At eight o'clock the ballot-boxes were sealed up and conveyed to the town-hall, where the counting commenced in the presence of the Mayor, the candidates, their agents, and the necessary officers and assistants.
Box after box was opened and the papers counted out into separate heaps, those for Colford into one pile, those for Therne into another, the spoiled votes being kept by themselves.
The counting began about half-past nine, and up to a quarter to twelve nobody could form an idea as to the ultimate result, although at that time the Conservative candidate appeared to be about five and thirty votes ahead.

Then the last ballot-box was opened; it came from a poor quarter of the city, a ward in which I had many supporters.
Sir Thomas Colford and I, with our little knots of agents and sub-agents, placed ourselves one on each side of the table, waiting in respectful silence while the clerk dealt out the papers, as a player deals out cards.

It was an anxious moment, as any one who has gone through a closely-contested parliamentary election can testify.

For ten days or more the strain had been great, but, curiously enough, now at its climax it seemed to have lost its grip of me.

I watched the _denoument_ of the game with keenness and interest indeed, but as though I were not immediately and personally concerned.