One by one—the process was slow in those days—they voted. “Five for Wrench and Vaughan.” Wrench rose and bowed to each as he retired. Arthur Vaughan took no notice. Sir Robert’s voters looked at one another uneasily. They had the day before them, but—and then he saw the look, and, putting White and his remonstrances on one side, he joined them, bade them follow him, and descended before them. He would ask no man to do what he would not do himself. But the moment his action was understood, the moment the men were seen behind him, there was a yell so fierce and a movement so threatening, that on the lowest step of the hustings he stood bareheaded, raised his hand for silence and for a wonder was obeyed. In a clear, loud voice: “Do you expect to terrify me,” he cried, “either by threats or violence? Let any man look in my face and see if it change colour? Let him come and lay his hand on my heart and feel if it beats the quicker. Keep my voters from the poll and you stultify your own, for there will be no election. Make way then, and let them pass to their duty!” And the crowd made way; and Arthur Vaughan felt a reluctant pang of admiration. The five were polled; the result so far, five for each of the candidates. There remained to poll only Arthur Vaughan and Pillinger of the Blue Duck, if he could be brought up by the Tories. If neither of these voted the Returning Officer would certainly give the casting vote for Sir Robert’s candidates—if he dared. Isaac White believed that he would not dare, and for some time past the agent had been in covert talk with Pybus at the back of the hustings, two or three of the friends of each masking the conference. Now he drew aside his employer who had returned in safety to his place; and he conferred with him. But for a time it was clear that Sir Robert would not listen to what he had to say. He looked pale and angry, and returned but curt answers. But White persisted, holding him by the sleeve. “Mr. Vaughan—bah, what a noise they make—does not wish to vote,” he explained. “But in the end he will, sir, it is my opinion, and that will give it to them unless we can bring up Pillinger—which I doubt, sir. Even if we do, it is a tie——” “Well? Well?” Sir Robert struck in, eyeing him sternly. “What more do we want? The Returning Officer——” “He will not dare,” White whispered, “and if he does, sir, it is my belief he will be murdered. More, if we win they will rush the booth and destroy the books. They have as good as told me they will stick at nothing. Believe me, sir,” he continued earnestly, “better than one and one we can’t look for now. And better one than none!”