The beast that was in the crowd answered to the spur. “Ye’ve robbed us long enough, ye old rascal!” a harsh Midland voice shrieked over the heads of the throng. “We’ll have our rights now, you blood-sucker!” And “Boo! Boo!” the lower elements of the mob broke forth. And then in stern cadence, “The Bill! The Bill! The Bill!” “Out of Egypt, and out of the House of Bondage!” shrieked a Methodist above the hub-bub. “Ay, ay!” “Slaves no longer!” “No! No! No!” “Hear that, ye hoary tyrant!” in a woman’s shrill tones. “Who jailed my man for a hare?” A roar of laughter which somewhat cleared the air followed this. Sir Robert smiled grimly. The hustings, a mere wooden platform, raised four feet above the ground, rested against the Abbey gateway. It was closed at the rear and at each end; but in front it was guarded only by a stout railing. And so public was it, and so exposed its dangerous eminence, that the more timid of the unpopular party were no sooner upon it than they yearned for the safe obscurity of the common level. Of the three booths into which the interior was divided, the midmost was reserved for the returning officer and his staff. Bob Flixton, who kept close to Sir Robert’s elbow, looked down on the sea of jeering faces. “I tell you what it is,” he said. “We’re going to have a confounded row!” Mowatt, at some distance from him, was of the same opinion, but regarded the outlook differently. “It’s my belief,” he muttered, “that we shall all be murdered.” And “D——n the Bill!” the old Squire ejaculated. “The people are off their heads! Jack as good as his master, and better too!” These four, with the candidates, were in the front row. The Rector, the Alderman, and one or two of the neighbouring gentry shared the honour; and faced as well as they could the hooting and yelling, and the occasional missile. In the front of the other booth were White-Hat Williams and Blackford, the minister, Mr. Wrench, the candidate, wreathed in smiles, a pair of Whig Squires from the Bowood side, a curate of the same colour, Pybus—and Arthur Vaughan! A thrill ran through Sir Robert’s supporters when they saw his young kinsman on the other side; actually on the other side and arrayed against them. Their hearts, already low, sank a peg lower. Of evil omens this seemed the worst; sunk is the cause the young desert! And many were the curious eyes that searched the renegade’s features and strove to read his thoughts.