epends upon
you, Miss Bolitho."

"Upon me!" replied the girl. "How? What do you mean?"

"You really wish your father to beat this fellow?"

"Of course I do!" replied the girl. "I should be horribly ashamed if
my father did not get in by a big majority."

"Well, then," said Wilson, "it can be done. You see, Stepaside's
chances all depend upon the working people. Of course, we have a good
many of them on our side, but he has more on his. Now I know what
these factory hands are, and although they profess to be very
democratic, there's no Englishman that ever lived but who is a snob at
heart. If you, Miss Bolitho, will make a house-to-house visitation,
you can win enough votes to put your father in, whatever the other side
does."

"But that would mean my staying in the town for months!" said the girl.

"It would mean your spending a great deal of time here," said Wilson,
who thought he was very clever, "but what of that? We shall always be
delighted to see you at Howden Clough, and I am sure Emily, here, would
be only too glad to help you."

"Why, indeed I would, Mary," replied the girl, "and, after all, it
would be great fun!"

Mary Bolitho looked across at the great town which lay in the valley
beneath her. She saw the hundreds of chimneys belching out black,
half-consumed coals, she saw the long lines of uninteresting cottages,
in which these toilers of the North lived, and she thought of the work
that Wilson's suggestion would entail. She did not know why, but she
had taken a strong dislike to Paul Stepaside. Perhaps it was because
she remembered his words in the shop in Brunford. Perhaps because he
had roused some personal antipathy. Anyhow, in her heart of hearts was
the longing to see him beaten. And yet she was afraid. She did not
like the idea of spending so much time at Howden Clough. She was too
clear-sighted to be blind to Wilson's intentions, and she felt sure as
to what his hopes were.

"What's the other thing you have in your mind, Mr. Wilson?" she said
presently.

"The other thing is personal," was the reply. "After all, who is Paul
Stepaside? Who is his father? Who is his mother? Who are his people?
We Lancashire people may profess to be very democratic, but we've got a
lot of pride in us. I have heard--well, I won't tell you what I've
heard, but I'll manage that!"

A few weeks later the contest between Paul Stepaside and Mr. Bolitho
commenced in the Brunford district. T