The day before the election was one of those mild bright days which sometimes occur in the midst of winter, like a little green oasis in a desert, to remind us of the spring which is to come. The air felt almost balmy and warm, and Mr. Ewart and his two pupils walked out to enjoy the sweet sunshine in the park. There was a rustic chair beneath one of the fine old trees, on which the clergyman sat down, while the boys, on the other and more sheltered side of the huge tree, amused themselves with gathering and examining some peculiar moss. Mr. Ewart had scarcely taken his seat when a step was heard on the dry withered leaves with which the turf was thickly strewn. A rough-looking man approached and touched his hat; Mr. Ewart recognized the butcher who supplied the castle, and in his usual courteous manner, wished Mr. Staines good morning. The tradesman replied to the salutation, but stood lingering as if he had something to say, and yet felt difficulty in beginning the conversation. [Illustration: MR. STAINES AND THE TUTOR.] “Did you wish to speak to me?” said Mr. Ewart, observing his hesitation. “Why, sir, I have been wishing very much to say a word to you about to-morrow’s election.” “You must be aware,” replied the clergyman, “that I make it my rule to take no part in politics.” “I wished to consult you, sir,—” “I must decline giving advice on these subjects.” “But, sir, it is a matter of conscience!” “If so, then I am ready to hear you.” “As you of course know, sir,” said the butcher, rubbing his head, “Mr. Hope expects me to give him my vote. I have the custom of the castle here, and that’s a great matter for a man like me. But you see, sir,”—he stopped and scraped the ground with his foot, then, as the clergyman waited patiently for the rest of his speech, continued with a good deal of embarrassment,—“you see I think all the other way from Mr. Hope, and I did promise to vote for Mr. Stacey.” “Then what brings you now to me? You cannot be ignorant that in my position as tutor to Lord Fontonore, this is a most delicate affair for me to interfere in.” “I know it, I know it, sir,” said the tradesman, lowering his voice; “but I have never received from any person in the world the advice that I have received from you. A man needs good counsel, you see, at a pass like this, when one is afraid of going against a customer on the one hand, and—and—conscience upon the other.” “Conscience before interest always,” said Mr. Ewart. “You don’t mean that I should vote against Mr. Hope?” cried the butcher, who perhaps secretly wished that the tutor of the candidate’s nephews might find some means of relieving his scruples, or take on himself the responsibility of silencing them at once. “Do ever what is right, and leave the event to a higher hand,” replied the clergyman, rising to conclude so annoying an interview, and motioning to the tradesman to leave him.