Mr. Bolitho, however, continued his speech, which, although the people in the street could not hear, was plain to those who stood on the balcony. He thanked the people for supporting him. He remarked that he had come there a stranger, and was now their friend. He declared that his duty was no longer to a part but the whole of the voters, that he should recognise no difference between one section of the people and another. It was for him to represent the town as a whole, which he intended to do faithfully and loyally. He desired, also, to compliment his opponent on the spirit in which he had conducted his part of the battle, and for the straight fight which had been the consequence. He referred to a few of his most prominent supporters, and then, raising his voice so loudly that it reached to the extreme limits of the crowd, he said: "It may seem bad taste on my part to refer to one without whom I should never have won this election." At this even the most turbulent became silent again, they wanted to hear what he had to say. "I owe my victory," he said, "and you owe your victory, to my daughter, Mary." And placing his hand upon her shoulder, he drew her forward. "Here!" he cried, "is your real victor in the battle!" There was great cheering at this, and even his bitterest opponents did not resent it. The light fell strongly upon the girl's face, and even Paul could not help reflecting how beautiful she looked. Her eyes were flashing with excitement, her lips wreathed with smiles. No wonder she had fascinated him, no wonder, in spite of the fact that he hated her father, he almost worshipped her, even while he hated her. "Speech, speech!" yelled the crowd. "Speech from Miss Mary Bolitho!" She looked at her father, who nodded, and then the girl stepped forward, while every ear was strained so as not to miss a word she should say. It was a picture long to be remembered. Even to this day it is talked about in Brunford. She only spoke a few words, but her voice rang out clearly in the still air. "I am glad I ever came to Brunford," she said. "I have learnt to love the people, and--thank you!" That was all, but the laugh on her face, the laugh in her voice, her girlish presence, her winsome manner had done a great deal to soften the hardest heart. Indeed, many believed that she had kept thousands from angry words, and perhaps from angry deeds, by her presence. "Ay, but oo is bonnie!" "No wonder her feyther is proud on her!" "A gradely lass and a'!" was heard everywhere. And then a silence fell upon the crowd again, which was followed by another mighty shout, louder than any which had yet been heard.