"Yes, go ahead, only be judicious. Don't give the other side any chance of making us come a cropper."

"I'll see to that," and the agent departed.

When he was gone, Leicester lay back in his chair and laughed bitterly.

"What's the odds?" he said. "Let him do what he likes. I don't care. The whole business is a piece of jobbery. Smith thinks he's clever, and is trying to outwit the agent on the other side, while he in his turn is trying to outwit Smith. Well, let them. I'll get into Parliament, and I'll play the game, and yes, I'll make Olive Castlemaine come to me on bended knees. I hurt her pride, did I, by making her the subject of a wager? Well, she would listen to no explanation afterwards, and now she shall take the consequences. I see the meaning of Osborne's action.

John Castlemaine will have sent him some account of this business, and--and--well, it's no use worrying. I'll make them all squirm before I've finished; yes, and I'll win my wager too!"

His eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "High ideals! Moral purpose!

Raise the standard of politics! Those were her watchwords!" And he laughed mockingly.

He was sitting in a private room in the Red Lion Hotel, and, as he had said, he was glad that he was to have the liberty of the hotel, rather than suffer the restrictions which a private house would place upon him.

Moreover, Bridget Osborne, as the friend of Olive Castlemaine, would learn something of the truth, and it would be impossible for him to stay there.

"I will keep up the farce of respectability," he said; "reports have been spread that I've turned teetotaler. Well, I'll play the hypocrite."

He rang the bell and a waiter appeared.

"I'll have dinner alone here at seven o'clock," he said.

"Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"

"Yes, a bottle of soda-water."

"Nothing with it, sir?"

"No, nothing."

He laughed as the man left the room. The old peculiar look had returned to his eyes. After the waiter had brought a bottle of soda-water and a tumbler, he went to his portmanteau, and took therefrom a bottle of whisky. He poured a large portion into the gla.s.s, added a little soda-water, and drank greedily.

"I shall suffer the torments of h.e.l.l if I keep up this," he said; "but I don't care. It's better than eternally brooding. Now I'll set to work on my speech. Oh yes, she'll be sure to get a copy of the Taviton papers, trust a woman for that,--well, she shall see that I can do without her."

His brain was still clear, and he showed no outward signs of drinking.

Men had said that his nerves were of steel, and that no spirits ever distilled could affect him. He outlined the address he intended to publish next day, and then sketched the speech he meant to deliver that night. He laughed as his pen moved quickly across the paper.

"They want lies," he laughed, "they want pious plat.i.tudes; well, they shall have them, and they shan't suspect that the man who utters them is drunk, and that he's living in h.e.l.l."

Again and again did he replenish his gla.s.s, and as often did he empty it; but it still had no outward effect, save that his eyes became glazed, and dull, and his face a.s.sumed an unhealthy look. His hand did not shake, his writing was as clear as ever. His thoughts were expressed in clear and convincing form.

"Yes," he said presently, "that will do. Olive's illness explained in vague terms, but still explicit enough to satisfy every one. I'll arouse their sentimental feelings, and get their votes. Of course the truth will come out presently, but what do I care? Further lies will put everything right. They want lies and they shall have them--the world is built on lies. Then I'll have a fine high-sounding attack on the Government. Oh, I'll play the moral card, showing that their downfall is a judgment from heaven. That'll please the pious Nonconformists. After that I'll finish up with the statement that the battle of this election is a battle between sobriety and drunkenness, between the friends of temperance and the brewers and whisky distillers. I'll have a fine peroration on the evils of drink; I'll picture a hundred and fifty thousand poor devils staggering down to drunkards' graves every year.

That'll fetch 'em. Of course I shall be drunk all the time, but what does that matter? In the old days I made my best speeches when I was drunk, and to-night I'll give them a masterpiece. Of course the other side will inquire here about what I've taken to drink, and the waiter will say I've only had a bottle of soda-water!"

He laughed grimly at the thought, then noting the time he went into his bedroom and carefully washed out his gla.s.s.

He caught a reflection of himself in a mirror, and the sight gave him a start.

"My G.o.d," he said, "I've aged ten years in three days, and my head feels a bit unsteady. I must be careful. It would spoil everything if I were bowled over."

When a quarter to eight came, Leicester was ready for the advent of his chief supporters. He was faultlessly dressed, and he looked calm and dignified. He received the chairman of the meeting with grave courtesy, and after a few minutes' conversation he walked with them to the Public Hall, which was only a few yards away.

As may be imagined, the hall was crowded. Although the country had expected the Government either to resign or to dissolve for weeks past, the news of dissolution seemed sudden. The political fires were lighted, and all the town was agog with excitement. People wanted to hear news first hand, and they imagined that Leicester would bring it. They also expected one of the brilliant speeches for which he was noted. Never before, they reflected, had such a chance been given him, and they felt sure that he would make the most of it. Therefore when the chairman, followed by Leicester and the leading magnates of the town, came upon the platform, the meeting rose _en ma.s.se_, and shouted until they were hoa.r.s.e. The fight which they had so long desired had commenced, and the leader of the battle was before them.

Exactly as the clock struck eight the chairman rose. It was not his purpose, he said, to make a speech at that juncture. He knew that every one was eager to hear their candidate, and that he would be committing an unpardonable sin if he stood between them and the speaker of the evening, and the hero of the fight. Nevertheless, there was an explanation he would like to give. As many of them knew, Mr. Leicester had expected to be married two days before, but owing to the sudden and severe illness of the bride the wedding had not taken place. Many men would have been prostrated by such a blow, but Mr. Leicester had risen above it. The call of duty had been louder than the voice of sorrow, and though he was naturally suffering great grief, he had risen above the grief, and was with them to fight their battles.

