THE CHANNINGS

A STORY

BY

MRS. HENRY WOOD

AUthor of "East Lynne, " "Johnny Ludlow, " etc. 

_TWO HUNDRED AND TENTH THOUSAND_

1901

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER

 I. THE INKED SURPLICE II. BAD NEWS III. CONSTANCE CHANNING IV. NO HOLIDAY TO-DAY V. ROLAND YORKE VI. LADY AUGUSTA YORKE AT HOME VII. MR. KETCH VIII. THE ASSISTANT-ORGANIST IX. HAMISH'S CANDLES X. A FALSE ALARM XI. THE CLOISTER KEYS XII. A MISHAP TO THE BISHOP XIII. MAD NANCE XIV. KEEPING OFFICE XV. A SPLASH IN THE RIVER XVI. MUCH TO ALTER XVII. SUNDAY MORNING AT MR. CHANNING'S, AND AT LADY AUGUSTA'S XVIII. MR. JENKINS ALIVE AGAIN XIX. THE LOSS XX. THE LOOMING OF AN AWFUL FEAR XXI. MR. BUTTERBY XXII. AN INTERRUPTED DINNER XXIII. AN ESCORT TO THE GUILDHALL XXIV. THE EXAMINATION XXV. A MORNING CALL XXVI. CHECKMATED XXVII. A PIECE OF PREFERMENT XXVIII. AN APPEAL TO THE DEAN XXIX. A TASTE OF "TAN" XXX. THE DEPARTURE XXXI. ABROAD XXXII. AN OMINOUS COUGH XXXIII. NO SENIORSHIP FOR TOM CHANNING XXXIV. GERALD YORKE MADE INTO A "BLOCK" XXXV. THE EARL OF CARRICK XXXVI. ELLEN HUNTLEY XXXVII. THE CONSPIRATORS XXXVIII. THE DECISION XXXIX. THE GHOST XL. MR. KETCH'S EVENING VISIT XLI. THE SEARCH XLII. AN OFFICIAL CEREMONY INTERRUPTED XLIII. DRAGGING THE RIVER XLIV. MR. JENKINS IN A DILEMMA XLV. A NEW SUSPICION XLVI. A LETTER FOR MR. GALLOWAY XLVII. DARK CLOUDS XLVIII. MUFFINS FOR TEA XLIX. A CHÂTEAU EN ESPAGNE L. REALLY GONE! LI. AN ARRIVAL IN A FLY LII. A RELIC FROM THE BURIAL-GROUND LIII. THE RETURN HOME LIV. "THE SHIP'S DROWNED" LV. NEWS FROM ROLAND LVI. THE BROKEN PHIAL LVII. A GHOST AGAIN LVIII. BYWATER'S DANCE LIX. READY LX. IN WHAT DOES IT LIE?

 I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the schoolboy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. "

 Strange to me now are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town; But the native air is pure and sweet, And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. "

CHAPTER I. 

THE INKED SURPLICE. 

The sweet bells of Helstonleigh Cathedral were ringing out in thesummer's afternoon. Groups of people lined the streets, in greaternumber than the ordinary business of the day would have brought forth;some pacing with idle steps, some halting to talk with one another, some looking in silence towards a certain point, as far as the eyecould reach; all waiting in expectation. 

It was the first day of Helstonleigh Assizes; that is, the day on whichthe courts of law began their sittings. Generally speaking, thecommission was opened at Helstonleigh on a Saturday; but for someconvenience in the arrangements of the circuit, it was fixed this timefor Wednesday; and when those cathedral bells burst forth, they gavesignal that the judges had arrived and were entering the sheriff'scarriage, which had gone out to meet them. 

A fine sight, carrying in it much of majesty, was the procession, as itpassed through the streets with its slow and stately steps; andalthough Helstonleigh saw it twice a year, it looked at it withgratified eyes still, and made the day into a sort of holiday. Thetrumpeters rode first, blowing the proud note of advance, and the longline of well-mounted javelin men came next, two abreast; their attirethat of the livery of the high sheriff's family, and their javelinsheld in rest. Sundry officials followed, and the governor of the countygaol sat in an open carriage, his long white wand raised in the air. Then appeared the handsome, closed equipage of the sheriff, its fourhorses, caparisoned with silver, pawing the ground, for they chafed atthe slow pace to which they were restrained. In it, in their scarletrobes and flowing wigs, carrying awe to many a young spectator, sat thejudges. The high sheriff sat opposite to them, his chaplain by hisside, in his gown and bands. A crowd of gentlemen, friends of thesheriff, followed on horseback; and a mob of ragamuffins brought up therear. 

To the assize courts the procession took its way, and there the shortbusiness of opening the commission was gone through, when the judgesre-entered the carriage to proceed to the cathedral, having been joinedby the mayor and corporation. The sweet bells of Helstonleigh werestill ringing out, not to welcome the judges to the city now, but as aninvitation to them to come and worship God. Within the grand entranceof the cathedral, waiting to receive the judges, stood the Dean ofHelstonleigh, two or three of the chapter, two of the minor canons, andthe king's scholars and choristers, all in their white robes. The bellsceased; the fine organ pealed out--and there are few finer organs inEngland than that of Helstonleigh--the vergers with their silver maces, and the decrepit old bedesmen in their black gowns, led the way to thechoir, the long scarlet trains of the judges held up behind: and placeswere found for all. 

The Rev. John Pye began the service; it was his week for chanting. Hewas one of the senior minor canons, and head-master of the collegeschool. At the desk opposite to him sat the Rev. William Yorke, a youngman who had only just gained his minor canonry. 

The service went on smoothly until the commencement of the anthem. Inone sense it went on smoothly to the end, for no person present, noteven the judges themselves, could see that anything was wrong. Mr. Pyewas what was called "chanter" to the cathedral, which meant that it washe who had the privilege of selecting the music for the chants andother portions of the service, when the dean did not do so himself. Theanthem he had put up for this occasion was a very good one, taken fromthe Psalms of David. It commenced with a treble solo; it was, moreover, an especial favourite of Mr. Pye's; and he complacently disposedhimself to listen. 

But no sooner was the symphony over, no sooner had the first notes ofthe chorister sounded on Mr. Pye's ear, than his face slightly flushed, and he lifted his head with a sharp, quick gesture. _That_ was not thevoice which ought to have sung this fine anthem; that was a cracked, _passée_ voice, belonging to the senior chorister, a young gentleman ofseventeen, who was going out of the choir at Michaelmas. He had donegood service for the choir in his day, but his voice was breaking now;and the last time he had attempted a solo, the bishop (who interferedmost rarely with the executive of the cathedral; and, indeed, it wasnot his province to do so) had spoken himself to Mr. Pye on theconclusion of the service, and said the boy ought not to be allowed tosing alone again. 

Mr. Pye bent his head forward to catch a glimpse of the choristers, five of whom sat on his side of the choir, the _decani_; five on theopposite, or _cantori_ side. So far as he could see, the boy, StephenBywater, who ought to have taken the anthem, was not in his place. There appeared to be only four of them; but the senior boy with hisclean, starched surplice, partially hid those below him. Mr. Pyewondered where his eyes could have been, not to have noticed the boy'sabsence when they had all been gathered round the entrance, waiting forthe judges. 

Had Mr. Pye's attention not been fully engrossed with his book, As the service had gone on, he might have seen the boy opposite tohim; for there sat Bywater, before the bench of king's scholars, and right in front of Mr. Pye. Mr. Pye's glance fell upon him now, and he could scarcely believe it. He rubbed his eyes, and looked, and rubbed again. Bywater there! and without his surplice! braving, as it were, the head-master! What could he possibly mean by this actof insubordination? Why was he not in his place in the school? Whywas he mixing with the congregation? But Mr. Pye could as yet obtainno solution to the mystery. 

The anthem came to an end; the dean had bent his brow at the solo, butit did no good; and, the prayers over, the sheriff's chaplain ascendedto the pulpit to preach the sermon. He selected his text from St. John's Gospel: "That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and thatwhich is born of the Spirit is spirit. " In the course of his sermon hepointed out that the unhappy prisoners in the gaol, awaiting thesummons to answer before an earthly tribunal for the evil deeds theyhad committed, had been led into their present miserable condition bythe seductions of the flesh. They had fallen into sin, he went on, bythe indulgence of their passions; they had placed no restraint upontheir animal appetites and guilty pleasures; they had sunk graduallyinto crime, and had now to meet the penalty of the law. But did noblame, he asked, attach to those who had remained indifferent to theirdownward course; who had never stretched forth a friendly hand torescue them from destruction; who had made no effort to teach and guidein the ways of truth and righteousness these outcasts of society? Werewe, he demanded, at liberty to ignore our responsibility by asking inthe words of earth's first criminal, "Am I my brother's keeper?" No; itwas at once our duty and our privilege to engage in the noble work ofman's reformation--to raise the fallen--to seek out the lost, and torestore the outcast; and this, he argued, could only be accomplishedby a widely-disseminated knowledge of God's truth, by patient, self-denying labour in God's work, and by a devout dependence on God'sHoly Spirit. 

At the conclusion of the service the head-master proceeded to thevestry, where the minor canons, choristers, and lay-clerks kept theirsurplices. Not the dean and chapter; they robed in the chapter-house:and the king's scholars put on their surplices in the schoolroom. Thechoristers followed Mr. Pye to the vestry, Bywater entering with them. The boys grouped themselves together: they were expecting--to use theirown expression--a row. 

"Bywater, what is the meaning of this conduct?" was the master's sterndemand. 

"I had no surplice, sir, " was Bywater's answer--a saucy-looking boywith a red face, who had a propensity for getting into "rows, " and, consequently, into punishment. 

"No surplice!" repeated Mr. Pye--for the like excuse had never beenoffered by a college boy before. "What do you mean?"

"We were ordered to wear clean surplices this afternoon. I brought mineto college this morning; I left it here in the vestry, and took thedirty one home. Well, sir, when I came to put it on this afternoon, itwas gone. "

"How could it have gone? Nonsense, sir! Who would touch your surplice?"

"But I could _not_ find it, sir, " repeated Bywater. "The choristersknow I couldn't; and they left me hunting for it when they went intothe hall to receive the judges. I could not go into my stall, sir, andsing the anthem without my surplice. "

"Hurst had no business to sing it, " was the vexed rejoinder of themaster. "You know your voice is gone, Hurst. You should have gone up tothe organist, stated the case, and had another anthem put up. "

"But, sir, I was expecting Bywater in every minute. I thought he'd besure to find his surplice somewhere, " was Hurst's defence. "And when hedid not come, and it grew too late to do anything, I thought it betterto take the anthem myself than to give it to a junior, who would besafe to have made a mess of it. Better for the judges and otherstrangers to hear a faded voice in Helstonleigh Cathedral, than to hearbad singing. "

The master did not speak. So far, Hurst's argument had reason in it. 

"And--I beg your pardon for what I am about to say, sir, " Hurst wenton: "but I hope you will allow me to assure you beforehand, thatneither I, nor my juniors under me, have had a hand in this affair. Bywater has just told me that the surplice is found, and how; and blameis sure to be cast upon us; but I declare that not one of us has beenin the mischief. "

Mr. Pye opened his eyes. "What now?" he asked. "What is the mischief?"

"I found the surplice afterwards, sir, " Bywater said. "This is it. "

He spoke meaningly, as if preparing them for a surprise, and pointed toa corner of the vestry. There lay a clean, but tumbled surplice, halfsoaked in ink. The head-master and Mr. Yorke, lay-clerks andchoristers, all gathered round, and stared in amazement. 

"They shall pay me the worth of the surplice, " spoke Bywater, an angryshade crossing his usually good-tempered face. 

"And have a double flogging into the bargain, " exclaimed the master. "Who has done this?"

"It looks as though it had been rabbled up for the purpose, " criedHurst, in schoolboy phraseology, bending down and touching it gingerlywith his finger. "The ink has been poured on to it. "

"Where did you find it?" sharply demanded the master--not that he wasangry with the boys before him, but he felt angry that the thing shouldhave taken place. 

"I found it behind the screen, sir, " replied Bywater. "I thought I'dlook there, as a last resource, and there it was. I should think nobodyhas been behind that screen for a twelvemonth past, for it's overankles in dust there. "

"And you know nothing of it, Hurst?"

"Nothing whatever, sir, " was the reply of the senior chorister, spokenearnestly. "When Bywater whispered to me what had occurred, I set itdown as the work of one of the choristers, and I taxed them with it. But they all denied it strenuously, and I believe they spoke the truth. I put them on their honour. "

The head-master peered at the choristers. Innocence was in everyface--not guilt; and he, with Hurst, believed he must look elsewherefor the culprit. That it had been done by a college boy there could beno doubt whatever; either out of spite to Bywater, or from pure love ofmischief. The king's scholars had no business in the vestry; but justat this period the cathedral was undergoing repair, and they couldenter, if so minded, at any time of the day, the doors being left openfor the convenience of the workmen. 

The master turned out of the vestry. The cathedral was emptied of itscrowd, leaving nothing but the dust to tell of what had been, and thebells once more went pealing forth over the city. Mr. Pye crossed thenave, and quitted the cathedral by the cloister door, followed by thechoristers. The schoolroom, once the large refectory of the monks inmonkish days, was on the opposite side of the cloisters; a large room, which you gained by steps, and whose high windows were many feet fromthe ground. Could you have climbed to those windows, and looked fromthem, you would have beheld a fair scene. A clear river wound under thecathedral walls; beyond its green banks were greener meadows, stretching out in the distance; far-famed, beautiful hills bounded thehorizon. Close by, were the prebendal houses; some built of red stone, some covered with ivy, all venerable with age. Pleasant gardenssurrounded most of them, and dark old elms towered aloft, shelteringthe rooks, which seemed as old as the trees. 

The king's scholars were in the schoolroom, cramming their surplicesinto bags, or preparing to walk home with them thrown upon their arms, and making enough hubbub to alarm the rooks. It dropped to a dead calmat sight of the master. On holidays--and this was one--it was not usualfor the masters to enter the school after service. The school wasfounded by royal charter--its number limited to forty boys, who werecalled king's scholars, ten of whom, those whose voices were the best, were chosen choristers. The master marched to his desk, and made a signfor the boys to approach, addressing himself to the senior boy. 

"Gaunt, some mischief has been done in the vestry, touching Bywater'ssurplice. Do you know anything of it?"

"No, sir, " was the prompt answer. And Gaunt was one who scorned to tella lie. 

The master ranged his eyes round the circle. "Who does?"

There was no reply. The boys looked at one another, a sort of stolidsurprise for the most part predominating. Mr. Pye resumed:

"Bywater tells me that he left his clean surplice in the vestry thismorning. This afternoon it was found thrown behind the screen, tumbledtogether, beyond all doubt purposely, and partially covered with ink. Iask, who has done this?"

"I have not, sir, " burst forth from most of the boys simultaneously. The seniors, of whom there were three besides Gaunt, remained silent. But this was nothing unusual; for the seniors, unless expresslyquestioned or taxed with a fault, did not accustom themselves to avoluntary denial. 

"I can only think this has been the result of accident, " continued thehead-master. "It is incredible to suppose any one of you would wantonlydestroy a surplice. If so, let that boy, whoever he may have been, speak up honourably, and I will forgive him. I conclude that the inkmust have been spilt upon it, I say accidentally, and that he then, inhis consternation, tumbled the surplice together, and threw it out ofsight behind the screen. It had been more straightforward, more inaccordance with what I wish you all to be--boys of thorough truth andhonour--had he candidly confessed it. But the fear of the moment mayhave frightened his better judgment away. Let him acknowledge it now, and I will forgive him; though of course he must pay Bywater foranother surplice. "

A dead silence. 

"Do you hear, boys?" the master sternly asked. 

No answer from any one; nothing but continued silence. The master rose, and his countenance assumed its most severe expression. 

"Hear further, boys. That it is one of you, I am convinced; and yourrefusing to speak compels me to fear that it was _not_ an accident, buta premeditated, wicked act. I now warn you, whoever did it, that if Ican discover the author or authors, he or they shall be punished withthe utmost severity, short of expulsion, that is allowed by the rulesof the school. Seniors, I call for your aid in this. Look to it. "

The master left the schoolroom, and Babel broke loose--questioning, denying, protesting, one of another. Bywater was surrounded. 

"Won't there be a stunning flogging? Bywater, who did it? Do you know?"

Bywater sat himself astride over the end of a bench, and nodded. Thesenior boy turned to him, some slight surprise in his look and tone. 

"Do you know, Bywater?"

"Pretty well, Gaunt. There are two fellows in this school, one's atyour desk, one's at the second desk, and I believe they'd either ofthem do me a nasty turn if they could. It was one of them. "

"Who do you mean?" asked Gaunt eagerly. 

Bywater laughed. "Thank you. If I tell now, it may defeat the ends ofjustice, as the newspapers say. I'll wait till I am sure--and then, lethim look to himself. _I_ won't spare him, and I don't fancy Pye will. "

"You'll never find out, if you don't find out at once, Bywater, " criedHurst. 

"Shan't I? You'll see, " was the significant answer. "It's some distancefrom here to the vestry of the cathedral, and a fellow could scarcelysteal there and steal back without being seen by somebody. It was donestealthily, mark you; and when folks go on stealthy errands they aresafe to be met. "

Before he had finished speaking, a gentlemanly-looking boy of abouttwelve, with delicate features, a damask flush on his face, and wavyauburn hair, sprang up with a start. "Why!" he exclaimed, "I saw--" Andthere he came to a sudden halt, and the flush on his cheek grew deeper, and then faded again. It was a face of exceeding beauty, refined almostas a girl's, and it had gained for him in the school the _sobriquet_ of"Miss. "

"What's the matter with you, Miss Charley?"

"Oh, nothing, Bywater. "

"Charley Channing, " exclaimed Gaunt, "do you know who did it?"

"If I did, Gaunt, I should not tell, " was the fearless answer. 

"_Do_ you know, Charley?" cried Tom Channing, who was one of theseniors of the school. 

"Where's the good of asking that wretched little muff?" burst forthGerald Yorke. "He's only a girl. How do you know it was not one of thelay-clerks, Bywater? They carry ink in their pockets, I'll lay. Or anyof the masons might have gone into the vestry, for the matter of that. "

"It wasn't a lay-clerk, and it wasn't a mason, " stoically noddedBywater. "It was a college boy. And I shall lay my finger upon him assoon as I am a little bit surer than I am. I am three parts sure now. "

"If Charley Channing does not suspect somebody, I'm not here, "exclaimed Hurst, who had closely watched the movement alluded to; andhe brought his hand down fiercely on the desk as he spoke. "Come, MissChanning, just shell out what you know; it's a shame the choristersshould lie under such a ban: and of course we _shall_ do so, with Pye. "

"You be quiet, Hurst, and let Miss Charley alone, " drawled Bywater. "Idon't want him, or anybody else to get pummelled to powder; I'll findit out for myself, I say. Won't my old aunt be in a way though, whenshe sees the surplice, and finds she has another to make! I say, Hurst, didn't you croak out that solo! Their lordships in the wigs will besoliciting your photograph as a keepsake. "

"I hope they'll set it in diamonds, " retorted Hurst. 

The boys began to file out, putting on their trenchers, as theyclattered down the steps. Charley Channing sat himself down in thecloisters on a pile of books, as if willing that the rest should passout before him. His brother saw him sitting there, and came up to him, speaking in an undertone. 

"Charley, you know the rules of the school: one boy must not tell ofanother. As Bywater says, you'd get pummelled to powder. "

"Look here, Tom. I tell you--"

"Hold your tongue, boy!" sharply cried Tom Channing. "Do you forgetthat I am a senior? You heard the master's words. We know no brothersin school life, you must remember. "

Charley laughed. "Tom, you think I am a child, I believe. I didn'tenter the school yesterday. All I was going to tell you was this: Idon't know any more than you who inked the surplice; and suspicion goesfor nothing. "

"All right, " said Tom Channing, as he flew after the rest; and Charleysat on, and fell into a reverie. 

The senior boy of the school, you have heard, was Gaunt. The otherthree seniors, Tom Channing, Harry Huntley, and Gerald Yorke, possesseda considerable amount of power; but nothing equal to that vested inGaunt. They had all three entered the school on the same day, and hadkept pace with each other as they worked their way up in it, consequently not one could be said to hold priority; and when Gauntshould quit the school at the following Michaelmas, one of the threewould become senior. Which, you may wish to ask? Ah, we don't knowthat, yet. 

Charley Channing--a truthful, good boy, full of integrity, kind andloving by nature, and a universal favourite--sat tilted on the books. He was wishing with all his heart that he had not seen something whichhe had seen that day. He had been going through the cloisters in theafternoon, about the time that all Helstonleigh, college boys included, were in the streets watching for the sheriff's procession, when he sawone of the seniors steal (Bywater had been happy in the epithet) out ofthe cathedral into the quiet cloisters, peer about him, and then throwa broken ink-bottle into the graveyard which the cloisters enclosed. The boy stole away without perceiving Charley; and there sat Charleynow, trying to persuade himself by some ingenious sophistry--which, however, he knew _was_ sophistry--that the senior might not have beenthe one in the mischief; that the ink-bottle might have been onlegitimate duty, and that he threw it from him because it was broken. Charles Channing did not like these unpleasant secrets. There was inthe school a code of honour--the boys called it so--that one should nottell of another; and if the head-master ever went the length of callingthe seniors to his aid, those seniors deemed themselves compelled todeclare it, if the fault became known to them. Hence Tom Channing'shasty arrest of his brother's words. 

"I wonder if I could see the ink-bottle there?" quoth Charles tohimself. Rising from the books he ran through the cloisters to acertain part, and there, by a dexterous spring, perched himself on tothe frame of the open mullioned windows. The gravestones lay prettythick in the square, enclosed yard, the long, dank grass growing aroundthem; but there appeared to be no trace of an ink-bottle. 

"What on earth are you mounted up there for? Come down instantly. Youknow the row there has been about the walls getting defaced. "

The speaker was Gerald Yorke, who had come up silently. Openly disobeyhim, young Channing dared not, for the seniors exacted obedience inschool and out of it. "I'll get down directly, sir. I am not hurtingthe wall. "

"What are you looking at? What is there to see?" demanded Yorke. 

"Nothing particular. I was looking for what I can't see, " pointedlyreturned Charley. 

"Look here, Miss Channing; I don't quite understand you to-day. Youwere excessively mysterious in school, just now, over that surpliceaffair. Who's to know you were not in the mess yourself?"

"I think you might know it, " returned Charley, as he jumped down. "Itwas more likely to have been you than I. "

Yorke laid hold of him, clutching his jacket with a firm grasp. "Youinsolent young jackanapes! Now! what do you mean? You don't stir fromhere till you tell me. "

"I'll tell you, Mr. Yorke; I'd rather tell, " cried the boy, sinking hisvoice to a whisper. "I was here when you came peeping out of thecollege doors this afternoon, and I saw you come up to this niche, andfling away an ink-bottle. "

Yorke's face flushed scarlet. He was a tall, strong fellow, with a palecomplexion, thick, projecting lips, and black hair, promising fair tomake a Hercules--but all the Yorkes were finely framed. He gave youngChanning a taste of his strength; the boy, when shaken, was in hishands as a very reed. "You miserable imp! Do you know who is said to bethe father of lies?"

"Let me alone, sir. It's no lie, and you know it's not. But I promiseyou on my honour that I won't split. I'll keep it in close; always, ifI can. The worst of me is, I bring things out sometimes withoutthought, " he added ingenuously. "I know I do; but I'll try and keep inthis. You needn't be in a passion, Yorke; I couldn't help seeing what Idid. It wasn't my fault. "

Yorke's face had grown purple with anger. "Charles Channing, if youdon't: unsay what you have said, I'll beat you to within an inch ofyour life. "

"I can't unsay it, " was the answer. 

"You can't!" reiterated Yorke, grasping him as a hawk would a pigeon. "How dare you brave me to my presence? Unsay the lie you have told. "

"I am in God's presence, Yorke, as well as in yours, " cried the boy, reverently; "and I will not tell a lie. "

"Then take your whacking! I'll teach you what it is to inventfabrications! I'll put you up for--"

Yorke's tongue and hands stopped. Turning out of the privatecloister-entrance of the deanery, right upon them, had come Dr. Gardner, one of the prebendaries. He cast a displeased glance at Yorke, not speaking; and little Channing, touching his trencher to the doctor, flew to the place where he had left his books, caught them up, and ranout of the cloisters towards home. 

CHAPTER II. 

BAD NEWS. 

The ground near the cathedral, occupied by the deanery and theprebendal residences, was called the Boundaries. There were a few otherhouses in it, chiefly of a moderate size, inhabited by privatefamilies. Across the open gravel walk, in front of the south cloisterentrance, was the house appropriated to the headmaster; and theChannings lived in a smaller one, nearly on the confines of theBoundaries. A portico led into it, and there was a sitting-room oneither side the hall. Charley entered; and was going, full dash, acrossthe hall to a small room where the boys studied, singing at the top ofhis voice, when the old servant of the family, Judith, an antiquatedbody, in a snow-white mob-cap and check apron, met him, and seized hisarm. 

"Hush, child! There's ill news in the house. "

Charley dropped his voice to an awe-struck whisper. "What is it, Judith? Is papa worse?"

"Child! there's illness of mind as well as of body. I didn't saysickness; I said ill news. I don't rightly understand it; the mistresssaid a word to me, and I guessed the rest. And it was me that took inthe letter! _Me_! I wish I had put it in my kitchen fire first!"

"Is it--Judith, is it news of the--the cause? Is it over?"

"It's over, as I gathered. 'Twas a London letter, and it came by theafternoon post. All the poor master's hopes and dependencies for yearshave been wrested from him. And if they'd give me my way, I'd prosecutethem postmen for bringing such ill luck to a body's door. "

Charles stood something like a statue, the bright, sensitive colourdeserting his cheek. One of those causes, Might _versus_ Right, ofwhich there are so many in the world, had been pending in the Channingfamily for years and years. It included a considerable amount of money, which ought, long ago, to have devolved peaceably to Mr. Channing; butMight was against him, and Might threw it into Chancery. The decisionof the Vice-Chancellor had been given for Mr. Channing, upon whichMight, in his overbearing power, carried it to a higher tribunal. Possibly the final decision, from which there could be no appeal, hadnow come. 

"Judith, " Charles asked, after a pause, "did you hear whether--whetherthe letter--I mean the news--had anything to do with the LordChancellor?"

"Oh, bother the Lord Chancellor!" was Judith's response. "It had to dowith somebody that's an enemy to your poor papa. I know that much. Who's this?"

The hall door had opened, and Judith and Charles turned towards it. Agay, bright-featured young man of three and twenty entered, tall andhandsome, as it was in the nature of the Channings to be. He was theeldest son of the family, James; or, as he was invariably styled, Hamish. He rose six foot two in his stockings, was well made, andupright. In grace and strength of frame the Yorkes and the Channingsstood A1 in Helstonleigh. 

"Now, then! What are you two concocting? Is he coming over you again tolet him make more toffy, Judy, and burn out the bottom of anothersaucepan?"

"Hamish, Judy says there's bad news come in by the London post. I amafraid the Lord Chancellor has given judgment--given it against us. "

The careless smile, the half-mocking, expression left the lips ofHamish. He glanced from Judith to Charles, from Charles to Judith. "Isit sure?" he breathed. 

"It's sure that it's awful news of some sort, " returned Judith; "andthe mistress said to me that all was over now. They be all in there, but you two, " pointing with her finger to the parlour on the left ofthe hall; "and you had better go in to them. Master Hamish--"

"Well?" returned Hamish, in a tone of abstraction. 

"You must every one of you just make the best of it, and comfort thepoor master. You are young and strong; while he--you know what _he_ is. You, in special, Master Hamish, for you're the eldest born, and werethe first of 'em that I ever nursed upon my knee. "

"Of course--of course, " he hastily replied. "But, oh, Judith! you don'tknow half the ill this must bring upon us! Come along, Charley; let ushear the worst. "

Laying his arm with an affectionate gesture round the boy's neck, Hamish drew him towards the parlour. It was a square, light, cheerfulroom. Not the best room: that was on the other side the hall. On asofa, underneath the window, reclined Mr. Channing, his head andshoulders partly raised by cushions. His illness had continued long, and now, it was feared, had become chronic. A remarkably fine specimenof manhood he must have been in his day, his countenance one ofthoughtful goodness, pleasant to look upon. Arthur, the second son, hadinherited its thoughtfulness, its expression of goodness; James, itsbeauty; but there was a great likeness between all the four sons. Arthur, only nineteen, was nearly as tall as his brother. He stoodbending over the arm of his father's sofa. Tom, looking very blank andcross, sat at the table, his elbows leaning on it. Mrs. Channing'spale, sweet face was bent towards her daughter's, Constance, a gracefulgirl of one and twenty; and Annabel, a troublesome young lady of nearlyfourteen, was surreptitiously giving twitches to Tom's hair. 

Arthur moved from the place next his father when Hamish entered, as ifyielding him the right to stand there. A more united family it would beimpossible to find. The brothers and sisters loved each other dearly, and Hamish they almost reverenced--excepting Annabel. Plenty of lovethe child possessed; but of reverence, little. With his gay goodhumour, and his indulgent, merry-hearted spirit, Hamish Channing wasone to earn love as his right, somewhat thoughtless though he was. Thoroughly well, in the highest sense of the term, had the Channingsbeen reared. Not of their own wisdom had Mr. And Mrs. Channing trainedtheir children. 

"What's the matter, sir?" asked Hamish, smoothing his brow, andsuffering the hopeful smile to return to his lips. "Judith says someoutrageous luck has arrived; come express, by post. "

"Joke while you may, Hamish, " interposed Mrs. Channing, in a low voice;"I shrink from telling it you. Can you not guess the news?"

Hamish looked round at each, individually, with his sunny smile, andthen let it rest upon his mother. "The very worst I can guess is not sobad. We are all here in our accustomed health. Had we sent Annabel upin that new balloon they are advertising, I might fancy it had capsizedwith her--as it _will_ some day. Annabel, never you be persuaded tomount the air in that fashion. "

"Hamish! Hamish!" gently reproved Mrs. Channing. But perhaps shediscerned the motive which actuated him. Annabel clapped her hands. Shewould have thought it great fun to go up in a balloon. 

"Well, mother, the worst tidings that the whole world could bring uponus cannot, I say, be very dreadful, while we can discuss them as we aredoing now, " said Hamish. "I suppose the Lord Chancellor has pronouncedagainst us?"

"Irrevocably. The suit is for ever at an end, and we have lost it. "

"Hamish is right, " interrupted Mr. Channing. "When the letter arrived, I was for a short time overwhelmed. But I begin to see it already in aless desponding light; and by to-morrow I dare say I shall be cheerfulover it. One blessed thing--children, I say advisedly, a 'blessed'thing--the worry will be over. "

Charley lifted his head. "The worry, papa?"

"Ay, my boy. The agitation--the perpetual excitement--the sickeningsuspense--the yearning for the end. You cannot understand this, Charley; you can none of you picture it, as it has been, for me. CouldI have gone abroad, as other men, it would have shaken itself offamidst the bustle of the world, and have pressed upon me only at oddtimes and seasons. But here have I lain; suspense my constantcompanion. It was not right, to allow the anxiety so to work upon me:but I could not help it; I really could not. "

"We shall manage to do without it, papa, " said Arthur. 

"Yes; after a bit, we shall manage very well. The worst is, we arebehindhand in our payments; for you know how surely I counted uponthis. It ought to have been mine; it was mine by full right of justice, though it now seems that the law was against me. It is a greataffliction; but it is one of those which may be borne with an openbrow. "

"What do you mean, papa?"

"Afflictions are of two kinds. The one we bring upon ourselves, throughour own misconduct; the other is laid upon us by God for our ownadvantage. Yes, my boys, we receive many blessings in disguise. Troubleof this sort will only serve to draw out your manly energies, to makeyou engage vigorously in the business of life, to strengthen yourself-dependence and your trust in God. This calamity of the lostlawsuit we must all meet bravely. One mercy, at any rate, the newshas brought with it. "

"What is that?" asked Mrs. Channing, lifting her sad face. 

"When I have glanced to the possibility of the decision being againstme, I have wondered _how_ I should pay its long and heavy costs;whether our home must not be broken up to do it, and ourselves turnedout upon the world. But the costs are not to fall upon me; all are tobe paid out of the estate. "

"That's good news!" ejaculated Hamish, his face radiant, as he noddedaround. 

"My darling boys, " resumed Mr. Channing, "you must all work and do yourbest. I had thought this money would have made things easier for you;but it is not to be. Not that I would have a boy of mine cherish for amoment the sad and vain dream which some do--that of living inidleness. God has sent us all into the world to work; some with theirhands, some with their heads; all according to their abilities andtheir station. You will not be the worse off, " Mr. Charming added witha smile, "for working a little harder than you once thought would benecessary. "

"Perhaps the money may come to us, after all, by some miracle, "suggested Charley. 

"No, " replied Mr. Channing. "It has wholly gone from us. It is as muchlost to us as though we had never possessed a claim to it. "

It was even so. This decision of the Lord Chancellor had taken it fromthe Channing family for ever. 

"Never mind!" cried Tom, throwing up his trencher, which he hadcarelessly carried into the room with him. "As papa says, we have ourhands and brains: and they often win the race against money in the longrun. "

Yes. The boys had active hands and healthy brains--no despicableinheritance, when added to a firm faith in God, and an ardent wish touse, and not misuse, the talents given to them. 

CHAPTER III. 

CONSTANCE CHANNING. 

How true is the old proverb--"Man proposes but God disposes!" God'sways are not as our ways. His dealings with us are often mysterious. Happy those, who can detect His hand in all the varied chances andchanges of the world. 

I am not sure that we can quite picture to ourselves the life that hadbeen Mr. Channing's. Of gentle birth, and reared to no profession, theinheritance which ought to have come to him was looked upon as asufficient independence. That it would come to him, had never beendoubted by himself or by others; and it was only at the very momentwhen he thought he was going to take possession of it, that some enemyset up a claim and threw it into Chancery. You may object to the word"enemy, " but it could certainly not be looked upon as the act of afriend. By every right, in all justice, it belonged to James Channing;but he who put in his claim, taking advantage of a quibble of law, wasa rich man and a mighty one. I should not like to take possession ofanother's money in such a manner. The good, old-fashioned, wholesomefear would be upon me, that it would bring no good either to me ormine. 

James Channing never supposed but that the money would be his sometime. Meanwhile he sought and obtained employment to occupy his days;to bring "grist to the mill, " until the patrimony should come. Hoping, hoping, hoping on; hope and disappointment, hope anddisappointment--there was nothing else for years and years; and youknow who has said, that "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. " Therehave been many such cases in the world, but I question, I say, if wecan quite realize them. However, the end had come--the certainty ofdisappointment; and Mr. Channing was already beginning to be thankfulthat suspense, at any rate, was over. 

He was the head of an office--or it may be more correct to say the headof the Helstonleigh branch of it, for the establishment was a Londonone--a large, important concern, including various departments ofInsurance. Hamish was in the same office; and since Mr. Channing'srheumatism had become chronic, it was Hamish who chiefly transacted thebusiness of the office, generally bringing home the books when he left, and going over them in the evening with his father. Thus the work waseffectually transacted, and Mr. Channing retained his salary. Thedirectors were contented that it should be so, for Mr. Channingpossessed their thorough respect and esteem. 

After the ill news was communicated to them, the boys left the parlour, and assembled in a group in the study, at the back of the house, totalk it over. Constance was with them, but they would not admitAnnabel. A shady, pleasant, untidy room was that study, opening to acool, shady garden. It had oil-cloth on the floor instead of carpeting, and books and playthings were strewed about it. 

"What an awful shame that there should be so much injustice in theworld!" spoke passionate Tom, flinging his Euripides on the table. 

"But for one thing, I should be rather glad the worry's over, " criedHamish. "We know the worst now--that we have only ourselves to trustto. "

"Our hands and brains, as Tom said, " remarked Charley. "What is the'one thing' that you mean, Hamish?"

Hamish seized Charley by the waist, lifted him up, and let him dropagain. "It is what does not concern little boys to know: and I don'tsee why you should be in here with us, young sir, any more thanAnnabel. "

"A presentiment that this would be the ending has been upon me for sometime, " broke in the gentle voice of Constance. "In my own mind I havekept laying out plans for us all. You see, it is not as though weshould enjoy the full income that we have hitherto had. "

"What's that, Constance?" asked Tom hotly. "The decision does not touchpapa's salary; and you heard him say that the costs were to be paid outof the estate. A pretty thing it would be if any big-wigged LordChancellor could take away the money that a man works hard for!"

"Hasty, as usual, Tom, " she said with a smile. "You know--we allknow--that, counting fully upon this money, papa is behindhand in hispayments. They must be paid off now in the best way that may be found:and it will take so much from his income. It will make no difference toyou, Tom; all you can do, is to try on heartily for the seniorship andthe exhibition. "

"Oh, won't it make a difference to me, though!" retorted Tom. "Andsuppose I don't gain it, Constance?"

"Then you will have to work all the harder, Tom, in some other walk oflife. Failing the exhibition, of course there will be no chance of yourgoing up to the university; and you must give up the hope of enteringthe Church. The worst off--the one upon whom this disappointment mustfall the hardest--will be Arthur. "

Arthur Channing--astride on the arm of the old-fashioned sofa--liftedhis large deep blue eyes to Constance with a flash of intelligence: itseemed to say, that she only spoke of what he already knew. He had beensilent hitherto; he was of a silent nature: a quiet, loving, tendernature: while the rest spoke, he was content to think. 

"Ay, that it will!" exclaimed Hamish. "What will become of yourarticles now, Arthur?"

It should be explained that Arthur had entered the office of Mr. Galloway, who was a proctor, and also was steward to the Dean andChapter. Arthur was only a subordinate in it, a clerk receivingpay--and very short pay, too; but it was intended that he should enterupon his articles as soon as this money that should be theirs enabledMr. Channing to pay for them. Hamish might well ask what would becomeof his articles now!

"I can't see a single step before me, " cried Arthur. "Except that Imust stay on as I am, a paid clerk. "

"What rubbish, Arthur!" flashed Tom, who possessed a considerable shareof temper when it was roused. "As if you, Arthur Channing, could remaina paid clerk at Galloway's! Why, you'd be on a level with Jenkins--oldJenkins's son. Roland Yorke _would_ look down on you then; more than hedoes now. And that need not be!"

The sensitive crimson dyed Arthur's fair open brow. Of all the failingsthat he found it most difficult to subdue in his own heart, pride borethe greatest share. From the moment the ill news had come to hisfather, the boy felt that he should have to do fierce battle with hispride; that there was ever-recurring mortification laid up in store forit. "But I _can_ battle with it, " he bravely whispered to himself: "andI will do it, God helping me. "

"I may whistle for my new cricket-bat and stumps now, " grumbled Tom. 

"And I wonder when I shall have my new clothes?" added Charley. 

"How selfish we all are!" broke forth Arthur. 

"Selfish?" chafed Tom. 

"Yes, selfish. Here we are, croaking over our petty disappointments, and forgetting the worst share that falls upon papa. Failing thismoney, how will he go to the German baths?"

A pause of consternation. In their own grievances the boys had lostsight of the hope which had recently been shared by them all. Aneminent physician, passing through Helstonleigh, had seen Mr. Channing, and given his opinion that if he would visit certain medicinal spas inGermany, health might be restored to him. When the cause should beterminated in their favour, Mr. Channing had intended to set out. Butnow it was given against him; and hope of setting out had gone with it. 

"I wish I could carry him on my back to Germany, and work to keep himwhile he stayed there!" impulsively spoke Tom. "Wretchedly selfish wehave been, to dwell on our disappointments, by the side of papa's. Iwish I was older. "

Constance was standing against the window. She was of middle height, thoroughly ladylike and graceful; her features fair and beautiful, andher dark-blue eyes and smooth white brow wonderfully like Arthur's. Shewore a muslin dress with a delicate pink sprig upon it, the lace of itsopen sleeves falling on her pretty white hands, which were playingunconsciously with a spray of jessamine, while she listened to herbrothers as each spoke. 

"Tom, " she interposed, in answer to the last remark, "it is of no usewishing for impossibilities. We must look steadfastly at things as theyexist, and see what is the best that can be made of them. All that youand Charles can do is to work well on at your studies--Annabel thesame; and it is to be hoped this blow will take some of herthoughtlessness out of her. Hamish, and Arthur, and I, must try and bemore active than we have been. "

"You!" echoed Arthur. "Why, what can you do, Constance?"

A soft blush rose to her cheeks. "I tell you that I have seemed toanticipate this, " she said, "and my mind has busied itself with plansand projects. I shall look out for a situation as daily governess. "

A groan of anger burst from Tom. His quick temper, and Arthur's pride, alike rose up and resented the words. "A daily governess! It is onlyanother name for a servant. Fine, that would be, for Miss Channing!"

Constance laughed. "Oh, Tom! there are worse misfortunes at sea. Iwould go out wholly, but that papa would not like to spare me, and Imust take Annabel for music and other things of an evening. Don't lookcross. It is an excellent thought; and I shall not mind it. "

"What will mamma say?" asked Tom, ironically. "You just ask her!"

"Mamma knows, " replied Constance. "Mamma has had her fears about thetermination of the lawsuit, just as I have. Ah! while you boys werelaughing and joking, and pursuing your sports or your studies of anight, I and mamma would be talking over the shadowed future. I toldmamma that if the time and the necessity came for turning my educationand talents to account, I should do it with a willing heart; and mamma, being rather more sensible than her impetuous son Tom, cordiallyapproved. "

Tom made a paper bullet and flung it at Constance, his honest eyes halflaughing. 

"So should I approve, " said Hamish. "It is a case, taking intoconsideration my father's state, in which all of us should help who areable. Of course, were you boys grown up and getting money, Constance_should_ be exempt from aiding and abetting; but as it is, it isdifferent. There will be no disgrace in her becoming a governess; andHelstonleigh will never think it so. She is a lady always, and so shewould be if she were to turn to and wash up dishes. The only doubtis--"

He stopped, and looked hesitatingly at Constance. As if penetrating hismeaning, her eyes fell before his. 

"--Whether Yorke will like it, " went on Hamish, as though he had nothalted in his sentence. And the pretty blush in Constance Channing'sface deepened to a glowing crimson. Tom made a whole heap of bullets atonce, and showered them on to her. 

"So Hamish--be quiet, Tom!--you may inquire all over Helstonleighto-morrow, whether any one wants a governess; a well-trained young ladyof twenty-one, who can play, sing, and paint, speak really goodEnglish, and decent French, and has a smattering of German, " rattled onConstance, as if to cover her blushes. "I shall ask forty guineas ayear. Do you think I shall get it?"

"I think you ought to ask eighty, " said Arthur. 

"So I would, if I were thirty-one instead of twenty-one, " saidConstance. "Oh dear! here am I, laughing and joking over it, but it isa serious thing to undertake--the instruction of the young. I hope Ishall be enabled to do my duty in it. What's that?"

It was a merry, mocking laugh, which came from the outside of thewindow, and then a head of auburn hair, wild and entangled, was pushedup, and in burst Annabel, her saucy dark eyes dancing with delight. 

"You locked me out, but I have been outside the window and heard itall, " cried she, dancing before them in the most provoking manner. "Arthur can only be a paid clerk, and Constance is going to be agoverness and get forty guineas a year, and if Tom doesn't gain hisexhibition he must turn bell-ringer to the college, for papa can't payfor him at the university now!"

"What do you deserve, you wicked little picture of deceit?" demandedHamish. "Do you forget the old story of the listener who lost hisears?"

"I always do listen whenever I can, and I always will, " avowed Annabel. "I have warned you so a hundred times over, and now I warn you again. Iwish Tom _would_ turn bell-ringer! I'd make him ring a peal that shouldastonish Helstonleigh, the day Constance goes out as governess. Shan'tI have a fine time of it! It's lessons for me now, morning, noon, andnight, --she's always worrying me; but, once let us get her back turned, and I shall have whole holiday! She may think I'll do my lessons withher at night; but I won't!"

The boys began to chase her round the table. She was almost a match forall four--a troublesome, indulged, sunny-hearted child, who delightedin committing faults, that she might have the pleasure of avowing them. She flew out into the garden, first knocking over Constance'spaint-box, and some of them went after her. 

At that moment Mr. Yorke came in. You have seen him once before, in hisplace in Helstonleigh Cathedral: a tall, slender man, with pale, well-formed features, and an attractive smile. His dark eyes rested onConstance as he entered, and once more the brilliant colour lighted upher face. When prospects should be a little better--that is, when Mr. Yorke should have a sufficient living bestowed upon him--Constance wasto become his wife. His stipend from the minor canonry was at presenttrifling. 

"Judith met me in the hall as I was going into the parlour, and told meI had better come here, " he observed. "She said bad news had arrivedfor Mr. Channing. "

"Yes, " answered Hamish. "The lawsuit is lost. "

"Lost!" echoed Mr. Yorke. 

"Irrevocably. We were discussing ways and means amongst ourselves, "said Hamish, "for of course this changes our prospects materially. "

"And Constance is going out as a governess, if she can find any one totake her, and Arthur is to plod on with Joe Jenkins, and Tom means toapply for the post of bell-ringer to the cathedral, " interposed theincorrigible Annabel, who had once more darted in, and heard the lastwords. "Can you recommend Constance to a situation, Mr. Yorke?"

He treated the information lightly; laughed at and with Annabel; butConstance noticed that a flush crossed his brow, and that he quittedthe subject. 

"Has the inked surplice been found out, Tom, --I mean the culprit?"

"Not yet, Mr. Yorke. "

"Charles, you can tell me who it was, I hear?"

There was a startled glance for a moment in Charles's eye, as he lookedup at Mr. Yorke, and an unconscious meaning in his tone. 

"Why, do _you_ know who it was, sir?"

"Not I, " said Mr. Yorke. "I know that, whoever it may have beendeserves a sound flogging, if he did it willfully. "

"Then, sir, why do you suppose I know?"

"I met Hurst just now, and he stopped me with the news that he was sureCharley Channing could put his hand upon the offender, if he chose todo it. It was not yourself, was it Charley?"

Mr. Yorke laughed as he asked the question. Charley laughed also, butin a constrained manner. Meanwhile the others, to whom the topic hadbeen as Sanscrit, demanded an explanation, which Mr. Yorke gave, so faras he was cognizant of the facts. 

"What a shame to spoil a surplice! Have you cause to suspect anyparticular boy, Charley?" demanded Hamish. 

"Don't ask him in my presence, " interrupted Tom in the same hurriedmanner that he had used in the cloisters. "I should be compelled inhonour to inform the master, and Charley would have his life thrashedout of him by the school. "

"Don't _you_ ask me, either, Mr. Yorke, " said Charles; and the tone ofhis voice, still unconsciously to himself, bore a strange seriousearnestness. 

"Why not?" returned Mr. Yorke. "I am not a senior of the collegeschool, and under obedience to its head-master. "

"If you are all to stop in this room, I and Tom shall never get ourlessons done, " was all the reply made by Charles, as he drew a chair tothe table and opened his exercise books. 

"And I never could afford that, " cried Tom, following his example, andlooking out the books he required. "It won't do to let Huntley andYorke get ahead of me. "

"Trying for the seniorship as strenuously as ever, Tom?" asked Mr. Yorke. 

"Of course I am, " replied Tom Channing, lifting his eyes in slightsurprise. "And I hope to get it. "

"Which of the three stands the best chance?"

"Well, " said Tom, "it will be about a neck-and-neck race between us. Myname stands first on the rolls of the school; therefore, were ourmerits equal, in strict justice it ought to be given to me. But themaster could pass me over if he pleased, and decide upon either of theother two. "

"Which of those two stands first on the rolls?"

"Harry Huntley. Yorke is the last. But that does not count for much, you know, Mr. Yorke, as we all entered together. They enrolled us asour initial letters stood in the alphabet. "

"It will turn wholly upon your scholastic merits, then? I hear--butHelstonleigh is famous for its gossip--that in past times it hasfrequently gone by favour. "

"So it has, " said Tom Channing, throwing back his head with a wholeworld of indignation in the action. "Eligible boys have been passedover, and the most incapable dolt set up above them; all because hisfriends were in a good position, and hand-in-glove with thehead-master. I don't mean Pye, you know; before he came. It's said thelast case was so flagrant that it came to the ears of the dean, and heinterfered and forbade favour for the future. At any rate, there's animpression running through the school that merit and conduct, takentogether, will be allowed fair play. "

"Conduct?" echoed Arthur Channing. 

Tom nodded:--"Conduct is to be brought in, this time. One day, when thefirst desk fell into a row with the head-master, through some mischiefwe had gone into out of school, he asked us if we were aware that ourconduct, as it might be good or ill, might gain or lose us theseniorship. Yorke, who is bold enough, you know, for ten, remarked thatthat was a new dodge, and the master overheard the words, and said, Yes, he was happy to say there were many new 'dodges' he had seen fitto introduce, which he trusted might tend to make the school differentfrom what it had been. Of course we had the laugh at Yorke; but themaster took no more notice of it. Since then, I assure you, Mr. Yorke, our behaviour has been a pattern for young ladies--mine, and Huntley's, and Yorke's. We don't care to lose a chance. "

Tom Channing nodded sagaciously as he concluded, and they left the roomto him and Charles. 

CHAPTER IV. 

NO HOLIDAY TO-DAY. 

"Now, Constance, that we have a moment alone, what is this about you?"began Mr. Yorke, as they stood together in the garden. 

"Annabel said the truth--that I do think of going out as dailygoverness, " she replied, bending over a carnation to hide the blushwhich rose to her cheeks, a very rival to the blushing flower. "It is agreat misfortune that has fallen upon us--at least we can only look atit in that light at present, and will, beyond doubt, be productive ofsome embarrassment. Do you not see, William, that it is incumbent uponus all to endeavour to lighten this embarrassment, those of us who cando so? I must assume my share of the burden. "

Mr. Yorke was silent. Constance took it for granted that he wasdispleased. He was of an excellent family, and she supposed he dislikedthe step she was about to take--deemed it would be derogatory to hisfuture wife. 

"Have you fully made up your mind?" he at length asked. 

"Yes. I have talked it over with mamma--for indeed she and I both seemto have anticipated this--and she thinks with me, that it is what Iought to do. William, how could I reconcile it to my conscience not tohelp?" she continued. "Think of papa! think of his strait! It appearsto be a plain duty thrown in my path. "

"By yourself, Constance?" "Not by myself, " she whispered, lifting fora moment her large blue eyes. "Oh, William, William, do not bedispleased with me! do not forbid it! It is honourable to work--it isright to do what we can. Strive to see it in the right light. "

"Let that carnation alone, Constance; give your attention to me. Whatif I do forbid it?"

She walked a little forward, leaving the carnation bed, and haltedunder the shade of the dark cedar tree, her heart and colour alikefading. Mr. Yorke followed and stood before her. 

"William, I must do my duty. There is no other way open to me, by whichI can earn something to help in this time of need, except that ofbecoming a governess. Many a lady, better born than I, has done itbefore me. "

"A daily governess, I think you said?"

"Papa could not spare me to go out altogether; Annabel could not spareme either; and--"

"I would not spare you, " he struck in, filling up her pause. "Was thatwhat you were about to say, Constance?"

The rosy hue stole over her face again, and a sweet smile to her lips:"Oh, William, if you will only sanction it! I shall go about it thenwith the lightest heart!"

He looked at her with an expression she did not understand, and shookhis head. Constance thought it a negative shake, and her hopes fellagain. "You did not answer my question, " said Mr. Yorke. "What if Iforbid it?"

"But it seems to be my duty, " she urged from between her pale andparted lips. 

"Constance, that is no answer. "

"Oh, do not, do not! William, do not you throw this temptation in myway--that of choosing between yourself and a plain duty that liesbefore me. "

"The temptation, as you call it, must be for a later consideration. Whywill you not answer me? What would be your course if I forbade it?"

"I do not know. But, Oh, William, if you gave me up--"

She could not continue. She turned away to hide her face from Mr. Yorke. He followed and obtained forcible view of it. It was wet withtears. 

"Nay, but I did not mean to carry it so far as to cause you real grief, my dearest, " he said, in a changed tone. "Though you brought it onyourself, " he added, laughing, as he bent his face down. 

"How did I bring it on myself?"

"By doubting me. I saw you doubted me at the first, when Annabel spokeof it in the study. Constance, if you, possessed as you are of greatacquirements, refused from any notion of false pride, to exert them foryour family in a time of need, I should say you were little fitted forthe wife of one whose whole duty it must be to do his Master's work. "

"You will sanction the measure then?" she rejoined, her countenancelighting up. 

"How could you doubt me? I wish I could make a home at once to take youto; but as you must remain in this a little longer, it is only fairthat you should contribute to its maintenance. We all have to bend tocircumstances. I shall not love my wife the less, because she has hadthe courage to turn her talents to account. What could you be thinkingof, child?"

"Forgive me, William, " she softly pleaded. "But you looked so grave andwere so silent. "

Mr. Yorke smiled. "The truth is, Constance, I was turning in my mindwhether I could not help to place you, and pondering the advantages anddisadvantages of a situation I know of. Lady Augusta is looking out fora daily governess. "

"Is she?" exclaimed Constance. "I wonder whether--I--should suit her?"

Constance spoke hesitatingly. The thought which had flashed over herown mind was, whether Lady Augusta Yorke could afford to pay hersufficient remuneration. Probably the same doubt had made one of the"disadvantages" hinted at by Mr. Yorke. 

"I called there yesterday, and interrupted a 'scene' between LadyAugusta and Miss Caroline, " he said. "Unseemly anger on my lady's part, and rebellion on Carry's, forming, as usual, its chief features. "

"But Lady Augusta is so indulgent to her children!" interruptedConstance. 

"Perniciously indulgent, generally; and when the effects break out ininsolence and disobedience, then there ensues a scene. If you go thereyou will witness them occasionally, and I assure you they are notedifying. You must endeavour to train the girls to something betterthan they have been trained to yet, Constance. "

"If I do go. "

"I knew how long it would last, Lady Augusta's instructing themherself, " resumed Mr. Yorke. "It is not a month since the governessleft. "

"Why does she wish to take a daily governess instead of one in thehouse?"

"_Why_ Lady Augusta does a thing, is scarcely ever to be accounted for, by herself or by any one else!" replied Mr. Yorke. "Some convenience, or inconvenience, she mentioned to me, about sleeping arrangements. Shall I ascertain particulars for you, Constance; touching salary andother matters?"

"If you please. Papa is somewhat fastidious; but he could not object tomy going there; and its being so very near our own house would be agreat point of--"

"Constance!" interrupted a voice at this juncture. "Is Mr. Yorkethere?"

"He is here, mamma, " replied Constance, walking forward to Mrs. Channing, Mr. Yorke attending her. 

"I thought I heard you enter, " she said, as Mr. Yorke took her hand. "Mr. Channing will be pleased to see you, if you will come in and chatwith him. The children have told you the tidings. It is a great blow totheir prospects. "

"But they seem determined to bear it bravely, " he answered, in a heartytone. "You may be proud to have such children, Mrs. Channing. "

"Not proud, " she softly said. "Thankful!"

"True. I am obliged to you for correcting me, " was the clergyman'singenuous answer, as he walked, with Mrs. Channing, across the hall. Constance halted, for Judith came out of the kitchen, and spoke in awhisper. 

"And what's the right and the wrong of it, Miss Constance? _Is_ themoney gone?"

"Gone entirely, Judith. Gone for good. "

"For good!" groaned Judith; "I should say for ill. Why does the Queenlet there be a Lord Chancellor?"

"It is not the Lord Chancellor's fault, Judith. He only administers thelaw. "

"Why couldn't he just as well have given it _for_ your papa, as againsthim?"

"I suppose he considers that the law is on the other side, " sighedConstance. 

Judith, with a pettish movement, returned to her kitchen; and at thatmoment Hamish came downstairs. He had changed his dress, and had a pairof new white gloves in his hand. 

"Are you going out to-night, Hamish?"

There was a stress on the word "to-night, " and Hamish marked it. "Ipromised, you know, Constance. And my staying away would do no good; itcould not improve things. Fare you well, my pretty sister. Tell mamma Ishall be home by eleven. "

"It'll be a sad cut-down for 'em all, " muttered Judith, gazing atHamish round the kitchen door-post. "Where he'll find money for hiswhite gloves and things now, is beyond my telling, the darling boy! IfI could but get to that Lord Chancellor!"

Had you possessed the privilege of living in Helstonleigh at the timeof which this story treats--and I can assure you you might live in aless privileged city--it is possible that, on the morning following theabove events, your peaceful slumbers might have been rudely broken by anoise, loud enough to waken the seven sleepers of Ephesus. 

Before seven o'clock, the whole school, choristers and king's scholars, assembled in the cloisters. But, instead of entering the schoolroom forearly school, they formed themselves into a dense mass (if you ever sawschoolboys march otherwise, I have not), and, treading on each other'sheels, proceeded through the town to the lodgings of the judges, inpursuance of a time-honoured custom. There the head-boy sent in hisname to the very chamber of the Lord Chief Justice, who happened thistime to have come to the Helstonleigh circuit. "Mr. Gaunt, senior ofthe college school"--craving holiday for himself, and the whole fry whohad attended him. 

"College boys!" cried his lordship, winking and blinking, as other lessmajestic mortals do when awakened suddenly out of their morning sleep. 

"Yes, my lord, " replied the servant. "All the school's come up; such alot of 'em! It's the holiday they are asking for. "

"Oh, ah, I recollect, " cried his lordship--for it was not the firsttime he had been to Helstonleigh. "Give one of my cards to the seniorboy, Roberts. My compliments to the head-master, and I beg he willgrant the boys a holiday. "

Roberts did as he was bid--he also had been to Helstonleigh before withhis master--and delivered the card and message to Gaunt. Theconsequence of which was, the school tore through the streets intriumph, shouting "Holiday!" in tones to be heard a mile off, andbringing people in white garments, from their beds to the windows. Theleast they feared was, that the town had taken fire. 

Back to the house of the head-master for the pantomime to be playedthrough. This usually was (for the master, as wise on the subject asthey were, would lie that morning in bed) to send the master's servantinto his room with the card and the message; upon which permission forthe holiday would come out, and the boys would disperse, exercisingtheir legs and lungs. No such luck, however, on this morning. Theservant met them at the door, and grinned dreadfully at the crowd. 

"Won't you catch it, gentlemen! The head-master's gone into school, andis waiting for you; marking you all late, of course. "

"Gone into school!" repeated Gaunt, haughtily, resenting thefamiliarity, as well as the information. "What do you mean?"

"Why, I just mean that, sir, " was the reply, upon which Gaunt feltuncommonly inclined to knock him down. But the man had a propensity forgrinning, and was sure to exercise it on all possible occasions. "There's some row up, and you are not to have holiday, " continued theservant; "the master said last night I was to call him this morning asusual. "

At this unexpected reply, the boys slunk away to the collegeschoolroom, their buoyant spirits sunk down to dust andashes--figuratively speaking. They could not understand it; they hadnot the most distant idea what their offence could have been. Gauntentered, and the rest trooped in after him. The head-master sat at hisdesk in stern state: the other masters were in their places. "What isthe meaning of this insubordination?" the master sharply demanded, addressing Gaunt. "You are three-quarters of an hour behind your time. "

"We have been up to the judges, as usual, for holiday, sir, " repliedGaunt, in a tone of deprecation. "His lordship sends his card andcompliments to you, and--"

"Holiday!" interrupted the master. "Holiday!" he repeated, withemphasis, as if disbelieving his own ears. "Do you consider that theschool deserves it? A pretty senior you must be, if you do. "

"What has the school done, sir?" respectfully asked Gaunt. 

"Your memory must be conveniently short, " chafed the master. "Have youforgotten the inked surplice?"

Gaunt paused. "But that was not the act of the whole school, sir. Itwas probably the act of only one. "

"But, so long as that one does not confess, the whole school must bearit, " returned the master, looking round on the assembly. "Boys, understand me. It is not for the fault itself--that may have been, as Isaid yesterday, the result of accident; but it is the concealment ofthe fault that makes me angry. Will you confess now?--he who did it?"

No; the appeal brought forth no further result than the other had done. The master continued:

"You may think--I speak now to the guilty boy, and let him take thesewords to himself--that you were quite alone when you did it; that noeye was watching. But let me remind you that the eye of God was uponyou. What you refuse to tell, He can bring to light, if it shall soplease Him, in His own wonderful way, His own good time. There will beno holiday to-day. Prayers. "

The boys fell into their places, and stood with hanging heads, something like rebellion working in every breast. At breakfast-timethey were dismissed, and gathered in the cloisters to give vent totheir sentiments. 

"Isn't it a stunning shame?" cried hot Tom Channing. "The school oughtnot to suffer for the fault of one boy. The master has no right--"

"The fault lies in the boy, not in the master, " interrupted Gaunt. "Asneak! a coward! If he has a spark of manly honour in him, he'll speakup now. "

"As it has come to this, I say Charley Channing should be made todeclare what he knows, " said one. "He saw it done!"

"Who says he did?" quickly asked Tom Channing. 

"Some one said so; and that he was afraid to tell. "

Gaunt lifted his finger, and made a sign to Charles to approach. "Now, boy"--as the latter obeyed--"you will answer _me_, remember. The masterhas called the seniors to his aid, and I order you to speak. Did yousee this mischief done?"

"No, I did not!" fearlessly replied little Channing. 

"If he doesn't know, he suspects, " persisted Hurst. "Come, MissChanning. "

"We don't declare things upon suspicion, do we, Mr. Gaunt?" appealedCharles. "I may suspect one; Hurst may suspect another; Bywater said hesuspected two; the whole school may be suspicious, one of another. Where's the use of that?"

"It is of no use, " decided Gaunt. "You say you did not see the surplicedamaged?"

"I did not; upon my word of honour. "

"That's enough, " said Gaunt. "Depend upon it, the fellow, while he wasat it, took precious good precautions against being seen. When he getsfound out, he had better not come within reach of the seniors; I warnhim of that: they might not leave him a head on his shoulders, or atooth in his mouth. "

"Suppose it should turn out to have been a senior, Mr. Gaunt?" spokeBywater. 

"Suppose you should turn out to be an everlasting big donkey?" retortedthe senior boy. 

CHAPTER V. 

ROLAND YORKE. 

Just without the Boundaries, in a wide, quiet street, called CloseStreet, was the office of Richard Galloway, Esquire, Proctor, andSteward to the Dean and Chapter. Excepting for this solitary office, the street consisted of private houses, and it was one of theapproaches to the cathedral, though not the chief one. Mr. Galloway wasa bachelor; a short, stout man, shaped like a cask, with a fat, roundface, round, open, grey eyes--that always looked as if their owner wasin a state of wonder--and a little round mouth. But he was a shrewd manand a capable; he was also, in his way, a dandy; dressed scrupulouslyin the fashion, with delicate shirt fronts and snow-white wristbands;and for the last twenty-five years, at least, had been a mark for allthe single ladies of Helstonleigh to set their caps at. 

Of beauty, Mr. Galloway could boast little; but of his hair he wasmoderately vain: a very good head of hair it was, and curled naturally. But hair, let it be luxuriant enough to excite the admiration of awhole army of coiffeurs, is, like other things in this sublunary worldof ours, subject to change; it will not last for ever; and Mr. Galloway's, from a fine and glossy brown, turned, as years went on, tosober grey--nay, almost to white. He did not particularly admire thechange, but he had to submit to it. Nature is stronger than we are. Afriend hinted that it might be "dyed. " Mr. Galloway resented thesuggestion: anything false was abhorrent to him. When, however, afteran illness, his hair began to fall off alarmingly, he thought it noharm to use a certain specific, emanating from one of her Majesty'sphysicians; extensively set forth and patronized as an undoubted remedyfor hair that was falling off. Mr. Galloway used it extensively in hisfear, for he had an equal dread both of baldness and wigs. The lotionnot only had the desired effect, but it had more: the hair grew onagain luxuriantly, and its whiteness turned into the finest flaxen youever saw; a light delicate flaxen, exactly like the curls you see uponthe heads of blue-eyed wax dolls. This is a fact: and whether Mr. Galloway liked it, or not, he had to put up with it. Many would not bepersuaded but that he had used some delicate dye, hitherto unknown toscience; and the suspicion vexed Mr. Galloway. Behold him, therefore, with a perfect shower of smooth, fair curls upon his head, equal to anyyoung beau. 

It was in this gentleman's office that Arthur Channing had been placed, with a view to his becoming ultimately a proctor. To article him to Mr. Galloway would take a good round sum of money; and this had been putoff until the termination of the suit, when Mr. Channing had lookedforward to being at his ease, in a pecuniary point of view. There weretwo others in the same office. The one was Roland Yorke, who wasarticled; the other was Joseph Jenkins, a thin, spare, humble man ofnine and thirty, who had served Mr. Galloway for nearly twenty years, earning twenty-five shillings a week. He was a son of old Jenkins, thebedesman, and his wife kept a small hosiery shop in High Street. RolandYorke was, of course, not paid; on the contrary, he had paid prettysmartly to Mr. Galloway for the privilege of being initiated into themysteries belonging to a proctor. Arthur Channing may be said to haveoccupied a position in the office midway between the two. He was to_become_ on the footing of Roland Yorke; but meanwhile, he received asmall weekly sum in remuneration of his services, as Joe Jenkins did. Roland Yorke, in his proud moods, looked down upon him as a paid clerk;Mr. Jenkins looked up to him as a gentleman. It was a somewhatanomalous position; but Arthur had held his own bravely up in it untilthis blow came, looking forward to a brighter time. 

In the years gone by, one of the stalls in Helstonleigh Cathedral washeld by the Reverend Dr. Yorke: he had also some time filled the officeof sub-dean. He had married, imprudently, the daughter of an Irishpeer, a pretty, good-tempered girl, who was as fond of extravagance asshe was devoid of means to support it. She had not a shilling in theworld; it was even said that the bills for her trousseau came inafterwards to Dr. Yorke: but people, you know, are given to scandal. Want of fortune had been nothing, had Lady Augusta only possessedordinary prudence; but she spent the doctor's money faster than hereceived it. 

In the course of years Dr. Yorke died, leaving eight children, andslender means for them. There were six boys and two girls. Lady Augustawent to reside in a cheap and roomy house (somewhat dilapidated) in theBoundaries, close to her old prebendal residence, and scrambled on inher careless, spending fashion, never out of debt. She retained theirold barouche, and _would_ retain it, and was a great deal too fond ofordering horses from the livery stables and driving out in state. Gifted with excellent qualities had her children been born; but oftraining, in the highest sense of the word, she had given them none. George, the eldest, had a commission, and was away with his regiment. Roland, the second, had been designed for the Church, but no persuasioncould induce him to be sufficiently attentive to his studies to qualifyhimself for it; he was therefore placed with Mr. Galloway, and theChurch honours were now intended for Gerald. The fourth son, Theodore, was also in the college school, a junior. Next came two girls, Carolineand Fanny, and there were two little boys still younger. 

Haughty, self-willed, but of sufficiently honourable nature, were theYorkes. If Lady Augusta had only toiled to foster the good, anderadicate the evil, they would have grown up to bless her. Good soilwas there to work upon, as there was in the Channings; but, in the caseof the Yorkes, it was allowed to run to waste, or to generate weeds. Inshort, to do as it pleased. 

A noisy, scrambling, uncomfortable sort of home was that of the Yorkes;the boys sometimes contending one with another, Lady Augusta oftenquarrelling with all. The home of the Channings was ever full of love, calm, and peace. Can you guess where the difference lay?

On the morning when the college boys had gone up to crave holidayof the judges, and had not obtained it--at least not from thehead-master--Arthur Channing proceeded, as usual, to Mr. Galloway's, after breakfast. Seated at a desk, in his place, writing--he seemed tobe ever seated there--was Mr. Jenkins. He lifted his head when Arthurentered, with a "Good morning, sir, " and then dropped it again over hiscopying. 

"Good morning, " replied Arthur. And at that moment Mr. Galloway--hisflaxen curls in full flow upon his head, something like rings--cameforth from his private room. "Good morning, sir, " Arthur added, to hismaster. 

Mr. Galloway nodded a reply to the salutation. "Have you seen anythingof Yorke?" he asked. "I want that deed that he's about finished as soonas possible. "

"He will not be an instant, " said Arthur. "I saw him coming up thestreet. "

Roland Yorke bustled in; a dark young man of twenty-one, with large butfine features, and a countenance expressive of indecision. 

"Come, Mr. Yorke, you promised to be here early to-day. You know thatdeed is being waited for. "

"So I am early, sir, " returned Roland. 

"Early! for _you_ perhaps, " grunted Mr. Galloway. "Get to it at once. "

Roland Yorke unlocked a drawer, collected sundry parchments together, and sat down to his desk. He and Arthur had their places side by side. Mr. Galloway stood at a table, and began sorting some papers that wereupon it. 

"How is Mr. Channing this morning, Arthur?"

"Much as usual, thank you, sir. Certain news, which arrived last night, has not tended to cheer him. "

"It is true, then?" remarked Mr. Galloway. "I heard a rumour of it. "

"Oh, it's true enough, " said Arthur. "It is in all the morning papers. "

"Well, there never was a more unjust decision!" emphatically spoke Mr. Galloway. "Mark you, I am not reflecting on the Lord Chancellor'sjudgment. I have always said that there were one or two nasty points inthat suit, which the law might get hold of; but I know the whole causeby heart, from beginning to end; and that money was as much yourfather's, as this coat, that I have on, is mine. Tell him I'll come inone of these fine evenings, and abuse the injustice of our laws withhim, --will you?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Arthur. 

"What's this row in the college school about a destroyed surplice, andthe boys not getting their holiday through it?" resumed Mr. Galloway. 

"Oh, are they not savage!" struck in Roland Yorke. "The first thing Toddid, when he came home to breakfast, was to fling over his bowl ofcoffee, he was in such a passion. Lady Augusta--she came down tobreakfast this morning, for a wonder--boxed his ears, and ordered himto drink water; but he went into the kitchen, and made a lot ofchocolate for himself. "

"What are the particulars? How was it done? I cannot understand it atall, " said Mr. Galloway. 

"Bywater left his clean surplice yesterday in the vestry, and some onethrew ink over it--half soaked it in ink, so the choristers told Tom, "answered Arthur Channing. "In the afternoon--they had service late, youknow, sir, waiting for the judges--Bywater was not in his place to singthe anthem, and Hurst sang it, and it put the master out very much. "

"Put him out all the more that he has no one to punish for it, " laughedRoland Yorke. "Of course Bywater couldn't appear in his stall, and singthe anthem, if he had no surplice to put on; and the master couldn'ttan him for not doing it. I know this, if it had happened while I wasin the college school, I'd just have skinned some of the fellows alive, but what I'd have made them confess. "

"Suppose you had skinned the wrong party?" cynically observed Mr. Galloway. "You are too hasty with your tongue, Roland Yorke. My nephew, Mark, ran in just now to tell me of the holiday being denied, and thatwas the first I had heard of the affair. Mark thinks one of the seniorswas in it; not Gaunt. "

Arthur Channing and Roland Yorke both looked up with a sharp, quickgesture. Gaunt excepted, the only senior, besides their respectivebrothers, was Harry Huntley. 

"It is not likely, sir, " said Arthur. 

"A senior do it!" scoffed Roland Yorke. "What a young idiot MarkGalloway must be, to think that!"

"Mark does not seem to think much about it on his own account, " saidMr. Galloway. "He said Bywater thought so, from some cause or other;and has offered to bet the whole school that it will turn out to be asenior. "

"Does he, though!" cried Yorke, looking puzzled. "Bywater's a cautiousfellow with his money; he never bets at random. I say, sir, what elsedid Galloway tell you?"

"That was all, " replied Mr. Galloway. And if you wonder at a staid oldproctor chattering about this desultory news with his clerks inbusiness hours, it may be explained to you that Mr. Galloway took thegreatest possible interest, almost a boyish interest, in the collegeschool. It was where he had been educated himself, where his nephewswere being educated; he was on intimate terms with its masters; knewevery boy in it to speak to; saw them troop past his house daily intheir progress to and fro; watched them in their surplices in a Sunday, during morning and afternoon service; was cognizant of theiradvancement, their shortcomings, their merits, and their scrapes: infact, the head-master could not take a greater interest in the doingsof the collegiate school, than did Mr. Galloway. Whether of work, orwhether of gossip, his ears were ever open to listen to its records. Besides, they were not so overburdened with work in that office, butthat there was ample time for discussing any news that might beagreeable to its master. His work was light; his returns were heavy;his stewardship alone brought him in several hundreds a year. 

"The Reverend Mr. Pye seems uncommonly annoyed about it, sir, " Mr. Jenkins ventured to put in. To interrupt, or take part in anyconversation, was not usual with him, unless he could communicatelittle tit-bits of information touching the passing topic. "You areaware that Mr. Harper, the lay-clerk, lodges at our house, sir. Well, Mr. Pye came round last night, especially to question him about it. "

"What could Harper tell?" asked Mr. Galloway. 

"He could not tell anything; except that he would answer for thelay-clerks knowing nothing of the transaction. The master said he neversupposed the lay-clerks did know anything of it, but he had his reasonsfor putting the question. He had been to the masons, too, who arerepairing the cathedral; and they declared to the master, one and all, that they had not been into the vestry yesterday, or even round to thatside of the college where the vestry is situated. "

"Why should the master take it up so pertinaciously?" wondered RolandYorke. 

"I'm sure I don't know, sir. He was like one in a fever, so excitedover it, Harper said. "

"Did he talk to you about it, Jenkins?" asked Mr. Galloway. 

"I did not see him, sir; it was Harper told me afterwards, " was thereply of Jenkins, as he subsided to his writing again. 

Just at this juncture, who should come in view of the window but thehead-master himself. He was passing it with a quick step, when out flewMr. Galloway, and caught him by the button. Roland Yorke, who was everglad of a pretext for idleness, rose from his stool, and pushed hisnose close up to the nearest pane, to listen to any colloquy that mightensue; but, the window being open, he might have heard without leavinghis seat. 

"I hear the boys have not a holiday to-day, Pye, " began Mr. Galloway. 

"No, that they have not, " emphatically pronounced the master; "and, ifthey go on as they seem to be going on now, I'll keep them without itfor a twelvemonth. I believe the inking of that surplice was aconcocted plan, look you, Galloway, to--"

"To what?" asked Mr. Galloway, for the master stopped short. 

"Never mind, just yet. I have my strong suspicions as to the guiltyboy, and I am doing what I can to convert them into proofs. If it be asI suspect now, I shall expel him. "

"But what could it have been done for?" debated Mr. Galloway. "There'sno point in the thing, that I can see, to ink and damage a surplice. Ifthe boy to whom it belonged had been inked, one might not have wonderedso much. "

"I'll 'point him, '" cried the master, "if I catch the right one. "

"Could it have been one of the seniors?" returned the proctor, all hisstrong interest awakened. 

"It was one who ought to have known better, " evasively returned themaster. "I can't stop to talk now, Galloway. I have an errand to do, and must be back to duty at ten. "

He marched off quickly, and Mr. Galloway came indoors again. "Is thatthe way you get on with your business, Mr. Yorke?"

Yorke clattered to his desk. "I'll get on with it, sir. I was listeningto what the master said. "

"It does not concern you, what he said. It was not one of your brotherswho did it, I suppose?"

"No, that it was not, " haughtily spoke Roland Yorke, drawing up hishead with a proud, fierce gesture. 

Mr. Galloway withdrew to his private room, and for a few minutessilence supervened--nothing was to be heard but the scratching of pens. But Roland Yorke, who had a great antipathy to steady work, and asgreat a love for his own tongue, soon began again. 

"I say, Channing, what an awful blow the dropping of that expectedmoney must be for you fellows! I'm blest if I didn't dream of it lastnight! If it spoilt my rest, what must it have done by yours!"

"Why! how could you have heard of it last night?" exclaimed Arthur, insurprise. "I don't think a soul came to our house to hear the news, except Mr. Yorke: and you were not likely to see him. He left late. Itis in every one's mouth this morning. "

"I had it from Hamish. He came to the party at the Knivetts'. Didn'tHamish get taken in!" laughed Roland. "He understood it was quite aladies' affair, and loomed in, dressed up to the nines, and there hefound only a bachelor gathering of Dick's. Hamish was disappointed, Ithink; he fancied he was going to meet Ellen Huntley; and glum enoughhe looked--"

"He had only just heard of the loss, " interrupted Arthur. "Enough tomake him look glum. "

"Rubbish! It wasn't that. He announced at once that the money was gonefor good and all, and laughed over it, and said there were worsedisasters at sea. Knivett said he never saw a fellow carry ill news offwith so high a hand. Had he been proclaiming the accession of afortune, instead of the loss of one, he could not have been morecarelessly cheerful. Channing, what on earth shall you do about yourarticles?"

A question that caused the greatest pain, especially when put by RolandYorke; and Arthur's sensitive face flushed. 

"You'll have to stop as a paid clerk for interminable years! Jenkins, you'll have him for your bosom companion, if you look sharp and makefriends, " cried Roland, laughing loudly. 

"No, sir, I don't think Mr. Arthur Channing is likely to become a paidclerk, " said Jenkins. 

"Not likely to become a paid clerk! why, he _is_ one. If he is not one, I'd like to know who is. Channing, you know you are nothing else. "

"I may be something else in time, " quietly replied Arthur, who knew howto control his rebellious spirit. 

"I say, what a rum go it is about that surplice!" exclaimed RolandYorke, dashing into another topic. "It's not exactly the mischiefitself that's rum, but the master seem to be making so much stir andmystery over it! And then the hint at the seniors! They must meanHuntley. "

"I don't know who they _mean_, " said Arthur, "but I am sure Huntleynever did it. He is too open, too honourable--"

"And do you pretend to say that Tom Channing and my brother Ger are nothonourable?" fiercely interrupted Roland Yorke. 

"There you go, Yorke; jumping to conclusions! It is not to be creditedthat any one of the seniors did it: still less, if they had done it, that they would not acknowledge it. They are all boys of truth andhonour, so far as I believe. Huntley, I am sure, is. "

"And of Tom, also, I conclude you feel sure?"

"Yes, I do. "

"And I am sure of Ger Yorke. So, if the master is directing hissuspicion to the seniors, he'll get floored. It's odd what can haveturned it upon them. "

"I don't think the master suspects the seniors, " said Arthur. "Hecalled them to his aid. "

"You heard what he just now said to Galloway. Jenkins, there is a knockat the door. "

Jenkins went to open it. He came back, and said Mr. Yorke was wanted. 

Roland lazily proceeded to the outer passage, and, when he saw who wasstanding there, he put himself into a passion. "What do you mean bypresuming to come to me here?" he haughtily asked. 

"Well, sir, perhaps you'll tell me where I am to come, so as to get tosee you?" civilly replied the applicant, one who bore the appearance ofa tradesman. "It seems it's of no use going to your house; if I wentten times a day, I should get the same answer--that you are not athome. "

"Just take yourself off, " said Roland. 

"Not till you pay me; or tell me for certain when you will pay me, andkeep your promise. I want my money, sir, and I must have it. "

"We want a great many things that we can't get, " returned Roland, in aprovokingly light tone. "I'll pay you as soon as I can, man; youneedn't be afraid. "

"I'm not exactly afraid, " spoke the man. "I suppose if it came to it, Lady Augusta would see that I had the money. "

"You hold your tongue about Lady Augusta. What's Lady Augusta to you?Any odds and ends that I may owe, have nothing to do with Lady Augusta. Look here, Simms, I'll pay you next week. "

"You have said that so many times, Mr. Yorke. "

"At any rate, I'll pay you part of it next week, if I can't the whole. I will, upon my honour. There! now you know that I shall keep my word. "

Apparently satisfied, the man departed, and Roland lounged into theoffice again with the same idle movements that he had left it. 

"It was that confounded Simms, " grumbled he. "Jenkins, why did you sayI was in?"

"You did not tell me to say the contrary, sir. He came yesterday, butyou were out then. "

"What does he want?" asked Arthur. 

"Wanted me to pay him a trifle I owe; but it's not convenient to do ittill next week. What an Eden this lower world might be, if debt hadnever been invented!"

"You need not get into debt, " said Arthur. "It is not compulsory. "

"One _might_ build a mud hut outside the town walls, and shut one'sself up in it, and eat herbs for dinner, and sleep upon rushes, andturn hermit for good!" retorted Roland. "_You_ need not talk aboutdebt, Channing. "

"I don't owe much, " said Arthur, noting the significance of Yorke'sconcluding sentence. 

"If you don't, some one else does. "

"Who?"

"Ask Hamish. "

Arthur went on writing with a sinking heart. There was an undercurrentof fear running within him--had been for some time--that Hamish did owemoney on his own private score. But this allusion to it was notpleasant. 

"How much do you owe?" went on Roland. 

