Mr. Hope’s disappointment, anger, and irritation knew no bounds. He was ill able to afford the expense of a contested election. He had spared no trouble, no exertion, no cost; and to lose it after all, and by a minority of one, was more than the worldly man could endure.
Mr. Hope talked over the events of the day with his wife in the evening; Ernest and Charles sitting at a little distance, with the chess-table before them, but too much interested in the conversation to attend to their game. Their uncle spoke in a rapid and excited manner, accusing this person of bribery and that of perjury, and declaring that he would demand a scrutiny.
“I say, Ernest,” whispered Charles, in a very low voice, bending towards his brother, so that no one else should hear him, “I would not for ten thousand pounds that our uncle should know of Mr. Ewart’s conversation with the butcher.”
“Nor I,” replied Ernest, in the same tone. “What do you think would happen if he did?”
“Mr. Ewart would be dismissed at once from the castle. I know that Uncle Hope would be glad of an opportunity to do this. I am certain that he dislikes our friend, and so does Aunt Matilda.”
“Oh, I hope and trust that he never may know it!” exclaimed Ernest, startled at the idea of such a misfortune—one of the greatest, he felt, which could befall him, for his affection towards his tutor was deep and sincere.
“I am afraid,” said Charles, still whispering, “that my uncle will hear something about the affair. He is aware that Staines was the last man to vote, and that he turned the scale against him: and Jones told us that the butcher had been seen yesterday in our park; and my uncle, who was very angry indeed, declared that he would sift the matter to the bottom.”
“You make me very uneasy,” said Ernest. “What should we say if we were questioned? You know that we overheard all.”
“I wish that we had been anywhere else,” cried Charles; “but I had no idea that the man had come about anything secret. What should we say if we were questioned?”