Now, will Martin come to our aid in this wise? He ought to be in Parliament for his county. But if he be too indolent, or too happy at home, whom can he send us? And again, what of the borough? They tell me that Kilcock, seeing his father's great age, will not stand where a contest might be expected, so that you must necessarily be prepared with another.” Again the writer launched out upon the happiness he felt at being able to appeal thus candidly and freely to his own “dearest kinswoman,” inviting her to speak as frankly in return, and to believe that no possible difference of political opinion should ever throw a coldness between those whose veins were filled with the same blood, and whose hearts throbbed with the same affections. Her Ladyship's voice slightly faltered as she read out the concluding paragraph, and when she laid the letter down, she turned away her head and moved her handkerchief to her eyes. As for Martin, he sat still and motionless, his gaze firmly directed to Repton, as though seeking in the impassive lines of the old lawyer's face for some clew to guide and direct him. “You used to be a Tory, Martin?” said Repton, after a pause. “Yes, to be sure, we were always with that party.” “Well, there's an end of them now,” said the other. “What's to follow and fill their place, my Lord Reckington may be able to say; I cannot. I only know that _they_ exist no longer; and the great question for you--at least, one of the great questions--is, have you spirit enough to join a travelling party without knowing whither they 're journeying?” “And what may be the other great question, sir?” asked Lady Dorothea, haughtily. “The other is, what will it cost in money--ay, my Lady, in money; because any other outlay will not require searches nor title-deeds, loans, mortgages, nor bond-debts.” “To contest the county would cost ten thousand pounds; Scanlan says so,” rejoined Martin. “And the borough?” asked Repton. “A few hundreds would suffice; at least, they have done so hitherto.” “Then remain content with the cheap luxury of the borough,” said Repton. “You don't want anything from these people, Martin. You don't covet a peerage; you would n't accept a baronetcy. You remember what Langton said when told that the King was going to give him the 'Red Hand.' 'If I have been unfortunate enough to incur his Majesty's displeasure, I must deplore it deeply; but surely my innocent son should not be included in the penalty of my offence. Therefore, in all humility, I beseech and entreat the royal favor to commute the sentence into knighthood, so that the disgrace may die with me.'” “There were times when such insolence would have cost him dearly,” said her Ladyship, sternly.