r.
What an extraordinary looking governess Mrs. Carlyle had picked up!

They went out when it was over. Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle in advance; she,
humbly following them with Lucy. She glanced aside at the tomb in the
churchyard's corner, where moldered the remains of her father; and a
yearning cry went forth from the very depth of her soul. "Oh, that I
were laid there with him! Why did I come back again to East Lynne?"

Why, truly? But she had never thought that her cross would be so sharp
as this.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

AN M. P. FOR WEST LYNNE.

As this is not a history of the British constitution, it does not
concern it to relate how or why West Lynne got into hot water with the
House of Commons. The House threatened to disfranchise it, and West
Lynne under the fear, went into mourning for its sins. The threat
was not carried out; but one of the sitting members was unseated with
ignominy, and sent to the right about. Being considerably humiliated
thereby, and in disgust with West Lynne, he retired accordingly, and a
fresh writ was issued. West Lynne then returned the Hon. Mr. Attley,
a county nobleman's son; but he died in the very midst of his first
session, and another writ had to be issued.

Of course the consideration now was, who should be the next lucky
man fixed upon. All the notables within ten miles were discussed,
not excepting the bench justices. Mr. Justice Hare? No! he was too
uncompromising, he would study his own will, but not that of West Lynne.
Squire Pinner? He never made a speech in his life, and had not an idea
beyond turnips and farming stock. Colonel Bethel? He had no money to
spend upon an election. Sir John Dobede? He was too old. "By a good
twenty years," laughed Sir John, to himself. "But here we stand, like a
pack of noodles, conning over the incapables, and passing by the right
one," continued Sir John. "There's only one man amongst us fit to be our
member."

"Who's that?" cried the meeting.

"Archibald Carlyle."

A pause of consternation--consternation at their collective
forgetfulness--and then a loud murmur of approaching to a shout, filled
the room. Archibald Carlyle. It should be no other.

"If we can get him," cried Sir John. "He may decline, you know."

The best thing, all agreed, was to act promptly. A deputation, half the
length of the street--its whole length, if you include the tagrag and
bobtail that attended behind--set off on the spur of the moment to the
office of Mr.