Chippinge Borough

But enthusiasm is infectious. And when the tellers for the last time walked up to the table, at five o'clock on the morning of the 22nd of September, with the grey light of daybreak stealing in to shame the candles and betray the jaded faces-when he and all men knew that for them the end of the great struggle was come-Vaughan waited breathless with the rest and strained his ears to catch the result. And when, a moment later, peal upon peal of fierce cheering shook the old panels in their frames, and being taken up by waiting crowds without, carried the news through the dawn to the very skirts of London-the news that Reform had passed the People's House, and that only the peers now stood between the country and its desire-he shared the triumph and shouted with the rest, shook hands with exultant neighbours, and waved his hat, perspiring.

But in his case the feeling of exultation was short-lived; perhaps in the case of many another, who roared himself hoarse and showed a gleeful face to the daylight. Certainly it was something to have taken part in such a scene, the memory of which must survive for generations. It was something to have voted in such a division. He might talk of it in days to come to his grandchildren. But for him personally it meant that all was over; that here, if the Lords passed the Bill, was the end. A Dissolution must follow, and when the House met again, his place would know him no more. He would be gone, and no man would feel the blank.

Nor were less selfish doubts wanting. As he stood, caught in the press and awaiting his turn to leave the crowded House, his eyes rested on the pale, scowling faces which dotted the opposite benches; the faces of men who, honestly believing that here and now the old Constitution of England had got its deathblow, could not hide their bitter chagrin, or their scorn of the foe. Nor could he, at any rate, view those men without sympathy; without the possibility that they were right weighing on his spirits; without a faint apprehension that this might indeed be the beginning of decay, the starting point of that decadence which every generation since Queen Anne's had foreseen. For if many on that side represented no one but themselves, they still represented vast interests, huge incomes, immense taxation. They were those who, if England sank, had most to lose. He, in the past, had given up almost his all that he might stand aloof from them; and that, because he thought them prejudiced, wrong-headed, unreasonable. But he respected them. And-what if they were right?

Meanwhile the persistent cheering of his friends began to jar on his tired nerves. He seemed to see in this a beginning of disorder, of license, of revolution, of all those evils which the other party foretold. And then he had little liking for the statistics of Hume: and Hume with his arm about his favourite pillar, was high among the triumphant. Hard by him again was the tall, thin form of Orator Hunt, for whom the Bill was too moderate; and the taller, thinner form of Burdett. They, crimson with shouting, were his partners in this; the bedfellows among whom his opinions had cast him.

Thinking such thoughts, he was among the last to leave the House, which he did by way of Westminster Hall. The scene as he descended to the Hall was so striking that he stood an instant on the steps to view it. The hither half of the great space was comparatively bare, but the farther half was occupied by a throng of people held back by a line of the New Police, who were doing all they could to keep a passage for the departing Members. As groups of the latter, after chatting awhile at the upper end, passed, conscious of the greatness of the occasion, down the lane thus formed, bursts of loud cheering greeted the better-known Reformers. Some of the more forward of those who waited shook hands with them, or patted them on the back; while others cried "God bless you, sir! Long life to you, sir!" On the other hand, an angry moan, or a spirit of hissing, marked the passage of a known Tory; or a voice was raised calling to these to bid the Lords beware. A few lamps, which had burned through the night, contended pallidly with the growing daylight, and gave to the scene that touch of obscurity, that mingling of light and shadow-under the dusky, far-receding roof-which is necessary to the picturesque.

Vaughan did not suspect that, as he paused, looking down on the Hall, he was himself watched, and by some sore enough that moment to be glad to wreak their feelings in any direction. As he set his foot on the stone pavement a group near at hand raised a cry of "Turncoat! Turncoat!" and that so loudly that he could not but hear it. An unmistakable hiss followed; and then, "Who stole a seat?" cried one of the men.

"And isn't going to keep it?" cried another.

Vaughan turned short at the last words-he had not felt sure that the first were addressed to him. With a hot face, and every fibre in his body tingling with defiance, he stepped up to the group. "Did you speak to me?" he said.

A man with a bullying air put himself before the others. He was a ruined Irish Member, who had sat for years for a close borough, and for whom the Bill meant duns, bailiffs, a sponging-house, in a word, the loss of all those thing's which made life tolerable. He was full of spite and spoiling for a fight with someone, no matter with whom.

"Who are you?" he replied, confronting our friend with a sneer. "I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir!"

Vaughan was about to answer him in kind, when he espied in the middle of the group the pale, keen face and greyish whiskers of Sergeant Wathen. And, "Perhaps you have not," he retorted, "but that gentleman has." He pointed to Wathen. "And, if what was said a moment ago," he continued, "was meant for me, I have the honour to ask for an explanation."

"Explanation?" a Member in the background cried, in a jeering tone. "Is there need of one?"

Vaughan was no longer red, he was white with anger. "Who spoke?" he asked, his voice ringing.

The Irishman looked over his shoulder and laughed. "Right you are, Jerry!" he said: "I'll not give you up!" And then to Vaughan, "I did not," he said rudely. "For the rest, sir, the Hall is large enough. And we have no need of your heroics here!"

"Your pleasure, however," Vaughan replied, haughtily, "is not my law. Some one of you used words a moment ago which seemed to imply-"

"What, sir?"

"That I obtained my seat by unfair means! And the truth being perfectly well known to that gentleman" – again he pointed to the Sergeant in a way which left Wathen anything but comfortable. "I am sure that he will tell you that the statement-"

"Statement?"

"Statement or imputation, or whatever you please to call it," Vaughan answered, sticking to his point in spite of interruptions, "is absolutely unfounded-and false. And false! And, therefore, must be retracted."

