“I rise unwillingly, I say again, gentlemen,” he continued, “and I beg you to remember this, and that I did not come here of set purpose to flaunt my opinions before you. For I, too”—here he betrayed his secret agitation—“thus far I do go with Sergeant Wathen,—I, too, am for Our Ancient Constitution, I give place to no man in love of it. And I, too, am against revolution, I will stand second to none in abhorrence of it.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried the Rector in a tone of unmistakable relief. “Hear, hear!”
“Ay, go on,” chimed in the Squire. “Go on, lad, go on! That’s all right!” And half aside in his neighbour’s ear, “Gad! he frightened me!” he muttered.
“But—but to be plain,” Vaughan resumed, pronouncing every word clearly, “I do not regard the Bill which the Sergeant has mentioned, the Bill which is in all your minds, as assailing the one, or as being tantamount to the other! On the contrary, I believe that it restores the ancient balance of the Constitution, and will avert, as nothing else will avert, a Revolution!”
As he paused on that word, the Squire, who was of a free habit, tried to rise and speak, but choked. The Rector gasped. Only Mr. Cooke found his voice. He sprang to his feet, purple in the face. “By G—d!” he roared, “are we going to listen to this?”
Vaughan sat down, pale but composed. But he found all eyes on him, and he rose again.
“It was against my will I said what I have said,” he resumed. “I did not wish to speak. I do not wish you to listen. I rose only because I was forced to rise. But being up, I owed it to myself to say enough to clear myself of—of the appearance of duplicity. That is all.”
The Sergeant did not speak, but gazed darkly at him, his mind busy with the effect which this would have on the election. White, too, did not speak—he sat stricken dumb. The Squire swore, and five or six of the more intelligent hissed. But again it was Cooke who found words.
“That all? But that is not all!” he shouted. “That is not all! What are you, sir?” For still, in common with most of those at the table, he could not believe that he heard aright. He fancied that this was some trope, some nice distinction, which he had not followed. “You may be Sir Robert Vermuyden’s cousin ten times over,” he continued, vehemently, “but we’ll have it clear what we have to expect. Speak like a man, sir! Say what you mean!”
Vaughan had taken his seat, but he rose again, a gleam of anger in his eyes. “Have I not spoken plainly?” he said. “I thought I had. If you have still any doubt, sir, I am for the Constitution, but I think that it has suffered by the wear and tear of time and needs repair. I think that the shifting of population during the last two centuries, the decay of one place and the rise of another, call for some change in the representation! I hold that the spread of education and the creation of a large and wealthy class unconnected with the land, render that change more urgent if we would avoid a revolution! I believe that the more we enlarge the base upon which our institutions rest, the more safely, the more steadily, and the longer will they last!”