"Oh, a twenty-pound note would pay my debts, and leave me something outof it, " said Arthur, in a joking tone. The fact was, that he did notowe a shilling to any one. "Jenkins, do you know what I am to set aboutnext?" he continued; "I have filled in this lease. "

Jenkins was beginning to look amidst some papers at his elbow, inanswer to the appeal; but at that moment Mr. Galloway entered, anddespatched Arthur to get a cheque cashed at the bank. 

CHAPTER VI. 

LADY AUGUSTA YORKE AT HOME. 

"If you don't put away that trash, Caroline, and go upstairs andpractise, I'll make you go! Strewing the table in that manner! Lookwhat a pickle the room is in!"

The words came from Lady Augusta Yorke, a tall, dark woman, with highcheek-bones; and they were spoken at a height that might not have beendeemed orthodox at court. Miss Caroline Yorke, a young demoiselle, witha "net" that was more frequently off her head than on it, slip-shodshoes, and untidy stockings, had placed a quantity of mulberry leaveson the centre table, and a silkworm on each leaf. She leisurelyproceeded with her work, bringing forth more silkworms from her papertrays, paying not the least attention to her mother. Lady Augustaadvanced, and treated her to a slight tap on the ear, her favouritemode of correcting her children. 

"Now, mamma! What's that for?"

"Do you hear me, you disobedient child? I will have this rubbish putaway, I say. Goodness, Martha! don't bring any one in here!" broke offLady Augusta, as a maid appeared, showing in a visitor. "Oh, it is you, William! I don't mind you. Come in. "

It was the Reverend William Yorke who entered. He was not altogether afavourite of Lady Augusta's. Though only distantly related to her latehusband, he yet bore the name of Yorke; and when he came toHelstonleigh (for he was not a native of the place), and became acandidate for a vacant minor canonry, Lady Augusta's pride had takenfire. The minor canons were looked upon by the exclusives of thecathedral as holding a very inferior position amidst the clergy, andshe resented that one belonging to her should descend to set up hisplace amongst them. 

Mr. Yorke shook hands with Lady Augusta, and then turned to look at theleaves and silkworms. "Are you doing that for ornament, Caroline?"

"Ornament!" wrathfully cried Lady Augusta. "She is doing it to wastetime, and to provoke me. "

"No, I am not, mamma, " denied Miss Caroline. "My poor silkworms neverhave anything but lettuce leaves. Tod brought these for me from thebishop's garden, and I am looking at the silkworms enjoying thechange. "

"Tod is in hot water, " remarked Mr. Yorke. "He was fighting withanother boy as I came through the cloisters. "

"Then he'll come home with his clothes torn, as he did the last time hefought!" exclaimed Lady Augusta, in consternation. "I think no one everhad such a set of children as mine!" she peevishly continued. "The boysboisterous as so many wild animals, and the girls enough to drive onecrazy, with their idle, disobedient ways. Look at this room, William!encumbered from one end to the other! things thrown out of hand byCaroline and Fanny! As to lessons, they never open one. For three daysI have never ceased telling Caroline to go and practise, and she hasnot attempted to obey me! I shall go out of my mind with one thing oranother; I know I shall! Nice dunces they'll grow up. "

"Go and practise now, Caroline, " said Mr. Yorke. "I will put yoursilkworms up for you. "

Caroline pouted. "I hate practising. "

He laid his hand gently upon her, gazing at her with his dark, pleasanteyes, reproachful now; "But you do not hate obeying your mamma? Youmust never let it come to that, Caroline. "

She suffered him to lead her to the door, went docilely enough to thedrawing-room, and sat down to the piano. Oh, for a little bettertraining for those children! Mr. Yorke began placing the silkworms inthe trays, and Lady Augusta went on grumbling. 

"It is a dreadful fate--to be left a widow with a heap of unrulychildren who will not be controlled! I must find a governess for thegirls, and then I shall be free from them for a few hours in the day. Ithought I would try and save the money, and teach them myself; but Imight just as well attempt to teach so many little wild Indians! I amnot fitted for teaching; it is beyond me. Don't you think you couldhear of a governess, William? You go about so much. "

"I have heard of one since I saw you yesterday, " he replied. "A younglady, whom you know, is anxious to take a situation, and I think shemight suit you. "

"Whom I know?" cried Lady Augusta. "Who is it?"

"Miss Channing. "

Lady Augusta looked up in astonishment. "Is _she_ going out asgoverness? That comes of losing this lawsuit. She has lost no time inthe decision. "

"When an unpalatable step has to be taken, the sooner it is set about, the less will be the cost, " remarked Mr. Yorke. 

"Unpalatable! you may well say that. This will be the climax, will itnot, William?"

"Climax of what?"

"Of all the unpleasantness that has attended your engagement with MissChanning--"

"I beg your pardon, Lady Augusta, " was the interruption of Mr. Yorke. "No unpleasantness whatever has attended my engagement with MissChanning. "

"I think so, for I consider her beneath you; and, therefore, that it isnothing but unpleasant from beginning to end. The Channings are verywell in their way, but they are not equal to the Yorkes. You might makethis a pretext for giving her up. "

Mr. Yorke laughed. "I think her all the more worthy of me. The onlyquestion that is apt to arise within me is, whether I am worthy of her. As we shall never agree upon this point, Lady Augusta, it may not beworth while to discuss it. About the other thing? I believe she wouldmake an admirable governess for Caroline and Fanny, if you could obtainher. "

"Oh, I dare say she would do _that_. She is a lady, and has been welleducated. Would she want a large salary?"

"Forty guineas a year, to begin with. "

Lady Augusta interrupted him with a scream. "I never could give half ofit! I am sure I never could. What with housekeeping expenses, andmilliners' bills, and visiting, and the boys everlastingly draggingmoney out of me, I have scarcely anything to spare for education. "

"Yet it is more essential than all the rest. Your income, properlyapportioned, would afford--"

Another scream from Lady Augusta. Her son Theodore--Tod, familiarly--burst into the room, jacketless, his hair entangled, blood upon his face, and his shirt-sleeves in shreds. 

"You rebellious, wicked fright of a boy!" was the salutation of mylady, when she could recover breath. 

"Oh, it's nothing, mamma. Don't bother, " replied Master Tod, waving heroff. "I have been going into Pierce, senior, and have polished him offwith a jolly good licking. He won't get me into a row again, I'll bet. "

"What row did he get you into?"

"He's a nasty, sneaking tattler, and he took and told something toGaunt, and Gaunt put me up for punishment, and I had a caning from oldPye. I vowed I'd pay Pierce out for it, and I have done it, though heis a sight bigger than me. "

"What was it about?" inquired Mr. Yorke. "The damaged surplice?"

"Damaged surplice be hanged!" politely retorted the young gentleman, who, in gaining the victory, appeared to have lost his temper. "It wassomething concerning our lessons at the third desk, if you must know. "

"You might be civil, Tod, " said Lady Augusta. "Look at your shirt! Who, do you suppose, is going to mend that?"

"It can go unmended, " responded Master Tod. "I wish it was the fashionto go without clothes! They are always getting torn. "

"I wish it was!" heartily responded my lady. 

That same evening, in returning to her house from a visit, ConstanceChanning encountered Mr. Yorke. He turned to walk with her to the door. 

"I intended to call this afternoon, Constance, but was prevented fromdoing so, " he observed. "I have spoken to Lady Augusta. "

"Well?" she answered with a smile and a blush. 

"She would be very glad of _you_; but the difficulty, at first, appeared to be about salary. However, I pointed out a few home truths, and she admitted that if the girls were to be educated, she supposedshe must pay for it. She will give you forty guineas a year; but youare to call upon her and settle other details. To-morrow, if it shouldbe convenient to you. "

Constance clasped her hands. "I am so pleased!" she exclaimed, in a lowtone. 

"So am I, " said Mr. Yorke. "I would rather you went to Lady Augusta'sthan to a stranger's. And do, Constance, try and make those poor girlsmore what they ought to be. "

"That I shall try, you may be sure, William. Are you not coming in?"

"No, " said Mr. Yorke, who had held out his hand on reaching the door. He was pretty constant in his evening visits to the Channings, but hehad made an engagement for this one with a brother clergyman. 

Constance entered. She looked in the study for her brothers, but onlyArthur was there. He was leaning his elbow upon the table in athoughtful mood. 

"Where are they all?" inquired Constance. 

"Tom and Charles have gone to the cricket match. I don't think Hamishhas come in. "

"Why did you not go to cricket also?"

"I don't know, " said Arthur. "I did not feel much inclination forcricket this evening. "

"You looked depressed, Arthur, but I have some good news for you, "Constance said, bending over him with a bright smile. "It is settledabout my going out, and I am to have forty guineas a year. Guess whereit is to?"

Arthur threw his arm round Constance, and they stood together, lookingat the trailing honeysuckle just outside the window. "Tell me, darling. "

"It is to Lady Augusta's. William has been talking to her, and shewould like to have me. Does it not seem lucky to find it so soon?"

"_Lucky_, Constance?"

"Ah, well! you know what I think, Arthur, though I did say 'lucky, '"returned Constance. "I know it is God who is helping us. "

Very beautiful, very touching, was the simple trustfulness reposed inGod, by Constance and Arthur Channing. The good seed had been sown ongood ground, and was bringing forth its fruit. 

"I was deep in a reverie when you interrupted me, Constance, " Arthurresumed. "Something seems to whisper to me that this loss, which weregard as a great misfortune, may turn out for good in the end. "

"In the end! It may have come for our good now, " said Constance. "Perhaps I wanted my pride lowered, " she laughed; "and this has come todo it, and is despatching me out, a meek governess. "

"Perhaps we all wanted it, " cried Arthur, meaningly. "There are otherbad habits it may stop, besides pride. " He was thinking of Hamish andhis propensity for spending. "Forty guineas you are to have?"

"Yes, " said Constance. "Arthur, do you know a scheme that I have in myhead? I have been thinking of it all day. "

"What is it? Stay! here is some one coming in. It is Hamish. "

Hamish entered with the account-books under his arm, preparatory togoing over them with his father. Constance drew him to her. 

"Hamish, I have a plan in my head, if we can only carry it out. I amgoing to tell it you. "

"One that will set the river on fire?" cried gay, laughing Hamish. 

"If we--you and I, and Arthur--can only manage to earn enough money, and if we can observe strict economy at home, who knows but we may sendpapa to the German baths yet?"

A cloud came over Hamish's face, and his smile faded. "I don't see how_that_ is to be done. "

"But you have not heard of my good luck. I am going to Lady Augusta's, and am to have forty guineas a year. Now, if you and Arthur will help, it may be easy. Oh, Hamish, it would be worth any effort--any struggle. Think how it would be rewarded. Papa restored to health! to freedomfrom pain!"

A look of positive pain seated itself on Hamish's brow. "Yes, " hesighed, "I wish it could be done. "

"But you do not speak hopefully. "

"Because, if I must tell you the truth, I do not feel hopefully. I fearwe could not do it: at least until things are brighter. "

"If we do our very best, we might receive great help, Hamish. "

"What help?" he asked. 

"God's help, " she whispered. 

Hamish smiled. He had not yet learnt what Constance had. Besides, Hamish was just then in a little trouble on his own account: he knewvery well that _his_ funds were wanted in another quarter. 

"Constance, dear, do not look at me so wistfully. I will try with allmy might and main, to help my father; but I fear I cannot do anythingyet. I mean to draw in my expenses, " he went on, laughing: "to livelike any old screw of a miser, and never squander a halfpenny where afarthing will suffice. "

He took his books and went in to Mr. Channing. Constance began trainingthe honeysuckle, her mind busy, and a verse of Holy Writ runningthrough it--"Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in Him, and He shall bring it to pass. "

"Ay!" she murmured, glancing upwards at the blue evening sky: "ourwhole, whole trust in patient reliance; and whatsoever is best for uswill be ours. "

Annabel stole up to Constance, and entwined her arms caressingly roundher. Constance turned, and parted the child's hair upon her foreheadwith a gentle hand. 

"Am I to find a little rebel in you, Annabel? Will you not try and makethings smooth for me?"

"Oh, Constance, dear!" was the whispered answer: "it was only my funlast night, when I said you should not take me for lessons in anevening. I will study all day by myself, and get my lessons quite readyfor you, so as to give you no trouble in the evening. Would you like tohear me my music now?"

Constance bent to kiss her. "No, dear child; there is no necessity formy taking you in an evening, until my days shall be occupied at LadyAugusta Yorke's. "

CHAPTER VII. 

MR. KETCH. 

Mrs. Channing sat with her children. Breakfast was over, and she hadthe Bible open before her. Never, since their earliest years ofunderstanding, had she failed to assemble them together for a fewminutes' reading, morning and evening. Not for too long at once; sheknew the value of _not tiring_ young children, when she was leadingthem to feel an interest in sacred things. She would take Hamish, alittle fellow of three years old, upon her knee, read to him a shortBible story, suited to his age, and then talk to him. Talk to him in asoft, loving, gentle tone, of God, of Jesus, of heaven; of his dutiesin this world; of what he must do to attain to everlasting peace in thenext. Day by day, step by step, untiringly, unceasingly, had she thuslaboured, to awaken good in the child's heart, to train it to holiness, to fill it with love of God. As the other children came on in years, she, in like manner, took them. From simple Bible stories to moreadvanced Bible stories, and thence to the Bible itself; with otherbooks at times and seasons: a little reading, a little conversation, Gospel truths impressed upon them from her earnest lips. Be you verysure that where this great duty of all duties is left unfulfilled by amother, a child is not brought up as it ought to be. Win your childtowards heaven in his early years, and he will not forget it when he isold. 

It will be as a very shield, compassing him about through life. He maywander astray--there is no telling--in the heyday of his hot-bloodedyouth, for the world's temptations are as a running fire, scorching allthat venture into its heat; but the good foundation has been laid, andthe earnest, incessant prayers have gone up, and he will find his wayhome again. 

Mrs. Channing closed the Bible, and spoke, as usual. It was all thatteaching should be. Good lessons as to this world; loving pictures ofthat to come. She had contrived to impress them, not with the toopopular notion that heaven was a far-off place up in the skies somevague, millions of miles away, and to which we might be millions ofyears off; but that it was very near to them: that God was ever presentwith them; and that Death, when he came, should be looked upon as afriend, not an enemy. Hamish was three and twenty years old now, and heloved those minutes of instruction as he had done when a child. Theyhad borne their fruit for him, and for all: though not, perhaps, in anequal degree. 

The reading over, and the conversation over, she gave the book toConstance to put away, and the boys rose, and prepared to enter upontheir several occupations. It was not the beginning of the day for Tomand Charles, for they had been already to early school. 

"Is papa so very much worse to-day, mamma?" asked Tom. 

"I did not say he was worse, Tom, " replied Mrs. Channing. "I said hehad passed a restless night, and felt tired and weak. "

"Thinking over that confounded lawsuit, " cried hot, thoughtless Tom. 

"Thomas!" reproved Mrs. Channing. 

"I beg your pardon, mamma. Unorthodox words are the fashion in school, and one catches them up. I forget myself when I repeat them beforeyou. "

"To repeat them before me is no worse than repeating them behind me, Tom. "

Tom laughed. "Very true, mamma. It was not a logical excuse. But I amsure the news, brought to us by the mail on Wednesday night, is enoughto put a saint out of temper. Had there been anything unjust in it, hadthe money not been rightly ours, it would have been different; but tobe deprived of what is legally our own--"

"Not legally--as it turns out, " struck in Hamish. 

"Justly, then, " said Tom. "It's too bad--especially as we don't knowwhat we shall do without it. "

"Tom, you are not to look at the dark side of things, " cried Constance, in a pretty, wilful, commanding manner. "We shall do very well withoutit: it remains to be proved whether we shall not do better than withit. "

"Children, I wish to say a word to you upon this subject, " said Mrs. Channing. "When the news arrived, I was, you know, almost overwhelmedby it; not seeing, as Tom says, what we were to do without the money. In the full shock of the disappointment, it wore for me its worstaspect; a far more sombre one than the case really merited. But, nowthat I have had time to see it in its true light, my disappointment hassubsided. I consider that we took a completely wrong view of it. Hadthe decision deprived us of the income we enjoy, then indeed it wouldhave been grievous; but in reality it deprives us of nothing. Not onesingle privilege that we possessed before, does it take from us; not asingle outlay will it cost us. We looked to this money to do manythings with; but its not coming renders us no worse off than we were. Expecting it has caused us to get behindhand with our bills, which wemust gradually pay off in the best way we can; it takes from us thepower to article Arthur, and it straitens us in many ways, for, as yougrow up, you grow more expensive. This is the extent of the ill, except--"

"Oh, mamma, you forget! The worst ill of all is, that papa cannot nowgo to Germany. "

"I was about to say that, Arthur. But other means for his going thithermay be found. Understand me, my dears: I do not see any means, orchance of means, at present: you must not fancy that; but it ispossible that they may arise with the time of need. One service, at anyrate, the decision has rendered me. "

"Service?" echoed Tom. 

"Yes, " smiled Mrs. Channing. "It has proved to me that my children areloving and dutiful. Instead of repining, as some might, they arealready seeking how they may make up, themselves, for the money thathas not come. And Constance begins it. "

"Don't fear us, mother, " cried Hamish, with his sunny smile. "We willbe of more use to you yet than the money would have been. "

They dispersed--Hamish to his office, Arthur to Mr. Galloway's, Tom andCharles to the cloisters, that famous playground of the college school. Stolen pleasures, it is said, are sweetest; and, just because there hadbeen a stir lately amongst the cathedral clergy, touching thedesirability of forbidding the cloisters to the boys for play, so muchthe more eager were they to frequent them. 

As Arthur was going down Close Street, he encountered Mr. Williams, thecathedral organist, striding along with a roll of music in his hand. Hewas Arthur's music-master. When Arthur Channing was in the choir, acollege schoolboy, he had displayed considerable taste for music; andit was decided that he should learn the organ. He had continued to takelessons after he left the choir, and did so still. 

"I was thinking of coming round to speak to you to-day, Mr. Williams. "

"What about?" asked the organist. "Anything pressing?"

"Well, you have heard, of course, that that suit is given against us, so I don't mean to continue the organ. They have said nothing to me athome; but it is of no use spending money that might be saved. But I seeyou are in too great a hurry, to stay to talk now. "

"Hurry! I am hurried off my legs, " cried the organist. "If a dozen ortwo of my pupils would give up learning, as you talk of doing, I shouldonly be obliged to them. I have more work than I can attend to. And nowJupp must go and lay himself up, and I have the services to attendmyself, morning and afternoon!"

Mr. Jupp was assistant-organist. An apprentice to Mr. Williams, butjust out of his time. 

"What's the matter with Jupp?" asked Arthur. 

"A little bit of fever, and a great deal of laziness, " responded Mr. Williams. "He is the laziest fellow alive. Since his uncle died, andthat money came to him, he doesn't care a straw how things go. He wascopyist to the cathedral, and he gave that up last week. I have askedSandon, the lay-clerk, if he will take the copying, but he declines. Heis another lazy one. "

The organist hurried off. Arthur strove to detain him for another wordor two, but it was of no use. So he continued his way to Mr. Galloway's. 

Busy enough were his thoughts there. His fingers were occupied withwriting, but his mind went roaming without leave. This post of copyistof music to the cathedral, which appeared to be going begging; whyshould not he undertake it, if Mr. Williams would give it to him? He wasquite able to do so, and though he very much disliked music-copying, that was nothing: he was not going to set up dislikes, and humour them. He had only a vague idea what might be the remuneration; ten, ortwelve, or fifteen pounds a year, he fancied it might bring in. Betterthat, than nothing; it would be a beginning to follow in the wake thatConstance had commenced; and he could do it of an evening, or at otherodd times. "I won't lose an hour in asking for it, " thought Arthur. 

At one o'clock, when he was released from the office, he ran throughthe Boundaries to the cloisters, intending to pass through them on hisway to the house of the organist, that being rather a nearer road toit, than if he had gone round the town. The sound of the organ, however, struck upon his ear, causing him to assume that it was theorganist who was playing. Arthur tried the cathedral door, found itopen, and went it. 

It was Mr. Williams. He had been trying some new music, and rose fromthe organ as Arthur reached the top of the stairs, no very pleasantexpression on his countenance. 

"What is the matter?" asked Arthur, perceiving that something had puthim out. 

"I hate ingratitude, " responded Mr. Williams. "Jenkins, " he called outto the old bedesman, who had been blowing for him, "you may go to yourdinner; I shan't want you any more now. "

Old Jenkins hobbled down from the organ-loft, and Mr. Williamscontinued to Arthur:

"Would you believe that Jupp has withdrawn himself utterly?"

"From the college?" exclaimed Arthur. 

"From the college, and from me. His father comes to me, an hour ago, and says he is sure Jupp's in a bad state of health, and he intends tosend him to his relatives in the Scotch mountains for some months, totry and brace him up. Not a word of apology, for leaving me at apinch. "

"It will be very inconvenient for you, " said Arthur. "I suppose thatnew apprentice of yours is of no use yet for the services?"

"Use!" irascibly retorted Mr. Williams, "he could not play a psalm ifit were to save his life. I depended upon Jupp. It was an understoodthing that he should remain with me as assistant; had it not been, Ishould have taken good care to bring somebody on to replace him. As toattending the services on week-days myself, it is next door to animpossibility. If I do, my teaching will be ruined. "

"I wish I was at liberty, " said Arthur; "I would take them for you. "

"Look here, Channing, " said the organist. "Since I had this informationof old Jupp's, my brain has been worrying itself pretty well, as youmay imagine. Now, there's no one I would rather trust to take theweek-day services than you, for you are fully capable, and I havetrained you into my own style of playing: I never could get Juppentirely into it; he is too fond of noise and flourishes. It has struckme that perhaps Mr. Galloway might spare you: his office is notoverdone with work, and I would make it worth your while. "

Arthur, somewhat bewildered at the proposal, sat down on one of thestools, and stared. 

"You will not be offended at my saying this. I speak in consequence ofyour telling me, this morning, you could not afford to go on with yourlessons, " continued the organist. "But for that, I should not havethought of proposing such a thing to you. What capital practice itwould be for you, too!"

"The best proof to convince you I am not offended, is to tell you whatbrings me here now, " said Arthur in a cordial tone. "I understood, thismorning, that you were at a loss for some one to undertake the copyingof the cathedral music: I have come to ask you to give it to me. "

"You may have it, and welcome, " said Mr. Williams. "That's nothing; Iwant to know about the services. "

"It would take me an hour, morning and afternoon, from the office, "debated Arthur. "I wonder whether Mr. Galloway would let me go an hourearlier and stay an hour later to make up for it?"

"You can put the question to him. I dare say he will: especially as heis on terms of friendship with your father. I would give you--let mesee, " deliberated the organist, falling into a musing attitude--"twelvepounds a quarter. Say fifty pounds a year; if you stay with me so long. And you should have nothing to do with the choristers: I'd practisethem myself. "

Arthur's face flushed. It was a great temptation: and the questionflashed into his mind whether it would not be well to leave Mr. Galloway's, as his prospects there appeared to be blighted, and embracethis, if that gentleman declined to allow him the necessary hours ofabsence. Fifty pounds a year! "And, " he spoke unconsciously aloud, "there would be the copying besides. "

"Oh, that's not much, " cried the organist. "That's paid by the sheet. "

"I should like it excessively!" exclaimed Arthur. 

"Well, just turn it over in your mind. But you must let me know atonce, Channing; by to-morrow at the latest. If you cannot take it, Imust find some one else. "

Arthur Channing went out of the cathedral, hardly knowing whether hestood on his head or his heels. "Constance said that God would helpus!" was his grateful thought. 

Such a whirlwind of noise! Arthur, when he reached the cloisters, foundhimself in the midst of the college boys, who were just let out ofschool. Leaping, shouting, pushing, scuffling, playing, contending!Arthur had not so very long ago been a college boy himself, and enjoyedthe fun. 

"How are you, old fellows--jolly?"

They gathered around him. Arthur was a favourite with them; had beenalways, when he was in the school. The elder boys loftily commanded offthe juniors, who had to retire to a respectful distance. 

"I say, Channing, there's the stunningest go!" began Bywater, dancing atriumphant hornpipe. "You know Jupp? Well, he has been and sent in wordto Williams that he is going to die, or something of that sort, andit's necessary he should be off on the spree, to get himself wellagain. Old Jupp came this morning, just as college was over, and saidit: and Williams is in the jolliest rage; going to be left without anyone to take the organ. It will just pay him out, for being such atyrant to us choristers. "

"Perhaps I am going to take it, " returned Arthur. 

"You?--what a cram!"

"It is not, indeed, " said Arthur. "I shall take it if I can get leavefrom Mr. Galloway. Williams has just asked me. "

"Is that true, Arthur?" burst forth Tom Channing, elbowing his way tothe front. 

"Now, Tom, should I say it if it were not true? I only hope Mr. Galloway will throw no difficulty in my way. "

"And do you mean to say that you are going to be cock over uschoristers?" asked Bywater. 

"No, thank you, " laughed Arthur. "Mr. Williams will best fill thathonour. Bywater, has the mystery of the inked surplice come to light?"

"No, and be shot to it! The master's in a regular way over it, though, and--"

"And what do you think?" eagerly interrupted Tod Yorke, whose face wasornamented with several shades of colour, blue, green, and yellow, theresult of the previous day's pugilistic encounter: "my brother Rolandheard the master say he suspected one of the seniors. "

Arthur Channing looked inquiringly at Gaunt. The latter tossed his headhaughtily. "Roland Yorke must have made some mistake, " he observed toArthur. "It is perfectly out of the question that the master cansuspect a senior. I can't imagine where the school could have picked upthe notion. "

Gaunt was standing with Arthur, as he spoke, and the three seniors, Channing, Huntley, and Yorke, happened to be in a line facing them. Arthur regarded them one by one. "You don't look very like committingsuch a thing as that, any one of you, " he laughed. "It is curious wherethe notion can have come from. "

"Such absurdity!" ejaculated Gerald Yorke. "As if it were likely Pyewould suspect one of us seniors! It's not credible. "

"Not at all credible that you would do it, " said Arthur. "Had it beenthe result of accident, of course you would have hastened to declareit, any one of you three. "

As Arthur spoke, he involuntarily turned his eyes on the sea of facesbehind the three seniors, as if searching for signs in some countenanceamong them, by which he might recognize the culprit. 

"My goodness!" uttered the senior boy, to Arthur. "Had any one of thosethree done such a thing--accident or no accident--and not declared it, he'd get his name struck off the rolls. A junior may be pardoned forthings that a senior cannot. "

"Besides, there'd be the losing his chance of the seniorship, and ofthe exhibition, " cried one from the throng of boys in the rear. 

"How are you progressing for the seniorship?" asked Arthur, of thethree. "Which of you stands the best chance?"

"I think Channing does, " freely spoke up Harry Huntley. 

"Why?"

"Because our progress is so equal that I don't think one will get aheadof another, so that the choice cannot be made that way; and Channing'sname stands first on the rolls. "

"Who is to know if they'll give us fair play and no humbug?' said TomChanning. 

"If they do, it will be what they have never given yet!" exclaimedStephen Bywater. "Kissing goes by favour. "

"Ah, but I heard that the dean--"

At this moment a boy dashed into the throng, scattering it right andleft. "Where are your eyes?" he whispered. 

Close upon them was the dean. Arm in arm with him, in his hat andapron, walked the Bishop of Helstonleigh. The boys stood aside and tookoff their trenchers. The dean merely raised his hand in response to thesalutation--he appeared to be deep in thought; but the bishop noddedfreely among them. 

"I heard that the dean found fault, the last time the exhibition fell, and said favour should never be shown again, so long as he was Dean ofHelstonleigh, " said Harry Huntley, when the clergy were beyond hearing, continuing the sentence he had been interrupted in. "I say that, withfair play, it will be Channing's; failing Channing, it will be mine;failing me, it will be Yorke's. "

"Now, then!" retorted Gerald Yorke. "Why should you have the chancebefore me, pray?"

Huntley laughed. "Only that my name heads yours on the rolls. "

Once in three years there fell an exhibition for Helstonleigh Collegeschool, to send a boy to Oxford. It would be due the following Easter. Gaunt declined to compete for it; he would leave the school atMichaelmas; and it was a pretty generally understood thing thatwhichever of the three mentioned boys should be appointed senior in hisplace, would be presented with the exhibition. Channing and Yorke mostardently desired to gain it; both of them from the same motive--want offunds at home to take them to the university. If Tom Channing did notgain it, he was making up his mind to pocket pride, and go as aservitor. Yorke would not have done such a thing for the world; all theproud Yorke blood would be up in arms, at one of their name appearingas a servitor at Oxford. No. If Gerald Yorke should lose theexhibition, Lady Augusta must manage to screw out funds to send him. Heand Tom Channing were alike designed for the Church. Harry Huntley hadno such need: the son of a gentleman of good property, the exhibitionwas of little moment to him, in a pecuniary point of view; indeed, adoubt had been whispered amongst the boys, whether Mr. Huntley wouldallow Harry to take advantage of it, if he did gain it, for he was aliberal-minded and just man. Harry, of course, desired to be thesuccessful one, for fame's sake, just as ardently as did Channing andYorke. 

"I'm blessed if here isn't that renowned functionary, Jack Ketch!"

The exclamation came from young Galloway. Limping in at one of thecloister doors, came the cloister porter, a surly man of sixty, whosetemper was not improved by periodical attacks of lumbago. He and thecollege boys were open enemies. The porter would have rejoiced indenying them the cloisters altogether; and nothing had gladdened hisgrim old heart like the discussion which was said to have taken placebetween the dean and chapter, concerning the propriety of shutting outthe boys and their noise from the cloisters, as a playground. He borean unfortunate name--Ketch--and the boys, you may be very sure, did notfail to take advantage of it, joining to it sundry embellishments, morepointed than polite. 

He came up, a ragged gig-whip in his hand, which he was fond ofsmacking round the throng of boys. He had never yet ventured to touchone of them, and perhaps it was just as well for him that he had not. 

"Now, you boys! be off, with your hullabaloo! Is this a decent noise tomake around gentlefolks' doors? You don't know, may be, as Dr. Burrowsis in town. "

Dr. Burrows happened to live in a house which had a door opening to thecloisters. The boys retorted. The worst they gave Mr. Ketch was"chaff;" but his temper could bear anything better than that, especially if it was administered by the senior boy. 

"Dear me, who's this?" began Gaunt, in a tone of ultra politeness. "Boys, do you see this gentleman who condescends to accost us? I reallybelieve it is Sir John Ketch. What's that in his hand?--a piece ofrope? Surely, Mr. Ketch, you have not been turning off that unfortunateprisoner who was condemned yesterday? Rather hasty work, sir; was itnot?"

Mr. Ketch foamed. "I tell you what it is, sir. You be the senior boy, and, instead of restraining these wicked young reptiles, you edges 'emon! Take care, young gent, as I don't complain of you to the dean. Seniors have been hoisted afore now. "

"Have they, really? Well, you ought to know, Mr. Calcraft. There's thedean, just gone out of the cloisters; if you make haste, Calcraft, you'll catch him up. Put your best foot foremost, and ask him if hewon't report Mr. Gaunt for punishment. "

The porter could have danced with rage; and his whip was smackingominously. He did not dare advance it too near the circle when thesenior boy was present, or indeed, when any of the elder boys were. 

"How's your lumbago, Mr. Ketch?" demanded Stephen Bywater. "I'd adviseyou to get rid of that, before the next time you go on duty; it mightbe in your way, you know. Never was such a thing heard of, as for thechief toppler-off of the three kingdoms to be disabled in his limbs!What _would_ you do? I'm afraid you'd be obliged to resign your post, and sink into private life. "

"Now I just vow to goodness, as I'll do all I can to get thesecloisters took from you boys, " shrieked old Ketch, clasping his handstogether. "There's insults as flesh and blood can't stand; and, as sureas I'm living, I'll pay you out for it. "

He turned tail and hobbled off, as he spoke, and the boys raised "threegroans for Jack Ketch, " and then rushed away by the other entrance totheir own dinners. The fact was, the porter had brought ill will uponhimself, through his cross-grained temper. He had no right whatever tointerfere between the boys and the cloisters; it was not his place todo so. The king's scholars knew this; and, being spirited king'sscholars, as they were, would not stand it. 

"Tom, " said Arthur Channing, "don't say anything at home about theorgan. Wait and see if I get it, first. Charley did not hear; he wasordered off with the juniors. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE ASSISTANT-ORGANIST. 

Things often seem to go by the rule of contrary. Arthur returned to theoffice at two o'clock, brimful of the favour he was going to solicit ofMr. Galloway; but he encountered present disappointment. For the firsttime for many weeks, Mr. Galloway did not make his appearance in theoffice at all; he was out the whole of the afternoon. Roland Yorke, towhom Arthur confided the plan, ridiculed it. 

"Catch me taking such a task upon myself! If I could play the organlike a Mendelssohn, and send the folks into ecstasies, I'd never saddlemyself with the worry of doing it morning and afternoon. You'll soon besick of the bargain, Channing. "

"I should never be sick of it, if I did it for nothing: I am too fondof music for that. And it will be a very easy way of earning money. "

"Not so easy as making your mother stump up, " was the reply. And ifyour refinement turns from the expression, my good reader, I am sorryyou should have to read it; but it is what Mr. Roland Yorke _said_. "Ihad a regular scene with Lady Augusta this morning. It's the mostunreasonable thing in the world, you know, Channing, for her to think Ican live without money, and so I told her--said I must and would haveit, in fact. "

"Did you get it?"

"Of course I did. I wanted to pay Simms, and one or two more triflesthat were pressing; I was not going to have the fellow here after meagain. I wish such a thing as money had never been invented!"

"You may as well wish we could live without eating. "

"So I do, sometimes--when I go home, expecting a good dinner, andthere's only some horrid cold stuff upon the table. There never was aworse housekeeper than Lady Augusta. It's my belief, our servants mustlive like fighting cocks; for I am sure the bills are heavy enough, and_we_ don't get the benefit of them. "

"What made you so late this afternoon?" asked Arthur. 

"I went round to pay Simms, for one thing; and then I called in uponHamish, and stayed talking with him. Wasn't he in a sea of envy when Itold him I had been scoring off that Simms! He wished he could do thesame. "

"Hamish does not owe anything to Simms!" cried Arthur, with hastyretort. 

"Doesn't he?" laughed Roland Yorke. "That's all you know about it. Askhim yourself. "

"If you please, sir, " interposed Mr. Jenkins, at this juncture, "Ishall soon be waiting for that paper. Mr. Galloway directed me to sendit off by post. "

"Bother the paper!" returned Roland; but, nevertheless, he appliedhimself to complete it. He was in the habit of discoursing upon privatetopics before Jenkins without any reserve, regarding him as a perfectnonentity. 

When Arthur went home in the evening, he found Mr. Galloway sittingwith his father. "Well, " cried the proctor, as Arthur entered, "and whohas been at the office this afternoon?"

"No one in particular, sir. Oh yes, there was, though--I forgot. Thedean looked in, and wanted to see you. "

"What did he want?"

"He did not say, sir. He told Jenkins it would do another time. " Arthurleft his father and Mr. Galloway together. He did not broach thesubject that was uppermost in his heart. Gifted with rare delicacy offeeling, he would not speak to Mr. Galloway until he could see himalone. To prefer the request in his father's presence might have causedMr. Galloway more trouble in refusing it. 

"I can't think what has happened to Arthur this evening!" exclaimed oneof them. "His spirits are up to fever heat. Tell us what it is, Arthur?"

Arthur laughed. "I hope they will not be lowered to freezing pointwithin the next hour; that's all. "

When he heard Mr. Galloway leaving, he hastened after him, and overtookhim in the Boundaries. 

"I wanted to say a few words to you, sir, if you please?"

"Say on, " said Mr. Galloway. "Why did you not say them indoors?"

"I scarcely know how I shall say them now, sir; for it is a very greatfavour that I have to ask you, and you may be angry, perhaps, at mythinking you might grant it. "

"You want a holiday, I suppose?"

"Oh no, sir; nothing of that sort. I want--"

"Well?" cried Mr. Galloway, surprised at his hesitation; but now thatthe moment of preferring the request had come, Arthur shrank from doingit. 

"Could you allow me, sir--would it make very much difference--to allowme--to come to the office an hour earlier, and remain in it an hourlater?" stammered Arthur. 

"What for?" exclaimed Mr. Galloway, with marked surprise. 

"I have had an offer made me, sir, to take the cathedral organ atweek-day service. I should very much like to accept it, if it could bemanaged. "

"Why, where's Jupp?" uttered Mr. Galloway. 

"Jupp has resigned. He is ill, and is going out for his health. I'lltell you how it all happened, " went on Arthur, losing diffidence nowthat he was fairly launched upon his subject. "Of course, this failureof the suit makes a great difference to our prospects at home; itrenders it incumbent upon us to do what we can to help--"

"Why does it?" interrupted Mr. Galloway. "It may make a difference toyour future ease, but it makes none to your present means. "

"There is money wanted in many ways, sir; a favourable termination tothe suit was counted upon so certainly. For one thing, it is necessarythat my father should try the German baths. "

"Of course, he must try them, " cried Mr. Galloway. 

"But it will cost money, sir, " deprecated Arthur. "Altogether, we havedetermined to do what we can. Constance has set us the example, byengaging herself as daily governess at Lady Augusta's. She goes onMonday. "

"Very commendable of her, " observed the proctor, who loved a gossiplike any old woman. "I hope she'll not let those two unruly girls worryher to death. "

"And I was casting about in my mind, this morning, what I could do tohelp, when I met the organist, " proceeded Arthur. "He chanced to saythat he could find no one to take the music copying. Well, sir, Ithought it over, and at one o'clock I went to ask him to give it to me. I found him at the organ, in a state of vexation. Jupp had resigned hispost, and Mr. Williams had no one to replace him. The long and theshort of it is, sir, that he offered it to me. "

"And did you accept it?" crossly responded Mr. Galloway. 

"Of course I could not do that, sir, until I had spoken to you. If itwere possible that I could make up the two hours to you, I should bevery glad to take it. "

"And do it for nothing, I suppose?"

"Oh no. He would give me fifty pounds a year. And there would be thecopying besides. "

"That's a great deal!" cried Mr. Galloway. "It appears to me to begood pay, " replied Arthur. "But he would lose a great deal more thanthat, if he had to attend the cathedral himself. He said it would ruinhis teaching. "

"Ah! self-interest--two for himself and one for you!" ejaculated theproctor. "What does Mr. Channing say?"

"I have said nothing at home. It was of no use telling them, until Ihad spoken to you. Now that my prospects are gone--"

"What prospects?" interrupted Mr. Galloway. 

"My articles to you, sir. Of course there's no chance of that now. "

Mr. Galloway grunted. "The ruin that Chancery suits work! Mark you, Arthur Channing, this is such a thing as was never asked a proctorbefore--leave of absence for two hours in the best part of the day! IfI grant it, it will be out of the great friendship I bear your father. "

"Oh, sir! I shall never forget the obligation. "

"Take care you don't. You must come and work for two hours beforebreakfast in a morning. "

"Willingly--readily!" exclaimed Arthur Channing, his face glowing. "Then may I really tell Mr. Williams that I can accept it?"

"If I don't say yes, I suppose you'd magnify me into a sullen old bear, as bad as Ketch, the porter. You may accept it. Stop!" thundered Mr. Galloway, coming to a dead standstill. 

Arthur was startled. "What now, sir?"

"Are you to be instructor to those random animals, the choristers?"

"Oh no: I shall have nothing to do with that. "

"Very good. If you _had_ taken to them, I should have recommended youto guard against such a specimen of singing as was displayed the otherday before the judges. "

Arthur laughed; spoke a word of heartfelt thanks; and took his wayoff-hand to the residence of the organist as light as any bird. 

"I have obtained leave, Mr. Williams; I may take your offer!" heexclaimed with scant ceremony, when he found himself in thatgentleman's presence, who was at tea with his wife. "Mr. Galloway hasauthorized me to accept it. How do you do, Mrs. Williams?"

"That's a great weight off my mind, then!" cried the organist. "I setthat dolt of an apprentice of mine to play the folks out of college, this afternoon, when service was over, and--of all performances! Sixmistakes he made in three bars, and broke down at last. I could haveboxed his ears. The dean was standing below when I went down. 'Who wasthat playing, Mr. Williams?' he demanded. So, I told him about Jupp'sill-behaviour in leaving me, and that I had offered the place to you. 'But is Channing quite competent?' cried he--for you know what a fineear for music the dean has:--'besides, ' he added, 'is he not atGalloway's?' I said we hoped Mr. Galloway would spare you, and that Iwould answer for your competency. So, mind, Channing, you must put onthe steam, and not disgrace my guarantee. I don't mean the steam of_noise_, or that you should go through the service with all the stopsout. "

Arthur laughed; and, declining the invitation to remain and take tea, he went out. He was anxious to declare the news at home. A few steps onhis road, he overtook Hamish. 

"Where do you spring from?" exclaimed Hamish, passing his arm withinArthur's. 

"From concluding an agreement that will bring me in fifty pounds ayear, " said Arthur. 

"Gammon, Master Arthur!"

"It is _not_ gammon, Hamish. It is sober truth. "

Hamish turned and looked at him, aroused by something in the tone. "Andwhat are you to do for it?"

"Just pass a couple of hours a day, delighting my own ears and heart. Do you remember what Constance said, last night? Hamish, it is_wonderful_, that this help should so soon have come to me!"

"Stay! Where are you going?" interrupted Hamish, as Arthur was turninginto a side-street. 

"This is the nearest way home. "

"I had rather not go that way. "

"Why?" exclaimed Arthur, in surprise. "Hamish, how funny you look! Whatis the matter?"

"Must I tell you? It is for your ear alone, mind. There's a certaintradesman's house down there that I'd rather not pass; he has a habitof coming out and dunning me. Do you remember Mr. Dick Swiveller?"

Hamish laughed gaily. He would have laughed on his road to prison: itwas in his nature. But Arthur seemed to take a leap from his highropes. "Is it Simms?" he breathed. 

"No, it is not Simms. Who has been telling you anything about Simms, Arthur? It is not so very much that I owe Simms. What is this good luckof yours?"

Arthur did not immediately reply. A dark shadow had fallen upon hisspirit, as a forerunner of evil. 

CHAPTER IX. 

HAMISH'S CANDLES. 

Old Judith sat in her kitchen. Her hands were clasped upon her knees, and her head was bent in thought. Rare indeed was it to catch Judithindulging in a moment's idleness. She appeared to be holding soliloquywith herself. 

"It's the most incomprehensible thing in the world! I have heard ofghosts--and, talking about ghosts, that child was in a tremor, lastnight, again--I'm sure he was. Brave little heart! he goes up to bed inthe dark on purpose to break himself of the fear. I went in for themshirts missis told me of, and he started like anything, and his faceturned white. He hadn't heard me till I was in the room; I'd no candle, and 'twas enough to startle him. 'Oh, is it you, Judith?' said he, quietly, making believe to be as indifferent as may be. I struck alight, for I couldn't find the shirts, and then I saw his white face. He can't overget the fear: 'twas implanted in him in babyhood: and Ionly wish I could get that wicked girl punished as I'd punish her, forit was her work. But about the t'other? I have heard of ghostswalking--though, thank goodness, I'm not frightened at 'em, like thechild is!--but for a young man to go upstairs, night after night, pretending to go to rest, and sitting up till morning light, is what Inever did hear on. If it was once in a way, 'twould be a differentthing; but it's always. I'm sure it's pretty nigh a year since--"

"Why, Judith, you are in a brown study!"

The interruption came from Constance, who had entered the kitchen togive an order. Judith looked up. 

"I'm in a peck of trouble, Miss Constance. And the worst is, I don'tknow whether to tell about it, or to keep it in. He'd not like it toget to the missis's ears, I know: but then, you see, perhaps I ought totell her--for his sake. "

Constance smiled. "Would you like to tell me, instead of mamma? Charleyhas been at some mischief again, among the saucepans? Burnt out morebottoms, perhaps?"

"Not he, the darling!" resentfully rejoined Judith. "The burning out ofthat one was enough for him. I'm sure he took contrition to himself, asif it had been made of gold. "

"What is it, then?"

"Well, " said Judith, looking round, as if fearing the walls would hear, and speaking mysteriously, "it's about Mr. Hamish. I don't know but I_will_ tell you, Miss Constance, and it'll be, so far, a weight off mymind. I was just saying to myself that I had heard of ghosts walking, but what Mr. Hamish does every blessed night, I never did hear of, inall my born days. "

Constance felt a little startled. "What does he do?" she hastily asked. 

"You know, Miss Constance, my bedroom's overhead, above the kitchenhere, and, being built out on the side, I can see the windows at theback of the house from it--as we can see 'em from this kitchen window, for the matter of that, if we put our heads out. About a twelvemonthago--I'm sure its not far short of it--I took to notice that the lightin Mr. Hamish's chamber wasn't put out so soon as it was in the otherrooms. So, one night, when I was half-crazy with that face-ache--youremember my having it, Miss Constance?--and knew I shouldn't get tosleep, if I lay down, I thought I'd just see how long he kept it in. Would you believe, Miss Constance, that at three o'clock in the morninghis light was still burning?"

"Well, " said Constance, feeling the tale was not half told. 

"I thought, what on earth could he be after? I might have feared thathe had got into bed and left it alight by mistake, but that I saw hisshadow once or twice pass the blind. Well, I didn't say a word to himnext day, I thought he might not like it: but my mind wouldn't be easy, and I looked out again, and I found that, night after night, that lightwas in. Miss Constance, I thought I'd trick him: so I took care to putjust about an inch of candle in his bed candlestick, and no more: but, law bless me! when folks is bent on forbidden things, it is notcandle-ends that will stop 'em!"

"I suppose you mean that the light burnt still, in spite of your inchof candle?" said Constance. 

"It just did, " returned Judith. "He gets into my kitchen and robs mycandle-box, I thought to myself. So I counted my candles and marked'em; and I found I was wrong, for they wasn't touched. But one day, when I was putting his cupboard to rights, I came upon a paper right atthe back. Two great big composite candles it had in it, and anotherhalf burnt away. Oh, this is where you keep your store, my youngmaster, is it? I thought. They were them big round things, which seemsnever to burn to an end, three to the pound. "

Constance made no reply. Judith gathered breath, and continued:

"I took upon myself to speak to him. I told him it wasn't well foranybody's health, to sit up at night, in that fashion; not counting thedanger he ran of setting the house on fire and burning us all tocinders in our beds. He laughed--you know his way, Miss Constance--andsaid he'd take care of his health and of the house, and I was just tomake myself easy and hold my tongue, and that _I_ need not be uneasyabout fire, for I could open my window and drop into the rain-waterbarrel, and there I should be safe. But, in spite of his joking tone, there ran through it a sound of command; and, from that hour to this, Ihave never opened my lips about it to anybody living. "

"And he burns the light still?"

"Except Saturday and Sunday nights, it's always alight, longer orshorter. Them two nights, he gets into bed respectable, as the rest ofthe house do. You have noticed, Miss Constance, that, the evenings heis not out, he'll go up to his chamber by half-past nine or ten?"

"Frequently, " assented Constance. "As soon as the reading is over, hewill wish us good night. "

"Well, them nights, when he goes up early, he puts his light outsooner--by twelve, or by half-past, or by one; but when he spends hisevenings out, not getting home until eleven, he'll have it burning tilltwo or three in the morning. "

"What can he sit up for?" involuntarily exclaimed Constance. 

"I don't know, unless it is that the work at the office is too heavyfor him, " said Judith. "He has his own work to do there, and master'sas well. "

"It is not at all heavy, " said Constance. "There is an additional clerksince papa's illness, you know. It cannot be that. "

"It has to do with the office-books, for certain, " returned Judith. "Why else is he so particular in taking 'em into his room every night?"

"He takes--them--for safety, " spoke Constance, in a very hesitatingmanner, as if not feeling perfectly assured of the grounds for herassertion. 

"Maybe, " sniffed Judith, in disbelief. "It can't be that he sits up toread, " she resumed. "Nobody in their senses would do that. Reading maybe pleasant to some folks, especially them story-books; but sleep ispleasanter. This last two or three blessed nights, since that ill newscome to make us miserable, I question if he has gone to bed at all, forhis candle has only been put out when daylight came to shame it. "

"But, Judith, how do you know all this?" exclaimed Constance, after afew minutes' reflection. "You surely don't sit up to watch the light?"

"Pretty fit I should be for my work in the morning, if I did! No, MissConstance. I moved my bed round to the other corner, so as I could seehis window as I lay in it; and I have got myself into a habit of wakingup at all hours and looking. Truth to say, I'm not easy: fire is soonerset alight than put out: and if there's the water-butt for me to dropinto, there ain't water-butts for the rest of the house. "

"Very true, " murmured Constance, speaking as if she were in reflection. 

"Nobody knows the worry this has been upon my mind, " resumed Judith. "Every night when I have seen his window alight, I have said to myself, 'I'll tell my mistress of this when morning comes;' but, when themorning has come, my resolution has failed me. It might worry her, andanger Mr. Hamish, and do no good after all. If he really has not timefor his books in the day, why he must do 'em at night, I suppose; itwould never do for him to fall off, and let the master's means dropthrough. What ought to be done, Miss Constance?"

"I really do not know, Judith, " replied Constance. "You must let methink about it. "

She fell into an unpleasant reverie. The most feasible solution shecould come to, was the one adopted by Judith--that Hamish passed hisnights at the books. If so, how sadly he must idle away his time in theday! Did he give his hours up to nonsense and pleasure? And how couldhe contrive to hide his shortcomings from Mr. Channing? Constance wasnot sure whether the books went regularly under the actual inspectionof Mr. Channing, or whether Hamish went over them aloud. If only thelatter, could the faults be concealed? She knew nothing ofbook-keeping, and was unable to say. Leaving her to puzzle over thematter, we will return to Hamish himself. 

We left him in the last chapter, you may remember, objecting to go downa certain side-street which would have cut off a short distance oftheir road; his excuse to Arthur being, that a troublesome creditor ofhis lived in it. The plea was a true one. Not to make a mystery of it, it may as well be acknowledged that Hamish had contracted some debts, and that he found it difficult to pay them. They were not many, and amoderate sum would have settled them; but that moderate sum Hamish didnot possess. Let us give him his due. But that he had fully countedupon a time of wealth being close at hand, it is probable that he neverwould have contracted them. When Hamish erred, it was invariably fromthoughtlessness--from carelessness--never from deliberate intention. 

Arthur, of course, turned from the objectionable street, and continuedhis straightforward course. They were frequently hindered; the streetswere always crowded at assize time, and acquaintances continuallystopped them. Amongst others, they met Roland Yorke. 

"Are you coming round to Cator's, to-night?" he asked of Hamish. 

"Not I, " returned Hamish, with his usual gay laugh. "I am going to drawin my expenses, and settle down into a miser. "

"Moonshine!" cried Roland. 

"Is it moonshine, though? It is just a little bit of serious fact, Yorke. When lord chancellors turn against us and dash our hopes, wecan't go on as though the exchequer had no bottom to it. "

"It will cost you nothing to come to Cator's. He is expecting one ortwo fellows, and has laid in a prime lot of Manillas. "

"Evening visiting costs a great deal, one way or another, " returnedHamish, "and I intend to drop most of mine for the present. You needn'tstare so, Yorke. "

"I am staring at you. Drop evening visiting! Any one, dropping that, may expect to be in a lunatic asylum in six months. "

"What a prospect for me!" laughed Hamish. 

"_Will_ you come to Cator's?"

"No, thank you. "

"Then you are a muff!" retorted Roland, as he went on. 

It was dusk when they reached the cathedral. 

"I wonder whether the cloisters are still open!" Arthur exclaimed. 

"It will not take a minute to ascertain, " said Hamish. "If not, we mustgo round. "

They found the cloisters still unclosed, and passed in. Gloomy andsombre were they at that evening hour. So sombre that, in proceedingalong the west quadrangle, the two young men positively started, whensome dark figure glided from within a niche, and stood in their way. 

"Whose ghost are you?" cried Hamish. 

A short covert whistle of surprise answered him. "You here!" cried thefigure, in a tone of excessive disappointment. "What brings you in thecloisters so late?"

Hamish dextrously wound him towards what little light was cast from thegraveyard, and discerned the features of Hurst. Half a dozen morefigures brought themselves out of the niches--Stephen Bywater, youngGalloway, Tod Yorke, Harrison, Hall, and Berkeley. 

"Let me alone, Mr. Hamish Channing. Hush! Don't make a row. "

"What mischief is going on, Hurst?" asked Hamish. 

"Well, whatever it may have been, it strikes me you have stopped it, "was Hurst's reply. "I say, wasn't there the Boundaries for you to gothrough, without coming bothering into the cloisters?"

"I am sorry to have spoiled sport, " laughed Hamish. "I should not haveliked it done to me when I was a college boy. Let us know what thetreason was. "

"You won't tell!"

"No; if it is nothing very bad. Honour bright. "

"Stop a bit, Hurst, " hastily interposed Bywater. "There's no knowingwhat he may think 'very bad. ' Give generals, not particulars. Here thefellow comes, I do believe!"

"It was only a trick we were going to play old Ketch, " whispered Hurst. "Come out quickly; better that he should not hear us, or it may spoilsport for another time. Gently, boys!"

Hurst and the rest stole round the cloisters, and out at the southdoor. Hamish and Arthur followed, more leisurely, and less silently. Ketch came up. 

"Who's this here, a-haunting the cloisters at this time o' night? Whobe you, I ask?"

"The cloisters are free until they are closed, Ketch, " cried Hamish. 

"Nobody haven't no right to pass through 'em at this hour, except theclergy theirselves, " grumbled the porter. "We shall have them boysa-playing in 'em at dark, next. "

"You should close them earlier, if you want to keep them empty, "returned Hamish. "Why don't you close them at three in the afternoon?"

The porter growled. He knew that he did not dare to close them beforedusk, almost dark, and he knew that Hamish knew it too; and thereforehe looked upon the remark as a quiet bit of sarcasm. "I wish the dean'ud give me leave to shut them boys out of 'em, " he exclaimed. "It 'udbe a jovial day for me!"

Hamish and Arthur passed out, wishing him good night. He did not replyto it, but banged the gate on their heels, locked it, and turned toretrace his steps through the cloisters. The college boys, who hadhidden themselves from his view, came forward again. 

"He has got off scot-free to-night, but perhaps he won't do soto-morrow, " cried Bywater. 

"Were you going to set upon him?" asked Arthur. 

"We were not going to put a finger upon him; I give you my word, wewere not, " said Hurst. 

"What, then, were you going to do?"

But the boys would not be caught. "It might stop fun, you know, Mr. Hamish. You might get telling your brother Tom; and Tom might let itout to Gaunt; and Gaunt might turn crusty and forbid it. We were goingto serve the fellow out; but not to touch him or to hurt him; andthat's enough. "

"As you please, " said Hamish. "He is a surly old fellow. "

"He is an old brute! he's a dog in a kennel! he deserves hanging!"burst from the throng of boys. 

"What do you think he went and did this afternoon?" added Hurst to thetwo Channings. "He sneaked up to the dean with a wretched complaint ofus boys, which hadn't a word of truth in it; not a syllable, I assureyou. He did it only because Gaunt had put him in a temper at oneo'clock. The dean did not listen to him, that's one good thing. How_jolly_ he'd have been, just at this moment, if you two had not comeup! Wouldn't he, boys?"

The boys burst into a laugh; roar upon roar, peal upon peal; shriekingand holding their sides, till the very Boundaries echoed again. Laughing is infectious, and Hamish and Arthur shrieked out with them, not knowing in the least what they were laughing at. 

But Arthur was heavy at heart in the midst of it. "Do you owe muchmoney, Hamish?" he inquired, after they had left the boys, and werewalking soberly along, under the quiet elm-trees. 

"More than I can pay, old fellow, just at present, " was the answer. 

"But is it _much_, Hamish?"

"No, it is not much, taking it in the abstract. Quite a trifling sum. "

Arthur caught at the word "trifling;" it seemed to dissipate his fears. Had he been alarming himself for nothing! "Is it ten pounds, Hamish?"

"Ten pounds!" repeated Hamish, in a tone of mockery. "That would belittle indeed. "

"Is it fifty?"

"I dare say it may be. A pound here and a pound there, and a few poundselsewhere--yes, taking it altogether, I expect it would be fifty. "

"And how much more?" thought Arthur to himself. "You said it was atrifling sum, Hamish!"

"Well, fifty pounds is not a large sum. Though, of course, we estimatesums, like other things, by comparison. You can understand now, why Iwas not sanguine with regard to Constance's hopeful project of helpingmy father to get to the German baths. I, the eldest, who ought to bethe first to assist in it, am the least likely to do so. I don't knowhow I managed to get into debt, " mused Hamish. "It came upon meimperceptibly; it did, indeed. I depended so entirely upon that moneyfalling to us, that I grew careless, and would often order things whichI was not in need of. Arthur, since that news came, I have feltoverwhelmed with worry and botheration. "

"I wish you were free!"

"If wishes were horses, we should all be on horseback. How debts growupon you!" Hamish continued, changing his light tone for a graver one. "Until within the last day or two, when I have thought it necessary totake stock of outstanding claims, I had no idea I owed half so much. "

"What shall you do about it?"

"That is more easily asked than answered. My own funds are forestalledfor some time to come. And, the worst is, that, now this suit is knownto have terminated against us, people are not so willing to wait asthey were before. I have had no end of them after me to-day. "

"How shall you contrive to satisfy them?"

"Satisfy them in some way, I must. "

"But how, I ask, Hamish?"

"Rob some bank or other, " replied Hamish, in his off-hand, joking way. 

"Shall you speak to my father?"

"Where's the use?" returned Hamish. "He cannot help me just now; he isstraitened enough himself. "

"He might help you with advice. His experience is larger than yours, his judgment better. 'In the multitude of counsellors there is safety, 'you know, Hamish. "

"I have made up my mind to say nothing to my father. If he could assistme, I would disclose all to him: as it is, it would only be inflictingupon him unnecessary pain. Understand, Arthur, what I have said to youis in confidence: you must not speak of it to him. "

"Of course not. I should not think of interfering between you and him. I wish I could help you!"

"I wish you could, old fellow. But you need not look so serious. "

"How you can be so gay and careless over it, I cannot imagine, " saidArthur. 

Hamish laughed. "If there's only a little patch of sunshine as large asa man's hand, I am sure to see it and trust to it. "

"Is there any sunshine in this?"

"A little bit: and I hope it will help me out of it. I am sure I wasborn with a large share of hope in my composition. "

"Show me the bit of sunshine, Hamish. "

"I can't do that, " was the answer. "I fear it is not so much actualsunshine that's to be seen yet--only its reflection. You could not seeit at all, Arthur; but I, as I tell you, am extravagantly hopeful. "

The same ever-gay tone, the same pleasant smile, accompanied the words. And yet, at that moment, instead of walking straightforward into theopen space beyond the elm-trees, as Arthur did, Hamish withdrew his armfrom his brother's, and halted under their shade, peering cautiouslyaround. They were then within view of their own door. 

"What are you looking at?"

"To make sure that the coast is clear. I heard to-day--Arthur, I knowthat I shall shock you--that a fellow had taken out a writ against me. I don't want, to get it served, if I can help it. "

Arthur was indeed shocked. "Oh, Hamish!" was all he uttered. But thetone betrayed a strange amount of pain mingled with reproach. 

"You must not think ill of me. I declare that I have been led into thisscrape blindfolded, as may be said. I never dreamt I was getting intoit. I am not reckless by nature; and, but for the expectation of thatmoney, I should be as free now as you are. "

Thought upon thought was crowding into Arthur's mind. He did not speak. 

"I cannot charge myself with any foolish or unnecessary expenditure, "Hamish resumed. "And, " he added in a deeper tone, "my worst enemy willnot accuse me of rashly incurring debts to gratify my own pleasures. Ido not get into mischief. Were I addicted to drinking, or to gambling, my debts might have been ten times what they are. "

"They are enough, it seems, " said Arthur. But he spoke the words insadness, not in a spirit of reproof. 

"Arthur, they may prove of the greatest service, in teaching me cautionfor the future. Perhaps I wanted the lesson. Let me once get out ofthis hash, and I will take pretty good care not to fall into another. "

"If you only can get out of it. "

"Oh, I shall do it, somehow; never fear. Let us go on, there seems tobe no one about. "

CHAPTER X. 

A FALSE ALARM. 

They reached home unmolested. Arthur went straight to Mr. Channing, whowas lying, as usual, on his sofa, and bent over him with a smile, sweetand hopeful as that of Hamish. 

"Father, may I gain fifty pounds a year, if I can do it, withoutdetriment to my place at Mr. Galloway's?"

"What do you say, my boy?"

"Would you have any objection to my taking the organ at college on weekdays? Mr. Williams has offered it to me. "

Mr. Channing turned his head and looked at him. He did not understand. "You could not take it, Arthur; you could not be absent from theoffice; and young Jupp takes the organ. What is it that you are talkingof?"

Arthur explained in his quiet manner, a glad light shining in his eyes. Jupp had left the college for good; Mr. Williams had offered the placeto him, and Mr. Galloway had authorized him to accept it. He shouldonly have to go to the office for two hours before breakfast in amorning, to make up for the two lost in the day. 

"My brave boy!" exclaimed Mr. Channing, making prisoner of his hand. "Isaid this untoward loss of the suit might turn out to be a blessing indisguise. And so it will; it is bringing forth the sterling love of mychildren. You are doing this for me, Arthur. "

"Doing it a great deal for myself, papa. You do not know thegratification it will be to me, those two hours' play daily!"

"I understand, my dear--understand it all!"

"Especially as--" Arthur came to a sudden stop. 

"Especially as what?" asked Mr. Channing. 

"As I had thought of giving up taking lessons, " Arthur hastily added, not going deeper into explanations. "I play quite well enough, now, tocease learning. Mr. Williams said one day, that, with practice, I mightsoon equal him. "

"I wonder what those parents do, Arthur, who own ungrateful orrebellious children!" Mr. Channing exclaimed, after a pause of thought. "The world is full of trouble; and it is of many kinds, and takesvarious phases; but if we can only be happy in our children, all othertrouble may pass lightly over us, as a summer cloud. I thank God thatmy children have never brought home to me an hour's care. How mercifulHe has been to me!"

Arthur's thoughts reverted to Hamish and _his_ trouble. He feltthankful, then, that it was hid from Mr. Channing. 

"I have already accepted the place, papa. I knew I might count uponyour consent. "

"Upon my warm approbation. My son, do your best at your task. And, " Mr. Channing added, sinking his voice to a whisper, "when the choristerspeal out their hymn of praise to God, during these sacred services, let_your_ heart ascend with it in fervent praise and thanksgiving. Toomany go through these services in a matter-of-course spirit, theirheart far away. Do not you. "

Hamish at this moment came in, carrying the books. "Are you ready, sir?There's not much to do, this evening. "

"Ready at any time, Hamish. "

Hamish laid the books before him on the table, and sat down. Arthurleft the room. Mr. Channing liked to be alone with Hamish when theaccounts were being gone over. 

Mrs. Channing was in the drawing-room, some of the children with her. Arthur entered. "Mrs. Channing, " cried he, with mock ceremony, "allowme to introduce you to the assistant-organist of the cathedral. "

She smiled, supposing it to be some joke. "Very well, sir. He can comein!"

"He is in, ma'am. It is myself. "

"Is young Mr. Jupp there?" she asked; for he sometimes came home withArthur. 

"Young Mr. Jupp has disappeared from public life, and I am appointed inhis place. It is quite true. "

"Arthur!" she remonstrated. 

"Mamma, indeed it is true. Mr. Williams has made me the offer, and Mr. Galloway has consented to allow me time to attend the week-dayservices; and papa is glad of it, and I hope you will be glad also. "

"_I_ have known of it since this morning, " spoke Tom, with anassumption of easy consequence; while Mrs. Channing was recovering hersenses, which had been nearly frightened away. "Arthur, I hope Williamsintends to pay you?"

"Fifty pounds a year, And the copying besides. "

"_Is_ it true, Arthur?" breathlessly exclaimed Mrs. Channing. 

"I have told you that it is, mother mine. Jupp has resigned, and I amassistant-organist. "

Annabel danced round him in an ecstasy of delight. Not at hissuccess--success or failure did not much trouble Annabel--but shethought there might be a prospect of some fun in store for herself. "Arthur, you'll let me come into the cathedral and blow for you?"

"You little stupid!" cried Tom. "Much good you could do at blowing! Agirl blowing the college organ! That's rich! Better let Williams catchyou there! She'd actually go, I believe!"

"It is not your business, Tom; it is Arthur's, " retorted Annabel, withflushed cheeks. "Mamma, can't you teach Tom to interfere with himself, and not with me?"

"I would rather teach Annabel to be a young lady, and not a tomboy, "said Mrs. Channing. "You may as well wish to be allowed to ring thecollege bells, as blow the organ, child. "

"I should like that, " said Annabel. "Oh, what fun, if the rope went upwith me!"

Mrs. Channing turned a reproving glance on her, and resumed herconversation with Arthur. "Why did you not tell me before, my boy? Itwas too good news to keep to yourself. How long has it been incontemplation?"

"Dear mamma, only to-day. It was only this morning that Jupp resigned. "

"Only to-day! It must have been decided very hastily, then, for ameasure of that sort. "

"Mr. Williams was so put to it that he took care to lose no time. Hespoke to me at one o'clock. I had gone to him to the cathedral, askingfor the copying, which I heard was going begging, and he broached theother subject, on the spur of the moment, as it seemed to me. Nothingcould be decided until I had seen Mr. Galloway, and I spoke to himafter he left here, this afternoon. He will allow me to be absent fromthe office an hour, morning and afternoon, on condition that I attendfor two hours before breakfast. "

"But, Arthur, you will have a great deal upon your hands. "

"Not any too much. It will keep me out of mischief. "

"When shall you find time to do the copying?"

"In an evening, I suppose. I shall find plenty of time. "

As Hamish had observed, there was little to do at the books, thatevening, and he soon left the parlour. Constance happened to be in thehall as he crossed it, on his way to his bedroom. Judith, who appearedto have been on the watch, came gliding from the half-opened kitchendoor and approached Constance, looking after Hamish as he went up thestairs. 

"Do you see, Miss Constance?" she whispered. "He is carrying the booksup with him, as usual!"

At this juncture, Hamish turned round to speak to his sister. "Constance, I don't want any supper to-night, tell my mother. You cancall me when it is time for the reading. "

"And he is going to set on at 'em, now, and he'll be at 'em tillmorning light!" continued Judith's whisper. "And he'll drop off intohis grave with decline!--'taint in the nature of a young man to dowithout sleep--and that'll be the ending! And he'll burn himself upfirst, and all the house with him. "

"I think I will go and speak to him, " debated Constance. 

"_I_ should, " advised Judith. "The worst is, if the books must be done, why, they must; and I don't see that there is any help for it. "

But Constance hesitated, considerably. She did not at all like tointerfere; it appeared so very much to resemble the work of a spy. Several minutes she deliberated, and then went slowly up the stairs. Knocking at Hamish's door, she turned the handle, and would haveentered. It was locked. 

"Who's there?" called out Hamish. 

"Can I come in for a minute, Hamish? I want to say a word to you. "

He did not undo the door immediately. There appeared to be an openingand closing of his desk, first--a scuffle, as of things being put away. When Constance entered, she saw one of the insurance books open on thetable, the pen and ink near it; the others were not to be seen. Thekeys were in the table lock. A conviction flashed over the mind ofConstance that Judith was right, in supposing the office accounts to bethe object that kept him up. "What can he do with his time in the day?"she thought. 

"What is it, Constance?"

"Can you let me speak to you, Hamish?"

"If you won't be long. I was just beginning to be busy, " he replied, taking out the keys and putting them into his pocket. 

"I see you were, " she said, glancing at the ledger. "Hamish, you mustnot be offended with me, or think I interfere unwarrantably. I wouldnot do it, but that I am anxious for you. Why is it that you sit up solate at night?"

There was a sudden accession of colour to his face--Constance saw it;but there was a smile as well. "How do you know I do sit up? Has Judybeen telling tales?"

"Judy is uneasy about it, and she spoke to me this evening. She hasvisions of the house being burnt up with every one in it, and of yourfatally injuring your health. I believe she would consider the lattercalamity almost more grievous than the former, for you know you werealways her favourite. Hamish; is there no danger of either?"

"There is not. I am too cautious for the one to happen, and, I believe, too hardy for the other. Judy is a simpleton, " he laughed; "she has herwater-butt, and what more can she desire?"

"Hamish, why do you sit up? Have you not time for your work in theday?"

"No. Or else I should do it in the day. I do not sit up enough to hurtme. I have, on an average, three hours' night-work, five days in theweek; and if that can damage a strong fellow like me, call me a punychangeling. "

"You sit up much longer than that?"

"Not often. These light days, I sometimes do not sit up half so long; Iget up in the morning, instead. Constance, you look grave enough for ajudge!"

"And you, laughing enough to provoke me. Suppose I tell papa of thishabit of yours, and get him to forbid it?"

"Then, my dear, you would work irreparable mischief, " he replied, becoming grave in his turn. "Were I to be prevented from doing as Iplease in my chamber in this house, I must find a room elsewhere, inwhich I should be my own master. "

"Hamish!"

"You oblige me to say it, Constance. You and Judy must lay your headstogether upon some other grievance, for, indeed, for this particularone there is no remedy. She is an old goose, and you are a young one. "

"Is it right that we should submit to the risk of being set on fire?"

"My dear, if that is the point, I'll have a fire-escape placed over thefront door every night, and pay a couple of watchmen to act asguardians. Constance!" again dropping his tone of mockery, "you knowthat you may trust me better than that. "

"But, Hamish, how do you spend your time, that you cannot complete yourbooks in the day?"

"Oh, " drawled Hamish, "ours is the laziest office! gossiping andscandal going on in it from morning till night. In the fatigue inducedby that, I am not sure that I don't take a nap, sometimes. "

Constance could not tell what to make of him. He was gazing at her withthe most perplexing expression of face, looking ready to burst into alaugh. 

"One last word, Hamish, for I hear Judith calling to you. Are youobliged to do this night-work?"

"I am. "

"Then I will say no more; and things must go on as it seems they havehitherto done. "

Arthur came running upstairs, and Hamish met him at the chamber door. Arthur, who appeared strangely agitated, began speaking in ahalf-whisper, unconscious that his sister was within. She heard everyword. 

"Judy says some young man wants you, Hamish! I fear it may be thefellow to serve the writ. What on earth is to be done?"

"Did Judy say I was at home?"

"Yes; and has handed him into the study, to wait. Did you not hear hercalling to you?"

"I can't--see him, " Hamish was about to say. "Yes, I will see him, " headded after a moment's reflection. "Anything rather than have adisturbance which might come to my mother's ears. And I suppose if hecould not serve it now, he would watch for me in the morning. "

"Shall I go down first, and hear what he has to say?"

"Arthur, boy, it would do no good. I have brought this upon myself, andmust battle with it. A Channing cannot turn coward!"

"But he may act with discretion, " said Arthur. "I will speak to theman, and if there's no help for it, I'll call you. "

Down flew Arthur, four stairs at a time. Hamish remained with his bodyinside his chamber door, and his head out. I conclude he was listening;and, in the confusion, he had probably totally forgotten Constance. Arthur came bounding up the stairs again, his eyes sparkling. 

"A false alarm, Hamish! It's only Martin Pope. "

"Martin Pope!" echoed Hamish, considerably relieved, for Martin Popewas an acquaintance of his, and sub-editor of one of the Helstonleighnewspapers. "Why could not Judy have opened her mouth?"

He ran down the stairs, the colour, which had left his face, returningto it. But it did not to that of Constance; hers had changed to an ashywhiteness. Arthur saw her standing there; saw that she must have heardand understood all. 

"Oh, Arthur, has it come to this? Is Hamish in _that_ depth of debt!"

"Hush! What brought you here, Constance?"

"What writ is it that he fears? Is there indeed one out against him?"

"I don't know much about it. There may be one. "

She wrung her hands. "The next thing to a writ is a prison, is it not?If he should be taken, what would become of the office--of papa'sposition?"

"Do not agitate yourself, " he implored. "It can do no good. "

"Nothing can do good: nothing, nothing. Oh, what trouble!"

"Constance, in the greatest trouble there is always one Refuge. "

"Yes, " she mentally thought, bursting into tears. "What, but for thatshelter, would become of us in our bitter hours of trial?"

CHAPTER XI. 

THE CLOISTER KEYS. 

It was the twenty-second day of the month, and nearly a week after thedate of the last chapter. Arthur Channing sat in his place at thecathedral organ, playing the psalm for the morning; for the hour wasthat of divine service. 

"O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is gracious: and His mercyendureth for ever!"

The boy's whole heart went up with the words. _He_ gave thanks: mercieshad come upon him--upon his; and that great dread--which was turninghis days to gall, his nights to sleeplessness--the arrest of Hamish, had not as yet been attempted. He felt it all as he sat there; and, ina softer voice, he echoed the sweet song of the choristers below, verseafter verse as each verse rose on the air, filling the aisles of theold cathedral: how that God delivers those who cry unto Him--those whosit in darkness and in the shadow of death; those whose hearts failthrough heaviness, who fall down and there is none to help them--Hebrings them out of the darkness, and breaks their bonds in sunder. Theythat go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in greatwaters, who see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep;whose hearts cower at the stormy rising of the waves, and in theiragony of distress cry unto Him to help them; and He hears the cry, anddelivers them. He stills the angry waves, and calms the storm, andbrings them into the haven where they would be; and then they are glad, because they are at rest. 

"O that men would therefore praise the Lord for His goodness: anddeclare the wonders that He doeth for the children of men!

"And again, when they are minished, and brought low: throughoppression, through any plague or trouble; though He suffer them to beevil intreated through tyrants: and let them wander out of the way inthe wilderness; yet helpeth He the poor out of misery: and maketh himhouseholds like a flock of sheep. 

"Whoso is wise will ponder these things: and they shall understand theloving-kindness of the Lord. "

The refrain died away, the gentle echo died after it, and silence fellupon the cathedral. It was broken by the voice of the Reverend WilliamYorke, giving out the first lesson--a chapter in Jeremiah. 

At the conclusion of the service, Arthur Channing left the college. Inthe cloisters he was overtaken by the choristers, who were hasteningback to the schoolroom. At the same moment Ketch, the porter, passed, coming towards them from the south entrance of the cloisters. Hetouched his hat in his usual ungracious fashion to the dean and Dr. Gardner, who were turning into the chapter-house, carrying theirtrenchers, and looked the other way as he passed the boys. 

Arthur caught hold of Hurst. "Have you 'served out' old Ketch, as youthreatened?" he laughingly asked. 

"Hush!" whispered Hurst. "It has not come off yet. We had an idea thatan inkling of it had got abroad, so we thought it best to keep quietfor a few nights, lest the Philistines should be on the watch. But thetime is fixed now, and I can tell you that it is not a hundred nightsoff. "

With a shower of mysterious nods and winks, Hurst rushed away andbounded up the stairs to the schoolroom. Arthur returned to Mr. Galloway's. "It's the awfullest shame!" burst forth Tom Channing thatday at dinner (and allow me to remark, _par parenthèse_, that, inreading about schoolboys, you must be content to accept their grammaras it comes); and he brought the handle of his knife down upon thetable in a passion. 

"Thomas!" uttered Mr. Channing, in amazed reproof. 

"Well, papa, and so it is! and the school's going pretty near mad overit!" returned Tom, turning his crimsoned face upon his father. "Wouldyou believe that I and Huntley are to be passed over in the chance forthe seniorship, and Yorke is to have it, without reference to merit?"

"No, I do not believe it, Tom, " quietly replied Mr. Channing. "But, even were it true, it is no reason why you should break out in thatunseemly manner. Did you ever know a hot temper do good to itspossessor?"

"I know I am hot-tempered, " confessed Tom. "I cannot help it, papa; itwas born with me. "

"Many of our failings were born with us, my boy, as I have alwaysunderstood. But they are to be subdued; not indulged. "

"Papa, you must acknowledge that it is a shame if Pye has promised theseniorship to Yorke, over my head and Huntley's, " reiterated Tom, whowas apt to speak as strongly as he thought. "If he gets the seniorship, the exhibition will follow; that is an understood thing. Would it bejust?"

"Why are you saying this? What have you heard?"

"Well, it is a roundabout tale, " answered Tom. "But the rumour in theschool is this--and if it turns out to be true, Gerald Yorke will aboutget eaten up alive. "

"Is that the rumour, Tom?" said Mrs. Channing. 

Tom laughed, in spite of his anger. "I had not come to the rumour, mamma. Lady Augusta and Dr. Burrows are great friends, you know; and wehear that they have been salving over Pye--"

"Gently, Tom!" put in Mr. Channing. 

"Talking over Pye, then, " corrected Tom, impatient to proceed with hisstory; "and Pye has promised to promote Gerald Yorke to the seniorship. He--"

"Dr. Burrows has gone away again, " interrupted Annabel. "I saw him goby to-day in his travelling carriage. Judy says he has gone to hisrectory; some of the deanery servants told her so. "

"You'll get something, Annabel, if you interrupt in that fashion, "cried Tom. "Last Monday, Dr. Burrows gave a dinner-party. Pye wasthere, and Lady Augusta was there; and it was then they got Pye topromise it to Yorke. "

"How is it known that they did?" asked Mr. Channing. 

"The boys all say it, papa. It was circulating through the school thismorning like wild-fire. "

"You will never take the prize for logic, Tom. _How_ did the boys hearit, I ask?"

"Through Mr. Calcraft, " replied Tom. 

"Tom!"

"Mr. Ketch, then, " said Tom, correcting himself as he had done before. "Both names are a mile too good for him. Ketch came into contact withsome of the boys this morning before ten-o'clock school, and, ofcourse, they went into a wordy war--which is nothing new. Huntley wasthe only senior present, and Ketch was insolent to him. One of the boystold Ketch that he would not dare to be so, next year, if Huntleyshould be senior boy. Ketch sneered at that, and said Huntley neverwould be senior boy, nor Channing either, for it was already given toYorke. The boys took his words up, ridiculing the notion of _his_knowing anything of the matter, and they did not spare their taunts. That roused his temper, and the old fellow let out all he knew. He saidLady Augusta Yorke was at Galloway's office yesterday, boasting aboutit before Jenkins. "

"A roundabout tale, indeed!" remarked Mr. Channing; "and told in asomewhat roundabout manner, Tom. I should not put faith in it. Did youhear anything of this, Arthur?"

"No, sir. I know that Lady Augusta called at the office yesterdayafternoon while I was at college. I don't know anything more. "

"Huntley intends to drop across Jenkins this afternoon, and questionhim, " resumed Tom Channing. "There can't be any doubt that it was hewho gave the information to Ketch. If Huntley finds that Lady Augustadid assert it, the school will take the affair up. "

The boast amused Hamish. "In what manner will the school be pleased to'take it up?'" questioned he. "Recommend the dean to hold Mr. Pye undersurveillance? Or send Lady Augusta a challenge?"

Tom Channing nodded his head mysteriously. "There is many a true wordspoken in jest, Hamish. I don't know yet what we should do: we shoulddo something. The school won't stand it tamely. The day for thatone-sided sort of oppression has gone out with our grandmothers'fashions. "

"It would be very wrong of the school to stand it, " said Charley, throwing in his word. "If the honours are to go by sneaking favour, andnot by merit, where is the use of any of us putting out our mettle?"

"You be quiet, Miss Charley! you juniors have nothing to do with it, "were all the thanks the boy received from Tom. 

Now the facts really were very much as Tom Channing asserted; thoughwhether, or how far, Mr. Pye had promised, and whether Lady Augusta'sboast had been a vain one, was a matter for speculation. Neither couldit be surmised the part, if any, played in it by Prebendary Burrows. Itwas certain that Lady Augusta had, on the previous day, boasted to Mr. Galloway, in his office, that her son was to have the seniorship; thatMr. Pye had promised it to her and Dr. Burrows, at the dinner-party. She spoke of it without the least reserve, in a tone of muchself-gratulation, and she laughingly told Jenkins, who was at his deskwriting, that he might wish Gerald joy when he next saw him. Jenkinsaccepted it all as truth: it may be questioned if Mr. Galloway did, forhe knew that Lady Augusta did not always weigh her words beforespeaking. 

In the evening--this same evening, mind, after the call at the officeof Lady Augusta--Mr. Jenkins proceeded towards home when he left hiswork. He took the road through the cloisters. As he was passing theporter's lodge, who should he see in it but his father, old Jenkins, the bedesman, holding a gossip with Ketch; and they saw him. 

"If that ain't our Joe a-going past!" exclaimed the bedesman. 

