s hands and dropping them again.

"Yes, he can do it," said Marchmont in a curious tone; envy and scorn and
admiration all seemed to find expression.

"Look at her!" whispered the Dean, but this time Marchmont made no
answer. He had been looking at her, and knew now why she had tied her
life to Alexander Quisante's.

"If I could do it like that I couldn't stop doing it," said the Dean.

"He never will as long as he lives," answered Marchmont with a shrug of
his shoulders.

"But he won't live?" whispered the Dean. "You mean that?"

The applause ended; there was no need for Marchmont to answer, even if he
could have found an answer. Quisante took up his work again. He was near
the end now, an hour and a quarter had passed. May's eyes never left him;
he was going to get through, she thought, and she had no thought now of
the compromise or the year of quiet, no thought except of his triumph
that to-morrow would ring through the land. He paused an instant, whether
in faltering or for effect she could not tell, and then began his
peroration. It was short, but he gave every word slowly, apart, as it
were in a place of its own, in the sure and superb confidence that every
word had its own office, its own weight, and its own effect. But before
he ended there came one interruption. Suddenly, as though moved by an
impulse foreign to himself, old Foster pushed back his chair and rose to
his feet; after an instant the whole audience imitated him. Quisante
paused and looked round; again he smiled; then, taking a step forward to
clear himself of those who surrounded him, he went on. Thus he ended his
speech, he standing, to men and women one and all standing about and
before him.

"I never saw such a thing," whispered the Dean of St. Neot's. But his
words were lost in the cheers, and Weston Marchmont's "Bravo" rang out so
loud that May Quisante heard it on the platform and bent forward to kiss
her hand to him.

In the tea-room, to which all the important persons withdrew after the
meeting, festivity reigned. Quisante was surrounded by admirers, busy
listening to compliments and congratulations, and receiving the advice of
the local wise men. May did not attempt to get near him, but surrendered
herself to a like process. Old Foster came up to her and shook hands,
saying, "I'm proud to have had a hand in making Mr. Quisante member for
Henstead. You were right too; he can say what he likes now."

Then came Japhet Williams' thin