only person who profited by it.

Cromwell was vindicated and panegyrised in a flaming speech by Montreal,
who took this opportunity of denouncing alike kings and bishops, Church
and State, with powerful invective, terminating his address by the
expression of an earnest hope that he might be spared to witness the
inevitable Commonwealth of England.

"He only lost his election for Rattleton by ten votes," said Trenchard.
"We call him the Lord Protector, and his friends here think he will be
so."

The debate was concluded, after another hour, by Hortensius, and
Endymion was struck by the contrast between his first and second
manner. Safe from reply, and reckless in his security, it is not easy
to describe the audacity of his retorts, or the tumult of his eloquence.
Rapid, sarcastic, humorous, picturesque, impassioned, he seemed to carry
everything before him, and to resemble his former self in nothing
but the music of his voice, which lent melody to scorn, and sometimes
reached the depth of pathos.

Endymion walked home with Mr. Trenchard, and in a musing mood. "I
should not care how lazy I was," said Endymion, "if I could speak like
Hortensius."

CHAPTER XXV

The snow was falling about the time when the Swindon coach, in which
Endymion was a passenger, was expected at Hurstley, and the snow had
been falling all day. Nothing had been more dreary than the outward
world, or less entitled to the merry epithet which is the privilege of
the season. The gardener had been despatched to the village inn, where
the coach stopped, with a lantern and cloaks and umbrellas. Within the
house the huge blocks of smouldering beech sent forth a hospitable heat,
and, whenever there was a sound, Myra threw cones on the inflamed mass,
that Endymion might be welcomed with a blaze. Mrs. Ferrars, who had
appeared to-day, though late, and had been very nervous and excited,
broke down half an hour before her son could arrive, and, murmuring that
she would reappear, had retired. Her husband was apparently reading, but
his eye wandered and his mind was absent from the volume.

The dogs barked, Mr. Ferrars threw down his book, Myra forgot her cones;
the door burst open, and she was in her brother's arms.

"And where is mamma?" said Endymion, after he had greeted his father.

"She will be here directly," said Mr. Ferrars. "You are late, and the
suspense of your arrival a little agitated her."

Three quarters of a year had elapsed since