Joe stepped in. He was proceeding to join in the converse, when a lotof the college boys tore along, hooting and shouting, and kicking aball about. It was kicked into the lodge, and a few compliments werethrown at the boys by the porter, before they could get the ball outagain. These compliments, you may be quite sure, the boys did not failto return with interest: Tom Channing, in particular, being charminglypolite. 

"And the saucy young beast'll be the senior boy soon!" foamed Mr. Ketch, as the lot decamped. "I wish I could get him gagged, I do!"

"No, he will not, " said Joe Jenkins, speaking impulsively in hissuperior knowledge. "Yorke is to be senior. "

"How do you know that, Joe?" asked his father. 

Joe replied by relating what he had heard said by the Lady Augusta thatafternoon. It did not conciliate the porter in the remotest degree: hewas not more favourably inclined to Gerald Yorke than he was to TomChanning. Had he heard the school never was to have a senior again, ora junior either, that might have pleased him. 

But on the following morning, when he fell into dispute with the boysin the cloisters, he spoke out his information in a spirit of triumphover Huntley. Bit by bit, angered by the boys' taunts, he repeatedevery word he had heard from Jenkins. The news, as it was busilycirculated from one to the other, caused no slight hubbub in theschool, and gave rise to that explosion of Tom Channing's at thedinner-table. 

Huntley sought Jenkins, as he had said he would do, and receivedconfirmation of the report, so far as the man's knowledge went. ButJenkins was terribly vexed that the report had got abroad through him. He determined to pay a visit to Mr. Ketch, and reproach him with hisincaution. 

Mr. Ketch sat in his lodge, taking his supper: bread and cheese, and apint of ale procured at the nearest public-house. Except in the lightmonths of summer, it was his habit to close the cloister gates beforesupper-time; but as Mr. Ketch liked to take that meal early--that is tosay, at eight o'clock--and, as dusk, for at least four months in theyear, obstinately persisted in putting itself off to a later hour, inspite of his growling, and as he might not shut up before dusk, he hadno resource but to take his supper first and lock up afterwards. The"lodge" was a quaint abode, of one room only, built in an obscure nookof the cathedral, near the grand entrance. He was pursuing his mealafter his own peculiar custom: eating, drinking, and grumbling. 

"It's worse nor leather, this cheese! Selling it to a body fordouble-Gloucester! I'd like to double them as made it. Eight-pence apound!--and short weight beside! I wonder there ain't a law passed tokeep down the cost o' provisions!"

A pause, given chiefly to grunting, and Mr. Ketch resumed:--

"This bread's rougher nor a bear's hide! Go and ask for new, and theypalms you off with stale. They'll put a loaf a week old into the ovento hot up again, and then sell it to you for new! There ought to be acriminal code passed for hanging bakers. They're all cheats. They mixesup alum, and bone-dust, and plaster of Paris, and--Drat that door!Who's kicking at it now?"

No one was kicking. Some one was civilly knocking. The door was pushedslightly open, and the inoffensive face of Mr. Joseph Jenkins appearedin the aperture. 

"I say, Mr. Ketch, " began he in a mild tone of deprecation, "whateveris it that you have gone and done?"

"What d'ye mean?" growled old Ketch. "Is this a way to come and setupon a gentleman in his own house? Who taught you manners, JoeJenkins?"

"You have been repeating what I mentioned last night about LadyAugusta's son getting the seniorship, " said Jenkins, coming in andclosing the door. 

"You did say it, " retorted Mr. Ketch. 

"I know I did. But I did not suppose you were going to repeat itagain. "

"If it was a secret, why didn't you say so?" asked Mr. Ketch. 

"It was not exactly a secret, or Lady Augusta would not have mentionedit before me, " remonstrated Joe. "But it is not the proper thing, forme to come out of Mr. Galloway's office, and talk of anything I mayhave heard said in it by his friends, and then for it to get round tohis ears again! Put it to yourself, Mr. Ketch, and say whether youwould like it. "

"What _did_ you talk of it for, then?" snarled Ketch, preparing to takea copious draught of ale. 

"Because I thought you and father were safe. You might both have knownbetter than to speak of it out of doors. There is sure to be acommotion over it. "

"Miserable beer! Brewed out of ditch-water!"

"Young Mr. Huntley came to me to-day, to know the rights and the wrongsof it--as he said, " continued Joseph. "He spoke to Mr. Galloway aboutit afterwards--though I must say he was kind enough not to bring in myname; only said, in a general way, that he had 'heard' it. He is anhonourable young gentleman, is that Huntley. He vows the report shallbe conveyed to the dean. "

"Serve 'em right!" snapped the porter. "If the dean does his duty, he'll order a general flogging for the school, all round. It'll do 'emgood. "

"Galloway did not say much--except that he knew what he should do, werehe Huntley's or Channing's father. Which I took to mean that, in hisopinion, there ought to be an inquiry instituted. "

"And you know there ought, " said Mr. Ketch. 

"_I_ know! I'm sure I don't know, " was the mild answer. "It is not myplace to reflect upon my superiors, Mr. Ketch--to say they should dothis, or they should do that. I like to reverence them, and to keep acivil tongue in my head. "

"Which is what you don't do. If I knowed who brewed this beer I'd enteran action again him, for putting in no malt. "

"I would not have had this get about for any money!" resumed Jenkins. "Neither you nor father shall ever catch me opening my lips again. "

"Keep 'em shut then, " growled old Ketch. 

Mr. Ketch leisurely finished his supper, and the two continued talkinguntil dusk came on--almost dark; for the porter, churl though he was, liked a visitor as well as any one--possibly as a vent for his temper. He did not often find one who would stand it so meekly as Joe Jenkins. At length Mr. Jenkins lifted himself off the shut-up press bedstead onwhich he had been perched, and prepared to depart. 

"Come along of me while I lock up, " said Ketch, somewhat lessungraciously than usual. 

Mr. Jenkins hesitated. "My wife will be wondering what has become ofme; she'll blow me up for keeping supper waiting, " debated he, aloud. "But--well, I don't mind going with you this once, for company's sake, "he added in his willingness to be obliging. 

The two large keys, one at each end of a string, were hung up justwithin the lodge door; they belonged to the two gates of the cloisters. Old Ketch took them down and went out with Jenkins, merely closing hisown door; he rarely fastened it, unless he was going some distance. 

Very dark were the enclosed cloisters, as they entered by the westgate. It was later than the usual hour of closing, and it was, moreover, a gloomy evening, the sky overcast. They went through thecloisters to the south gate, Ketch grumbling all the way. He locked it, and then turned back again. 

Arrived about midway of the west quadrangle, the very darkest part inall the cloisters, and the most dreary, Jenkins suddenly startled hiscompanion by declaring there was a light in the burial-ground. 

"Come along!" growled Ketch. "You'll say there's corpse-candles therenext. "

"It is only a little spark, like, " said Jenkins, halting. "I should notwonder but it is one of those pretty, innocent glowworms. "

He leaned his arms upon the mullioned frame of the open Gothic window, raised himself on tiptoe to obtain as complete a view as was possible, and pushed his head out to reconnoitre the grave-yard. Mr. Ketchshuffled on; the keys, held somewhat loosely in his hand by the string, clanking together. 

"Be you going to stop there all night?" he called out, when he had gonea few paces, half turning round to speak. 

At that moment a somewhat startling incident occurred. The keys werewhisked out of Mr. Ketch's hand, and fell, or appeared to fall, with aclatter on the flags at his feet. He turned his anger upon Jenkins. 

"Now then, you senseless calf! What did you do that for?"

"Did you speak?" asked Jenkins, taking his elbows from the distantwindow-frame, and approaching. 

Mr. Ketch felt a little staggered. His belief had been that Jenkins hadcome up silently, and dashed the keys from his hand; but Jenkins, itappeared, had not left the window. However, like too many othercross-grained spirits, he persisted in venting blame upon him. 

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, to play an old man such a trick?"

"I have played no trick, " said Jenkins. "I thought I saw a glowworm, and I stopped to look; but I couldn't see it again. There's no trick inthat. "

"Ugh!" cried the porter in his wrath. "You took and clutched the keysfrom me, and throwed 'em on the ground! Pick 'em up. "

"Well, I never heard the like!" said Jenkins. "I was not within yardsand yards of you. If you dropped the keys it was no fault of mine. "But, being a peaceably-inclined man, he stooped and found the keys. 

The porter grunted. An inner current of conviction rose in his heartthat he must undoubtedly have dropped them, though he could havedeclared at the time that they were mysteriously snatched from him. Heseized the string firmly now, and hobbled on to the west door, abusingJenkins all the way. 

They arrived at the west door, which was gained by a narrow closedpassage from the gate of entrance, as was the south door in a similarmanner; and there Mr. Ketch used his eyes and his tongue considerably, for the door, instead of being open, as he had left it, was shut andlocked. 

"What on earth has done this?" shrieked he. 

"Done what?" asked Mr. Jenkins. 

"Done what!" was the irascible echo. "Be you a fool, Joe Jenkins? Don'tyou see the door's fast!"

"Unfasten it, " said Jenkins sensibly. 

Mr. Ketch proceeded to do so--at least to apply one of the keys to thelock--with much fumbling. It apparently did not occur to him to wonderhow the locking-up process could have been effected, considering thatthe key had been in his own possession. 

Fumbling and fumbling, now with one key, now with the other, and thencritically feeling the keys and their wards, the truth at length burstupon the unhappy man that the keys were not the right keys, and that heand Jenkins were--locked in! A profuse perspiration broke out over him. 

"They _must_ be the keys, " remonstrated Mr. Jenkins. 

"They are _not_ the keys, " shrieked Ketch. "D'ye think I don't know myown keys, now I come to feel 'em?"

"But they were your keys that fell down and that I picked up, " arguedJenkins, perfectly sure in his own mind that they could be no others. "There was not a fairy in the cloisters to come and change them. "

"Feel 'em!" roared Ketch, in his despair. "These be a couple of horrid, rusty old things, that can't have been in use since the cloisters wasbuilt. _You_ have changed 'em, you have!" he sobbed, the notion takingpossession of him forcibly. "You are a-doing it to play me a infamoustrick, and I'll have you up before the dean to-morrow! I'll shake thelife out of you, I will!"

Laying summary hold of Mr. Jenkins, he began to shake him with all hisfeeble strength. The latter soon extricated himself, and he succeededin impressing on the man the fallacy of his suspicion. "Don't I want toget home to my supper and my wife? Don't I tell you that she'll setupon me like anything for keeping it waiting?" he meekly remonstrated. "Do I want to be locked up in these unpleasant cloisters? Give me thekeys and let me try them. "

Ketch, in sheer helplessness, was fain to comply. He resigned the keysto Jenkins, and Jenkins tried them: but he was none the nearerunlocking the gate. In their increasing perplexity, they resolved toreturn to the place in the quadrangle where the keys had fallen--a veryforlorn suggestion proceeding from Mr. Jenkins that the right keysmight be lying there still, and that this rusty pair might, by somecurious and unaccountable chance, have been lying there also. 

They commenced their search, disputing, the one hotly, the othertemperately, as to which was the exact spot. With feet and hands theyhunted as well as the dark would allow them; all in vain; and Ketchgave vent to a loud burst of feeling when he realized the fact thatthey were positively locked up in the cloisters, beyond hope ofsuccour, in the dark and lonely night. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A MISHAP TO THE BISHOP. 

"Fordham, I wonder whether the cloisters are closed?"

"I will see, my lord. "

The question came from the Bishop of Helstonleigh; who, as it fell out, had been to make an evening call upon the dean. The dean's servant wasnow conducting his lordship down the grand staircase, on his departure. In proceeding to the palace from the deanery, to go through thecloisters cut off quite two-thirds of the distance. 

Fordham left the hall, a lamp in his hand, and traversed sundrypassages which brought him to the deanery garden. Crossing the garden, and treading another short passage, he came to the cloisters. Thebishop had followed, lighted by Fordham, and talking affably. A verypleasant man was the Bishop of Helstonleigh, standing little upon formsand ceremonies. In frame he was nearly as active as a college boy. 

"It is all right, I think, my lord, " said Fordham. "I hear the porter'svoice now in the cloisters. "

"How dark it is!" exclaimed the bishop. "Ketch must be closing lateto-night. What a noise he is making!"

In point of fact, Mr. Ketch had just arrived at that agreeable momentwhich concluded the last chapter--the conviction that no other keyswere to be found, and that he and Jenkins were fast. The tone in whichhe was making his sentiments known upon the calamity, was not a subduedone. 

"Shall I light you round, my lord?"

"By no means--by no means. I shall be up with Ketch in a minute. Heseems in a temper. Good night, Fordham. "

"Good night to your lordship. "

The servant went back to the deanery. The prelate groped his way roundto the west quadrangle. 

"Are you closing, Ketch?"

Mr. Ketch started as if he had been shot, and his noise dropped to acalm. Truth to say, his style of complaint had not been orthodox, orexactly suitable to the ears of his bishop. He and Jenkins bothrecognized the voice, and bowed low, dark though it was. 

"What is the matter, Ketch? You are making enough noise. "

"Matter, my lord!" groaned Ketch. "Here's matter enough to make asaint--saving your lordship's presence--forget his prayers. We belocked up in the cloisters. "

"Locked up!" repeated the bishop. "What do you mean? Who is with you?"

"It is me, my lord, " said Jenkins, meekly, answering for himself. "Joseph Jenkins, my lord, at Mr. Galloway's. I came in with the porterjust for company, my lord, when he came to lock up, and we have somehowgot locked in. "

The bishop demanded an explanation. It was not very easily afforded. Ketch and Jenkins talked one against the other, and when the bishop didat length understand the tale, he scarcely gave credence to it. 

"It is an incomprehensible story, Ketch, that you should drop yourkeys, and they should be changed for others as they lay on the flags. Are you sure you brought out the right keys?"

"My lord, I _couldn't_ bring out any others, " returned Ketch, in a tonethat longed to betray its resentment, and would have betrayed it to anyone but a bishop. "I haven't no others to bring, my lord. The two keyshang up on the nail always, and there ain't another key besides in thehouse, except the door key. "

"Some one must have changed them previously--must have hung up these intheir places, " remarked the bishop. 

"But, my lord, it couldn't be, I say, " reiterated old Ketch, almostshrieking. "I know the keys just as well as I know my own hands, andthey was the right keys that I brought out. The best proof, my lord, is, that I locked the south door fast enough; and how could I have donethat with these wretched old rusty things?"

"The keys must be on the flags still, " said his lordship. 

"That is the only conclusion I can come to, my lord, " mildly put inJenkins. "But we cannot find them. "

"And meanwhile we are locked in for the night, and here's his rightreverend lordship, the bishop, locked in with us!" danced old Ketch, almost beside himself with anger. "Of course, it wouldn't matter for meand Jenkins: speaking in comparison, we are nobody; but it is ashameful indignity for my lord. "

"We must try and get out, Ketch, " said his lordship, in a tone thatsounded as if he were more inclined to laugh than cry. "I will go backto the deanery. "

Away went the bishop as quickly as the gloom allowed him, and away wentthe other two in his wake. Arrived at the passage which led from thecloisters to the deanery garden they groped their way to the end--onlyto find the door closed and locked. 

"Well, this is a pleasant situation!" exclaimed the bishop, his tonebetraying amusement as well as annoyance; and with his own prelaticalhands he pummelled at the door, and shouted with his own prelaticalvoice. When the bishop was tired, Jenkins and Ketch began to pummel andto shout, and they pummelled and shouted till their knuckles were soreand their throats were hoarse. It was all in vain. The gardenintervened between them and the deanery, and they could not be heard. 

It certainly was a pretty situation, as the prelate remarked. The RightReverend the Lord Bishop of Helstonleigh, ranking about fifth, byprecedence, on the episcopal bench, locked up ignominiously in thecloisters of Helstonleigh, with Ketch the porter, and Jenkins thesteward's clerk; likely, so far as appearances might be trusted, tohave to pass the night there! The like had never yet been heard of. 

The bishop went to the south gate, and tried the keys himself: thebishop went to the west gate and tried them there; the bishop stampedabout the west quadrangle, hoping to stamp upon the missing keys; butnothing came of it. Ketch and Jenkins attended him--Ketch grumbling inthe most angry terms that he dared, Jenkins in humble silence. 

"I really do not see what is to be done, " debated the bishop, who, nodoubt, wished himself well out of the dilemma, as any less exaltedmortal would have done, "The doors leading into the college are sure tobe closed. "

"Quite sure, " groaned Ketch. 

"And to get into the college would not serve us, that I see, " added thebishop. "We should be no better off there than here. "

"Saving that we might ring the bell, my lord, " suggested Jenkins, withdeference. 

They proceeded to the college gates. It was a forlorn hope, and onethat did not serve them. The gates were locked, the doors closed behindthem. No reaching the bell that way; it might as well have been ahundred miles off. 

They traversed the cloisters again, and tried the door of theschoolroom. It was locked. Had it not been, the senior boy might haveexpected punishment from the head-master. They tried the small doorleading into the residence of Dr. Burrows--fast also; that abode justnow was empty. The folding doors of the chapter-house were openedeasily, and they entered. But what did it avail them? There was thelarge, round room, lined with its books, furnished with its immensetable and easy-chairs; but it was as much shut in from the hearing ofthe outside world as they were. The bishop came into contact with achair, and sat down in it. Jenkins, who, as clerk to Mr. Galloway, thesteward to the dean and chapter, was familiar with the chapter-house, felt his way to the spot where he knew matches were sometimes kept. Hecould not find any: it was the time of light evenings. 

"There's just one chance, my lord, " suggested Jenkins. "That the littleunused door at the corner of the cloisters, leading into the body ofthe cathedral, may not be locked. "

"Precious careless of the sextons, if it is not!" grunted Ketch. 

"It is a door nobody ever thinks of going in at, my lord, " returnedJenkins, as if he would apologize for the sextons' carelessness, shouldit be found unfastened. "If it is open, we might get to the bell. "

"The sextons, proud, stuck-up gentlemen, be made up of carelessness andanything else that's bad!" groaned Ketch. "Holding up their heads aboveus porters!"

It was worth the trial. The bishop rose from the chair, and groped hisway out of the chapter-house, the two others following. 

"If it hadn't been for that Jenkins's folly, fancying he saw a light inthe burying-ground, and me turning round to order him to come on, itmight not have happened, " grumbled Ketch, as they wound round thecloisters. 

"A light in the burial-ground!" hastily repeated the bishop. "Whatlight?"

"Oh, a corpse-candle, or some nonsense of that sort, he had his mindrunning on, my lord. Half the world is idiots, and Jenkins is thebiggest of 'em. "

"My lord, " spoke poor Jenkins, deprecatingly, "I never had such athought within me as that it was a 'corpse-candle. ' I said I fancied itmight be a glowworm. And I believe it was one, my lord. "

"A more sensible thought than the other, " observed the prelate. 

Luck at last! The door was found to be unlocked. It was a low narrowdoor, only used on the very rare occasion of a funeral, and wassituated in a shady, out-of-the-way nook, where no one ever thought oflooking. "Oh, come, this is something!" cried the bishop, cheerily, ashe stepped into the cathedral. 

"And your lordship now sees what fine careless sextons we have got!"struck in Ketch. 

"We must overlook their carelessness this time, in consideration of theservice it renders us, " said the bishop, in a kindly tone. "Take careof the pillars, Ketch. "

"Thank ye, my lord. I'm going along with my hands held out before me, to save my head, " returned Ketch. 

Most likely the bishop and Jenkins were doing the same. Dexterouslysteering clear of the pillars, they emerged in the wide, open body ofthe cathedral, and bent their steps across it to the spot where hungthe ropes of the bells. 

The head sexton to the cathedral--whom you must not confound with agravedigger, as you might an ordinary sexton; cathedral sextons arepersonages of more importance--was seated about this hour at supper inhis home, close to the cathedral. Suddenly the deep-toned college bellboomed out, and the man started as if a gun had been fired at him. 

"Why, that's the college bell!" he uttered to his family. And thefamily stared with open mouths without replying. 

The college bell it certainly was, and it was striking out sharpirregular strokes, as though the ringer were not accustomed to hiswork. The sexton started up, in a state of the most amazedconsternation. 

"It is magic; it is nothing less--that the bell should be ringing outat this hour!" exclaimed he. 

"Father, " suggested a juvenile, "perhaps somebody's got locked up inthe college. " For which prevision he was rewarded with a stinging smackon the head. 

"Take that, sir! D'ye think I don't know better than to lock folks upin the college? It was me, myself, as locked up this evening. "

"No need to box him for that, " resented the wife. "The bell _is_ringing, and I'll be bound the boy's right enough. One of them masonsmust have fallen asleep in the day, and has just woke up to findhimself shut in. Hope he likes his berth!"

Whatever it might be, ringing the bell, whether magic or mason, ofcourse it must be seen to; and the sexton hastened out, the cathedralkeys in his hand. He bent his steps towards the front entrance, passingthe cloisters, which, as he knew, would be locked at that hour. "Andthat bear of a Ketch won't hurry himself to unlock them, " soliloquizedhe. 

He found the front gates surrounded. The bell had struck upon thewondering ears of many living within the precincts of the cathedral, who flocked out to ascertain the reason. Amongst others, the collegeboys were coming up in troops. 

"Now, good people, please--by your leave!" cried the sexton. "Let meget to the gates. "

They made way for the man and his ponderous keys, and entrance to thecollege was gained. The sexton was beginning a sharp reproof to the"mason, " and the crowd preparing a chorus to it, when they were seizedwith consternation, and fell back on each other's toes. It was theBishop of Helstonleigh, in his laced-up hat and apron, who walkedforth. 

The sexton humbly snatched off his hat; the college boys raised theirtrenchers. 

"Thank you all for coming to the rescue, " said the bishop, in apleasant tone. "It was not an agreeable situation, to be locked in thecathedral. "

"My lord, " stammered the sexton, in awe-struck dread, as to whether hehad unwittingly been the culprit: "how did your lordship get lockedin?"

"That is what we must inquire into, " replied the bishop. 

The next to hobble out was Ketch. In his own fashion, almost ignoringthe presence of the bishop, he made known the tale. It was receivedwith ridicule. The college boys especially cast mockery upon it, andbegan dancing a jig when the bishop's back was turned. "Let a couple ofkeys drop down, and, when picked up, you found them transmogrified intoold rusty machines, made in the year one!" cried Bywater. "_That's_very like a whale, Ketch!"

Ketch tore off to his lodge, as fast as his lumbago allowed him, calling upon the crowd to come and look at the nail where the keysalways hung, except when in use, and holding out the rusty dissemblersfor public view, in a furious passion. 

He dashed open the door. The college boys, pushing before the crowd, and following on the bishop's heels--who had probably his own reasonsfor wishing to see the solution of the affair--thronged into the lodge. "There's the nail, my lord, and there--"

Ketch stopped, dumbfounded. On the nail, hanging by the string, asquietly as if they had hung for ages, were the cloister keys. Ketchrubbed his eyes, and stared, and rubbed again. The bishop smiled. 

"I told you, Ketch, I thought you must be mistaken, in supposing youbrought the proper keys out. "

Ketch burst into a wail of anger and deprecation. He had took out theright keys, and Jenkins could bear him out in the assertion. Somewicked trick had been played upon him, and the keys brought back duringhis absence and hung up on their hook! He'd lay his life it was thecollege boys!

The bishop turned his eyes on those young gentlemen. But nothing couldbe more innocent than their countenances, as they stood before him intheir trenchers. Rather too innocent, perhaps: and the bishop's eyestwinkled, and a half-smile crossed his lips; but he made no sign. Wellwould it be if all the clergy were as sweet-tempered as that Bishop ofHelstonleigh!

"Well, Ketch, take care of your keys for the future, " was all he said, as he walked away. "Good night, boys. "

"Good night to your lordship, " replied the boys, once more raisingtheir trenchers; and the crowd, outside, respectfully saluted theirprelate, who returned it in kind. 

"What are you waiting for, Thorpe?" the bishop demanded, when he foundthe sexton was still at the great gates, holding them about an inchopen. 

"For Jenkins, my lord, " was the reply. "Ketch said he was also lockedin. "

"Certainly he was, " replied the bishop. "Has he not come forth?"

"That he has not, my lord. I have let nobody whatever out except yourlordship and the porter. I have called out to him, but he does notanswer, and does not come. "

"He went up into the organ-loft in search of a candle and matches, "remarked the bishop. "You had better go after him, Thorpe. He may notknow that the doors are open. "

The bishop left, crossing over to the palace. Thorpe, calling one ofthe old bedesmen, some of whom had then come up, left him in charge ofthe gate, and did as he was ordered. He descended the steps, passedthrough the wide doors, and groped his way in the dark towards thechoir. 

"Jenkins!"

There was no answer. 

"Jenkins!" he called out again. 

Still there was no answer: except the sound of the sexton's own voiceas it echoed in the silence of the large edifice. 

"Well, this is an odd go!" exclaimed Thorpe, as he leaned against apillar and surveyed the darkness of the cathedral. "He can't havemelted away into a ghost, or dropped down into the crypt among thecoffins. Jenkins, I say!"

With a word of impatience at the continued silence, the sexton returnedto the entrance gates. All that could be done was to get a light andsearch for him. 

They procured a lantern, Ketch ungraciously supplying it; and thesexton, taking two or three of the spectators with him, proceeded tothe search. "He has gone to sleep in the organ-loft, that is what hehas done, " cried Thorpe, making known what the bishop had said. 

Alas! Jenkins had not gone to sleep. At the foot of the steps, leadingto the organ-loft, they came upon him. He was lying there insensible, blood oozing from a wound in the forehead. How had it come about? Whathad caused it?

Meanwhile, the college boys, after driving Mr. Ketch nearly wild withtheir jokes and ridicule touching the mystery of the keys, were scaredby the sudden appearance of the head-master. They decamped as fast astheir legs could carry them, bringing themselves to an anchor at a safedistance, under shade of the friendly elm trees. Bywater stuck his backagainst one, and his laughter came forth in peals. Some of the resttried to stop it, whispering caution. 

"It's of no good talking, you fellows! I can't keep it in; I shallburst if I try. I have been at bursting point ever since I twitched thekeys out of his hands in the cloisters, and threw the rusty ones down. You see I was right--that it was best for one of us to go in withoutour boots, and to wait. If half a dozen had gone, we should never havegot away unheard. "

"_I_ pretty nearly burst when I saw the bishop come out, instead ofKetch, " cried Tod Yorke. "Burst with fright. "

"So did a few more of us, " said Galloway. "I say, will there be a row?"

"Goodness knows! He is a kind old chap is the bishop. Better for it tohave been him than the dean. "

"What was it Ketch said, about Jenkins seeing a glowworm?"

"Oh!" shrieked Bywater, holding his sides, "that was the best of all! Ihad taken a lucifer out of my pocket, playing with it, while they wentround to the south gate, and it suddenly struck fire. I threw it overto the burial-ground: and that soft Jenkins took it for a glowworm. "

"It's a stunning go!" emphatically concluded Mr. Tod Yorke. "The bestwe have had this half, yet. "

"Hush--sh--sh--sh!" whispered the boys under their breath. "There goesthe master. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

MAD NANCE. 

Mr. Galloway was in his office. Mr. Galloway was fuming and fretting atthe non-arrival of his clerk, Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Jenkins was a punctualman; in fact, more than punctual: his proper time for arriving at theoffice was half-past nine; but the cathedral clock had rarely struckthe quarter-past before Mr. Jenkins would be at his post. Almost anyother morning it would not have mattered a straw to Mr. Gallowaywhether Jenkins was a little after or a little before his time; but onthis particular morning he had especial need of him, and had comehimself to the office unusually early. 

One-two, three-four! chimed the quarters of the cathedral. "There itgoes--half-past nine!" ejaculated Mr. Galloway. "What _does_ Jenkinsmean by it? He knew he was wanted early. "

A sharp knock at the office door, and there entered a little darkwoman, in a black bonnet and a beard. She was Mr. Jenkins's betterhalf, and had the reputation for being considerably the grey mare. 

"Good morning, Mr. Galloway. A pretty kettle of fish, this is!"

"What's the matter now?" asked Mr. Galloway, surprised at the address. "Where's Jenkins?"

"Jenkins is in bed with his head plastered up. He's the greatest boobyliving, and would positively have come here all the same, but I toldhim I'd strap him down with cords if he attempted it. A pretty objecthe'd have looked, staggering through the streets, with his head bigenough for two, and held together with white plaster!"

"What has he done to his head?" wondered Mr. Galloway. 

"Good gracious! have you not heard?" exclaimed the lady, whose mode ofspeech was rarely overburdened with polite words, though she meant nodisrespect by it. "He got locked up in the cloisters last night withold Ketch and the bishop. "

Mr. Galloway stared at her. He had been dining, the previous evening, with some friends at the other end of the town, and knew nothing of theoccurrence. Had he been within hearing when the college bell tolled outat night, he would have run to ascertain the cause as eagerly as anyschoolboy. "Locked up in the cloisters with old Ketch and the bishop!"he repeated, in amazement. "I do not understand. "

Mrs. Jenkins proceeded to enlighten him. She gave the explanation ofthe strange affair of the keys, as it had been given to her by theunlucky Joe. While telling it, Arthur Channing entered, and, almostimmediately afterwards, Roland Yorke. 

"The bishop, of all people!" uttered Mr. Galloway. "What an untowardthing for his lordship!"

"No more untoward for him than for others, " retorted the lady. "It justserves Jenkins right. What business had he to go dancing through thecloisters with old Ketch and his keys?"

"But how did Jenkins get hurt?" asked Mr. Galloway, for that particularpoint had not yet been touched upon. 

"He is the greatest fool going, is Jenkins, " was the complimentaryretort of Jenkins's wife. "After he had helped to ring out the bell, hemust needs go poking and groping into the organ-loft, hunting formatches or some such insane rubbish. He might have known, had hepossessed any sense, that candles and matches are not likely to bethere in summer-time! Why, if the organist wanted ever so much to stopin after dark, when the college is locked up for the night, he wouldn'tbe allowed to do it! It's only in winter, when he has to light a candleto get through the afternoon service, that they keep matches and dipsup there. "

"But about his head?" repeated Mr. Galloway, who was aware of thenatural propensity of Mrs. Jenkins to wander from the point underdiscussion. 

"Yes, about his head!" she wrathfully answered. "In attempting todescend the stairs again, he missed his footing, and pitched right downto the bottom of the flight. That's how his head came in for it. Hewants a nurse with him always, does Jenkins, for he is no better than achild in leading-strings. "

"Is he much hurt?"

"And there he'd have lain till morning, but for the bishop, " resumedMrs. Jenkins, passing over the inquiry. "After his lordship got out, he, finding Jenkins did not come, told Thorpe to go and look for him inthe organ-loft. Thorpe said he should have done nothing of the sort, but for the bishop's order; he was just going to lock the great doorsagain, and there Jenkins would have been fast! They found him lying atthe foot of the stairs, just inside the choir gates, with no more lifein him than there is in a dead man. "

"I asked you whether he is seriously hurt, Mrs. Jenkins. "

"Pretty well. He came to his senses as they were bringing him home, andsomebody ran for Hurst, the surgeon. He is better this morning. "

"But not well enough to come to business?"

"Hurst told him if he worried himself with business, or anything elseto-day, he'd get brain fever as sure as a gun. He ordered him to stopin bed and keep quiet, if he could. "

"Of course he must do so, " observed Mr. Galloway. 

"There is no of course in it, when men are the actors, " dissented Mrs. Jenkins. "Hurst did well to say 'if he could, ' when ordering him tokeep quiet. I'd rather have an animal ill in the house, than I'd have aman--they are ten times more reasonable. There has Jenkins been, tormenting himself ever since seven o'clock this morning about cominghere; he was wanted particularly, he said. 'Would you go if you weredead?' I asked him; and he stood it out that if he were dead it wouldbe a different thing. 'Not different at all, ' I said. A nice thing itwould be to have to nurse him through a brain fever!"

"I am grieved that it should have happened, " said Mr. Galloway, kindly. "Tell him from me, that we can manage very well without him. He mustnot venture here again, until Mr. Hurst says he may come with safety. "

"I should have told him that, to pacify him, whether you had said it ornot, " candidly avowed Mrs. Jenkins. "And now I must go back home on therun. As good have no one to mind my shop as that young house-girl ofours. If a customer comes in for a pair of black stockings, she'll takeand give 'em a white knitted nightcap. She's as deficient of commonsense as Jenkins is. Your servant, sir. Good morning, young gentlemen!"

"Here, wait a minute!" cried Mr. Galloway, as she was speeding off. "Icannot understand at all. The keys could not have been changed as theylay on the flags. "

"Neither can anybody else understand it, " returned Mrs. Jenkins. "IfJenkins was not a sober man--and he had better let me catch him beinganything else!--I should say the two, him and Ketch, had had a drop toomuch. The bishop himself could make neither top nor tail of it. It'llteach Jenkins not to go gallivanting again after other folk'sbusiness!"

She finally turned away, and Mr. Galloway set himself to revolve theperplexing narrative. The more he thought, the less he was nearer doingso; like the bishop, he could make neither top nor tail of it. "It isentirely beyond belief!" he remarked to Arthur Channing; "unless Ketchtook out the wrong keys!"

"And if he took out the wrong keys, how could he have locked the southdoor?" interrupted Roland Yorke. "I'd lay anybody five shillings thatthose mischievous scamps of college boys were at the bottom of it; Itaxed Gerald with it, and he flew out at me for my pains. But theseniors may not have been in it. You should have heard the bell clankout last night, Mr. Galloway!"

"I suppose it brought out a few, " was Mr. Galloway's rejoinder. 

"It did that, " said Arthur Channing. "Myself for one. When I saw thebishop emerge from the college doors, I could scarcely believe mysight. "

"I'd have given half-a-crown to see him!" cried Roland Yorke. "Ifthere's any fun going on, it is sure to be my fate to miss it. Catorwas at my house, having a cigar with me; and, though we heard the bell, we did not disturb ourselves to see what it might mean. "

"What is your opinion of last night's work, Arthur?" asked Mr. Galloway, returning to the point. 

Arthur's opinion was a very decided one, but he did not choose to sayso. The meeting with the college boys at their stealthy post in thecloisters, when he and Hamish were passing through at dusk, a fewnights before, coupled with the hints then thrown out of the "servingout" of Ketch, could leave little doubt as to the culprits. Arthurreturned an answer, couched in general terms. 

"Could it have been the college boys, think you?" debated Mr. Galloway. 

"Not being a college boy, I cannot speak positively, sir, " he said, laughing. "Gaunt knows nothing of it. I met him as I was going home tobreakfast from my early hour's work here, and he told me he did not. There would have been no harm done, after all, but for the accident toJenkins. "

"One of you gentlemen can just step in to see Jenkins in the course ofthe day, and reassure him that he is not wanted, " said Mr. Galloway. "Iknow how necessary it is to keep the mind tranquil in any fear of brainaffection. "

No more was said, and the occupation of the day began. A busy day wasthat at Mr. Galloway's, much to the chagrin of Roland Yorke, who had anunconquerable objection to doing too much. He broke out into grumblingsat Arthur, when the latter came running in from his duty at college. 

"I'll tell you what is, Channing; you ought not to have made thebargain to go to that bothering organ on busy days; and Galloway musthave been out of his mind to let you make it. Look at the heap of workthere is to do!"

"I will soon make up for the lost hour, " said Arthur, setting to with awill. "Where's Mr. Galloway?"

"Gone to the bank, " grumbled Roland. "And I have had to answer a dozencallers-in at least, and do all my writing besides. I wonder whatpossessed Jenkins to go and knock his head to powder?"

Mr. Galloway shortly returned, and sat down to write. It was a thing herarely did; he left writing to his clerks, unless it was the writing ofletters. By one o'clock the chief portion of the work was done, and Mr. Roland Yorke's spirits recovered their elasticity. He went home todinner, as usual. Arthur preferred to remain at his post, and get onfurther, sending the housekeeper's little maid out for a twopenny roll, which he ate as he wrote. He was of a remarkably conscientious nature, and thought it only fair to sacrifice a little time in case of need, inreturn for the great favour which had been granted him by Mr. Galloway. Many of the families who had sons in the college school dined at oneo'clock, as it was the most convenient hour for the boys. Growingyouths are not satisfied with anything less substantial than a dinnerin the middle of the day, and two dinners in a household tell heavilyupon the house-keeping. The Channings did not afford two, neither didLady Augusta Yorke; so their hour was one o'clock. 

"What a muff you must be to go without your dinner!" cried Roland Yorketo Arthur, when he returned at two o'clock. "I wouldn't. "

"I have had my dinner, " said Arthur. 

"What did you have?" cried Roland, pricking up his ears. "Did Gallowaysend to the hotel for roast ducks and green peas? That's what we had athome, and the peas were half-boiled, and the ducks were scorched, andcooked without stuffing. A wretched set of incapables our house turnsout! and my lady does not know how to alter it. You have actuallyfinished that deed, Channing?"

"It is finished, you see. It is surprising how much one can do in aquiet hour!"

"Is Galloway out?"

Arthur pointed with his pen to the door of Mr. Galloway's private room, to indicate that he was in it. "He is writing letters. "

"I say, Channing, there's positively nothing left to do, " went onRoland, casting his eyes over the desk. "Here are these leases, butthey are not wanted until to-morrow. Who says we can't work in thisoffice?"

Arthur laughed good-naturedly, to think of the small amount, out ofthat day's work, which had fallen to Roland's share. 

Some time elapsed. Mr. Galloway came into their room from his own toconsult a "Bradshaw, " which lay on the shelf, alongside Jenkins's desk. He held in his hand a very closely-written letter. It was of large, letter-paper size, and appeared to be filled to the utmost of its fourpages. While he was looking at the book, the cathedral clock chimed thethree-quarters past two, and the bell rang for divine service. 

"It can never be that time of day!" exclaimed Mr. Galloway, inconsternation, as he took out his watch. "Sixteen minutes to three! andI am a minute slow! How has the time passed? I ought to have been at--"

Mr. Galloway brought his words to a standstill, apparently too absorbedin the railway guide to conclude them. Roland Yorke, who had a freetongue, even with his master, filled up the pause. 

"Were you going out, sir?"

"Is that any business of yours, Mr. Roland? Talking won't fill in thatlease, sir. "

"The lease is not in a hurry, sir, " returned incorrigible Roland. Buthe held his tongue then, and bent his head over his work. 

Mr. Galloway dipped his pen in the ink, and copied something from"Bradshaw" into the closely-written letter, standing at Jenkins's deskto do it; then he passed the blotting-paper quickly over the words, andfolded the letter. 

"Channing, " he said, speaking very hastily, "you will see atwenty-pound bank-note on my desk, and the directed envelope of thisletter; bring them here. "

Arthur went, and brought forth the envelope and bank-note. Mr. Gallowaydoubled the note in four and slipped it between the folds of theletter, putting both into the envelope. He had fastened it down, when aloud noise and commotion was heard in the street. Curious as are saidto be antiquated maidens, Mr. Galloway rushed to the window and threwit up, his two clerks attending in his wake. 

Something very fine, in a white dress, and pink and scarlet flowers onher bonnetless head, as if attired for an evening party, was whirlinground the middle of the road in circles: a tall woman, who must oncehave been beautiful. She appeared to be whirling someone else with her, amid laughter and shrieks, and cries and groans, from the gatheringmob. 

"It is Mad Nance!" uttered Mr. Galloway. "Poor thing! she really oughtto be in confinement. "

So every one had said for a long time, but no one bestirred themselvesto place her in it. This unfortunate creature, Mad Nance, as she wascalled, was sufficiently harmless to be at large on sufferance, andsufficiently mad at times to put a street in an uproar. In her leastsane moments she would appear, as now, in an old dimity white dress, scrupulously washed and ironed, and decorated with innumerable frills;some natural flowers, generally wild ones, in her hair. Dandelions wereher favourites; she would make them into a wreath, and fasten it on, letting her entangled hair hang beneath. To-day she had contrived topick up some geranium blossoms, scarlet and pink. 

"Who has she got hold of there?" exclaimed Mr. Galloway. "He does notseem to like it. "

Arthur burst into laughter when he discovered that it was Harper, thelay-clerk. This unlucky gentleman, who had been quietly andinoffensively proceeding up Close Street on his way to service in thecathedral, was seized upon by Mad Nance by the hands. He was a thin, weak little man, a very reed in her strong grasp. She shrieked, shelaughed, she danced, she flew with him round and round. He shriekedalso; his hat was off, his wig was gone; and it was half the businessof Mr. Harper's life to make that wig appear as his own hair. Hetalked, he raved, he remonstrated; I am very much afraid that he swore. Mr. Galloway laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. 

The crowd was parted by an authoritative hand, and the same hand, gentle now, laid its firmness upon the woman and released the prisoner. It was Hamish Channing who had come to the rescue, suppressing hismirth as he best could while he effected it. 

"I'll have the law of her!" panted Harper, as he picked up his hat andwig. "If there's justice to be got in Helstonleigh, she shall sufferfor this! It's a town's shame to let her go about, molesting peaceablewayfarers, and shaking the life out of them!"

Something at a distance appeared to attract the attention of theunhappy woman, and she flew away. Hamish and Mr. Harper were left alonein the streets, the latter still exploding with wrath, and vowing allsorts of revenge. 

"Put up with it quietly, Harper, " advised Hamish. "She is like a littlechild, not accountable for her actions. "

"That's just like you, Mr. Hamish Channing. If they took your head off, you'd put up with it! How would you like your wig flung away in thesight of a whole street?"

"I don't wear one, " answered Hamish, laughing. "Here's your hat; notmuch damaged, apparently. "

Mr. Harper, settling his wig on his head, and composing himself as hebest could, continued his way to the cathedral, turning his hat aboutin his hand, and closely looking at it. Hamish stepped across to Mr. Galloway's, meeting that gentleman at the door. 

"A good thing you came up as you did, Mr. Hamish. Harper will rememberMad Nance for a year to come. "

"I expect he will, " replied Hamish, laughing still. Mr. Gallowaylaughed also, and walked hastily down the street. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

KEEPING OFFICE. 

Hamish entered the office. Arthur and Roland Yorke had their headsstretched out of the window, and did not hear his footsteps. Headvanced quietly and brought his hands down hastily upon the shoulderof each. Roland started, and knocked his head against the window-frame. 

"How you startle a fellow! I thought it was Mad Nance come in to layhands upon me. "

"She has laid hands upon enough for one day, " said Hamish. "Harper willdream of her to-night. "

"I thought Galloway would have gone into a fit, he laughed so, " criedArthur. "As for my sides, they'll ache for an hour. "

Roland Yorke's lip curled with an angry expression. "My opinion agreeswith Harper's, " he said. "I think Mad Nance ought to be punished. Weare none of us safe from her, if this is to be her game. "

"If you punish her to-day, she would do the same again to-morrow, werethe fit to come over her, " rejoined Hamish. "It is not often she breaksout like this. The only thing is to steer clear of her. "

"Hamish has a fellow-feeling for Mad Nance, " mockingly spoke RolandYorke. 

"Yes, poor thing! for her story is a sad one. If the same grievouswrong were worked upon some of us, perhaps we might take to dancing forthe benefit of the public. Talking of the public, Arthur, " continuedHamish, turning to his brother, "what became of you at dinner-time? Themother was for setting the town-crier to work. "

"I could not get home to-day. We have had double work to do, as Jenkinsis away. "

Hamish tilted himself on to the edge of Mr. Jenkins's desk, and took upthe letter, apparently in absence of mind, which Mr. Galloway had leftthere, ready for the post. "Mr. Robert Galloway, Sea View Terrace, Ventnor, Isle of Wight, " he read aloud. "That must be Mr. Galloway'scousin, " he remarked: "the one who has run through so much money. "

"Of course it is, " answered Roland Yorke. "Galloway pretty near keepshim: I know there's a twenty-pound bank-note going to him in thatletter. Catch me doing it if I were Galloway. "

"I wish it was going into my pocket instead, " said Hamish, balancingthe letter on his fingers, as if wishing to test its weight. 

"I wish the clouds would drop sovereigns! But they don't, " said RolandYorke. 

Hamish put the letter back from whence he had taken it, and jumped offthe desk. "I must be walking, " said he. "Stopping here will not do mywork. If we--"

"By Jove! there's Knivett!" uttered Roland Yorke. "Where's he off to, so fast? I have something that I must tell him. "

Snatching up his hat, Roland darted at full speed out of the office, insearch of one who was running at full speed also down the street. Hamish looked out, amused, at the chase; Arthur, who had called afterRoland in vain, seemed vexed. "Knivett is one of the fleetest runnersin Helstonleigh, " said Hamish. "Yorke will scarcely catch him up. "

"I wish Yorke would allow himself a little thought, and not act uponimpulse, " exclaimed Arthur. "I cannot stop three minutes longer: and heknows that! I shall be late for college. "

He was already preparing to go there. Putting some papers in order uponhis desk, and locking up others, he carried the letter for Ventnor intoMr. Galloway's private room and placed it in the letter rack. Twoothers, ready for the post, were lying there. Then he went to the frontdoor to look out for Yorke. Yorke was not to be seen. 

"What a thoughtless fellow he is!" exclaimed Arthur, in his vexation. "What is to be done? Hamish, you will have to stop here. "

"Thank you! what else?" asked Hamish. 

"I must be at the college, whatever betide. " This was true: yet neithermight the office be left vacant. Arthur grew a little flurried. "Dostay, Hamish: it will not hinder you five minutes, I dare say. Yorke issure to be in. "

Hamish came to the door, halting on its first step, and looking outover Arthur's shoulder. He drew his head in again with a suddenmovement. 

"Is not that old Hopper down there?" he asked, in a whisper, the tonesounding as one of fear. 

Arthur turned his eyes on a shabby old man who was crossing the end ofthe street, and saw Hopper, the sheriff's officer. "Yes, why?"

"It is that old fellow who holds the writ. He may be on the watch forme now. I can't go out just yet, Arthur; I'll stay here till Yorkecomes back again. "

He returned to the office, sat down and leaned his brow upon his hand. A strange brow of care it was just then, according ill with the gayface of Hamish Channing. Arthur, waiting for no second permission, flewtowards the cathedral as fast as his long legs would carry him. Thedean and chapter were preparing to leave the chapter-house as he torepast it, through the cloisters. Three o'clock was striking. Arthur'sheart and breath were alike panting when he gained the dark stairs. Atthat moment, to his excessive astonishment, the organ began to pealforth. 

Seated at it was Mr. Williams; and a few words of explanation ensued. The organist said he should remain for the service, which renderedArthur at liberty to go back again. 

He was retracing his steps underneath the elm-trees in the Boundariesat a slower pace than he had recently passed them, when, in turning acorner, he came face to face with the sheriff's officer. Arthur, whosethoughts were at that moment fixed upon Hamish and his difficulties, started away from the man, with an impulse for which he could not haveaccounted. 

"No need for you to be frightened of me, Mr. Arthur, " said the man, who, in his more palmy days, before he had learnt to take more than wasgood for him, had been a clerk in Mr. Channing's office. "I havenothing about me that will bite you. "

He laid a stress upon the "you" in both cases. Arthur understood onlytoo well what was meant, though he would not appear to do so. 

"Nor any one else, either, I hope, Hopper. A warm day, is it not!"

Hopper drew close to Arthur, not looking at him, apparently examiningwith hands and eyes the trunk of the elm-tree underneath which they hadhalted. "You tell your brother not to put himself in my way, " said he, in a low tone, his lips scarcely moving. "He is in a bit of trouble, asI suppose you know. "

"Yes, " breathed Arthur. 

"Well, I don't want to serve the writ upon him; I won't serve it unlesshe makes me, by throwing himself within length of my arm. If he sees mecoming up one street, let him cut down another; into a shop; anywhere;I have eyes that only see when I want them to. I come prowling abouthere once or twice a day for show, but I come at a time when I ampretty sure he can't be seen; just gone out, or just gone in. I'drather not harm him. "

"You are not so considerate to all, " said Arthur, after a pause givento revolving the words, and to wondering whether they were spoken ingood faith, or with some concealed purpose. He could not decide which. 

"No, I am not, " pointedly returned Hopper, in answer. "There are somethat I look after, sharp as a ferret looks after a rat, but I'll neverdo that by any son of Mr. Channing's. I can't forget the old days, sir, when your father was kind to me. He stood by me longer than my ownfriends did. But for him, I should have starved in that long illness Ihad, when the office would have me no longer. Why doesn't Mr. Hamishsettle this?" he abruptly added. 

"I suppose he cannot, " answered Arthur. 

"It is only a bagatelle at the worst, and our folks would not have goneto extremities if he had shown only a disposition to settle. I am surethat if he would go to them now, and pay down a ten-pound note, andsay, 'You shall have the rest as I can get it, ' they'd withdrawproceedings; ay, even for five pounds I believe they would. Tell him todo it, Mr. Arthur; tell him I always know which way the wind blows withour people. "

"I will tell him, but I fear he is very short of money just now. Fiveor ten pounds may be as impossible to find, sometimes, as five or tenthousand. "

"Better find it than be locked up, " said Hopper. "How would the officeget on? Deprive him of the power of management, and it might cost Mr. Channing his place. What use is a man when he is in prison? I was inMr. Channing's office for ten years, Mr. Arthur, and I know every trickand turn in it, though I have left it a good while. And now that I havejust said this, I'll go on my way. Mind you tell him. "

"Thank you, " warmly replied Arthur. 

"And when you have told him, please to forget that you have heard it. There's somebody's eyes peering at me over the deanery blinds. They maypeer! I don't mind them; deaneries don't trouble themselves withsheriff's officers. "

He glided away, and Arthur went straight to the office. Hamish wasalone; he was seated at Jenkins's desk, writing a note. 

"You here still, Hamish! Where's Yorke?"

"Echo answers where, " replied Hamish, who appeared to have recoveredhis full flow of spirits. "I have seen nothing of him. "

"That's Yorke all over! it is too bad. "

"It would be, were this a busy afternoon with me. But what brings youback, Mr. Arthur? Have you left the organ to play itself?"

"Williams is taking it; he heard of Jenkins's accident, and thought Imight not be able to get away from the office twice today, so heattended himself. "

"Come, that's good-natured of Williams! A bargain's a bargain, and, having made the bargain, of course it is your own look-out that youfulfil it. Yes, it was considerate of Williams. "

"Considerate for himself, " laughed Arthur. "He did not come down togive me holiday, but in the fear that Mr. Galloway might prevent myattending. 'A pretty thing it would have been, ' he said to me, 'hadthere been no organist this afternoon; it might have cost me my post. '"

"Moonshine!" said Hamish. "It might have cost him a word of reproof;nothing more. "

"Helstonleigh's dean is a strict one, remember. I told Williams hemight always depend upon me. "

"What should you have done, pray, had I not been here to turnoffice-keeper?" laughed Hamish. 

"Of the two duties I must have obeyed the more important one. I shouldhave locked up the office and given the key to the housekeeper tillcollege was over, or until Yorke returned. He deserves something forthis move. Has any one called?"

"No. Arthur, I have been making free with a sheet of paper and anenvelope, " said Hamish, completing the note he was writing. "I supposeI am welcome to it?"

"To ten, if you want them, " returned Arthur. "To whom are you writing?"

"As if I should put you _au courant_ of my love-letters!" gailyanswered Hamish. 

How could Hamish indulge in this careless gaiety with a sword hangingover his head? It was verily a puzzle to Arthur. A light, sunny naturewas Hamish Channing's. This sobering blow which had fallen on it hadprobably not come before it was needed. Had his bark been sailing forever in smooth waters, he might have wasted his life, indolentlybasking on the calm, seductive waves. But the storm rose, the waves ranhigh, threatening to engulf him, and Hamish knew that his best energiesmust be put forth to surmount them. Never, never talk of troubles asgreat, unmitigated evils: to the God-fearing, the God-trusting, theyare fraught with hidden love. 

"Hamish, were I threatened with worry, as you are, I could not beotherwise than oppressed and serious. "

"Where would be the use of that?" cried gay Hamish. "Care killed a cat. Look here, Arthur, you and your grave face! Did you ever know care do afellow good? I never did: but a great deal of harm. I shall manage toscramble out of the pit somehow. You'll see. " He put the note into hispocket, as he spoke, and took up his hat to depart. 

"Stop an instant longer, Hamish. I have just met Hopper. "

"He did not convert you into a writ-server, I hope. I don't think itwould be legal. "

"There you are, joking again! Hamish, he has the writ, but he does notwish to serve it. You are to keep out of his way, he says, and he willnot seek to put himself in yours. My father was kind to him in daysgone by, and he remembers it now. "

"He's a regular trump! I'll send him half-a-crown in a parcel, "exclaimed Hamish. 

"I wish you would hear me out. He says a ten-pound note, perhaps afive-pound note, on account, would induce 'his people'--suppose youunderstand the phrase--to stay proceedings, and to give you time. Hestrongly advises it to be done. That's all. "

Not only all Arthur had to say upon the point, but all he had time tosay. At that moment, the barouche of Lady Augusta Yorke drove up to thedoor, and they both went out to it. Lady Augusta, her daughter Fanny, and Constance Channing were in it. She was on her way to attend amissionary meeting at the Guildhall, and had called for Roland, that hemight escort her into the room. 

"Roland is not to be found, Lady Augusta, " said Hamish, raising his hatwith one of his sunny smiles. "He darted off, it is impossible to saywhere, thereby making me a prisoner. My brother had to attend thecathedral, and there was no one to keep office. "

"Then I think I must make a prisoner of you in turn, Mr. HamishChanning, " graciously said Lady Augusta. "Will you accompany us?"

Hamish shook his head. "I wish I could; but I have already wasted moretime than I ought to have done. "

"It will not cost you five minutes more, " urged Lady Augusta. "Youshall only just take us into the hall; I will release you then, if youmust be released. Three ladies never can go in alone--fancy how weshould be stared at!"

Constance bent her pretty face forward. "Do, Hamish, if you can!"

He suffered himself to be persuaded, stepped into the barouche, andtook his seat by Lady Augusta. As they drove away, Arthur thought thegreatest ornament the carriage contained had been added to it inhandsome Hamish. 

A full hour Arthur worked on at his deeds and leases, and Roland Yorkenever returned. Mr. Galloway came in then. "Where's Yorke?" was hisfirst question. 

Arthur replied that he did not know; he had "stepped out" somewhere. Arthur Channing was not one to make mischief, or get another intotrouble. Mr. Galloway asked no further; he probably inferred that Yorkehad only just gone. He sat down at Jenkins's desk, and began to readover a lease. 

"Can I have the stamps, sir, for this deed?" Arthur presently asked. 

"They are not ready. Have the letters gone to the post?"

"Not yet, sir. "

"You can take them now, then. And, Arthur, suppose you step in, as youreturn, and see how Jenkins is. "

"Very well, sir. " He went into Mr. Galloway's room, and brought forththe three letters from the rack. "Is this one not to be sealed?" heinquired of Mr. Galloway, indicating the one directed to Ventnor, forit was Mr. Galloway's invariable custom to seal letters which containedmoney, after they had been gummed down. "It is doubly safe, " he wouldsay. 

"Ay, to be sure, " replied Mr. Galloway. "I went off in a hurry, and didnot do it. Bring me the wax. "

Arthur handed him the wax and a light. Mr. Galloway sealed the letter, stamping it with the seal hanging to his watch-chain. He then held outhis hand for another of the letters, and sealed that. "And this onealso?" inquired Arthur, holding out the third. 

"No. You can take them now. "

Arthur departed. A few paces from the door he met Roland Yorke, comingalong in a white heat. 

"Channing, I could not help it--I could not, upon my honour. I had togo somewhere with Knivett, and we were kept till now. Galloway's in anawful rage, I suppose?"

"He has only just come in. You had no right to play me this trick, Yorke. But for Hamish, I must have locked up the office. Don't you doit again, or Mr. Galloway may hear of it. "

"It is all owing to that confounded Jenkins!" flashed Roland. "Why didhe go and get his head smashed? You are a good fellow, Arthur. I'll doyou a neighbourly turn, some time. "

He sped into the office, and Arthur walked to the post with theletters. Coming back, he turned into Mrs. Jenkins's shop in the HighStreet. 

Mrs. Jenkins was behind the counter. "Oh, go up! go up and see him!"she cried, in a tone of suppressed passion. "His bedroom's front, upthe two-pair flight, and I'll take my affidavit that there's been fiftyfolks here this day to see him, if there has been one. I could sow apeck of peas on the stairs! You'll find other company up there. "

Arthur groped his way up the stairs; they were dark too, coming in fromthe sunshine. He found the room, and entered. Jenkins lay in bed, hisbandaged head upon the pillow; and, seated by his side, his apronfalling, and his clerical hat held between his knees, was the Bishop ofHelstonleigh. 

CHAPTER XV. 

A SPLASH IN THE RIVER. 

Amongst other facts, patent to common and uncommon sense, is the veryobvious one that a man cannot be in two places at once. In like manner, no author, that I ever heard of, was able to relate two differentportions of his narrative at one and the same time. Thus you willreadily understand, that if I devoted the last chapter to Mr. Galloway, his clerks and their concerns generally, it could not be given to Mr. Ketch and _his_ concerns; although in the strict, order of time andsequence, the latter gentleman might have claimed an equal, if not apremier right. 

Mr. Ketch stood in his lodge, leaning for support upon the shut-uppress-bedstead, which, by day, looked like a high chest of drawers withbrass handles, his eyes fixed on the keys, hanging on the oppositenail. His state of mind may be best expressed by the strong epithet, "savage. " Mr. Ketch had not a pleasant face at the best of times: itwas yellow and withered; and his small bright eyes were always droppingwater; and the two or three locks of hair, which he still possessed, were faded, and stood out, solitary and stiff, after the manner ofthose pictures you have seen of heathens who decorate their heads withupright tails. At this moment his countenance looked particularlyunpleasant. 

Mr. Ketch had spent part of the night and the whole of this morningrevolving the previous evening's affair of the cloisters. The more hethought of it, the less he liked it, and the surer grew his convictionthat the evil had been the work of his enemies, the college boys. 

"It's as safe as day, " he wrathfully soliloquized. "There be the rightkeys, " nodding to the two on the wall, "and there be the wrong ones, "nodding towards an old knife-tray, into which he had angrily thrown therusty keys, upon entering his lodge last night, accompanied by thecrowd. "They meant to lock me up all night in the cloisters, the wickedcannibals! I hope the dean'll expel 'em! I'll make my complaint to thehead-master, I will! Drat all college schools! there's never no gooddone in 'em!"

"How are you this morning, Ketch?"

The salutation proceeded from Stephen Bywater, who, in the boisterousmanner peculiar to himself and his tribe, had flung open the doorwithout the ceremony of knocking. 

"I'm none the better for seeing you, " growled Ketch. 

"You need not be uncivil, " returned Bywater, with great suavity. "I amonly making a morning call upon you, after the fashion of gentlefolks;the public delights to pay respect to its officials, you know. How _do_you feel after that mishap last night? We can't think, any of us, howyou came to make the mistake. "

"I'll 'mistake' you!" shrieked Ketch. "I kep' a nasty old, rusty braceo' keys in my lodge to take out, instead o' the right ones, didn't I?"

"How uncommonly stupid it was of you to do so!" said Bywater, pretending to take the remark literally. "_I_ would not keep aduplicate pair of keys by me--I should make sure they'd bring me togrief. What do you say? You did _not_ keep duplicate keys--they werefalse ones! Why, that's just what we all told you last night. Thebishop told you so. He said he knew you had made a mistake, and takenout the wrong keys for the right. My belief is, that you went outwithout any keys at all. You left them hanging upon the nail, and youfound them there. You had not got a second pair!"

"You just wait!" raved old Ketch. "I'm a-coming round to thehead-master, and I'll bring the keys with me. He'll let you boys knowwhether there's two pairs, or one. Horrid old rusty things they be; asrusty as you!"

"Who says they are rusty?"

"Who says it! They _are_ rusty!" shrieked the old man. "You'd like toget me into a madhouse, you boys would, worrying me! I'll show youwhether they're rusty! I'll show you whether there's a second brace o'keys or not. I'll show 'em to the head-master! I'll show 'em to thedean! I'll show 'em again to his lordship the bi--What's gone of thekeys?"

The last sentence was uttered in a different tone and in apparentperplexity. With shaking hands, excited by passion, Mr. Ketch wasrummaging the knife-box--an old, deep, mahogany tray, dark with age, divided by a partition--rummaging for the rusty keys. He could not findthem. He searched on this side, he searched on that; he pulled out thecontents, one by one: a black-handled knife, a white-handled fork, agreen-handled knife with a broken point, and a brown-handled fork withone prong, which comprised his household cutlery; a small whetstone, acomb and a blacking-brush, a gimlet and a small hammer, some leathershoe-strings, three or four tallow candles, a match-box and anextinguisher, the key of his door, the bolt of his casement window, anda few other miscellanies. He could not come upon the false keys, and, finally, he made a snatch at the tray, and turned it upside down. Thekeys were not there. 

When he had fully taken in the fact--it cost him some little time to doit--he turned his anger upon Bywater. 

"You have took 'em, you have! you have turned thief, and stole 'em! Iput 'em here in the knife-box, and they are gone! What have you donewith 'em?"

"Come, that's good!" exclaimed Bywater, in too genuine a tone to admita suspicion of its truth. "I have not been near your knife-box; I havenot put my foot inside the door. "

In point of fact, Bywater had not. He had stood outside, bending hishead and body inwards, his hands grasping either door-post. 

"What's gone with 'em? who 'as took 'em off? I'll swear I put 'emthere, and I have never looked at 'em nor touched 'em since! There's aninfamous conspiracy forming against me! I'm going to be blowed up, likeGuy Fawkes!"

"If you did put them there--'_if_, ' you know--some of your friends musthave taken them, " cried Bywater, in a tone midway between reason andirony. 

"There haven't a soul been nigh the place, " shrieked Ketch. 

"Except the milk, and he gave me my ha'porth through the winder. "

"Hurrah!" said Bywater, throwing up his trencher. "It's a clear case ofdreams. You dreamt you had a second pair of keys, Ketch, and couldn'tget rid of the impression on awaking. Mr. Ketch, D. H. , Dreamer-in-chiefto Helstonleigh!"

Bywater commenced an aggravating dance. Ketch was aggravatedsufficiently without it. "What d'ye call me?" he asked, in a state ofconcentrated temper that turned his face livid. "'D?' What d'ye mean by'D?' D stands for that bad sperit as is too near to you college boys;he's among you always, like a ranging lion. It's like your impedence tocall me by his name. "

"My dear Mr. Ketch! call _you_ by his name! I never thought of such athing, " politely retorted Bywater. "You are not promoted to that honouryet. D. H. , stands for Deputy-Hangman. Isn't it affixed to the cathedralroll, kept amid the archives in the chapter-house"--John Ketch, D. H. , porter to the cloisters! "I hope you don't omit the distinguishinginitials when you sign your letters?"

Ketch foamed. Bywater danced. The former could not find words. Thelatter found plenty. 

"I say, though, Mr. Calcraft, don't you make a similar mistake when youare going on public duty. If you were to go _there_, dreaming you hadthe right apparatus, and find, in the last moment, that you had broughtthe wrong, you don't know what the consequences might be. The realvictim might escape, rescued by the enraged crowd, and they might putthe nightcap upon you, and operate upon you instead! So, be careful. Wecouldn't afford to lose you. Only think, what a lot of money it wouldcost to put the college into mourning!"

Ketch gave a great gasp of agony, threw an iron ladle at his tormentor, which, falling short of its aim, came clanking down on the red-brickfloor, and banged the door in Bywater's face. Bywater withdrew to ashort distance, under cover of the cathedral wall, and bent his bodybackwards and forwards with the violence of his laughter, unconsciousthat the Bishop of Helstonleigh was standing near him, surveying himwith an exceedingly amused expression. His lordship had been anear-witness to part of the colloquy, very much to his edification. 

"What is your mirth, Bywater?"

Bywater drew himself straight, and turned round as if he had been shot. "I was only laughing, my lord, " he said, touching his trencher. 

"I see you were; you will lose your breath altogether some day, if youlaugh in that violent manner. What were you and Ketch quarrellingabout?"

"We were not quarrelling, my lord. I was only chaff--teasing him, "rejoined Bywater, substituting one word for the other, as if fearingthe first might not altogether be suited to the bishop's ears; "andKetch fell into a passion. "

"As he often does, I fear, " remarked his lordship. "I fancy you boysprovoke him unjustifiably. "

"My lord, " said Bywater, turning his red, impudent, but honest facefull upon the prelate, "I don't deny that we do provoke him; but youcan have no idea what an awful tyrant he is to us. I can't believe anyone was ever born with such a cross-grained temper. He vents it uponevery one: not only upon the college boys, but upon all who come in hisway. If your lordship were not the bishop, " added bold Bywater, "hewould vent it upon you. "

"Would he?" said the bishop, who was a dear lover of candour, and wouldhave excused a whole bushel of mischief, rather than one little grainof falsehood. 

"Not a day passes, but he sets upon us with his tongue. He would keepus out of the cloisters; he would keep us out of our own schoolroom. Hegoes to the head-master with the most unfounded cram--stories, and whenthe master declines to notice them (for he knows Ketch of old), then hegoes presumingly to the dean. If he let us alone, we should let himalone. I am not speaking this in the light of a complaint to yourlordship, " Bywater added, throwing his head back. "I don't want to gethim into a row, tyrant though he is; and the college boys can holdtheir own against Ketch. "

"I expect they can, " significantly replied the bishop. "He would keepyou out of the cloisters, would he?"

"He is aiming at it, " returned Bywater. "There never would have been aword said about our playing there, but for him. If the dean shuts usout, it will be Ketch's doings. The college boys have played in thecloisters since the school was founded. "

"He would keep you out of the cloisters; so, by way of retaliation, youlock him into them--an uncomfortable place of abode for a night, Bywater. "

"My lord!" cried Bywater. 

"Sir!" responded his lordship. 

"Does your lordship think it was I who played that trick on Ketch?"

"Yes, I do--speaking of you conjointly with the school. "

Bywater's eyes and his good-humoured countenance fell before the steadygaze of the prelate. But in the gaze there was an earnest--if Bywatercould read it aright--of good feeling, of excuse for the mischief, rather than of punishment in store. The boy's face was red enough atall times, but it turned to scarlet now. If the bishop had beforesuspected the share played in the affair by the college boys, it had bythis time been converted into a certainty. 

"Boy, " said he, "confess it if you like, be silent if you like; but donot tell me a lie. "

Bywater turned up his face again. His free, fearless eyes--free in thecause of daring, but fearless in that of truth--looked straight intothose of the bishop. "I never do tell lies, " he answered. "There's nota boy in the school punished oftener than I am; and I don't say but Igenerally deserve it! but it is never for telling a lie. If I did tellthem, I should slip out of many a scrape that I am punished for now. "

The bishop could read truth as well as any one--better than many--andhe saw that it was being told to him now. "Which of you must bepunished for this trick as ringleader?" he asked. 

"I, my lord, if any one must be, " frankly avowed Bywater. "We shouldhave let him out at ten o'clock. We never meant to keep him there allnight. If I am punished, I hope your lordship will be so kind as allowit to be put down to your own account, not to Ketch's. I should notlike it to be thought that I caught it for _him_. I heartily beg yourpardon, my lord, for having been so unfortunate as to include you inthe locking-up. We are all as sorry as can be, that it should havehappened. I am ready to take any punishment, for that, that you mayorder me. "

"Ah!" said the bishop, "had you known that I was in the cloisters, yourfriend Ketch would have come off scot free!"

"Yes, that he would, until--"

"Until what?" asked the bishop, for Bywater had brought his words to astandstill. 

"Until a more convenient night, I was going to say, my lord. "

"Well, that's candid, " said the bishop. "Bywater, " he gravely added, "you have spoken the truth to me freely. Had you equivocated in theslightest degree, I should have punished you for the equivocation. Asit is, I shall look upon this as a confidential communication, and_not_ order you punishment. But we will not have any more tricks playedat locking up Ketch. You understand?"

"All right, my lord. Thank you a hundred times. "

Bywater, touching his trencher, leaped off. The bishop turned to enterhis palace gates, which were close by, and encountered Ketch talking tothe head-master. The latter had been passing the lodge, when he wasseen and pounced upon by Ketch, who thought it a good opportunity tomake his complaint. 

"I am as morally sure it was them, sir, as I am that I be alive. " hewas saying when the bishop came up. "And I don't know who they hasdealings with; but, for certain, they have sperited away them rustykeys what did the mischief, without so much as putting one o' theirnoses inside my lodge. I placed 'em safe in the knife-box last night, and they're gone this morning. I hope, sir, you'll punish them as theydeserve. I am nothing, of course. If they had locked me up, and kept methere till I was worn to a skeleton, it might be thought light of; buthis lordship, the bishop"--bowing sideways to the prelate--"was asufferer by their wickedness. "

"To be sure I was, " said the bishop, in a grave tone, but with atwinkle in his eye; "and therefore the complaint to Mr. Pye must bepreferred by me, Ketch. We will talk of it when I have leisure, " headded to Mr. Pye, with a pleasant nod, as he went through the palacegates. 

The head-master bowed to the bishop, and walked away, leaving Ketch onthe growl. 

Meanwhile, Bywater, flying through the cloisters, came upon Hurst, andtwo or three more of the conspirators. The time was between nine andten o'clock. The boys had been home for breakfast after early school, and were now reassembling, but they did not go into school until aquarter before ten. 

"He is such a glorious old trump, that bishop!" burst forth Bywater. "He knows all about it, and is not going to put us up for punishment. Let's cut round to the palace gates and cheer him. "

"Knows that it was us!" echoed the startled boys. "How did it come outto him?" asked Hurst. 

"He guessed it, I think, " said Bywater, "and he taxed me with it. So Icouldn't help myself, and told him I'd take the punishment; and he saidhe'd excuse us, but there was to be no locking up of Mr. Calcraftagain. I'd lay a hundred guineas the bishop went in for scrapeshimself, when he was a boy!" emphatically added Bywater. "I'll be boundhe thinks we only served the fellow right. Hurrah for the bishop!"

"Hurrah for the bishop!" shouted Hurst, with the other chorus ofvoices. "Long life to him! He's made of the right sort of stuff! I say, though, Jenkins is the worst, " added Hurst, his note changing. "Myfather says he doesn't know but what brain fever will come on. "

"Moonshine!" laughed the boys. 

"Upon my word and honour, it is not. He pitched right upon his head; itmight have cost him his life had he fallen upon the edge of the stonestep, but they think he alighted flat. My father was round with himthis morning at six o'clock. "

"Does your father know about it?"

"Not he. What next?" cried Hurst. "Should I stand before him, and takemy trencher off, with a bow, and say, 'If you please, sir, it was thecollege boys who served out old Ketch!' That would be a nice joke! Hesaid, at breakfast, this morning, that that fumbling old Ketch musthave got hold of the wrong keys. 'Of course, sir!' answered I. "

"Oh, what do you think, though!" interrupted Bywater. "Ketch can't findthe keys. He put them into a knife-box, he says, and this morning theyare gone. He intended to take them round to Pye, and I left him goingrampant over the loss. Didn't I chaff him?"

Hurst laughed. He unbuttoned the pocket of his trousers, and partiallyexhibited two rusty keys. "I was not going to leave them to Ketch forwitnesses, " said he. "I saw him throw them into the tray last night, and I walked them out again, while he was talking to the crowd. "

"I say, Hurst, don't be such a ninny as to keep them about you!"exclaimed Berkeley, in a fright. "Suppose Pye should go in for a searchthis morning, and visit our pockets? You'd floor us at once!"

"The truth is, I don't know where to put them, " ingenuouslyacknowledged Hurst. "If I hid them at home, they'd be found; if Idropped them in the street, some hullaballoo might arise from it. "

"Let's carry them back to the old-iron shop, and get the fellow to buythem back at half-price!"

"Catch him doing that! Besides, the trick is sure to get wind in thetown; he might be capable of coming forward and declaring that webought the keys at his shop. "

"Let's throw 'em down old Pye's well!"

"They'd come up again in the bucket, as ghosts do!"

"Couldn't we make a railway parcel of them, and direct it to 'Mr. Smith, London?'"

"'Two pounds to pay; to be kept till called for, '" added Mark Galloway, improving upon the suggestion. "They'd put it in their fire-proof safe, and it would never come out again. "

"Throw them into the river, " said Stephen Bywater. "That's the onlysafe place for them: they'd lie at the bottom for ever. We have time todo it now. Come along. "

Acting upon the impulse, as schoolboys usually do, they went gallopingout of the cloisters, running against the head-master, who wasentering, and nearly overturning his equilibrium. He gave them an angryword of caution; they touched their caps in reply, and somewhatslackened their speed, resuming the gallop when he was out of hearing. 

Inclosing the cathedral and its precincts on the western side, was awall, built of red stone. It was only breast high, standing on thecathedral side; but on the other side it descended several feet, to thebroad path which ran along the banks of the river. The boys made forthis wall and gained it, their faces hot, and their breath gone. 

"Who'll pitch 'em in?" cried Hurst, who did not altogether relish beingchief actor himself, for windows looked on to that particular spot fromvarious angles and corners of the Boundaries. "You shall do it, Galloway!"

"Oh shall I, though!" returned young Galloway, not relishing it either. 

"You precious rebel! Take the keys, and do as I order you!"

Young Galloway was under Hurst. He no more dared to disobey him than hecould have disobeyed the head-master. Had Hurst ordered him to jumpinto the river he must have done it. He took the keys tendered him byHurst, and was raising them for the pitch, when Bywater laid his handupon them and struck them down with a sudden movement, clutching themto him. 

"You little wretch, you are as deaf as a donkey!" he uttered. "There'ssomebody coming up. Turn your head, and look who it is. "

It proved to be Fordham, the dean's servant. He was accidentallypassing. The boys did not fear him; nevertheless, it was only prudentto remain still, until he had gone by. They stood, all five, leaningupon the wall, soiling their waistcoats and jackets, in apparentcontemplation of the view beyond. A pleasant view! The river woundpeacefully between its green banks; meadows and cornfields werestretched out beyond; while an opening afforded a glimpse of thatlovely chain of hills, and the white houses nestled at their base. Abarge, drawn by a horse, was appearing slowly from underneath the citybridge, blue smoke ascending from its chimney. A woman on board washanging out linen to dry--a shirt, a pair of stockings, and ahandkerchief--her husband's change for the coming Sunday. A young girlwas scraping potatoes beside her; and a man, probably the husband, satsteering, his pipe in his mouth. The boys fixed their eyes upon theboat. 

"I shouldn't mind such a life as that fellow's yonder!" exclaimed youngBerkeley, who was fonder of idleness than he was of Latin. "I'll turnbargeman when other trades fail. It must be rather jolly to sitsteering a boat all day, and do nothing but smoke. "

"Fordham's gone, and be hanged to him! Now for it, Galloway!"

"Stop a bit, " said Bywater. "They must be wrapped up, or else tiedclose together. Better wrap them up, and then no matter who sees. Theycan't swear there are keys inside. Who has any paper about him?"

One of the boys, Hall, had his exercise-book with him. They tore asheet or two out of it, and folded it round the keys, Hurst producingsome string. "I'll fling them in, " said Bywater. 

"Make haste, then, or we shall have to wait till the barge has goneby. "

Bywater took a cautious look round, saw nobody, and flung the parcelinto the middle of the river. "_Rari nantes in gurgite vasto_!"ejaculated he. 

"Now, you gents, what be you throwing into the river?"

The words came from Hudson, the porter to the Boundaries, who appearedto have sprung up from the ground. In reality, he had been standing onthe steps leading to the river, but the boat-house had hidden him fromtheir view. He was a very different man from the cloister porter; wasafraid of the college boys, rather than otherwise, and addressed themindividually as "sir. " The keeper of the boat-house heard this, andcame up the steps. 

"If you gentlemen have been throwing anything into the river you knowthat it's against the rules. "

"Don't bother!" returned Hurst, to the keeper. 

"But you know it _is_ wrong, gentlemen, " remonstrated the keeper. "Whatwas it you threw in? It made a dreadful splash. "

"Ah! what was it?" coolly answered Hurst. "What should you say to adead cat? Hudson, have the goodness to mind _your_ business, unless youwould like to get reported for interfering with what does not concernyou. "

"There's a quarter to ten!" exclaimed Bywater, as the college clockchimed the three-quarters. "We shall be marked late, every soul of us!"

They flew away, their feet scarcely touching the ground, clattered upthe schoolroom stairs, and took their places. Gaunt was only beginningto call over the roll, and they escaped the "late" mark. 

"It's better to be born lucky than rich, " said saucy Bywater. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

MUCH TO ALTER. 

At the same moment Constance Channing was traversing the Boundaries, onher way to Lady Augusta Yorke's, where she had, some days since, commenced her duties. It took her scarcely two minutes to get there, for the houses were almost within view of each other. Constance wouldwillingly have commenced the daily routine at an earlier hour. LadyAugusta freely confessed that to come earlier would be useless, for shecould not get her daughters up. Strictly speaking, Lady Augusta did notpersonally try to get them up, for she generally lay in bed herself. 

"That is one of the habits I must alter in the children, " thoughtConstance. 

She entered, took off her things in the room appropriated to her, andpassed into the schoolroom. It was empty, though the children ought tohave been there, preparing their lessons. Fanny came running in, herhair in curl-papers, some bread and butter in her hand. 

"Carry has not finished her breakfast, Miss Channing, " quoth she. "Shewas lazy this morning!"

"I think some one else was lazy also, " said Constance, gently drawingthe child to her. "Why did you come down half-dressed, my dear?"

"I am quite dressed, " responded Fanny. "My frock's on, and so is mypinafore. "

"And these?" said Constance, touching the curl-papers. 

"Oh, Martha got up late, and said she had no time to take them out. Itwill keep in curl all the better, Miss Channing; and perhaps I am goingto the missionary meeting with mamma. "

Constance rang the bell. Martha, who was the only maid kept, except thecook, appeared in answer to it. Lady Augusta was wont to say that shehad too much expense with her boys to keep many servants; and theargument was a true one. 

"Be so kind as to take the papers out of Miss Fanny's hair. And let itbe done in future, Martha, before she comes to me. "

Gently as the words were spoken, there was no mistaking that the tonewas one of authority, and not to be trifled with. Martha withdrew withthe child. And, just then, Caroline came in, full of eagerness. 

"Miss Channing, mamma says she shall take one of us to the missionarymeeting, whichever you choose to fix upon. Mind you fix upon me! Whatdoes that little chit, Fanny, want at a missionary meeting? She is tooyoung to go. "

"It is expected to be a very interesting meeting, " observed Constance, making no reply to Miss Caroline's special request. "A gentleman whohas lived for some years amongst the poor heathens is to give a historyof his personal experiences. Some of the anecdotes are beautiful. "

"Who told you they were?" asked Caroline. 

"Mr. Yorke, " replied Constance, a pretty blush rising to her cheek. "Heknows the lecturer well. You would be pleased to hear them. "

"It is not for that I wish to go, " said Caroline. "I think meetings, where there's nothing but talking, are the dullest things in the world. If I were to listen, it would send me to sleep. "

"Then why do you wish so much to attend this one?"

"Because I shall wear my new dress. I have not had it on yet. It rainedlast Sunday, and mamma would not let me put it on for college. I was insuch a passion. "

Constance wondered where she should begin. There was so much to do; somuch to alter in so many ways. To set to work abruptly would neveranswer. It must be commenced gradually, almost imperceptibly, little bylittle. 

"Caroline, do you know that you have disobeyed me?"

"In what way, Miss Channing?"

"Did I not request you to have that exercise written out?"

"I know, " said Caroline, with some contrition. "I intended to write itout this morning before you came; but somehow I lay in bed. "

"If I were to come to you every morning at seven o'clock, would youundertake to get up and be ready for me?" asked Constance. 

Caroline drew a long face. She did not speak. 

"My dear, you are fifteen. "

"Well?" responded Caroline. 

"And you must not feel hurt if I tell you that I should think no otheryoung lady of that age and in your position is half so deficient as youare. Deficient in many ways, Caroline: in goodness, in thoughtfulness, and in other desirable qualities; and greatly so in education. Annabel, who is a year younger than you, is twice as advanced. "

"Annabel says you worry her into learning. "

"Annabel is fond of talking nonsense; but she is a good, loving childat heart. You would be surprised at the little trouble she really givesme while she makes a show of giving me a great deal. I have _so much_to teach you, Caroline--to your mind and heart, as well as to yourintellect--that I feel the hours as at present arranged, will beinsufficient for me. My dear, when you grow up to womanhood, I am sureyou will wish to be loving and loved. "

Caroline burst into tears. "I should do better if mamma were not socross with me, Miss Channing. I always do anything that William Yorkeasks me; and I will do anything for you. "

Constance kissed her. "Then will you begin by rising early, and beingready for me at seven?"

"Yes, I will, " answered Caroline. "But Martha must be sure to call me. Are you going to the meeting this afternoon?"

