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.And in him also this touching belief grew silently in the shade; the sense that he had himself had a lot to do with the founding of the League of the Lion and the resurrection of Richard Coeur-de-Lion.He felt this all the more vividly because of the institution of the Shield of Honour, which was one of the latest and proudest additions to the scheme and had been inaugurated in his own park.In all this change of climate, Herne was himself unchanged.Like many idealists, he was of a type that would have been content in complete obscurity, but could not measure or realise the scope of complete fame.If he could take one stride to the end of the park, he might as well take another stride to the end of the world.He did not see the world to scale.He had forced all his commonplace companions back into their masquerade clothes and compelled them to play the masque until they died.By hanging on himself to his Robin Hood bow and boar spear, he had come to find himself not left behind by the company but marching in front of it.The change from that loneliness to that leadership did seem to him a thrilling and triumphal thing.But the change from the leadership of that house-party to the leadership of all England hardly seemed to him a change at all.For indeed there was in that house-party one face that had fallen into the habit of watching for all changes, like the changes of sunset and dawn.* * *CHAPTER XIVTHE RETURN OF THE KNIGHT-ERRANTIn the great General Election, which had been produced by the big menace of Braintree and his new Syndicalism, and which had led up to the launching of the movement in opposition to it, it was reported that Mr.Michael Herne had gone into a polling-booth to record his vote; and had remained there for three-quarters of an hour, mysteriously occupied or possibly engaged in prayer.He had apparently never given a vote before; it not being a Palaeo-Hittite habit; but when it had been elaborately explained to him that he had only to make a cross on the piece of paper opposite the name of his favourite candidate, he seemed quite charmed and enchanted with the idea.By this time, of course, his Palaeo-Hittite period had long become prehistoric and stratified in the past; and his later medieval enthusiasm devoured his days and nights.Nevertheless he could apparently spare a somewhat abnormal time for the modern and rather mechanical process of voting; when he might have been engaged in drawing the long bow or tilting at a Saracen’s head.Archer and his other colleagues became a little impatient, and not a little mystified, by his mysterious immersion in the ballot box; they kicked their legs restlessly outside and eventually went inside, to see his tall and motionless back still immovable in its separate cell, as of a modern confessional.They were at last goaded to the gross indelicacy of disturbing the Citizen when alone with his Duty, by going up behind him and pulling his coat-tails.As this had no particular effect, they committed the anarchical and anti-democratic outrage of actually looking over his shoulder.They found that he had set out on the little shelf, as on a table, all the illumination paints (presumably borrowed from Miss Ashley), paints of gold and silver and all the colours of the rainbow.With these he was engaged in doing his democratic duty with almost a painful care and patience.He had been told to make a cross and he was making a cross.He was doing it as it would have been done by a monk in the Dark Ages; that is in very gay and glorified colours.The cross was of gold, in one corner of it were three blue birds, in another corner were three red fishes, in another plants, in another planets and so on; it seemed to be planned upon the scheme of the Canticle of the Creature of St.Francis of Assisi.He was very much surprised to be told that this was not required by the provisions of the Ballot Act; but he controlled himself and only gave a faint sigh, when informed by the officials of the polling station that his vote was cancelled, because he had “spoilt” a ballot paper.Outside in the street, however, there were a good many people who thought that even the usual hasty scratch on the ballot paper was almost as much of a waste of time as Mr.Herne’s elaborate ritual.It was the paradox of that particular General Election that it was a great crisis because another thing was much greater; and it was intensely exciting because people were excited about something else.It was rather like one of the elections that take place during a great war.Indeed it might be said that it took place during a revolution
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