Lord L’Estrange bounded forward.
Mr. Dale walked back through the park to Lansmere House. On the terrace he found Randal, who was still pacing to and fro, sometimes in the starlight, sometimes in the shadow.
Leslie looked up, and seeing Mr. Dale, the close astuteness of his aspect returned; and stepping out of the starlight deep into the shadow, he said,
“I was sorry to learn that Mr. Fairfield had been so hurt by Lord L’Estrange’s severe allusions. Pity that political differences should interfere with private friendships; but I hear that you have been to Mr. Fairfield,—and, doubtless, as the peacemaker. Perhaps you met Lord L’Estrange by the way? He promised me that he would apologize and retract.”
“Good young man!” said the unsuspecting parson, “he has done so.”
“And Mr. Leonard Fairfield will, therefore, I presume, continue the contest?”
“Contest—ah, this election! I suppose so, of course. But I grieve that he should stand against you, who seem to be disposed towards him so kindly.”
“Oh,” said Randal, with a benevolent smile, “we have fought before, you know, and I beat him then. I may do so again!”
And he walked into the house, arm-in-arm with the parson. Mr. Dale sought Violante; Leslie retired to his own room, and felt his election was secured.
Lord L’Estrange had gained the thick of the streets—passing groups of roaring enthusiasts—Blue and Yellow—now met with a cheer, now followed by a groan. Just by a public-house that formed the angle of a lane with the High Street, and which was all ablaze with light and all alive with clamour, he beheld the graceful baron leaning against the threshold, smoking his cigar, too refined to associate its divine vapour with the wreaths of shag within, and chatting agreeably with a knot of females, who were either attracted by the general excitement, or waiting to see husband, brother, father, or son, who were now joining in the chorus of “Blue forever!” that rang from tap-room to attic of the illumined hostelry. Levy, seeing Lord L’Estrange, withdrew his cigar from his lips, and hastened to join him. “All the Hundred and Fifty are in there,” said the baron, with a backward significant jerk of his thumb towards the inn. “I have seen them all privately, in tens at a time; and I have been telling the ladies without that it will be best for the interest of their families to go home, and let us lock up the Hundred and Fifty safe from the Yellows, till we bring them to the poll. But I am afraid,” continued Levy, “that the rascals are not to be relied upon unless I actually pay them beforehand; and that would be disreputable, immoral,—and, what is more, it would upset the election. Besides, if they are paid beforehand, query, is it quite sure how they will vote afterwards?”