"Of course not, " said Constance. "My time now belongs to you. "

"But I think mamma wishes you to go with us. She said something aboutit. "

"Does she? I should very much like to go. "

Lady Augusta came in and proffered the invitation to Constance toaccompany them. Constance then spoke of giving the children the extratwo hours, from seven to nine: it was really necessary, she said, ifshe was to do her duty by them. 

"How very conscientious you are!" laughed Lady Augusta, her tonesavouring of ridicule. 

Constance coloured almost to tears with her emotion. "I am responsibleto One always, Lady Augusta. I may not make mine only eye-service. "

"You will never put up with our scrambling breakfast, Miss Channing. The boys are so unruly; and I do not get up to it half my time. "

"I will return home to breakfast. I should prefer to do so. And I willbe here again at ten. "

"Whatever time do you get up?"

"Not very early, " answered Constance. "Hitherto I have risen at seven, summer and winter. Dressing and reading takes me just an hour; for theother hour I find plenty of occupation. We do not breakfast until nine, on account of Tom and Charley. I shall rise at six now, and come hereat seven. "

"Very well, " said Lady Augusta. "I suppose this will only apply to thesummer months. One of the girls shall go with us to-day; whicheverdeserves it best. "

"You are not leaving one of them at home to make room for me, I hope, Lady Augusta?"

"Not at all, " answered Lady Augusta. "I never _chaperon_ two childrento a crowded meeting. People might say they took up the room ofgrown-up persons. "

"You will let me go--not Caroline, Miss Channing?" pleaded Fanny, whenher mother had quitted them. 

"No, " said Caroline, sharply; "Miss Channing will fix upon me. "

"I shall obey Lady Augusta, and decide upon the one who shall bestmerit it, " smiled Constance. "It will be only right to do so. "

"Suppose we are both good, and merit it equally?" suggested Fanny. 

"Then, my dear little girl, you must not be disappointed if, in thatcase, I give the privilege to Caroline, as being the elder of the two. But I will make it up to you in some other way. "

Alas for poor Caroline's resolution! For a short time, an hour or so, she did strive to do her best; but then good resolutions wereforgotten, and idleness followed. Not only idleness, temper also. Neverhad she been so troublesome to Constance as on this day; she evenforgot herself so far as to be insolent. Fanny was taken to themeeting--you saw her in the carriage when Lady Augusta drove to Mr. Galloway's office, and persuaded Hamish to join them--Caroline was leftat home, in a state of open rebellion, with the lessons to learn whichshe had _not_ learnt in the day. 

"How shall you get on with them, Constance?" the Rev. William Yorkeinquired of her that same evening. "Have the weeds destroyed the goodseed?"

"Not quite destroyed it, " replied Constance, though she sighed sadly asshe spoke, as if nearly losing heart for the task she had undertaken. "There is so much ill to undo. Caroline is the worst; the weeds, withher, have had longer time to get ahead. I think, perhaps, if I couldkeep her wholly with me for a twelvemonth or so, watching over herconstantly, a great deal might be effected. "

"If that anticipated living would fall in, which seems very far away inthe clouds, and you were wholly mine, we might have Caroline with usfor a time, " laughed Mr. Yorke. 

Constance laughed too. "Do not be impatient, or it will seem to befurther off still. It will come, William. "

They had been speaking in an undertone, standing together at a window, apart from the rest. Mr. Channing was lying on his sofa underneath theother window, and now spoke to Mr. Yorke. 

"You had a treat, I hear, at the meeting to-day?"

"We had, indeed, sir, " replied Mr. Yorke, advancing to take a seat nearhim. "It is not often we have the privilege of listening to so eloquenta speaker as Dr. Lamb. His experience is great, and his whole heart wasin his subject. I should like to bring him here to call upon you. "

"I should be pleased to receive him, " replied Mr. Channing. 

"I think it is possible that his experience in another line may be ofservice to you, " continued Mr. Yorke. "You are aware that ill healthdrove him home?"

"I have heard so. "

"His complaint was rheumatism, very much, as I fancy, the same sort ofrheumatism that afflicts you. He told me he came to Europe with verylittle hope: he feared his complaint had become chronic and incurable. But he has been restored in a wonderful manner, and is in sound healthagain. "

"And what remedies did he use?" eagerly asked Mr. Channing. 

"A three months' residence at some medicinal springs in Germany. Nothing else. When I say nothing else, of course I must imply that hewas under medical treatment there. It is the very thing, you see, sir, that has been ordered for you. "

"Ay!" sighed Mr. Channing, feeling how very faint appeared to be thehope that he should have the opportunity of trying it. 

"I was mentioning your case to him, " observed Mr. Yorke. "He said hehad no doubt the baths would do you equal good. He is a doctor, youknow. I will bring him here to talk it over with you. "

At that moment Mr. Galloway entered: the subject was continued. Mr. Yorke and Mr. Galloway were eloquent on it, telling Mr. Channing thathe _must_ go to Germany, as a point of duty. The Channings themselveswere silent; they could not see the way at all clear. When Mr. Yorkewas leaving, he beckoned Constance and Arthur into the hall. 

"Mr. Channing must go, " he whispered to them. "Think of all that is atstake! Renewed health, exertion, happiness! Arthur, you did not urge itby a single word. "

Arthur did not feel hopeful; indeed his heart sank within him the wholetime that they were talking. Hamish and his difficulties were the darkshadow; though he could not tell this to Mr. Yorke. Were Mr. Channingto go abroad, and the arrest of Hamish to follow upon it, the post theyheld, and its emoluments, might be taken from them at once and forever. 

"Dr. Lamb says the cost was so trifling as scarcely to be credited, "continued Mr. Yorke in a tone of remonstrance. "Arthur, _don't_ youcare to help--to save him?"

"I would move heaven and earth to save my father!" impulsively spokeArthur, stung by the implied reproof. "I should not care what labour itcost me to procure the money, so that I succeeded. "

"We all would, " said Constance; "you must know we would, William. FromHamish downwards. "

"Who is that, making free with Hamish's name?" demanded that gentlemanhimself, entering the house with a free step and merry countenance. "Did you think I was lost? I was seduced into joining yourmissionary-meeting people, and have had to stop late at the office, tomake up for it. "

"We have been talking about papa, Hamish, " said Constance. "Fresh hopeseems to arise daily that those German baths would restore him tohealth. They cured Dr. Lamb. "

"I say, Hamish, that the money must be found for it somehow, " added Mr. Yorke. 

"Found! of course it shall be found, " cried gay Hamish. "I intend to bea chief contributor to it myself. " But his joking words and carelessmanner jarred at that moment upon the spirit both of Arthur andConstance Channing. 

Why? Could there have been any unconscious foreshadowing of evil tocome?

CHAPTER XVII. 

SUNDAY MORNING AT MR. CHANNING'S, AND AT LADY AUGUSTA'S. 

The day of rest came round in due course. A day of rest it is in truthto those who have learnt to make it such; a pleasant time of peace; aprivileged season of commune with God; a loving day of social happinessfor home and home ties. And yet, strange to say, it is, to some, themost hurried, uncomfortable, disagreeable day of all the seven. 

Mrs. Channing's breakfast hour was nine o'clock on ordinary days, madethus late for the sake of convenience. On Sundays it was half-pasteight. Discipline and training had rendered it easy to observe rules atMr. Channing's; or, it may be better to say, it had rendered themdifficult to be disobeyed. At half-past eight all were in thebreakfast-room, dressed for the day. When the hour for divine servicearrived, they had only to put on their hats and bonnets to be ready forit. Even old Judy was grand on a Sunday morning. Her mob-cap was ofspotted, instead of plain net, and her check apron was replaced by awhite one. 

With great personal inconvenience, and some pain--for he was alwaysworse in the morning--Mr. Channing would on that day rise to breakfast. It had been his invariable custom to take the reading himself onSunday--the little time he devoted to religion--and he was unwilling tobreak through it. Breakfast over, it was immediately entered upon, andwould be finished by ten o'clock. He did not preach a sermon; he didnot give them much reading; it was only a little homely preparation forthe day and the services they were about to enter upon. Very unwise hadit been of Mr. Channing, to tire his children with a private servicebefore the public service began. 

Breakfast, on these mornings, was always a longer meal than usual. There was no necessity to hurry over it, in order to hasten to thevarious occupations of every-day life. It was taken leisurely, amidstmuch pleasant, social converse. 

As they were assembling for breakfast on this morning, Arthur came in. It was so unusual for them to leave the house early on a Sunday, thatMr. Channing looked at him with surprise. 

"I have been to see Jenkins, sir, " he explained. "In coming home lastnight, I met Mr. Hurst, who told me he feared Jenkins was gettingworse. I would not go to see him then; it might have been late todisturb him, so I have been now. "

"And how is he?" inquired Mr. Channing. 

"A great deal better, " replied Arthur. "So much better that: Mr. Hurstsays he may come to the office to-morrow should there be no relapse. Heenjoins strict quiet for to-day. And Mrs. Jenkins is determined that heshall have quiet; therefore I am sure, he will, " Arthur added, laughing. "She says he appeared ill last night only from the number ofvisitors he had seen. They were coming in all day long; and on Fridaybesides. "

"Why should people flock to see Jenkins?" exclaimed Tom. "He isnobody. "

"That is just what Mrs. Jenkins said this morning, " returned Arthur. "Ibelieve they go out of curiosity to hear the truth of the locking-up inthe cloisters. The bishop's having been one of the sufferers hasaroused the interest of Helstonleigh. "

"I am very glad that Jenkins is better, " observed Mr. Charming. 

"So am I, " emphatically answered Arthur. He was pretty sure Tom had hadno share in the exploit; but he did not know about Charley. 

"The dean preaches to-day, " suddenly called out Tom. 

"How do you know?" demanded Annabel. 

"Because I do, " oracularly spoke Tom. 

"Will you condescend to inform me how you know it, Tom, if you will notinform Annabel?" asked Mr. Channing. 

Tom laughed. "The dean began his close residence yesterday, papa. Therefore we know he will preach to-day. "

Mr. Channing sighed. He was debarred from attending the services, andhe felt the deprivation keenly when he found that any particularlyeminent man was to fill the cathedral pulpit. The dean of Helstonleighwas an admirable preacher. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Channing, in the uncontrollable impulse of themoment, "if I could only regain health and strength!"

"It will come, James; God willing, " said Mrs. Channing, looking uphopefully from the cups she was filling. "What I have heard of Dr. Lamb's restoration has put new confidence into me. "

"I think Mr. Yorke intends to bring Dr. Lamb to see you this afternoon, papa, " said Constance. 

"I shall be glad to see him; I shall be glad to hear the particulars ofhis case and its cure, " exclaimed Mr. Channing, with all consciouseagerness. "Did Mr. Yorke tell you he should bring him to-day, Constance?"

"Yes, papa. Dr. Lamb intends to be at the cathedral for afternoonservice, and Mr. Yorke said he would bring him here afterwards. "

"You must get him to take tea with us, Mary. "

"Certainly, " answered Mrs. Channing. "In six months from this, James, you may be as well and active as ever. "

Mr. Channing raised his hands, as if warding off the words. Not of thewords was he afraid, but of the hopes they whispered. "I think too muchabout it, already, Mary. It is not as though I were sure of getting tothe medicinal baths. "

"We will take care that you do that, sir, " said Hamish, with his sunnysmile. 

"_You_ cannot help in it, you know, Hamish, " interposed saucy Annabel. "It will be Arthur and Constance who will help--not you. I heard yousay so!"

"But I have changed my mind, and intend to help, " returned Hamish. "And, if you will allow me the remark, young lady, I think it wouldbetter become a certain little girl, not to chatter quite so much!"

Was Hamish speaking in jest, or earnest, with regard to the _helping_point of the affair? A peculiar tone in his voice, in spite of itslightness, had struck both Constance and Arthur, each being in thesecret of his more than want of funds. 

The second bell was beginning to chime as the Channings entered thecloister gates. Tom and Charles had gone on before. Panting, breathless, almost knocking down Annabel, came Tod Yorke, terriblyafraid of being marked late. 

"Take care, Tod!" exclaimed Hamish. "Are you running for a wager?"

"Don't keep me, Mr. Hamish Channing! Those incapable servants of oursnever called us till the bell began. I have had no breakfast, andGerald couldn't find his shirt. He has had to come off in his dirtyone, with his waistcoat buttoned up. Won't my lady be in a rage whenshe sees him?"

Getting up and breakfasting were generally bustling affairs at LadyAugusta's; but the confusion of every day was as nothing compared withthat of Sunday. Master Tod was wrong when he complained that he had notbeen called. The servants had called both him and Gerald, who sharedthe same room, but the young gentlemen had gone to sleep again. Thebreakfast hour was the same as other mornings, nine o'clock; but, forall the observance it obtained, it might as well have been nine atnight. To give the servants their due, breakfast, on this morning, wason the table at nine--that is, the cloth, the cups and saucers: andthere it remained until ten. The maids meanwhile enjoyed their ownleisurely breakfast in the kitchen, regaling themselves with hotcoffee, poached eggs, buttered toast, and a dish of gossip. At ten, Lady Augusta, who made a merit of always rising to breakfast on aSunday, entered the breakfast-room in a dirty morning wrapper, and rangthe bell. 

"Is nobody down?" cried she, sharply. 

"I think not, my lady, " was Martha's reply. "I have not heard them. Ihave been three times in the young ladies' room, but they would not getup. "

This was not quite true. Martha had been in _once_, and had beenscolded for her pains. "None of them ever will get up on a Sundaymorning, " added Martha; "they say, 'where's the good?'"

"Bring in breakfast, " crossly responded Lady Augusta. "And then go tothe young ladies, and see whether the rest are getting up. What has thecook been at with this coffee?" Lady Augusta added, when she began topour it out. "It is cold. Her coffee is always cold. "

"It has been made half an hour, I know, my lady. "

The first to appear was the youngest child of all, little Frank; thenext his brother, a year older; they wore dirty collars, and their hairwas uncombed. Then came the girls--Caroline without a frock, a shawlthrown on, instead, and Fanny in curl papers. Lady Augusta scolded themfor their late appearance, forgetting, possibly, that she herself setthe example. 

"It is not much past ten, " said Caroline. "We shall be in time forcollege. "

"It is nearly upon half-past, " replied Lady Augusta. "Why do you comedown in a petticoat, Caroline?"

"That stupid dressmaker has put no tape to my dress, " fretfullyresponded Caroline. "Martha is sewing it on. "

Roland lounged in, not more presentable than the rest. Why had LadyAugusta not brought them up to better habits? Why should they come downon a Sunday morning more untidy than on other mornings? They would havetold you, had you asked the question, that on other mornings they mustbe ready to hasten to their daily occupations. Had _Sunday_ nooccupation, then? Did it deserve no marked deference? Had I been LadyAugusta Yorke, I should have said to Roland that morning, when I sawhis slip-shod slippers and his collarless neck, "If you can show norespect for me, show it for the day. "

Half-past ten struck, and Lady Augusta started up to fly to her ownroom. She had still much to do, ere she could be presentable forcollege. Caroline followed. Fanny wondered what Gerald and Tod woulddo. Not yet down!

"Those boys will get a tanning, to-morrow, from old Pye!" exclaimedRoland, remembering the time when "tannings" had been his portion forthe same fault. "Go and see what they are after, Martha. "

They were "after" jumping up in alarm, aroused by the college bell. Amidst wild confusion, for nothing seemed to be at hand, with harshreproaches to Martha, touching their shirts and socks, and otherarticles of attire, they scrambled downstairs, somehow, and flew out ofthe house on their way to the college schoolroom; Gerald drinking afreshly made scalding cup of coffee; Tod cramming a thick piece ofbread and butter into his pocket, and trusting to some spare moment toeat it in. All this was the usual scramble of Sunday morning. TheYorkes did get to college, somehow, and there was an end of it. 

After the conclusion of the service, as the congregation weredispersing, Mr. Galloway came up to Arthur Channing in the cloisters, and drew him aside. 

"Do you recollect taking the letters to the post, on Friday afternoon?"he inquired. 

"On Friday?" mused Arthur, who could not at the moment recollect muchabout that particular day's letters; it was he who generally postedthem for the office. "Oh yes, I do remember, sir, " he replied, as therelative circumstances flashed across him. 

Mr. Galloway looked at him, possibly doubting whether he really didremember. "How many letters were there for the post that afternoon?" heasked. 

"Three, " promptly rejoined Arthur. "Two were for London, and one wasfor Ventnor. "

"Just so, " assented Mr. Galloway. "Now, then, to whom did you intrustthe posting of those letters?"

"I did not intrust them to any one, " replied Arthur; "I posted themmyself. "

"You are sure?"

"Quite sure, sir, " answered Arthur, in some surprise. But Mr. Gallowaysaid no more, and gave no reason for his inquiry. He turned into hisown house, which was situated near the cloister gates, and Arthur wenton home. 

Had you been attending worship in Helstonleigh Cathedral that sameafternoon, you might have observed, as one of the congregation, a tallstout man, with a dark, sallow face, and grey hair. He sat in a stallnear to the Reverend William Yorke, who was the chanter for theafternoon. It was Dr. Lamb. A somewhat peculiar history was his. Brought up to the medical profession, and taking his physician's degreeearly, he went out to settle in New Zealand, where he had friends. Circumstances brought him into frequent contact with the natives there. A benevolent, thoughtful man, gifted with much Christian grace, the sadspiritual state of these poor heathens gave the deepest concern to Dr. Lamb. He did what he could for them in his leisure hours, but hisprofession took up most of his time: often did he wish he had more timeat his command. A few years of hard work, and then the wish wasrealized. A small patrimony was bequeathed him, sufficient to enablehim to live without work. From that time he applied himself to thearduous duties of a missionary, and his labours were crowned withmarked success. Next came illness. He was attacked with rheumatism inthe joints; and after many useless remedies had been tried, he camehome in search of health, which he found, as you have heard, in certainGerman spas. 

Mr. Channing watched the clock eagerly. Unless it has been yourportion, my reader, to undergo long and apparently hopeless affliction, and to find yourself at length unexpectedly told that there _may_ be acure for you; that another, afflicted in a similar manner, has beenrestored to health by simple means, and will call upon you and describeto you what they were--you could scarcely understand the nervousexpectancy of Mr. Channing on this afternoon. Four o'clock! they wouldsoon be here now. 

A very little time longer, and they were with him--his family, Mr. Yorke, and Dr. Lamb. The chief subject of anxiety was soon enteredupon, Dr. Lamb describing his illness at great length. 

"But were you as helpless as I am?" inquired Mr. Channing. 

"Quite as helpless. I was carried on board, and carried to a bed at anhotel when I reached England. From what I have heard of your case, andfrom what you say, I should judge the nature of your malady to beprecisely similar to mine. "

"And now tell me about the healing process. "

Dr. Lamb paused. "You must promise to put faith in my prescription. "

Mr. Channing raised his eyes in surprise. "Why should I not do so?"

"Because it will appear to you so very simple. I consulted a medicalman in London, one skilled in rheumatic cases, and he gave it as hisopinion that a month or two passed at one of the continental springsmight restore me. I laughed at him. "

"You did not believe him?"

"I did not, indeed. Shall I confess to you that I felt _vexed_ withhim? There was I, a poor afflicted man, lying helpless, racked withpain; and to be gravely assured that a short sojourn at a pleasantforeign watering-place would, in all probability, _cure_ me, soundedvery like mockery. I knew something of the disease, its ordinarytreatment, and its various phases. It was true I had left Europe formany years, and strange changes had been taking place in medicalscience. Still, I had no faith in what he said, as being applicable tomy own case; and for a whole month, week after week, day after day, Ideclined to entertain his views. I considered that it would be so muchtime and money wasted. "

Dr. Lamb paused. Mr. Channing did not interrupt him. 

"One Sunday evening, I was on my solitary sofa--lying in pain--as I cansee you are lying now. The bells were ringing out for evening service. I lay thinking of my distressed condition; wishing I could be healed. By-and-by, after the bells had ceased, and the worshippers hadassembled within the walls of the sanctuary, from which privilege I wasexcluded, I took up my Bible. It opened at the fifth chapter of thesecond book of Kings. I began to read, somewhat listlessly, Ifear--listlessly, at any rate, compared with the strange enthusiasmwhich grew upon me as I read, 'Go and wash in Jordan seven times, andthy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean. And Naamanwas wroth.... And his servants spake unto him and said, My father, ifthe prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not havedone it? how much rather then, when he saith unto thee, Wash, and beclean?'

"Mr. Channing, " Dr. Lamb continued in a deeper tone, "the words soundedin my ear, fell upon my heart, as a very message sent direct from God. All the folly of my own obstinate disbelief came full upon me; thescales seemed to fall from my eyes, and I said, 'Shall I not try thatsimple thing?' A firm conviction that the chapter had been directed tome that night as a warning, seated itself within me; and, from thathour, I never entertained a shadow of doubt but that the baths would besuccessful. "

"And you journeyed to them?"

"Instantly. Within a week I was there. I seemed to _know_ that I wasgoing to my cure. You will not, probably, understand this. "

"I understand it perfectly, " was Mr. Channing's answer. "I believe thata merciful Providence does vouchsafe, at rare times, to move us bythese direct interpositions. I need not ask you if you were cured. Ihave heard that you were. I see you are. Can you tell me aught of theactual means?"

"I was ordered to a small place in the neighbourhood ofAix-la-Chapelle; a quiet, unpretending place, where there areever-rising springs of boiling, sulphuric water. The precise course oftreatment I will come in another day and describe to you. I had todrink a great deal of the water, warm--six or eight half-pints of it aday; I had to bathe regularly in this water; and I had to take what arecalled douche baths every other day. " "I have heard of the douchebaths, " said Mr. Channing. "Rather fierce, are they not?"

"Fierce!" echoed the doctor. "The first time I tried one, I thought Ishould never come out alive. The water was dashed upon me, through atube, with what seemed alarming force until I grew used to it; whilstan attendant rubbed and turned and twisted my limbs about, as if theyhad been so many straws in his strong hand. So violent is the action ofthe water that my face had to be protected by a board, lest it shouldcome into contact with it. "

"Strong treatment!" remarked Mr. Channing. 

"Strong, but effectual. Effectual, so far as my case was concerned. Whether it was drinking the water, or the sulphur baths, the douches, the pure air, or the Prussian doctor's medicine, or all combined, Iwas, under God's goodness, restored to health. I entertain no doubtthat you may be restored in like manner. "

"And the cost?" asked Mr. Channing, with a sigh he could not whollysuppress. 

"There's the beauty of it! the advantage to us poor folks, who possessa shallow purse, and that only half filled, " laughed Dr. Lamb. "Had itbeen costly, _I_ could not have afforded it. These baths, mind you, arein the hotel, which is the greatest possible accommodation to invalids;the warm baths cost a franc each, the douche two francs, the water youdrink, nothing. The doctor's fee is four and sixpence, and you need notconsult him often. Ascertain the proper course, and go on with it. "

"But the hotel expenses?"

"That cost me four shillings a day, everything included, except atrifle for servants. Candles alone were extras, and I did not burn themvery much, for I was glad to go to bed early. Wine I do not take, orthat also would have been an extra. You could not live very muchcheaper at home. "

"How I should like to go!" broke from the lips of Mr. Channing. 

Hamish came forward. "You must go, my dear father! It shall bemanaged. "

"You speak hopefully, Hamish. "

Hamish smiled. "I feel so, sir. "

"Do you feel so, also, my friend!" said Dr. Lamb, fervently. "Go forthto the remedy as I did, in the full confidence that God can, and will, send His blessing upon it. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

MR. JENKINS ALIVE AGAIN. 

The quiet of Sunday was over, and Helstonleigh awoke on the Mondaymorning to the bustle of every-day life. Mr. Jenkins awoke, withothers, and got up--not Jenkins the old bedesman, but his son Joseph, who had the grey mare for his wife. It was Mr. Jenkins's intention toresume his occupation that day, with Mr. Hurst's and Mrs. Jenkins'spermission: the former he might have defied; the latter he dared not. However, he was on the safe side, for both had accorded it. 

Mrs. Jenkins was making breakfast in the small parlour behind herhosiery shop, when her husband appeared. He looked all the worse forhis accident. Poor Joe was one whom a little illness told upon. Thin, pale, and lantern-jawed at the best of times--indeed he was notinfrequently honoured with the nickname of "scare-crow"--he now lookedthinner and paler than ever. His tall, shadowy form seemed bent withthe weakness induced by lying a few days in bed; while his hair hadbeen cut off in three places at the top of his head, to give way to asmany patches of white plaster. 

"A nice figure you'll cut in the office, to-day, with those ornamentson your crown!" was Mrs. Jenkins's salutation. 

"I am thinking to fold this broadly upon my head, and tie it under mychin, " said he, meekly, holding out a square, black silk handkerchiefwhich he had brought down in his hand. 

"That would not hide the patch upon your forehead, stupid!" respondedMrs. Jenkins. "I believe you must have bumped upon the edge of everystair in the organ-loft, as you came down, to get so many wounds!" shecontinued crossly. "If you ever do such a senseless trick again, youshan't stir abroad without me or the maid at your back, to take care ofyou; I promise you that!"

"I have combed my hair over the place on my forehead!" civilly repliedMr. Jenkins. "I don't think it shows much. "

"And made yourself look like an owl! I thought it was nothing less thana stuffed owl coming in. Why can't you wear your hat? That would hideyour crown and your forehead too. "

"I did think of that; and I dare say Mr. Galloway would allow me to doit, and overlook the disrespect in consideration of the circumstances, "answered Jenkins. "But then, I thought again, suppose the dean shouldchance to come into the office to-day?--or any of the canons? There'sno telling but they may. I could not keep my hat on in their presence;and I should not like to take it off, and expose the plasters. "

"You'd frighten them away, if you did, " said Mrs. Jenkins, dashing somewater into the teapot. 

"Therefore, " he added, when she had finished speaking, "I think it willbe better to put on this handkerchief. People do wear them, whensuffering from neuralgia, or from toothache. "

"Law! wear it, if you like! what a fuss you make about nothing! If youchose to go with your head wrapped up in a blanket, nobody would lookat you. "

"Very true, " meekly coughed Mr. Jenkins. 

"What are you doing?" irascibly demanded Mrs. Jenkins, perceiving thatof two slices of bacon which she had put upon his plate, one had beensurreptitiously conveyed back to the dish. 

"I am not hungry this morning. I cannot eat it. "

"I say you shall eat it. What next? Do you think you are going tostarve yourself?"

"My appetite will come back to me in a morning or two, " hedeprecatingly observed. 

"It is back quite enough for that bacon, " was the answer. "Come! I'llhave it eaten. "

She ruled him in everything as she would a child; and, appetite or noappetite, Mr. Jenkins had to obey. Then he prepared for his departure. The black silk square was tied on, so as to cover the damages; the hatwas well drawn over the brows, and Mr. Jenkins started. When Mr. Galloway entered his office that morning, which he did earlier thanusual, there sat Mr. Jenkins in his usual place, copying a lease. 

He looked glad to see his old clerk. It is pleasant to welcome afamiliar face after an absence. "Are you sure you are equal to work, Jenkins?"

"Quite so, sir, thank you. I had a little fever at first, and Mr. Hurstwas afraid of that; but it has quite subsided. Beyond being a triflesore on the head, and stiff at the elbows and one hip, I am quitemyself again. "

"I was sorry to hear of the accident, Jenkins, " Mr. Galloway resumed. 

"I was as vexed at it as I could be, sir. When I first came to myself, I hardly knew what damage was done; and the uncertainty of getting tobusiness, perhaps for weeks, did worry me much. I don't deny, too, thatI have been in a little pain. But oh, sir! it was worth happening! itwas indeed; only to experience the kindness and good fellowship thathave been shown me. I am sure half the town has been to see me, or toask after me. "

"I hear you have had your share of visitors. "

"The bishop himself came, " said poor Jenkins, tears of gratitude risingto his eyes in the intensity of his emotion. "He did, indeed, sir. Hecame on the Friday, and groped his way up our dark stairs (for verydark they are when Mr. Harper's sitting-room door is shut), and satdown by my bedside, and chatted, just as plainly and familiarly as ifhe had been no better than one of my own acquaintances. Mr. ArthurChanning found him there when he came with your kind message, sir. "

"So I heard, " said Mr. Galloway. "You and the bishop were both in thesame boat. I cannot, for my part, get at the mystery of that locking-upbusiness. "

"The bishop as good as said so, sir--that we had both been in it. I wastrying to express my acknowledgments to his lordship for hiscondescension, apologizing for my plain bedroom, and the dark stairs, and all that, and saying, as well as I knew how, that the like of mewas not worthy of a visit from him, when he laughed, in his affableway, and said, 'We were both caught in the same trap, Jenkins. Had Ibeen the one to receive personal injury, I make no doubt that you wouldhave come the next day to inquire after me. ' What a great thing it is, to be blessed with a benevolent heart, like the Bishop ofHelstonleigh's!"

Arthur Channing came in and interrupted the conversation. He wassettling to his occupation, when Mr. Galloway drew his attention; in anabrupt and angry manner, as it struck Arthur. 

"Channing, you told me, yesterday, that you posted that letter forVentnor on Friday"

"So I did, sir. "

"It has been robbed. "

"Robbed!" returned Arthur, in surprise, scarcely realizing immediatelythe meaning of the word. 

"You know that it contained money--a twenty-pound note. You saw me putit in. "

"Yes--I--know--that, " hesitated Arthur. 

"What are you stammering at?"

In good truth, Arthur could not have told, except that he hesitated insurprise. He had cast his thoughts into the past, and was lost in them. 

"The fact is, you did _not_ post the letters yourself, " resumed Mr. Galloway. "You gave them to somebody else to post, in a fit ofidleness, and the result is, that the letter was rifled, and I havelost twenty pounds. "

"Sir, I assure you, that I did post them myself, " replied Arthur, withfirmness. "I went straight from this door to the post-office. In comingback, I called on Jenkins"--turning to him--"as you bade me, andafterwards I returned here. I mentioned to you, then, sir, that thebishop was with Jenkins. "

Mr. Jenkins glanced up from his desk, a streak of colour illumining histhin cheek, half hidden by the black handkerchief. "I was just saying, sir, to Mr. Galloway, that you found his lordship at my bedside, " hesaid to Arthur. 

"Has the note been taken out of the letter, sir?" demanded Arthur. "Didthe letter reach its destination without it?"

"Yes, " replied Mr. Galloway, in answer to both questions. "I had a fewlines from Mr. Robert Galloway yesterday morning, stating that theletter had arrived, but no bank-note was enclosed in it. Now, where isthe note?"

"Where can it be?" reiterated Arthur. "The letter must have been openedon the road. I declare to you, sir, that I put it myself into thepost-office. "

"It is a crying shame for this civilized country, that one cannot senda bank-note across the kingdom in a letter, but it must get taken outof it!" exclaimed Mr. Galloway, in his vexation. "The puzzle to me is, how those letter-carriers happen just to pitch upon the right lettersto open--those letters that contain money!"

He went into his private room as he spoke, banging the door after him, a sure symptom that his temper was not in a state of serenity, and nothearing or seeing Roland Yorke, who had entered, and was wishing himgood morning. 

"What's amiss? he seems in a tantrum, " ejaculated Mr. Roland, with hisusual want of ceremony. "Hallo, Jenkins; is it really you? By theaccounts brought here, I thought you were not going to have a head onyour shoulders for six months to come. Glad to see you. "

"Thank you, sir. I am thankful to say I have got pretty well over thehurt. "

"Roland, " said Arthur, in a half-whisper, bringing his head close tohis friend's, as they leaned together over the desk, "you remember thatVentnor letter, sent on Friday, with the money in it--"

"Ventnor letter!" interrupted Roland. "What Ventnor letter?"

"The one for Robert Galloway. Hamish was looking at it. It had atwenty-pound note in it. "

"For Ventnor, was it? I did not notice what place it was bound for. That fellow, the cousin Galloway, changes his place of abode like theWandering Jew. What of the letter?"

"It has been robbed of the note. "

"No!" uttered Roland. 

"It has. The cousin says the letter reached him, but the note did not. Mr. Galloway seems uncommonly put out. He accused me, at first, of nottaking it myself to the post. As if I should confide letters of valueto any one not worthy of trust!"

"Did you post it yourself?" asked Roland. 

"Of course I did. When you were coming in, after playing truant onFriday afternoon, I was then going. You might have seen the letters inmy hand. "

Roland shook his head. "I was in too great a stew to notice letters, oranything else. This will cure Galloway of sending bank-notes inletters. Have the post-office people had news of the loss sent to them?They must hunt up the thief. "

"Mr. Galloway is sure to do all that's necessary, " remarked Arthur. 

"For my part, if I sent bank-notes across the country in letters, Ishould expect them to be taken. I wonder at Galloway. He is cautious inother things. "

Others had wondered at Mr. Galloway, besides Roland Yorke. A man ofcaution, generally, he yet persisted in the practice of enclosingbank-notes in letters. Persons cognizant of this habit had remonstratedwith him; not his clerks--of course they had not presumed to do so. Mr. Galloway, who liked his own way, had become somewhat testy upon thepoint, and, not a week before the present time, had answered in a sortof contradictory spirit that his money-letters had always gone safelyhitherto, and he made no doubt they always would go safely. The presentloss, therefore, coming as it were, to check his obstinacy, vexed himmore than it would otherwise have done. He did not care for the loss ofthe money half so much as he did for the tacit reproof to himself. 

"I wonder if Galloway took the number of the note?" cried Roland. "Whether or not, though, it would not serve him much: bank-notes lostin transit never come to light. "

"Don't they, though!" retorted Arthur. "Look at the many convictionsfor post-office robbery!"

"I do not suppose that one case in ten is tracked home, " disputedRoland. "They are regular thieves, those letter-carriers. But, then, the fellows are paid so badly. "

"Do not be so sweeping in your assertions, Roland Yorke, " interposedMr. Galloway, coming forward from his own room. "How dare you soasperse the letter-carriers? They are a hard-working, quiet, honestbody of men. Yes, sir; honest--I repeat it. Where one has yielded totemptation, fingering what was not his own, hundreds rise superior toit, retaining their integrity. I would advise you not to be so freewith your tongue. "

Not to be free with his tongue would have been hard to Roland. 

"Lady Augusta was sending a box of camomile pills to some friend inIreland, the other day, sir, but it was never heard of again, after sheput it into the post-office, here, " cried he to Mr. Galloway. "Thefellow who appropriated it no doubt thought he had a prize of jewels. Ishould like to have seen his mortification when he opened the parceland found it contained pills! Lady Augusta said she hoped he had livercomplaint, and then they might be of service to him. "

Mr. Galloway made no response. He had caught up a lease that was lyingon Jenkins's desk, and stood looking at it with no pleasant expressionof countenance. On went that undaunted Roland:

"The next thing Lady Augusta had occasion to send by post was a goldcameo pin. It was enclosed in a pasteboard box, and, when packed, looked just like the parcel of pills. I wrote PILLS on it, in greatround text-hand. That reached its destination safely enough, sir. "

"More safely than you would, if it depended upon your pursuing yourbusiness steadily, " retorted Mr. Galloway to Roland. "Fill in thattithe paper. "

As Roland, with a suppressed yawn, and in his usual lazy manner, sethimself to work, there came a clatter at the office-door, and a manentered in the uniform of a telegraphic official, bearing a despatch inhis hand. Mr. Galloway had then turned to his room, and Roland, everready for anything but work, started up and received the packet fromthe man. 

"Where's it from?" asked he, in his curiosity. 

"Southampton, " replied the messenger. 

"A telegram from Southampton, sir, " announced Roland to Mr. Galloway. 

The latter took the despatch, and opened it, directing Jenkins to signthe paper. This done, the messenger departed. The words of the messagewere few, but Mr. Galloway's eye was bending upon them sternly, and hisbrow had knitted, as if in perplexity. 

"Young gentlemen, you must look to this, " he said, coming forward, andstanding before Roland and Arthur. "I find that the post-office is notto blame for this loss; it must have occurred in this room, before theletter went to the post-office. "

They both looked up, both coloured, as if with inward consternation. Thoughts, we all know, are quick as lightning: what was each thinkingof, that it should give rise to emotion? Arthur was the first to speak. 

"Do you allude to the loss of the bank-note, sir?"

"What else should I allude to?" sharply answered Mr. Galloway. 

"But the post-office must be cheeky to deny it off-hand!" flashedRoland. "How is it possible that they can answer for the honesty ofevery man whose hands that letter passed through?"

"Pray who told you they had denied it, Mr. Roland Yorke?" demanded hismaster. 

Roland felt a little checked. "I inferred it, sir. "

"I dare say. Then allow me to tell you that they have not denied it. And one very cogent reason why they have not, is, that they are not yetcognizant of the loss. I do not jump at conclusions as you do, RolandYorke, and I thought it necessary to make a little private inquirybefore accusing the post-office, lest the post-office might not be infault, you know. "

"Quite right, I have no doubt, sir, " replied Roland, in a chafedaccent, for Mr. Galloway was speaking satirically, and Roland neverliked to have ridicule cast upon him. Like old Ketch, it affected histemper. 

"By this communication, " touching the telegraphic despatch, "I learnthat the letter was not opened after it left this office, " resumed Mr. Galloway. "Consequently, the note must have been abstracted from itwhile the letter lay here. Who has been guilty of it?"

Neither Arthur nor Roland spoke. It was not a pleasant accusation--ifyou can call it an accusation--and their faces deepened to scarlet;while Mr. Jenkins looked up half terrified, and began to think, what amercy it was that he had broken his head, just that last particularThursday night, on the marble flags of the cathedral. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE LOSS. 

When money is lost out of an office, suspicion very frequently fallsupon one or more of that office's _employés_. Mr. Galloway's doubts, however, had not yet extended to those employed in his. The lettercontaining the bank-note had been despatched to Mr. Robert Galloway, atVentnor, on the Friday. On the Sunday morning, while Mr. Galloway wasat breakfast, a short answer was delivered to him from hiscousin:--"Your letter has reached me, but not the note; you must haveomitted to enclose it, " was the news it contained relative to thatparticular point. Mr. Galloway knew that he had enclosed the note;there was little doubt that both his clerks could testify that he haddone so, for it was done in their presence. How could it have beentaken out again? Had it been abstracted while the letter was still inhis office?--or on its way to the post?--or in its transmission toVentnor? "If in the office, " argued Mr. Galloway, "it must have beendone before I sealed it; if afterwards, that seal must have beentampered with, probably broken. I'll drop a note to Robert, and ask thequestion. " He rose from his breakfast and penned a line to Southampton, where, as he had reason to believe, Mr. Robert Galloway would be on theMonday. It was not Mr. Galloway's habit to write letters on a Sunday, but he considered that the present occasion justified the act. "Icertainly enclosed the note in my letter, " he wrote. "Send me wordinstantly whether the seal had been tampered with. I stamped it with myprivate seal. " Mr. Robert Galloway received this on the Monday morning. He did not wait for the post, but forwarded the reply bytelegraph--"The seal had not been broken. Will send you back theenvelope by first post. " This was the despatch which you saw Mr. Galloway receive in his office. 

He went back into his private room, carrying the despatch with him, andthere he sat down to think. From the very first, he had not believedthe fraud to lie with the post-office--for this reason: had the notebeen taken out by one of its servants, the letter would almostcertainly not have reached its destination; it would have disappearedwith the note. He had cast a doubt upon whether Arthur Channing hadposted the letters himself. Arthur assured him that he had done so, andMr. Galloway believed him; the information that the seal of the letterwas unbroken was now a further confirmation, had he needed it. Atleast, it confirmed that the letter had not been opened after it leftthe office. Mr. Galloway perfectly remembered fastening down theletter. He probably would have sealed it then, but for the commotionthat arose at the same moment in the street caused by Mad Nance. Therecould be no shadow of doubt, so far as Mr. Galloway could see, and sofar as he believed, that the abstraction had taken place between thetime of his fastening down the envelope and of his sealing it. Who haddone it?

"I'll lay a guinea I know how it happened!" he exclaimed to himself. "Channing was at college--I must have given him permission in a softmoment to take that organ, or I should never have done it, quitting theoffice daily!--and, Yorke, in his indolent carelessness, must have gotgossiping outside, leaving, it is hard to say who, in the office! Thiscomes of poor Jenkins's fall!"

Mr. Galloway rang his bell. It was answered by Jenkins. "Send Mr. Arthur Channing in, " said Mr. Galloway. 

Arthur entered, in obedience. Mr. Galloway signed to him to close thedoor, and then spoke. 

"This is an awkward business, Channing. "

"Very awkward, indeed, sir, " replied Arthur, at no loss to understandwhat Mr. Galloway alluded to. "I do not see that it was possible forthe note to have been taken from the letter, except in its transmissionthrough the post. "

"I tell you it was taken from it before it left this office, " tartlyreturned Mr. Galloway. "I have my reasons for the assertion. Did yousee me put the bank-note into the letter?"

"Of course I did, sir. I was standing by when you did it: I remained byyou after bringing you the note from this room. "

"I enclosed the note, and fastened down the envelope, " said Mr. Galloway, pointing the feather of his quill pen at each proposition. "Idid not seal it then, because looking at Mad Nance hindered me, and Iwent out, leaving the letter on Jenkins's desk, in your charge andYorke's. "

"Yes, sir. I placed the letter in the rack in your room, immediatelyafterwards. "

"And, pray, what loose acquaintances did you and Yorke receive herethat afternoon?"

"Not any, " replied Arthur. "I do not know when the office has been sofree from callers. No person whatever entered it, except my brotherHamish. "

"That's all nonsense, " said Mr. Galloway. "You are getting to speak asincautiously as Yorke. How can you tell who came here when you were atcollege? Yorke would be alone, then. "

"No, Yorke was not, " Arthur was beginning. But he stopped suddenly andhesitated. He did not care to tell Mr. Galloway that Yorke had playedtruant all that afternoon. Mr. Galloway saw his hesitation, and did notlike it. 

"Come, what have you to conceal? You and Yorke held a levee here, Isuppose? That's the fact. You had so many fellows in here, gossiping, that you don't know who may have meddled with the letter; and when youwere off to college, they stayed on with Yorke. "

"No, sir. For one thing, I did not take the organ that afternoon. Iwent, as usual, but Mr. Williams was there himself, so I came back atonce. I was only away about ten minutes. "

"And how many did you find with Yorke?"

"Yorke stepped out to speak to some one just before I went to college, "replied Arthur, obliged to allude to it, but determined to say aslittle as possible. "Hamish was here, sir; you met him coming in as youwere going out, and I got him to stay in the office till I returned. "

"Pretty doings!" retorted Mr. Galloway. "Hindering the time of Mr. Hamish Channing, that you and Yorke may kick up your heels elsewhere!Nice trustworthy clerks, both of you!"

"I was obliged to go to college, sir, " said Arthur, in a tone ofdeprecation. 

"Was Yorke obliged to go out?"

"I was back again very shortly, I assure you, sir, " said Arthur, passing over the remark. "And I did not leave the office again untilyou sent me to the post. "

"Stop!" said Mr. Galloway; "let me clearly understand. As I went out, Hamish came in. Then, you say, Yorke went out; and you, to get tocollege, left Hamish keeping office! Did any one else come in besidesHamish?"

"Not any one. When I returned from college I inquired of Hamish who hadcalled, and he said no one had called. Then Lady Augusta Yorke droveup, and Hamish went away with her. She was going to the missionarymeeting. "

"And you persist in saying that no one came in, after that?"

"No one did come in, sir. "

"Very well. Send Yorke to me. "

Roland made his appearance, a pen behind his ear, and a ruler in hishand. 

"More show than work!" sarcastically exclaimed Mr. Galloway. "Now, sir, I have been questioning Mr. Arthur Channing about this unpleasantbusiness, for I am determined to come to the bottom of it. I can getnothing satisfactory from him; so I must try what I can do with you. Have the goodness to tell me how you spent your time on Fridayafternoon. "

"On Friday?--let's see, " began Roland, out of his wits with perplexityas to how he should conceal his afternoon's absence from Mr. Galloway. "It's difficult to recollect what one does on one particular day morethan another, sir. "

"Oh, indeed! Perhaps, to begin with, you can remember the circumstancesof my enclosing the bank-note in the letter, I went into the other roomto consult a 'Bradshaw'--"

"I remember that quite well, sir, " interrupted Roland. "Channingfetched the bank-note from this room, and you put it into the envelope. It was just before we were all called to the window by Mad Nance. "

"After that?" pursued Mr. Galloway. 

"After that? I think, sir, you went out after that, and Hamish Channingcame in. "

"Who else came in?"

"I don't remember any one else, " answered Roland, wishing some onewould come in _then_, and stop the questioning. No such luck, however. 

"How many people called in, while Channing was at college, and you werekeeping office?" demanded Mr. Galloway. 

Roland fidgeted, first on one leg, then on the other. He felt that itmust all come out. "What a passion he'll go into with me!" thoughtRoland. "It is certain that no one can have touched the bank-note inthis office, sir, " he said aloud. "Those poor, half-starved postmenmust have helped themselves to it. "

"When I ask for your opinion upon 'who has helped themselves to it, ' itwill be time enough to give it me, " returned Mr. Galloway, drily. "Isay that the money was taken from the letter before it left thisoffice, when it was under the charge of you and Channing. "

"I hope you do not suspect us of taking it, sir!" said Roland, goinginto a heat. 

"I suspect that you have been guilty of negligence in some way, Mr. Roland. Could the bank-note drop out of the letter of itself?"

"I suppose it could not, sir. "

"Good! Then it is my business to ascertain, if I can, how it did getout of it. You have not answered my question. Who came into thisoffice, while Channing was at the cathedral, on Friday afternoon?"

"I declare nobody ever had such luck as I, " burst forth Roland, in atone half comic, half defiant, as he felt he must make a merit ofnecessity, and confess. "If I get into the smallest scrape in theworld, it is safe to come out. The fact is, sir, I was not here, lastFriday afternoon, during Channing's hour for college. "

"What! not at all?" exclaimed Mr. Galloway, who had not suspected thatYorke was absent so long. 

"As I say, it's my luck to be found out!" grumbled Roland. "I can'tlift a finger to-day, if it ought not to be lifted, but it is knownto-morrow. I saw one of my chums going past the end of the street, sir, and I ran after him. And I am sorry to say I was seduced into stoppingout with him longer than I ought to have done. "

Mr. Galloway stared at Roland. "At what time did you go out?" he asked. 

"Just after you did, sir. The bell was going for college. "

"And pray what time did you come in again?"

"Well, sir, you saw me come in. It was getting on for five o'clock. "

"Do you mean to say you had not been in at all, between those hours!"

"It was Knivett's fault, " grumbled Roland. "He kept me. "

Mr. Galloway sat drumming on his desk, apparently gazing at Roland; inreality thinking. To hear that Mr. Roland Yorke had taken French leavefor nearly a whole afternoon, just on the especial afternoon that heought not to have taken it--Jenkins being away--did not surprise him inthe least; it was very much in the line of the Yorkes to do so. Toscold or punish Roland for it, would have been productive of littlegood, since he was sure to do it again the very next time thetemptation offered itself. Failing temptation, he would remain at hispost steadily enough. No; it was not Roland's escapade that Mr. Galloway was considering; but the very narrow radius that the affair ofthe letter appeared to be drawing itself into. If Roland was absent, hecould not have had half the town in, to chatter; and if Arthur Channingasserted that none had been in, Mr. Galloway could give credence toArthur. But then--how had the money disappeared? Who had taken it?

"Channing!" he called out, loudly and sharply. 

Arthur, who was preparing to attend the cathedral, for the bell hadrung out, hastened in. 

"How came you not to tell me when we were speaking of Roland Yorke'sabsence, that he remained away all the afternoon?" questioned Mr. Galloway. 

Arthur was silent. He glanced once at Roland. 

"Well?" cried Mr. Galloway. 

"It was better for him to tell you himself, sir; as I conclude he hasnow done. "

"The fact is, you are two birds of a feather, " stormed Mr. Galloway, who, when once roused, which was not often, would say anything thatcame uppermost, just or unjust. "The one won't tell tales of the other. If the one set my office on fire, and then said it was the cat did it, the other would stick to it. Is it true, sir, that he was not at theoffice during my absence from it on Friday afternoon?" he continued toArthur. 

"That is true. "

"Then who can have taken the money?" uttered Mr. Galloway, speakingwhat was uppermost in his thoughts. 

"Which is as much as to say that I took it, " burst from haughty Roland. "Mr. Galloway, I--"

"Keep quiet, Roland Yorke, " interrupted that gentleman. "I do notsuspect you of taking it. I did suspect that you might have got someidlers in here, _mauvais sujets_, you know, for you call plenty of themfriends; but, if you were absent yourself, that suspicion falls to theground. Again I say, who can have taken the money?"

"It is an utter impossibility that Yorke could have taken it, even werehe capable of such a thing, " generously spoke Arthur. "From the timeyou left the office yourself, sir, until after the letters were takenout of it to be posted, he was away from it. "

"Just like him!" exclaimed Mr. Galloway. "It must have been done whileyour brother Hamish was waiting in the office. We must ascertain fromhim who came in. "

"He told me no one came in, " repeated Arthur. 

"Rubbish!" testily observed Mr. Galloway. "Some one must have come in;some one with light fingers, too! the money could not go without hands. You are off to college now, I suppose, Channing?"

"Yes, sir. "

"When service is over, just go down as far as your brother's office, and ask him about it. "

"He is as obstinate as any old adder!" exclaimed Roland Yorke toArthur, when they left Mr. Galloway alone. "The only possible way inwhich it can have gone, is through that post-office. The men haveforked it; as they did Lady Augusta's pills. "

"He says it was not the post-office, " mused Arthur. "He said--as Iunderstood--that the telegraphic despatch proved to him that it hadbeen taken out here. "

"What an idiot you are!" ejaculated Roland. "How _could_ a despatchtell him who took it, or who did not?--unless it was a despatch fromthose spirit-rappers--mesmerists, or whatever they call themselves. They profess to show you who your grandmother was, if you don't know!"

Roland laughed as he spoke. Arthur was not inclined for joking; theaffair perplexed him in no ordinary degree. "I wish Mr. Galloway wouldmention his grounds for thinking the note was taken before it went tothe post!" he said. 

"He ought to mention them, " cried Roland fiercely. "He says he learns, by the despatch, that the letter was not opened after it left thisoffice. Now, it is impossible that any despatch could tell him that. Hetalks to me about broad assertions! That's a pretty broad one. What didthe despatch say? who sent it?"

"Would it afford you satisfaction to know, Mr. Roland?" and Rolandwheeled round with a start, for it was the voice of Mr. Galloway. Hehad followed them into the front office, and caught the latter part ofthe conversation. "Come, sir, " he added, "I will teach you a lesson incaution. When I have sealed letters that contained money after theywere previously fastened down with gum, I have seen you throw your headback, Mr. Roland, with that favourite scornful movement of yours. 'Asif gum did not stick them fast enough!' you have said in your heart. But now, the fact of my having sealed this letter in question, enablesme to say that the letter was not opened after it left my hands. Thedespatch you are so curious about was from my cousin, telling me thatthe seal reached him intact. "

"I did not know the letter was sealed, " remarked Roland. "But thatproves nothing, sir. They might melt the wax, and seal it up again. Every one keeps a stamp of this sort, " he added, stretching his handout for the seal usually used in the office--an ordinary cross-barredwafer stamp. 

"Ah, " said Mr. Galloway, "you are very clever, Master Roland. But Ihappened to stamp that letter with my own private seal. "

"That alters the case, of course, " said Roland, after a pause. "Sir, Iwish you would set me to work to find out, " he impulsively continued. "I'd go to the post-office, and--"

"And there make enough noise for ten, and defeat your own ends, "interrupted Mr. Galloway. "Channing, you will be late. Do not forget tosee Hamish. "

"Yes, I must be off, " said Arthur, coming out of his reverie with astart. He had waited to hear about the seal. And now flew towards thecathedral. 

"I wish it had not happened!" he ejaculated. "I know Galloway does notsuspect me or Yorke: but still I wish it had never happened!"

CHAPTER XX. 

THE LOOMING OF AN AWFUL FEAR. 

Hamish Channing sat in his private room; his now; for, in the absenceof Mr. Channing, Hamish was master. The insurance office was situatedin Guild Street, a principal street, near to the Town Hall. Itconsisted of an entrance hall, two rooms, and a closet for hanging upcoats, and for washing hands. The room on the left of the hall, as youentered, was the principal office; the room on the right, was theprivate room of Mr. Channing; now used, I say, by Hamish. The upperpart of the house was occupied as a dwelling; the people renting ithaving nothing to do with the office. It was a large, roomy house, andpossessed a separate entrance. 

Hamish--gay, good-tempered, careless, though he was--ruled the officewith a firm hand. There was no familiarity of manner there; the clerksliked him, but they had to defer to him and obey him. He was seated athis desk, deep in some accounts, on this same morning--the onementioned in the last chapter--when one of the clerks entered, and saidthat Mr. Arthur Channing was asking to speak to him: for it was Mr. Hamish Channing's good pleasure not to be interrupted indiscriminately, unless a clerk first ascertained whether he was at liberty to be seen. Possibly Hamish feared treachery might be abroad. 

Arthur entered. Hamish pushed his books from him, and stretchedhimself. "Well, old fellow! you seem out of breath. "

"I came down at a pace, " rejoined Arthur. "College is just over. I say, Hamish, a disagreeable thing has happened at Galloway's. I have neverseen him put out as he is now. "

"Has his hair taken a change again, and come out a lovely rose colour?"

"I _wish_ you would not turn everything into joke, " cried Arthur, whowas really troubled, and the words vexed him. "You saw a letter onJenkins's desk last Friday--the afternoon, you know, that Yorke wentoff, and you remained while I went to college? There was a twenty-poundnote in it. Well, the note has, in some mysterious manner, beenabstracted from it. "

Hamish lifted his eyebrows. "What can Galloway expect, if he sendsbank-notes in letters?"

"Yes, but this was taken before it left our office. Galloway says so. He sealed it with his private seal, and the letter arrived at hiscousin's intact, the seal unbroken--a pretty sure proof that the notecould not have been in it when it was sealed. "

"Who took it out?" asked Hamish. 

"That's the question. There was not a soul near the place, that I canfind out, except you and I. Yorke was away, Jenkins was away, and Mr. Galloway was away. He says some one must have come in while you were inthe office. "

"Not so much as a ghost came in, " said Hamish. 

"Are you sure, Hamish?"

"Sure! I am sure they did not, unless I dropped asleep. _That_ was notan unlikely catastrophe to happen; shut up by myself in that dulloffice, amidst musty parchments, with nothing to do. "

"Hamish, can you be serious for once? This is a serious matter. "

"Mr. Martin Pope wants you, sir, " said the clerk again, interrupting atthis juncture. Martin Pope's face came in also, over the clerk'sshoulder. It was red, and he looked in a hurry. 

"Hamish, he has had a letter, and is off by the half-past eleventrain, " spoke Martin Pope, in some excitement. "You must rush up to thestation, if you want a last word with him. You will hardly catch him, running your best. "

Up jumped Hamish, in excitement as great as his friend's. He closed andlocked the desk, caught his hat, and was speeding out of the office, when Arthur, to whom the words had been a puzzle, seized his arm. 

"Hamish, _did_ any one come in? It was Mr. Galloway sent me here toascertain. "

"No, they did not. Should I not tell you if they had? Take care, Arthur. I must fly like the wind. Come away, Pope!"

Arthur walked back to Mr. Galloway's. That gentleman was out. RolandYorke was out. But Jenkins, upon whom the unfortunate affair had takengreat hold, lifted his face to Arthur, his eyes asking the questionthat his tongue scarcely presumed to do. 

"My brother says no one came in while he was here. It is very strange!"

"Mr. Arthur, sir, if I had repined at all at that accident, and felt itas a misfortune, how this would have reproved me!" spoke Jenkins, inhis simple faith. "Why, sir, it must have come to me as a mercy, ablessing; to take me away out of this office at the very time. "

"What do you mean, Jenkins?"

"There's no telling, sir, but Mr. Galloway might have suspected me. Itis the first loss we have had since I have been here, all these years;and--"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Arthur. "You may as well fear that Mr. Gallowaywill suspect me, or Mr. Yorke. "

"No, sir, you and Mr. Yorke are different; you are gentlemen. Mr. Galloway would no more suspect you, than he would suspect himself. I amthankful I was absent. "

"Be easy, Jenkins, " smiled Arthur. "Absent or present, every one cantrust you. "

Mr. Galloway did not return until nearly one o'clock. He went straightto his own room. Arthur followed him. 

"I have seen Hamish, sir. He says no person whatever entered on Friday, while he was here alone. "

Mr. Galloway paused, apparently revolving the news. "Hamish must bemistaken, " he answered. 

"He told me at the time, last Friday, that no one had been in, " resumedArthur. "I asked the question when I returned from college, thinkingpeople might have called on business. He said they had not done so; andhe says the same now. "

"But look you here, Arthur, " debated Mr. Galloway, in a tone ofreasoning. "I suspect neither you nor Yorke; indeed, as it seems, Yorkeput himself out of suspicion's way, by walking off; but if no one cameto the office, and yet the note _went_, remember the position in whichyou place yourself. I say I don't blame you, I don't suspect you; but Ido say that the mystery must be cleared up. Are you certain no personcame into the office during your presence in it?"

"I am quite certain of that, sir. I have told you so. "

"And is Hamish equally certain--that no one entered while he was herealone?"

"He says so. " But Arthur's words bore a sound of hesitation, which Mr. Galloway may or may not have observed. He would have spoken far morepositively had Hamish not joked about it. 

"'Says' will not do for me, " retorted Mr. Galloway. "I should like tosee Hamish. You have nothing particular to finish before one o'clock;suppose you run up to Guild Street, and request him to come round thisway, as he goes home to dinner? It will not take him two minutes out ofhis road. "

Arthur departed; choosing the nearest way to Guild Street. It led himthrough the street Hamish had been careful to avoid on account of atroublesome creditor. Arthur had no such fear. One o'clock struck as heturned into it. About midway down it, what was his astonishment atencountering Hamish! Not hurrying along, dreading to be seen, butflourishing leisurely at his ease, nodding to every one he knew, hissweet smile in full play, and his cane whirling circlets in the air. 

"Hamish! I thought this was forbidden ground!"

"So it was, until a day or two ago, " laughed Hamish; "but I havemanaged to charm the enemy. "

He spoke in his usual light, careless, half-mocking style, and passedhis arm within Arthur's. At that moment a shopkeeper came to his door, and respectfully touched his hat to Hamish. Hamish nodded in return, and laughed again as he walked on with Arthur. 

"That was the fiercest enemy in all this street of Philistines, Arthur. See how civil he is now. "

"How did you 'charm' him?"

"Oh, by a process known to myself. Did you come down on purpose toescort me home to dinner? Very polite of you!"

"I came to ask you to go round by Mr. Galloway's office, and to call inand see him. He will not take your word at second hand. "

"Take my word about what?" asked Hamish. 

"That the office had no visitors while you were in it the other day. That money matter grows more mysterious every hour. "

"Then I have not time to go round, " exclaimed Hamish, in--forhim--quite an impatient accent. "I don't know anything about the moneyor the letter. Why should I be bothered?"

"Hamish, you _must_ go, " said Arthur, impressively. "Do you knowthat--so far as can be ascertained--no human being was in the officealone with the letter, except you and I. Were we to shun inquiry, suspicion might fall upon us. "

Hamish drew himself up haughtily, somewhat after the fashion of RolandYorke. "What absurdity, Arthur! steal a twenty-pound note!" But whenthey came to the turning where two roads met, one of which led to CloseStreet, Hamish had apparently reconsidered his determination. 

"I suppose I must go, or the old fellow will be offended. You can tellthem at home that I shall be in directly; don't let them wait dinner. "

He walked away quickly. Arthur pursued the path which would take himround the cathedral to the Boundaries. He bent his head in thought. Hewas lost in perplexity; in spite of what Mr. Galloway urged, withregard to the seal, he could not believe but that the money had gonesafely to the post-office, and was stolen afterwards. Thus busiedwithin himself, he had reached the elm-trees, when he ran up againstHopper, the bailiff. Arthur looked up, and the man's features relaxedinto a smile. 

"We shut the door when the steed's stolen, Mr. Arthur, " was hissalutation. "Now that my pockets are emptied of what would have done nogood to your brother, I come here to meet him at the right time. Justto show folks--should any be about--that I did know my way here;although it unfortunately fell out that I always missed him. "

He nodded and winked. Arthur, completely at sea as to his meaning, madesome trifling remark in answer. 

"He did well to come to terms with them, " continued Hopper, droppinghis voice. "Though it was only a five pound, as I hear, and a promisefor the rest, you see they took it. Ten times over, they said to me, 'We don't want to proceed to extremities with Hamish Channing. ' I wasas glad as could be when they withdrew the writ. I do hope he will goon smooth and straight now that he has begun paying up a bit. Tell himold Hopper says it, Mr. Arthur. "

Hopper glided on, leaving Arthur glued to the spot. Begun to pay up!Paid five pounds off one debt! Paid (there could be no doubt of it)partially, or wholly, the "enemy" in the proscribed street! What did itmean? Every drop of blood in Arthur Channing's body stood still, andthen coursed on fiercely. Had he seen the cathedral tower toppling downupon his head, he had feared it less than the awful dread which wasdawning upon him. 

He went home to dinner. Hamish went home. Hamish was more gay andtalkative than usual--Arthur was silent as the grave. What was thematter, some one asked him. His head ached, was the answer; and, indeed, it was no false plea. Hamish did not say a syllable about theloss at table; neither did Arthur. Arthur was silenced now. 

It is useless to attempt to disguise the fear that had fallen upon him. You, my reader, will probably have glanced at it as suspiciously as didArthur Channing. Until this loophole had appeared, the facts had beento Arthur's mind utterly mysterious; they now shone out all tooclearly, in glaring colours. He knew that he himself had not touchedthe money, and no one else had been left with it, except Hamish. Debt!what had the paltry fear of debt and its consequences been comparedwith this?

Mr. Galloway talked much of the mystery that afternoon; Yorke talked ofit; Jenkins talked of it. Arthur barely answered; never, except whenobliged to do so; and his manner, confused at times, for he could nothelp its being so, excited the attention of Mr. Galloway. "One wouldthink you had helped yourself to the money, Channing!" he crosslyexclaimed to him once, when they were alone in the private room. 

"No, sir, I did not, " Arthur answered, in a low tone; but his faceflushed scarlet, and then grew deadly pale. If a Channing, his brother, had done it--why, he felt himself almost equally guilty; and it dyedhis brow with shame. Mr. Galloway noticed the signs, and attributedthem to the pain caused by his question. 

"Don't be foolish, Arthur. I feel sure of you and Yorke. Though, withYorke's carelessness and his spendthrift habits, I do not know that Ishould have been so sure of him, had he been left alone with thetemptation. "

"Sir!" exclaimed Arthur, in a tone of pain, "Yorke did not touch it. Iwould answer for his innocence with my life. "

"Don't I say I do not suspect him, or you either?" testily returned Mr. Galloway. "It is the mystery of the affair that worries me. If noelucidation turns up between now and to-morrow morning, I shall placeit in the hands of the police. "

The announcement scared away Arthur's caution; almost scared away hissenses. "Oh! pray, pray, Mr. Galloway, do not let the police becomecognizant of it!" he uttered, in an accent of wild alarm. And Mr. Galloway stared at him in very amazement; and Jenkins, who had come into ask a question, stared too. 

"It might not produce any good result, and would cause us no end oftrouble, " Arthur added, striving to assign some plausible explanationto his words. 

"That is my affair, " said Mr. Galloway. 

When Arthur reached home, the news had penetrated there also. Mrs. Channing's tea-table was absorbed with it. Tom and Charles gave theschool version of it, and the Rev. Mr. Yorke, who was taking tea withthem, gave his. Both accounts were increased by sundry embellishments, which had never taken place in reality. 

"Not a soul was ever near the letter, " exclaimed Tom, "except Arthurand Jenkins, and Roland Yorke. "

"The post-office must be to blame for this, " observed Mr. Channing. "But you are wrong, Tom, with regard to Jenkins. He could not have beenthere. "

"Mark Galloway says his uncle had a telegraphic despatch, to say thepost-office knew nothing about it, " exclaimed Charles. 

"Much you know about it, Miss Charley!" quoth Tom. "The despatch wasabout the seal: it was not from the post-office at all. They have notaccused the post-office yet. "

Arthur let them talk on; headache the excuse for his own silence. Itdid ache, in no measured degree. When appealed to, "Was it this way, Arthur?" "Was it the other?" he was obliged to speak, so that anaccurate version of the affair was arrived at before tea was over. Constance alone saw that something unusual was the matter with him. Sheattributed it to fears at the absence of Hamish, who had been expectedhome to tea, and did not come in. Constance's own fears at this absencegrew to a terrific height. Had he been _arrested_?

She beckoned Arthur from the room, for she could no longer controlherself. Her lips were white, as she drew him into the study, andspoke. "Arthur, what has become of Hamish? Has anything happened tohim?"

"Happened to him!" repeated Arthur, vaguely, too absorbed in his ownsad thoughts to reply at once. 

"Has--he--been--_taken_?"

"Taken! Hamish? Oh, you mean for debt!" he continued, his heartbeating, and fully aroused now. "There is no further fear, I believe. He has managed to arrange with the people. "

"How has he contrived it?" exclaimed Constance, in wonder. 

Arthur turned his face away. "Hamish does not make me his confidant. "

Constance stole her hand into his. "Arthur, what is the matter with youthis evening? Is it that unpleasant affair at Mr. Galloway's?"

He turned from her. He laid his face upon the table and groaned inanguish. "Be still, Constance! You can do no good. "

"But _what_ is it?" uttered Constance in alarm. "You surely do not fearthat suspicion should be cast on you, or on Hamish--although, as itappears, you and he were alone in the office with the letter?"

"Be still, I say, Constance, " he wailed. "There is nothing for it butto--to--to bear. You will do well to ask no more about it. "

A faint dread began to dawn upon her. "You and Hamish were alone withthe letter!" the echo of the words came thumping against her brain. Butshe beat it off. Suspect a Channing! "Arthur, I need not ask if you areinnocent; it would be a gratuitous insult to you. "

"No, " he quietly said, "you need not ask that. "

"And--Hamish?" she would have continued, but the words would not come. She changed them for others. 

"How do you know that he has paid any of his debts, Arthur?"

"I heard it. I--"

At that moment they heard something else--Hamish's voice in the hall. In the impulse of the moment, in the glad revulsion of feeling--for, ifHamish were safe in the hall, he could not be in prison--Constance flewto him, and clasped her hands round his neck. "Oh, Hamish, Hamish!thank Heaven that you are here!"

Hamish was surprised. He went with Constance into the study, whereArthur had remained. "What do you mean, Constance? What is the matter?"

"I am always fearful, " she whispered; "always fearful; I know you owemoney, and that they might put you in prison. Hamish, I think of it bynight and by day. "

"My pretty sister!" cried Hamish, caressingly, as he smoothed her hair, just as Constance sometimes smoothed Annabel's: "that danger has passedfor the present. "

"If you were arrested, papa might lose his post, " she murmured. 

"I know it; it is that which has worried me. I have been doing what Icould to avert it. Constance, these things are not for you. Who toldyou anything about them?"

"Never mind. I--"

"What will you give me for something I have found?" exclaimed Annabel, bursting in upon them, her hands behind her, and her eyes dancing. "Itis one of your treasures, Hamish. "

"Then give it me, Annabel. Come! I am tired; I cannot play with youthis evening. "

"I won't give it you until you guess what it is. "

Hamish was evidently in no mood for play. Annabel danced round andabout him, provokingly eluding his grasp. He caught her suddenly, andlaid his hands upon hers. With a shriek of laughing defiance, she flungsomething on the floor, and four or five sovereigns rolled about. 

It was Hamish's purse. She had found it on the hall table, by the sideof his hat and gloves, left there most probably inadvertently. Hamishstooped to pick up the money. 

"See how rich he is!" danced Annabel; "after telling us he was as pooras a church mouse! Where has it all come from?"

Never had they seen Hamish more annoyed. When he had secured the money, he gave a pretty sharp tap to Annabel, and ordered her, in a ringingtone of command, not to meddle with his things again. He quitted theroom, and Annabel ran after him, laughing and defiant still. 

"_Where has it all come from_?" The words, spoken in innocence by thechild, rang as a knell on the ears of Constance and Arthur Channing. Constance's very heart turned sick--sick as Arthur's had been since themeeting with Hopper under the elm-trees. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

MR. BUTTERBY. 

The clock of Helstonleigh Cathedral was striking eight, and the postmanwas going his rounds through the Boundaries. Formerly, nothing socommon as a regular postman, when on duty, was admitted within the paleof that exclusive place. The Boundaries, chiefly occupied by the higherorder of the clergy, did not condescend to have its letters deliveredin the ordinary way, and by the ordinary hands. It was the custom forthe postman to take them to the Boundary-gate, and there put them intothe porter's great box, just as if he had been posting letters at thetown post-office; and the porter forthwith delivered them at theirseveral destinations. The late porter, however, had grown, with years, half blind and wholly stupid. Some letters he dropped; some he lost;some he delivered at wrong houses; some, he persisted in declaring, when questioned, had never been delivered to him at all. In short, mistakes and confusion were incessant; so, the porter was exoneratedfrom that portion of his duty, and the postman entered upon it. Therewas a fresh porter now, but the old custom had not been resumed. 

Ring--ring--ring--ring--for one peculiarity of the Boundaries was, thatmost of its doors possessed no knockers, only bells--on he went, theman, on this morning, leaving letters almost everywhere. At length hecame to Mr. Galloway's, and rang there a peal that it is the delight ofa postman to ring; but when the door was opened, he delivered in onlyone letter and a newspaper. The business letters were generallydirected to the office. 

Mr. Galloway was half-way through his breakfast. He was no sluggard;and he liked to devote the whole hour, from eight to nine, to hisbreakfast and his Times. Occasionally, as on this morning, he would sitdown before eight, in order that he might have nearly finishedbreakfast before the letters arrived. His servants knew by experiencethat, when this happened, he was expecting something unusual by thepost. 

His man came in. He laid the letter and the newspaper by his master'sside. Mr. Galloway tore open the Times, gave one glance at the price ofthe funds and the money article, then put aside the paper, and took upthe letter. 

The latter was from his cousin, Mr. Robert Galloway. It contained alsothe envelope in which Mr. Galloway had enclosed the twenty-pound note. "You perceive, " wrote Mr. Robert, "that the seal has not been tamperedwith. It is perfectly intact. Hence I infer that you must be in errorin supposing that you enclosed the note. "

Mr. Galloway examined the envelope closely. His cousin had not brokenthe seal in opening the letter, but had _cut_ the paper above it. Hewas a methodical man in trifles, this Mr. Robert Galloway, andgenerally did cut open his envelopes. It had been all the better forhim had he learnt to be methodical with his money. 

"Yes; it is as Robert says, " soliloquized Mr. Galloway. "The seal hasnot been touched since it went out of my hands; therefore the note mustpreviously have been extracted from the letter. Now, who did it?"

He sat--his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, and the envelopebefore him. Apparently, he was studying it minutely; in reality he waslost in thought. "It's just like the work of a conjuror!" he presentlyexclaimed. "Not a caller near the place, that I can find out, and yetthe bank-note vanishes out of the letter! Notes don't vanish withouthands, and I'll do as I said yesterday--consult the police. If any onecan come to the bottom of it, it's Butterby. Had the seal been broken, I should have given it to the post-office to ferret out; the crimewould have lain with them, and so would the discovery. As it is, thebusiness is mine. "

He wrote a line rapidly in pencil, folded, called in his man-servant, and despatched him with it to the police-station. The station was verynear Mr. Galloway's; on the other side of the cathedral, halfwaybetween that edifice and the town-hall. In ten minutes after theservant had left the house, Mr. Butterby was on his road to it. 

Mr. Butterby puzzled Helstonleigh. He was not an inspector, he was nota sergeant, he was not a common officer, and he was never seen inofficial dress. Who was Mr. Butterby? Helstonleigh wondered. That hehad a great deal to do with the police, was one of their staff, andreceived his pay, was certain; but, what his standing might be, andwhat his peculiar line of duty, they could not tell. Sometimes he wasabsent from Helstonleigh for months at a time, probably puzzling othertowns. Mr. Galloway would have told you he was a detective; but perhapsMr. Galloway's grounds for the assertion existed only in his ownopinion. For convenience-sake we will call him a detective;remembering, however, that we have no authority for the term. 

Mr. Butterby came forward, a spare, pale man, of middle height, hiseyes deeply set, and his nose turned up to the skies. He was of silenthabit; probably, of a silent nature. 

Mr. Galloway recited the circumstances of his loss. The detective satnear him, his hands on his knees, his head bent, his eyes cast upon thefloor. He did not interrupt the story by a single word. When it wasended, he took up the envelope, and examined it in equal silence;examined it with ridiculous minuteness, Mr. Galloway thought, for hepoked, and peered, and touched it everywhere. He held it up to thelight, he studied the postmarks, he gazed at the seal through anodd-looking little glass that he took from his waistcoat pocket, heparticularly criticised the folds, he drew his fingers along its edges, he actually sniffed it--all in silence, and with an impassivecountenance. 

"Have you the number of the note?" was his first question. 

"No, " said Mr. Galloway. 

He looked up at this. The thought may have struck him, that, not totake the number of a bank-note, sent by post, betrayed somecarelessness for a man of business. Mr. Galloway, at least, inferredthis, and answered the look. 

"Of course I am in the habit of taking their numbers; I don't know thatI ever did such a thing before, as send a bank-note away without it. Ihad an appointment, as I tell you, at the other end of the town for aquarter to three; it was of importance; and, when I heard the collegestrike out the three-quarters--the very hour I ought to have beenthere--I hurriedly put the note into the folds of the letter, withoutwaiting to take its number. It was not that I forgot to do so, but thatI could not spare the time. "

"Have you any means of ascertaining the number, by tracing the noteback to whence it may have come into your possession?" was the nextquestion. 

Mr. Galloway was obliged to confess that he had none. "Bank-notes areso frequently paid me from different quarters, " he remarked. "Yesterday, for instance, a farmer, renting under the Dean and Chapter, came in, and paid me his half-year's rent. Another, holding the leaseof a public-house in the town, renewed two lives which had dropped in. It was Beard, of the Barley Mow. Now, both these men paid in notes, tens and fives, and they now lie together in my cash drawer; but Icould not tell you which particular notes came from each man--no, notif you paid me the worth of the whole to do it. Neither could I tellwhence I had the note which I put into the letter. "

"In this way, if a note should turn out to be bad, you could not returnit to its owner. "

"I never took a bad note in my life, " said Mr. Galloway, speakingimpulsively. "There's not a better judge of notes than myself in thekingdom; and Jenkins is as good as I am. "

Another silence. Mr. Butterby remained in the same attitude, his headand eyes bent. "Have you given me all the particulars?" he presentlyasked. 

"I think so. All I remember. "

"Then allow me to go over them aloud, " returned the detective; "and, ifI make any mistake or omission, have the goodness to correct me:--OnFriday last, you took a twenty-pound note out of your cash drawer, nottaking or knowing its number. This note you put within the folds of aletter, and placed both in an envelope, and fastened the envelope down, your two clerks, Channing and Yorke, being present. You then went out, leaving the letter upon one of the desks. As you left, Hamish Channingcame in. Immediately following upon that, Yorke went out, leaving thebrothers alone. Arthur departed to attend college, Hamish remaining inthe office. Arthur Channing soon returned, finding there was nonecessity for him to stay in the cathedral; upon which Hamish left. Arthur Channing remained alone for more than an hour, no one calling orentering the office during that period. You then returned yourself;found the letter in the same state, apparently, in which you had leftit, and you sealed it, and sent Arthur Channing with it to thepost-office. These are the brief facts, so far as you are cognizant ofthem, and as they have been related to you?"

"They are, " replied Mr. Galloway. "I should have mentioned that ArthurChanning carried the letter into my private room before he left theoffice for college. "

"Locking the door?"

"Oh dear, no! Closing the door, no doubt, but not locking it. It wouldhave been unusual to do so. "

"Jenkins was away, " observed the detective in a tone of abstraction, which told he was soliloquizing, rather than addressing his companion. Mr. Galloway rather fired up at the remark, taking it in a differentlight from that in which it was spoken. 

"Jenkins was at home at the time, confined to his bed; and, had he notbeen, I would answer for Jenkins's honesty as I would for my own. Canyou see any possible solution to the mystery?"

"A very possible one, " was the dry answer. "There is no doubt whateverupon my mind, that the theft was committed by Arthur Channing. "

Mr. Galloway started up with an exclamation of surprise, mingled withanger. Standing within the room was his nephew Mark. The time had goneon to nine, the hour of release from school; and, on running past Mr. Galloway's with the rest of the boys, Mark had dutifully called in. Mark and his brothers were particularly fond of calling in, for theiruncle was not stingy with his sixpences, and they were always on thelook-out. Mr. Mark did not get a sixpence this time. 

"How dare you intrude upon me in this sly way, sir? Don't you see I amengaged? I will have you knock at my room door before you enter. Takeyourself off again, if you please!"

Mark, with a word of deprecation, went off, his ears pricking with thesentence he had heard from the detective--Arthur Channing the thief!

Mr. Galloway turned again to the officer. He resented the imputation. "The Channings are altogether above suspicion, from the fatherdownwards, " he remonstrated. "Were Arthur Channing dishonestlyinclined, he has had the opportunity to rob me long before this. "

"Persons of hitherto honourable conduct, honest by nature and by habit, have succumbed under sudden temptation or pressing need, " was theanswer. 

"Arthur Channing is in no pressing need. He is not hard up for money. "

A smile actually curled the detective's lip. "A great many more youngmen are harder up for money than they allow to appear. The Channingsare in what may be called difficulties, through the failure of theirChancery suit, and the lad must have yielded to temptation. "

Mr. Galloway could not be brought to see it. "You may as well set onand suspect Hamish, " he resentfully said. "He was equally alone withthe letter. "

"No, " was the answer of the keen officer. "Hamish Channing is in aresponsible position; he would not be likely to emperil it for atwenty-pound note; and he could not know that the letter containedmoney. " Mr. Butterby was not cognizant of quite the facts of the case, you see. 

"It is absurd to suspect Arthur Channing. "

"Which is the more absurd--to suspect him, or to assume that thebank-note vanished without hands? forced its own way through theenvelope, and disappeared up the chimney in a whirlwind?" asked theofficer, bringing sarcasm to his aid. "If the facts are as you havestated, that only the two Channings had access to the letter, the guiltmust lie with one of them. Facts are facts, Mr. Galloway. "

Mr. Galloway admitted that facts _were_ facts, but he could not bebrought to allow the guilt of Arthur Channing. The detective rose. 

"You have confided the management of this affair to me, " he observed, "and I have no doubt I shall be able to arrive at a satisfactoryconclusion. One more question I must ask you. Is it known to yourclerks that you have not the number of the note?"

"Yes, it is. "

"Then I fear you stand little chance of ever seeing it again. That factknown, no time would be lost in parting with it; they'd make haste toget it safe off. "

Not an instant did Mr. Butterby take for consideration upon quittingMr. Galloway. With a sharp, unhesitating step, as though his mind hadbeen made up for a month past as to what his course must be, he tookhis way to the house of Mr. Joe Jenkins. That gentleman, his head stilltied up, was just leaving for the office, and Mr. Butterby encounteredhim coming through the shop. 

"Good morning, Jenkins. I want a word with you alone. "

Jenkins bowed, in his civil, humble fashion; but "a word alone" wasmore easily asked than had, Mrs. Jenkins being all-powerful, andburning with curiosity. The officer had to exert some authority beforehe could get rid of her, and be left at peace with Jenkins. 

"What sources of expense has Arthur Channing?" demanded he, so abruptlyas to startle and confuse Jenkins. 

"Sources of expense, sir?" he repeated. 

"What are his habits? Does he squander money? Does he go out in anevening into expensive company?"

"I'm sure, sir, I cannot tell you anything about it, " Jenkins wasmildly beginning. He was imperatively interrupted by the detective. 

"I ask _to know_. You are aware that I possess authority to compel youto speak; therefore, answer me without excuse or circumlocution; itwill save trouble. "

"But indeed, sir, I really do _not_ know, " persisted Jenkins. "I shouldjudge Mr. Arthur Channing to be a steady, well-conducted younggentleman, who has no extravagant habits at all. As to his evenings, Ithink he spends them mostly at home. "

"Do you know whether he has any pressing debts?"

"I heard him say to Mr. Yorke one day, that a twenty-pound note wouldpay all he owed, and leave him something out of it, " spoke Jenkins inhis unconscious simplicity. 

