It was these facts which gave to the new party its hopes; and the party, not only in Scourby, but throughout the country, was dangerous because of its numbers. It sought to pose as “the Labour Party,” and whichever side can persuade the multitude to believe it to be that is pretty certain of success. But there were hundreds of honourable, high-souled working men in Scourby who were as much humiliated as the wealthiest, when the state of the poll was declared at night. For the figures proved the stubborn fact that, though by only a small majority, Richard Lavender was duly elected. From the yells of delight, and the groans of disgust that followed, two astute working men turned away with hot anger and indignation in their hearts. “There will be a reckoning for somebody or other over this,” said one. “What have all the parsons been doing that they could not save the town from such disgrace?” “Smoking their pipes in their studies, I suppose. We have been perfectly sold! Isn’t it a pity that none but fools can be found to manage affairs? We ought to have had a local man. Both the Tory and the Radical are complete strangers to us. How is it that a man seldom represents his own town, but nearly always comes seeking the suffrages of some place that knows nothing about him, except what he and the newspapers say?” “Oh, they are too well known in their own town. But this shows that they are not of the best. If a man has lived an honourable life, and served the interests of the town, he ought to be chosen and sent to Parliament by the men who know him. It is a disgrace if we cannot grow our own members.” “So I think. If this had happened a year ago, and Dr. Stapleton had been a candidate, he would have gone in.” “Do you believe all they are saying about him? It is very strange that he has scarcely put in an appearance over this election. It is really most mysterious.” It was less mysterious than it seemed; and, perhaps, it will be as well to let our readers into the secret, such as it is, while we give the Scourby men a little breathing time. Really, this election proved to be for the salvation of the town, and the sting of shame was for the healing of the people; but all this could not be accomplished in a day. The truth is that Dr. Stapleton had cared for Mary Wythburn, and, though he had never said so, she had guessed it, and he feared she had. He did not believe that he had awakened the slightest feeling in her toward him, nor that it had influenced her decision in regard to Mr. Greenholme. But when she disappeared he was overwhelmed with trouble and anxiety, and he had been to London several times in the vain hope of finding her.