ips as she lit a candle and
burnt the note in its flame, dropping the ashes into the grate. Quisante
lay as though unconscious, taking no heed of his sister-in-law's
proffered services. Jimmy Benyon stood in awkward stillness, looking at
May. Suddenly May broke into a laugh.

"Just as well to burn it; it might be misunderstood," said she. Jimmy
moved towards her quickly and impulsively. "No, no, I'm all right," she
went on. "And we've won, haven't we? I'm going to my room. Look after
him." She paused and added, smiling still, "His head's very bad, you
know." And so, pale and smiling, she left her husband to their care.

The ashes of Mr. Foster's note seemed to crinkle into a sour grin where
they lay on the black-leaded floor of the fire-grate.

CHAPTER XIV.

OPEN EYES.

It is a matter of common observation that the local influences and
peculiarities which loom so large before the eyes of both parties during
such a struggle as that at Henstead seem to be entirely forgotten after
the declaration of the poll, at least by the victorious faction and their
friends in the Press and the country. Out of a congeries of conflicting
views, fancies, fads, interests, quarrels, and misunderstandings a
reasoned and single political verdict is considered to emerge, and great
is the credit of the advocate who extracts it from the multitudinous
jury. When Quisante had won Henstead, little more was heard of the
gentleman with a deceased wife's sister, of the butcher in trouble about
slaughter-houses, of Japhet Williams' conscience or Tom Sinnett's affair.
The result was taken as an augury of triumph for the party all over the
country, where these things had never been heard of and the voices of
Henstead did not reach. Unhappily however, as events proved, the victory
of Henstead had in the end to be regarded not as the inauguration of a
triumphant campaign but as a brilliant exploit performed in face of an
overwhelming enemy. To be brief, the Government was beaten, somewhat
badly beaten, the great cry was a failure, and there were many casualties
in the ranks. Marchmont kept his seat by virtue of personal and
hereditary popularity; but Dick Benyon, who had been considered quite
safe, lost his, a fate shared by many who had deemed themselves no less
secure.

"I suppose you preached your miserable Crusade, as you call it?" said
Constantine Blair. They were at dinner at M