"Ah!" said Mr. Butterby, drawing in his lips, though his face remainedimpassive as before. "When was this?"

"Not long ago, sir. About a week, it may have been, before I met withthat accident--which accident, I begin to see now, sir, happenedprovidentially, for it caused me to be away from the office when thatmoney was lost. "

"An unpleasant loss, " remarked the officer, with apparent carelessness;"and the young gentlemen must feel it so--Arthur Channing especially. Yorke, I believe, was out?"

"He does feel it very much, sir. He was as agitated about it yesterdayas could be, when Mr. Galloway talked of putting it into the hands ofthe police. It is a disagreeable thing to happen in an office, youknow, sir. "

A slight pause of silence was made by the detective ere he rejoined. "Agitated, was he? And Mr. Roland Yorke the same, no doubt?"

"No, sir; Mr. Roland does not seem to care much about it. He thinks itmust have been taken in its transit through the post-office, and Icannot help being of the same opinion, sir. "

Another question or two, and Jenkins attended Mr. Butterby to the door. He was preparing to follow him from it, but a peremptory female voicearrested his departure. 

"Jenkins, I want you. "

"It is hard upon half-past nine, my dear. I shall be late. "

"If it's hard upon half-past ten, you'll just walk here. I want you, Isay. "

Meek as any lamb, Mr. Jenkins returned to the back parlour, and wasmarshalled into a chair. Mrs. Jenkins closed the door and stood beforehim. "Now, then, what did Butterby want?"

"I don't know what he wanted, " replied Jenkins. 

"You will sit there till you tell me, " resolutely replied the lady. "Iam not going to have police inquisitors making mysterious visits insidemy doors, and not know what they do it for. You'll tell me every wordthat passed, and the sooner you begin, the better. "

"But I am ignorant myself of what he did want, " mildly deprecatedJenkins. "He asked me a question or two about Mr. Arthur Channing, butwhy I don't know. "

Leaving Mrs. Jenkins to ferret out the questions one by one--which, youmay depend upon it, she would not fail to do, and to keep Jenkins aprisoner until it was over--and leaving Mr. Butterby to proceed to thehouse of the cathedral organist, whither he was now bent, to ascertainwhether Mr. Williams did take the organ voluntarily, and (to Arthur)unexpectedly, the past Friday afternoon, we will go on to othermatters. Mr. Butterby best knew what bearing this could have upon thecase. Police officers sometimes give to their inquiries a strangelywide range. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

AN INTERRUPTED DINNER. 

Have you ever observed a large lake on the approach of a suddenstorm?--its unnatural stillness, death-like and ominous; itsundercurrent of anger not yet apparent on the surface; and then thebreaking forth of fury when the storm has come?

Not inaptly might the cloisters of Helstonleigh be compared to this, that day, when the college boys were let out of school at one o'clock. A strange rumour had been passed about amongst the desks--not reachingthat at which sat the seniors--a rumour which shook the equanimity ofthe school to its centre; and, when one o'clock struck, the boys, instead of clattering out with all the noise of which their legs andlungs were capable, stole down the stairs quietly, and formed intogroups of whisperers in the cloisters. It was the calm that precedes astorm. 

So unusual a state of affairs was noticed by the senior boy. 

"What's up now?" he asked them, in the phraseology in vogue there andelsewhere. "Are you all going to a funeral? I hope it's your sins thatyou are about to bury!"

A heavy silence answered him. Gaunt could not make it out. The otherthree seniors, attracted by the scene, came back, and waited withGaunt. By that time the calm was being ruffled by low murmurings, andcertain distinct words came from more than one of the groups. 

"What do you say?" burst forth Tom Channing, darting forward as thewords caught his ear. "You, Jackson! speak up; _what_ is it?"

Not Jackson's voice especially, but several other voices arose then; aword from one, a word from another, half sentences, disjointed hints, forming together an unmistakable whole. "The theft of old Galloway'sbank-note has been traced to Arthur Channing. "

"Who says it? Who dares to say it?" flashed Tom, his face flaming, andhis hand clenched. 

"The police say it. Butterby says it. "

"I don't care for the police; I don't care for Butterby, " cried Tom, stamping his foot in his terrible indignation. "I ask, who dares to sayit here?"

"I do, then! Come, Mr. Channing, though you are a senior, and can putme up to Pye for punishment upon any false plea that you choose, "answered a tall fellow, Pierce senior, who was chiefly remarkable forgetting into fights, and was just now unusually friendly with MarkGalloway, at whose desk he sat. 

Quick as lightning, Tom Channing turned and faced him. "Speak out whatyou have to say, " cried he; "no hints. "

"Whew!" retorted Pierce senior, "do you think I am afraid? I say thatArthur Channing stole the note lost by old Galloway. "

Tom, in uncontrollable temper, raised his hand and struck him. Onehalf-minute's struggle, nothing more, and Pierce senior was sprawlingon the ground, while Tom Channing's cheek and nose were bleeding. Gaunthad stepped in between them. 

"I stop this, " he said. "Pierce, get up! Don't lie there like afloundering donkey. Channing, what possessed you to forget yourself?"

"You would have done the same, Gaunt, had the insult been offered toyou. Let the fellow retract his words, or prove them. "

"Very good. That is how you ought to have met it at first, " said Gaunt. "Now, Mr. Pierce, can you make good your assertion?"

Pierce had floundered up, and was rubbing one of his long legs, whichhad doubled under him in the fall, while his brother, Pierce junior, was collecting an armful of scattered books, and whisperingprognostications of parental vengeance in prospective; for, so surelyas Pierce senior fell into a fight at school, to the damage of face orclothes, so surely was it followed up by punishment at home. 

"If you want proof, go to Butterby at the police station, and get itfrom him, " sullenly replied Pierce, who owned a sulky temper as well asa pugnacious one. 

"Look here, " interrupted Mark Galloway, springing to the front: "Piercewas a fool to bring it out in that way, but I'll speak up now it hascome to this. I went into my uncle's, this morning, at nine o'clock, and there was he, shut in with Butterby. Butterby was saying that therewas no doubt the theft had been committed by Arthur Channing. Mind, Channing, " Mark added, turning to Tom, "I am not seconding theaccusation on my own score; but, that Butterby said it I'll declare. "

"Pshaw! is that all?" cried Tom Channing, lifting his head with ahaughty gesture, and not condescending to notice the blood whichtrickled from his cheek. "You must have misunderstood him, boy. "

"No, I did not, " replied Mark Galloway. "I heard him as plainly as Ihear you now. "

"It is hardly likely that Butterby would say that before you, Galloway, " observed Gaunt. 

"Ah, but he didn't see I was there, or my uncle either, " said Mark. "When he is reading his newspaper of a morning, he can't bear a noise, and I always go into the room as quiet as mischief. He turned me outagain pretty quick, I can tell you; but not till I had heard Butterbysay that. "

"You must have misunderstood him, " returned Gaunt, carelessly taking upTom Channing's notion; "and you had no right to blurt out such a thingto the school. Arthur Channing is better known and trusted than you, Mr. Mark. "

"I didn't accuse Arthur Channing to the school. I only repeated to mydesk what Butterby said. "

"It is that 'only repeating' which does three parts of the mischief inthis world, " said Gaunt, giving the boys a little touch of moralitygratis, to their intense edification. "As to you, Pierce senior, you'llget more than you bargain for, some of these days, if you poke yourill-conditioned nose so often into other people's business. "

Tom Channing had marched away towards his home, head erect, his stepringing firmly and proudly on the cloister flags. Charley ran by hisside. But Charley's face was white, and Tom caught sight of it. 

"What are you looking like that for?"

"Tom! you don't think it's true, do you?"

Tom turned his scorn upon the boy. "You little idiot! True! A Channingturn thief! _You_ may, perhaps--it's best known to yourself--but neverArthur. "

"I don't mean that. I mean, can it be true that the police suspecthim?"

"Oh! that's what your face becomes milky for? You ought to have beenborn a girl, Miss Charley. If the police do suspect him, what ofthat?--they'll only have the tables turned upon themselves, Butterbymight come out and say he suspects me of murder! Should I care? No; I'dprove my innocence, and make him eat his words. "

They were drawing near home. Charley looked up at his brother. "Youmust wipe your face, Tom. "

Tom took out his handkerchief, and gave his face a rub. In hisindignation, his carelessness, he would have done nothing of the sort, had he not been reminded by the boy. "Is it off?"

"Yes, it's off. I am not sure but it will break out again. You musttake care. "

"Oh, bother! let it. I should like to have polished off that Piercesenior as he deserves. A little coin of the same sort would do Gallowayno harm. Were I senior of the school, and Arthur not my brother, Mr. Mark should hear a little home truth about sneaks. I'll tell it him inprivate, as it is; but I can't put him up for punishment, or act in itas Gaunt could. "

"Arthur is our brother, therefore we feel it more pointedly thanGaunt, " sensibly remarked Charley. 

"I'd advise you not to spell forth that sentimental rubbish, though youare a young lady, " retorted Tom. "A senior boy, if he does his duty, should make every boy's cause his own, and 'feel' for him. "

"Tom, " said the younger and more thoughtful of the two, "don't let ussay anything of this at home. "

"Why not?" asked Tom, hotly. He would have run in open-mouthed. 

"It would pain mamma to hear it. "

"Boy! do you suppose _she_ would fear Arthur?"

"You seem to misconstrue all I say, Tom. Of course she would not fearhim--you did not fear him; but it stung you, I know, as was proved byyour knocking down Pierce. "

"Well, I won't speak of it before her, " conciliated Tom, somewhat wonover, "or before my father, either; but catch me keeping it from therest. "

As Charles had partially foretold, they had barely entered, when Tom'sface again became ornamented with crimson. Annabel shrieked out, startling Mr. Channing on his sofa. Mrs. Channing, as it happened, wasnot present; Constance was: Lady Augusta Yorke and her daughters werespending part of the day in the country, therefore Constance had comehome at twelve. 

"Look at Tom's face!" cried the child. "What has he been doing?"

"Hold your tongue, little stupid, " returned Tom, hastily bringing hishandkerchief into use again; which, being a white one, made the worseexhibition of the two, with its bright red stains. "It's nothing but ascratch. "

But Annabel's eyes were sharp, and she had taken in full view of thehurt. "Tom, you have been fighting! I am sure of it!"

"Come to me, Tom, " said Mr. Channing. "Have you been fighting?" hedemanded, as Tom crossed the room in obedience, and stood close to him. "Take your handkerchief away, that I may see your face. "

"It could not be called a fight, papa, " said Tom, holding his cheek sothat the light from the window fell full upon the hurt. "One of theboys offended me; I hit him, and he gave me this; then I knocked himdown, and there it ended. It's only a scratch. "

"Thomas, was this Christian conduct?"

"I don't know, papa. It was schoolboy's. "

Mr. Channing could not forbear a smile. "I know it was a schoolboy'sconduct; that is bad enough: and it is my son's, that is worse. "

"If I had given him what he deserved, he would have had ten times asmuch; and perhaps I should, for my temper was up, only Gaunt put in hisinterference. When I am senior, my rule will be different fromGaunt's. "

"Ah, Tom! your 'temper up!' It is that temper of yours which brings youharm. What was the quarrel about?"

"I would rather not tell you, papa. Not for my own sake, " he added, turning his honest eyes fearlessly on his father; "but I could not tellit without betraying something about somebody, which it may be as wellto keep in. "

"After that lucid explanation, you had better go and get some warmwater for your face, " said Mr. Channing. "I will speak with you later. "

Constance followed him from the room, volunteering to procure the warmwater. They were standing in Tom's chamber afterwards, Tom bathing hisface, and Constance looking on, when Arthur, who had then come in fromMr. Galloway's, passed by to his own room. 

"Hallo!" he called out; "what's the matter, Tom?"

"Such a row!" answered Tom. "And I wish I could have pitched intoPierce senior as I'd have liked. What do you think, Arthur? The schoolwere taking up the notion that you--you!--had stolen old Galloway'sbank-note. Pierce senior set it afloat; that is, he and Mark Gallowaytogether. Mark said a word, and Pierce said two, and so it went on. Ishould have paid Pierce out, but for Gaunt. "

A silence. It was filled up by the sound of Tom splashing the water onhis face, and by that only. Arthur spoke presently, his tone so calm aone as almost to be unnatural. 

"How did the notion arise?"

"Mark Galloway said he heard Butterby talking with his uncle; thatButterby said the theft could only have been committed by ArthurChanning. Mark Galloway's ears must have played him false; but it was aregular sneak's trick to come and repeat it to the school. I say, Constance, is my face clean now?"

Constance woke up from a reverie to look at his face. "Quite clean, "she answered. 

He dried it, dried his hands, gave a glance at his shirt-front in theglass, which had, however, escaped damage, brushed his hair, and wentdownstairs. Arthur closed the door and turned to Constance. Her eyeswere seeking his, and her lips stood apart. The terrible fear which hadfallen upon both the previous day had not yet been spoken out betweenthem. It must be spoken now. 

"Constance, there is tribulation before us, " he whispered. "We mustschool ourselves to bear it, however difficult the task may prove. Whatever betide the rest of us, suspicion must be averted from _him_. "

"What tribulation do you mean?" she murmured. 

"The affair has been placed in the hands of the police; and Ibelieve--I believe, " Arthur spoke with agitation, "that they willpublicly investigate it. Constance, they suspect _me_. The collegeschool is right, and Tom is wrong. "

Constance leaned against a chest of drawers to steady herself, andpressed her hand upon her shrinking face. "How have you learnt it?"

"I have gathered it from different trifles; one fact and another. Jenkins said Butterby was with him this morning, asking questions aboutme. Better that I should be suspected than Hamish. God help me to bearit!"

"But it is so unjust that you should suffer for him. "

"Were it traced home to him, it might be the whole family's ruin, formy father would inevitably lose his post. He might lose it were onlysuspicion to stray to Hamish. There is no alternative. I must screenhim. Can you be firm, Constance, when you see me accused?"

Constance leaned her head upon her hand, wondering whether she could befirm in the cause. But that she knew where to go for strength, shemight have doubted it; for the love of right, the principles of justicewere strong within her. "Oh, what could possess him?" she uttered, wringing her hands; "what could possess him? Arthur, is there noloophole, not the faintest loophole for hope of his innocence?"

"None that I see. No one whatever had access to the letter but Hamishand I. He must have yielded to the temptation in a moment of delirium, knowing the money would clear him from some of his pressing debts--asit has done. "

"How could he brave the risk of detection?"

"I don't know. My head aches, pondering over it. I suppose he concludedthat suspicion would fall upon the post-office. It would have done so, but for that seal placed on the letter afterwards. What an unfortunatething it was, that Roland Yorke mentioned there was money inside theletter in the hearing of Hamish!"

"Did he mention it?" exclaimed Constance. 

He said there was a twenty-pound note in the letter, going to thecousin Galloway, and Hamish remarked that he wished it was going intohis pocket instead. "I _wish_" Arthur uttered, in a sort of frenzy, "Ihad locked the letter up there and then. "

Constance clasped her hands in pain. "I fear he may have been goingwrong for some time, " she breathed. "It has come to my knowledge, through Judith, that he sits up for hours night after night, doingsomething to the books. Arthur, " she shivered, glancing fearfullyround, "I hope those accounts are right?"

The doubt thus given utterance to, blanched even the cheeks of Arthur. "Sits up at the books!" he exclaimed. 

"He sits up, that is certain; and at the books, as I conclude. He takesthem into his room at night. It may only be that he has not time, ordoes not make time, to go over them in the day. It _may_ be so. "

"I trust it is; I pray it may be. Mind you, Constance, our duty isplain: we must screen him; screen him at any sacrifice to ourselves, for the father and mother's sake. "

"Sacrifice to you, you ought to say. What were our other lighttroubles, compared with this? Arthur, will they publicly accuse you?"

"It may come to that; I have been steeling myself all the morning tomeet it. "

He looked into her face as he said it. Constance could see how his browand heart were aching. At that moment they were called to dinner, andArthur turned to leave the room. Constance caught his hand, the tearsraining from her eyes. 

"Arthur, " she whispered, "in the very darkest trouble, God can comfortus. Be assured He will comfort you. "

Hamish did not make his appearance at dinner, and they sat down withouthim. This was not so very unusual as to cause surprise; he wasoccasionally detained at the office. 

The meal was about half over, when Annabel, in her disregard of thebounds of discipline, suddenly started from her seat and flew to thewindow. 

"Charley, there are two policemen coming here! Whatever can they want?"

"Perhaps to take you, " said Mrs. Channing, jestingly. "A short sojournat the tread-mill might be of great service to you, Annabel. "

The announcement had struck upon the ear and memory of Tom. "Policemen!" he exclaimed, standing up in his place, and stretching hisneck to obtain a view of them. "Why--it never can be that--oldButterby--Arthur, what ails you?"

A sensitive, refined nature, whether implanted in man or woman, isalmost sure to betray its emotions on the countenance. Such a naturewas Arthur Channing's. Now that the dread had really come, every dropof blood forsook his cheeks and lips, leaving his face altogether of adeathly whiteness. He was utterly unable to control or help this, andit was this pallor which had given rise to Tom's concludingexclamation. 

Mr. Channing looked at Arthur, Mrs. Channing looked at him; they alllooked at him, except Constance, and she bent her head lower over herplate, to hide, as she best might, her own white face and its shrinkingterror. "Are you ill, Arthur?" inquired his father. 

A low brief reply came; one struggling for calmness. "No, sir. "

Impetuous Tom, forgetting caution, forgetting all except the momentactually present, gave utterance to more than was prudent. "Arthur, youare never fearing what those wretched schoolboys said? The police arenot come to arrest you. Butterby wouldn't be such a fool!"

But the police were in the hall, and Judith had come to the dining-roomdoor. "Master Arthur, you are wanted, please. "

"What is all this?" exclaimed Mr. Channing in astonishment, gazing fromTom to Arthur, from Arthur to the vision of the blue official dress, aglimpse of which he could catch beyond Judith. Tom took up the answer. 

"It's nothing, papa. It's a trick they are playing for fun, I'll lay. They _can't_ really suspect Arthur of stealing the bank-note, you know. They'll never dare to take him up, as they take a felon. "

Charley stole round to Arthur with a wailing cry, and threw his armsround him--as if their weak protection could retain him in its shelter. Arthur gently unwound them, and bent down till his lips touched theyearning face held up to him in its anguish. 

"Charley, boy, I am innocent, " he breathed in the boy's ear. "You won'tdoubt that, I know. Don't keep me. They have come for me, and I must gowith them. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

AN ESCORT TO THE GUILDHALL. 

The group would have formed a study for a Wilkie. The disturbeddinner-table; the consternation of those assembled at it; Mr. Channing(whose sofa, wheeled to the table, took up the end opposite his wife)gazing around with a puzzled, stern expression; Mrs. Channing glancingbehind her with a sense of undefined dread; the pale, _conscious_countenances of Arthur and Constance; Tom standing up in haughtyimpetuosity, defiant of every one; the lively terror of Charley's face, as he clung to Arthur; and the wide-opened eyes of Annabel expressiveof nothing but surprise--for it took a great deal to alarm thatcareless young lady; while at the door, holding it open for Arthur, stood Judith in her mob-cap, full of curiosity; and in the backgroundthe two policemen. A scene indeed, that Wilkie, in the day of hispower, would have rejoiced to paint. 

Arthur, battling fiercely with his outraged pride, and breathing aninward prayer for strength to go through with his task, for patience toendure, put Charley from him, and went into the hall. He saw not whatwas immediately around him--the inquiring looks of his father andmother, the necessity of some explanation to them; he saw not Judithand her curious face. A scale was, as it were, before his eyes, blinding them to all outward influences, except one-the officers ofjustice standing there, and the purpose for which they had come. "Whaton earth has happened, Master Arthur?" whispered Judith, as he passedher, terrifying the old servant with his pale, agitated face. But heneither heard nor answered; he walked straight up to the men. 

"I will go with you quietly, " he said to them, in an undertone. "Do notmake a disturbance, to alarm my mother. "

We cannot always have our senses about us, as the saying runs. Some ofus, I fear, enjoy that privilege rarely, and the very best lose them onoccasion. But that Arthur Channing's senses had deserted him, he wouldnot have pursued a line of conduct, in that critical moment, which wasliable to be construed into an admission, or, at least, a consciousnessof guilt. In his anxiety to avert suspicion from Hamish, he lost sightof the precautions necessary to protect himself, so far as waspracticable. And yet he had spent time that morning, thinking over whathis manner, his bearing must be if it came to this! Had it come uponhim unexpectedly he would have met it very differently; with far lessoutward calmness, but most probably with indignant denial. "I will gowith you quietly, " he said to the men. 

"All right, sir, " they answered with a nod, and a conviction that hewas a cool hand and a guilty one. "It's always best not to resist thelaw--it never does no good. "

He need not have resisted, but he ought to have waited until they askedhim to go. A dim perception of this had already begun to steal overhim. He was taking his hat from its place in the hall, when the voiceof Mr. Channing came ringing on his ear. 

"Arthur, what is this? Give me an explanation. "

Arthur turned back to the room, passing through the sea of faces to getthere; for all; except his helpless father, had come from their seatsto gather round and about that strange mystery in the hall, to try tofathom it. Mr. Channing gave one long, keen glance at Arthur'sface--which was very unlike Arthur's usual face just then; for all itscandour seemed to have gone out of it. He did not speak to him; hecalled in one of the men. 

"Will you tell me your business here?" he asked courteously. 

"Don't you know it, sir?" was the reply. 

"No, I do not, " replied Mr. Channing. 

"Well, sir, it's an unpleasant accusation that is brought against thisyoung gentleman. But perhaps he'll be able to make it clear. I hope hewill. It don't give us no pleasure when folks are convicted, especiallyyoung ones, and those we have always known to be respectable; we'drather see 'em let off. "

Tom interrupted--Tom, in his fiery indignation. "Is it of stealing thatbank-note of Galloway's that you presume to accuse my brother?" heasked, speaking indistinctly in his haste and anger. 

"You have said it, sir, " replied the man. "That's it. "

"Then I say whoever accuses him ought to be--"

"Silence, Thomas, " interrupted Mr. Channing. "Allow me to deal withthis. Who brings this accusation against my son?"

"We had our orders from Mr. Butterby, sir. He is acting for Mr. Galloway. He was called in there early this morning. "

"Have you come for my son to go with you to Mr. Galloway's?"

"Not there, sir. We have to take him straight to the Guildhall. Themagistrates are waiting to hear the case. "

A dismayed pause. Even Mr. Channing's heart, with all its implicitfaith in the truth and honour of his children, beat as if it wouldburst its bounds. Tom's beat too; but it was with a desire to "pitchinto" the policemen, as he had pitched into Pierce senior in thecloisters. 

Mr. Channing turned to Arthur. "You have an answer to this, my son?"

The question was not replied to. Mr. Channing spoke again, with thesame calm emphasis. "Arthur, you can vouch for your innocence?"

Arthur Channing did the very worst thing that he could have done--hehesitated. Instead of replying readily and firmly "I can, " which hemight have done without giving rise to harm, he stopped to ask himselfhow far, consistently with safety to Hamish, he might defend his owncause. His mind was not collected; he had not, as I have said, hissenses about him; and the unbroken silence, waiting for his answer, theexpectant faces turned upon him, helped to confuse him and to drive hisreason further away. The signs, which certainly did look like signs ofguilt, struck a knell on the heart of his father. "Arthur!" he wailedout, in a tone of intense agony, "you _are_ innocent?"

"Y--es, " replied Arthur, gulping down his rising agitation; his risingwords--impassioned words of exculpation, of innocence, of truth. Theyhad bubbled up within him--were hovering on the verge of his burninglips. He beat them down again to repression; but he never afterwardsknew how he did it. 

Better that he had been still silent, than speak that dubious, indecisive "Y--es. " It told terribly against him. One, conscious of hisown innocence, does not proclaim it in indistinct, half-uttered words. Tom's mouth dropped with dismay, and his astonished eyes seemed as ifthey could not take themselves from Arthur's uncertain face. Mrs. Channing staggered against the wall, with a faint cry. 

The policeman spoke up: he meant to be kindly. In all Helstonleighthere was not a family more respected than were the Channings; and theman felt a passing sorrow for his task. "I wouldn't ask no questions, sir, if I was you. Sometimes it's best not; they tell against theaccused. "

"Time's up, " called out the one who was in the hall, to his fellow. "Wecan't stop here all day. "

The hint was taken at once, both by Arthur and the man. Constance hadkept herself still, throughout, by main force; but Mrs. Channing couldnot see him go away like this. She rose and threw her arms round him, in a burst of hysterical feeling, sobbing out, "My boy! my boy!"

"Don't, mother! don't unnerve me, " he whispered. "It is bad enough asit is. "

"But you cannot be guilty, Arthur. "

For answer he looked into her eyes for a single moment. His habitualexpression had come back to them again--the earnest of truth, which shehad ever known and trusted. It spoke calm to her heart now. "You areinnocent, " she murmured. "Then go in peace. "

Annabel broke into a storm of sobs. "Oh, Judith! will they hang him?What has he done?"

"I'd hang them two policemen, if I did what I should like to do, "responded Judith. "Yes, you two, I mean, " she added, without ceremony, as the officials turned round at the words. "If I had my will, I'd hangyou both up to two of those elm-trees yonder, right in front of oneanother. Coming to a gentleman's house on this errand!"

"Do not take me publicly through the streets, " said Arthur to hiskeepers. "I give you my word to make no resistance: I will go to theGuildhall, or anywhere else that you please, as freely as if I werebound thither on my own pleasure. You need not betray that I am incustody. "

They saw that they might trust him. One of the policemen went to theopposite side of the way, as if pacing his beat; the other continued bythe side of Arthur; not closely enough to give rise to suspicion inthose they met. A few paces from the door Tom Channing came pelting up, and put his arm within Arthur's. 

"Guilty, or not guilty, it shall never be said that a Channing wasdeserted by his brothers!" quoth he, "I wish Hamish could have beenhere. "

"Tom, you are thinking me guilty?" Arthur said, in a quiet, tone, whichdid not reach the ears of his official escort. 

"Well--I am in a fix, " avowed Tom. "If you are guilty, I shall neverbelieve in anything again. I have always thought that building acathedral: well and good; but if it turns out to be a myth, I shan't besurprised, after this. _Are_ you guilty?"

"No, lad. "

The denial was simple, and calmly expressed; but there was sufficientin its tone to make Tom Channing's heart give a great leap within him. 

"Thank God! What a fool I was! But, I say, Arthur, why did you not denyit, out-and-out? Your manner frightened us. I suppose the police scaredyou?"

Tom, all right now, walked along, his head up, escorting Arthur with aslittle shame to public examination, as he would have done to a publiccrowning. It was not the humiliation of undeserved suspicion that coulddaunt the Channings: the consciousness of guilt could alone effectthat. Hitherto, neither guilt nor its shadow had fallen upon them. 

"Tom, " asked Arthur, when they had reached the hall, and were about toenter: "will you do me a little service?"

"Won't I, though! what is it?"

"Make the best of your way to Mr. Williams's, and tell him I amprevented from taking the organ this afternoon. "

"I shan't tell him the reason, " said Tom. 

"Why not? In an hour's time it will be known from one end ofHelstonleigh to the other. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE EXAMINATION. 

The magistrates sat on the bench in the town-hall of Helstonleigh. But, before the case was called on--for the police had spoken too fast insaying they were waiting for it--Arthur became acquainted with onegreat fact: that it was not Mr. Galloway who had driven matters to thisextremity. Neither was he aware that Arthur had been taken intocustody. Mr. Butterby had assumed the responsibility, and acted uponit. Mr. Butterby, since his interview with Mr. Galloway in the morning, had gathered, as he believed, sufficiently corroborating facts toestablish, or nearly so, the guilt of Arthur Channing. He supposed thatthis was all Mr. Galloway required to remove his objection to sternmeasures; and, in procuring the warrant for the capture, Mr. Butterbyhad acted as for Mr. Galloway. 

When Arthur was placed in the spot where he had often seen criminalsstanding, his face again wore the livid hue which had overspread it inhis home. In a few moments this had changed to crimson; brow and cheekswere glowing with it. It was a painful situation, and Arthur felt it tothe very depths of his naturally proud spirit. I don't think you or Ishould have liked it. 

The circumstances were stated to the magistrates just as they have beenstated to you. The placing of the bank-note and letter in the envelopeby Mr. Galloway, his immediately fastening it down by means of the gum, the extraction of the note, between that time and the period when theseal was placed on it later in the day, and the fact that ArthurChanning alone had access to it. "Except Mr. Hamish Channing, for a fewminutes, " Mr. Butterby added, "who kindly remained in the office whilehis brother proceeded as far as the cathedral and back again; the otherclerks, Joseph Jenkins and Roland Yorke, being absent that afternoon. "

A deeper dye flushed Arthur's face when Hamish's name and share in theafternoon's doings were mentioned, and he bent his eyes on the floor athis feet, and kept them there. Had Hamish not been implicated, he wouldhave stood there with a clear eye and a serene brow. It was that, theall too vivid consciousness of the sin of Hamish, which took all spiritout of him, and drove him to stand there as one under the brand ofguilt. He scarcely dared look up, lest it should be read in hiscountenance that he was innocent, and Hamish guilty; he scarcely daredto pronounce, in ever so faltering a tone, the avowal "I did it not. "Had it been to save his life from the scaffold, he could not havespoken out boldly and freely that day. There was the bitter shock ofthe crime, felt for Hamish's own sake: Hamish whom they had all soloved, so looked up to: and there was the dread of the consequences toMr. Channing in the event of discovery. Had the penalty been hanging, Ibelieve that Arthur would have gone to it, rather than betray Hamish. But you must not suppose he did not _feel_ it for himself; there weremoments when he feared lest he should not carry it through. 

Mr. Butterby was waiting for a witness--Mr. Galloway himself: andmeanwhile, he entertained the bench with certain scraps, anecdotal andother, premising what would be proved before them. Jenkins would showthat the prisoner had avowed in his presence, it would take atwenty-pound note to clear him from his debts, or hard upon it--

"No, " interrupted the hitherto silent prisoner, to the surprise ofthose present, "that is not true. It is correct that I did make use ofwords to that effect, but I spoke them in jest. I and Roland Yorke wereone day speaking of debts, and I jokingly said a twenty-pound notewould pay mine, and leave me something out of it. Jenkins was present, and he may have supposed I spoke in earnest. In point of fact I did notowe anything. "

It was an assertion more easily made than proved. Arthur Channing mighthave large liabilities upon him, for all that appeared in that court tothe contrary. Mr. Butterby handed the seal to the bench, who examinedit curiously. 

"I could have understood this case better had any stranger or strangersapproached the letter, " observed one of the magistrates, who knew theChannings personally, and greatly respected their high character. "Youare sure you are not mistaken in supposing no one came in?" he added, looking kindly at Arthur. 

"Certainly no one came in whilst I was alone in the office, sir, " wasthe unhesitating answer. 

The magistrate spoke in an under-tone to those beside him. "That avowalis in his favour. Had he taken the note, one might suppose he would beanxious to make it appear that strangers did enter, and so throwsuspicion off himself. "

"I have made very close inquiry, and cannot find that the office wasentered at all that afternoon, " observed Mr. Butterby. Mr. Butterby_had_ made close inquiry; and, to do him justice, he did not seek tothrow one shade more of guilt upon Arthur than he thought the casedeserved. "Mr. Hamish Channing also--"

Mr. Butterby stopped. There, standing within the door, was Hamishhimself. In passing along the street he had seen an unusual commotionaround the town-hall; and, upon inquiring its cause, was told thatArthur Channing was under examination, on suspicion of having stolenthe bank-note, lost by Mr. Galloway. 

To look at Hamish you would have believed him innocent and unconsciousas the day. He strode into the justice-room, his eye flashing, his browhaughty, his colour high. Never had gay Hamish looked so scornfullyindignant. He threw his glance round the crowded court in search ofArthur, and it found him. 

Their eyes met. A strange gaze it was, going out from the one to theother; a gaze which the brothers had never in all their livesexchanged. Arthur's spoke of shame all too palpably--he could not helpit in that bitter moment--shame for his brother. And Hamish shrankunder it. If ever one cowered visibly in this world, Hamish Channingdid then. A low, suppressed cry went up from Arthur's heart: whateverfond, faint doubt may have lingered in his mind, it died out from thatmoment. 

Others noticed the significant look exchanged between them; but they, not in the secret, saw only, on the part of Hamish, what they took forvexation at his brother's position. It was suggested that it would savetime to take the evidence of Mr. Hamish Channing at once. Mr. Galloway's might be received later. 

"What evidence?" demanded Hamish, standing before the magistrates in acold, uncompromising manner, and speaking in a cold, uncompromisingtone. "I have none to give. I know nothing of the affair. "

"Not much, we are aware; but what little you do know must be spoken, Mr. Hamish Channing. "

They did not swear him. These were only informal, preliminaryproceedings. Country courts of law are not always conducted accordingto orthodox rules, nor was that of Helstonleigh. There would be anotherand a more formal examination before the committal of the prisoner fortrial--if committed he should be. 

A few unimportant questions were put to Hamish, and then he was askedwhether he saw the letter in question. 

"I saw a letter which I suppose to have been the one, " he replied. 'Itwas addressed to Mr. Robert Galloway, at Ventnor. "

"Did you observe your brother take it into Mr. Galloway's privateroom?"

"Yes, " answered Hamish. "In putting the desks straight before departingfor college, my brother carried the letter into Mr. Galloway's room andleft it there. I distinctly remember his doing so. "

"Did you see the letter after that?"

"No. "

"How long did you remain alone while your brother was away?"

"I did not look at my watch, " irritably returned Hamish, who had spokenresentfully throughout, as if some great wrong were being inflictedupon him in having to speak at all. 

"But you can guess at the time?"

"No, I can't, " shortly retorted Hamish. "And 'guesses' are notevidence. "

"Was it ten minutes?"

"It may have been. I know he seemed to be back almost as soon as he hadgone. "

"Did any person--clerk, or stranger, or visitor, or otherwise--comeinto the office during his absence from it?"

"No. "

"No person whatever?"

"No person whatever. I think, " continued Hamish, volunteering anopinion upon the subject, although he knew it was out of all rule andprecedent to do so, "that there is a great deal of unprofitable fussbeing made about the matter. The money must have been lost in goingthrough the post; it is impossible to suppose otherwi--"

Hamish was stopped by a commotion. Clattering along the outer hall, andbursting in at the court door, his black hair disordered, his usuallypale cheeks scarlet, his nostrils working with excitement, came RolandYorke. He was in a state of fierce emotion. Learning, as he had done byaccident, that Arthur had been arrested upon the charge, he took up thecause hotly, gave vent to a burst of passionate indignation (in whichhe abused every one under the sun, except Arthur), and tore off to thetown-hall. Elbowing the crowd right and left, in his impetuosity, pushing one policeman here and another there, who would have obstructedhis path, he came up to Arthur and ranged himself by his side, linkinghis arm within his in an outburst of kindly generosity. 

"Old fellow, who has done this?"

"Mr. Roland Yorke!" exclaimed the bench, indignantly. "What do you meanby this behaviour? Stand away, if you please, sir. "

"I'll stand away when Arthur Channing stands away, " retorted Yorke, apparently ignoring whose presence he was in. "Who accuses him? Mr. Galloway does not. This is your doing, Butterby. "

"Take care that their worships don't commit you for contempt of court, "retorted Mr. Butterby. "You are going on for it, Roland Yorke. "

"Let them commit me, if they will, " foamed Roland. "I am not going tosee a friend falsely accused, and not stand up for him. Channing nomore touched that money than any of you did. The post-office must havehad it. "

"A moment, Mr. Roland Yorke: if you can calm yourself sufficiently toanswer as a rational being, " interposed the magistrate who hadaddressed Arthur. "Have you any proof to urge in support of yourassertion that the prisoner did not touch it?"

"Proof, sir!" returned Roland, subsiding, however, into a tone of morerespect: "does it want proof to establish the innocence of ArthurChanning? Every action of his past life is proof. He is honest as theday. "

"This warm feeling does you credit, in one sense--"

"It does me no credit at all, " fiercely interrupted Roland. "I don'tdefend him because he is my friend; I don't defend him because we arein the same office, and sit side by side at the same desk; I do it, because I know him to be innocent. "

"How do you know it?"

"He _could_ not be guilty. He is incapable of it. Better accuse me, orJenkins, than accuse him!"

"You and Jenkins were not at the office during the suspected time. "

"Well, I know we were not, " acknowledged Roland, lowering his voice toa more reasonable tone. "And, just because it happened, by somecross-grained luck, that Channing was, Butterby pitches upon him, andaccuses him of the theft. He never did it! and I'll say it with my lastbreath. "

With some trouble: threatenings on the part of the court, and moreexplosions from himself: Mr. Roland Yorke was persuaded to retire. Hewent as far as the back of the room, and there indulged inunder-currents of wrath, touching injustice and Mr. Butterby, to aselect circle who gathered round him. Warm-hearted and generous, byfits and starts, was Roland Yorke; he had inherited it with his Irishblood from Lady Augusta. 

But meanwhile, where was Mr. Galloway? He did not make his appearance, and it was said he could not be found. Messenger after messenger wasdespatched to his office, to his house; and at length Mr. Butterby wenthimself. All in vain; his servants knew nothing about him. Jenkins, whohad the office to himself, thought he must be "somewhere in the town, "as he had not said he was going out of it. Mr. Butterby went backcrest-fallen, and confessed that, not to take up longer the time oftheir worships unnecessarily, the case must be remanded to the morrow. 

"We will take bail, " said the magistrates, before the application wasmade. "One surety will be sufficient; fifty pounds. "

At that, Mr. Roland, who by this time was standing in a sullen manneragainst a pillar of the court, his violence gone, and biting his nailsmoodily, made a rush to the front again, heeding little who he knockeddown in the process. "I'll be bail, " he cried eagerly. "That is, LadyAugusta will--as I am not a householder. I'll hunt her up and bring herhere. "

He was turning in impetuous haste to "hunt up" Lady Augusta, whenHamish Channing imperatively waved to him to be still, and spoke to thebench. 

"My father's security will be sufficient, I presume?"

"Quite so. "

Since Mr. Channing's incapacity, power to sign and to act for him hadbeen vested in Hamish; and the matter was concluded at once. The courtpoured out its crowd. Hamish was on the point of taking Arthur's arm, but was pushed aside by Roland Yorke, who seized upon it as if he couldnever make enough of him. 

"The miserable idiots! to bring such a charge against you, Arthur! Ihave been half mad ever since I heard of it. "

"Thank you, Yorke. You are very kind--"

"'Kind!' Don't talk that school-girl rubbish!" passionately interruptedRoland. "If I were taken up upon a false charge, wouldn't you stand byme?"

"That I would; were it false or true. "

"I'll pay that Butterby out, if it's ten years hence! And you, knowingyour own innocence, could stand before them there, meek-faced as a tamecat, letting Butterby and the bench have it their own way! A calmtemper, such as yours, Arthur, may be very--what do they callit?--Christian; but I'm blest if it's useful! I should have made theirears tingle, had they put me there, as they have not tingled for many aday. "

"Who do you suppose took the note?" inquired Hamish of Roland Yorke, speaking for the first time. 

"Bother the note!" was the rejoinder of Mr. Roland. "It's nothing to uswho took it. Arthur didn't. Go and ask the post-office. "

"But the seal?" Hamish was beginning in a friendly tone of argument. Roland bore him down. 

"Who cares for the seal? I don't. If Galloway had stuck himself uponthe letter, instead of his seal, and never got off till it reached thecousin Galloway's hand, I wouldn't care. It tells nothing. Do you_want_ to find your brother guilty?" he continued, in a tone of scorn. "You did not half stand up for him, Hamish Channing, as I'd expect abrother to stand up for me. Now then, you people! Are you thinking weare live kangaroos escaped from a menagerie? Be off about your ownbusiness! Don't come after us. "

The last was addressed to a crowd, who had followed upon their heelsfrom the court, staring, with that innate delicacy for which theEnglish are remarkable. They had seen Arthur Channing a thousand timesbefore, every one of them, but, as he had been arrested, they must lookat him again. Yorke's scornful reproach and fierce face somewhatscattered them. 

"If it had been Galloway's doings, I'd never have put my foot insidehis confounded old office again!" went on Roland. "No! and my ladymight have tried her best to force me. Lugging a fellow up for apitiful, paltry sum of twenty pounds!--who is as much a gentleman ashimself!--who, as his own senses might tell him, wouldn't touch it withthe end of his finger! But it was that Butterby's handiwork, notGalloway's. "

"Galloway must have given Butterby his instructions, " observed Hamish. 

"He didn't, then, " snapped Roland. "Jenkins says he knows he did not, by the remarks Galloway made to him this morning. And Galloway has beenaway ever since eleven o'clock, we can't tell where. It is nobody butthat evil, mischief-making Butterby, and I'd give a crown out of mypocket to have a good duck at him in the river!"

With regard to Mr. Galloway's knowing nothing of the active proceedingstaken against Arthur, Roland was right. Mr. Butterby had despatched anote to Mr. Galloway's office at one o'clock, stating what he had done, and requesting him to be at the office at two, for the examination--andthe note had been lying there ever since. 

It was being opened now. Now--at the exact moment that Mr. Roland Yorkewas giving vent to that friendly little wish, about the river and Mr. Butterby. Mr. Galloway had met a friend in the town, and had gone withhim a few miles by rail into the country, on unexpected business. Hehad just returned to find the note, and to hear Jenkins' account ofArthur's arrest. 

"I am vexed at this, " he exclaimed, his tone betraying excessiveannoyance. "Butterby has exceeded his orders. "

Jenkins thought he might venture to put in a word for Arthur. He hadbeen intensely surprised, indeed grieved, at the whole affair; and notthe less so that he feared what he had unconsciously repeated, about atwenty-pound note paying Arthur's debts, might have helped it on. 

"I feel as sure as can be, sir, that it was not Mr. Arthur Channing, "he deferentially said. "I have not been in this office with him formore than twelve months without learning something of his principles. "

"The principles of all the Channings are well known, " returned Mr. Galloway. "No; whatever may be the apparent proofs, I cannot bringmyself to think it could be Arthur Channing. Although--" Mr. Gallowaydid not say although _what_, but changed the topic abruptly. "Are theyin court now?"

"I expect so, sir. Mr. Yorke is not back yet. "

Mr. Galloway walked to the outer door, deliberating what his courseshould be. The affair grieved him more than he could express; itangered him; chiefly for his old friend Mr. Channing's sake. "I hadbetter go up to the Guildhall, " he soliloquized, "and see if--"

There they were, turning the corner of the street; Roland Yorke, Hamish, and Arthur; and the followers behind. Mr. Galloway waited tillthey came up. Hamish did not enter, or stop, but went straight home. "They will be so anxious for news, " he exclaimed. Not a word had beenexchanged between the brothers. "No wonder that he shuns coming in!"thought Arthur. Roland Yorke threw his hat from him in silence, and satdown in his place at the desk. Mr. Galloway touched Arthur with hisfinger, motioned him towards the private room, and stood there facinghim, speaking gravely. 

"Tell me the truth, as before God. Are you innocent or guilty? What yousay shall not be used against you. "

Quick as lightning, in all solemn earnestness, the word "innocent" wason Arthur's lips. It had been better for him, perhaps, that he hadspoken it. But, alas! that perplexity, as to how far he might ventureto assert his own innocence, was upon him still. What impression couldthis hesitation, coupled with the suspicious circumstances, make uponthe mind of Mr. Galloway?

"Have you _no_ answer?" emphatically asked Mr. Galloway. 

"I am not guilty, sir. "

Meanwhile, what do you suppose were the sensations of Mr. Channing? Weall know that anguish of mind is far more painful to bear when the bodyis quiescent, than when it is in motion. In any great trouble, anyterrible suspense, look at our sleepless nights! We lie, and toss, andturn; and say, When will the night be gone? In the day we can partiallyshake it off, walking hither and thither; the keenness of the anguishis lost in exertion. 

Mr. Channing could not take this exertion. Lying there always, his dayswere little better to him than nights, and this strange blow, which hadfallen so suddenly and unexpectedly, nearly overwhelmed him. Until thatafternoon he would have confidently said that his son might have beentrusted with a room full of untold gold. He would have said it still, but for Arthur's manner: it was that which staggered him. More than oneurgent message had been despatched for Mr. Galloway, but that gentlemanwas unable to go to him until late in the evening. 

"My friend, " said Mr. Galloway, bending over the sofa, when they werealone, "I am more grieved at this than you can be. "

Mr. Channing clasped his hand. "Tell me what you think yourself; thesimple truth; I ask it, Galloway, by our long friendship. Do you thinkhim innocent or guilty?"

There might be no subterfuge in answer to words so earnest, and Mr. Galloway did not attempt any. He bent lower, and spoke in a whisper. "Ibelieve him to be guilty. "

Mr. Channing closed his eyes, and his lips momentarily moved. A word ofprayer, to be helped _to bear_, was going up to the throne of God. 

"But, never think that it was I who instituted these proceedingsagainst him, " resumed Mr. Galloway. "When I called in Butterby to myaid this morning, I had no more notion that it was Arthur Channing whowas guilty, than I had that it was that sofa of yours. Butterby wouldhave cast suspicion to him then, but I repelled it. He afterwards actedupon his own responsibility while my back was turned. It is as I sayoften to my office people: I can't stir out for a few hours butsomething goes wrong! You know the details of the loss?"

"Ay; by heart, " replied Mr. Channing. "They are suspicious againstArthur only in so far as that he was alone with the letter. Sufficienttime must have been taken, as I conclude, to wet the envelope andunfasten the gum; and it would appear that he alone had that time. Thisapparent suspicion would have been nothing to my mind, knowing Arthuras I do, had it not been coupled with a suspicious manner. "

"There it is, " assented Mr. Galloway, warmly. "It is that manner whichleaves no room for doubt. I had him with me privately when theexamination was over, and begged him to tell me, as before God:innocent or guilty. He could not. He stood like a statue, confused, hiseyes down, and his colour varying. He is badly constituted for thecommission of crime, for he cannot brave it out. One, knowing himselfwrongfully accused, would lay his hand upon his heart, with an uprightcountenance, and say, I am innocent of this, so help me Heaven! I mustconfess I did not like his manner yesterday, when he heard me say Ishould place it in the hands of the police, " continued Mr. Galloway. "He grew suddenly agitated, and begged I would not do so. "

"Ay!" cried Mr. Channing, with a groan of pain he could not whollysuppress. "It is an incredible mystery. What could he want with themoney? The tale told about his having debts has no foundation in fact;he has positively none. "

Mr. Galloway shook his head; he would not speak out his thoughts. Heknew that Hamish was in debt; he knew that Master Roland Yorke indulgedin expensive habits whenever he had the opportunity, and he now thoughtit likely that Arthur, between the two examples, might have been drawnin. "I shall not allow my doubts of him to go further than you, " hesaid aloud. "And I shall put a summary stop to the law proceedings. "

"How will you do that, now that they are publicly entered upon?" askedMr. Channing. 

"I'll manage it, " was the reply. "We'll see which is strongest, I orButterby. "

When they were gathering together for the reading, that night, Arthurtook his place as usual. Mr. Channing looked at him sternly, and spokesternly--in the presence of them all. "Will your conscience allow youto join in this?"

How it stung him! Knowing himself innocent; seeing Hamish, the realculprit, basking there in their love and respect, as usual; theunmerited obloquy cast upon him was almost too painful to bear. He didnot answer; he was battling down his rebellious spirit; and the gentlevoice of Mrs. Channing rose instead. 

"James, there is all the more need for him to join in it, if things areas you fear. " And Mr. Channing applied himself to the reading. 

"My son, if thou come to serve the Lord, prepare thy soul fortemptation. Set thy heart aright, and constantly endure, and make nothaste in time of trouble. "

It was a portion of Scripture rarely chosen, and, perhaps for thatreason, it fell upon Arthur with greater force. As he listened, thewords brought healing with them; and his sore spirit was soothed, andgrew trusting and peaceful as that of a little child. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A MORNING CALL. 

You may possibly be blaming Arthur Channing for meeting this trouble inso sad a spirit. Were such an accusation cast unjustly upon you, youwould throw it off impatiently, and stand up for yourself and yourinnocence in the broad light of day. Even were you debarred, as he was, from speaking out the whole truth, you would never be cast down to thatdesponding depth, and thereby give a colouring to the doubt cast uponyou. Are you thinking this? But you must remember that it was not for_himself_ that Arthur was so weighed down. Had he possessed noconception as to how the note went, he would have met the charge verydifferently, bearing himself bravely, and flinging their suspicion tothe winds. "You people cannot think _me_ guilty, " he might have said;"my whole previous life is a refutation to the charge. " He would haveheld up his head and heart cheerfully; waiting, and looking for thetime when elucidation should come. 

No; his grief, his despondency were felt for Hamish. If Arthur Channinghad cherished faith in one living being more than in another, it was inhis elder brother. He loved him with a lasting love, he revered him asfew revere a brother; and the shock was great. He would far rather havefallen down to guilt himself, than that Hamish should have fallen. TomChanning had said, with reference to Arthur, that, if he were guilty, he should never believe in anything again; they might tell him that thecathedral was a myth, and not a cathedral, and he should not besurprised. This sort of feeling had come over Arthur. It had disturbedhis faith in honour and goodness--it had almost disgusted him with theworld. Arthur Channing is not the only one who has found his faith infellow-men rudely shaken. 

And yet, the first shock over, his mind was busy finding excusesfor him. He knew that Hamish had not erred from any baseself-gratification, but from love. You may be inclined to think this acontradiction, for all such promptings to crime must be base. Of coursethey are; but as the motives differ, so do the degrees. As surely asthough the whole matter had been laid before him, felt Arthur, Hamishhad been driven to it in his desperate need, to save his father'sposition, and the family's means of support. He felt that, had Hamishalone been in question, he would not have appropriated a pin that wasnot his, to save himself from arrest: what he had done he had done inlove. Arthur gave him credit for another thing--that he had never casta glance to the possibility of suspicion falling on Arthur; thepost-office would receive credit for the loss. Nothing more tangiblethan that wide field, where they might hunt for the supposed thiefuntil they were tired. 

It was a miserable evening that followed the exposure; the precursor ofmany and many miserable evenings in days to come. Mr. And Mrs. Channing, Hamish, Constance, and Arthur sat in the usual sitting-roomwhen the rest had retired--sat in ominous silence. Even Hamish, withhis naturally sunny face and sunny temper, looked gloomy as the grave. Was he deliberating as to whether he should show that all principles ofmanly justice were not quite dead within him, by speaking up at last, and clearing his wrongfully accused brother? But then--his father'spost--his mother's home? all might be forfeited. Who can tell whetherthis was the purport of Hamish's thoughts as he sat there inabstraction, away from the light, his head upon his hand. _He_ did notsay. 

Arthur rose; the silence was telling upon him. "May I say good night toyou, father?"

"Have you nothing else to say?" asked Mr. Channing. 

"In what way, sir?" asked Arthur, in a low tone. 

"In the way of explanation. Will you leave me to go to my restlesspillow without it? This is the first estrangement which has comebetween us. "

What explanation _could_ he give? But to leave his father suffering inbody and in mind, without attempt at it, was a pain hard to bear. 

"Father, I am innocent, " he said. It was all he could say; and it wasspoken all too quietly. 

Mr. Channing gazed at him searchingly. "In the teeth of appearances?"

"Yes, sir, in the teeth of appearances. "

"Then why--if I am to believe you--have assumed the aspect of guilt, which you certainly have done?"

Arthur involuntarily glanced at Hamish; the thought of his heart was, "_You_ know why, if no one else does;" and caught Hamish looking at himstealthily, under cover of his fingers. Apparently, Hamish was annoyedat being so caught, and started up. 

"Good night, mother. I am going to bed. "

They wished him good night, and he left the room. Mr. Channing turnedagain to Arthur. He took his hand, and spoke with agitation. "My boy, do you know that I would almost rather have died, than live to see thisguilt fall upon you?"

"Oh, father, don't judge me harshly!" he implored. "Indeed I aminnocent. "

Mr. Channing paused. "Arthur, you never, as I believe, told me a lie inyour life. What is this puzzle?"

"I am not telling a lie now. "

"I am tempted to believe you. But why, then, act as if you were guilty?When those men came here to-day, you knew what they wanted; youresigned yourself, voluntarily, a prisoner. When Mr. Gallowayquestioned you privately of your innocence, you could not assert it. "

Neither could he now in a more open way than he was doing. 

"Can you look me in the face and tell me, in all honour, that you knownothing of the loss of the note?"

"All I can say, sir, is, that I did not take it or touch it. "

"Nay, but you are equivocating!" exclaimed Mr. Channing. 

Arthur felt that he was, in some measure, and did not gainsay it. 

"Are you aware that to-morrow you may be committed for trial on thecharge?"

"I know it, " replied Arthur. "Unless--unless--" he stopped inagitation. "Unless you will interest yourself with Galloway, and inducehim to withdraw proceedings. Your friendship with him has been closeand long, sir, and I think he would do it for you. "

"Would you ask this if you were innocent?" said Mr. Channing. "Arthur, it is not the punishment you ought to dread, but the consciousness ofmeriting it. "

"And of that I am not conscious, " he answered, emphatically, in hisbitterness. "Father! I would lay down my life to shield you from care!think of me as favourably as you can. "

"You will not make me your full confidant?"

"I wish I could! I _wish_ I could!"

He wrung his father's hand, and turned to his mother, halting beforeher. Would she give him her good-night kiss?

Would she? Did a fond mother ever turn against her child? To theprison, to the scaffold, down to the very depths of obloquy and scorn, a loving mother clings to her son. All else may forsake; but she, never, be he what he will. Mrs. Channing drew his face to hers, andburst into sobs as she sheltered it on her bosom. 

"_You_ will have faith in me, my darling mother!"

The words were spoken in the softest whisper. He kissed her tenderly, and hastened from the room, not trusting himself to say good night toConstance. In the hall he was waylaid by Judith. 

"Master Arthur, it isn't true?"

"Of course it is not true, Judith. Don't you know me better?"

"What an old oaf I am for asking, to be sure! Didn't I nurse him, andhaven't I watched him grow up, and don't I know my own boys yet?" sheadded to herself, but speaking aloud. 

"To be sure you have, Judy. "

"But, Master Arthur, why is the master casting blame to you? And whenthem insolent police came strutting here to-day, as large as life, intheir ugly blue coats and shiny hats, why didn't you hold the doorwide, and show 'em out again? I'd never have demeaned myself to go with'em politely. "

"They wanted me at the town-hall, you know, Judith. I suppose you haveheard it all?"

"Then, want should have been their master, for me, " retorted Judith. "I'd never have gone, unless they had got a cord and drawn me. Ishouldn't wonder but they fingered the money themselves. "

Arthur made his escape, and went up to his room. He was scarcely withinit when Hamish left his chamber and came in. Arthur's heart beatquicker. Was he coming to make a clean breast of it? Not he!

"Arthur, " Hamish began, speaking in a kindly, but an estranged tone--orelse Arthur fancied it--"can I serve you in any way in this business?"

"Of course you cannot, " replied Arthur: and he felt vexed with himselfthat his tone should savour of peevishness. 

"I am sorry for it, as you may readily believe, old fellow, " resumedHamish. "When I entered the court to-day, you might have knocked medown with a feather. "

"Ay, I should suppose so, " said Arthur. "You did not expect the chargewould be brought upon me. "

"I neither expected it nor believed it when I was told. I inquired ofParkes, the beadle, what unusual thing was going on, seeing so manypeople about the doors, and he answered that you were underexamination. I laughed at him, thinking he was joking. "

Arthur made no reply. 

"What can I do for you?" repeated Hamish. 

"You can leave me to myself, Hamish. That's about the kindest thing youcan do for me to-night. "

Hamish did not take the hint immediately. "We must have the accusationquashed at all hazards, " he went on. "But my father thinks Gallowaywill withdraw it. Yorke says he'll not leave a stone unturned to makeHelstonleigh believe the money was lost in the post-office. "

"Yorke believes so himself, " reproachfully rejoined Arthur. 

"I think most people do, with the exception of Butterby. Confounded oldmeddler! There would have been no outcry at all, but for him. "

A pause. Arthur did not seem inclined to break it. Hamish had caught upa bit of whalebone, which happened to be lying on the drawers, and wastwisting it about in his fingers, glancing at Arthur from time to time. Arthur leaned against the chimneypiece, his hands in his pockets, and, in like manner, glanced at him. Not the slightest doubt in the worldthat each was wishing to speak out more freely. But some inward feelingrestrained them. Hamish broke the silence. 

"Then you have nothing to say to me, Arthur?"

"Not to-night. "

Arthur thought the "saying" should have been on the other side. He hadcherished some faint hope that Hamish would at least _acknowledge_ thetrouble he had brought upon him. "I could not help it, Arthur; I wasdriven to my wit's end; but I never thought the reproach would fallupon you, " or words to that effect. No: nothing of the sort. 

Constance was ascending the stairs as Hamish withdrew. "Can I come in, Arthur?" she asked. 

For answer, he opened the door and drew her inside. "Has Hamish spokenof it?" she whispered. 

"Not a word--as to his own share in it. He asked, in a general way, ifhe could serve me. Constance, " he feverishly added, "they do notsuspect downstairs, do they?"

"Suspect what?"

"That it was Hamish. "

"Of course they do not. They suspect you. At least, papa does. Hecannot make it out; he never was so puzzled in all his life. He saysyou must either have taken the money, or connived at its being taken:to believe otherwise, would render your manner perfectly inexplicable. Oh, Arthur, he is so grieving! He says other troubles have arisenwithout fault on our part; but this, the greatest, has been brought byguilt. "

"There is no help for it, " wailed Arthur. "I could only clear myself atthe expense of Hamish, and it would be worse for them to grieve for himthan for me. Bright, sunny Hamish! whom my mother has, I believe in herheart, loved the best of all of us. Thank you, Constance, for keepingmy counsel. "

"How unselfish you are, Arthur!"

"Unselfish! I don't see it as a merit. It is my simple duty to be so inthis case. If I, by a rash word, directed suspicion to Hamish, and ourhome in consequence got broken up, who would be the selfish one then?"

"There's the consideration which frightens and fetters us. Papa musthave been thinking of that when he thanked God that the trouble had notfallen upon Hamish. "

"Did he do that?" asked Arthur, eagerly. 

"Yes, just now. 'Thank God that the cloud did not fall upon Hamish!' heexclaimed. 'It had been far worse for us then. '"

Arthur listened. Had he wanted anything to confirm him in the sacrificehe was making, those words of his father's would have done it. Mr. Channing had no greater regard for one son than for the other; but heknew, as well as his children, how much depended upon Hamish. 

The tears were welling up into the eyes of Constance. "I wish I couldspeak comfort to you!" she whispered. 

"Comfort will come with time, I dare say, darling. Don't stay. I seemquite fagged out to-night, and would be alone. "

Ay, alone. Alone with his grief and with God. 

To bed at last, but not to sleep; not for hours and for hours. Hisanxiety of mind was intense, chiefly for Hamish; though he endured someon his own score. To be pointed at as a thief in the town, stung him tothe quick, even in anticipation; and there was also the uncertainty asto the morrow's proceedings; for all he knew, they might end in theprosecution being carried on, and his committal for trial. Towardsmorning he dropped into a heavy slumber; and, to awake from that, wasthe worst of all; for his trouble came pressing upon his brain withtenfold poignancy. 

He rose and dressed, in some perplexity--perplexity as to the immediatepresent. Ought he, or ought he not, to go as usual to Mr. Galloway's?He really could not tell. If Mr. Galloway believed him guilty--andthere was little doubt of that, now--of course he could no longer betolerated in the office. On the other hand, to stop away voluntarily, might look like an admission of guilt. 

He determined to go, and did so. It was the early morning hour, when hehad the office to himself. He got through his work--the copying of asomewhat elaborate will--and returned home to breakfast. He found Mr. Channing had risen, which was not usual. Like Arthur, his night hadbeen an anxious one, and the bustle of the breakfast-room was moretolerable than bed. I wonder what Hamish's had been! The meal passed inuncomfortable silence. 

A tremendous peal at the hall bell startled the house, echoing throughthe Boundaries, astonishing the rooks, and sending them on the wing. Onstate occasions it pleased Judith to answer the door herself; herhelpmate, over whom she held undisputed sway, ruling her with a tighthand, dared not come forward to attempt it. The bell tinkled still, andJudy, believing it could be no one less than the bishop come to alarmthem with a matutinal visit, hurried on a clean white apron, andstepped across the hall. 

Mr. Roland Yorke. No one more formidable. He passed Judith with anunceremonious nod, and marched into the breakfast-room. 

"Good morning all! I say, old chap, are you ready to come to theoffice? It's good to see you down at this early hour, Mr. Channing. "

He was invited to take a seat, but declined; it was time they were atGalloway's, he said. Arthur hesitated. 

"I do not know whether Mr. Galloway will expect me, " he observed. 

"Not expect you!" flashed Roland, lapsing into his loud, excitedmanner. "I can tell you what, Arthur: if he doesn't expect you, heshan't expect me. Mr. Channing, did you ever know anything soshamefully overbearing and unjust as that affair yesterday?"

"Unjust, if it be unfounded, " replied Mr. Channing. 

"Unfounded!" uttered Roland. "If that's not unfounded, there never wasan unfounded charge brought yet. I'd answer for Arthur with my ownlife. I should like to sew up that Butterby! I hope, sir, you'll bringan action against him. "

"You feel it strongly, Roland. "

"I should hope I do! Look you, Mr. Channing: it is a slur on ouroffice; on me, and on Jenkins, and on Galloway himself. Yes, onGalloway. I say what I mean, and nobody shall talk me down. I'd ratherbelieve it was Galloway did it than Arthur. I shall tell him so. "

"This sympathy shows very kind feeling on your part, Ro--"

"I declare I shall go mad if I hear that again!" interrupted Roland, turning red with passion. "It makes me wild. Everybody's on with it. 'You--are--very--kind--to--take--up--Arthur Channing's--cause!' theymince out. Incorrigible idiots! Kind! Why, Mr. Channing, if that cat ofyours there, were to be accused of swallowing down a mutton chop, andyou felt morally certain that she did not do it, wouldn't you stand upfor her against punishment?"

Mr. Channing could not forbear a smile at Roland and his hotchampionship. "To be 'morally certain' may do when cats are inquestion, Mr. Roland; but the law, unfortunately, requires somethingmore for us, the superior animal. No father living has had more causeto put faith in his children than I. The unfortunate point in thisbusiness is, that the loss appears to have occurred so mysteriously, when the letter was in Arthur's charge. "

"Yes, if it had occurred that way; but who believes it did, except afew pates with shallow brains?" retorted Roland. "The note is burning ahole in the pocket of some poor, ill-paid wight of a letter-carrier;that's where the note is. I beg your pardon, Mr. Channing, but it's ofno use to interrupt me with arguments about old Galloway's seal. Theygo in at one ear and out at the other. What more easy than to put apenknife under the seal, and unfasten it?"

"You cannot do this where gum is used as well: as it was to thatletter. "

"Who cares for the gum!" retorted Mr. Roland. "I don't pretend to say, sir, how it was accomplished, but I know it must have been donesomehow. Watch a conjuror at his tricks! You can't _tell_ how he gets ashilling out of a box which you yourself put in--all you know is, hedoes get it out; or how he exhibits some receptacle, crammed full, which you could have sworn was empty. Just so with the letter. Thebank-note did get out of it, but we can't tell how, except that it wasnot through Arthur. Come along, old fellow, or Galloway may be blowingus up for arriving late. "

Twitching Tom's hair as he passed him, treading on the cat's tail, andtossing a branch of sweetbriar full of thorns at Annabel, Mr. RolandYorke made his way out in a commotion. Arthur, yielding to the strongwill, followed. Roland passed his arm within his, and they went towardsClose Street. 

"I say, old chum, I haven't had a wink of sleep all night, worryingover this bother. My room is over Lady Augusta's, and she sent up thismorning to know what I was pacing about for, like a troubled ghost. Iwoke at four o'clock, and I could not get to sleep after; so I juststamped about a bit, to stamp the time away. "

In a happier mood, Arthur might have laughed at his Irish talk, "I amglad you stand by me, at any rate, Yorke. I never did it, you know. Here comes Williams. I wonder in what light he will take up the affair?Perhaps he will turn me from my post at the organ. "

"He had better!" flashed Roland. "I'd turn him!"

Mr. Williams appeared to "take up the affair" in a resentful, haughtysort of spirit, something like Roland, only that he was quieter overit. He threw ridicule upon the charge. "I am astonished at Galloway!"he observed, when he had spoken with them some moments. "Should he goon with the case, the town will cry shame upon him. "

"Ah, but you see it was that meddling Butterby, not Galloway, " returnedYorke. "As if Galloway did not know us chaps in his office better thanto suspect us!"

"I fancy Butterby is fonder of meddling than he need be, " said theorganist. "A certain person in the town, living not a hundred milesfrom this very spot, was suspected of having made free with a ring, which disappeared from a dressing-table, where she was paying anevening visit; and I declare if Butterby did not put his nose into it, and worm out all the particulars!"

"That she had not taken it?"

"That she had. But it produced great annoyance; all parties concerned, even those who had lost the ring, would rather have buried it insilence. It was hushed up afterwards. Butterby ought to understandpeople's wishes, before he sets to work. "

"I wish press-gangs were in fashion!" emphatically uttered Roland. "What a nice prize he'd make!"

"I suppose I can depend upon you to take the duty at College thismorning?" Mr. Williams said to Arthur, as he was leaving them. 

"Yes, I shall be out in time for the examination at the Guildhall. Thehour fixed is half-past eleven. "

"Old villains the magistrates must have been, to remand it at all!" wasthe concluding comment of Mr. Roland Yorke. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

CHECKMATED. 

Constance Channing proceeded to her duties as usual at Lady AugustaYorke's. She drew her veil over her face, only to traverse the veryshort way that conveyed her thither, for the sense of shame was strongupon her; not shame for Arthur, but for Hamish. It had half brokenConstance's heart. 

There are times in our every-day lives when all things seem to wear adepressing aspect, turn which way we will. They were wearing it thatday to Constance. Apart from home troubles, she felt particularlydiscouraged in the educational task she had undertaken. You heard thepromise made to her by Caroline Yorke, to be up and ready for her everymorning at seven. Caroline kept it for two mornings and then failed. This morning and the previous morning Constance had been there atseven, and returned home without seeing either of the children. Bothwere ready for her when she entered now. 

"How am I to deal with you?" she said to Caroline, in a sad butaffectionate tone. "I do not wish to force you to obey me; I wouldprefer that you should do it cheerfully. "

"It is tiresome to get up early, " responded Caroline. "I can't wakewhen Martha comes. "

"Whether Martha goes to you at seven, or at eight, or at nine, she hasthe same trouble to get you up. "

"I don't see any good in getting up early, " cried Caroline. 

"Do you see any good in acquiring good habits, instead of bad ones?"asked Constance. 

"But, Miss Channing, why need we learn to get up early? We are ladies. It's only the poor who need get up at unreasonable hours--those whohave their living to earn. "

"Is it only the poor who are accountable to God for waste of time, Caroline?"

Caroline paused. She did not like to give up her argument. "It's sovery low-lived to get up with the sun. I don't think real ladies everdo it. "

"You think 'real ladies' wait until the sun has been up a few hours andwarmed the earth for them?"

"Y--es, " said Caroline. But it was not spoken very readily, for she hada suspicion that Miss Channing was laughing at her. 

"May I ask where you have acquired your notions of 'real ladies, 'Caroline?"

Caroline pouted. "Don't you call Colonel Jolliffe's daughters ladies, Miss Channing?"

"Yes--in position. "

"That's where we went yesterday, you know. Mary Jolliffe says she nevergets up until half-past eight, and that it is not lady-like to get upearlier. Real ladies don't, Miss Channing. "

"My dear, shall I relate to you an anecdote that I have heard?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Caroline, her listless mood changing to animation;anecdotes, or anything of that desultory kind, being far moreacceptable to the young lady than lessons. 

"Before I begin, will you tell me whether you condescend to admit thatour good Queen is a 'real lady'?"

"Oh, Miss Channing, now you are laughing at me! As if any one, in allEngland, could be so great a lady as the Queen. "

"Very good. When she was a little girl, a child of her own age, thedaughter of one of the nobility, was brought to Kensington Palace tospend the day with her. In talking together, the Princess Victoriamentioned something she had seen when out of doors that morning atseven o'clock. 'At seven o'clock!' exclaimed the young visitor; 'howearly that is to be abroad! I never get out of bed until eight. Isthere any use in rising so early?' The Duchess of Kent, who waspresent, took up the answer: 'My daughter may be called to fill thethrone of England when she shall be grown up; therefore, it isespecially necessary that she should learn the full value of time. ' Yousee, Caroline, the princess was not allowed to waste her mornings inbed, although she was destined to be the first lady in the land. We maybe thankful to her admirable mother for making her in that, as in manyother things, a pattern to us. "

"Is it a true anecdote, Miss Channing?"

"It was related to my mother, many years ago, by a lady who was, atthat time, very much at Kensington Palace. I think there is littledoubt of its truth. One fact we all know, Caroline: the Queen retainsher early habits, and implants them in her children. What do yousuppose would be her Majesty's surprise, were one of herdaughters--say, the Princess Helena, or the Princess Louise--to declineto rise early for their morning studies with their governess, MissHildyard, on the plea that it was not 'lady-like'?"

Caroline's objection appeared to be melting away under her. "But it isa dreadful plague, " she grumbled, "to be obliged to get up from one'snice warm bed, for the sake of some horrid old lessons!"

"You spoke of 'the poor'--those who 'have their living to earn'--as theonly class who need rise early, " resumed Constance. "Put that notionaway from you at once and for ever, Caroline; there cannot be a morefalse one. The higher we go in the scale of life, the more onerousbecome our duties in this world, and the greater is our responsibilityto God. He to whom five talents were intrusted, did not make them otherfive by wasting his days in idleness. Oh, Caroline!--Fanny, come closerand listen to me--your time and opportunities for good must be_used_--not abused or wasted. "

"I _will_ try and get up, " said Caroline, repentantly. "I wish mammahad trained me to it when I was a child, as the Duchess of Kent trainedthe princess! I might have learned to like it by this time. "

"Long before this, " said Constance. "Do you remember the good oldsaying, 'Do what you ought, that you may do what you like'? Habit issecond nature. Were I told that I might lie in bed every morning untilnine or ten o'clock, as a great favour, I should consider it a greatpunishment. "

"But I have not been trained to get up, Miss Channing; and it isnothing short of punishment to me to do so. "

"The punishment of self-denial we all have to bear, Caroline. But I cantell you what will take away half its sting. "

"What?" asked Caroline, eagerly. 

Constance bent towards her. "Jesus Christ said, 'If any will come afterme, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me. 'When once we learn HOW to take it up cheerfully, bravely, for His sake, looking to Him to be helped, the sting is gone. 'No cross, no crown, 'you know, my children. "

"No cross, no crown!" Constance had sufficient cross to carry justthen. In the course of the morning Lady Augusta came into the roomboisterously, her manner indicative of great surprise. 

"Miss Channing, what _is_ this tale, about your brother's having beenarrested for stealing that missing bank-note? Some visitors have justcalled in upon me, and they say the town is ringing with the news. "

It was one of the first of Constance Channing's bitter pills; they wereto be her portion for many a day. Her heart fluttered, her cheekvaried, and her answer to Lady Augusta Yorke was low and timid. 

"It is true that he was arrested yesterday on suspicion. "

"What a shocking thing! Is he in prison?"

"Oh no. "

"Did he take the note?"

The question pained Constance worse than all. "He did not take it, " shereplied, in a clear, soft tone. "To those who know Arthur well, itwould be impossible to think so. "

"But he was before the magistrates yesterday, I hear, and is going upagain to-day. "

"Yes, that is so. "

"And Roland could not open his lips to tell me of this when I came homelast night!" grumbled my lady. "We were late, and he was the only oneup; Gerald and Tod were in bed. I shall ask him why he did not. But, Miss Channing, this must be a dreadful blow for you all?"

"It would be far worse, Lady Augusta, if we believed him guilty, " shereplied from her aching heart. 

"Oh, dear! I hope he is not guilty!" continued my lady, displaying aslittle delicacy of feeling as she could well do. "It would be quite adangerous thing, you know, for my Roland to be in the same office. "

"Be at ease, Lady Augusta, " returned Constance, with a tinge of ironyshe could not wholly suppress. "Your son will incur no harm from thecompanionship of Arthur. "

"What does Hamish say?--handsome Hamish! He does not deserve that sucha blow should come to him. "

Constance felt her colour deepen. She bent her face over the exerciseshe was correcting. 

"Is he likely to be cleared of the charge?" perseveringly resumed LadyAugusta. 

"Not by actual proof, I fear, " answered Constance, pressing her handupon her brow as she remembered that he could only be proved innocentby another's being proved guilty. "The note seems to have been lost inso very mysterious a manner, that positive proof of his innocence willbe difficult. "

"Well, it is a dreadful thing!" concluded Lady Augusta. 

Meanwhile, at the very moment her ladyship was speaking, themagistrates were in the town-hall in full conclave--the case beforethem. The news had spread--had excited interest far and wide; the benchwas crowded, and the court was one dense sea of heads. 

Arthur appeared, escorted by his brother Hamish and by Roland Yorke. Roland was in high feather, throwing his haughty glances everywhere, for he had an inkling of what was to be the termination of the affair, and did not conceal his triumph. Mr. Galloway also was of their party. 

Mr. Galloway was the first witness put forth by Mr. Butterby. Thelatter gentleman was in high feather also, believing he saw his wayclear to a triumphant conviction. Mr. Galloway was questioned; and forsome minutes it all went on swimmingly. 

"On the afternoon of the loss, before you closed your letter, who werein your office?"

"My clerks--Roland Yorke and Arthur Channing. "

"They saw the letter, I believe?"

"They did. "

"And the bank-note?"

"Most probably. "

"It was the prisoner, Arthur Channing, who fetched the bank-note fromyour private room to the other? Did he see you put it into the letter?"

"I cannot say. "

A halt. "But he was in full possession of his eyes just then?"

"No doubt he was. "

"Then what should hinder his seeing you put the note into the letter?"

"I will not swear that I put the note into the letter. "

The magistrates pricked up their ears. Mr. Butterby pricked up his, andlooked at the witness. 

"What do you say?"

"I will not swear that I put the bank-note inside the letter, "deliberately repeated Mr. Galloway. 

"Not swear that you put the bank-note into the letter? What is it thatyou mean?"

"The meaning is plain enough, " replied Mr. Galloway, calmly. "Must Irepeat it for the third time? I will not swear that I put the note intothe letter. "

"But your instructions to me were that you did put the note into theletter, " cried Mr. Butterby, interrupting the examination. 

"I will not swear it, " reiterated the witness. 

"Then there's an end of the case!" exclaimed the magistrates' clerk, insome choler. "What on earth was the time of the bench taken up for inbringing it here?"

And there _was_ an end of the case--at any rate for the present--fornothing more satisfactory could be got out of Mr. Galloway. 

"I have been checkmated, " ejaculated the angry Butterby. 

They walked back arm-in-arm to Mr. Galloway's, Roland and Arthur. Hamish went the other way, to his own office, and Mr. Galloway lingeredsomewhere behind. Jenkins--truehearted Jenkins, in the blackhandkerchief still--was doubly respectful to Arthur, and rose towelcome him; a faint hectic of pleasure illumining his face at thetermination of the charge. 

"Who said our office was going to be put down for a thief's!" utteredRoland. "Old Galloway's a trump! Here's your place, Arthur. "

Arthur did not take it. He had seen from the window the approach of Mr. Galloway, and delicacy prevented his assuming his old post until badeto do so. Mr. Galloway came in, and motioned him into his own room. 

"Arthur Channing, " he said, "I have acted leniently in this unpleasantmatter, for your father's sake; but, from my very heart, I believe youto be guilty. "

"I thank you, sir, " Arthur said, "for that and all other kindness. I amnot as guilty as you think me. Do you wish me to leave?"

"If you can give me no better assurance of your innocence--if you cangive me no explanation of the peculiar and most unsatisfactory mannerin which you have met the charge--yes. To retain you here would beunjust to my own interests, and unfair as regards Jenkins and RolandYorke. "

To give this explanation was impossible; neither dared Arthur assertmore emphatically his innocence. Once convince Mr. Galloway that he wasnot the guilty party, and that gentleman would forthwith issue freshinstructions to Butterby for the further investigation of the affair:of this Arthur felt convinced. He could only be silent and remain underthe stigma. 

"Then--I had better--you would wish me, perhaps--to go at once?"hesitated Arthur. 

"Yes, " shortly replied Mr. Galloway. 

He spoke a word of farewell, which Mr. Galloway replied to by a nod, and went into the front office. There he began to collect togethercertain trifles that belonged to him. 

"What's that for?" asked Roland Yorke. 

"I am going, " he replied. 

"Going!" roared Roland, jumping to his feet, and dashing down his penfull of ink, with little regard to the deed he was copying. "Gallowayhas never turned you off!"

"Yes, he has. "

"Then I'll go too!" thundered Roland, who, truth to say, had flown intoan uncontrollable passion, startling Jenkins and arousing Mr. Galloway. "I'll not stop in a place where that sort of injustice goes on! He'llbe turning me out next! Catch me stopping for it!"

"Are you taken crazy, Mr. Roland Yorke?"

The question proceeded from his master, who came forth to make it. Roland turned to him, his temper unsubdued, and his colour rising. 

"Channing never took the money, sir! It is not just to turn him away. "

"Did you help him to take it, pray, that you identify yourself with theaffair so persistently and violently?" demanded Mr. Galloway, in acynical tone. And Roland answered with a hot and haughty word. 

"If you cannot attend to your business a little better, you will getyour dismissal from me; you won't require to dismiss yourself, " saidMr. Galloway. "Sit down, sir, and go on with your work. "

"And that's all the thanks a fellow gets for taking up a cause ofoppression!" muttered Mr. Roland Yorke, as he sullenly resumed hisplace at the desk. "This is a precious world to live in!"

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A PIECE OF PREFERMENT. 

Before the nine days' wonder, which, you know, is said to be theaccompaniment of all marvels, had died away, Helstonleigh was fated tobe astonished by another piece of news of a different nature--thepreferment of the Reverend William Yorke. 

A different preferment from what had been anticipated for him;otherwise the news had been nothing extraordinary, for it is usual forthe Dean and Chapter to provide livings for their minor canons. In afine, open part of the town was a cluster of buildings, calledHazeldon's Charity, so named from its founder Sir Thomas Hazeldon--alarge, paved inclosure, fenced in by iron railings, and a pair of irongates. A chapel stood in the midst. On either side, right and left, ransixteen almshouses, and at the end, opposite to the iron gates, stoodthe dwelling of the chaplain to the charity, a fine residence, calledHazeldon House. This preferment, worth three hundred a year, had beenfor some weeks vacant, the chaplain having died. It was in the gift ofthe present baronet, Sir Frederick Hazeldon, a descendant of thefounder, and he now suddenly conferred it upon the Rev. William Yorke. It took Helstonleigh by surprise. It took Mr. Yorke himself entirely bysurprise. He possessed no interest whatever with Sir Frederick, and hadnever cast a thought to the probability of its becoming his. Perhaps, Sir Frederick's motive for bestowing it upon him was this--that, of allthe clergy in the neighbourhood, looking out for something good to fallto them, Mr. Yorke had been almost the only one who had not solicitedit of Sir Frederick. 

It was none the less welcome. It would not interfere in the least withthe duties or preferment of his minor canonry: a minor canon had oncebefore held it. In short, it was one of those slices of luck which dosometimes come unexpectedly in this world. 

In the soft light of the summer evening, Constance Channing stood underthe cedar-tree. A fine old tree was that, the pride of the Channings'garden. The sun was setting in all its beauty; clouds of crimson andpurple floated on the horizon; a roseate hue tinged the atmosphere, andlighted with its own loveliness the sweet face of Constance. It was anevening that seemed to speak peace to the soul--so would it have spokento that of Constance, but for the ever-present trouble which had fallenthere. 

Another trouble was falling upon her, or seemed to be; one that moreimmediately concerned herself. Since the disgrace had come to Arthur, Mr. Yorke had been less frequent in his visits. Some days had nowelapsed from the time of Arthur's dismissal from Mr. Galloway's, andMr. Yorke had called only once. This might have arisen from accidentalcircumstances; but Constance felt a different fear in her heart. 

Hark! that is his ring at the hall-bell. Constance has not listenedfor, and loved that ring so long, to be mistaken now. Another minute, and she hears those footsteps approaching, warming her life-blood, quickening her pulses: her face deepens to crimson, as she turns ittowards him. She knows nothing yet of his appointment to the Hazeldonchaplaincy; Mr. Yorke has not known it himself two hours. 

