“Oh, they are too well known in their own town. But this shows that they are not of the best. If a man has lived an honourable life, and served the interests of the town, he ought to be chosen and sent to Parliament by the men who know him. It is a disgrace if we cannot grow our own members.”
“So I think. If this had happened a year ago, and Dr. Stapleton had been a candidate, he would have gone in.”
“Do you believe all they are saying about him? It is very strange that he has scarcely put in an appearance over this election. It is really most mysterious.”
It was less mysterious than it seemed; and, perhaps, it will be as well to let our readers into the secret, such as it is, while we give the Scourby men a little breathing time. Really, this election proved to be for the salvation of the town, and the sting of shame was for the healing of the people; but all this could not be accomplished in a day.
The truth is that Dr. Stapleton had cared for Mary Wythburn, and, though he had never said so, she had guessed it, and he feared she had. He did not believe that he had awakened the slightest feeling in her toward him, nor that it had influenced her decision in regard to Mr. Greenholme. But when she disappeared he was overwhelmed with trouble and anxiety, and he had been to London several times in the vain hope of finding her.
Indeed, worry had made him so ill, that he resolved to take a few days for a holiday, and see his brother, Mr. Felix Stapleton, of Granchester. He was ten years older than the Doctor. Their mother died when they were both young, and their father when Felix was twenty-nine and Frederick nineteen. He left a small fortune to be equally divided; but Felix needed money more than Fred, for he was married and settled, while his younger brother was at college, preparing for his future. His own share of his father’s money and part of his brother’s enabled Felix to take full advantage of the tide that led to fortune. He was a builder and contractor, as his father had been before him, and a keen man of business. He saw that Granchester was destined to a rapid increase, so he bought up land and built houses upon it. His foresight was abundantly rewarded; odd fields and acres and pieces of land that had come into his possession were one after another wanted, and he sold some of them at a considerable profit, others he covered with houses. Several building societies existed in the town, and hundreds of working men were paying by degrees the money which would make the houses in which they lived their own. This praiseworthy ambition on their part had been a great financial benefit to Mr. Felix Stapleton. He lived in a fine new house in one of the outskirts of Granchester. It stood on a hill which commanded the best view in the neighbourhood, and was itself—with its bright red bricks, its towers and pinnacles and glass-houses—a striking object, visible for many miles around. It goes without saying that Mr. Stapleton, having rapidly accumulated wealth, had also rapidly accumulated honours, both municipal and religious, and that his wife and daughters were among the acknowledged leaders of Granchester society.
Dr. Stapleton was very proud of his brother and all his successes, and there was a glow at his heart when he stepped from the train and saw his nieces on the platform, and beyond them, outside the station, the carriage with the handsome horses and smart livery servants, which told so pleasant a story.
“Here we are, Uncle Fred,” exclaimed two girlish voices together. “Father could not come to meet you, so he sent us. How are you? You don’t look well; you need doctoring yourself, Doctor. You must get married, or have one of us to keep house for you.”
The girls took possession of him, and beamed upon him with their bright eyes, and one of them at once offered to prescribe for him. His sister-in-law gave him a sisterly welcome, and half an hour afterward the strong grasp of his brother’s hand brought a flush of joy to the Doctor’s face.
“It is good to see you, old fellow. I thought you never meant to come again.”