"Now, my dear Beaufort, what does he mean?"
"Do not mind what he says, dear; he is only trying to mystify you; the real truth being, that Tom Rogerson is a valuable ally, solely from his intimacy with all the rogues and knaves in the borough. He once kept an ale-house, and is now a very idle cobbler; but he is one of those odd shrewd characters who in all times of popular excitement make the fortunes of the party to which they attach themselves. We expect Rogerson will bring us in at least forty votes."
"Oh! here is his name in my polling-book," said Helen, who was turning over the leaves of a small pamphlet.
"My dear Helen," cried Ernest, "what is that you say? your polling-book?"
"Yes, we have each got a polling-book, a list of voters, or whatever you call it, and have been studying them all day to see if there are any of our tradespeople or old friends in the village whom we could persuade to vote for you."
"No, have you really? what treasures you all are! If I were not so tired and smoky I should be tempted to make a complete tour of the room, just to kiss all your little hands. And there are several cases in which you may be of use to us. We want you to order a bonnet, which you need not wear, at Mrs. Vere's. Vere pretends to have opinions about Church reform."
"Yes, and Giles the ironmonger would not give us any promise to-day."
"Impossible, my dear Beaufort," said Lady Eskdale; "he has just finished all the ornamental wire-work for my new garden; he ought to be devoted to us."
"He ought, but he is not; for the duke has been speaking to him about iron flues for his hothouses."
"That is actual bribery," said Lady Eskdale, rising into real election energy; "but, if it comes to that, your father