He came up and laid his hands upon her shoulders playfully, lookingdown at her. "What will you give me for some news, by way of greeting, Constance?"

"News?" she answered, raising her eyes to his, and scarcely knowingwhat she did say, in the confusion of meeting him, in her all-consciouslove. "Is it good or bad news?"

"Helstonleigh will not call it good, I expect. There are those uponwhom it will fall as a thunder-clap. "

"Tell it me, William; I cannot guess, " she said, somewhat wearily. "Isuppose it does not concern me. "

"But it does concern you--indirectly. "

Poor Constance, timorous and full of dread since this grief had fallen, was too apt to connect everything with that one source. We have donethe same in our lives, all of us, when under the consciousness of somesecret terror. She appeared to be living upon a mine, which mightexplode any hour and bring down Hamish in its _débris_. The words borean ominous sound; and, foolish as it may appear to us, who know thenature of Mr. Yorke's news, Constance fell into something very liketerror, and turned white. 

"Does--does--it concern Arthur?" she uttered. 

"No. Constance, " changing his tone, and dropping his hands as he gazedat her, "why should you be so terrified for Arthur? You have been achanged girl since that happened--shrinking, timid, starting at everysound, unable to look people in the face. Why so, if he is innocent?"

She shivered inwardly, as was perceptible to the eyes of Mr. Yorke. "Tell me the news, " she answered in a low tone, "if, as you say, itconcerns me. " "I hope it will concern you, Constance. At any rate, itconcerns me. The news, " he gravely added, "is, that I am appointed tothe Hazeldon chaplaincy. "

"Oh, William!" The sudden revulsion of feeling from intense, undefinedterror to joyful surprise, was too much to bear calmly. Her emotionoverpowered her, and she burst into tears. Mr. Yorke compelled her tosit down on the bench, and stood over her--his arm on her shoulder, herhand clasped in his. 

"Constance, what is the cause of this?" he asked, when her emotion hadpassed. 

She avoided the question. She dried her tears and schooled her face tosmiles, and tried to look as unconscious as she might. "Is it reallytrue that you have the chaplaincy?" she questioned. 

"I received my appointment this evening. Why Sir Frederick should haveconferred it upon me I am unable to say: I feel all the more obliged tohim for its being unexpected. Shall you like the house, Constance?"

The rosy hue stole over her face again, and a happy smile parted herlips. "I once said to mamma, when we had been spending the eveningthere, that I should like to live at Hazeldon House. I like its roomsand its situation; I shall like to be busy among all those poor oldpeople, but, when I said it, William, I had not the slightest idea thatthe chance would ever be mine. "

"You have only to determine now how soon the 'chance' shall becomecertainty, " he said. "I must take up my residence there within a month, and I do not care how soon my wife takes up hers after that. "

The rose grew deeper. She bent her brow down upon her hand and his, hiding her face. "It could not possibly be, William. "

"What could not be?"

"So soon. Papa and mamma are going to Germany, you know, and I mustkeep house here. Besides, what would Lady Augusta say at my leaving hersituation almost as soon as I have entered upon it?"

"Lady Augusta--" Mr. Yorke was beginning impulsively, but checkedhimself. Constance lifted her face and looked at him. His brow wasknit, and a stern expression had settled on it. 

"What is it, William?"

"I want to know what caused your grief just now, " was his abruptrejoinder. "And what is it that has made you appear so strange oflate?"

The words fell on her as an ice-bolt. For a few brief moments she hadforgotten her fears, had revelled in the sunshine of the happiness sosuddenly laid out before her. Back came the gloom, the humiliation, theterror. 

"Had Arthur been guilty of the charge laid to him, and you werecognizant of it, I could fancy that your manner would be precisely whatit is, " answered Mr. Yorke. 

Her heart beat wildly. He spoke in a reserved, haughty tone, and shefelt a foreboding that some unpleasant explanation was at hand. Shefelt more--that perhaps she ought not to become his wife with thiscloud hanging over them. She nerved herself to say what she deemed sheought to say. 

"William, " she began, "perhaps you would wish that our marriage shouldbe delayed until--until--I mean, now that this suspicion has fallenupon Arthur--?"

She could scarcely utter the words coherently, so great was heragitation. Mr. Yorke saw how white and trembling were her lips. 

"I cannot believe Arthur guilty, " was his reply. 

She remembered that Hamish was, though Arthur was not; and in point ofdisgrace, it amounted to the same thing. Constance passed her hand overher perplexed brow. "He is looked upon as guilty by many: that, weunfortunately know; and it may not be thought well that you should, under the circumstance, make me your wife. _You_ may not think so. "

Mr. Yorke made no reply. He may have been deliberating the question. 

"Let us put it in this light, William, " she resumed, her tone one ofintense pain. "Suppose, for argument's sake, that Arthur were guilty;would you marry me, all the same?"

"It is a hard question, Constance, " he said, after a pause. 

"It must be answered. "

"Were Arthur guilty and you cognizant of it--screening him--I shouldlose half my confidence in you, Constance. "

That was the knell. Her heart and her eyes alike fell, and she knew, inthat one moment, that all hope of marrying William Yorke was at an end. 

"You think that, were he guilty--I am speaking only for argument'ssake, " she breathed in her emotion, --"you think, were I cognizant ofit, I ought to betray him; to make it known to the world?"

"I do not say that, Constance. No. But you are my affianced wife; and, whatever cognizance of the matter you might possess, whatever might bethe mystery attending it--and a mystery I believe there is--you shouldrepose the confidence and the mystery in me. "

"That you might decide whether or not I am worthy to be your wife!" sheexclaimed, a flash of indignation lighting up her spirit. To doubt her!She felt it keenly, Oh, that she could have told him the truth! Butthis she dare not, for Hamish's sake. 

He took her hand in his, and gazed searchingly into her face. "Constance, you know what you are to me. This unhappy business has beenas great a trial to me as to you. Can you deny to me all knowledge ofits mystery, its guilt? I ask not whether Arthur be innocent or guilty;I ask whether you are innocent of everything in the way of concealment. Can you stand before me and assure me, in all truth, that you are so?"

She could not. "I believe in Arthur's innocence, " she replied, in a lowtone. 

So did Mr. Yorke, or he might not have rejoined as he did. "I believealso in his innocence, " he said. "Otherwise--"

"You would not make me your wife. Speak it without hesitation, William. "

"Well--I cannot tell what my course would be. Perhaps, I would not. "

A silence. Constance was feeling the avowal in all its bitterhumiliation. It seemed to humiliate _her_. "No, no; it would not beright of him to make me his wife now, " she reflected. "Hamish'sdisgrace may come out any day; he may still be brought to trial for it. His wife's brother! and he attached to the cathedral. No, it wouldnever do. William, " she said, aloud, "we must part. "

"Part?" echoed Mr. Yorke, as the words issued faintly from hertrembling lips. 

Tears rose to her eyes; it was with difficulty she kept them fromfalling. "I cannot become your wife while this cloud overhangs Arthur. It would not be right. "

"You say you believe in his innocence, " was the reply of Mr. Yorke. 

"I do. But the world does not. William, " she continued, placing herhand in his, while the tears rained freely down her face, "let us sayfarewell now. "

He drew her closer to him. "Explain this mystery, Constance. Why areyou not open with me? What has come between us?"

"I cannot explain, " she sobbed. "There is nothing for us but to part. "

"We will not part. Why should we, when you say Arthur is innocent, andI believe him to be so? Constance, my darling, what is this grief?"

What were the words but a tacit admission that, if Arthur were notinnocent, they should part? Constance so interpreted them. Had anyadditional weight been needed to strengthen her resolution, this wouldhave supplied it. 

"Farewell! farewell, William! To remain with you is only prolonging thepain of parting. "

That her resolution to part was firm, he saw. It was his turn to beangry now. A slight touch of the haughty Yorke temper was in him, andthere were times when it peeped out. He folded his arms, and the flushleft his countenance. 

"I cannot understand you, Constance. I cannot fathom your motive, orwhy you are doing this; unless it be that you never cared for me. "

"I have cared for you as I never cared for any one; as I shall nevercare for another. To part with you will be like parting with life. "

"Then why speak of it? Be my wife, Constance; be my wife!"

"No, it might bring you disgrace, " she hysterically answered; "and, that, you shall never encounter through me. Do not keep me, William; myresolution is irrevocable. "

Sobbing as though her heart would break, she turned from him. Mr. Yorkefollowed her indoors. In the hall stood Mrs. Channing. Constance turnedaside, anywhere, to hide her face from her mother's eye. Mrs. Channingdid not particularly observe her, and turned to accost Mr. Yorke. Anangry frown was on his brow, an angry weight on his spirit. Constance'swords and course of action had now fully impressed him with the beliefthat Arthur was guilty; that she knew him to be so; and the proud Yorkeblood within him whispered that it was _well_ so to part. But he hadloved her with a deep and enduring love, and his heart ached bitterly. 

"Will you come in and lend us your help in the discussion?" Mrs. Channing said to him, with a smile. "We are carving out the plan forour journey. "

He bowed, and followed her into the sitting-room. He did not speak ofwhat had just occurred, leaving that to Constance, if she should chooseto give an explanation. It was not Mr. Yorke's place to say, "Constancehas given me up. She has impressed me with the conviction that Arthuris guilty, and she says she will not bring disgrace upon me. " No, certainly; he could not tell them that. 

Mr. Channing lay as usual on his sofa, Hamish near him. Gay Hamish, whowas looking as light-faced as ever; undoubtedly, he seemed aslight-hearted. Hamish had a book before him, a map, and a pencil. Hewas tracing out the route for his father and mother, joking always. 

After much anxious consideration, Mr. Channing had determined toproceed at once to Germany. It is true that he could not well afford todo so; and, before he heard from Dr. Lamb the very insignificant costit would prove, he had always put it from him, as wholly impracticableat present. But the information given him by the doctor altered hisviews, and he began to think it not only practicable, but feasible. Hischildren were giving much help now to meet home expenses--Constance, ingoing to Lady Augusta's; Arthur, to the Cathedral. Dr. Lamb stronglyurged his going, and Mr. Channing himself knew that, if he could onlycome home restored to health and to activity, the journey instead ofbeing an expense, would, in point of fact, prove an economy. With muchdeliberation, with much prayer to be helped to a right decision, Mr. Channing at length decided to go. 

It was necessary to start at once, for the season was already advanced;indeed, as Dr. Lamb observed, he ought to have been away a month ago. Then all became bustle and preparation. Two or three days were wastedin the unhappy business concerning Arthur. But all the grieving overthat, all the staying at home for it, could do no good; Mr. Channingwas fain to see this, and the preparations were hastened. Hamish wasmost active in all--in urging the departure, in helping to pack, incarving out their route: but always joking. 

"Now, mind, mother, as you are to be commander in chief, it is the_Antwerp_ packet you are to take, " he was saying, in a serio-comic, dictatorial manner. "Don't get seduced on to any indiscriminatesteamer, or you may find yourselves carried off to some unknown regionsinhabited by cannibals, and never be heard of again. The Antwerpsteamer; and it starts from St. Katherine's Docks--if you have thepleasure of knowing that enchanting part of London. I made acquaintancewith it in a fog, in that sight-seeing visit I paid to town; and itsbeauty, I must confess, did not impress me. From St. Katherine's Docksyou will reach Antwerp in about eighteen hours--always provided theship does not go to pieces. "

"Hamish!"

"Well, I won't anticipate: I dare say it is well caulked. At any rate, take an insurance ticket against accident, and then you'll be allright. An Irishman slept at the top of a very high hotel. 'Are you notafraid to sleep up there, in case of fire?' a friend asked him. 'By thepowers, no!' said he; 'they tell me the house is insured. ' Now, mothermine--"

"Shall we have to stay in Antwerp, Hamish?" interrupted Mr. Channing. 

"Yes, as you return, sir; an answer that you will think emanated fromour Irish friend. No one ever yet went to Antwerp without giving thefine old town a few hours' inspection. I only wish the chance wereoffered me! Now, on your way there, you will not be able to get about;but, as you return, you will--if all the good has been done you that Ianticipate. "

"Do not be too sanguine, Hamish. "

"My dear father, " and Hamish's tone assumed a deeper feeling, "to besanguine was implanted in my nature, at my birth: but in this case I ammore than sanguine. You will be cured, depend upon it. When you return, in three months' time, I shall not have a fly waiting for you at thestation here, or if I do, it will be for the mother's exclusive use andbenefit; I shall parade you through the town on my arm, showing yourrenewed strength of leg and limb to the delighted eyes ofHelstonleigh. "

"Why are you so silent?" Mrs. Channing inquired of William Yorke. Shehad suddenly noticed that he had scarcely said a word; had sat in a fitof abstraction since his entrance. 

"Silent? Oh! Hamish is talking for all of us, " he answered, startingfrom his reverie. 

"The ingratitude of some people!" ejaculated Hamish. "Is he saying thatin a spirit of complaint, now? Mr. Yorke, I am astonished at you. "

At this moment Tom was heard to enter the house. That it could be noone but Tom was certain, by the noise and commotion that arose; theothers were quieter, except Annabel, and she was a girl. Tom came in, tongue, hands, and feet all going together. 

"What luck, is it not, Mr. Yorke? I am so glad it has been given toyou!"

Mr. Channing looked up in surprise. "Tom, you will never learn manners!What has been given?"

"Has he not told you?" exclaimed Tom, ignoring the reproof to hismanners. "He is appointed to Hazeldon Chapel. Where's Constance? I'llbe bound he has told _her_!"

Saucy Tom! They received his news in silence, looking to Mr. Yorke forexplanation. He rose from his chair, and his cheek slightly flushed ashe confirmed the tidings. 

"Does Constance know it?" inquired Mrs. Channing, speaking in themoment's impulse. 

"Yes, " was Mr. Yorke's short answer. And then he said something, notvery coherently, about having an engagement, and took his leave, wishing Mr. Channing every benefit from his journey. 

"But, we do not go until the day after to-morrow, " objected Mr. Channing. "We shall see you before that. "

Another unsatisfactory sentence from Mr. Yorke, that he "was not sure. "In shaking hands with Mrs. Channing he bent down with a whisper: "Ithink Constance has something to say to you. "

Mrs. Channing found her in her room, in a sad state of distress. "Child! what is this?" she uttered. 

"Oh! mother, mother, it is all at an end, and we have parted for ever!"was poor Constance's wailing answer. And Mrs. Channing, feeling quitesick with the various troubles that seemed to be coming upon her, inquired _why_ it was at an end. 

"He feels that the disgrace which has fallen upon us would be reflectedupon him, were he to make me his wife. Mother, there is no help for it:it _would_ disgrace him. "

"But where there is no real guilt there can be no real disgrace, "objected Mrs. Channing. "I am firmly persuaded, however mysterious andunsatisfactory things may appear, that Arthur is not guilty, and thattime will prove him so. "

Constance could only shiver and sob. Knowing what she knew, she couldentertain no hope. 

"Poor child! poor child!" murmured Mrs. Channing, her own tearsdropping upon the fair young face, as she gathered it to her shelteringbosom. "What have you done that this blight should extend to you?"

"Teach me to bear it, mother. It must be God's will. " And ConstanceChanning lay in her resting-place, and there sobbed out her heart'sgrief, as she had done in her early girlhood. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AN APPEAL TO THE DEAN. 

The first sharpness of the edge worn off, Arthur Channing partiallyrecovered his cheerfulness. The French have a proverb, which isfamiliar to us all: "_Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute_. " There isa great deal of truth in it, as experience teaches us, and as Arthurfound. "Of what use my dependence upon God, " Arthur also reasoned withhimself ten times a day, "if it does not serve to bear me up in this, my first trouble? As well have been brought up next door to a heathen. Let me do the best I can under it, and go my way as if it had nothappened, trusting all to God. "

A good resolution, and one that none could have made, and kept, unlesshe had learnt that trust, which is the surest beacon-light we canpossess in the world. Hour after hour, day after day, did that trustgrow in Arthur Channing's heart. He felt a sure conviction that Godwould bring his innocence to light in His own good time: and that timehe was content to wait for. Not at the expense of Hamish. In hisbrotherly love for Hamish, which this transaction had been unable todispel, he would have shielded his reputation at any sacrifice tohimself. He had grown to excuse Hamish, far more than he could everhave excused himself, had he been guilty of it. He constantly hopedthat the sin might never be brought home to Hamish, even by theremotest suspicion. He hoped that he would never fall again. Hamish wasnow so kind to Arthur--gentle in manner, thoughtfully considerate, anxious to spare him. He had taken to profess his full belief inArthur's innocence; not as loudly perhaps, but quite as urgently, asdid Roland Yorke. "He would _prove_ my innocence, and take the guilt tohimself, but that it would bring ruin to my father, " fondlysoliloquised Arthur. 

Arthur Channing's most earnest desire, for the present, was to obtainsome employment. His weekly salary at Mr. Galloway's had been verytrifling; but still it was so much loss. He had gone to Mr. Galloway'snot so much to be of help to that gentleman, who really did not requirea third clerk, as to get his hand into the routine of the office, preparatory to being articled. Hence his weekly pay had been almost anominal sum. Small though it was, he was anxious to replace it; and hesought to hear of something in the town. As yet, without success. Persons were not willing to engage one on whom a doubt rested; and avery great doubt, in the opinion of the town, did rest upon Arthur. Themanner in which the case had terminated--by Mr. Galloway's refusing toswear he put the bank-note into the envelope, when it was known thatMr. Galloway _had_ put it in, and that Mr. Galloway himself knew thathe had done so--told more against Arthur than the actual charge haddone. It was not, you see, establishing Arthur's innocence; on thecontrary, it rather tended to imply his guilt. "If I go on with this, he will be convicted, therefore I will withdraw it for his father'ssake, " was the motive the town imputed to Mr. Galloway. His summarydismissal, also, from the office, was urged against him. Altogether, Arthur did not stand well with Helstonleigh; and fresh employment didnot readily show itself. This was of little moment, comparativelyspeaking, while his post in the Cathedral was not endangered. But thatwas to come. 

On the day before the departure of Mr. And Mrs. Channing, Arthur wasseated at the organ at afternoon service, playing the anthem, when Mr. Williams came up. Arthur saw him with surprise. It was not the day forpractising the choristers; therefore, what could he want? A feeling ofdread that it might mean ill to him, came over Arthur. 

A feeling all too surely borne out. "Channing, " Mr. Williams began, scarcely giving himself time to wait until service was over and thecongregation were leaving, "the dean has been talking to me about thisbother. What is to be done?"

The life-blood at his heart seemed to stand still, and then go onagain. His place there was about to be taken from him; he knew it. Musthe become an idle, useless burden upon them at home?

"He met me this morning in High Street, and stopped me, " continued Mr. Williams. "He considers that if you were guilty of the theft, you oughtnot to be allowed to retain your place here. I told him you were notguilty--that I felt thoroughly convinced of it; but he listened coldly. The dean is a stern man, and I have always said it. "

"He is a good man, and only stern in the cause of injustice, " repliedArthur, who was himself too just to allow blame to rest where it wasnot due, even though it were to defend himself. "Did he give orders formy dismissal?"

"He has not done so yet. I said, that when a man was wrongly accused, it ought not to be a plea for all the world's trampling him down. Heanswered pretty warmly, that of course it ought not; but that, ifappearances might be trusted, you were not wrongly accused. "

Arthur sat, scoring some music with his pencil. Never had he felt thatappearances were against him more plainly than he felt it then. 

"I thought I would step down and tell you this, Channing, " Mr. Williamsobserved. "I shall not dismiss you, you may be sure of that; but, ifthe dean puts forth his veto, I cannot help myself. He is master of theCathedral, not I. I cannot think what possesses the people to doubtyou! They never would, if they had ten grains of sense. "

The organist concluded his words as he hurried down the stairs--he wasalways much pressed for time. Arthur, a cold weight lying at his heart, put the music together, and departed. 

He traversed the nave, crossed the body, and descended the steps to thecloisters. As he was passing the Chapter House, the doors opened, andDr. Gardner came out, in his surplice and trencher. He closed the doorsafter him, but not before Arthur had seen the dean seated alone at thetable--a large folio before him. Both of them had just left theCathedral. 

Arthur raised his hat to the canon, who acknowledged it, but--Arthurthought--very coldly. To a sore mind, fancy is ever active. A thoughtflashed over Arthur that he would go, there and then, and speak to thedean. 

Acting upon the moment's impulse, without premeditation as to what heshould say, he turned back and laid his hand upon the door handle. Apassing tremor, as to the result, arose within him; but he had learnedwhere help in need is ever to be obtained, and an earnestly breathedword went up then. The dean looked round, saw that it was ArthurChanning, rose from his seat, and awaited his approach. 

"Will you pardon my intruding upon you here, Mr. Dean?" he began, inhis gentle, courteous manner; and with the urgency of the occasion, allhis energy seemed to come to him. Timidity and tremor vanished, and hestood before the dean, a true gentleman and a fearless one. The deanstill wore his surplice, and his trencher lay on the table near him. Arthur placed his own hat by its side. "Mr. Williams has just informedme that you cast a doubt as to the propriety of my still taking theorgan, " he added. 

"True, " said the dean. "It is not fitting that one, upon whom so heavyan imputation lies, should be allowed to continue his duty in thisCathedral. "

"But, sir--if that imputation be a mistaken one?"

"How are we to know that it is a mistaken one?" demanded the dean. 

Arthur paused. Sir, will you take my word for it? I am incapable oftelling a lie. I have come to you to defend my own cause; and yet I canonly do it by my bare word of assertion. You are not a stranger to thecircumstances of my family, Mr. Dean; and I honestly avow that if thispost is taken from me, it will be felt as a serious loss. I have lostwhat little I had from Mr. Galloway; I trust I shall not lose this. "

"You know, Channing, that I should be the last to do an unjust thing;you also may be aware that I respect your family very much, " was thedean's reply. "But this crime which has been laid to your charge is aheavy one. If you were guilty of it, it cannot be overlooked. "

"I was not guilty of it, " Arthur impressively said, his tone full ofemotion. "Mr. Dean! believe me. When I shall come to answer to my Makerfor my actions upon earth, I cannot then speak with more earnest truththan I now speak to you. I am entirely innocent of the charge. I didnot touch the money; I did not know that the money was lost, until Mr. Galloway announced it to me some days afterwards. "

The dean gazed at Arthur as he stood before him; at his tallform--noble even in its youthfulness--his fine, ingenuous countenance, his earnest eye; it was impossible to associate such with the brand ofguilt, and the dean's suspicious doubts melted away. If everuprightness was depicted unmistakably in a human countenance, it shoneout then from Arthur Channing's. 

"But there appears, then, to be some mystery attaching to the loss, tothe proceedings altogether, " debated the dean. 

"No doubt there may be; no doubt there is, " was the reply of Arthur. "Sir, " he impulsively added, "will you stand my friend, so far as togrant me a favour?"

The dean wondered what was coming. 

"Although I have thus asserted my innocence to you; and it is thesolemn truth; there are reasons why I do not wish to speak out sounequivocally to others. Will you kindly regard this interview as aconfidential one--not speaking of its purport even to Mr. Galloway?"

"But why?" asked the dean. 

"I cannot explain. I can only throw myself upon your kindness, Mr. Dean, to grant the request. Indeed, " he added, his face flushing, "mymotive is an urgent one. "

"The interview was not of my seeking, so you may have your favour, "said the dean, kindly. "But I cannot see why you should not publiclyassert it, if, as you say, you are innocent. "

"Indeed, I am innocent, " repeated Arthur. "Should one ray of light everbe thrown upon the affair, you will see, Mr. Dean, that I have spokentruth. "

"I will accept it as truth, " said the dean. "You may continue to takethe organ. "

"I knew God would be with me in the interview!" thought Arthur, as hethanked the dean and left the Chapter House. 

He did not go home immediately. He had a commission to execute in thetown, and went to do it. It took him about an hour, which brought it tofive o'clock. In returning through the Boundaries he encountered RolandYorke, just released from that bane of his life, the office, for theday. Arthur told him how near he had been to losing the Cathedral. 

"By Jove!" uttered Roland, flying into one of his indignant fits. "Anice dean he is! He'd deserve to lose his own place, if he had doneit. "

"Well, the danger is over for the present. I say, Yorke, does Gallowaytalk much about it?"

"Not he, " answered Roland. "He's as sullen and crabbed as any old bear. I often say to Jenkins that he is in a temper with himself for havingsent you away, and I don't care if he hears me. There's an awful amountto do since you went. I and Jenkins are worked to death. And there'llbe the busiest time of all the year coming on soon, with the autumnrents and leases. I shan't stop long in it, I know!"

Smiling at Roland's account of being "worked to death, " for he knew howmuch the assertion was worth, Arthur continued his way. Rolandcontinued his, and, on entering his own house, met Constance Channingleaving it. He exchanged a few words of chatter with her, though itstruck him that she looked unusually sad, and then found his way to thepresence of his mother. 

"What an uncommonly pretty girl that Constance Channing is!" quoth he, in his free, unceremonious fashion. "I wonder she condescends to comehere to teach the girls!"

"I think I shall dismiss her, Roland, " said Lady Augusta. 

"I expect she'll dismiss herself, ma'am, without waiting for you to doit, now William Yorke has found bread and cheese, and a house to livein, " returned Roland, throwing himself at full length on a sofa. 

"Then you expect wrong, " answered Lady Augusta. "If Miss Channingleaves, it will be by my dismissal. And I am not sure but I shall doit, " she added, nodding her head. 

"What for?" asked Roland, lazily. 

"It is not pleasant to retain, as instructress to my children, onewhose brother is a thief. "

Roland tumbled off the sofa, and rose up with a great cry--a cry ofpassionate anger, of aroused indignation. "What?" he thundered. 

"Good gracious! are you going mad?" uttered my lady. "What is ArthurChanning to you, that you should take up his cause in this startlingway upon every possible occasion?"

"He is this to me--that he has nobody else to stand up for him, "stuttered Roland, so excited as to impede his utterance. "We were bothin the same office, and the shameful charge might have been cast uponme, as it was cast upon him. It was mere chance. Channing is asinnocent of it as you, mother; he is as innocent as that precious dean, who has been wondering whether he shall dismiss him from the Cathedral. A charitable lot you all are!"

"I'm sure I don't want to be uncharitable, " cried Lady Augusta, whoseheart was kind enough in the main. "And I am sure the dean never wasuncharitable in his life: he is too good and enlightened a man to beuncharitable. Half the town says he must be guilty, and what is one tothink? Then you would not recommend me to let it make any difference toMiss Channing's coming here?"

"No!" burst forth Roland, in a tone that might have brought down theroof, had it been made of glass. "I'd scorn such wicked injustice. "

"If I were you, I'd 'scorn' to put myself into these fiery tempers, upon other people's business, " cried my lady. 

"It is my business, " retorted Roland. "Better go into tempers than behard and unjust. What would William Yorke say at your speaking so ofMiss Channing?"

Lady Augusta smiled. "It was hearing what William Yorke had done thatalmost decided me. He has broken off his engagement with Miss Channing. And he has done well, Roland. It is not meet that he should take hiswife from a disgraced family. I have been telling him so ever since ithappened. "

Roland stood before her, as if unable to digest the news: his mouthopen, his eyes staring. "It is not true!" he shrieked. 

"Indeed, it is perfectly true. I gathered a suspicion of it fromWilliam Yorke's manner to-day, and I put the question plainly to MissChanning herself. 'Had they parted in consequence of this business ofArthur's?' She acknowledged that it was so. "

Roland turned white with honest anger. He dashed his hair from hisbrow, and with an ugly word, he dashed down the stairs four at a time, and flung out of the house; probably with the intention of having alittle personal explosion with the Reverend William Yorke. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A TASTE OF "TAN. "

The cloisters of Helstonleigh were echoing with the sounds of a louddispute, according as little with their sacred character, as with thefair beauty of the summer's afternoon. 

The excitement caused in the college school by the rumour of LadyAugusta Yorke's having obtained the promise of the head-master that herson should be promoted to the seniorship over the heads of Channing andHuntley, had been smouldering ominously, and gathering greater strengthfrom the very fact that the boys appeared to be powerless in it. Powerless they were: in spite of Tom Channing's boast at thedinner-table that the school would not stand it tamely, and his meaningnod when Hamish had mockingly inquired whether the school intended tosend Lady Augusta a challenge, or to recommend Mr. Pye to thesurveillance of the dean. 

In the first flow of their indignation, the boys, freely ringing thechanges of rebellion, had avowed to one another that they wouldacquaint the dean with the head-master's favouritism, and request hisinterference--as too many of us do when things happen that annoy us. Weare only too prone to speak out our mind, and to proclaim what ourremedy or revenge shall be. But when our anger has subsided, and we seethings in their true light, we find that those boasts were only loudtalking, and cannot be acted upon. Thus it was with the Helstonleighcollege boys. They had hurled forth indignation at the master, hadpretty nearly conned over the very words in which they should makeknown their grievance to the dean; but when the practical part came tobe considered, their courage oozed out at their fingers' ends. Themice, you remember, passed a resolution in solemn conclave that theirenemy, the old cat, should be belled: an excellent precaution, and onlywanting one small thing to render it efficient--no mouse wouldundertake to do it. 

To prefer a complaint to the dean of their head-master was a daringmeasure; such as the school, with all its hardihood, had never yetattempted. It might recoil upon themselves; might produce no good tothe question at issue, and only end in making the master their enemy. On the other hand, the boys were resolved not to submit tamely to apiece of favouritism so unjust, without doing something. In the midstof this perplexity, one of them suddenly mooted the suggestion that awritten memorial should be sent to the head-master from the schoolcollectively, respectfully requesting him to allow the choice of seniorto be made in the legitimate order of things, by merit or priority, butnot by favour. 

Lame as the suggestion was, the majority were for its adoption simplybecause no other plan could be hit upon. Some were against it. Hotarguments prevailed on both sides, and a few personal complimentsrather tending to break the peace, had been exchanged. The senior boyheld himself aloof from acting personally: it was his place they werefighting for. Tom Channing and Huntley were red-hot against what theycalled the "sneaking, " meaning the underhand work. Gerald Yorke wasequally for non-interference, either to the master or the dean. Yorkeprotested it was not in the least true that Lady Augusta had beenpromised anything of the sort. In point of fact, there was no proofthat she had been, excepting her own assertion, made in the hearing ofJenkins. Gerald gravely declared that Jenkins had gone to sleep anddreamt it. 

Affairs had been going on in a cross-grained sort of manner all day. The school, taking it as a whole, had been inattentive; Mr. Pye hadbeen severe; the second master had caned a whole desk, and threatenedanother, and double lessons had been set the upper boys for thefollowing morning. Altogether, when the gentlemen were released at fiveo'clock, they were not in the sweetest of tempers, and entered upon awordy war in the cloisters. 

"What possessed you to take and tear up that paper you weresurreptitiously scribbling at, when Pye ordered you to go up and handit in?" demanded Gaunt, of George Brittle. "It was that which put himout with us all. Was it a love-letter?"

"Who was to think he'd go and ask for it?" returned Brittle, anindifferent sort of gentleman, who liked to take things easily. "Guesswhat it was. "

"Don't talk to me about guessing!" imperiously spoke Gaunt. "I ask youwhat it was?"

"Nothing less than the memorial to himself, " laughed Brittle. "Some ofus made a rough shell of it, and I thought I'd set on and copy it fair. When old Pye's voice came thundering, 'What's that you are sostealthily busy over, Mr. Brittle?--hand it in, ' of course I could onlytear it into minute pieces, and pretend to be deaf. "

"You had best not try it on again, " said Gaunt. "Nothing puts out Pyelike disobeying him to his face. "

"Oh, doesn't it, though!" returned Brittle. "Cribs put him out theworst. He thought that was a crib, or he'd not have been so eager forit. "

"What sort of a shell is it?" asked Harry Huntley. "Who drew it out?"

"It won't do at all, " interposed Hurst. "The head of it is, 'Reveredmaster, ' and the tail, 'Yours affectionately. '"

A shout of laughter; Brittle's voice rose above the noise. "And themiddle is an eloquent piece of composition, calculated to take themaster's obdurate heart by storm, and move it to redress our wrongs. "

"We have no wrongs to redress of that sort, " cried Gerald Yorke. 

"Being an interested party, you ought to keep your mouth shut, " calledout Hurst to Yorke. 

"Keep yours shut first, " retorted Yorke to Hurst. "Not beinginterested, there's no need to open yours at all. "

"Let's see the thing, " said Huntley. 

Brittle drew from his pocket a sheet of a copy-book, tumbled, blotted, scribbled over with the elegance that only a schoolboy can display. Several heads had been laid together, and a sketch of the memorialdrawn out between them. Shorn of what Hurst had figuratively called thehead and tail, and which had been added for nonsense, it was not a badproduction. The boys clustered round Brittle, looking over hisshoulder, as he read the composition aloud for the benefit of those whocould not elbow space to see. 

"It wouldn't be bad, " said Huntley, critically, "if it were done intogood grammar. "

"Into what?" roared Brittle. "The grammar's as good as you can produceany day, Huntley. Come!"

"I'll correct it for you, " said Huntley, coolly. "There are a dozenfaults in it. "

"The arrogance of those upper-desk fellows!" ejaculated Brittle. "Thestops are not put in yet, and they haven't the gumption to allow forthem. You'll see what it is when it shall be written out properly, Huntley. It might be sent to the British Museum as a model of goodEnglish, there to be framed and glazed. I'll do it to-night. "

"It's no business of yours, Mr. Brittle, that you should interfere totake an active part in it, " resumed Gerald Yorke. 

"No business of mine! That's good! When I'm thinking of going in forthe seniorship myself another time!"

"It's the business of the whole batch of us, if you come to that!"roared Bywater, trying to accomplish the difficult feat of standing onhis head on the open mullioned window-frame, thereby running the dangerof coming to grief amongst the gravestones and grass of the Collegeburial-yard. "If Pye does not get called to order now, he may lapseinto the habit of passing over hard-working fellows with brains, toexalt some good-for-nothing cake with none, because he happens to havea Dutchman for his mother. That _would_ wash, that would!"

"You, Bywater! do you mean that for me?" hotly demanded Gerald Yorke. 

"As if I did!" laughed Bywater. "As if I meant it for any cake inparticular! Unless the cap happens to fit 'em. _I_ don't say it does. "

"The thing is this, " struck in Hurst: "who will sign the paper? It's ofno use for Brittle, or any other fellow, to be at the bother of writingit out, if nobody can be got to sign it. "

"What do you mean? The school's ready to sign it. "

"Are the seniors?"

With the seniors there was a hitch. Gaunt put himself practically outof the affair; Gerald Yorke would not sign it; and Channing could not. Huntley alone remained. 

Why could not Channing sign it? Ah, there was the lever that wasswaying and agitating the whole school this afternoon. Poor TomChanning was not just now reposing upon rose-leaves. What with hisfiery temper and his pride, Tom had enough to do to keep himself withinbounds; for the school was resenting upon him the stigma that hadfallen upon Arthur. Not the whole school; but quite sufficient of it. Not that they openly attacked Tom; he could have repaid that in kind;but they were sending him to Coventry. Some said they would not sign apetition to the master headed by Tom Channing:--Tom, you remember, stood on the rolls next to Gaunt. They said that if Tom Channing wereto succeed as senior of the school, the school would rise up in openrebellion. That this feeling against him was very much fostered by theYorkes, was doubted. Gerald was actuated by a twofold motive, one ofwhich was, that it enhanced his own chance of the seniorship. The otherarose from resentment against Arthur Channing, for having broughtdisgrace upon the office which contained his brother Roland. Todfraternized in this matter with Gerald, though the same could not besaid of him in general; no two brothers in the school agreed less wellthan did the Yorkes. Both of them fully believed Arthur to be guilty. 

"As good have the thing out now, and settle it, " exclaimed Griffin, whocame next to Gerald Yorke, and would be fourth senior when Gaunt shouldleave. "Are you fellows going to sign it, or not?"

"To whom do you speak?" demanded Gaunt. 

"Well, I speak to all, " said Griffin, a good-humoured lad, but terriblymischievous, and, for some cause best known to himself, warmlyespousing the cause of Gerald Yorke. "Shall you sign it, Gaunt?"

"No. But I don't say that I disapprove of it, mind you, " added Gaunt. "Were I going in for the seniorship, and one below me were suddenlyhoisted above my head and made cock of the walk, I'd know the reasonwhy. It is not talking that would satisfy me, or grumbling either; I'dact. "

"Gaunt doesn't sign it, " proceeded Griffin, telling off the names uponhis fingers. "That's one. Huntley, do you?"

"I don't come next to Gaunt, " was Huntley's answer. "I'll speak in myright turn. "

Tom Channing stood near to Huntley, his trencher stuck aside on hishead, his honest face glowing. One arm was full of books, the otherrested on his hip: his whole attitude bespoke self-possession; hislooks, defiance. Griffin went on. 

"Gerald Yorke, do you sign it?"

"I'd see it further, first. "

"That's two disposed of, Gaunt and Yorke, " pursued Griffin. "Huntley, there's only you. "

Huntley gave a petulant stamp. "I have told you I will not speak out ofmy turn. Yes, I will speak, though, as we want the affair set at rest, "he resumed, changing his mind abruptly. "If Channing signs it, I will. There! Channing, will you sign it?"

"Yes, I will, " said Tom. 

Then it was that the hubbub arose, converting the cloisters into anarena. One word led to another. Fiery blood bubbled up; harsh thingswere said. Gerald Yorke and his party reproached Tom Channing withbeing a _disgrace_ to the school's charter, through his brother Arthur. Huntley and a few more warmly espoused Tom's cause, of whom saucyBywater was one, who roared out cutting sarcasms from his gymnasium onthe window-frame. Tom controlled himself better than might have beenexpected, but he and Gerald Yorke flung passionate retorts one to theother. 

"It is not fair to cast in a fellow's teeth the shortcomings of hisrelations, " continued Bywater. "What with our uncles and cousins, andmothers and grandmothers, there's sure to be one among them that goesoff the square. Look at that rich lot, next door to Lady Augusta's, with their carriages and servants, and soirées, and all the rest oftheir grandeur!--their uncle was hanged for sheep-stealing. "

"I'd rather steal a sheep and be hanged for it, than help myself to anasty bit of paltry money, and then deny that I did it!" foamed Gerald. "The suspicion might have fallen on my brother, but that he happened, by good luck, to be away that afternoon. My opinion is, that ArthurCharming intended suspicion to fall upon him. "

A howl from Bywater. He had gone over, head foremost, to makeacquaintance with the graves. They were too much engrossed to heed him. 

"Your brother was a great deal more likely to have helped himself toit, than Arthur Charming, " raged Tom. "He does a hundred dirty thingsevery day, that a Channing would rather cut off his arm than attempt. "

The disputants' faces were almost touching each other, and very fieryfaces they were--that is, speaking figuratively. Tom's certainly wasred enough, but Gerald's was white with passion. Some of the biggerboys stood close to prevent blows, which Gaunt was forbidding. 

"I _know_ he did it!" shrieked Gerald. "There!"

"You can't know it!" stamped Tom. "You don't know it!"

"I _do_. And for two pins I'd tell. "

The boast was a vain boast, the heat of passion alone prompting it. Gerald Yorke was not scrupulously particular in calm moments; butlittle recked he what he said in his violent moods. Tom repudiated itwith scorn. But there was another upon whom the words fell with intensefear. 

And that was Charley Channing. Misled by Gerald's positive and earnesttone, the boy really believed that there must be some foundation forthe assertion. A wild fear seized him, lest Gerald should proclaimsome startling fact, conveying a conviction of Arthur's guilt to theminds of the school. The blood forsook his face, his lips trembled, andhe pushed his way through the throng till he touched Gerald. 

"Don't say it, Gerald Yorke! Don't!" he imploringly whispered. "I havekept counsel for you. "

"What?" said Gerald, wheeling round. 

"I have kept your counsel about the surplice. Keep Arthur's in return, if you do know anything against him. "

I wish you could have witnessed the change in Gerald Yorke'scountenance! A streak of scarlet crossed its pallor, his eyes blazedforth defiance, and a tremor, as of fear, momentarily shook him. To thesurprise of the boys, who had no notion what might have been thepurport of Charley's whisper, he seized the boy by the arm, andfiercely dragged him away up the cloisters, turning the corner into thewest quadrangle. 

"Get down!" he hissed; "get down upon your knees, and swear that you'llnever breathe a syllable of that calumny again! Do you hear me, boy?"

"No, I will not get down, " said brave Charley. 

Gerald drew in his lips. "You have heard of a wild tiger, my boy? Oneescaped from a caravan the other day, and killed a few people. I amworse than a wild tiger now, and you had better not provoke me. Swearit, or I'll kill you!"

"I will not swear, " repeated the child. "I'll try and keep the promiseI gave you, not to betray about the surplice--I will indeed; but don'tyou say again, please, that Arthur is guilty. "

To talk of killing somebody, and to set about doing it, are two things. Gerald Yorke's "killing" would have amounted to no more than a goodthrashing. He held the victim at arm's length, his eyes dilating, hisright hand raised, when a head was suddenly propelled close upon themfrom the graveyard. Gerald was so startled as to drop his hold ofCharley. 

The head belonged to Stephen Bywater, who must have crept across theburial-ground and chosen that spot to emerge from, attracted probablyby the noise. "What's the row?" asked he. 

"I was about to give Miss Channing a taste of tan, " replied Gerald, whoappeared to suddenly cool down from his passion. "He'd have got itsweetly, had you not come up. I'll tan you too, Mr. Bywater, if youcome thrusting in yourself, like that, where you are not expected, andnot wanted. "

"Tan away, " coolly responded Bywater. "I can tan again. What had theyoung one been up to?"

"Impudence, " shortly answered Yorke. "Mark you, Miss Channing! I havenot done with you, though it is my pleasure to let you off for thepresent. Halloa! What's that?"

It was a tremendous sound of yelling, as if some one amidst the throngof boys was being "tanned" there. Gerald and Charley flew off towardsit, followed by Bywater, who propelled himself upwards through themullioned frame in the best way he could. The sufferer proved to be TodYorke, who was writhing under the sharp correction of some tall fellow, six feet high. To the surprise of Gerald, he recognized his brotherRoland. 

You may remember it was stated in the last chapter that Roland Yorkeflew off, in wild indignation, from Lady Augusta's news of the partingof the Reverend Mr. Yorke and Constance Channing. Roland, in muchinward commotion, was striding through the cloisters on his way to findthat reverend divine, when he strode up to the throng of disputants, who were far too much preoccupied with their own concerns to observehim. The first distinct voice that struck upon Roland's ear above thegeneral hubbub, was that of his brother Tod. 

When Gerald had rushed away with Charley Channing, it had struck Todthat he could not do better than take up the dispute on his own score. He forced himself through the crowd to where Gerald had stood in frontof Tom Channing, and began. For some little time the confusion was sogreat he could not be heard, but Tod persevered; his manner wasoverbearing, his voice loud. 

"I say that Tom Channing might have the decency to take himself out ofthe school. When our friends put us into it, they didn't expect weshould have to consort with thieves' brothers. "

"You contemptible little reptile! How dare you presume to castaspersion at my brother?" scornfully uttered Tom. And the scorn was allhe threw at him; for the seniors disdained, whatever the provocation, to attack personally those younger and less than themselves. Tod Yorkeknew this. 

"How dare I! Oh!" danced Tod. "I dare because I dare, and because it'strue. When my brother Gerald says he knows it was Arthur Channinghelped himself to the note, he does know it. Do you think, " he added, improving upon Gerald's suggestion, "that my brother Roland could be inthe same office, and not know that he helped himself to it? He--"

It was at this unlucky moment that Roland had come up. He heard thewords, dashed the intervening boys right and left, caught hold of Mr. Tod by the collar of his jacket, and lifted him from the ground, as anangry lion might lift a contemptible little animal that had enragedhim. Roland Yorke was not an inapt type of an angry lion just then, with his panting breath, his blazing eye, and his working nostrils. 

"Take that! and that! and that!" cried he, giving Tod a taste of hisstrength. "_You_ speak against Arthur Channing!--take that! You falselittle hound!--and that! Let me catch you at it again, and I won'tleave a whole bone in your body!"

Tod writhed; Tod howled; Tod shrieked; Tod roared for mercy. All invain. Roland continued his "and thats!" and Gerald and the other twoabsentees came leaping up. Roland loosed him then, and turned hisflashing eyes upon Gerald. 

"Is it true that you said you knew Arthur Channing took the bank-note?"

"What if I did?" retorted Gerald. 

"Then you told a lie! A lie as false as you are. If you don't eat yourwords, you are a disgrace to the name of Yorke. Boys, believe _me!_"flashed Roland, turning to the wondering throng--"Gaunt, _you_ believeme--Arthur Channing never did take the note. I know it. I know it, Itell you! I don't care who it was took it, but it was not ArthurChanning. If you listen again to his false assertions, " pointingscornfully to Gerald, "you'll show yourselves to be sneaking curs. "

Roland stopped for want of breath. Bold Bywater, who was sure to findhis tongue before anybody else, elbowed his way to the inner circle, and flourished about there, in complete disregard of the sad state ofdilapidation he was in behind; a large portion of a very necessaryarticle of attire having been, in some unaccountable manner, torn awayby his recent fall. 

"That's right, Roland Yorke!" cried he. "I'd scorn the action ofbringing up a fellow's relations against him. Whether Arthur Channingtook the note, or whether he didn't, what has that to do with Tom?--orwith us? They are saying, some of them, that Tom Channing shan't sign apetition to the master about the seniorship!"

"What petition?" uttered Roland, who had not calmed down a whit. 

"Why! about Pye giving it to Gerald Yorke, over the others' heads, "returned Bywater. "_You_ know Gerald's crowing over it, like anything, but I say it's a shame. I heard him and Griffin say this morning thatthere was only Huntley to get over, now Tom Channing was put out of itthrough the bother about Arthur. "

"What's the dean about, that he does not give Pye a word of a sort?"asked Roland. 

"The dean! If we could only get to tell the dean, it might be allright. But none of us dare do it. "

"Thank you for your defence of Arthur, " said Tom Channing to RolandYorke, as the latter was striding away. 

Roland looked back. "I am ashamed for all the lot of you! You mightknow that Arthur Channing needs no defence. He should not be aspersedin my school, Gaunt, if I were senior. "

What with one thing and another, Roland's temper had not been soaroused for many a day. Gaunt ran after him, but Roland would not turnhis head, or speak. 

"Your brothers are excited against Tom Channing, and that makes themhard upon him, with regard to this accusation of Arthur, " observedGaunt. "Tom has gone on above a bit, about Gerald's getting hisseniorship over him and Huntley. Tom Channing can go on at a splittingrate when he likes, and he has not spared his words. Gerald, being theparty interested, does not like it. That's what they were having a rowover, when you came up. "

"Gerald has no more right to be put over Tom Channing's head, than youhave to be put over Pye's, " said Roland, angrily. 

"Of course he has not, " replied Gaunt. "But things don't go by'rights, ' you know. This business of Arthur Channing's has been quite awindfall for Gerald; he makes it into an additional reason why Tom, atany rate, should not have the seniorship. And there only remainsHuntley. "

"He does, does he!" exclaimed Roland. "If the dean-"

Roland's voice--it had not been a soft one--died away. The dean himselfappeared suddenly at the door of the chapter-house, which they werethen passing. Roland raised his hat, and Gaunt touched his trencher. The dean accosted the latter, his tone and manner less serene thanusual. 

"What is the cause of this unusual noise, Gaunt? It has disturbed me inmy reading. If the cloisters are to be turned into a bear-garden, Ishall certainly order them to be closed to the boys. "

"I'll go and stop it at once, sir, " replied Gaunt, touching histrencher again, as he hastily retired. He had no idea that the dean wasin the chapter-house. 

Roland, taking no time for consideration--he very rarely did take it, or any of the Yorkes--burst forth with the grievance to the dean. Notthat Roland was one who cared much about justice or injustice in theabstract; but he was feeling excessively wroth with Gerald, and in ahumour to espouse Tom Channing's cause against the world. 

"The college boys are in a state of semi-rebellion, Mr. Dean, and arenot so quiet under it as they might be. They would like to bring theircause of complaint to you; but they don't dare. "

"Indeed!" said the dean. 

"The senior boy leaves the school at Michaelmas, " went on Roland, scarcely giving the dean time to say the word. "The one who standsfirst to step into his place is Tom Channing; the next is Huntley; thelast is Gerald Yorke. There is a belief afloat that Mr. Pye means topass over the two first, without reference to their merits or theirrights, and to bestow it upon Gerald Yorke. The rumour is, that he haspromised this to my mother, Lady Augusta. Ought this to be so, Mr. Dean?--although my asking it may seem to be opposed to Lady Augusta'swishes and my brother's interests. "

"Where have you heard this?" inquired the dean. 

"Oh, the whole town is talking of it, sir. Of course, that does notprove its truth; but the college boys believe it. They think, " saidRoland, pointedly, "that the dean ought to ascertain its grounds offoundation, and to interfere. Tom Channing is bearing the brunt of thisfalse accusation on his brother, which some of the cowards are castingto him. It would be too bad were Pye to deprive him of the seniorship!"

"You think the accusation on Arthur Channing to be a false one?"returned the dean. 

"There never was a more false accusation brought in this world, "replied Roland, relapsing into excitement. "I would answer for ArthurChanning with my own life. He is entirely innocent. Good afternoon, Mr. Dean. If I stop longer, I may say more than's polite; there's notelling. Things that I have heard this afternoon have put my temperup. "

He strode away towards the west door, leaving the dean looking afterhim with a smile. The dean had been on terms of friendship with Dr. Yorke, and was intimate with his family. Roland's words were a somewhatsingular corroboration of Arthur Channing's private defence to the deanonly an hour ago. 

Meanwhile Gaunt had gone up to scatter the noisy crew. "A nice row youhave got me into with your quarrelling, " he exclaimed. "The dean hasbeen in the chapter-house all the time, and isn't he in a passion! Hethreatens to shut up the cloisters. "

The announcement brought stillness, chagrin. "What a bothering oldduffer he is, that dean!" uttered Bywater. "He is always turning upwhen he's not wanted. "

"Take your books, and disperse in silence, " was the command of thesenior boy. 

"Stop a bit, " said Bywater, turning himself round and about for generalinspection. "Look at me! Can I go home?"

"My!" roared the boys, who had been too preoccupied to be observant. "Haven't they come to grief!"

"But can I go through the streets?"

"Oh yes! Make a rush for it. Tell the folks you have been in the wars. "

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE DEPARTURE. 

I like to see fair skies and sunshine on the morning fixed for ajourney. It seems to whisper a promise that satisfaction from thatjourney lies before it: a foolish notion, no doubt, but a pleasant one. 

Never did a more lovely morning arise to gladden the world, than thatfixed upon for Mr. And Mrs. Channing's departure. The August sky waswithout a cloud, the early dew glittered in the sunbeams, bees andbutterflies sported amidst the opening flowers. 

Mr. Channing was up early, and had gathered his children around him. Tom and Charles had, by permission, holiday that morning from earlyschool, and Constance had not gone to Lady Augusta Yorke's. The veryexcitement and bustle of preparation had appeared to benefit Mr. Channing; perhaps it was the influence of the hope which had seateditself in his heart, and was at work there. But Mr. Channing did notcount upon this hope one whit more than he could help; fordisappointment _might_ be its ending. In this, the hour of parting fromhis home and his children, the hope seemed to have buried itself fivefathoms deep, if not to have died away completely. Who, in a similarposition to Mr. Channing's, has not felt this depression on leaving abeloved home?

The parting had been less sad but for the dark cloud hanging overArthur. Mr. Channing had no resource but to believe him guilty, and hismanner to him had grown cold and stern. It was a pleasing sight--couldyou have looked in upon it that morning--one that would put you in mindof that happier world where partings are not. 

For it was to that world that Mr. Channing had been carrying thethoughts of his children in these, the last moments. The Bible wasbefore him, but all that he had chosen to read was a short psalm. Andthen he prayed God to bless them; to keep them from evil; to be theirall-powerful protector. There was not a dry eye present; and Charlesand Annabel--Annabel with all her wildness--sobbed aloud. 

He was standing up now, supported by Hamish, his left hand leaningheavily, also for support, on the shoulder of Tom. Oh! Arthur felt itkeenly! felt it as if his heart would break. It was Tom whom his fatherhad especially called to his aid; _he_ was passed over. It was hard tobear. 

He was giving a word of advice, of charge to all. "Constance, my prettyone, the household is in your charge; you must take care of yourbrothers' comforts. And, Hamish, my son, I leave Constance to _your_care. Tom, let me enjoin you to keep your temper within bounds, particularly with regard to that unsatisfactory matter, the seniorship. Annabel, be obedient to your sister, and give her no care. And Charley, my little darling, be loving and gentle as you always are. Upon myreturn--if I shall be spared to return--"

"Father, " exclaimed Arthur, in a burst of irrepressible feeling, "haveyou no word for _me_?"

Mr. Channing laid his hand upon the head of Arthur. "Bless, oh blessthis my son!" he softly murmured. "And may God forgive him, if he beindeed the erring one we fear!"

But a few minutes had elapsed since Mr. Channing had repeated aloud thepetition in the prayer taught us by our Saviour--"Lead us not intotemptation!" It had come quickly to one of his hearers. If evertemptation assailed a heart, it assailed Arthur's then. "Not I, father;it is Hamish who is guilty; it is for him I have to bear. Hamish, whomyou are caressing, was the true culprit; I, whom you despise, aminnocent. " Words such as these might have hovered on Arthur's lips; hehad nearly spoken them, but for the strangely imploring look cast tohim from the tearful eyes of Constance, who read his struggle. Arthurremembered One who had endured temptation far greater than this; Who isever ready to grant the same strength to those who need it. A fewmoments, and the struggle and temptation passed, and he had not yieldedto it. 

"Children, I do not like these partings. They always sadden my heart. They make me long for that life where partings shall be no more. Oh, mydear ones, do you all strive on to attain to that blessed life! Thinkwhat would be our woeful grief--if such can assail us there; if memoryof the past may be allowed us--should we find any one of our dear onesabsent--of you who now stand around me! I speak to you all--not more toone than to another--absent through his own fault, his own sin, his owncarelessness! Oh, children! you cannot tell my love for you--my anxiouscare!--lest any of you should lose this inconceivable blessing. Workon; strive on; and if we never meet again here--"

"Oh, papa, papa, " wildly sobbed Annabel, "we shall meet again! You willcome back well. "

"I trust we shall! I do trust I may! God is ever merciful and good. AllI would say is, that my life is uncertain; that, if it be His will notto spare me, I shall have but preceded you to that better land. Myblessing be upon you, my children! God's blessing be upon you! Fare youwell. "

In the bustle of getting Mr. Channing to the fly, Arthur was left alonewith his mother. She clung to him, sobbing much. Even her faith in himwas shaken. When the rupture occurred between Mr. Yorke and Constance, Arthur never spoke up to say: "There is no cause for parting; I am notguilty. " Mrs. Channing was not the only one who had expected him to saythis, or something equivalent to it; and she found her expectationvain. Arthur had maintained a studied silence; of course it could onlytell against him. 

"Mother! my darling mother! I would ask you to trust me still, but thatI see how difficult it is for you!" he said, as hot tears were wrungfrom his aching heart. 

Hamish came in. Arthur, not caring to exhibit his emotion for everyone's benefit, retired to a distant window. "My father is in, allcomfortable, " said Hamish. "Mother, are you sure you have everything?"

"Everything, I believe. "

"Well--put this into your private purse, mother mine. You'll find someuse for it. "

It was a ten-pound note. Mrs. Channing began protesting that she shouldhave enough without it. 

"Mrs. Channing, I know your 'enoughs, '" laughed Hamish, in his verygayest and lightest tone. "You'll be for going without dinner everyother day, fearing that funds won't last. If you don't take it, I shallsend it after you to-morrow. "

"Thank you, my dear, considerate boy!" she gratefully said, as she putup the money, which would, in truth, prove useful. "But how have youbeen able to get it for me?"

"As if a man could not save up his odd sixpences for a rainy day!"quoth Hamish. 

She implicitly believed him. She had absolute faith in her darlingHamish; and the story of his embarrassments had not reached her ear. Arthur heard all from his distant window. "For that very money, givento my mother as a gift from _him_, I must suffer, " was the rebelliousthought that ran through his mind. 

The fly started. Mr. And Mrs. Channing and Charley inside, Hamish onthe box with the driver. Tom galloped to the station on foot. Of coursethe boys were eager to see them off. But Arthur, in his refinedsensitiveness, would not put himself forward to make one of them; andno one asked him to do so. 

The train was on the point of starting. Mr. And Mrs. Channing were intheir places, certain arrangements having been made for the convenienceof Mr. Channing, who was partially lying across from one seat to theother; Hamish and the others were standing round for a last word; whenthere came one, fighting his way through the platform bustle, pushingporters and any one else who impeded his progress to the rightabout. Itwas Roland Yorke. 

"Haven't I come up at a splitting pace! I overslept myself, Mr. Channing, and I thought I should not be in time to give you aGod-speed. I hope you'll have a pleasant time, and come back cured, sir!"

"Thank you, Roland. These heartfelt wishes from you all are verywelcome. "

"I say, Mr. Channing, " continued Roland, leaning over the carriagewindow, in utter disregard of danger: "If you should hear of any goodplace abroad, that you think I might do for, I wish you'd speak a wordfor me. "

"Place abroad?" repeated Mr. Channing, while Hamish burst into a laugh. 

"Yes, " said Roland. "My brother George knew a fellow who went over toAustria or Prussia, or some of those places, and dropped into a verygood thing there, quite by accident. It was connected with one of theembassies, I think; five or six hundred a year, and little to do. "

Mr. Channing smiled. "Such windfalls are rare. I fear I am not likelyto hear of anything of the sort. But what has Mr. Galloway done to you, Roland? You are a fixture with him. "

"I am tired of Galloway's, " frankly confessed Roland. "I didn't enjoymyself there before Arthur left, but I am ready to hang myself since, with no one to speak to but that calf of a Jenkins! If Galloway willtake on Arthur again, and do him honour, I'll stop and make the best ofit; but, if he won't--"

"Back! back! hands off there! Are you mad?" And amidst much shouting, and running, and dragging careless Roland out of danger, the trainsteamed out of the station. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

ABROAD. 

A powerful steamer was cutting smoothly through the waters. A largeexpanse of sea lay around, dotted with its fishing-boats, which hadcome out with the night's tide. A magnificent vessel, her sparsglittering in the rising sun, might be observed in the distance, andthe grey, misty sky, overhead, gave promise of a hot and lovely day. 

Some of the passengers lay on deck, where they had stationed themselvesthe previous night, preferring its open air to the closeness of thecabins, in the event of rough weather. Rough weather they need not havefeared. The passage had been perfectly calm; the sea smooth as a lake;not a breath of wind had helped the good ship on her course; steam hadto do its full work. But for this dead calm, the fishing-craft wouldnot be close in-shore, looking very much like a flock of sea-gulls. Hada breeze, ever so gentle, sprung up, they would have put out to moreprolific waters. 

A noise, a shout, a greeting! and some of the passengers, alreadyawake, but lying lazily, sprang up to see what caused it. It was apassing steamer, bound for the great metropolis which they had left notseventeen hours ago. The respective captains exchanged salutes fromtheir places aloft, and the fine vessels flew past each other. 

"_Bon voyage! bon voyage!_" shouted out a little French boy to theretreating steamer. 

"We have had a fine passage, captain, " observed a gentleman who wasstretching himself and stamping about the deck, after his night'srepose on the hard bench. 

"Middling, " responded the captain, to whom a dead calm was not quite soagreeable as it was to his passengers. "Should ha' been in all thesooner for a breeze. "

"How long will it be, now?"

"A good time yet. Can't go along as if we had wind at our back. "

The steamer made good progress, however, in spite of the faithlesswind. It glided up the Scheldt, and, by-and-by, the spire of AntwerpCathedral was discerned, rising against the clear sky. Mrs. Channing, who had been one of those early astir, went back to her husband. He waslying where he had been placed when the vessel left St. Katherine'sDocks. 

"We shall soon be in, James. I wish you could see that beautiful spire. I have been searching for it ever so long; it is in sight, now. Hamishtold me to keep a look-out for it. "

"Did he?" replied Mr. Channing. "How did Hamish know it might be seen?"

"From the guide-books, I suppose; or from hearsay. Hamish seems to knoweverything. What a good passage we have had!"

"Ay, " said Mr. Channing. "What I should have done in a rough sea, Icannot tell. The dread of it has been pressing on me as a nightmaresince our voyage was decided upon. "

Mrs. Channing smiled. "Troubles seldom come from the quarter weanticipate them. "

Later, when Mrs. Channing was once more leaning over the side of thevessel, a man came up and put a card into her hand, jabbering away inGerman at the same time. The Custom House officers had come on boardthen. 

"Oh, dear, if Constance were only here! It is for interpreting that weshall miss her, " thought Mrs. Channing. "I am sorry that I do notunderstand you, " she said, turning to the man. 

"Madame want an hot-el? That hot-el a good one, " tapping the card withhis finger, and dexterously turning the reverse side upward, where wasset forth in English the advantages of a certain Antwerp inn. 

"Thank you, but we make no stay at Antwerp; we go straight on at once. "And she would have handed back the card. 

No, he would not receive it. "Madame might be wanting an hot-el atanother time; on her return, it might be. If so, would she patronizeit? it was a good hot-el; perfect!"

Mrs. Channing slipped the card into her reticule, and searched herdirections to see what hotel Hamish had indicated, should they requireone at Antwerp. She found it to be the Hôtel du Parc. Hamish certainlyhad contrived to acquire for them a great fund of information; and, asit turned out, information to be relied on. 

Breakfast was to be obtained on board the steamer, and they availedthemselves of it, as did a few of the other passengers. Some delayoccurred in bringing the steamer to the side, after they arrived. Whether from that cause, or the captain's grievance--want of wind--orfrom both, they were in later than they ought to have been. When thefirst passenger put his foot on land, they had been out twenty hours. 

Mr. Channing was the last to be removed, as, with him, aid wasrequired. Mrs. Channing stood on the shore at the head of the ladder, looking down anxiously, lest in any way harm should come to him, whenshe found a hand laid upon her shoulder, and a familiar voice salutedher. 

"Mrs. Channing! Who would have thought of seeing you here! Have youdropped from the moon?"

Not only was the voice familiar, but the face also. In the surprise ofbeing so addressed, in the confusion around her, Mrs. Channingpositively did not for a moment recognize it; all she saw was, that itwas a _home_ face. "Mr. Huntley!" she exclaimed, when she had gatheredher senses; and, in the rush of pleasure of meeting him, of not feelingutterly alone in that strange land, she put both her hands into his. "Imay return your question by asking where you have dropped from. Ithought you were in the south of France. "

"So I was, " he answered, "until a few days ago, when business broughtme to Antwerp. A gentleman is living here whom I wished to see. Takecare, my men!" he continued to the English sailors, who were carryingup Mr. Channing. "Mind your footing. " But the ascent was accomplishedin safety, and Mr. Channing was placed in a carriage. 

"Do you understand their lingo?" Mr. Huntley asked, as the porterstalked and chattered around. 

"Not a syllable, " she answered. "I can manage a little French, but thisis as a sealed book to me. Is it German or Flemish?"

"Flemish, I conclude, " he said laughingly; "but my ears will not tellme, any more than yours tell you. I should have done well to bringEllen with me. She said, in her saucy way, 'Papa, when you are amongthe French and Germans, you will be wishing for me to interpret foryou. '"

"As I have been wishing for Constance, " replied Mrs. Channing. "In ouryoung days, it was not thought more essential to learn German than itwas to learn Hindustanee. French was only partially taught. "

"Quite true, " said Mr. Huntley. "I managed to rub through France aftera fashion, but I don't know what the natives thought of my French. WhatI did know, I have half forgotten. But, now for explanations. Ofcourse, Mr. Channing has come to try the effect of the German springs?"

"Yes, and we have such hopes!" she answered. "There does appear to be aprobability that not only relief, but a cure, may be effected;otherwise, you may be sure we should not have ventured on so muchexpense. "

"I always said Mr. Channing ought to try them. "

"Very true; you did so. We were only waiting, you know, for thetermination of the chancery suit. It is terminated, Mr. Huntley; andagainst us. "

Mr. Huntley had been abroad since June, travelling in different partsof the Continent; but he had heard from home regularly, chiefly fromhis daughter, and this loss of the suit was duly communicated withother news. 

"Never mind, " said he to Mrs. Channing. "Better luck next time. "

He was of a remarkably pleasant disposition, in temperament not unlikeHamish Channing. A man of keen intellect was Mr. Huntley; his fine faceexpressing it. The luggage collected, they rejoined Mr. Channing. 

"I have scarcely said a word to you, " cried Mr. Huntley, taking hishand. "But I am better pleased to see you here, than I should be to seeany one else living. It is the first step towards a cure. Where are youbound for?"

"For Borcette. It is--"

"I know it, " interrupted Mr. Huntley. "I was at it a year or two ago. One of the little Brunnens, near Aix-la-Chapelle. I stayed a whole weekthere. I have a great mind to accompany you thither, now, and settleyou there. "

"Oh, do!" exclaimed Mr. Channing, his face lighting up, as the faces ofinvalids will light up at the anticipated companionship of a friend. "If you can spare time, do come with us!"

"My time is my own; the business that brought me here is concluded, andI was thinking of leaving to-day. Having nothing to do after my earlybreakfast, I strolled down to watch in the London steamer, littlethinking I should see you arrive by it. That's settled, then. I willaccompany you as far as Borcette, and see you installed. "

"When do you return home?"

"Now; and glad enough I shall be to get there. Travelling is delightfulfor a change, but when you have had enough of it, home peeps out in thedistance with all its charms. "

The train which Mr. And Mrs. Channing had intended to take was alreadygone, through delay in the steamer's reaching Antwerp, and they had towait for another. When it started, it had them safely in it, Mr. Huntley with them. Their route lay through part of the Netherlands, through Malines, and some beautiful valleys; so beautiful that it isworth going the whole distance from England to see them. 

"What is this disturbance about the seniorship, and Lady AugustaYorke?" asked Mr. Huntley, as it suddenly occurred to his recollection, in the earlier part of their journey. "Master Harry has written me aletter full of notes of exclamation and indignation, saying I 'ought tocome home and see about it. ' What is it?"

Mr. Channing explained; at least, as far as he was able to do so. "Ithas given rise to a good deal of dissatisfaction in the school, " headded, "but I cannot think, for my own part, that it can have anyfoundation. Mr. Pye would not be likely to give a promise of the kind, either to Lady Augusta, or to any other of the boys' friends. "

"If he attempted to give one to me, I should throw it back to him witha word of a sort, " hastily rejoined Mr. Huntley, in a warm tone. "Nothing can possibly be more unjust, than to elevate one boy overanother undeservedly; nothing, in my opinion, can be more pernicious. It is enough to render the boy himself unjust through life; to give himloose ideas of right and wrong. Have you not inquired into it?"

"No, " replied Mr. Channing. 

"I shall. If I find reason to suspect there may be truth in the report, I shall certainly inquire into it. Underhand work of that sort goes, with me, against the grain. I can stir in it with a better grace thanyou can, " Mr. Huntley added: "my son being pretty sure not to succeedto the seniorship, so long as yours is above him to take it. TomChanning will make a good senior; a better than Harry would. Harry, inhis easy indifference, would suffer the school to lapse intoinsubordination; Tom will keep a tight hand over it. "

A sensation of pain darted across the heart of Mr. Channing. Only theday before his leaving home, he had accidentally heard a few wordsspoken between Tom and Charley, which had told him that Tom's chance ofthe seniorship was emperilled through the business connected withArthur. Mr. Charming had then questioned Tom, and found that it was so. He must speak of this now to Mr. Huntley, however painful it might beto himself to do so. It were more manly to meet it openly than to buryit in silence, and let Mr. Huntley hear of it (if he had not heard ofit already) as soon as he reached Helstonleigh. 

"Have you heard anything in particular about Arthur lately?" inquiredMr. Channing. 

"Of course I have, " was the answer. "Ellen did not fail to give me afull account of it. I congratulate you on possessing such sons. "

"Congratulate! To what do you allude?" asked Mr. Channing. 

"To Arthur's applying after Jupp's post, as soon as he knew that thesuit had failed. He's a true Channing. I am glad he got it. "

"Not to that--I did not allude to that, " hastily rejoined Mr. Channing. And then, with downcast eyes, and a downcast heart, he relatedsufficient to put Mr. Huntley in possession of the facts. 

Mr. Huntley heard the tale with incredulity, a smile of ridiculeparting his lips. "Suspect Arthur of theft!" he exclaimed. "What next?Had I been in my place on the magistrates' bench that day, I shouldhave dismissed the charge at once, upon such defective evidence. Channing, what is the matter?"

Mr. Channing laid his hand upon his aching brow, and Mr. Huntley had tobend over him to catch the whispered answer. "I do fear that he may beguilty. If he is not guilty, some strange mystery altogether isattached to it. "

"But why do you fear that he is guilty?" asked Mr. Huntley, insurprise. 

"Because his own conduct, relating to the charge, is so strange. Hewill not assert his innocence; or, if he does attempt to assert it, itis with a faint, hesitating manner and tone, that can only give one theimpression of falsehood, instead of truth. "

"It is utterly absurd to suppose your son Arthur capable of the crime. He is one of those whom it is impossible to doubt; noble, true, honourable! No; I would suspect myself, before I could suspect ArthurChanning. "

"I would have suspected myself before I had suspected him, " impulsivelyspoke Mr. Channing. "But there are the facts, coupled with his notdenying the charge. He could not deny it, even to the satisfaction ofMr. Galloway: did not attempt it; had he done so, Galloway would nothave turned him from the office. "

Mr. Huntley fell into thought, revolving over the details, is they hadbeen related to him. That Arthur was the culprit, his judgment utterlyrepudiated; and he came to the conclusion that he must be screeninganother. He glanced at Mrs. Channing, who sat in troubled silence. 

"You do not believe Arthur guilty?" he said, in a low tone, suddenlybending over to her. 

"I do not know what to believe; T am racked with doubt and pain, " sheanswered. "Arthur's words to me in private are only compatible withentire innocence; but then, what becomes of the broad facts?--of hisstrange appearance of guilt before the world? God can bring hisinnocence to light, he says; and he is content to wait His time. "

"If there is a mystery, I'll try to come to the bottom of it, when Ireach Helstonleigh, " thought Mr. Huntley. "Arthur's not guilty, whoeverelse may be. "

It was impossible to shake his firm faith in Arthur Channing. Mr. Huntley was one of the few who read character strongly and surely, andhe _knew_ Arthur was incapable of doing wrong. Had his eyes witnessedArthur positively stealing the bank-note, his mind, his judgment wouldhave refused credence to his eyes. You may, therefore, judge thatneither then, nor afterwards, was he likely to admit the possibility ofArthur's guilt. 

"And the college school is saying that Tom shall not stand for theseniorship!" he resumed aloud. "Does my son say it?"

"Some of them are saying it; I believe the majority of the school. I donot know whether your son is amongst the number. "

"He had better not let me find him so, " cried Mr. Huntley. "But now, don't suffer this affair to worry you, " he added, turning heartily toMr. Channing. "If Arthur's guilty, I'll eat him; and I shall make it mybusiness to look into it closely when I reach home. You areincapacitated, my old friend, and I shall act for you. "

"Did Ellen not mention this, in writing to you?"

"No; the sly puss! Catch Miss Ellen writing to me anything that mighttell against the Channings. "

A silence followed. The subject, which the words seemed to hint at, wasone upon which there could be no openness between them. A warmattachment had sprung up between Hamish Channing and Ellen Huntley; butwhether Mr. Huntley would sanction it, now that the suit had failed, was doubtful. He had never absolutely sanctioned it before: tacitly, inso far as that he had not interfered to prevent Ellen from meetingHamish in society--in friendly intercourse. Probably, he had neverlooked upon it from a serious point of view; possibly, he had nevernoticed it. Hamish had not spoken, even to Ellen; but, that they didcare for each other very much, was evident to those who chose to opentheir eyes. 

"No two people in all Helstonleigh were so happy in their children asyou!" exclaimed Mr. Huntley. "Or had such cause to be so. "

"None happier, " assented Mrs. Channing, tears rising to her eyes. "Theywere, and are good, dutiful, and loving. Would you believe that Hamish, little as he can have to spare, has been one of the chief contributorsto help us here?"

Mr. Huntley lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Hamish has! How did heaccomplish it?"

"He has, indeed. I fancy he has been saving up with this in view. Dear, self-denying Hamish!"

Now, it just happened that Mr. Huntley was cognizant of Mr. Hamish'sembarrassments; so, how the "saving up" could have been effected, hewas at a loss to know. "Careless Hamish may have borrowed it, " thoughthe to himself, "but saved it up he has not. "

"What are we approaching now?" interrupted Mr. Channing. 

They were approaching the Prussian frontier; and there they had tochange trains: more embarrassment for Mr. Channing. After that, theywent on without interruption, and arrived safely at the terminus, almost close to Borcette, having been about four hours on the road. 

"Borcette at last!" cheerily exclaimed Mr. Huntley, as he shook Mr. Channing's hand. "Please God, it may prove to you a place of healing!"

"Amen!" was the earnestly murmured answer. 

Mrs. Channing was delighted with Borcette. Poor Mr. Channing could asyet see little of it. It was a small, unpretending place, scarcely tenminutes' distance from Aix-la-Chapelle, to which she could walk throughan avenue of trees. She had never before seen a bubbling fountain ofboiling water, and regarded those of Borcette with much interest. Thehottest, close to the Hotel Rosenbad, where they sojourned, boasted atemperature of more than 150° Fahrenheit; it was curious to see itrising in the very middle of the street. Other things amused her, too;in fact, all she saw was strange, and bore its peculiar interest. Shewatched the factory people flocking to and fro at stated hours in theday--for Borcette has its factories for woollen fabrics andlooking-glasses--some thousands of souls, their walk as regular andsteady as that of school-girls on their daily march under thegoverness's eye. The men wore blue blouses; the women, neat and clean, wore neither bonnets nor caps; but their hair was twisted round theirheads, as artistically as if done by a hairdresser. Not one, women orgirls, but wore enormous gold earrings, and the girls plaited theirhair, and let it hang behind. 

What a contrast they presented to their class in England! Mrs. Channinghad, not long before, spent a few weeks in one of our large factorytowns in the north. She remembered still the miserable, unwholesome, dirty, poverty-stricken appearance of the factory workers there--theiralmost _disgraceful_ appearance; she remembered still the boisterous orthe slouching manner with which they proceeded to their work; theirlanguage anything but what it ought to be. But these Prussians looked arespectable, well-conducted, well-to-do body of people. 

Where could the great difference lie? Not in wages; for the Englishwere better paid than the Germans. We might go abroad to learn economy, and many other desirable accompaniments of daily life. Nothing amusedher more than to see the laundresses and housewives generally, washingthe linen at these boiling springs; wash, wash, wash! chatter, chatter, chatter! She thought they must have no water in their own homes, forthey would flock in numbers to the springs with their kettles and jugsto fill them. 

It was Doctor Lamb who had recommended them to the Hotel Rosenbad; andthey found the recommendation a good one. Removed from the narrow, dirty, offensive streets of the little town, it was pleasantlysituated. The promenade, with its broad walks, its gay company (many ofthem invalids almost as helpless as Mr. Channing), and its musicalbands, was in front of the hotel windows; a pleasant sight for Mr. Channing until he could get about himself. On the heights behind thehotel were two churches; and the sound of their services would bewafted down in soft, sweet strains of melody. In the neighbourhoodthere was a shrine, to which pilgrims flocked. Mrs. Channing regardedthem with interest, some with their alpen-stocks, some in fantasticdresses, some with strings of beads, which they knelt and told; and herthoughts went back to the old times of the Crusaders. All she sawpleased her. But for her anxiety as to what would be the effect of thenew treatment upon her husband, and the ever-lively trouble aboutArthur, it would have been a time of real delight to Mrs. Channing. 

They could not have been better off than in the Hotel Rosenbad. Theirrooms were on the second floor--a small, exquisitely prettysitting-room, bearing a great resemblance to most continentalsitting-rooms, its carpet red, its muslin curtains snowy white; fromthis opened a bed-room containing two beds, all as convenientlyarranged as it could be. Their meals were excellent; the dinner-tableespecially being abundantly supplied. For all this they paid fivefrancs a day each, and the additional accommodation of having the mealsserved in their room, on account of Mr. Channing, was not noted as anadditional expense. Their wax-lights were charged extra, and that wasall. I think English hotel-keepers might take a lesson from Borcette!

The doctor gave great hopes of Mr. Channing. His opinion was, that, hadMr. Channing come to these baths when he was first taken ill, hisconfinement would have been very trifling. "You will find the greatestbenefit in a month, " said the doctor, in answer to the anxiousquestion, How long the restoration might be in coming. "In two monthsyou will walk charmingly; in three, you will be well. " Cheering news, if it could only be borne out. 

"I will not have you say 'If, '" cried Mr. Huntley, who had made one inconsultation with the doctor. "You are told that it will be so, underGod's blessing, and all you have to do is to anticipate it. "

Mr. Channing smiled. They were stationed round the open window of thesitting-room, he on the most comfortable of sofas, Mrs. Channingwatching the gay prospect below, and thinking she should never tire ofit. "There can be no hope without fear, " said he. 

"But I would not think of fear: I would bury that altogether, " said Mr. Huntley. "You have nothing to do here but to take the remedies, lookforward with confidence, and be as happy as the day's long. "

"I will if I can, " said Mr. Channing, with some approach to gaiety. "Ishould not have gone to the expense of coming here, but that I hadgreat hopes of the result. "

"Expense, you call it! I call it a marvel of cheapness. "

"For your pocket. Cheap as it is, it will tell upon mine: but, if itdoes effect my restoration, I shall soon repay it tenfold. "

"'If, ' again! It will effect it, I say. What shall you do with Hamish, when you resume your place at the head of your office?"

"Let me resume it first, Huntley. "

"There you go! Now, if you were only as sanguine and sure as you oughtto be, I could recommend Hamish to something good to-morrow. "

"Indeed! What is it?"

"But, if you persist in saying you shall not get well, or that there'sa doubt whether you will get well, where's the use of my doing it? Solong as you are incapacitated, Hamish must be a fixture in GuildStreet. "

"True. "

"So I shall say no more about it at present. But remember, my oldfriend, that when you are upon your legs, and have no further need ofHamish--who, I expect, will not care to drop down into a clerk again, where he has been master--I may be able to help him to something; so donot let anticipations on his score worry you. I suppose you will belosing Constance soon?"

Mr. Channing gave vent to a groan: a sharp attack of his malady piercedhis frame just then. Certain reminiscences, caused by the question, mayhave helped its acuteness; but of that Mr. Huntley had no suspicion. 

In the evening, when Mrs. Channing was sitting under the acacia trees, Mr. Huntley joined her, and she took the opportunity of alluding to thesubject. "Do not mention it again in the presence of my husband, " shesaid: "talking of it can only bring it before his mind with more vividforce. Constance and Mr. Yorke have parted. "

Had Mrs. Channing told him the cathedral had parted, Mr. Huntley couldnot have felt more surprise. "Parted!" he ejaculated. "From whatcause?"

"It occurred through this dreadful affair of Arthur's. I fancy thefault was as much Constance's as Mr. Yorke's, but I do not know theexact particulars. He did not like it; he thought, I believe, that tomarry a sister of Arthur's would affect his own honour--or she thoughtit. Anyway, they parted. "

"Had William Yorke been engaged to my daughter, and given her up uponso shallow a plea, I should have been disposed to chastise him, "intemperately spoke Mr. Huntley, carried away by his strong feeling. 

"But, I say I fancy that the giving up was on Constance's side, "repeated Mrs. Channing. "She has a keen sense of honour, and she knowsthe pride of the Yorkes. "

"Pride, such as that, would be the better for being taken down a peg, "returned Mr. Huntley. "I am sorry for this. The accusation has indeedbeen productive of serious effects. Why did not Arthur go to WilliamYorke and avow his innocence, and tell him there was no cause for theirparting? Did he not do so?"

Mrs. Channing shook her head only, by way of answer; and, as Mr. Huntley scrutinized her pale, sad countenance, he began to think theremust be greater mystery about the affair than he had supposed. He saidno more. 

On the third day he quitted Borcette, having seen them, as he expressedit, fully installed, and pursued his route homewards, by way of Lille, Calais, and Dover. Mr. Huntley was no friend to long sea passages:people with well-filled purses seldom are so. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

AN OMINOUS COUGH. 

"I say, Jenkins, how you cough!"

