"Speech, speech!" yelled the crowd. "Speech from Miss Mary Bolitho!"
She looked at her father, who nodded, and then the girl stepped forward, while every ear was strained so as not to miss a word she should say. It was a picture long to be remembered. Even to this day it is talked about in Brunford. She only spoke a few words, but her voice rang out clearly in the still air.
"I am glad I ever came to Brunford," she said. "I have learnt to love the people, and—thank you!"
That was all, but the laugh on her face, the laugh in her voice, her girlish presence, her winsome manner had done a great deal to soften the hardest heart. Indeed, many believed that she had kept thousands from angry words, and perhaps from angry deeds, by her presence.
"Ay, but oo is bonnie!" "No wonder her feyther is proud on her!" "A gradely lass and a'!" was heard everywhere. And then a silence fell upon the crowd again, which was followed by another mighty shout, louder than any which had yet been heard.
Paul Stepaside came forward, his face pale to the lips, his eyes burning like coals of fire. Black rage was in his heart, for he felt himself to be ignominiously beaten, and yet, with that stubborn persistency which characterised him, and a pride which rose above everything, he would not show it. "My good friends and comrades," he said, "we've been beaten this time, but we'll win yet. If you will have me, I mean to be Member for Brunford, in spite of everything. Mr. Bolitho has won this time, but it will not be for long. He and I will meet again, for I'm not one who gives up. For the moment I'm under a cloud, but only for a moment. The stars in their courses are on the side of those who are on the side of right. And we are on the right, and I've fought a straight battle. Yes, Mr. Bolitho and I will meet again—it may be under circumstances different from these, but we shall surely meet, and always to fight! He must not think, because he has gained this victory, that he will always be victorious. If I'm not your Member to-day, I will be to-morrow. And the time will come when he will not rejoice in the victory to-day as he has rejoiced in it to-night!"
Afterwards Paul was angry with himself that he had said this. He had meant to utter no vindictive word, and yet he knew that every sentence he uttered contained a threat, a threat which at that time seemed to him to have no meaning. He felt ashamed of himself, too, and it seemed to him on reflection that he had been churlish even almost to childishness. And yet the words came to him in spite of himself, and he had flung them out eagerly, almost triumphantly. Even Mr. Bolitho felt a shiver pass through his body as Paul spoke. His speech seemed to contain a kind of prophecy. There was something ominous about it. It seemed to tell of dark days to come, of tragedy—why, he could not understand, but so it was.
It was all over at length. The crowd broke up and wended their way towards their various homes. Mr. Bolitho went to the club, supported by his followers, while Paul also resorted to the gathering-place most frequently used by the class whose cause he had hoped to represent. For hours there was speechifying and loud talking. For hours words were bandied, explanations offered, and threats made. At length, however, silence reigned in the town; and Paul was about to find his way back to his lodgings, when his partner, George Preston, came to him, accompanied by a man whom they had employed to try and find out the secret cause of the ruin which stared them in the face.
"Paul," said Preston, "you've finished now. Can I go with you to your lodgings?"
"Yes," replied Paul. "What is it?"