"Must, sir?"

"Yes, must!" Vaughan replied-he was no coward. "Must, if you call yourselves gentlemen. But first, Mr. Sergeant," he continued, fixing Wathen with his eye, "I will ask you to tell these friends of yours that I did not turn my coat at Chippinge. And that there was nothing in my election which in any degree touched my honour."

The Sergeant looked flurried. He was of those who love to wound, but do not love to fight. And at this moment he wished from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, that he had held his tongue. But unluckily, whether the cloud upon Vaughan's reputation had been his work or not, he had certainly said more than he liked to remember; and, worse still, had said some part of it within the last five minutes, in the hearing of those about him. To retract, therefore, was to dub himself a liar; and he sought refuge, the perspiration standing on his brow, in that half-truth which is at once worse than a lie-and safer.

"I must say, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "that the-the circumstances in which you used the vote given to you by your cousin, and-and the way in which you turned against him after attending a dinner of his supporters-"

"Openly, fairly, and after warning, I turned against him," Vaughan cried, enraged at the show of justice which the accusation wore. "And that, sir, in pursuance of opinions which I had publicly professed. More, I allowed myself to be elected only after I had once refused Lord Lansdowne's offer of the seat! And after, only after, Sir Robert Vermuyden had so treated me that all ties were broken. Sergeant Wathen, I appeal to you again! Was that not so?"

"I know nothing of that," Wathen answered, sullenly.

"Nothing? You know nothing of that?" Vaughan cried.

"No," the Sergeant answered, still more sullenly. "I know nothing of what passed between you and your cousin. I know only that you were present, as I have said, at a dinner of his supporters on the eve of the election, and that on a sudden, at that dinner, you declared yourself against him-with the result that you were elected by the other side!"

For a moment Vaughan stood glowering at him, struck dumb by his denial and by the unexpected plausibility, nay, the unexpected strength of the case against him. He was sure that Wathen knew more, he was sure that if he would he could say more! He was sure that the man was dishonest. But he did not see how he could prove it, and-

The Irish Member laughed. "Well, sir," he said, derisively, "is the explanation, now you've got it, to your mind?"

The taunt stung Vaughan. He took a step forward. The next moment would have seen him commit himself to a foolish action, that could only have led him to Wimbledon Common or Primrose Hill. But in the nick of time a voice stayed him.

"What's this, eh?" it asked, its tone more lugubrious than usual. And Sir Charles Wetherell, who had just descended the stairs from the lobby, turned a dull eye from one disputant to the other. "Can't you do enough damage with your tongues?" he rumbled. "Brawl upstairs as much as you like! That's the way to the Woolsack! But you mustn't brawl here!" And the heavy-visaged man, whose humour had again and again conciliated a House which his coarse invective had offended, once more turned from one to the other. "What is it?" he repeated. "Eh?"

Vaughan hastened to appeal to him. "Sir Charles," he said, "I will abide by your decision! Though I do not know, indeed, that I ought to take any man's decision on a point which touches my honour!"

"Oh!" Wetherell said in an inimitable tone. "Court of Honour, is it?" And he cast a queer look round the circle. "That's it, is it? Well, I dare say I'm eligible. I dare swear I know as much about honour as Brougham about equity! Or the Sergeant there" – Wathen reddened angrily-"about law! Or Captain McShane here about his beloved country! Yes," he continued, amid the unconcealed grins of those of the party whose weak points had escaped, "you may proceed, I think."

"You are a friend, Sir Charles," Vaughan said, in a voice which quivered with anxiety, "you are a friend of Sir Robert Vermuyden's?"

"Well, I won't deny him until I know more!" Wetherell answered quaintly. "What of it?"

"You know what occurred at Chippinge before the election?"

"None better. I was there."

"And what passed between Sir Robert Vermuyden and me?" Vaughan continued, eagerly.

"I think I do," Wetherell answered. "In the main I do."

"Thank you, Sir Charles. Then I appeal to you. You are opposed to me in politics, but you will do me justice. These gentlemen have thought fit to brand me here and now as a turncoat; and, worse, as one who was-who was elected" – he could scarcely speak for passion-"in opposition to Sir Robert's, to my relative's candidates, under circumstances dishonourable to me!"

"Indeed? Indeed? That is serious."

"And I ask you, sir, is there a word of truth in that charge?"

Wetherell had his eyes fixed gloomily on the pavement. He appeared to weigh the matter a moment or two. Then he shook his head.

"Not a word," he said, ponderously.

"You-you bear me out, sir."

"Quite, quite," the other answered slowly, as he took out his snuffbox. "To tell the truth, gentlemen," he continued, in the same melancholy tone, "Mr. Vaughan was fool enough to quarrel with his bread and butter for the sake of the most worthless, damnable and mistaken convictions any man ever held! That's the truth. He showed himself a very perfect fool, but an honourable and an honest fool-and that's a rare thing. I see none here."

No one laughed at the gibe, and he turned to Vaughan, who stood, relieved indeed, but stiff and uncomfortable, uncertain what to do next. "I'll take your arm," he said. "I've saved you," coolly, "from the ragged regiment on my side. Do you take me safe," he continued, with a look towards the lower end of the Hall, "through your ragged regiment outside, my lad!"

Vaughan understood only too well the generous motive which underlay the invitation. But for a moment he hung back.

"I am your debtor, Sir Charles," he said, deeply moved, "as long as I live. But I would like to know before I go," and he raised his head, with a look worthy of Sir Robert, "whether these gentlemen are satisfied. If not-"

"Oh, perfectly," the Sergeant cried, hurriedly. "Perfectly!" And he muttered something about being glad-hear explanation-satisfactory.