"Yes, sir, I do. It's a sign that autumn's coming on. I have beenpretty free from it all the summer. I think the few days I lay in bedthrough that fall, must have done good to my chest; for, since then, Ihave hardly coughed at all. This last day or two it has been badagain. "

"What cough do you call it?" went on Roland Yorke--you may have guessedhe was the speaker. "A churchyard cough?"

"Well, I don't know, sir, " said Jenkins. "It _has_ been called that, before now. I dare say it will be the end of me at last. "

"Cool!" remarked Roland. "Cooler than I should be, if I had a cough, orany plague of the sort, that was likely to be _my_ end. Does it troubleyour mind, Jenkins?"

"No, sir, not exactly. It gives me rather down-hearted thoughts now andthen, till I remember that everything is sure to be ordered for thebest. "

"The best! Should you call it for 'the best' if you were to go off?"demanded Roland, drawing pen-and-ink chimneys upon his blotting-paper, with clouds of smoke coming out, as he sat lazily at his desk. 

"I dare say, sir, if that were to happen, I should be enabled to seethat it was for the best. There's no doubt of it. "

"According to that theory, everything that happens must be for thebest. You may as well say that pitching on to your head and halfkilling yourself, was for the best. Moonshine, Jenkins!"

"I think even that accident was sent for some wise purpose, sir. Iknow, in some respects, it was very palpably for the best. It affordedme some days of quiet, serious reflection, and it served to show howconsiderate everybody was for me. "

"And the pain?"

"That was soon over, sir. It made me think of that better place wherethere will be no pain. If I am to be called there early, Mr. Roland, itis well that my thoughts should be led to it. "

Roland stared with all his eyes. "I say, Jenkins, what do you mean? Youhave nothing serious the matter with you?"

"No, sir; nothing but the cough, and a weakness that I feel. My motherand brother both died of the same thing, sir. "

"Oh, nonsense!" returned Roland. "Because one's mother dies, is thatany reason why we should fall into low spirits and take up the notionthat we are going to die, and look out for it? I am surprised at you, Jenkins. "

"I am not in low spirits, sir; and I am sure I do not look out for it. I might have looked out for it any autumn or any spring of late, had Ibeen that way inclined, for I have had the cough at those periods, asyou know, sir. There's a difference, Mr. Roland, between looking outfor a thing, and not shutting one's eyes to what may come. "

"I say, old fellow, you just put all such notions away from you"--andRoland really meant to speak in a kindly, cheering spirit. "My fatherdied of dropsy; and I may just as well set on, and poke and pat atmyself every other morning, to see if it's not attacking me. Only thinkwhat would become of this office without you! Galloway would fret andfume himself into his tomb at having nobody but me in it. "

A smile crossed Jenkins's face at the idea of the office, confided tothe management of Roland Yorke. Poor Jenkins was one of the doubtfulones, from a sanitary point of view. Always shadowy, as if a wind wouldblow him away, and, for some years, suffering much from a cough, whichonly disappeared in summer, he could not, and did not, count upon along life. He had quite recovered from his accident, but the cough hadnow come on with much force, and he was feeling unusually weak. 

"You don't look ill, Jenkins. "

"Don't I, sir? The Reverend Mr. Yorke met me, to-day--"

"Don't bring up his name before me!" interrupted Roland, raising hisvoice to anger. "I may begin to swear, perhaps, if you do. "

"Why, what has he done?" wondered Jenkins. 

"Never mind what he has done, " nodded Roland. "He is a disgrace to thename of Yorke. I enjoyed the pleasure of telling him so, the othernight, more than I have enjoyed anything a long while. He was so mad!If he had not been a parson, I shouldn't wonder but he'd have pitchedinto me. "

"Mr. Roland, sir, you know the parties are waiting for that lease, "Jenkins ventured to remind him. 

"Let the parties wait, " rejoined Roland. "Do they think this office isgoing to be hurried as if it were a common lawyer's? I say, Jenkins, where has old Galloway taken flight to, this afternoon?"

"He has an appointment with the surrogate, " answered Jenkins. "Oh!--Iquite forgot to mention something to you, Mr. Roland. "

"Mention it now, " said Roland. 

"A person came this morning, sir, and was rather loud, " said Jenkins, in a tone of deprecation, as if he would apologize for having to repeatthe news. "He thought you were in, Mr. Roland, and that I was onlydenying you, and he grew insolent. Mr. Galloway happened to be in hisroom, unfortunately, and heard it, and he came out himself, and sentthe person away. Mr. Galloway was very angry, and he desired me to tellyou, sir, that he would not have that sort of people coming here. "

Roland took up the ruler, and essayed to balance it on the edge of hisnose. "Who was it?" asked he. 

"I am not sure who it was, though I know I have seen the man, somewhere. I think he wanted payment of a bill, sir. "

"Nothing more likely, " rejoined Roland, with characteristicindifference. "I hope his head won't ache till he gets it! I am clearedout for some time to come. I'd like to know who the fellow was, though, Jenkins, that I might punish him for his impudence. How dared he comehere?"

"I asked him to leave his name, sir, and he said Mr. Roland Yorke knewhis name quite well enough, without having it left for him. "

"As brassy as that, was he! I wish to goodness it was the fashion tohave a cistern in your house-roofs!" emphatically added Roland. 

"A what, sir?" cried Jenkins, lifting his eyes from his writing. 

"A water-cistern, with a tap, worked by a string, at pleasure. Youcould give it a pull, you know, when such customers as those came, andthey'd find themselves deluged. That would cool their insolence, ifanything would. I'd get up a company for it, and take out a patent, ifI only had the ready money. "

Jenkins made no reply. He was applying himself diligently to his work, perhaps hoping that Mr. Roland Yorke might take the hint, and do thesame. Roland actually did take it; at any rate, he dipped his pen inthe ink, and wrote, at the very least, five or six words; then helooked up. 

"Jenkins, " began he again, "do you know much about Port Natal?"

"I don't know anything about it, sir; except that there is such aplace. "

"Why, you know nothing!" cried Roland. "I never saw such a muff. Iwonder what you reckon yourself good for, Jenkins?"

Jenkins shook his head. No matter what reproach was brought againsthim, he received it meekly, as if it were his due. "I am not good formuch, sir, beyond just my daily duty here. To know about Port Natal andthose foreign places is not in my work, sir, and so I'm afraid Ineglect them. Did you want any information about Port Natal, Mr. Roland?"

"I have got it, " said Roland; "loads of it. I am not sure that I shan'tmake a start for it, Jenkins. "

"For Port Natal, sir? Why! it's all the way to Africa!"

"Do you suppose I thought it was in Wales?" retorted Roland. "It's thejolliest opening for an enterprising man, is Port Natal. You may landthere to-day with half-a-crown in your pocket, and come away in a yearor two with your fortune made. "

"Indeed!" ejaculated Jenkins. "How is it made, sir?"

"Oh, you learn all that when you get there. I shall _go_, Jenkins, ifthings don't look up a bit in these quarters. "

"What things, sir?" Jenkins ventured to ask. 

"Tin, for one thing; work for another, " answered Roland. "If I don'tget more of the one, and less of the other, I shall try Port Natal. Ihad a row with my lady at dinner-time. She thinks a paltry sovereign ortwo ought to last a fellow for a month. My service to her! I justdropped a hint of Port Natal, and left her weeping. She'll have cometo, by this evening, and behave liberally. "

"But about the work, sir?" said Jenkins. "I'm sure I make it as lightfor you as I possibly can. You have only had that lease, sir, all dayyesterday and to-day. "

"Oh, it's not just the _amount_ of work, Jenkins, " acknowledged Roland;"it's the being tied by the leg to this horrid old office. As good workas play, if one has to be in it. I have been fit to cut it altogetherevery hour, since Arthur Channing left: for you know you are nocompany, Jenkins. "

"Very true, sir. "

"If I could only get Arthur Channing to go with me, I'd be offto-morrow! But he laughs at it. He hasn't got half pluck. Only fancy, Jenkins! my coming back in a year or two with twenty thousand pounds inmy pocket! Wouldn't I give you a treat, old chap! I'd pay a couple ofclerks to do your work here, and carry you off somewhere, in spite ofold Galloway, for a six-months' holiday, where you'd get rid of thatprecious cough. I _would_, Jenkins. "

"You are very kind, sir--"

Jenkins was stopped by the "precious cough. " It seemed completely torack his frame. Roland looked at him with sympathy, and just then stepswere heard to enter the passage, and a knock came to the office door. 

"Who's come bothering now?" cried Roland. "Come in!"

Possibly the mandate was not heard, for poor Jenkins was coughingstill. "Don't I tell you to come in?" roared out Roland. "Are youdeaf?"

"Open the door. I don't care to soil my gloves, " came the answer fromthe other side. And Mr. Roland slid off his stool to obey, rather lesslazily than usual, for the voice was that of his mother, the LadyAugusta Yorke. 

"A very dutiful son, you are, Mr. Roland!" was the salutation of LadyAugusta. "Forcing me up from dinner before I had finished!"

"I didn't do anything of the sort, " said Roland. 

"Yes, you did. With your threats about Port Natal! What do you knowabout Port Natal? Why should you go to Port Natal? You will break myheart with grief, that's what you will do. "

"I was not going to start this afternoon, " returned Roland. "But thefact is, mother, I shall have to go to Port Natal, or to some otherport, unless I can get a little money to go on with here. A fellowcan't walk about with empty pockets. "

"You undutiful, extravagant boy!" exclaimed Lady Augusta. "I am worriedout of my life for money, between you all. Gerald got two sovereignsfrom me yesterday. What money do you want?"

"As much as you can let me have, " replied Mr. Roland. 

Lady Augusta threw a five-pound note by his side upon the desk. "Whenyou boys have driven me into the workhouse, you'll be satisfied, perhaps. And now hold your foolish tongue about Port Natal. "

Roland gathered it up with alacrity and a word of thanks. Lady Augustahad turned to Jenkins. 

"You are the best off, Jenkins; you have no children to disturb yourpeace. You don't look well, Jenkins. "

"Thank you kindly, my lady, I feel but poorly. My cough has becometroublesome again. "

"He has just been saying that he thought the cough was going to takehim off, " interposed Roland. 

Lady Augusta laughed; she supposed it was spoken in jest; and desiredher son to open the door for her. Her gloves were new and delicate. 

"Had you chosen to remain at the dinner-table, as a gentleman ought, Ishould have told you some news, Mr. Roland, " said Lady Augusta. 

Roland was always ready for news. He opened his eyes and ears. "Tell itme now, good mother. Don't bear malice. "

"Your uncle Carrick is coming here on a visit. "

"I am glad of that; that's good!" cried Roland. "When does he come? Isay, mother, don't be in a hurry! When does he come?"

But Lady Augusta apparently was in a hurry, for she did not wait toreply. Roland looked after her, and saw her shaking hands with agentleman, who was about to enter. 

"Oh, he's back, is he!" cried unceremonious Roland. "I thought he wasdead and buried, and gone to heaven. "

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

NO SENIORSHIP FOR TOM CHANNING. 

Shaking hands with Lady Augusta Yorke as she turned out of Mr. Galloway's office, was Mr. Huntley. He had only just arrived atHelstonleigh; had not yet been home; but he explained that he wished togive at once a word of pleasant news to Constance Channing of herfather and mother, and, on his way to the Boundaries, was calling onMr. Galloway. 

"You will find Miss Channing at my house, " said Lady Augusta, aftersome warm inquiries touching Mr. And Mrs. Channing. "I would offer togo back there with you, but I am on my way to make some calls. " Sheturned towards the town as she spoke, and Mr. Huntley entered theoffice. 

"I thought you were never coming home again!" cried free Roland. "Why, you have been away three months, Mr. Huntley!"

"Very nearly. Where is Mr. Galloway?"

"In his skin, " said Roland. 

Jenkins looked up deprecatingly, as if he would apologize for therudeness of Roland Yorke. "Mr. Galloway is out, sir. I dare say he willnot be away more than half an hour. "

"I cannot wait now, " said Mr. Huntley. "So you are one less in thisoffice than you were when I left?"

"The awfullest shame!" struck in Roland. "Have you heard that Gallowaylost a bank-note out of a letter, sir?"

"Yes. I have heard of it from Mr. Channing. "

"And they accused Arthur Channing of taking it!" exclaimed Roland. "They took him up for it; he was had up twice to the town-hall, likeany felon. You may be slow to believe it, Mr. Huntley, but it's true. "

"It was Butterby, sir, " interposed Jenkins. "He was rather tooofficious over it, and acted without Mr. Galloway's orders. "

"Don't talk rubbish, Jenkins, " rebuked Roland. "You have defendedGalloway all through the piece, but he is as much to blame as Butterby. Why did he turn off Channing?"

"You do not think him guilty, Roland, I see, " said Mr. Huntley. 

"I should hope I don't, " answered Roland. "Butterby pitched uponArthur, because there happened to be nobody else at hand to pitch upon;just as he'd have pitched upon you, Mr. Huntley, had you happened to bein the office that afternoon. "

"Mr. Arthur Channing was not guilty, I am sure, sir; pray do not thinkhim so, " resumed Jenkins, his eye lighting as he turned to Mr. Huntley. And Mr. Huntley smiled in response to the earnestness. _He_ believeArthur Channing guilty!

He left a message for Mr. Galloway, and quitted the office. Roland, whowas very difficult to settle to work again, if once disturbed from it, strided himself across his stool, and tilted it backwards. 

"I'm uncommonly glad Carrick's coming!" cried he. "Do you remember him, Jenkins?"

"Who, sir?"

"That uncle of mine. He was at Helstonleigh three years ago. "

"I am not sure that I do, sir. "

"What a sieve of a memory you must have! He is as tall as a house. Weare not bad fellows for height, but Carrick beats us. He is notmarried, you know, and we look to him to square up many a corner. To dohim justice, he never says No, when he has the cash, but he's often outat elbows himself. It was he who bought George his commission andfitted him out; and I know my lady looks to him to find the fundsGerald will want to make him into a parson. I wonder what he'll do forme?"

Jenkins was about to answer, but was stopped by his cough. For someminutes it completely exhausted him; and Roland, for want of a hearer, was fain to bring the legs of his stool down again, and apply himselflazily to his work. 

At this very moment, which was not much past two o'clock in the day, Bywater had Charley Channing pinned against the palings underneath theelm trees. He had him all to himself. No other boys were withinhearing; though many were within sight; for they were assembling in andround the cloisters after their dinner. 

"Now, Miss Charley, it's the last time I'll ask you, as true as that weare living here! You are as obstinate as a young mule. I'll give youthis one chance, and I'll not give you another. I'd advise you to takeit, if you have any regard for your skin. "

"I don't know anything, Bywater. "

"You shuffling little turncoat! I don't _know_ that there's any fire inthat kitchen chimney of the old dean's, but I am morally certain thatthere is, because clouds of black smoke are coming out of it. And youknow just as well who it was that played the trick to my surplice. Idon't ask you to blurt it out to the school, and I won't bring yourname up in it at all; I won't act upon what you tell me. There!"

"Bywater, I don't know; and suspicion goes for nothing. Gaunt said itdid not. "

Bywater gave Charley a petulant shake. "I say that you know morally, Miss Channing. I protest that I heard you mention the word 'surplice'to Gerald Yorke, the day there was that row in the cloisters, whenRoland Yorke gave Tod a thrashing and I tore the seat out of my pants. Gerald Yorke looked ready to kill you for it, too! Come, out with it. This is about the sixth time I have had you in trap, and you have onlydefied me. "

"I don't defy you, Bywater. I say that I will not tell. I would not ifI knew. It is no business of mine. "

"You little ninny! Don't you see that your obstinacy is injuring TomChanning? Yorke is going in for the seniorship; is sure to get it--ifit's true that Pye has given the promise to Lady Augusta. But, let itcome out that he was the Jack-in-the-box, and his chance falls to theground. And you won't say a word to do good to your brother!"

Charley shook his head. He did not take the bait. "And Tom himselfwould be the first to punish me for doing wrong! He never forgives asneak. It's of no use your keeping me, Bywater. "

"Listen, youngster. I have my suspicions; I have had them all along;and I have a clue--that's more. But, for a certain reason, I think mysuspicions and my clue point to the wrong party; and I don't care tostir in it till I am sure. One--two--three! for the last time. Will youtell me?"

"No. "

"Then, look you, Miss Charley Channing. If I do go and denounce thewrong party, and find out afterwards that it is the wrong one, I'llgive you as sweet a drubbing as you ever had, and your girl's faceshan't save you. Now go. "

He propelled Charley from him with a jerk, and propelled him againstMr. Huntley, who was at that moment turning the corner close to them, on his way from Mr. Galloway's office. 

"You can't go through me, Charley, " said Mr. Huntley. "Did you think Iwas made of glass, Bywater?"

"My patience!" exclaimed Bywater. "Why, Harry was grumbling, not fiveminutes ago, that you were never coming home at all, Mr. Huntley. "

"He was, was he? Is he here?"

"Oh, he's somewhere amongst the ruck of them, " cried Bywater, lookingtowards the distant boys. "He wants you to see about this bother of theseniorship. If somebody doesn't, we shall get up a mutiny, that's all. Here, Huntley, " he shouted at the top of his voice, "here's an arrivalfrom foreign parts!"

Some of the nearer boys looked round, and the word was passed toHuntley. Harry Huntley and the rest soon surrounded him, and Mr. Huntley had no reason to complain of the warmth of his reception. Whennews had recently arrived that Mr. Huntley was coming home, the boyshad taken up the hope of his interference. Of course, schoolboy-like, they all entered upon it eagerly. 

"Stop, stop, stop!" said Mr. Huntley. "One at a time. How can I hear, if you all talk together? Now, what's the grievance?"

They detailed it as rationally and with as little noise as it was intheir nature to do. Huntley was the only senior present, but Gaunt cameup during the conference. 

"It's all a cram, Mr. Huntley, " cried Tod Yorke. "My brother Geraldsays that Jenkins dreamt it. "

"I'll 'dream' you, if you don't keep your tongue silent, Tod Yorke, "reprimanded Gaunt. "Take yourself off to a distance, Mr. Huntley, " headded, turning to that gentleman, "it is certain that Lady Augusta saidit; and we can't think she'd say it, unless Pye promised it. It isunfair upon Charming and Huntley. "

A few more words given to the throng, upon general matters--for Mr. Huntley touched no more on the other topic--and then he continued hisway to Lady Augusta's. As he passed the house of the Reverend Mr. Pye, that gentleman was coming out of it. Mr. Huntley, a decisive, straightforward man, entered upon the matter at once, after somemoments spent in greeting. 

"You will pardon my speaking of it to you personally, " he said, when hehad introduced the subject, "In most cases I consider it perfectlyunjustifiable for the friends of boys in a public school to interferewith the executive of its master; but this affair is different. Is it, or is it not correct, that there is an intention afloat to exalt Yorketo the seniorship?"

"Mr. Huntley, you must be aware that in _no case_ can the head-masterof a public school allow himself to be interfered with, or questioned, "was the reply of the master. 

"I hope you will meet this amicably, " returned Mr. Huntley. 

"I have no other wish than to be friendly; quite so. We all deemourselves under obligations to you, Mr. Pye, and esteem you highly; wecould not have, or wish, a better preceptor for our sons. But in thisinstance, my duty is plain. The injustice--if any such injustice iscontemplated--tells particularly upon Tom Channing and my son. Mr. Channing does not give ear to it; I would rather not; nevertheless, youmust pardon me for acting, in the uncertainty, as though it hadfoundation. I presume you cannot be ignorant of the dissatisfiedfeeling that reigns in the school?"

"I have intimated that I will not be questioned, " said Mr. Pye. 

"Quite right. I merely wished to express a hope that there may be nofoundation for the rumour. If Tom Channing and Harry forfeit theirrights legally, through want of merit, or ill conduct, it is not I thatwould urge a word in their favour. Fair play's a jewel: and the highestboy in the school should have no better chance given him than thelowest. But if the two senior boys do not so forfeit their rights, Yorke must not be exalted above them. "

"Who is to dictate to me?" demanded Mr. Pye. "Certainly not I, "replied Mr. Huntley, in a courteous but firm tone. "Were the thing totake place, I should simply demand, through the Dean and Chapter, thatthe charter of the school might be consulted, as to whether its tenetshad teen strictly followed. "

The head-master made no reply. Neither did he appear angry; onlyimpassible. Mr. Huntley had certainly hit the right nail on the head;for the master of Helstonleigh College school was entirely under thecontrol, of the Dean and Chapter. 

"I can speak to you upon this all the more freely and with betterunderstanding, since it is not my boy who stands any chance, " said Mr. Huntley, with a cordial smile. "Tom Channing heads him on the rolls. "

"Tom Channing will not be senior; I have no objection to affirm so muchto you, " observed the master, falling in with Mr. Huntley's manner, "This sad affair of his brother Arthur's debars him. "

"It ought not to debar him, even were Arthur guilty, " warmly returnedMr. Huntley. 

"In justice to Tom Channing himself, no. But, " and the master droppedhis voice to a confidential tone, "it is necessary sometimes to studythe prejudices taken up by a school; to see them, and not to appear tosee them--if you understand me. Were Tom Channing made head of theschool, part of the school would rise up in rebellion; some of the boyswould, no doubt, be removed from it. For the peace of the school alone, it could not be done. The boys would not now obey him as senior, andthere would be perpetual warfare, resulting we know not in what. "

"Arthur Channing was not guilty. I feel as sure of it as I do of my ownlife. "

"He is looked upon as guilty by those who must know best, from theirfamiliarity with the details, " rejoined Mr. Pye, "For my own part, Ihave no resource but to believe him so, I regard it as one of thoseanomalies which you cannot understand, or would believe in, but that ithappens under your own eye; where the moment's yielding to temptationis at variance with the general character, with the whole past life. Ofcourse, in these cases, the disgrace is reflected upon relatives andconnections, and they have to suffer for it. I cannot help the school'sresenting it upon Tom. "

"It will be cruel to deprive Tom of the seniorship upon these grounds, "remonstrated Mr. Huntley. 

"To himself individually, " assented the master. "But it is well thatone, promoted to a foundation-school's seniorship, should be free frommoral taint. Were there no feeling whatever against Tom Channing in theschool, I do not think I could, consistently with my duty and with adue regard to the fitness of things, place him as senior. I am sorryfor the boy; I always liked him; and he has been of good report, bothas to scholarship and conduct. "

"I know one thing, " said Mr. Huntley: "that you may search the schoolthrough, and not find so good a senior as Tom Channing would make. "

"He would have made a very good one, there's no doubt. Would have ruledthe boys well and firmly, though without oppression. Yes, we lose agood senior in Tom Channing. "

There was no more to be said. Mr. Huntley felt that the master wasthoroughly decided; and for the other matter, touching Yorke, he haddone with it until the time of appointment. As he went musing on, hebegan to think that Mr. Pye might be right with regard to depriving Tomof the seniorship, however unjust it might appear to Tom himself. Mr. Huntley remembered that not one of the boys, except Gaunt, hadmentioned Tom Channing's name in his recent encounter with them; theyhad spoken of the injustice of exalting Yorke over _Harry Huntley_. Hehad not noticed it at the time. 

He proceeded to Lady Augusta's, and Constance was informed of hisvisit. She had three pupils at Lady Augusta's now, for that lady hadkindly insisted that Constance should bring Annabel to study with herdaughters, during the absence of Mrs. Channing. Constance left them tothemselves and entered the drawing-room. Pretty Constance! so fresh, solovely, in her simple muslin dress, and her braided hair. Mr. Huntleycaught her hands, and imprinted a very fatherly kiss upon her fairforehead. 

"That is from the absentees, Constance. I told them I should give it toyou. And I bring you the bravest news, my dear. Mr. Channing wasalready finding benefit from his change; he was indeed. There is everyhope that he will be restored. "

Constance was radiant with delight. To see one who had met and stayedwith her father and mother at their distant sojourn, was almost likeseeing her parents themselves. 

"And now, my dear, I want a word with you about all those untowardtrials and troubles, which appear to have come thickly during myabsence, " continued Mr. Huntley. "First of all, as to yourself. Whatmischief-making wind has been arising between you and William Yorke?"

The expression of Constance's face changed to sadness, and her cheeksgrew crimson. 

"My dear, you will not misunderstand me, " he resumed. "I heard of thesethings at Borcette, and I said that I should undertake to inquire intothem in the place of your father: just as he, health permitting him, would have undertaken for me in my absence, did any trouble arise toEllen. Is it true that you and Mr. Yorke have parted?"

"Yes, " faltered Constance. 

"And the cause?"

Constance strove to suppress her tears. "You can do nothing, Mr. Huntley; nothing whatever. Thank you all the same. "

"He has made this accusation upon Arthur the plea for breaking off hisengagement?"

"I could not marry him with this cloud upon me, " she murmured. "Itwould not be right. "

"Cloud upon _you!_" hastily ejaculated Mr. Huntley. "The accusationagainst Arthur was the sole cause, then, of your parting?"

"Yes; the sole cause which led to it. "

Mr. Huntley paused, apparently in thought. "He is presented to HazeldonChapel, I hear. Did his rupture with you take place _after_ thatoccurrence?"

"I see what you are thinking, " she impulsively cried, caring too muchfor Mr. Yorke not to defend him. "The chief fault of the parting wasmine. I felt that it would not do to become his wife, being--being--"she hesitated much--"Arthur's sister. I believe that he also felt it. Indeed, Mr. Huntley, there is no help for it; nothing can be done. "

"Knowing what I do of William Yorke, I am sure that the pain ofseparation must be keen, whatever may be his pride. Constance, unless Iam mistaken, it is equally keen to you. "

Again rose the soft damask blush to the face of Constance. But sheanswered decisively. "Mr. Huntley, I pray you to allow the subject tocease. Nothing can bring about the renewal of the engagement betweenmyself and Mr. Yorke. It is irrevocably at an end. "

"Until Arthur shall be cleared, you mean?"

"No, " she answered--a vision of Hamish and _his_ guilt flashing acrossher--"I mean for good. "

"Why does not Arthur assert his innocence to Mr. Yorke? Constance, I amsure you know, as well as I do, that he is not guilty. _Has_ heasserted it?"

She made no answer. 

"As I would have wished to serve you, so will I serve Arthur, " said Mr. Huntley. "I told your father and mother, Constance, that I should makeit my business to investigate the charge against him; I shall leave nota stone unturned to bring his innocence to light. "

The avowal terrified Constance, and she lost her self-possession. "Ohdon't! don't!" she uttered. "You must not, indeed! you do not know themischief it might do. "

"Mischief to what?--to whom?" exclaimed Mr. Huntley. 

Constance buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears. The nextmoment she had raised it, and taken Mr. Huntley's hand between hers. "You are papa's friend! You would do us good and not harm--is it notso?" she beseechingly said. 

"My dear child, " he exclaimed, quite confounded by her words--herdistress: "you know that I would not harm any of you for the world. "

"Then _pray_ do not seek to dive into that unhappy story, " shewhispered. "It must not be too closely looked into. "

And Mr. Huntley quitted Constance, as a man who walks in a dream, soutterly amazed was he. What did it all mean?

As he was going through the cloisters--his nearest way to thetown--Roland Yorke came flying up. With his usual want of ceremony, hepassed his arm within Mr. Huntley's. "Galloway's come in now, " heexclaimed, "and I am off to the bank to pay in a bag of money for him. Jenkins told him you had called. Just hark at that clatter!"

The clatter, alluded to by Mr. Roland, was occasioned by the tramp ofthe choristers on the cloister flags. They were coming up behind, fullspeed, on their way from the schoolroom to enter the cathedral, for thebell had begun for service. 

"And here comes that beautiful relative of mine, " continued Roland, ashe and Mr. Huntley passed the cathedral entrance, and turned into thewest quadrangle of the cloisters. "Would you credit it, Mr. Huntley, that he has turned out a sneak? He has. He was to have marriedConstance Channing, you know, and, for fear Arthur should have touchedthe note, he has declared off it. If I were Constance, I would neverallow the fellow to speak to me again. "

Apparently it was the course Mr. Roland himself intended to observe. Asthe Rev. Mr. Yorke, who was coming in to service, drew near, Rolandstrode on, his step haughty, his head in the air, which was all thenotice he vouchsafed to take. Probably the minor canon did not carevery much for Mr. Roland's notice, one way or the other; but his eyelighted with pleasure at the sight of Mr. Huntley, and he advanced tohim, his hand outstretched. 

But Mr. Huntley--a man given to show in his manner his likes anddislikes--would not see the hand, would not stop at all, but passed Mr. Yorke with a distant bow. That gentleman had fallen pretty deeply inhis estimation, since he had heard of the rupture with ConstanceChanning. Mr. Yorke stood for a moment as if petrified, and then strodeon his way with a step as haughty as Roland's. 

Roland burst into a glow of delight. "That's the way to serve him, Mr. Huntley! I hope he'll get cut by every good man in Helstonleigh. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

GERALD YORKE MADE INTO A "BLOCK. "

The Rev. Mr. Yorke, in his surplice and hood, stood in his stall in thecathedral. His countenance was stern, absorbed; as that of a man who isnot altogether at peace with himself. Let us hope that he was absorbedin the sacred service in which he was taking a part: but we all know, to our cost, that the spirit will wander at these times, and worldlythoughts obtrude themselves. The greatest divine that the Church canboast, is not always free from them. 

Not an official part in the service was Mr. Yorke taking, thatafternoon; the duty was being performed by the head-master, whose weekit was to take it. Very few people were at service, and still less ofthe clergy; the dean was present, but not one of the chapter. 

Arthur Channing sat in his place at the organ. Arthur's thoughts, too, were wandering; and--you know it is of no use to make people out to bebetter than they are--wandering to things especially mundane. Arthurhad not ceased to look out for something to do, to replace the weeklyfunds lost when he left Mr. Galloway's. He had not yet been successful:employment is more easily sought than found, especially by one lyingunder doubt, as he was. But he had now heard of something which hehoped he might gain. 

Jenkins, saying nothing to Roland Yorke, or to any one else, hadhurried to Mr. Channing's house that day between one and two o'clock;and hurrying there and back had probably caused that temporary increaseof cough, which you heard of a chapter or two back. Jenkins's errandwas to inform Arthur that Dove and Dove (solicitors in the town, whowere by no means so dove-like as their name) required a temporaryclerk, and he thought Arthur might suit them. Arthur had asked Jenkinsto keep a look-out for him. 

"Is one of their clerks leaving?" Arthur inquired. 

"One of them met with an accident last night up at therailway-station, " replied Jenkins. "Did you not hear of it, sir?"

"I heard of that. I did not know who was hurt. He was trying to crossthe line, was he not?"

"Yes, sir. It was Marston. He had been out with some friends, and hadtaken, it is thought, more than was good for him. A porter pulled himback, but Marston fell, and the engine crushed his foot. He will belaid up two months, the doctor says, and Dove and Dove are looking outfor some one to fill his place for the time. If you would like to takeit, sir, you could be looking out for something else while you arethere. You would more readily get the two hours' daily leave of absencefrom a place like that, where they keep three or four clerks, than youwould from where they keep only one. "

"If I like to take it!" repeated Arthur. "Will they like to take me?That's the question. Thank you, Jenkins; I'll see about it at once. "

He was not able to do so immediately after Jenkins left; for Dove andDove's offices were situated at the other end of the town, and he mightnot be back in time for service. So he waited and went first tocollege, and sat, I say, in his place at the organ, his thoughtsfilled, in spite of himself, with the new project. 

The service came to an end: it had seemed long to Arthur--so prone arewe to estimate time by our own feelings--and his voluntary, afterwards, was played a shade faster than usual. Then he left the cathedral by thefront entrance, and hastened to the office of Dove and Dove. 

Arthur had had many a rebuff of late, when bent on a similarapplication, and his experience taught him that it was best, ifpossible, to see the principals: not to subject himself to the carelessindifference or to the insolence of a clerk. Two young men were writingat a desk when he entered. "Can I see Mr. Dove?" he inquired. 

The elder of the writers scrutinized him through the railings of thedesk. "Which of them?" asked he. 

"Either, " replied Arthur. "Mr. Dove, or Mr. Alfred Dove. It does notmatter. "

"Mr. Dove's out, and Mr. Alfred Dove's not at home, " was the response. "You'll have to wait, or to call again. "

He preferred to wait: and in a very few minutes Mr. Dove came in. Arthur was taken into a small room, so full of papers that it seemeddifficult to turn in it, and there he stated his business. 

"You are a son of Mr. Channing's, I believe, " said Mr. Dove. He spokemorosely, coarsely; and he had a morose, coarse countenance--a sureindex of the mind, in him, as in others. "Was it you who figured in theproceedings at the Guildhall some few weeks ago?"

You may judge whether the remark called up the blood to Arthur's face. He suppressed his mortification, and spoke bravely. 

"It was myself, sir. I was not guilty. My employment in your officewould be the copying of deeds solely, I presume; that would afford melittle temptation to be dishonest, even were I inclined to be so. "

Had any one paid Arthur in gold to keep in that little bit of sarcasm, he could not have done so. Mr. Dove caught up the idea that the words_were_ uttered in sarcasm, and scowled fitfully. 

"Marston was worth twenty-five shillings a week to us: and gained it. You would not be worth half as much. "

"You do not know what I should be worth, sir, unless you tried me. I ama quick and correct copyist; but I should not expect to receive as muchas an ordinary clerk, on account of having to attend the cathedral formorning and afternoon service. Wherever I go, I must have thatprivilege allowed me. "

"Then I don't think you'll get it with us. But look here, youngChanning, it is my brother who undertakes the engaging and managementof the clerks--you can speak to him. "

"Can I see him this afternoon, sir?"

"He'll be in presently. Of course, we could not admit you into ouroffice unless some one became security. You must be aware of that. "

The words seemed like a checkmate to Arthur. He stopped in hesitation. "Is it usual, sir?"

"Usual--no! But it is necessary in _your_ case"

There was a coarse, pointed stress upon the "your, " natural to the man. Arthur turned away. For a moment he felt that to Dove and Dove's hecould not and would not go; every feeling within him rebelled againstit. Presently the rebellion calmed down, and he began to think aboutthe security. 

It would be of little use, he was sure, to apply to Mr. AlfredDove--who was a shade coarser than Mr. Dove, if anything--unlessprepared to say that security could be given. His father's he thoughthe might command: but he was not sure of that, under presentcircumstances, without first speaking to Hamish. He turned his steps toGuild Street, his unhappy position pressing with unusual weight uponhis feelings. 

"Can I see my brother?" he inquired of the clerks in the office. 

"He has some gentlemen with him just now, sir. I dare say you can goin. "

There was nothing much amiss in the words; but in the tone there was. It was indicative of slight, of contempt. It was the first time Arthurhad been there since the suspicion had fallen on him, and they seemedto stare at him as if he had been a hyena; not a respectable hyenaeither. 

He entered Hamish's room. Hamish was talking with two gentlemen, strangers to Arthur, but they were on the point of leaving. Arthurstood away against the wainscoting by the corner table, waiting untilthey were gone, his attitude, his countenance, his whole appearanceindicative of depression and sadness. 

Hamish closed the door and turned to him. He laid his hand kindly uponhis shoulder; his voice was expressive of the kindest sympathy. "So youhave found your way here once more, Arthur! I thought you were nevercoming again. What can I do for you, lad?"

"I have been to Dove and Dove's. They are in want of a clerk. I thinkperhaps they would take me; but, Hamish, they want security. "

"Dove and Dove's, " repeated Hamish. "Nice gentlemen, both of them!" headded, in his half-pleasant, half-sarcastic manner. "Arthur, boy, I'dnot be under Dove and Dove if they offered me a gold nugget a day, asweighty as the Queen's crown. You must not go there. "

"They are not agreeable men; I know that; they are not men who areliked in Helstonleigh, but what difference will that make to me? Solong as I turn out their parchments properly engrossed, that is all Ineed care for. "

"What has happened? Why are you looking so sad?" reiterated Hamish, whocould not fail to perceive that there was some strange grief at work. 

"Is my life so sunny just now, that I can always be as bright as you?"retorted Arthur--for Hamish's undimmed gaiety did sometimes jar uponhis wearied spirit. "I shall go to Dove and Dove's if they will takeme, " he added, resolutely. "Will you answer for me, Hamish, in myfather's name?"

"What amount of security do they require?" asked Hamish. And it was avery proper, a very natural question; but even that grated on Arthur'snerves. 

"Are you afraid of me?" he rejoined. "Or do you fear my father wouldbe?"

"I dare say they would take my security, " was Hamish's reply. "I willanswer for you to any amount. That is, " and again came his smile, "toany amount they may deem me good for. If they don't like mine, I canoffer my father's. Will that do, Arthur?"

"Thank you; that is all I want. "

"Don't go to Dove and Dove's, old boy, " Hamish said again, as Arthurwas leaving the room. "Wait patiently for something better to turn up. There's no such great hurry. I wish there was room for you to comehere!"

"It is only a temporary thing; it is not for long, " replied Arthur; andhe went out. 

On going back to Dove and Dove's, the first person he saw, upon openingthe door of the clerks' room, was Mr. Alfred Dove. He appeared to be ina passion over something that had gone wrong, and was talking fast andfuriously. 

"What do you want?" he asked, wheeling round upon Arthur. Arthurreplied by intimating that he would be glad to speak with him. 

"Can't you speak, then?" returned Mr. Alfred Dove. "I am not deaf. "

Thus met, Arthur did not repeat his wish for privacy. He intimated hisbusiness, uncertain whether Mr. Alfred Dove had heard of it or not; andstated that the security could be given. 

"I don't know what you mean about 'security, '" was Mr. Alfred Dove'srejoinder. "What security?"

"Mr. Dove said that if I came into your office security would berequired, " answered Arthur. "My friends are ready to give it. "

"Mr. Dove told you that, did he? Just like him. He has nothing to dowith the details of the office. Did he know who you are?"

"Certainly he did, sir. "

"I should have thought not, " offensively returned Mr. Alfred Dove. "Youmust possess some assurance, young man, to come after a place in arespectable office. Security, or no security, we can't admit one intoours, who lies under the accusation of being light-fingered. "

It was the man all over. Hamish had said, "Don't go to Dove andDove's. " Mr. Alfred Dove stood with his finger pointing to the door, and the two clerks stared in an insolent manner at Arthur. With aburning brow and rising spirit, Arthur left the room, and halted for amoment in the passage outside. "Patience, patience, " he murmured tohimself; "patience, and trust in God!" He turned into the streetquickly, and ran against Mr. Huntley. 

For a minute he could not speak. That gentleman detected his emotion, and waited till it was over. "Have you been insulted, Arthur?" hebreathed. 

"Not much more so than I am now getting accustomed to, " was the answerthat came from his quivering lips. "I heard they wanted a clerk, andwent to offer myself. I am looked upon as a felon now, Mr. Huntley. "

"Being innocent as the day. "

"I am innocent, before God, " spoke Arthur, in the impulse of hisemotion, in the fervency of his heart. That he spoke but the solemntruth, it was impossible to doubt, even had Mr. Huntley been inclinedto doubt; and Arthur may be excused for forgetting his usual caution inthe moment's bitterness. 

"Arthur, " said Mr. Huntley, "I promised your father and mother that Ishould do all in my power to establish your innocence. Can you tell mehow I am to set about it?"

"You cannot do it at all, Mr. Huntley. Things must remain as they are. "

"Why?"

"I cannot explain why. I can only repeat it. "

"There is some strange mystery attaching to this. "

Arthur did not gainsay it. 

"Arthur, if I am to allow the affair to rest as I find it, you must atleast give me a reason why I may not act. What is it?"

"Because the investigation could only cause tenfold deeper trouble. Youare very good to think of helping me, Mr. Huntley, but I must fight myown battle. Others must be quiet in this matter--for all our sakes. "

Mr. Huntley gazed after Arthur as he moved away. Constance first!Arthur next! What could be the meaning of it all? Where did the mysterylie? A resolution grew up in Mr. Huntley's heart that he would fathomit, for private reasons of his own; and, in the impulse of the moment, he bent his steps there and then, towards the police-station, anddemanded an interview with Roland Yorke's _bête noire_, Mr. Butterby. 

But the cathedral is not quite done with for the afternoon. 

Upon the conclusion of service, the dean lingered a few minutes in thenave, speaking to one of the vergers. When he turned to continue hisway, he encountered the Rev. Mr. Pye, who had been taking off hissurplice in the vestry. The choristers had been taking off theirsurplices also, and were now trooping through the cloisters back to theschoolroom, not more gently than usual. The dean saluted Mr. Pye, andthey walked out together. 

"It is impossible to keep them quiet unless one's eye is continuallyupon them!" exclaimed the head-master, half apologetically, as theycame in view of the rebels. He had a great mind to add, "And one'scane. "

"Boys will be boys, " said the dean. "How has this foolish opinionarisen among them, that the names, standing first on the roll for theseniorship, will not be allowed to compete for it?" continued he, withmuch suavity. 

Mr. Pye looked rather flushed. "Really I am unable to say, Mr. Dean. Itis difficult to account for all the notions taken up by schoolboys. "

"Boys do take up strange notions, " blandly assented the dean. "But, Ithink, were I you, Mr. Pye, I would set their minds at rest in thisrespect. You have not yet deemed it worth while, I dare say: but it mayperhaps be as well to do so. When the elders of a school once take upthe idea that their studies may not meet with due reward, it tends torender them indifferent. I remember once--it was just after I came hereas dean, many years ago--the head-master of the school exalted a boy tobe senior who stood sixth or seventh on the rolls, and was positivelyhalf an idiot. But those times are past. "

"Certainly they are, " remarked the master. 

"It was an unpleasant duty I had to perform then, " continued the dean, in the same agreeable tone, as if he were relating an anecdote:"unpleasant both for the parents of the boy, and for the head-master. But, as I remark, such things could not occur now. I think I wouldintimate to the king's scholars that they have nothing to fear. "

"It shall be done, Mr. Dean, " was the response of the master; and theyexchanged bows as the dean turned into the deanery. "She's three partsa fool, is that Lady Augusta, " muttered the master to thecloister-flags as he strode over them. "Chattering magpie!"

As circumstances had it, the way was paved for the master to speak atonce. Upon entering the college schoolroom, in passing the senior desk, he overheard whispered words of dispute between Gerald Yorke and Piercesenior, touching this very question, the seniorship. The master reachedhis own desk, gave it a sharp rap with a cane that lay near to hand, and spoke in his highest tone, looking red and angry. 

"What _are_ these disputes that appear to have been latterly disturbingthe peace of the school? What is that you are saying, GeraldYorke?--that the seniorship is to be yours?"

Gerald Yorke looked red in his turn, and somewhat foolish. "I beg yourpardon, sir; I was not saying precisely that, " he answered withhesitation. 

"I think you were saying precisely that, " was the response of themaster. "My ears are quicker than you may fancy, Mr. Yorke. If youreally have been hugging yourself with the notion that the promotionwill be yours, the sooner you disabuse your mind of it, the better. Whoever gains the seniorship will gain it by priority of right, byscholarship, or by conduct--as the matter may be. Certainly not byanything else. Allow me to recommend you, one and all"--and the masterthrew his eyes round the desks generally, and gave another emphaticstroke with the cane--"that you concern yourselves with your legitimatebusiness; not with mine. "

Gerald did not like the reproof, or the news. He remained silent andsullen until the conclusion of school, and then went tearing home. 

"A pretty block you have made of me!" he uttered, bursting into thepresence of Lady Augusta, who had just returned home, and sat fanningherself on a sofa before an open window. 

"Why, what has taken you?" returned her ladyship. 

"It's a shame, mother! Filling me up with the news that I was to besenior? And now Pye goes and announces that I'm a fool for supposingso, and that it's to go in regular rotation. "

"Pye does not mean it, " said my lady. "There, hold your tongue, Gerald. I am too hot to talk. "

"I know that every fellow in the school will have the laugh at me, if Iam to be made a block of, like this!" grumbled Gerald. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE EARL OF CARRICK. 

On a fine afternoon in August--and the month was now drawing towardsits close--the 2. 25 train from London steamed into the station atHelstonleigh, eight minutes behind time, and came to a standstill. Amongst the passengers who alighted, was a gentleman of middle age, asit is called--in point of fact, he had entered his fiftieth year, asthe peerage would have told any curious inquirer. As he stepped out ofa first-class carriage, several eyes were drawn towards him, for he wasof notable height, towering above every one; even above Roland Yorke, who was of good height himself, and stood on the platform waiting forhim. 

It was the Earl of Carrick, brother to Lady Augusta Yorke, and muchresembling her--a pleasant, high cheek-boned, easy face, betraying moreof good humour than of high or keen intellect, and nothing of pride. The pride of the young Yorkes was sometimes talked of in Helstonleigh, but it came from their father's side, not from Lady Augusta's. The earlspoke with a slight brogue, and shook both Roland's hands heartily, assoon as he found that it was to Roland they belonged. 

"Sure then! but I didn't know ye, Roland! If ye had twenty years moreon to ye're head, I should have thought it was ye're father. "

"Have I grown like him, Uncle Carrick?"

"Ye've grown out of knowledge, me boy. And how's ye're mother, and howare the rest of ye?"

"Stunning, " responded Roland. "They are all outside. She would bring upthe whole caravan. The last time the lot came to the station, the twoyoung ones got upon the line to dance a hornpipe on the rails; so shehas kept them by her, and is making Gerald and Tod look after them. Where's your luggage, Uncle Carrick? Have you brought a servant?"

"Not I, " replied the earl. "Servants are only troubles in other folk'shouses, and me bit of luggage isn't so much but I can look after itmeself. I hope they put it in, " he continued, looking about amid theboxes and portmanteaus, and unable to see his own. 

The luggage was found at last, and given in charge of a porter; andLord Carrick went out to meet his relatives. There were enough of themto meet--the whole caravan, as Roland had expressed it. Lady Augustasat in her barouche--her two daughters and Constance and AnnabelChanning with her. Little Percy and Frank, two most troublesomechildren, were darting in and out amidst the carriages, flys, andomnibuses; and Gerald and Tod had enough to do to keep them out ofdanger. It was so like Lady Augusta--bringing them all to the stationto welcome their uncle! Warm-hearted and impulsive, she had little morejudgment than a child. Constance had in vain protested against herselfand Annabel being pressed into the company; but her lady-ship lookedupon it as a sort of triumphal expedition, and was deaf toremonstrances. 

The earl, warm-hearted and impulsive also, kissed them all, Constanceincluded. She could not help herself; before she was aware of thehonour intended her, the kiss was given--a hearty smack, as all therest had. The well-meaning, simple-minded Irishman could not have beenmade to understand why he should not give a kiss of greeting toConstance as readily as he gave it to his sister, or his sister'sdaughters. He protested that he remembered Constance and Annabel well. It may be questioned whether there was not more of Irish politenessthan of truth in the assertion, though he had seen them occasionally, during his visit of three years ago. 

How were they all to get home? In and on the barouche, as all, exceptRoland, had come, to the gratification of the curious town? LordCarrick wished to walk; his long legs were cramped: but Lady Augustawould not hear of it, and pulled him into the carriage, Gerald, Percy, and Frank were fighting for places on the box beside the driver, Todintending to hang on behind, as he had done in coming, when thedeep-toned college bell struck out a quarter to three, and the soundcame distinctly to their ears, borne from the distance. It put a stopto the competition, so far as Gerald was concerned. He and Tod, startled half out of their senses, for they had not observed the lapseof time, set off on foot as hard as they could go. 

Meanwhile, Roland, putting aside the two young ones with his stronghand, chose to mount the box himself; at which they both began toshriek and roar. Matters were compromised after a while; Percy wastaken up by Roland, and Frank was, by some process of packing, stowedaway inside. Then the cargo started! Lady Augusta happy as a princess, with her newly-met brother and her unruly children, and not caring inthe least for the gaze of the people who stood in the street, or camerushing to their windows and doors to criticise the load. 

Crowded as the carriage was, it was pleasanter to be in it, on thatgenial day, than to be at work in close rooms, dark shops, or dulloffices. Amongst others, who were so confined and hard at work, wasJenkins at Mr. Galloway's. Poor Jenkins had not improved in healthduring the week or two that had elapsed since you last saw him. Hiscough was more troublesome still, and he was thinner and weaker. ButJenkins, humble and conscientious, thinking himself one who was notworth thinking of at all in comparison with others, would have died athis post rather than give in. Certainly, Arthur Channing had beendischarged at a most inopportune moment, for Mr. Galloway, as stewardto the Dean and Chapter, had more to do about Michaelmas, than at anyother time of the year. From that epoch until November, when the yearlyaudit took place, there was a good deal of business to be gone through. 

On this afternoon, Jenkins was particularly busy. Mr. Galloway was awayfrom home for a day or two--on business connected with that scapegracecousin of his, Roland Yorke proclaimed; though whether Mr. Roland hadany foundation for the assertion, except his own fancy, may bedoubted--and Jenkins had it all upon his own shoulders. Jenkins, unobtrusive and meek though he was, was perfectly competent to manage, and Mr. Galloway left him with entire trust. But it is one thing to becompetent to manage, and another thing to be able to do two persons'work in one person's time; and, that, Jenkins was finding thisafternoon. He had letters to write; he had callers to answer; he hadthe general business of the office to attend to; he had the regulardeeds to prepare and copy. The copying of those deeds was the workbelonging to Roland Yorke. Roland did not seem to be in a hurry to cometo them. Jenkins cast towards them an anxious eye, but Jenkins could dono more, for his own work could not be neglected. He felt very unwellthat afternoon--oppressed, hot, unable to breathe. He wiped themoisture from his brow three or four times, and then thought he mightbe the better for a little air, and opened the window. But the breeze, gentle as it was, made him cough, and he shut it again. 

Of course, no one, knowing Mr. Roland Yorke, could be surprised at hisstarting to the station to meet Lord Carrick, instead of to the officeto do his work. He had gone home at one o'clock that day, as usual. Notthat there was any necessity for his doing so, for the dinner hour waspostponed until later, and it would have furthered the business of theoffice had he remained for once at his post. Had any one suggested toRoland to do so, he would have thought he was going to be worked todeath. About twenty minutes past three he came clattering in. 

"I say, Jenkins, I want a holiday this afternoon. "

Jenkins, albeit the most accommodating spirit in the world, lookeddubious, and cast a glance at the papers on Roland's desk. "Yes, sir. But what is to be done about the Uphill farm leases?"

"Now, Jenkins, it's not a bit of good for you to begin to croak! If Igave in to you, you'd get as bad as Galloway. When I have my mind offwork, I can't settle to it again, and it's of no use trying. ThoseUphill deeds are not wanted before to-morrow. "

"But they are wanted by eleven o'clock, sir, so that they must befinished, or nearly finished, to-night. You know, sir, there has been afuss about them, and early to-morrow, is the very latest time they mustbe sent in. "

"I'll get up, and be here in good time and finish them, " said Roland. "Just put it to yourself, Jenkins, if you had an uncle that you'd notseen for seventeen ages, whether you'd like to leave him the minute heputs his foot over the door-sill. "

"I dare say I should not, sir, " said good-natured Jenkins, turningabout in his mind how he could make time to do Roland's work. "Hislordship is come, then, Mr. Roland?"

"His lordship's come, bag and baggage, " returned Roland. "I say, Jenkins, what a thousand shames it is that he's not rich! He is thebest-natured fellow alive, and would do anything in the world for us, if he only had the tin. "

"Is he not rich, sir?"

"Why, of course he's not, " confidentially returned Roland. "Every oneknows the embarrassments of Lord Carrick. When he came into theestates, they had been mortgaged three deep by the last peer, mygrandfather--an old guy in a velvet skull-cap, I remember, who tooksnuff incessantly--and my uncle, on his part, had mortgaged them threedeep again, which made six. How Carrick manages to live nobody knows. Sometimes he's in Ireland, in the tumble-down old homestead, with justa couple of servants to wait upon him; and sometimes he's on theContinent, _en garçon_--if you know what that means. Now and then hegets a windfall when any of his tenants can be brought to pay up; buthe is the easiest-going coach in life, and won't press them. Wouldn'tI!"

"Some of those Irish tenants are very poor, sir, I have heard. "

"Poor be hanged! What is a man's own, ought to be his own. Carrick saysthere are some years that he does not draw two thousand pounds, alltold. "

"Indeed, sir! That is not much for a peer. "

"It's not much for a commoner, let alone a peer, " said Roland, growingfierce. "If I were no better off than Carrick, I'd drop the title;that's what I'd do. Why, if he could live as a peer ought, do yousuppose we should be in the position we are? One a soldier; one (andthat's me) lowered to be a common old proctor; one a parson; and allthe rest of it! If Carrick could be as other earls are, and haveinterest with the Government, and that, we should stand a chance ofgetting properly provided for. Of course he can make interest withnobody while his estates bring him in next door to nothing. "

"Are there no means of improving his estates, Mr. Roland?" askedJenkins. 

"If there were, he's not the one to do it. And I don't know that itwould do him any material good, after all, " acknowledged Roland. "If hegets one thousand a year, he spends two; and if he had twenty thousand, he'd spend forty. It might come to the same in the long run, so far ashe goes: _we_ might be the better for it, and should be. It's a shame, though, that we should need to be the better for other folk's money; ifthis were not the most unjust world going, everybody would havefortunes of their own. "

After this friendly little bit of confidence touching his uncle'saffairs, Roland prepared to depart. "I'll be sure to come in good timeIn the morning, Jenkins, and set to it like a brick, " was his partingsalutation. 

Away he went. Jenkins, with his aching head and his harassing cough, applied himself diligently, as he ever did, to the afternoon's work, and got through it by six o'clock, which was later than usual. Therethen remained the copying, which Mr. Roland Yorke ought to have done. Knowing the value of Roland's promises, and knowing also that if hekept this promise ever so strictly, the amount of copying was more thancould be completed in time, if left to the morning, Jenkins did as hehad been aware he must do, when talking with Roland--took it home withhim. 

The parchments under his arm, he set out on his walk. What could be thematter with him, that he felt so weak, he asked himself as he wentalong. It must be, he believed, having gone without his dinner. Jenkinsgenerally went home to dinner at twelve, and returned at one;occasionally, however, he did not go until two, according to theexigencies of the office; this day, he had not gone at all, but had cuta sandwich at breakfast-time and brought it with him in his pocket. 

He had proceeded as far as the elm trees in the Boundaries--for Jenkinsgenerally chose the quiet cloister way for his road home--when he sawArthur Channing advancing towards him. With the ever-ready, respectful, cordial smile with which he was wont to greet Arthur whenever he sawhim, Jenkins quickened his steps. But suddenly the smile seemed to fixitself upon his lips; and the parchments fell from his arm, and hestaggered against the palings. But that Arthur was at hand to supporthim, he might have fallen to the ground. 

"Why, what is it, Jenkins?" asked Arthur, kindly, when Jenkins wasbeginning to recover himself. 

"Thank you, sir; I don't know what it could have been. Just as I waslooking at you, a mist seemed to come before my eyes, and I felt giddy. I suppose it was a sort of faintness that came over me. I had beenthinking that I felt weary. Thank you very much, sir. "

"Take my arm, Jenkins, " said Arthur, as he picked up the parchments, and took possession of them. "I'll see you home. "

"Oh no, sir, indeed, " protested simple-hearted Jenkins; "I'd not thinkof such a thing. I should feel quite ashamed, sir, at the thought ofyour being seen arm-in-arm with me in the street. I can go quite wellalone; I can, indeed, sir. "

Arthur burst out laughing. "I wish you wouldn't be such an old duffer, Jenkins--as the college boys have it! Do you suppose I should let yougo home by yourself? Come along. "

Drawing Jenkins's arm within his own, Arthur turned with him. Jenkinsreally did not like it. Sensitive to a degree was he: and, to hishumble mind, it seemed that Arthur was out of place, walking familiarlywith him. 

"You must have been doing something to tire yourself, " said Arthur asthey went along. 

"It has been a pretty busy day, sir, now Mr. Galloway's away. I did notgo home to dinner, for one thing. "

"And Mr. Roland Yorke absent for another, I suppose?"

"Only this afternoon, sir. His uncle, Lord Carrick, has arrived. Oh, sir!" broke off Jenkins, stopping in a panic, "here's his lordship thebishop coming along! Whatever shall you do?"

"Do!" returned Arthur, scarcely understanding him. "What should I do?"

"To think that he should see you thus with the like of me!"

It amused Arthur exceedingly. Poor, lowly-minded Jenkins! The bishopappeared to divine the state of the case, for he stopped when he cameup. Possibly he was struck by the wan hue which overspread Jenkins'sface. 

"You look ill, Jenkins, " he said, nodding to Arthur Channing. "Keepyour hat on, Jenkins--keep your hat on. "

"Thank you, my lord, " replied Jenkins, disregarding the injunctiontouching his hat. "A sort of faintness came over me just now under theelm trees, and this gentleman insisted upon walking home with me, inspite of my protestations to--"

Jenkins was stopped by a fit of coughing--a long, violent fit, soundinghollow as the grave. The bishop watched him till it was over. Arthurwatched him. 

"I think you should take better care of yourself, Jenkins, " remarkedhis lordship. "Is any physician attending you?"

"Oh, my lord, I am not ill enough yet for that. My wife made me go toMr. Hurst the other day, my lord, and he gave me a bottle of something. But he said it was not medicine that I wanted. "

"I should advise you to go to a physician, Jenkins. A stitch in timesaves nine, you know, " the bishop added, in his free good humour. 

"So it does, my lord. Thank your lordship for thinking of me, " addedJenkins, as the bishop said good afternoon, and pursued his way. Andthen, and not till then, did Jenkins put on his hat again. 

"Mr. Arthur, would you be so kind as not to say anything to my wifeabout my being poorly?" asked Jenkins, as they drew near to his home. "She'd be perhaps, for saying I should not go again yet to the office;and a pretty dilemma that would put me in, Mr. Galloway being absent. She'd get so fidgety, too: she kills me with kindness, if she thinks Iam ill. The broth and arrowroot, and other messes, sir, that she makesme swallow, are untellable. "

"All right, " said Arthur. 

But the intention was frustrated. Who should be standing at theshop-door but Mrs. Jenkins herself. She saw them before they saw her, and she saw that her husband looked like a ghost, and was supported byArthur. Of course, she drew her own conclusions; and Mrs. Jenkins wasone who did not allow her conclusions to be set aside. When Jenkinsfound that he was seen and suspected, he held out no longer, buthonestly confessed the worst--that he had been taken with a giddiness. 

"Of course, " said Mrs. Jenkins, as she pushed a chair here and anotherthere, partly in temper, partly to free the narrow passage through theshop to the parlour. "I have been expecting nothing less all day. Everygroup of footsteps slower than usual, I have thought it was a shutterarriving and you on it, dropped dead from exhaustion. Would youbelieve"--turning short round on Arthur Channing--"that he has beensuch a donkey as to fast from breakfast time? And with that cough uponhim!"

"Not quite so fast, my dear, " deprecated Jenkins. "I ate the paper ofsandwiches. "

"Paper of rubbish!" retorted Mrs. Jenkins. "What good do sandwiches doa weakly man? You might eat a ton-load, and be none the better for it. Well, Jenkins, you may take your leave of having your own way. "

Poor Jenkins might have deferentially intimated that he never did haveit. Mrs. Jenkins resumed:

"He said he'd carry a sandwich with him this morning, instead of cominghome to dinner. I said, 'No. ' And afterwards I was such a simpleton asto yield! And here's the effects of it! Sit yourself down in theeasy-chair, " she added, taking Jenkins by the arms and pushing him intoit. "And I'll make the tea now, " concluded she, turning to the tablewhere the tea-things were set out. "There's some broiled fowl coming upfor you. "

"I don't feel as if I could eat this evening, " Jenkins ventured to say. 

"_Not eat_!" she repeated with emphasis. "You had better eat--that'sall. I don't want to have you falling down exhausted here, as you didin the Boundaries. "

"And as soon as you have had your tea, you should go to bed, " put inArthur. 

"I can't, sir. I have three or four hours' work at that deed. It mustbe done. " "At this?" returned Arthur, opening the papers he hadcarried home. "Oh, I see; it is a lease. I'll copy this for you, Jenkins. I have nothing to do to-night. You take your ease, and go tobed. "

And in spite of their calls, Jenkins's protestations against taking uphis time and trouble, and Mrs. Jenkins's proffered invitation topartake of tea and broiled fowl, Arthur departed carrying off the work. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

ELLEN HUNTLEY. 

"A pretty time o' day this is to deliver the letters. It's eleveno'clock!"

"I can't help it. The train broke down, and was three hours behind itstime. "

"I dare say! You letter-men want looking up: that's what it is. Comingto folks's houses at eleven o'clock, when they have been waiting andlooking ever since breakfast-time!"

"It's not my fault, I say. Take the letter. "

Judith received it with a grunt, for it was between her and the postmanthat the colloquy had taken place. A delay had occurred that morning inthe delivery, and Judith was resenting it, feeling half inclined toreject the letter, now that it had come. The letters from Germanyarrived irregularly; sometimes by the afternoon post at four, sometimesby the morning; the only two deliveries in Helstonleigh. A letter hadbeen fully expected this morning, and when the time passed over, theysupposed there was none. 

It was directed to Miss Channing. Judith, who was quite as anxiousabout her master's health as the children were, went off at once withit to Lady Augusta Yorke's, just as she was, without the ceremony ofputting on a bonnet. Though she did wear a mob-cap and a check apron, she looked what she was--a respectable servant in a respectable family;and the Boundaries so regarded her, as she passed through them, letterin hand. Martha, Lady Augusta's housemaid, answered the door, presenting a contrast to Judith. Martha wore a crinoline as big as herlady's, and a starched-out muslin gown over it, with flounces andfrillings, for Martha was "dressed" for the day. Her arms, red andlarge, were displayed beneath her open sleeves, and something thatlooked like a bit of twisted lace was stuck on the back of her head. Martha called it a "cap. " Judith was a plain servant, and Martha was afashionable one; but I know which looked the better of the two. 

Judith would not give in the letter. She asked for the young mistress, and Constance came to her in the hall. "Just open it, please, MissConstance, and tell me how he is, " said she anxiously; and Constancebroke the seal of the letter. 

 "_Borcette. Hotel Rosenbad, September, 18--_. "

"My Dear Child, --Still better and better! The improvement, which I toldyou in my last week's letter had begun to take place so rapidly as tomake us fear it was only a deceitful one, turns out to have been real. Will you believe it, when I tell you that your papa can _walk_! Withthe help of my arm, he can walk across the room and along the passage;and to-morrow he is going to try to get down the first flight ofstairs. None but God can know how thankful I am; not even my children. If this change has taken place in the first month (and it is not yetquite that), what may we not expect in the next--and the next? Yourpapa is writing to Hamish, and will confirm what I say. "

This much Constance read aloud. Judith gave a glad laugh. "It's just aseverybody told the master, " said she. "A fine, strong, handsome man, like him, wasn't likely to be laid down for life like a baby, when hewas hardly middle-aged. These doctors here be just so many muffs. WhenI get too old for work, I'll go to Germany myself, Miss Constance, andask 'em to make me young again. "

Constance smiled. She was running her eyes over the rest of the letter, which was a long one. She caught sight of Arthur's name. There weresome loving, gentle messages to him, and then these words: "Hamish saysArthur applied at Dove and Dove's for a clerk's place, but did not cometo terms with them. We are glad that he did not. Papa says he shouldnot like to have one of his boys at Dove and Dove's. "

"And here's a little bit for you, Judith, " Constance said aloud. "TellJudith not to be over-anxious in her place of trust; and not toover-work herself, but to let Sarah take her full share. There is nohurry about the bed-furniture; Sarah can do it in an evening at herleisure. "

Judith received the latter portion of the message with scorn. "'Tisn'tme that's going to let _her_ do it! A fine do it would be, MissConstance! The first thing I shall see, when I go back now, will be herhead stretched out at one of the windows, and the kidney beans left tostring and cut themselves in the kitchen!"

Judith turned to depart. She never would allow any virtues to herhelpmate Sarah, who gave about the same trouble to her that youngservants of twenty generally give to old ones. Constance followed herto the door, saying something which had suddenly occurred to her mindabout domestic affairs, when who should she meet, coming in, but theRev. William Yorke! He had just left the Cathedral after morningprayers, and was calling at Lady Augusta's. 

Both were confused; both stopped, face to face, in hesitation. Constance grew crimson; Mr. Yorke pale. It was the first time they hadmet since the parting. There was an angry feeling against Constance inthe mind of Mr. Yorke; he considered that she had not treated him withproper confidence; and in his proud nature--the Yorke blood was his--hewas content to resent it. He did not expect to _lose_ Constanceeventually; he thought that the present storm would blow over sometime, and that things would come right again. We are all too much givento trust to that vague "some time. " In Constance's mind there existed asoreness against Mr. Yorke. He had doubted her; he had accepted (if hehad not provoked) too readily her resignation of him. Unlike him, shesaw no prospect of the future setting matters right. Marry him, whilstthe cloud lay upon Arthur, she would not, after he had intimated hisopinion and sentiments: and that cloud could only be lifted at theexpense of another. 

They exchanged a confused greeting; neither of them conscious how itpassed. Mr. Yorke's attention was then caught by the open letter in herhand--by the envelope bearing the foreign post-marks. "How is Mr. Channing?" he asked. 

"So much better that it seems little short of a miracle, " repliedConstance. "Mamma says, " glancing at the letter, "that he can walk, leaning on her arm. "

"I am so glad to hear it! Hamish told me last week that he wasimproving. I trust it may go on to a cure. "

"Thank you, " replied Constance. And she made him a pretty little statecurtsey as she turned away, not choosing to see the hand he would fainhave offered her. 

Mr. Yorke's voice brought a head and shoulders out at thebreakfast-room door. They belonged to Lord Carrick. He and Lady Augustawere positively at breakfast at that hour of the day. His lordship'seyes followed the pretty form of Constance as she disappeared up thestaircase on her return to the schoolroom. William Yorke's were cast inthe same direction. Then their eyes--the peer's and theclergyman's--met. 

"Ye have given her up, I understand, Master William?"

"Master William" vouchsafed no reply. He deemed it a little piece ofneedless impertinence. 

"Bad taste!" continued Lord Carrick. "If I were only twenty yearsyounger, and she'd not turn up her nose at me for a big daft of anIrishman, _you'd_ not get her, me lad. She's the sweetest little thingI have come across this many a day. "

To which the Rev. William Yorke condescended no answer, unless ahaughty gesture expressive of indignation might be called one, as hebrushed past Lord Carrick into the breakfast-room. 

At that very hour, and in a breakfast-room also--though all signs ofthe meal had long been removed--were Mr. Huntley and his daughter. Thesame praise, just bestowed by Lord Carrick upon Constance Channing, might with equal justice be given to Ellen Huntley. She was a lovelygirl, three or four years older than Harry, with pretty features andsoft dark eyes. What is more, she was a good girl--a noble, generous-hearted girl, although (you know no one is perfection) with aspice of self-will. For the latter quality I think Ellen was moreindebted to circumstances than to Nature. Mrs. Huntley was dead, and amaiden sister of Mr. Huntley's, older than himself, resided with themand ruled Ellen; ruled her with a tight hand; not a kind one, or ajudicious one; and that had brought out Miss Ellen's self-will. MissHuntley was very starched, prim, and stiff--very unnatural, inshort--and she wished to make Ellen the same. Ellen rebelled, for shemuch disliked everything artificial. She was truthful, honest, straightforward; not unlike the character of Tom Channing. Miss Huntleycomplained that she was too straightforward to be ladylike; Ellen saidshe was sure she should never be otherwise than straightforward, so itwas of no use trying. Then Miss Huntley would take offence, andthreaten Ellen with "altering her will, " and that would vex Ellen morethan anything. Young ladies rarely care for money, especially when theyhave plenty of it; and Ellen Huntley would have that, from her father. "As if I cared for my aunt's money!" she would say. "I wish she may notleave it to me. " And she was sincere in the wish. Their controversiesfrequently amused Mr. Huntley. Agreeing in heart and mind with hisdaughter, he would yet make a playful show of taking his sister's part. Miss Huntley knew it to be show--done to laugh at her--and would growas angry with him as she was with Ellen. 

Mr. Huntley was not laughing, however, this morning. On the contrary, he appeared to be in a very serious, not to say solemn mood. He slowlypaced the room, as was his custom when anything disturbed him, stoppingat moments to reflect, buried in thought. Ellen sat at a table by thewindow, drawing. The house was Mr. Huntley's own--a white villa with asloping lawn in front. It was situated outside the town, on a gentleeminence, and commanded a view of the charming scenery for which thecounty was famous. 

Ellen, who had glanced up two or three times, concerned to see the verystern, perplexed look on her father's face, at length spoke, "Isanything the matter, papa?"

Mr. Huntley did not answer. He was standing close to the table then, apparently looking at Ellen, at her white morning dress and its blueribbons: it, and she altogether, a fair picture. Probably he sawneither her nor her dress--he was too deeply absorbed. 

"You are not ill, are you, papa?"

"Ill!" he answered, rousing himself. "No, Ellen, I am not ill. "

"Then you have had something to vex you, papa?"

"I have, " emphatically replied Mr. Huntley. "And the worst is, that myvexation will not be confined to myself, I believe. It may extend toyou, Ellen. "

Mr. Huntley's manner was so serious, his look so peculiar as he gazedat her, that Ellen felt a rush of discomfort, and the colour spreaditself over her fair face. She jumped to the conclusion that she hadbeen giving offence in some way--that Miss Huntley must have beencomplaining of her. 

"Has my aunt been telling you about last night, papa? Harry had two ofthe college boys here, and I unfortunately laughed and talked withthem, and she said afterwards I had done it on purpose to annoy her. But I assure you, papa--"

"Never mind assuring me, child, " interrupted Mr. Huntley. "Your aunthas said nothing to me; and if she had, it would go in at one ear andout at the other. It is worse business than any complaint that shecould bring. "

Ellen laid down her pencil, and gazed at her father, awe-struck at hisstrange tone. "What is it?" she breathed. 

But Mr. Huntley did not answer. He remained perfectly still for a fewmoments, absorbed in thought: and then, without a word of any sort toEllen, turned round to leave the room, took his hat as he passedthrough the hall, and left the house. 

Can you guess what it was that was troubling Mr. Huntley? Veryprobably, if you can put, as the saying runs, this and that together. 

Convinced, as he was, that Arthur Channing was not, could not be guiltyof taking the bank-note, yet puzzled by the strangely tame manner inwhich he met the charge--confounded by the behaviour both of Arthur andConstance relating to it--Mr. Huntley had resolved, if possible, todive into the mystery. He had his reasons for it. A very disagreeable, a very improbable suspicion, called forth by the facts, had dartedacross his mind; _therefore_ he resolved to penetrate to it. And he setto work. He questioned Mr. Galloway, he questioned Butterby, hequestioned Jenkins, and he questioned Roland Yorke. He thus became asthoroughly conversant with the details of the transaction as it waspossible for any one, except the actual thief, to be; and he drew hisown deductions. Very reluctantly, very slowly, very cautiously, werethey drawn, but very surely. The behaviour of Arthur and Constancecould only have one meaning: they were screening the real culprit. Andthat culprit must be Hamish Channing. 

Unwilling as Mr. Huntley was to admit it, he had no resource but to doso. He grew as certain of it as he was of his own life. He had lovedand respected Hamish in no measured degree. He had observed theattachment springing up between him and his daughter, and he had beencontent to observe it. None were so worthy of her, in Mr. Huntley'seyes, as Hamish Channing, in all respects save one--wealth; and, ofthat, Ellen would have plenty. Mr. Huntley had known of the triflingdebts that were troubling Hamish, and he found that those debts, immediately on the loss of the bank-note, had been partially satisfied. That the stolen money must have been thus applied, and that it had beentaken for that purpose, he could not doubt. 

Hamish! It nearly made Mr. Huntley's hair stand on end. That he must besilent over it, as were Hamish's own family, he knew--silent for Mr. Channing's sake. And what about Ellen?

_There_ was the sad, very sad grievance. Whether Hamish went wrong, orwhether Hamish went right, it was not of so much consequence to Mr. Huntley; but it might be to Ellen--in fact, he thought it would be. Hehad risen that morning resolved to hint to Ellen that any particularintimacy with Hamish must cease. But he was strangely undecided aboutit. Now that the moment was come, he almost doubted, himself, Hamish'sguilt. All the improbabilities of the case rose up before him in markedcolours; he lost sight of the condemning facts; and it suddenlyoccurred to him that it was scarcely fair to judge Hamish so completelywithout speaking to him. "Perhaps he can account to me for thepossession of the money which he applied to those debts, " thought Mr. Huntley. "If so, in spite of appearances, I will not deem him guilty. "

He went out, on the spur of the moment, straight down to the office inGuild Street. Hamish was alone, not at all busy, apparently. He wasstanding up by the fireplace, his elbow on the mantelpiece, a letterfrom Mr. Channing (no doubt the one alluded to in Mrs. Channing'sletter to Constance) in his hand. He received Mr. Huntley with hiscordial, sunny smile; spoke of the good news the letter brought, spokeof the accident which had caused the delay of the mail, and finallyread out part of the letter, as Constance had to Judith. 

It was all very well; but this only tended to embarrass Mr. Huntley. Hedid not like his task, and the more confidential they grew over Mr. Channing's health, the worse it made it for him to enter upon. Aschance had it, Hamish himself paved the way. He began telling of anincident which had taken place that morning, to the scandal of thetown. A young man, wealthy but improvident, had been arrested for debt. Mr. Huntley had not yet heard of it. 

"It stopped his day's pleasure, " laughed Hamish. "He was going alongwith his gun and dogs, intending to pop at the partridges, when he gotpopped upon himself, instead. Poor fellow! it was too bad to spoil hissport. Had I been a rich man, I should have felt inclined to bail himout. "

"The effect of running in debt, " remarked Mr. Huntley. "By the way, Master Hamish, is there no fear of a similar catastrophe for you?" headded, in a tone which Hamish might, if he liked, take for a jestingone. 

"For me, sir?" returned Hamish. 

"When I left Helstonleigh in June, a certain young friend of mine wasnot quite free from a suspicion of such liabilities, " rejoined Mr. Huntley. 

Hamish flushed rosy red. Of all people in the world, Mr. Huntley wasthe one from whom he would, if possible, have kept that knowledge, buthe spoke up readily. 

"I did owe a thing or two, it can't be denied, " acknowledged he. "Men, better and wiser and richer than I, have owed money before me, Mr. Huntley. "

"Suppose they serve you as they have served Jenner this morning?"

"They will not do that, " laughed Hamish, seeming very much inclined tomake a joke of the matter. "I have squared up some sufficiently to beon the safe side of danger, and I shall square up the rest. "

Mr. Huntley fixed his eyes upon him. "How did you get the money to doit, Hamish?"

Perhaps it was the plain, unvarnished manner in which the question wasput; perhaps it was the intent gaze with which Mr. Huntley regardedhim; but, certain it is, that the flush on Hamish's face deepened tocrimson, and he turned it from Mr. Huntley, saying nothing. 

"Hamish, I have a reason for wishing to know. "

"To know what, sir?" asked Hamish, as if he would temporize, or avoidthe question. 

"Where did you obtain the money that you applied to liquidate, orpartially to liquidate, your debts?"

"I cannot satisfy you, sir. The affair concerns no one but myself. Idid get it, and that is sufficient. "

Hamish had come out of his laughing tone, and spoke as firmly as Mr. Huntley; but, that the question had embarrassed him, was palpablyevident. Mr. Huntley said good morning, and left the office withoutshaking hands. All his doubts were confirmed. 

He went straight home. Ellen was where he had left her, still alone. Mr. Huntley approached her and spoke abruptly. "Are you willing to giveup all intimacy with Hamish Channing?"

She gazed at him in surprise, her complexion changing, her voicefaltering. "Oh, papa! what have they done?"

"Ellen, did I say 'they!' The Channings are my dear friends, and I hopeever to call them such. They have done nothing unworthy of myfriendship or of yours. I said Hamish. "

Ellen rose from her seat, unable to subdue her emotion, and stood withher hands clasped before Mr. Huntley. Hamish was far dearer to her thanthe world knew. 

"I will leave it to your good sense, my dear, " Mr. Huntley whispered, glancing round, as if not caring that even the walls should hear. "Ihave liked Hamish very much, or you may be sure he would not have beenallowed to come here so frequently. But he has forfeited my regard now, as he must forfeit that of all good men. "

She trembled excessively, almost to impede her utterance, when shewould have asked what it was that he had done. 

"I scarcely dare breathe it to you, " said Mr. Huntley, "for it is athing that we must hush up, as the family are hushing it up. When thatbank-note was lost, suspicion fell on Arthur. "

"Well, papa?" wonderingly resumed Ellen. 

"It was not Arthur who took it. It was Hamish. And Arthur is bearingthe stigma of it for his father's sake. "

Ellen grew pale. "Papa, who says it?"

"No one _says_ it, Ellen. But the facts leave no room for doubt. Hamish's own manner--I have just left him--leaves no room for it. He isindisputably guilty. "

Then Ellen's anger, her _straightforwardness_, broke forth. She claspedher hands in pain, and her face grew crimson. "He is _not_ guilty, papa. I would answer for it with my own life. How dare they accuse him!how dare they asperse him? Is he not Hamish Channing?"

"Ellen! _Ellen_!"

Ellen burst into a passionate flood of tears. "Forgive me, papa. If hehas no one else to take his part, I will do it. I do not wish to beundutiful; and if you bid me never to see or speak to Hamish Channingagain, I will implicitly obey you; but, hear him spoken of as guilty, Iwill not. I wish I could stand up for him against the world. "

"After that, Miss Ellen Huntley, I think you had better sit down. "

Ellen sat down, and cried until she was calm. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE CONSPIRATORS. 

Nothing of sufficient consequence to record here, occurred for someweeks to the Channings, or to those connected with them. October camein; and in a few days would be decided the uncertain question of theseniorship. Gaunt would leave the college on the fifth; and on thesixth the new senior would be appointed. The head-master had given nointimation whatever to the school as to which of the three seniorswould obtain the promotion, and discussion ran high upon theprobabilities. Some were of opinion that it would be Huntley; some, Gerald Yorke; a very few, Tom Channing. Countenanced by Gaunt andHuntley, as he had been throughout, Tom bore on his way, amid muchcabal; but for the circumstance of the senior boy espousing (though notvery markedly) his cause, his place would have been unbearable. Hamishattended to his customary duties in Guild Street, and sat up at nightas usual in his bedroom, as his candle testified to Judith. Arthurtried bravely for a situation, and tried in vain; he could get nothinggiven to him--no one seemed willing to take him on. There was nothingfor it but to wait in patience. He took the organ daily, and copied, athome, the cathedral music. Constance was finding great favour with theEarl of Carrick--but you will hear more about that presently. Jenkinsgrew more like a shadow day by day. Roland Yorke went on in hisimpulsive, scapegrace fashion. Mr. And Mrs. Channing sent home news, hopeful and more hopeful, from Germany. And Charley, unlucky Charley, had managed to get into hot water with the college school. 

Thus uneventfully had passed the month of September. October was nowin, and the sixth rapidly approaching. What with the uncertaintyprevailing, the preparation for the examination, which on that daywould take place, and a little private matter, upon which some few wereentering, the college school had just then a busy and exciting time ofit. 

Stephen Bywater sat in one of the niches of the cloisters, a pile ofbooks by his side. Around him, in various attitudes, were gatheredseven of the most troublesome of the tribe--Pierce senior, GeorgeBrittle, Tod Yorke, Fred Berkeley, Bill Simms, Mark Galloway, andHurst, who had now left the choir, but not the school. They werehatching mischief. Twilight overhung the cloisters; the autumn eveningswere growing long, and this was a gloomy one. Half an hour, at the veryleast, had the boys been gathered there since afternoon school, holdinga council of war in covert tones. 

"Paid out he shall be, by hook or by crook, " continued Stephen Bywater, who appeared to be president--if talking more than his _confrères_constitutes one. "The worst is, how is it to be done? One can't wallophim. "

"Not wallop him!" repeated Pierce senior, who was a badly disposed boy, as well as a mischievous one. "Why not, pray?"

"Not to any good, " said Bywater. "_I_ can't, with that delicate face ofhis. It's like beating a girl. "

"That's true, " assented Hurst. "No, it won't do to go in for beating;might break his bones, or something. I can't think what's the good ofthose delicate ones putting themselves into a school of this sort. Aparson's is the place for them; eight gentlemanly pupils, treated as aprivate family, with a mild usher, and a lady to teach the piano. "

The council burst into a laugh at Hurst's mocking tones, and Piercesenior interrupted it. 

"I don't see why he shouldn't--"

"Say she, Pierce, " corrected Mark Galloway. 

