But for a policeman here and there, the streets were desolate. Wherever the lamplight fell upon a wall or hoarding, it illumined election placards, with the names of the candidates in staring letters, and all the familiar vulgarities of party advertising. "Welwyn-Baker and the Honour of Old England!"—"Vote for Quarrier, the Friend of the Working Man!"—"No Jingoism!" "The Constitution in Danger! Polterham to the Rescue!" These trumpetings to the battle restored Glazzard's self-satisfaction; he smiled once more, and walked on with lighter step.
Just outside the town, in a dark narrow road, he was startled by the sudden rising of a man's figure. A voice exclaimed, in thick, ebrious tones: "Who are you for? What's you're colour?"
"Who are you for?" called out Glazzard, in return, as he walked past.
The politician—who had seemingly been asleep in the ditch—raised himself to his full height and waved his arms about.
"I'm a Radical!—Quarrier for ever!—Come on, one and all of you—I'm ready: fist or argument, it's all one to me!—You and your Welwyn-Baker—gurr! What's he ever done for the people?—that's what I want to know!—Ya-oo-oo-oo! Quarrier for ever!—Down with the aristocrats as wants to make war at the expense of the working man! What's England coming to?—tell me that! You've no principles, you haven't, you Tory skunks; you've not half a principle among you.—I'm a man of principle, I am, and I vote for national morality, I do!—You're running away, are you?—Ya-oo-oo!—stop and fight it out, if you're a man!—Down with 'em, boys! Down with 'em!—Quarrier for ever!"
The shouts of hiccoughy enthusiasm came suddenly to an end, and Glazzard, looking back, saw that, in an attempt to run, the orator had measured his length in the mud.
By three o'clock he was seated in his bedroom, very tired but not much disposed to turn into bed. He had put a match to the fire, for his feet were numbed with cold, in spite of a long walk. Travelling-bags and trunks in readiness for removal told of his journey on the morrow. All his arrangements were made; the marriage ceremony was to take place at ten o'clock, and shortly after eleven he and his wife would leave for London on their way to the Continent.
Too soon, of course, to hear the result of Northway's visit to the Court-house. There would be the pleasure of imagining all that he left behind him, and in a day or two the papers would bring news. He had always sympathized with Guy Fawkes and his fellow-conspirators: how delightful to have fired the train, and then, at a safe distance, have awaited the stupendous explosion.
Poor little Lilian! That was the only troublesome thought. Yet was he in truth harming her? Quarrier would take her abroad, and, in a life of retirement, she would have far more happiness than was possible to her under the present circumstances. Northway would sue for a divorce, and thus leave her free to enter upon legitimate marriage. Perhaps he was doing her the greatest kindness in his power.
When his feet were thoroughly warm he went to bed, and slept well until the servant call him at half-past seven. It was a very bright morning; he drew up the blind and let a flood of sunshine into the room. Contrary to his expectations, no despondency weighed upon him; by breakfast time he was more than usually cheerful.