ever came to Brunford," she said. "I have learnt to love
the people, and--thank you!"

That was all, but the laugh on her face, the laugh in her voice, her
girlish presence, her winsome manner had done a great deal to soften
the hardest heart. Indeed, many believed that she had kept thousands
from angry words, and perhaps from angry deeds, by her presence.

"Ay, but oo is bonnie!" "No wonder her feyther is proud on her!" "A
gradely lass and a'!" was heard everywhere. And then a silence fell
upon the crowd again, which was followed by another mighty shout,
louder than any which had yet been heard.

Paul Stepaside came forward, his face pale to the lips, his eyes
burning like coals of fire. Black rage was in his heart, for he felt
himself to be ignominiously beaten, and yet, with that stubborn
persistency which characterised him, and a pride which rose above
everything, he would not show it. "My good friends and comrades," he
said, "we've been beaten this time, but we'll win yet. If you will
have me, I mean to be Member for Brunford, in spite of everything. Mr.
Bolitho has won this time, but it will not be for long. He and I will
meet again, for I'm not one who gives up. For the moment I'm under a
cloud, but only for a moment. The stars in their courses are on the
side of those who are on the side of right. And we are on the right,
and I've fought a straight battle. Yes, Mr. Bolitho and I will meet
again--it may be under circumstances different from these, but we shall
surely meet, and always to fight! He must not think, because he has
gained this victory, that he will always be victorious. If I'm not
your Member to-day, I will be to-morrow. And the time will come when
he will not rejoice in the victory to-day as he has rejoiced in it
to-night!"

Afterwards Paul was angry with himself that he had said this. He had
meant to utter no vindictive word, and yet he knew that every sentence
he uttered contained a threat, a threat which at that time seemed to
him to have no meaning. He felt ashamed of himself, too, and it seemed
to him on reflection that he had been churlish even almost to
childishness. And yet the words came to him in spite of himself, and
he had flung them out eagerly,