"Surely you're coming to hear the result announced," wailed Cash. "There's the vote of thanks to the Returning Officer. You'll have to propose that--or second it," he added grimly. "Well, I'll see. But I think, now that the poll is closed, that my duty lies elsewhere," I said. "If I am really wanted, send word by Mr Fordyce." Five minutes later, and I was once more at the Cathedral Arms. The ground floor of that hostelry hummed like a hive, and the bar and smoking-room were filled to overflowing with supporters of both sides, who were prudently avoiding all risk of disappointment by celebrating the result of the election in advance. I pushed my way through a group of enthusiastic patriots--many of them in that condition once described to me by a sporting curate as "holding two or three firkins apiece"--who crowded round me, fired with a desire to drink success to the British Constitution--a rash shibboleth, by the way, for gentlemen in their situation to attempt to enunciate at all--at my expense, and hastened upstairs to our wing. In the passage I met the nurse. She greeted me with a little smile; but I was mistrustful of professional cheerfulness that night. "Will you tell Mrs Inglethwaite or Miss Rubislaw that I have come in, please?" I said, and turned into the sitting-room. The sight of a snug room or a bright fire or a colossal arm-chair is always comforting to a weary man, even though his thoughts admit of little rest. I sank down amid these comforts, and closed my eyes. Now that my long day's play-acting was over, and nothing mattered any more, I began to realise how great the strain had been. I was utterly done. I had no clear recollection of having tasted food since breakfast, but I was not hungry. All I wanted was to be left in peace. Even the sickening anxiety about Phillis had died down to a sort of dull ache. In a few minutes a too-wakeful mind struggled with an exhausted body. I wondered dimly when somebody would come and tell me how Philly was. Perhaps---- I fell asleep. I was awakened by the consciousness of a second presence in my arm-chair, which was a roomy one of the saddle-bag variety. It was Kitty. Presently I became aware that she was crying, softly, as women usually do,--men gulp noisily, because they have lost control of themselves, and children wail, chiefly to attract attention,--but so softly on this occasion that I knew she was trying to avoid disturbing me. It had happened, then. Well, obviously, this was one of the rare occasions upon which a husband can be of some use to his wife. I sat up, and made a clumsy effort at a caress. "We've still got each other," I said, rather brokenly. Kitty positively laughed.