ing round him he
saw that several other persons on the top of the coach had copies, and
that whispering consternation had begun.

He saw nothing for it but to hand the paper to Marsham. "This is playing
it pretty low down!" he said, pointing to an item in large letters on
the first page.

Marsham handed the reins to the groom beside him and took the paper. He
saw, printed in full, Barrington's curt letter to himself on the subject
of the _Herald_ article, and below it the jubilant and scathing comments
of the Tory editor.

He read both carefully, and gave the paper back to McEwart. "That
decides the election," he said, calmly. McEwart's face assented.

* * * * *

Marsham, however, never showed greater pluck than at the Hartingfield
meeting. It was a rowdy and disgraceful business, in which from
beginning to end he scarcely got a hearing for more than three sentences
at a time. A shouting mob of angry men, animated by passions much more
than political, held him at bay. But on this occasion he never once lost
his temper; he caught the questions and insults hurled at him, and threw
them back with unfailing skill; and every now and then, at some lull in
the storm, he made himself heard, and to good purpose. His courage and
coolness propitiated some and exasperated others.

A group of very rough fellows pursued him, shouting and yelling, as he
left the school-room where the meeting was held.

"Take care!" said McEwart, hurrying him along. "They are beginning with
stones, and I see no police about."

The little party of visitors made for the coach, protected by some of
the villagers. But in the dusk the stones came flying fast and freely.
Just as Marsham was climbing into his seat he was struck. McEwart saw
him waver, and heard a muttered exclamation.

"You're hurt!" he said, supporting him. "Let the groom drive."

Marsham pushed him away.

"It's nothing." He gathered up the reins, the grooms who had been
holding the horses' heads clambered into their places, a touch of the
whip, and the coach was off, almost at a gallop, pursued by a shower
of missiles.

After a mile at full speed Marsham pulled in the horses, and handed the
reins to the groom. As he did so a low groan escaped him.

"You _are_ hurt!" exclaimed McEwart. "Where did they hit you?"

Marsham shook his head.

"Better not talk," he said, in a whisper, "Drive home."

An hour afterward, it was announced to the crowde