"I hope so, sir--I hope so!" said the old man in his cheery voice. "The Lion always was the Blue house. I've seen Sir George Neal, quite dead-beat wi' fatigue and hoarse wi' hollerin', held up at that window by Squire Armstrong on one side, and Charley Rea, him as left here and went away to Chiney or some furrin part, on the other, and screechin' for cheers and Kentish fires and Lord knows what to the mob outside! I ha' got the blue banner somewhere now, that Miss Good, as was barmaid here afore Miss Parkhurst came, 'broidered herself for Sir George at last election." "Well, there'll be no banners or anything of that kind now, Tilley; that's against the law, that is, but there'll be plenty of fun for all that, and plenty of fighting, for the matter of that, for Mr. Creswell means to win!" "He really du?" asked Farmer Croke, once more in high spirits. "He really does! And, what's more, I may tell you, gentlemen, as it's no longer any secret, that Mr. Creswell's candidature is approved by her Majesty's Government, by Sir George Neal, and by the principal county gentlemen, so that there's no likelihood of any split in the Conservative camp! And as for young Mr. Bokenham, of whom our friend Moule here has told us so much, well--even if he is all that our friend Moule has made him out--we must try and beat him even then!" Poor Mr. Moule! it was lucky he had enjoyed his temporary notoriety, for the sarcasm of the agent speedily relegated him to his old post of butt and dolt. The household at Woolgreaves seemed to get on very well during the absence of its legitimate heads. The young ladies rather gloried in their feeling of independence, in the freedom from the necessity of having to consult any one or to exercise the smallest system of restraint, and they took pleasure in sitting with Mrs. Ashurst and ministering to her small wants. They had always had a kindly feeling towards the old lady, and this had been increased by her helplessness, and by her evident unconsciousness of the manner in which the world was slipping away from her. There is something sad in witnessing the struggle for resignation with which persons, smitten with mortal disease, and conscious of their fate, strive to give up all worldly hopes and cares, and to wean their thoughts and aspirations from those things on which they have hitherto been bent; but there is something infinitely more sad in watching the sick-bed of one who is all unconscious of the fiat that has gone forth, who knows, indeed, that her strength is not what it was, but who has no idea that the hand is already uplifted and the dart already poised. Mrs. Ashurst was in this last-named condition; she had gradually been growing weaker and weaker, but there were times when she plucked up wonderfully, and when she would talk of things present, ay, and of things future, as though she had years of life to run. The girls encouraged her to talk. Dr.