They went from big hotel to big hotel; nights spent in little village inns bored Dora inexpressibly. Day after day she went out of their road to buy the English papers. If their tour was not mentioned in them she flung them aside; when it was, she collected the cuttings eagerly. Farquharson realized that for his wife the meaning of life was resolved into a single hope—that the glare of publicity should be for ever upon them. He thought of the future. He could picture her at Glune, entertaining the Press, dragging out his relics, giving chapter and verse succinctly of all those dear records which had made him what he was. She would gossip with the villagers, she would leave no stone unturned to find out all about his childhood, and then repeat it at her next afternoon call. Nothing was sacred to her, and now for Evelyn's sake he had learned to look upon women as sacred, and to try to understand something even of his mother's nature. Women like Dora would drag her memory and his brother's in the dust that they might make suitable headlines for an "interview."
It was for this he had bartered his dream—for this and to save a woman's honour.
Well, there was work to do; thank God for work. Daily routine has saved many a man's brain from snapping, before now.
Farquharson returned to town after six weeks' absence to find great arrears and accumulation of work, which he welcomed. Various by-elections were taking place all over the country; the issue of the next election mainly depended upon the people's decision concerning Tariff Reform versus Free Trade. Since the great Protectionist leader was unable through illness to carry on the contest, Farquharson was appealed to on all sides as the worthiest exponent of the cause. He was invited to speak in the north, in the midlands, south and west alike.
In Taorna, too, there were difficulties. The position of the man he had left to act for him wanted strengthening. The Council for once was undecided; Farquharson's message flashed across the sea and was obeyed. Beadon read its terms and smiled.
"Men talk of grit," he said, "but you've got grip. Do you never lose touch of what you've once held?"
"That's a real man," was Hare's comment as he read next morning's paper. "What he has done for Taorna, he can do for England. I am beginning to have hopes for her. One man has saved his nation before now."
That the country was passing through a crisis was apparent. Farquharson had set men talking. His speeches spread dissatisfaction and dissension, and unrest alone will make a nation rise. The Ministry sent its best men to oppose him; in one important ward it was even rumoured that the Liberals had bribed men to heckle and annoy the candidate whom he supported. But on the night in question it was Farquharson who faced them, having persuaded his somewhat timid follower to plead temporary illness. And as he spoke better than he had ever spoken before, even his enemies were silenced.
Up in the north, that hot-bed of Liberalism, men weighed his words and were discomfited. It was their force, their overwhelming conviction which told with these level-headed men of business, who, unlike their Irish neighbours across the sea, were seldom swayed by impulse or carried away by enthusiasm. In Rowan, the nearest town to Bruchill, a Radical constituency from time immemorial, a meeting was held eventually, at which it was decided to ask Farquharson to stand in place of the retiring candidate. The news came at breakfast. It touched him very deeply; he had waited for this, hoping against hope, and refusing other invitations against the wishes of his party. He handed it to Dora without comment.
She flung it down.