“It is time you were in bed, dear,” Margaret said; “you are so tired.”
“Yes, I think I shall sleep well to-night. Hark! the boys in the street are crying the state of the poll! See if Whitwell is all right, dear.”
“A magnificent majority,” said Margaret, holding the paper towards him.
“Hurrah! I am very glad! The old bad times are past. The new aristocracy of character takes its proper place. The best men, the true kings, whom God will crown, will be henceforth the rulers of men. I hope you will live long to enjoy it all, Margaret. As for me I shall be satisfied when——”
He fell back, and Margaret thought he had fainted. She called Ann Johnson to open all the doors, while she tried to restore him.
John Dallington and Dr. Stapleton at that moment came to bring the news of the election, and, seeing the door open, entered.
“He is faint!” cried Margaret, in agony.
But Dr. Stapleton said, gently, “It is more than faintness. It is perfect peace.”
CHAPTER XXXI.
FROM DARENTDALE TO HIGH SEATHORPE.
All was peace. It was impossible to look upon the stately face and form of the dead man and not feel that Christ had laid His hand upon the white brow, and said, “Peace, be still.” The doubts and impatience which had characterised him in his earlier years were set at rest once for all. The strife was over, the misgivings were quieted, and if the questions were not yet answered, the questioner was asleep in deep repose.