There were some great speeches made on that evening.  Mr. Gresham delivered an oration of which men said that it would be known in England as long as there were any words remaining of English eloquence.  In it he taunted Mr. Turnbull with being a recreant to the people, of whom he called himself so often the champion.  But Mr. Turnbull was not in the least moved.  Mr. Gresham knew well enough that Mr. Turnbull was not to be moved by any words;—­but the words were not the less telling to the House and to the country.  Men, who heard it, said that Mr. Gresham forgot himself in that speech, forgot his party, forgot his strategy, forgot his long-drawn schemes,—­even his love of applause, and thought only of his cause.  Mr. Daubeny replied to him with equal genius, and with equal skill,—­if not with equal heart.  Mr. Gresham had asked for the approbation of all present and of all future reformers.  Mr. Daubeny denied him both,—­the one because he would not succeed, and the other because he would not have deserved success.  Then Mr. Mildmay made his reply, getting up at about three o’clock, and uttered a prayer,—­a futile prayer,—­that this his last work on behalf of his countrymen might be successful.  His bill was read a second time, as I have said before, in obedience to the casting vote of the Speaker,—­but a majority such as that was tantamount to a defeat.

There was, of course, on that night no declaration as to what ministers would do.  Without a meeting of the Cabinet, and without some further consideration, though each might know that the bill would be withdrawn, they could not say in what way they would act.  But late as was the hour, there were many words on the subject before members were in their beds.  Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Monk left the House together, and perhaps no two gentlemen in it had in former sessions been more in the habit of walking home arm-in-arm and discussing what each had heard and what each had said in that assembly.  Latterly these two men had gone strangely asunder in their paths,—­very strangely for men who had for years walked so closely together.  And this separation had been marked by violent words spoken against each other,—­by violent words, at least, spoken against him in office by the one who had never contaminated his hands by the Queen’s shilling.  And yet, on such an occasion as this, they were able to walk away from the House arm-in-arm, and did not fly at each other’s throat by the way.

“Singular enough, is it not,” said Mr. Turnbull, “that the thing should have been so close?”

“Very odd,” said Mr. Monk; “but men have said that it would be so all the week.”

“Gresham was very fine,” said Mr. Turnbull.

“Very fine, indeed.  I never have heard anything like it before.”

“Daubeny was very powerful too,” said Mr. Turnbull.

“Yes;—­no doubt.  The occasion was great, and he answered to the spur.  But Gresham’s was the speech of the debate.”