The Man Who Rose Again

by Joseph Hocking

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 masse, and shouted until they were hoarse. 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 nobility 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 multitude 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 God! 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.