“Because, sir, I wouldn’t for the world you should think I was mixed up with them; and if my husband doesn’t vote for you my name isn’t Sweeting.”
“I am much obliged to you. I see your motives: you are straightforward and I respect you.”
Mrs. Sweeting thanked him and departed. His first feeling was wrath. Never was there a man less likely to be cowed. He put on his hat and walked to his committee-room, where he found Mr. Bingham.
“Don’t know, Doctor; the Radicals have got a strong candidate in Jem Casey. Some of our people will turn, I’m afraid, and split their votes.”
“Split votes! with a fellow like that! How can there be any splitting between an honest man and a rascal?”
“There shouldn’t be, sir, but—” Mr. Bingham hesitated—“I suppose there may be personal considerations.”
“Personal considerations! what do you mean? Let us have no more of these Langborough tricks. Out with it, Bingham! Who are the persons and what are the considerations?”
“I really can’t say, Doctor, but perhaps you may not be as popular as you were. You’ve—” but Mr. Bingham’s strength again completely failed him, and he took a sudden turn—“You’ve taken a decided line lately at several of our meetings.”
The Doctor looked steadily at Mr. Bingham, who felt that every corner of his pitiful soul was visible.
“The line I have taken you have generally supported. That is not what you mean. If I am defeated I shall be defeated by equivocating cowardice, and I shall consider myself honoured.”
The Doctor strode out of the room. He knew now that he was the common property of the town, and that every tongue was wagging about him and a woman, but he was defiant. The next morning he saw painted in white paint on his own wall—
“My dearly beloved, for all you’re so bold, To-morrow you’ll find you’re left out in the cold; And, Doctor, the reason you need not to ax, It’s because of a dressmaker—Mrs. F—fax.”
He was going out just as the gardener was about to obliterate the inscription.
“Leave it, Robert, leave it; let the filthy scoundrels perpetuate their own disgrace.”
The result of the election was curious. Two of the Church candidates were returned at the top of the poll. Jem Casey came next. Dr. Midleton and the other two Radical and Dissenting candidates were defeated. There were between seventy and eighty plumpers for the two successful Churchmen, and about five-and-twenty split votes for them and Casey, who had distinguished himself by his coarse attacks on the Doctor. Mr. Bingham had a bad cold, and did not vote. On the following Sunday the church was fuller than usual. The Doctor preached on behalf of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. He did not allude directly to any of the events of the preceding week, but at the close of his sermon he said—“It has been frequently objected that we ought not to spend money on missions to the heathen abroad as there is such a field of labour at home. The answer to that objection is that there is more hope of the heathen than of many of our countrymen. This has been a nominally Christian land for centuries, but even now many deadly sins are not considered sinful, and it is an easier task to save the savage than to convince those, for example, whose tongue, to use the words of the apostle, is set on fire of hell, that they are in danger of damnation. I hope, therefore, my brethren, that you will give liberally.”