t the pillar, pouring out her heart. No mouth in all the
crowd was silent. It was as though the soul of the English people were
escaping from its dungeon of reserve, on the pinions of that chant.

But suddenly, like a shot bird closing wings, the song fell silent and
dived headlong back to earth. Out from under the clock-face had moved a
thin dark figure. More figures came behind. Courtier could see Miltoun.
A voice far away cried: "Up; Chilcox!" A huge: "Husill" followed; then
such a silence, that the sound of an engine shunting a mile away could
be heard plainly.

The dark figure moved forward, and a tiny square of paper gleamed out
white against the black of his frock-coat.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Result of the Poll:

"Miltoun Four thousand eight hundred and ninety-eight. Chilcox Four
thousand eight hundred and two."

The silence seemed to fall to earth, and break into a thousand pieces.
Through the pandemonium of cheers and groaning, Courtier with all his
strength forced himself towards the balcony. He could see Lord Valleys
leaning forward with a broad smile; Lady Valleys passing her hand across
her eyes; Barbara with her hand in Harbinger's, looking straight into
his face. He stopped. The old Chartist was still beside him, tears
rolling down his cheeks into his beard.

Courtier saw Miltoun come forward, and stand, unsmiling, deathly pale.

PART II

CHAPTER I

At three o'clock in the afternoon of the nineteenth of July little Ann
Shropton commenced the ascent of the main staircase of Valleys House,
London. She climbed slowly, in the very middle, an extremely small white
figure on those wide and shining stairs, counting them aloud. Their
number was never alike two days running, which made them attractive to
one for whom novelty was the salt of life.

Coming to that spot where they branched, she paused to consider which of
the two flights she had used last, and unable to remember, sat down. She
was the bearer of a message. It had been new when she started, but was
already comparatively old, and likely to become older, in view of
a design now conceived by her of travelling the whole length of the
picture gallery. And while she sat maturing this plan, sunlight flooding
through a large window drove a white refulgence down into the heart of
the wide polished space of wood and marble, whence she had come. The
nature of little Ann habitually rejected fairies and all fantastic
things, finding them qu