Of course this was received with tremendous applause. It appealed to young and old alike. There was something pathetic, as well as heroic, in their candidate overcoming his grief to be with them in their battles.

As for Leicester, he sat unmoved amidst the shouts of sympathy. To him it was bitter mockery, and ghastly tragedy; but he mastered his feelings, and sat pale and motionless.

"Nevertheless," went on the chairman, "we have the sympathy and good wishes of the lady, whom we hoped would be with us in this fight. She is not with us in person, but she is with us in spirit, aye, and more than spirit, for----"

And here the agent's eye for dramatic effect came in. At that moment, the electric lights in the building were suddenly extinguished, and the picture of Olive Castlemaine was thrown on the canvas, which had been placed on the wall behind the platform.

Again there was a shout of enthusiasm. "Three cheers for the lady, and may she soon be well enough to be Mrs. Leicester," some one shouted.

The suggestion was taken up with a will. Cheer after cheer filled the hall, and Mr. Smith, the election agent, felt rather glad that he wedding had not come off. Her introduction in this way was worth more votes, he reflected, than if she had appeared in person. In truth, the face thrown upon the screen was sufficient to arouse the enthusiasm of any crowd. Olive Castlemaine had been very happy when that photograph had been taken. She had gone to the photographer's the day after Leicester had made his memorable speech, and she appeared at her best.

Moreover, the photographer, and the maker of the slide, were to be congratulated. It was a fine picture. There was a smile upon her lips, the light of gladness was in her eyes, while the n.o.bility of her face impressed all who saw it.

Almost without realising it, Leicester turned and saw. He remembered accompanying her to the photographer's, and he recalled the happy day they had spent afterwards. Yes, this was the woman he had won--and lost.

All the ghastly mockery of the business came to him as he beheld the beautiful woman who had sent him away from her home in scorn and anger.

The shouts of the mult.i.tude maddened him. He wanted to rise and tell them that the whole thing was a shameful lie, a bitter mockery. But he sat still, looking and looking. Presently he became almost unconscious of the shouting crowd, in his consciousness of his hopeless misery, and wrecked hopes. Great G.o.d! what was this election to him now, when his heart was all torn and bleeding, and when, to forget everything, he had debauched himself in whisky! Never had he realised his loss more than he realised it then. She was his no longer, she had driven him from her because he had outraged her woman's pride, because he had made her the subject of a drunken jest.

In a moment all had changed again. The hall was ablaze with light, and the slide had been removed from the lantern. They were again brought back to the business of the meeting.

"And now," said the chairman, "I have pleasure, unbounded pleasure, in asking our brilliant candidate, who I am sure will be not only your future member, but in good time will occupy Cabinet rank in this country, to address you. Moreover, I want, in your name, to a.s.sure him that we are all anxious, not only to welcome him as our future member, but to tell him that we look forward to the time when we shall see him and his beautiful wife upon this platform."

The chairman was not possessed of a very sensitive nature, or he would not have uttered this last sentiment. Besides, he was carried away with the ardour of the meeting and the dignity of his own position.

As Leicester rose to speak he felt that his head was swimming, and he realised that his brain refused to fasten upon the things he wanted to say. The atmosphere of the ill-ventilated hall had now become stifling to a degree, and the whisky he had been drinking during the last two days was having its effect. As he had said, his long abstinence had made him more susceptible to its power, and he not only knew that he was drunk, but he also realised that others were in danger of knowing it as well.

He stood staring stupidly at the audience, as cheer followed cheer. At first a great dread filled his heart, only to be followed by a kind of idiotic mirth, over which he had no control. When he spoke it seemed to him that his voice was not his own; it sounded ludicrous in the extreme; it was like the babble of a senseless idiot, rather than that of a strong, self-contained man.

"Ladies and gen'l'men," he said, and felt himself rocking to and fro as he spoke, "I'm 'bliged to you, verr-y 'bliged to you, for the kind sen'iments you've 'spressed f'r my beau'ful bride." Here he stopped; he felt that the people were looking towards him with wonder. He heard derisive laughter in the hall. He tried to think of something else to say, but his brain refused to act: the whisky had taken effect. The scenes through which he had pa.s.sed and the stifling atmosphere of the room had mastered him. For the first time in his life he revealed the fact that he was drunk. For several seconds he stood, staring at the people with lack-l.u.s.tre eyes, and rocking to and fro in his helplessness.

"Ladies and gen'l'men," he hiccoughed, "I've been drinking to her health t'day, and I b'leeve I'm lill bit drunk. Never'less, I'll 'nde'vour to----"

He tried to speak further, but in vain; then, looking around the hall, he broke into a senseless laugh, and fell on the floor of the platform in a state of imbecility.

CHAPTER XIV

LEICESTER'S FAREWELL TO TAVITON

Even when this had taken place, the meeting scarcely realised the true condition of affairs. It is true that those belonging to the opposing side laughed derisively, but a number of Leicester's friends attributed his condition to the grief he felt for Miss Castlemaine's illness.

Amidst the uproar and confusion of the meeting, a number of men on the platform lifted him up and carried him into an ante-room, where he lay back in an armchair and looked around him with drunken gravity. In the excitement of the moment, not only his friends, but his foes, came into the room. A local reporter for the opposition paper entered, and the editor, eager for spicy copy, followed him. They nudged each other with meaning glances, while whispers concerning the capital that must be made out of the event pa.s.sed between them.

"We must send for a doctor," said Mr. Smith, his election agent, who saw as plainly as any one the true condition of affairs.