Mr. Lavender was one of three men who aspired to the vacant seat. There was, of course, to be the usual fight between the Conservatives and the Radicals. But the candidates representing the two great parties were strangers, and had been selected and sent down by the wire-pullers in London, while Lavender was well known, and hail-fellow-well-met to many of the people in Scourby. This gave him a great advantage over Mr. Smith, the Conservative, and Mr. Jones, the Liberal. On the evening of the day in question there was to be a meeting of the supporters of the latter, and those who were interested looked forward to it with some misgiving. Lavender gloried in mob-law; and although there was no society in the town that would have anything to do with him, not the socialists, nor trades-unionists, nor any distinct organisation of the people, it was yet known that he could count upon a considerable following. Many people feared that Lavender would be returned, and among them was Dr. Stapleton. In the midst of his ill-humour Miss Whitwell called to consult him about one or two poor patients to whom he had been kind. “I am looking after some of Miss Wythburn’s pet women,” she said. “I am so bad-tempered this morning, that I thought I would go to them as a sort of diversion; and I feel more wretched than ever now. I think there must be a happy hereafter for the very poor, they are so joyless here.” “But they do not wish to leave the world. Every patient wants to get well.” “I could take you to a woman who is praying to die, but I may not. There are plenty of them, though. Is not this a wretched world?” “I do not think so, neither do you, Miss Whitwell.” “Oh, yes, I do! Why, everything is wrong. And men who have power and strength and ability are droning away their lives doing nothing—absolutely nothing. Why do you not lift up your voice against the cruelty that is practised in this town?” “I haven’t a very strong voice. It would not make much noise if I lifted it up all day.” “Dr. Stapleton, you are brutal!” “I beg your pardon, Miss Whitwell. What do you want me to do? I am sure the world is better than it ever was before.” “I am glad I did not live in it before, then. Things seem to me dreadfully bad now.” “All great growths are slow. But I believe that the right is winning its way more rapidly than slowly, and in the long run it is sure to conquer.”