"She, then. I don't see why she shouldn't get a beating if she deservesit; it will teach her not to try her tricks on again. Let her bedelicate; she'll feel it the more. "

"It's all bosh about his being delicate. She's not, " vehementlyinterrupted Tod Yorke, somewhat perplexed, in his hurry, with thegenders. "Charley Channing's no more delicate than we are. It's all inthe look. As good say that detestable little villain, Boulter, isdelicate, because he has yellow curls. I vote for the beating. "

"I'll vote you out of the business, if you show insubordination, Mr. Tod, " cried Bywater. "We'll pay out Miss Charley in some way, but itshan't be by beating him. "

"Couldn't we lock him up in the cloisters, as we locked up Ketch, andthat lot; and leave him there all night?" proposed Berkeley. 

"But there'd be getting the keys?" debated Mark Galloway. 

"As if we couldn't get the keys if we wanted them!" scoffingly retortedBywater. "We did old Ketch the other time, and we could do him again. _That_ would not serve the young one out, locking him up in thecloisters. "

"Wouldn't it, though!" said Tod Yorke. "He'd be dead of fright beforemorning, he's so mortally afraid of ghosts. "

"Afraid of what?" cried Bywater. 

"Of ghosts. He's a regular coward about them. He dare not go to bed inthe dark for fear of their coming to him. He'd rather have five andtwenty pages of Virgil to do, than he'd be left alone after nightfall. "

The notion so tickled Bywater, that he laughed till he was hoarse. Bywater could not understand being afraid of "ghosts. " Had Bywater meta whole army of ghosts, the encounter would only have afforded himpleasure. 

"There never was a ghost seen yet, as long as any one can remember, "cried he, when he came out of his laughter. "I'd sooner believe inGulliver's travels, than I'd believe in ghosts. What a donkey you are, Tod Yorke!"

"It's Charley Channing that's the donkey; not me, " cried Tod, fiercely. "I tell you, if we locked him up here for a night, we should find himdead in the morning, when we came to let him out. Let's do it. "

"What, to find him dead in the morning!" exclaimed Hurst. "You are anice one, Tod!"

"Oh, well, I don't mean altogether dead, you know, " acknowledged Tod. "But he'd have had a mortal night of it! All his clothes gummedtogether from fright, I'll lay. "

"I don't think it would do, " deliberated Bywater. "A wholenight--twelve hours, that would be--and in a fright all the time, if he_is_ frightened. Look here! I have heard of folks losing their witsthrough a thing of the sort. "

"I won't go in for anything of the kind, " said Hurst. "Charley's not abad lot, and he shan't be harmed. A bit of a fright, or a bit of awhacking, not too much of either; that'll be the thing for MissChanning. "

"Tod Yorke, who told you he was afraid of ghosts?" demanded Bywater. 

"Oh, I know it, " said Tod. "Annabel Channing was telling my sistersabout it, for one thing: but I knew it before. We had a servant oncewho told us so, she had lived at the Channings'. Some nurse frightenedhim when he was a youngster, and they have never been able to get thefear out of him since. "

"What a precious soft youngster he must have been!" said Mr. Bywater. 

"She used to get a ghost and dress it up and show it off to MissCharley--"

"Get a ghost, Tod?"

"Bother! you know what I mean, " said Tod, testily. "Get a broom orsomething of that sort, and dress it up with a mask and wings: and heis as scared over it now as he ever was. I don't care what you say. "

"Look here!" exclaimed Bywater, starting from his niche, as a brightidea occurred to him. "Let one of us personate a ghost, and appear tohim! That would be glorious! It would give him a precious good frightfor the time, and no harm done. "

If the boys had suddenly found the philosopher's stone, it couldscarcely have afforded them so much pleasure as did this idea. It wasreceived with subdued shouts of approbation: the only murmur of dissentto be heard was from Pierce senior. Pierce grumbled that it would notbe "half serving him out. "

"Yes, it will, " said Bywater. "Pierce senior shall be the ghost: hetops us all by a head. "

"Hurst is as tall as Pierce senior. "

"That he is not, " interrupted Pierce senior, who was considerablymollified at the honour being awarded to him. "Hurst is not much abovethe tips of my ears. Besides, Hurst is fat; and you never saw a fatghost yet. "

"Have you seen many ghosts, Pierce?" mocked Bywater. 

"A few; in pictures. Wretched old scarecrows they always are, with acadaverous face and lantern jaws. "

"That's the reason you'll do so well, Pierce, " said Bywater. "You areas thin as a French herring, you know, with a yard and a half ofthroat. "

Pierce received the doubtful compliment flatteringly, absorbed in thefine vista of mischief opening before him. "How shall I get myself up, Bywater?" asked he, complaisantly. "With horns and a tail?"

"Horns and a tail be bothered!" returned Hurst. "It must be like a realghost, all white and ghastly. "

"Of course it must, " acquiesced Bywater. 

"I know a boy in our village that they served out like that, "interposed Bill Simms, who was a country lad, and boarded inHelstonleigh. "They got a great big turnip, and scooped it out and madeit into a man's face, and put a light inside, and stuck it on a postwhere he had to pass at night. He was so frightened that he died. "

"Cram!" ejaculated Tod Yorke. 

"He did, though, " repeated Simms. "They knew him before for an awfullittle coward, and they did it to have some fun out of him. He didn'tsay anything at the time; didn't scream, or anything of that sort; butafter he got home he was taken ill, and the next day he died. My fatherwas one of the jury on the inquest. He was a little chap with no fatheror mother--a plough-boy. "

"The best thing, if you want to make a ghost, " said Tod Yorke, "is toget a tin plate full of salt and gin, and set it alight, and wrapyourself round with a sheet, and hold the plate so that the flamelights up your face. You never saw anything so ghastly. Scooped-outturnips are all bosh!"

"I could bring a sheet off my bed, " said Bywater. "Thrown over my arm, they'd think at home I was bringing out my surplice. And if--"

A wheezing and coughing and clanking of keys interrupted theproceedings. It was Mr. Ketch, coming to lock up the cloisters. As theboys had no wish to be fastened in, themselves, they gathered up theirbooks, and waited in silence till the porter was close upon them. Then, with a sudden war-whoop, they sprang past him, very nearly startlingthe old man out of his senses, and calling forth from him a shower ofhard words. 

The above conversation, puerile and school-boyish as it may seem, wasdestined to lead to results all too important; otherwise it would nothave been related here. You very likely may have discovered, ere this, that this story of the Helstonleigh College boys is not merely a workof imagination, but taken from facts of real life. Had you been in thecloisters that night with the boys--and you might have been--and heardMaster William Simms, who was the son of a wealthy farmer, tell thetale of a boy's being frightened to death, you would have known it tobe a true one, if you possessed any knowledge of the annals of theneighbourhood. In like manner, the project they were getting up tofrighten Charles Channing, and Charles's unfortunate propensity _to be_frightened, are strictly true. 

Master Tod Yorke's account of what had imbued his mind with this fear, was a tolerably correct one. Charley was somewhat troublesome andfractious as a young child, and the wicked nurse girl who attended uponhim would dress up frightful figures to terrify him into quietness. Shemight not have been able to accomplish this without detection, but thatMrs. Channing was at that time debarred from the active superintendenceof her household. When Charley was about two years old she fell intoill health, and for eighteen months was almost entirely confined to herroom. Judith was much engaged with her mistress and with householdmatters, and the baby, as Charley was still called, was chiefly left tothe mercies of the nurse. Not content with frightening him practically, she instilled into his young imagination the most pernicious stories ofghosts, dreams, and similar absurdities. But, foolish as _we_ know themto be, they are not the less horrible to a child's vivid imagination. At two, or three, or four years old, it is eagerly opening toimpressions; and things, solemnly related by a mother or a nurse, become impressed upon it almost as with gospel truth. Let the fearsonce be excited in this terrible way, and not a whole lifetime canfinally eradicate the evil. I would rather a nurse broke one of mychildren's limbs, than thus poison its fair young mind. 

In process of time the girl's work was discovered--discovered byJudith. But the mischief was done. You may wonder that Mrs. Channingshould not have been the first to discover it; or that it could haveescaped her notice at all, for she had the child with her often for hisearly religious instruction; but, one of the worst phases of this stateof things is, the shrinking tenacity with which the victim buries thefears within his own breast. He dare not tell his parents; he is taughtnot; and taught by fear. It may not have been your misfortune to meetwith a case of this sort; I hope you never will. Mrs. Channing wouldobserve that the child would often shudder, as with terror, and clingto her in an unaccountable manner; but, having no suspicion of theevil, she attributed it to a sensitive, timid temperament. "What is it, my little Charley?" she would say. But Charley would only bury his facethe closer, and keep silence. When Martha--that was the girl's name:not the same Martha who was now living at Lady Augusta's--came for him, he would go with her willingly, cordially. It was not her he feared. Onthe contrary, he was attached to her; she had taught him to be so; andhe looked upon her as a protector from those awful ghosts and goblins. 

Well, the thing was in time discovered, but the mischief, I say, wasdone. It could not be eradicated. Charles Channing's judgment and goodsense told him that all those bygone terrors were only tricks of thatwretched Martha's: but, overcome the fear, he could not. Allconsideration was shown to him; he was never scolded for it, neverridiculed; his brothers and sisters observed to him entire silence uponthe subject--even Annabel; and Mr. And Mrs. Channing had done reasoninglovingly with him now. It is not argument that will avail in a caselike this. In the broad light of day, Charley could be very brave;would laugh at such tales with the best of them; but when night came, and he was left alone--if he ever was left alone--then all the oldterror rose up again, and his frame would shake, and he would throwhimself on the bed or on the floor, and hide his face; afraid of thedarkness, and of what he might see in it. He was as utterly unable toprevent or subdue this fear, as he was to prevent his breathing. Heknew it, in the sunny morning light, to be a foolish fear, utterlywithout reason: but, in the lonely night, there it came again, and hecould not combat it. 

Thus, it is easy to understand that the very worst subject for a ghosttrick to be played upon, was Charley Channing. It was, however, goingto be done. The defect--for it really is a defect--had never transpiredto the College school, who would not have spared their ridicule, orspared Charley. Reared, in that point, under happier auspices, theycould have given nothing but utter ridicule to the fear. ChatteringAnnabel, in her thoughtless communications to Caroline and Fanny Yorke, had not bargained for their reaching the ears of Tod; and Tod, when thereport did reach his ears, remembered to have heard the tale before;until then it had escaped his memory. 

Charley had got into hot water with some of the boys. Bywater had beenowing him a grudge for weeks, on account of Charley's persistentsilence touching what he had seen the day the surplice was inked; andnow there arose another grudge on Bywater's score, and also on that ofothers. There is not space to enter into the particulars of the affair;it is sufficient to say that some underhand work, touching cribs, cameto the knowledge of one of the under-masters--and came to him throughCharley Channing. 

Not that Charley went, open-mouthed, and told; there was nothing ofthat disreputable character--which the school held in especialdislike--the sneak, about Charles Channing. Charley would have bittenhis tongue out first. By an unfortunate accident Charles was pinned bythe master, and questioned; and he had no resource but to speak out. Inhonour, in truth, he could not do otherwise; but, the consequencewas--punishment to the boys; and they turned against him. Schoolboysare not famous for being swayed by the rules of strict justice; andthey forgot to remember that in Charles Channing's place they would (atany rate, most of them) have felt bound to do the same. They visitedthe accident upon him, and were determined--as you have heard themexpress it in their own phrase--to "serve him out. "

Leaving this decision to fructify, let us turn to Constance. LadyAugusta Yorke--good-hearted in the main, liberal natured, swayed byevery impulse as the wind--had been particularly kind to Constance andAnnabel Channing during the absence of their mother. Evening afterevening she would insist upon their spending at her house, Hamish--oneof Lady Augusta's lasting favourites, probably from his goodlooks--being pressed into the visit with them by my lady. Hamish wasnothing loth. He had given up indiscriminate evening visiting; and, since the coolness which had arisen in the manner of Mr. Huntley, Hamish did not choose to go much to Mr. Huntley's, where he had been apretty constant visitor before; and he found his evenings hang somewhatheavily on his hands. Thus Constance saw a good deal of the Earl ofCarrick; or, it may be more to the purpose to say, the earl saw a gooddeal of her. 

For the earl grew to like her very much indeed. He grew to think thatif she would only consent to become his wife, he should be the happiestman in ould Ireland; and one day, impulsive in his actions as was everLady Augusta, he told Constance so, in that lady's presence. 

Constance--much as we may regret to hear it of her--behaved in by nomeans a dignified manner. She laughed over it. When brought tounderstand, which took some little time, that she was actually paidthat high compliment, she laughed in the earl's face. He was as old asher father; and Constance had certainly regarded him much more in thelight of a father than a husband. 

"I do beg your pardon, Lord Carrick, " she said, apologetically "but Ithink you must be laughing at me. "

"Laughing at ye!" said the earl. "It's not I that would do that. I'dlike ye to be Countess of Carrick to-morrow, me dear, if you can onlyget over me fifty years and me grey hair. Here's me sister--she knowsthat I'd like to have ye. It's you that are laughing at me, MissConstance; at me ould locks. "

"No, indeed, indeed it is not that, " said Constance, while Lady Augustasat with an impassive countenance. "I don't know why I laughed. It sotook me by surprise; that was why, I think. Please do not say any moreabout it, Lord Carrick. "

"Ye could not like me as well as ye like William Yorke? Is that it, child?"

Constance grew crimson. Like him as she liked William Yorke!

"Ye're the nicest girl I have seen since Kathleen Blake, " resumed thestraightforward, simple earl. "She promised to have me; she said sheliked me grey hair better than brown, and me fifty years better thanthirty, but, while I was putting the place a bit in order for her, shewent and married a young Englishman. Did ye ever see him, Augusta?"--turning to his sister. "He is a baronet. He came somewherefrom these parts. "

Lady Augusta intimated stiffly that she had not the honour of thebaronet's acquaintance. She thought her brother was making a simpletonof himself, and had a great mind to tell him so. 

"And since Kathleen Blake went over to the enemy, I have not seenanybody that I'd care to look twice at, till I came here and saw you, Miss Constance, " resumed the earl. "And if ye can only get to overlookthe natural impediments on me side, and not mind me being poor, I'd bedelighted, me dear, if ye'd say the word. "

"You are very kind, very generous, Lord Carrick, " said Constance, withan impulse of feeling; "but I can only beg you never to ask me such athing again. "

"Ah! well, child, I see ye're in earnest, " good-naturedly responded theearl, as he gave it up. "I was afraid ye'd only laugh at me. I knew Iwas too old. "

And that was the beginning and the ending of Lord Carrick's wooing. Scarcely worth recording, you will think. But there was a reason fordoing so. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE DECISION. 

The important sixth of October--important to the Helstonleigh Collegeboys--did not rise very genially. On the contrary, it rose rathersloppily. A soaking rain was steadily descending, and the streetspresented a continuous scene of puddles. The boys dashed through itwithout umbrellas (I never saw one of them carry an umbrella in mylife, and don't believe the phenomenon ever was seen), their cleansurplices on their arms; on their way to attend ten-o'clock morningprayers in the cathedral. The day was a holiday from school, but notfrom morning service. 

The college bell was beginning to ring out as they entered theschoolroom. Standing in the senior's place, and calling over the roll, was Tom Channing, the acting senior for a few brief hours. SinceGaunt's departure, the previous day, Tom Channing had been head of theschool; it lay in the custom of the school for him so to be. Would hisplace be confirmed? or would he lose it? Tom looked flurried withsuspense. It was not so much being appointed senior that he thought of, as the disgrace, the humiliation that would be his portion, were hedeposed from it. He knew that he deserved the position; that it was hisby right; he stood first on the rolls, and he had done nothing whateverto forfeit it. He was the school's best scholar; and--if he was notalways a perfect model for conduct--there was this much to be said inhis favour, that none of them could boast of being better. 

The opinion of the school had been veering round for the last few daysin favour of Tom. I do not mean that he, personally, was in betterodour with it--not at all, the snow-ball, touching Arthur, had gatheredstrength in rolling--but in favour of his chances of the seniorship. Not a breath of intimation had the head-master given; except that, oneday, in complaining to Gaunt of the neglect of a point of discipline inthe school, which point was entirely under the control of the seniorboy, he had turned to Tom, and said, "Remember, Channing, it must beobserved for the future. "

Tom's heart leaped within him as he heard it, and the boys lookedinquiringly at the master. But the master's head was then buried in thedeep drawer of his desk, hunting for a lost paper. Unless he had spokenit in forgetfulness--which was not improbable-there could be no doubtthat he looked upon Tom as Gaunt's successor. The school so interpretedit, and chose to become, amongst themselves, sullenly rebellious. As toTom, who was nearly as sanguine in temperament as Hamish, his hopes andhis spirits went up to fever heat. --

One of the last to tear through the street, splashing his jacket, andsplashing his surplice, was Harry Huntley. He, like all the rest, tookcare to be in time that morning. There would have been no necessity forhis racing, however, had he not lingered at home, talking. He wasrunning down from his room, whither he had gone again after breakfast, to give the finishing brush to his hair (I can tell you that some ofthose college gentlemen were dandies), when Mr. Huntley's voice washeard, calling him into the breakfast-room. 

"Harry, " said he, "I don't think that I need enjoin you not to sufferyour manner to show triumph towards Tom Channing, should you bepromoted over him to-day. "

"I shan't be, papa. Channing will have the seniorship. "

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, from something Pye let drop. We look upon it that Channing is asgood as senior. "

Mr. Huntley remembered the tenor of the private conversation the masterhad held with him, and believed his son would find himself mistaken, and that he, Harry, would be made senior. That it would be GeraldYorke, Mr. Huntley did not believe. "At any rate, Harry, take heed towhat I say, " he resumed. "Be very considerate and courteous towardsyour friend Channing, if you should obtain it. Do not let me have toblush for my son's ill feeling. "

There was a tone in Mr. Huntley's voice which, to Harry's ears, seemedto intimate that he did not speak without reason. "Papa, it would notbe fair for me to go up over Channing, " he impulsively said. 

"No. Comparing your merits together, Channing is the better man of thetwo. "

Harry laughed. "He is not worse, at all events. Why are you sayingthis, papa?"

"Because I fancy that you are more likely to be successful than TomChanning. I wish I may be mistaken. I would rather he had it; for, personally, he had done nothing to forfeit it. "

"If Harry could accept the seniorship and displace Tom Channing, Iwould not care to call him my brother again, " interrupted EllenHuntley, with a flashing eye. 

"It is not that, Ellen; you girls don't understand things, " retortedHarry. "If Pye displaces Tom from the scholarship, he does not do it toexalt me; he does it because he won't have him at any price. Were I toturn round like a chivalrous Knight Templar and say I'd not take it, out of regard to my friend Tom, where would be the good? Yorke wouldget hoisted over me, and I should be laughed at for a duffer. But I'lldo as you like, papa, " he added, turning to Mr. Huntley. "If you wishme not to take the honour, I'll resign it in favour of Yorke. I neverexpected it to be mine, so it will be no disappointment; I alwaysthought we should have Channing. "

"Your refusing it would do no good to Channing, " said Mr. Huntley. "AndI should have grumbled at you, Harry, had you suffered Yorke to slipover your head. Every one in his own right. All I repeat to you, myboy, is, behave as you ought to Tom Channing. Possibly I may pay thecollege school a visit this morning. "

Harry opened his eyes to their utmost width. 

"You, papa! Whatever for?"

"That is my business, " laughed Mr. Huntley. "It wants only twentyminutes to ten, Harry. "

Harry, at the hint, bounded into the hall. He caught up his cleansurplice, placed there ready for him, and stuck his trencher on hishead, when he was detained by Ellen. 

"Harry, boy, it's a crying wrong against Tom Channing. Hamish never didit--"

"_Hamish_" interrupted Harry, with a broad grin. "A sign who you arethinking of, mademoiselle. "

Mademoiselle turned scarlet. "You know I meant to say Arthur, stupidboy! It's a crying wrong, Harry, upon Tom Channing. Looking at it inthe worst light, _he_ has been guilty of nothing to forfeit his right. If you can help him to the seniorship instead of supplanting him, be abrave boy, and do it. God sees all things. "

"I shall be late, as sure as a gun!" impatiently returned Harry. Andaway he sped through the rain and mud, never slackening speed till hewas in the college schoolroom. 

He hung up his trencher, flung his surplice on to a bench, and wentstraight up, with outstretched hand, to Tom Channing, who stood assenior, unfolding the roll. "Good luck to you, old fellow!" cried he, in a clear voice, that rang through the spacious room. "I hope, withall my heart, that you'll be in this post for many a day. "

"Thank you, Huntley, " responded Tom. And he proceeded to call over theroll, though his cheek burnt at sundry hisses that came, in subduedtones, from various parts of the room. 

Every boy was present. Not a king's scholar but answered to his name;and Tom signed the roll for the first time. "Channing, acting senior. "Not "Channing, senior, " yet. It was a whim of Mr. Pye's that on Sundaysand saints' day--that is, whenever the king's scholars had to attendservice--the senior boy should sign the roll. 

They then put on their surplices; and rather damp surplices some ofthem were. The boys most of them disdained bags; let the weather bewhat it might, the surplices, like themselves, went openly through it. Ready in their surplices and trenchers, Tom Channing gave the word ofcommand, and they were on the point of filing out, when a freak tookPierce senior to leave his proper place in the ranks, and walk by theside of Brittle. 

"Halt!" said Channing. "Pierce senior, take your place. "

"I shan't, " returned Pierce. "Who is to compel me?" he added with amocking laugh. "We are without a senior for once. "

"I will, " thundered Tom, his face turning white at the implied sneer, the incipient disobedience. "I stand here as the school's senior now, whatever I may do later, and I will be obeyed. Return to your properplace. "

There was that in Tom's eye, in Tom's tone, that somehow over-awed Mr. Pierce; and he walked sheepishly to his own place. There was nomistaking that Channing would make a firm senior. The boys proceeded, two and two, decorously through the cloisters, snatching off theirtrenchers as they entered the college gates. Tom and Huntley walkedlast, Tom bearing the keys. The choir gained, the two branched offright and left, Huntley placing himself at the head of the boys on theleft, or _cantori_ side; Tom, assuming his place as acting senior, onthe, _decani_. When they should sit next in that cathedral would theirposts be reversed?

The dean was present: also three canons--Dr. Burrows, who was subdean, Dr. Gardner, and Mr. Mence. The head-master chanted, and in the stallnext to him sat Gaunt. Gaunt had discarded his surplice with hisschoolboy life; but curiosity with regard to the seniorship brought himamongst them again that day. "I hope you'll keep the place, Channing, "he whispered to him, as he passed the boys to get to his stall. ArthurChanning was at his place at the organ. 

Ere eleven o'clock struck, service was over, and the boys marched backagain. Not to the schoolroom--into the chapter-house. The examination, which took place once in three years, was there held. It was conductedquite in a formal manner; Mr. Galloway, as chapter clerk, beingpresent, to call over the roll. The dean, the three prebendaries whohad been at service, the head and other masters of the school, allstood together in the chapter-house; and the king's scholars wearingtheir surplices still, were ranged in a circle before them. 

The dean took the examination. Dr. Burrows asked a question now andthen, but the dean chiefly took it. There is neither space nor time tofollow it in detail here: and no one would care to read it, if it weregiven. As a whole, the school acquitted itself well, doing credit toits masters. One of the chapter--it was Dr. Gardner, and the only wordhe spoke throughout--remarked that the head boy was a sound scholar, meaning Tom Channing. 

The business over, the dean's words of commendation spoken, then thehead-master took a step forward and cleared his throat. He addressedhimself to the boys exclusively; for, what he had to say, had referenceto them and himself alone: it was supposed not to concern the clergy. As to the boys, those who were of an excitable temperament, lookedquite pale with suspense, now the long-expected moment was come. Channing? Huntley? Yorke?--which of the three would it be?

"The praise bestowed upon you, gentlemen, by the Dean and Chapter hasbeen, if possible, more gratifying to myself than to you. It would besuperfluous in me to add a word to the admonition given you by the VeryReverend the Dean, as to your future conduct and scholarly improvement. I can only hope, with him, that they may continue to be such as toafford satisfaction to myself, and to those gentlemen who areassociated with me as masters in the collegiate school. "

A pause and a dead silence. The head-master cleared his throat again, and went on. 

"The retirement of William Gaunt from the school, renders theseniorship vacant. I am sorry that circumstances, to which I will notmore particularly allude, prevent my bestowing it upon the boy whosename stands first upon the rolls, Thomas Ingram Channing. I regret thisthe more, that it is not from any personal fault of Channing's that heis passed over; and this fact I beg may be most distinctly understood. Next to Channing's name stands that of Henry Huntley, and to him Iaward the seniorship. Henry Huntley, you are appointed senior ofHelstonleigh Collegiate School. Take your place. "

The dead silence was succeeded by a buzz, a murmur, suppressed almostas soon as heard. Tom Channing's face turned scarlet, then becamedeadly white. It was a cruel blow. Huntley, with an impetuous step, advanced a few paces, and spoke up bravely, addressing the master. 

"I thank you, sir, for the honour you have conferred upon me, but Ihave no right to it, either by claim or merit. I feel that it is butusurping the place of Channing. Can't you give it to him, please sir, instead of to me?"

The speech, begun formally and grandly enough for a royal president ata public dinner, and ending in its schoolboy fashion, drew a smile frommore than one present. "No, " was all the answer vouchsafed by Mr. Pye, but it was spoken with unmistakable emphasis, and he pointed his fingerauthoritatively to the place already vacated by Tom Channing. Huntleybowed, and took it; and the next thing seen by the boys was Mr. Galloway altering the roll. He transposed the names of Channing andHuntley. 

The boys, bowing to the clergy, filed out, and proceeded to theschoolroom, the masters following them. Tom Channing was very silent. Huntley was silent. Yorke, feeling mad with everyone, was silent. Inshort, the whole school was silent. Channing delivered the keys of theschool to Huntley; and Mr. Pye, with his own hands, took out the rolland made the alteration in the names. For, the roll belonging to thechapter-house was not, as you may have thought, the every-day roll ofthe schoolroom. "Take care what you are about, Huntley, " said themaster. "A careless senior never finds favour with me. "

"Very well, sir, " replied Huntley. But he was perfectly conscious, ashe spoke, that his chief fault, as senior, would be that ofcarelessness. And Gaunt, who was standing by, and knew it also, telegraphed a significant look to Huntley. The other masters went up toHuntley, shook hands, and congratulated him, for that was the custom ofthe school; indeed, it was for that purpose only that the masters hadgone into the schoolroom, where they had, that day, no business. Gauntfollowed suit next, in shaking hands and congratulating, and the schoolafterwards; Gerald Yorke doing his part with a bad grace. 

"Thank you all, " said Harry Huntley. "But it ought to have been TomChanning. " Poor Tom's feelings, during all this, may be imagined. 

The king's scholars were slinging their surplices on their arms todepart, for they had full holiday for the remainder of the day, whenthey were surprised by the entrance of Mr. Huntley. He went straight upto the head-master, nodding pleasantly to the boys, right and left. 

"Well, and who is your important senior?" he gaily demanded of themaster. 

"Henry Huntley. "

Mr. Huntley drew in his lips. "For another's sake I am sorry to hearit. But I can only express my hope that he will do his duty. "

"I have just been telling him so, " observed the master. 

"What brings me here, is this, sir, " continued Mr. Huntley to themaster. "Knowing there was a doubt, as to which of the three seniorboys would be chosen, I wished, should it prove to be my son, to speaka word about the Oxford exhibition, which, I believe, generallyaccompanies the seniorship. It falls due next Easter. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Pye. 

"Then allow me to decline it for my son, " replied Mr. Huntley. "He willnot need it; and therefore should not stand in the light of any otherboy. I deemed it well, sir, to state this at once. "

"Thank you, " warmly responded the head-master. He knew that it was anunselfish, not to say generous, act. 

Mr. Huntley approached Tom Channing. He took his hand; he shook itheartily, with every mark of affection and respect. "You must not allowthis exaltation of Harry to lessen the friendship you and he entertainfor each other, " he said, in tones that reached every pair of earspresent--and not one but was turned up to listen. "You are moredeserving of the place than he, and I am deeply sorry for thecircumstances which have caused him to supplant you. Never mind, Tom;bear on bravely, lad, and you'll outlive vexation. Continue to beworthy of your noble father; continue to be my son's friend; there isno boy living whom I would so soon he took pattern by, as by you. "

The hot tears rushed into Tom's eyes, and his lip quivered. But that heremembered where he was, he might have lost his self-control. "Thankyou, sir, " he answered, in a low tone. 

"Whew!" whistled Tod Yorke, as they were going out. "A fine friend heis! A thief's brother. "

"A thief's brother! A thief's brother!" was the echo. 

"But he's not our senior. Ha! ha! that would have been a good joke!He's not our senior!"

And down the steps they clattered, and went splashing home, as they hadcome, they and their surplices, through the wet streets and the rain. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE GHOST. 

The moon was high in the heavens. Lighting up the tower of thecathedral, illuminating its pinnacles, glittering through the elmtrees, bringing forth into view even the dark old ivy on the prebendalhouses. A fair night--all too fair for the game that was going to beplayed in it. 

When the Helstonleigh College boys resolved upon what they were pleasedto term a "lark"--and, to do them justice, they regarded this, theirprospective night's work, in no graver light--they carried it outartistically, with a completeness, a skill, worthy of a better cause. Several days had they been hatching this, laying their plans, arrangingthe details; it would be their own bungling fault if it miscarried. Butthe college boys were not bunglers. 

Stripped of its details, the bare plot was to exhibit a "ghost" in thecloisters, and to get Charley Charming to pass through them. Theseniors knew nothing of the project. Huntley--it was the day followinghis promotion--would have stopped it at once, careless as he was. TomChanning would have stopped it. Gerald Yorke might or might not; butTod had taken care not to tell Gerald. And Griffin, who was burning toexercise in any way his newly acquired power, would certainly havestopped it. They had been too wise to allow it to come to the knowledgeof the seniors. The most difficult part of the business had been oldKetch; but that was managed. 

The moonlight shone peacefully on the Boundaries, and the conspiratorswere stealing up, by ones and twos, to their place of meeting, roundthe dark trunks of the elm trees. Fine as it was overhead, it was lessso under-foot. The previous day, you may remember, had been a wet one, the night had been wet, and also the morning of the present day. Schoolboys are not particularly given to reticence, and a few more thanthe original conspirators had been taken into the plot. They werewinding up now, in the weird moonlight, for the hour was approaching. 

Once more we must pay a visit to Mr. Ketch in his lodge, at his supperhour. Mr. Ketch had changed his hour for that important meal. Growingold with age or with lumbago, he found early rest congenial to hisbones, as he informed his friends: so he supped at seven, and retiredbetimes. Since the trick played him in the summer, he had taken to havehis pint of ale brought to him; deeming it more prudent not to leavehis lodge and the keys, to fetch it. This was known to the boys, and itrendered their plans a little more difficult. 

Mr. Ketch, I say, sat in his lodge, having locked up the cloistersabout an hour before, sneezing and wheezing, for he was suffering froma cold, caught the previous day in the wet. He was spelling over aweekly twopenny newspaper, borrowed from the public-house, by the helpof a flaring tallow candle, and a pair of spectacles, of which oneglass was out. Cynically severe was he over everything he read, as youknow it was in the nature of Mr. Ketch to be. As the three-quarterspast six chimed out from the cathedral clock, his door was suddenlyopened, and a voice called out, "Beer!" Mr. Ketch's ale had arrived. 

But the arrival did not give that gentleman pleasure, and he started upin what, but for the respect we bear him, we might call a fury. Dashinghis one-eyed glasses on the table, he attacked the man. 

"What d'ye mean with your 'beer' at this time o' night? It wants aquarter to seven! Haven't you no ears? haven't you no clock at yourplace? D'ye think I shall take it in now?"

"Well, it just comes to this, " said the man, who was the brewer at thepublic-house, and made himself useful at odd jobs in his spare time:"if you don't like to take it in now, you can't have it at all, of mybringing. I'm going up to t'other end of the town, and shan't be backthis side of ten. "

Mr. Ketch, with much groaning and grumbling, took the ale and poured itinto a jug of his own--a handsome jug, that had been in the wars andlost its spout and handle--giving back the other jug to the man. "Youserve me such a imperant trick again, as to bring my ale a quarter of ahour aforehand, that's all!" snarled he. 

The man received the jug, and went off whistling; he had the pleasureof knowing Mr. Ketch and his temper well. That gentleman closed hisdoor with a bang, and proceeded to take out his customary bread andcheese. Not that he had any great love for a bread-and-cheese supper asa matter of fancy: he would very much have preferred something moredainty; only, dainties and Mr. Ketch's pocket did not agree. 

"They want to be took down a notch, that public--sending out a man'sbeer a quarter afore seven, when it ain't ordered to come till sevenstrikes. Much they care if it stops a waiting and flattening! Be I aslave, that I should be forced to swallow my supper afore I want it, just to please them? They have a sight too much custom, that's what itis. "

He took a slight draught of the offending ale, and was criticallysurveying the loaf, before applying to it that green-handled knife ofhis, whose elegance you have heard of, when a second summons was heardat the door--a very timid one this time. 

Mr. Ketch flung down the bread and the knife. "What's the reason Ican't get a meal in quiet? Who is it?"

There was no response to this, beyond a second faint tapping. "Comein!" roared out he. "Pull the string o' the latch. "

But nobody came in, in spite of this lucid direction; and the timidtapping, which seemed to proceed from very small knuckles, was repeatedagain. Mr. Ketch was fain to go and open it. 

A young damsel of eight or so, in a tattered tippet, and a largebonnet--probably her mother's--stood there, curtseying. "Please, sir, Mr. Ketch is wanted. "

Mr. Ketch was rather taken to at this strange address, and surveyed themessenger in astonishment. "Who be you? and who wants him?" growled he. 

"Please, sir, it's a gentleman as is waiting at the big green gates, "was the reply. "Mr. Ketch is to go to him this minute; he told me tocome and say so, and if you didn't make haste he should be gone. "

"Can't you speak plain?" snarled Ketch. "Who is the gentleman?"

"Please, sir, I think it's the bishop. "

This put Ketch in a flutter. The "big green gates" could only havereference to the private entrance to the bishop's garden, whichentrance his lordship used when attending the cathedral. That thebishop was in Helstonleigh, Ketch knew: he had arrived that day, aftera short absence: what on earth could he want with _him_? Neverdoubting, in his hurry, the genuineness of the message, Ketch pulledhis door to, and stepped off, the young messenger having alreadydecamped. The green gates were not one minute's walk from thelodge--though a projecting buttress of the cathedral prevented the onefrom being in sight of the other--and old Ketch gained them, and lookedaround. 

Where was the bishop? The iron gates, the garden, the white stones athis feet, the towering cathedral, all lay cold and calm in themoonlight, but of human sight or sound there was none. The gates werelocked when he came to try them, and he could not see the bishopanywhere. 

He was not likely to see him. Stephen Bywater, who took upon himselfmuch of the plot's performance--of which, to give him his due, he wasboldly capable--had been on the watch in the street, near thecathedral, for a messenger that would suit his purpose. Seeing thisyoung damsel hurrying along with a jug in her hand, possibly to buybeer for _her_ home supper, he waylaid her. 

"Little ninepins, would you like to get threepence?" asked he. "Youshall have it, if you'll carry a message for me close by. "

"Little ninepins" had probably never had a whole threepence to herselfin her young life. She caught at the tempting suggestion, and Bywaterdrilled into her his instructions, finding her excessively stupid inthe process. Perhaps that was all the better. "Now you mind, you are_not_ to say who wants Mr. Ketch, unless he asks, " repeated he forabout the fifth time, as she was departing to do the errand. "If heasks, say you think it's the bishop. "

So she went, and delivered it. But had old Ketch's temper allowed himto go into a little more questioning, he might have discovered thetrick. Bywater stealthily followed the child near to the lodge, screening himself from observation; and, as soon as old Ketch hobbledout of it, he popped in, snatched the cloister keys from their nail, and deposited a piece of paper, folded as a note, on Ketch's table. Then he made off. 

Back came Ketch, after a while. He did not know quite what to make ofit, but rather inclined to the opinion that the bishop had not waitedfor him. "He might have wanted me to take a errand round to thedeanery, " soliloquized he. And this thought had caused him to tarryabout the gates, so that he was absent from his lodge quite tenminutes. The first thing he saw, on entering, was the bit of paper onhis table. He seized and opened it, grumbling aloud that folks used hishouse just as they pleased, going in and out without reference to hispresence or his absence. The note, written in pencil, purported to befrom Joseph Jenkins. It ran as follows:--

My old father is coming up to our place to-night, to eat a bit ofsupper, and he says he should like you to join him, which I and Mrs. J. Shall be happy if you will, at seven o'clock. It's tripe and onions. Yours, "J. JENKINS. "

Now, if there was one delicacy, known to this world, more delicious toold Ketch's palate than another, it was tripe, seasoned with onions. His mouth watered as he read. He was aware that it was--to use thephraseology of Helstonleigh--"tripe night. " On two nights in the week, tripe was sold in the town ready dressed. This was one of them, andKetch anticipated a glorious treat. In too great a hurry to cast somuch as a glance round his lodge (crafty Bywater had been deep), notstopping even to put up the bread and cheese, away hobbled Ketch asfast as his lumbago would allow him, locking safely his door, and nothaving observed the absence of the keys. 

"He ain't a bad sort, that Joe Jenkins, " allowed he, conciliated beyondeverything at the prospect the invitation held out, and talking tohimself as he limped away towards the street. "He don't write a badhand, neither! It's a plain un; not one o' them new-fangled scrawlsthat you can't read. Him and his wife have held up their heads a cutabove me--oh yes, they have, though, for all Joe's humbleness--but thegrand folks be a coming to. Old Jenkins has always said we'd have asupper together some night, him and me; I suppose this is it. I wonderwhat made him take and have it at Joe's? If Joe don't soon get betterthan he have looked lately--"

The first chime of the cathedral clock giving notice of the hour, seven! Old Ketch broke out into a heat, and tried to hobble along morequickly. Seven o'clock! What if, through being late, his share ofsupper should be eaten!

Peering out every now and then from the deep shade, cast by one of theangles of the cathedral, and as swiftly and cautiously drawn backagain, was a trencher apparently watching Ketch. As soon as thatfunctionary was fairly launched on his way, the trencher came outcompletely, and went flying at a swift pace round the college to theBoundaries. 

It was not worn by Bywater. Bywater, by the help of the stolen keys, was safe in the cloisters, absorbed with his companions in preparationsfor the grand event of the night. In point of fact, they were gettingup Pierce senior. Their precise mode of doing that need not be given. They had requisites in abundance, having disputed among themselveswhich should be at the honour of the contribution, and the result wasan undue prodigality of material. 

"There's seven!" exclaimed Bywater in an agony, as the clock struck. "Make haste, Pierce! the young one was to come out at a quarter past. If you're not ready, it will ruin all. "

"I shall be ready and waiting, if you don't bother, " was the responseof Pierce. "I wonder if old Ketch is safely off?"

"What a stunning fright Ketch would be in, if he came in here and metthe ghost!" exclaimed Hurst. "He'd never think it was anything lessthan the Old Gentleman come for him. "

A chorus of laughter, which Hurst himself hushed. It would not do fornoise to be heard in the cloisters at that hour. 

There was nothing to which poor Charley Channing was more sensitive, than to ridicule on the subject of his unhappy failing--his propensityto fear; and there is no failing to which schoolboys are moreintolerant. Of moral courage--that is, of courage in the cause ofright--Charles had plenty; of physical courage, little. Apart from themisfortune of having had supernatural terror implanted in him inchildhood, he would never have been physically brave. Schoolboys cannotunderstand that this shrinking from danger (I speak of palpabledanger), which they call cowardice, nearly always emanates from asuperior intellect. Where the mental powers are of a high order, theimagination unusually awakened, danger is sure to be keenly perceived, and sensitively shrunk from. In proportion will be the shrinking dreadof ridicule. Charles Channing possessed this dread in a remarkabledegree; you may therefore judge how he felt, when he found it mockinglyalluded to by Bywater. 

On this very day that we are writing of, Bywater caught Charles, andimparted to him in profound confidence an important secret; a choicefew of the boys were about to play old Ketch a trick, obtain the keys, and have a game in the cloisters by moonlight. A place in the game, hesaid, had been assigned to Charles. Charles hesitated. Not because itmight be wrong so to cheat Ketch--Ketch was the common enemy of theboys, of Charley as of the rest--but because he had plenty of lessonsto do. This was Bywater's opportunity; he chose to interpret thehesitation differently. 

"So you are afraid, Miss Charley! Ho! ho! Do you think the cloisterswill be dark? that the moon won't keep the ghosts away? I say, it_can't_ be true, what I heard the other day--that you dare not be inthe dark, lest ghosts should come and run away with you!"

"Nonsense, Bywater!" returned Charley, changing colour like a consciousgirl. 

"Well, if you are not afraid, you'll come and join us, " sarcasticallyreturned Bywater. "We shall have stunning good sport. There'll be abouta dozen of us. Rubbish to your lessons! you need not be away from themmore than an hour. It won't be _dark_, Miss Channing. "

After this, fearing their ridicule, nothing would have kept Charleyaway. He promised faithfully to be in the cloisters at a quarter pastseven. 

Accordingly, the instant tea was over, he got to his lessons; Tom atone side of the table--who had more, in proportion, to do thanCharles--he at the other. Thus were they engaged when Hamish entered. 

"What sort of a night is it, Hamish?" asked Charles, thinking of theprojected play. 

"Fine, " replied Hamish. "Where are they all?"

"Constance is in the drawing-room, giving Annabel her music lesson. Arthur's there too, I think, copying music. "

Silence was resumed. Hamish stood over the fire in thought. Tom andCharles went on with their studies. "Oh dear!" presently exclaimed thelatter, in a tone of subdued impatience. 

Hamish turned his eyes upon him. He thought the bright young facelooked unusually weary. "What is it, Charley, boy?"

"It's this Latin, Hamish. I can't make it come right. And Tom has notime to tell me. "

"Bring the Latin here. "

Charles carried his difficulties to Hamish. "It won't come right, "repeated he. 

"Like Mrs. Dora Copperfield's figures, I expect, that wouldn't add up, "said Hamish, as he cast his eyes over the exercise-book. "Halloa, younggentleman! what's this! You have been cribbing. " He had seen in thepast leaves certain exercises so excellently well done as to leave nodoubt upon the point. 

Charles turned crimson. Cribs were particularly objectionable to Mr. Channing, who had forbidden their use, so far as his sons wereconcerned. "I could not help it, Hamish. I used the cribs for about aweek. The desk made me. "

"Made you!"

"Well, " confessed Charley, "there has been a row about the cribbing. The rest had cribbed, and I had not, and somehow, through that, it cameout to the second master. He asked me a lot of questions, and I wasobliged to tell. It made the desk savage, and they said I must do asthey did. "

"Which you complied with! Nice young gentlemen, all of you!"

"Only for five or six days, Hamish. You may see that, if you look. I amdoing my lessons on the square, now, as I did before. "

"And don't go off the square again, if you please, sir, " repeatedHamish, "or you and I may quarrel. If Mr. Channing is not here, I am. "

"You don't know how tyrannical the college boys are. "

"Don't I!" said Hamish. "I was a college boy rather longer than youhave yet been, Master Charley. "

He sat down to the table and so cleared Charley's difficulties that theboy soon went on swimmingly, and Hamish left him. "How do you get on, Tom?" Hamish asked. 

"Better than I need, " was Tom's answer, delivered somewhat roughly. "After the injustice done me yesterday, it does not much matter how Iget on. "

Hamish turned himself round to the fire, and said no more, neitherattempting to console nor remonstrate. Charles's ears were listeningfor the quarter past seven, and, the moment it chimed out, he left hiswork, took his trencher from the hall, and departed, saying nothing toany one. 

He went along whistling, past Dr. Gardner's house, past the deanery;they and the cathedral tower, rising above them, looked grey in themoonlight. He picked up a stone and sent it right into one of the elmtrees; some of the birds, disturbed from their roost, flew out, croaking, over his head. In the old days of superstition it might havebeen looked upon as an evil omen, coupled with what was to follow. Ah, Charley! if you could only foresee what is before you! If Mrs. Channing, from her far-off sojourn, could but know what grievous ill isabout to overtake her boy!

Poor Charley suspected nothing. He was whistling a merry tune, laughing, boy-like, at the discomfiture of the rooks, and anticipatingthe stolen game he and his friends were about to enjoy on forbiddenground. Not a boy in the school loved play better than did MasterCharles Channing. 

A door on the opposite side of the Boundaries was suddenly opened, togive admittance to one who sprung out with a bound. It was GeraldYorke: and Charley congratulated himself that they were on oppositesides; for he had been warned that this escapade was to be kept fromthe seniors. 

At that moment he saw a boy come forth from the cloisters, and softlywhistle to him, as if in token that he was being waited for. Charleyanswered the whistle, and set off at a run. Which of the boys it was hecould not tell; the outline of the form and the college cap werevisible enough in the moonlight; but not the face. When he gained thecloister entrance he could no longer see him, but supposed the boy hadpreceded him into the cloisters. On went Charley, groping his way downthe narrow passage. "Where are you?" he called out. 

There was no answer. Once in the cloisters, a faint light came in fromthe open windows overlooking the graveyard. A very faint light, indeed, for the buildings all round it were so high, as almost to shut out anyview of the sky: you must go quite to the window-frame before you couldsee it. 

"I--s-a-a-y!" roared Charley again, at the top of his voice, "where areyou all? Is nobody here?"

There came neither response nor sign of it. One faint sound certainlydid seem to strike upon his ear from behind; it was like the click of alock being turned. Charley looked sharply round, but all seemed stillagain. The low, dark, narrow passage was behind him; the dim cloisterswere before him; he was standing at the corner formed by the east andsouth quadrangles, and the pale burial-ground in their midst, with itsdamp grass and its gravestones, looked cold and lonely in themoonlight. 

The strange silence--it was not the silence of daylight--struck uponCharles with dismay. "You fellows there!" he called out again, indesperation. "What's the good of playing up this nonsense?"

The tones of his voice died away in the echoes of the cloisters, but ofother answer there was none. At that instant a rook, no doubt one ofthe birds he had disturbed, came diving down, and flapped its wingsacross the burial-ground. The sight of something, moving there, almoststartled Charles out of his senses, and the matter was not much mendedwhen he discovered it was only a bird. He turned, and flew down thepassage to the entrance quicker than he had come up it; but, instead ofpassing out, he found the iron gate closed. What could have shut it?There was no wind. And if there had been ever so boisterous a wind, itcould scarcely have moved that little low gate, for it opened inwards. 

Charles seized it to pull it open. It resisted his efforts. He tried toshake it, but little came of that, for the gate was fastened firmly. Bit by bit stole the conviction over his mind that he was locked in. 

Then terror seized him. He was locked in the ghostly cloisters, closeto the graves of the dead; on the very spot where, as idle tales, went, the monks of bygone ages came out of those recording stones under hisfeet, and showed themselves at midnight. Not a step could he take, round the cloisters, but his foot must press those stones. To be lockedin the cloisters had been nothing (from this point of view) for brave, grown, sensible men, such as the bishop, Jenkins, and Ketch--and theyhad been three in company, besides--but for many a boy it would havebeen a great deal; and for Charles Channing it was awful. 

That he was alone, he never doubted. He believed--as fully as belief, or any other feeling could flash into his horrified mind--that Bywaterhad decoyed him into the cloisters and left him there, in return forhis refusal to disclose what he knew of the suspicions bearing upon thedamaged surplice. All the dread terrors of his childhood rose up beforehim. To say that he was mad in that moment might not be quite correct;but it is certain that his mind was not perfectly sane. His whole body, his face, his hair, grew damp in an instant, as of one in mortal agony, and with a smothered cry, which was scarcely like that of a humanbeing, he turned and fled through the cloisters, in the vague hope offinding the other gate open. 

It may be difficult for some of you to understand this excessiveterror, albeit the situation was not a particularly desirable one. Acollege boy, in these enlightened days, laughs at supernatural tales asthe delusions of ignorance in past ages; but for those who have had themisfortune to be imbued in infancy with superstition, as was CharlesChanning, the terror still exists, college boys though they may be. Hecould not have told (had he been collected enough to tell anything)what his precise dread was, as he flew through the cloisters. None cando so, at these moments. A sort of vampire rises in the mind, and theyshrink from it, though they see not what its exact nature may be; butit is a vampire that can neither be faced nor borne. 

Feeling as one about to die; feeling as if death, in that awful moment, might be a boon, rather than the contrary, Charles sped down the eastquadrangle, and turned into the north. At the extremity of the northside, forming the angle between it and the west, commenced the narrowpassage similar to the one he had just traversed, which led to the westgate of entrance. A faint glimmering of the white flagged stones beyondthis gate, gave promise that it was open. A half-uttered sound ofthankfulness escaped him, and he sped on. 

Ah! but what was that? What was it that he came upon in the middle ofthe north quadrangle, standing within the niches? A towering whiteform, with a ghastly face, telling of the dead; a mysterious, supernatural-looking blue flame lighting it up round about. It came outof the niche, and advanced slowly upon him. An awful cry escaped fromhis heart, and went ringing up to the roof of the cloisters. Oh! thatthe good dean, sitting in his deanery close to the chapter-house, couldhave heard that helpless cry of anguish!--that Dr. Burrows, stillnearer, could have heard it, and gone forth into the cloisters with thesuccour of his presence! No, no; there could be no succour for a spotsupposed to be empty and closed. 

Back to the locked gate--with perhaps the apparition following him? orforward _past_ IT to the open door? Which was it to be? In thesemoments there can be no reason to guide the course; but there isinstinct; and instinct took that ill-fated child to the open door. 

How he flew past the sight, it is impossible to tell. Had it been rightin front of his path, he never would have passed it. But it had haltedjust beyond the niche, not coming out very far. With his poor handsstretched out, and his breath leaving him, Charles did get by, and madefor the door, the ghost bringing up the rear with a yell, while thoseold cloister-niches, when he was fairly gone, grew living with movingfigures, which came out of their dark corners, and shrieked aloud withlaughter. 

Away, he knew not whither--away, as one who is being pursued by anunearthly phantom--deep catchings of the breath, as will follow unduebodily exertion, telling of something not right within; wild, low, abrupt sounds breaking from him at intervals--thus he flew, turning tothe left, which led him towards the river. Anywhere from the dreadedcloisters; anywhere from the old, grey, ghostly edifice; anywhere inhis dread and agony. He dashed past the boat-house, down the steps, turning on to the river pathway, and--

Whether the light, hung at the boat-house, deceived his sight--whetherthe slippery mud caused him to lose his footing--whether he was runningtoo quickly and could not stop himself in time--or whether, in hisirrepressible fear, he threw himself unconsciously in, to escape whatmight be behind him, will never be known. Certain it is, that theunhappy boy went plunge into the river, another and a last wild cryescaping him as the waters closed over his head. 

CHAPTER XL. 

MR. KETCH'S EVENING VISIT. 

It were surely a breach of politeness on our part not to attend Mr. Ketch in his impromptu evening visit! He shuffled along at the very topof his speed, his mouth watering, while the delicious odour of tripeand onions appeared to be borne on the air to his olfactory nerves: sostrong is the force of fancy. Arrived at his destination, he found theshop closed. It was Mrs. Jenkins's custom to close at seven fromOctober to April; and the shutters had now just been put up. Mr. Ketchseized the knocker on the shop-door--there was no other entrance to thehouse--and brought it down with a force that shook the first-floorsitting-room, and startled Mr. Harper, the lay clerk, almost out of hisarmchair, as he sat before the fire. Mrs. Jenkins's maid, a youngperson of seventeen, very much given to blacking her face, opened it. 

"Be I in time?" demanded Ketch, his voice shaking. 

"In time for what?" responded the girl. 

"Why, for supper, " said Ketch, penetrating into the shop, which waslighted by a candle that stood on the counter, the one the girl hadbrought in her hand. "Is old Jenkins the bedesman come yet?"

"Old Jenkins ain't here, " said she. "You had better go into theparlour, if you're come to supper. "

Ketch went down the shop, sniffing curiously. Sharp as fancy is, hecould not say that he was regaled with the scent of onions, but hesupposed the saucepan lid might be on. For, as was known to Mr. Ketch, and to other of the initiated in tripe mysteries, it was generallythought advisable, by good housewives, to give the tripe a boil up athome, lest it should have become cold in its transit from the vendor's. The girl threw open the door of the small parlour, and told him hemight sit down if he liked; sh: did not overburden the gentleman withcivility. "Missis'll be here soon, " said she. 

Ketch entered the parlour, and sat down. There was a fire in the grate, but no light, and there were not, so far as Ketch could see, anypreparations yet for the entertainment. "They're going to have itdownstairs in the kitchen, " soliloquized he. "And that's a sight morecomfortabler. She's gone out to fetch it, I shouldn't wonder!" hecontinued, alluding to Mrs. Jenkins, and sniffing again strongly, butwithout result. "That's right! she won't let 'em serve her with shortonions, she won't; she has a tongue of her own. I wonder how much beerthere'll be!"

He sat on pretty patiently, for him, about half an hour, and then tookthe liberty of replenishing the fire from a coal-box that stood there. Another quarter of an hour was passed much more impatiently, when Ketchbegan to grow uneasy and lose himself in all sorts of graveconjectures. Could she have arrived too late, and found the tripe allsold, and so had stopped out to supper herself somewhere? Such a thingas a run on the delicacy had occurred more than once, to Ketch'scertain knowledge, and tardy customers had been sent away disappointed, to wait in longing anticipations for the next tripe night. He went intoa cold perspiration at the bare idea. And where was old Jenkins, allthis time, that he had not come in? And where was Joe? A pretty thingto invite a gentleman out to an impromptu supper, and serve him in thisway! What could they mean by it?

He groped his way round the corner of the shop to where lay the kitchenstairs, whose position he pretty well knew, and called. "Here, Sally, Betty--whatever your name is--ain't there nobody at home?"

The girl heard, and came forth, the same candle in hand. "Who be youcalling to, I'd like to know? My name's Lidyar, if you please. "

"Where's your missis?" responded Ketch, suffering the name to drop intoabeyance. "Is she gone out for the tripe?"

"Gone out for what tripe?" asked the girl. "What be you talking of?"

"The tripe for supper, " said Ketch. 

"There ain't no tripe for supper, " replied she. 

"There is tripe for supper, " persisted Ketch. "And me and old Jenkinsare going to have some of it. There's tripe and onions. "

The girl shook her head. "I dun know nothing about it. Missis isupstairs, fixing the mustard. "

Oh come! this gave a promise of something. Old Ketch thought mustardthe greatest condiment that tripe could be accompanied by, inconjunction with onions. But she must have been a long time "fixing"the mustard; whatever that might mean. His spirits dropped again, andhe grew rather exasperated. "Go up and ask your missis how long I be towait?" he growled. "I was told to come here at seven for supper, andnow it's a'most eight. "

The girl, possibly feeling a little curiosity herself, came up with hercandle. "Master ain't so well to-night, " remarked she. "He's gone tobed, and missis is putting him a plaster on his chest. "

The words fell as ice on old Ketch. "A mustard-plaster?" shrieked he. 

"What else but a mustard-plaster!" she retorted. "Did you think it wasa pitch? There's a fire lighted in his room, and she's making itthere. "

Nothing more certain. Poor Jenkins, who had coughed more than usual thelast two days, perhaps from the wet weather, and whose chest inconsequence was very painful, had been ordered to bed this night by hiswife when tea was over. She had gone up herself, as soon as her shopwas shut, to administer a mustard-plaster. Ketch was quite stunned withuncertainty. A man in bed, with a plaster on his chest, was not likelyto invite company to supper. 

Before he had seen his way out of the shock, or the girl had donestaring at him, Mrs. Jenkins descended the stairs and joined them, having been attracted by the conversation. She had slipped an old buffdressing-gown over her clothes, in her capacity of nurse, and lookedrather en deshabille; certainly not like a lady who is about to give anentertainment. 

"He says he's come to supper: tripe and onions, " said the girl, unceremoniously introducing Mr. Ketch and the subject to her wonderingmistress. 

Mrs. Jenkins, not much more famous for meekness in expressing heropinions than was Ketch, turned her gaze upon that gentleman. "_What_do you say you have come for?" asked she. 

"Why, I have come for supper, that's what I have come for, " shriekedKetch, trembling. "Jenkins invited me to supper; tripe and onions; andI'd like to know what it all means, and where the supper is. "

"You are going into your dotage, " said Mrs. Jenkins, with an amount ofscorn so great that it exasperated Ketch as much as the wordsthemselves. "You'll be wanting a lunatic asylum next. Tripe and onions!If Jenkins was to hint at such a thing as a plate of tripe cominginside my house, I'd tripe him. There's nothing I have such a hatred toas tripe; and he knows it. "

"Is this the way to treat a man?" foamed Ketch, disappointment andhunger driving him almost into the state hinted at by Mrs. Jenkins. "Joe Jenkins sends me down a note an hour ago, to come here to supperwith his old father, and it was to be tripe and onions! It _is_ tripenight!" he continued, rather wandering from the point of argument, astears filled his eyes. "You can't deny as it's tripe night. "

"Here, Lydia, open the door and let him out, " cried Mrs. Jenkins, waving her hand imperatively towards it. "And what have you been atwith your face again?" continued she, as the candle held by that damselreflected its light. "One can't see it for colly. If I do put you intothat mask I have threatened, you won't like it, girl. Hold your tongue, old Ketch, or I'll call Mr. Harper down to you. Write a note! Whatelse? He has wrote no note; he has been too suffering the last fewhours to think of notes, or of you either. You _are_ a lunatic, it's mybelief. "

"I shall be drove one, " sobbed Ketch. "I was promised a treat of--"

"Is that door open, Lydia? There! Take yourself off. My goodness, me!disturbing my house with such a crazy errand!" And, taking old Ketch bythe shoulders, who was rather feeble and tottering, from lumbago andage, Mrs. Jenkins politely marshalled him outside, and closed the doorupon him. 

"Insolent old fellow!" she exclaimed to her husband, to whom she wentat once and related the occurrence. "I wonder what he'll pretend he hasnext from you? A note of invitation, indeed!"

"My dear, " said Jenkins, revolving the news, and speaking as well ashis chest would allow him, "it must have been a trick played him by theyoung college gentlemen. We should not be too hard upon the poor oldman. He's not very agreeable or good-tempered, I'm afraid it must beallowed; but--I'd not have sent him away without a bit of supper, mydear. "

"I dare say you'd not, " retorted Mrs. Jenkins. "All the world knows youare soft enough for anything. I have sent him away with a flea in hisear; that's what I have done. "

Mr. Ketch had at length come to the same conclusion: the invitationmust be the work of the college gentlemen. Only fancy the unhappy man, standing outside Mrs. Jenkins's inhospitable door! Deceived, betrayed, fainting for supper, done out of the delicious tripe and onions, heleaned against the shutters, and gave vent to a prolonged and piteoushowl. It might have drawn tears from a stone. 

In a frame of mind that was not enviable, he turned his steps homeward, clasping his hands upon his empty stomach, and vowing the most intensevengeance upon the college boys. The occurrence naturally caused him tocast back his thoughts to that other trick-the locking him into thecloisters, in which Jenkins had been a fellow-victim--and he doubledhis fists in impotent anger. "This comes of their not having beenflogged for that!" he groaned. 

Engaged in these reflections of gall and bitterness, old Ketch gainedhis lodge, unlocked it, and entered. No wonder that he turned his eyesupon the cloister keys, the reminiscence being so strong within him. 

But, to say he turned his eyes upon the cloister keys, is a mere figureof speech. No keys were there. Ketch stood a statue transfixed, andstared as hard as the flickering blaze from his dying fire would allowhim. Seizing a match-box, he struck a light and held it to the hook. The keys were _not_ there. 

Ketch was no conjuror, and it never occurred to him to suspect that thekeys had been removed before his own departure. "How had them wickedones got in?" he foamed. "Had they forced his winder?--had they took askeleton key to his door?--had they come down the chimbley? They werecapable of all three exploits; and the more soot they collected about'em in the descent, the better they'd like it. He didn't think they'dmind a little fire. It was that insolent Bywater!--or that youngvillain, Tod Yorke!--or that undaunted Tom Channing!--or perhaps allthree leagued together! Nothing wouldn't tame _them_. "

He examined the window; he examined the door; he cast a glance up thechimney. Nothing, however, appeared to have been touched or disturbed, and there was no soot on the floor. Cutting himself a piece of breadand cheese, lamenting at its dryness, and eating it as he went along, he proceeded out again, locking up his lodge as before. 

Of course he bent his steps to the cloisters, going to the west gate. And there, perhaps to his surprise, perhaps not, he found the gatelocked, just as he might have left it himself that very evening, andthe keys hanging ingeniously, by means of the string, from one of thestudded nails, right over the keyhole. 

"There ain't a boy in the school but what'll come to be hung!" dancedold Ketch in his rage. 

He would have preferred not to find the keys; but to go to thehead-master with a story of their theft. It was possible, it was justpossible that, going, keys in hand, the master might refuse to believehis tale. 

Away he hobbled, and arrived at the house of the head-master. Check thefirst!--The master was not at home. He had gone to a dinner-party. Theother masters lived at a distance, and Ketch's old legs were aching. What was he to do? Make his complaint to some one, he was determinedupon. The new senior, Huntley, lived too far off for his lumbago; so heturned his steps to the next senior's, Tom Channing, and demanded tosee him. 

Tom heard the story, which was given him in detail. He told Ketch--andwith truth--that he knew nothing about it, but would make inquiries inthe morning. Ketch was fain to depart, and Tom returned to thesitting-room, and threw himself into a chair in a burst of laughter. 

"What is the matter?" they asked. 

"The primest lark, " returned Tom. "Some of the fellows have beensending Ketch an invitation to sup at Jenkins's off tripe and onions, and when he arrived there he found it was a hoax, and Mrs. Jenkinsturned him out again. That's what Master Charley must have gone after. "

Hamish turned round. "Where _is_ Charley, by the way?"

"Gone after it, there's no doubt, " replied Tom. "Here's his exercise, not finished yet, and his pen left inside the book. Oh yes; that'swhere he has gone!"

CHAPTER XLI. 

THE SEARCH. 

"Tom, where is Charles?"

"He is not in my pocket, " responded Tom Charming, who was buried in hisstudies, as he had been for some hours. 

"Thomas, that is not the proper way to answer me, " resumed Constance, in a tone of seriousness, for it was from her the question hadproceeded. "It is strange he should run out in the abrupt way youdescribe, and remain out so long as this. It is half-past nine! I amwaiting to read. "

"The boys are up to some trick to-night with Mr. Calcraft, Constance, and he is one of them, " said Tom. "He is sure to be in soon. "

Constance remained silent; not satisfied. A nameless, undefined sort ofdread was creeping over her. Engaged with Annabel until eight o'clock, when she returned to the general sitting-room, she found Charlesabsent, much to her surprise. Expecting him to make his appearanceevery moment, the time may have seemed to her long, and his absence allthe more unaccountable. It had now gone on to half-past nine, and stillhe was not come in, and his lessons were not done. It was his hour forbed time. 

Tom had more than usual to do that night, and it was nearly ten when herose from his books. Constance watched him put them aside, and stretchhimself. Then she spoke. 

"Tom, you must go and find Charles. I begin to feel uneasy. Somethingmust have happened, to keep him out like this. "

The feeling "uneasy" rather amused Tom. Previsions of evil are not aptto torment schoolboys. "I expect the worst that has happened may be abattle royal with old Ketch, " said he. "However, the young monkey hadno business to cut short his lessons in the middle, and go off in thisway, so I'll just run after him and march him home. "

Tom took his trencher and flew towards the cathedral. He fully expectedthe boys would be gathered somewhere round it, not a hundred miles fromold Ketch's lodge. But he could not come upon them anywhere. The lodgewas closed, was dark and silent, showing every probability that itsmaster had retired for the night to sleep away his discomfiture. Thecloisters were closed, and the Boundaries lay calm in the moonlight, undisturbed by a single footstep. There was no sign of Charles, or ofany other college boy. 

Tom halted in indecision. "Where can he have gone to, I wonder? I'msure I don't know where to look for him! I'll ask at Yorke's! Ifthere's any mischief up, Tod's sure to know of it. "

He crossed the Boundaries, and rang at Lady Augusta's door. Tod himselfopened it. Probably he thought it might be one of his friends, theconspirators; certainly he had not expected to find Tom Channing there, and he looked inclined to run away again. 

"Tod Yorke, do you know anything of Charles?"

"Law! how should I know anything of him?" returned Tod, taking courage, and putting a bold face upon it. "Is he lost?"

"He is not lost, I suppose; but he has disappeared somewhere. Were youin the game with old Ketch, to-night?"

"What game?" inquired Tod, innocently. 

But at this moment Gerald, hearing Tom's voice, came out of thesitting-room. Gerald Yorke had a little cooled down from his resentmentagainst Tom. Since the decision of the previous day, nearly allGerald's wrath had been turned upon Mr. Pye, because that gentleman hadnot exalted him to the seniorship. So great was it, that he had no roomto think of Tom. Besides, Tom was a fellow-sufferer, and had beenpassed over equally with himself. 

"What's the row?" asked Gerald. 

Tom explained, stating what he had heard from Ketch of the trick theboys had played him; and Charley's absence. Gerald, who really was notcognizant of it in any way, listened eagerly, making his own comments, and enjoying beyond everything the account of Ketch's fast in thesupper department. Both he and Tom exploded with mirth; and Tod, whosaid nothing, but listened with his hands in his pockets, dancing firston one leg, then on the other, nearly laughed himself into fits. 

"What did they take out the cloister keys for?" demanded Gerald. 

"Who's to know?" said Tom. "I thought Tod was sure to be in it. "

"Don't I wish I had been!" responded that gentleman, turning up thewhites of his eyes to give earnestness to the wish. 

Gerald looked round at Tod, a faint suspicion stealing over him thatthe denial was less genuine than it appeared. In point of fact, Mr. Tod's had been the identical trencher, spoken of as having watched theeffect of the message upon old Ketch. "I say, Tod, you were offsomewhere to-night for about two hours, " said Gerald. "I'll declare youwere. "

"I know I was, " said Tod readily. "I had an appointment with MarkGalloway, and I went to keep it. If you skinned me alive, Channing, Icouldn't tell you where Miss Charley is, or where he's likely to be. "

True enough in the abstract. Tom Channing stopped talking a short timelonger, and then ran home. "Is Charley in yet?" was his first question. 

No, Charley was not in; and the household now became seriouslyconcerned. It was past ten. By leaving his lessons half done, and hispen inside his exercise-book--of which exercise he had not left manywords to complete; but he had other studies to do--it was evident tothem that he had not gone out intending to remain away. Indeed, if hewanted to go out in an evening, he always asked leave, and mentionedwhere he was going. 

"Haven't you found him?" exclaimed Judith, coming forward as Tomentered. "Where in the world can the child be?"

"Oh, he's safe somewhere, " said Tom. "Don't worry your old head, Judy. "

"It's fit that somebody should worry their heads, " retorted Judithsharply to Tom. "He never stopped out like this before--never! PrayHeaven there's no harm come nigh him!"

"Well done, Judy!" was Tom's answer. "Harm! What harm is likely to havecome to him? Helstonleigh has not been shaken by an earthquaketo-night, to swallow him up; and I don't suppose any greedy kite hasdescended from the skies and carried him off in her talons. You'll makea simpleton of that boy till he's twenty!"

Judith--who, truth to say, did look very much after Charley, loved himand indulged him--wasted no more words on infidel Tom, but wentstraight up to Hamish's room, and knocked at the door. Hamish was init, at his writing-table as usual, and Judith heard a drawer opened andshut before he came to her. 

"Mr. Hamish, it's very queer about the child!" said Judith. "I don'thalf like it. "

"What! Has he not come in?"

"No, he's not. And, just to look how he has left his books and hislessons about, is enough to prove that something or other must havekept him. I declare my heart's all in a quake! Master Tom has been out, and can find no traces of him--though it's hard to tell whether hetroubled himself to look much. Boys are as careless one of another asso many young animals. "

"I will come down directly, Judith. "

He shut the door, right in front of Judith's inquisitive nose, whichwas peering in to ascertain what there might be to see. Judith'scuriosity, in reference to her young master's night employment, hadincreased rather than abated. Every night, night after night, as Hamishcame home with the account-books of the office under his arm, andcarried them straight to his bedroom, Judith watched him go up withjealous eyes. Constance also watched him: watched him in a far moreuneasy frame of mind than could be Judith's. Bringing home those booksnow, in Mr. Channing's absence, was only too plain a proof to Constancethat his night work must be connected with them: and a perfectly sickfeeling would rush over her. Surely there could be nothing wrong withthe accounts?

Hamish closed the door, shutting out Judy. She heard him putting thingsaway: heard a lock turned, and the keys removed. Then he came forth, and went down with Judith. 

The difficulty was, where to look for Charles. It was possible that hemight have gone to the houses of any one of the schoolboys, and bestaying there: if not very likely, still it was by no means impossible. Tom was despatched to Mr. Pye's, who had some half dozen of the king'sscholars boarding in his house; and thence to other houses in theneighbourhood. All with the same result; all denied knowledge ofCharles. The college bell struck eleven, the sound booming out in thesilence of the night on their listening ears; and with that sound, Hamish grew alarmed. 

They went out different ways: Hamish, Arthur, Tom, and Judith. Sarahwas excessively anxious to make one of the searching party, but Judithimperatively ordered her to stop at home and mind her own business. Judy ran round and about the college, like any one wild; nothing extraon her shoulders, and the border of her mob-cap flying. But the old redwalls were high, silent, and impenetrable; revealing nothing of CharlesChanning. She stopped at the low wall, extending from the side of theboat-house to some of the prebendal residences, and glanced over at theriver. The water was flowing tranquilly between its banks, giving nosign that a young child was drowning, or had been drowned there notmany hours before. "No, " said Judy to herself, rejecting the doubt, which had come over her as improbable, "he can't have got in there. Weshould have heard of it. "

She turned, and took a survey around. She did not know what to do, orwhere to look. Still, cold, shadowy it all lay; the cathedral, the oldhouses, the elm trees with their birds, at rest now. "Where _can_ hehave got to?" exclaimed Judith, with a touch of temper. 

One thing was certain: it was of no use to wait where she was, andJudith went herself home again. Just beyond the house of Lady AugustaYorke she encountered the head-master, who was walking towards hishome. He said "Good night" to Judith, as he passed her; but shearrested him. 

"We are in a fine way, sir! We can't find Master Charles. "

"Not find Master Charles?" repeated Mr. Pye. "How do you mean?"

"Why, it happened in this way, sir, " said Judith. "He was at hislessons, as usual, with Master Tom, and he suddenly gets up and leavesthem, and goes out, without saying a word to nobody. That was at seven, or a bit later; and he has never come in again. "

"He must be staying somewhere, " remarked Mr. Pye. 

"So we all thought, sir, till it got late. He's not likely to bestaying anywhere now. Who'd keep him till this hour, terrifying of usall into fits? Ketch--"

"Holloa, Judy! Any luck?"

The interruption came from Tom Channing. He had discerned Judy's capfrom the other side of the Boundaries, and now came running across, unconscious that her companion was the head-master. Judy went on withher communication. 

"Ketch, the porter, came to Master Tom an hour or two ago, complainingthat the college boys had been serving him a trick to-night. They hadpretended to invite him out somewhere to supper, and stole his cloisterkeys while he was gone. Now, sir, I'd not like to say too much againstthat surly-tempered brown bear, " went on Judy, "but if he has hadanything to do with keeping the child out, he ought to be punished. "

Tom was up now, saw it was the master, and touched his trencher. 

"Have you found your brother?" asked the master. 

"No, sir. It is very strange where he can have got to. "

"What tricks have the boys been playing Ketch, to-night?" resumed Mr. Pye. "Your servant tells me that he has been round to you to complainof them. "

Tom went into a white heat. Judy ought to have kept her mouth shut. Itwas not his place to inform against the school, privately, to themaster. "Y--es, " he hesitatingly said, for an untruth he would nottell. 

"What was the complaint?" continued Mr. Pye. "Could this disappearanceof your brother's be connected with it?"

"No, sir, I don't see that it could, " replied Tom. 

"You 'don't see!' Perhaps you'll allow me to see, and judge. What hadthe boys been doing, Channing?" firmly spoke the master, perceiving hishesitation. "I _insist_ upon knowing. "

Tom was at his wits' ends. He might not defy the master, on the onehand; on the other, he knew the school would send him to Coventry forever and a day, if he spoke; as he himself would have sent any otherboy, in it, doing the same thing. He heartily wished Judy had been inAsia before she had spoken of it, and her tongue with her. 

"Were you in the affair yourself, pray?" asked the master. 

"No, sir, indeed I was not; and I do not know a single boy who was. Ihave heard nothing of it, except from Ketch. "

"Then what is your objection to tell me?"

"Well, sir, you know the rules we hold amongst ourselves, " said Tom, blurting out the truth, in his desperation. "I scarcely dare tell you. "

"Yes, you dare, Channing, when I command you to do so, " was thesignificant answer. 

Tom had no resource left; and, very unwillingly, Ketch's details weredrawn from him, bit by bit. The sham invitation, the disappointmenttouching the tripe and onions, the missing the cloister keys when hereached home, and the finding them outside the west door. 

"Did he enter the cloisters and examine them?" said the master, speaking hastily. A possibility had struck him, which had not struckany of the Channings; and it was curious that it had not done so. 

"I think not, sir, " replied Tom. 

"Then, that's where Charles is, locked up in the cloisters!" said themaster, the recollection of the former locking-up no doubt helping himto the conclusion. "The fact of the keys having been left hangingoutside the cloister door might have been sufficient to direct yoursuspicions. "

Tom felt the force of the words, and was wondering how it was he hadnot thought of it, when a cry burst from Judith. 

"If he is there, he will never come out alive! Oh, sir, what willbecome of us?"

The master was surprised. He knew it was not a desirable situation forany young boy; but "never come out alive" were strong terms. Judyexplained them. She poured into the master's ears the unhappy story ofCharles having been frightened in childhood; of his propensity still tosupernatural fears. 

"Make haste round! we must have the cloisters opened immediately!"exclaimed the master, as all the full truth of the dread imparted byJudith became clear to him. "Channing, you have light heels; run on, and knock up Ketch. "

Tom tore off; never a lighter pair of heels than his, to-night; and themaster and the old servant followed. The master's sympathies, nay, hislively fears, were strongly awakened, and he could not leave the affairin this stage, late though the hour was. 

They arrived, to find Tom pummelling at Ketch's door. But to pummel wasone thing, and to arouse Mr. Ketch was another. Mr. Ketch chose toremain deaf. "I'll try the window, " said Tom, "He must hear; his bed isclose at hand. "

He knocked sharply; and it at length elicited an answer from the drowsygentleman, composed of growls and abuse. 

"Get up!" called out Tom. "The keys of the cloisters are wanted. "

"Then they may be wanted!" responded old Ketch in a muffled tone, as ifhe were speaking from under the bed-clothes. "I'll see you all furderbefore you get the keys from me. "

"Ketch, produce the keys this instant!" interposed the master. "Youknow my voice; Mr. Pye's. How dare you?"

"I'll 'dare' you all, if you don't go away!" raved old Ketch, mistaking, or pretending to mistake, the disturbers for his enemies, the college boys. "It's a second edition of the trick you played methis evening, is it? I'll go to the dean with the first glimmer o'daylight--"

"Ketch, I am the head-master. I have come for the cloister keys. There's a boy locked in the cloisters!"

"Is there? Praise be given up for that! I wouldn't unlock him for amint o' diaments. If you don't be off, I'll call the police. "

"Fire! fire!" shouted Judy, in a shrill tone, putting her mouth to thekeyhole; for she despaired of gaining Ketch by any other means. "Whatan idiot you are, old Ketch! Do you want to be burnt up alive?"

"Fire!" shouted Tom, in stentorian tones. "Fire! fire!" And Ketch, whether he was really alarmed, or whether he recognized thehead-master's voice, and thought it imprudent to hold out any longer, tumbled out of bed, opened the door, and appeared before them in attiremore airy than elegant. Another minute, and impetuous Tom would haveburst the window in. 

"Beg pardon, " said Ketch, ungraciously, to the master. "Them boys playme up such tricks, that I'm always thinking of 'em. Where's the fire?"

"I don't think it's anywhere, " said the master. "The cloister keys, Ketch: and make haste. Which of the boys played you that trickto-night?"

Ketch gave a yell, for the point was a sore one. "I never set eyes onone of 'em! They're too cunning for me. "

"Was my brother Charles one?" asked Tom, while Mr. Pye hastened awaywith the cloister keys. 

"I tell ye I never see'd one! Can't you believe?" Tom did believe, andwent after the master and Judy. 

They entered the cloisters, and shouted for Charles. Nothing answeredthem but the echoes. To _see_ whether he was there, was impossible. Judy thought he might be lying somewhere, insensible from fright, andshe ran up and down feeling into niches, as one demented. Mr. Pye sentTom back to old Ketch's for a light, which was not supplied withoutdifficulty. 

He was turning away with it, when Hamish came up. Hamish had been withall speed to Mr. Huntley's, to question Harry, as senior of the school, whether he knew what the trick of the night had been, and what boyswere in it. Harry, however, who was in bed, assured Hamish of hiscomplete ignorance. But for Mr. Huntley's veto, he would have got upand gone out to join in the search, and enjoyed it amazingly. 

They carried the candle to every nook and corner of the cloisters, noresult arising from it. Hamish and Tom climbed over and searched theburial-ground. He was not there. No signs, for their keen eyes, or forany others, remained of the night's work: the college boys werecautious. A couple of matches, half-burnt, lay on the ground in thenorth quadrangle, but they told nothing. The boys were often lightingmatches, as the master knew. 

"I really think you must be mistaken in supposing Charles's absence hasto do with this trick played upon old Ketch--whatever it may havebeen, " he observed. "It does not appear that the boys have been in thecloisters. Had any of them been locked in here, here they would bestill. "

There was no denying it, and they left the cloisters and closed them. The keys were conveyed to Ketch, who had to get out of bed again toreceive them, which he did with a great amount of wrath. Mr. Pyethought it would be proved that Charles must be at the house of one ofthe boys, carelessness or accident having detained him. And then hewished them good night and went home. 

Completely at a loss were they. Hamish, ever hopeful, thought Charleshad perhaps returned home: and they bent their steps thither. No, no;Constance, Arthur, and curious Sarah, were all outside, looking everyway. Constance was too agitated to remain indoors. Arthur had justreturned home. He had been to the houses of some of the college boys, those with whom Charles was most intimate, but could obtain no tidingsof him. 

Constance burst into tears. She grew excessively alarmed, when Judymentioned the doubt lest he had been shut in the cloisters. "But thatfear is done away with, " said Hamish. "We have searched themthoroughly. Do not distress yourself, Constance. "

"There goes midnight!" exclaimed Judy. 

"Ugh!" shivered Sarah. "I feel just as if somebody was walking over mygrave, Judith. "

"If they were walking over you, it mightn't be amiss, " reprimandedJudith. "Don't talk such stuff as that, girl, in the young mistress'sears. "

The words died away into silence, and they stood listening to thestrokes of the deep-toned cathedral bell. With the last, twelve, another day had dawned upon the world. What would it bring forth forthem?

"I shall go to the police-station, " said Hamish. "Constance, my dear, you had better not remain outside. Go indoors. "

It was well to say "Go indoors, " but in the agitation and suspense atthat moment overwhelming Constance, "indoors" was not so easy to bear. Hamish strode off, Tom following him. Arthur remained with his sister, waiting and watching still. 

And so they waited and watched through the livelong night. Hamish wasat work; the police were at work; Tom was at work: but neither sign nortrace could be found of Charles Channing. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

AN OFFICIAL CEREMONY INTERRUPTED. 

A grey dusky morning, enveloped in fog, succeeded to the fine night. Before seven o'clock--so watchful and alert are boys when mischief isafloat--most of those who had been in the conspiracy were assembled, and waiting round the schoolroom doors. Generally, they could tear upat the twelfth moment. They would not have missed the sight of CharlesChanning's arrival for half-a-crown apiece, so curious were they to seehow he looked, after his fright. As it happened, it was not at any oftheir homes that inquiries had been made the previous night; not one ofthem was, to say, intimate with Charley: they were most of them olderthan he. Consequently, they knew nothing of the search. Tod Yorke, whodid know of it, had not yet arrived. Of all the king's scholars, nonewere marked late more frequently than Master Tod. 

The senior boy had gone to the head-master's for the keys as usual, andnow came down the cloisters, clanking them in his hand. 

"Has Charles Channing turned up?" he called out, before he was wellabreast of them. 

Pierce senior choked away his inclination to laughter, which the soundof the name excited, and saucy Bywater answered. "Where should he turnup from, Huntley? Has he been swallowed?"

"Hamish Channing came to our house last night, ages after I was in bed, saying they couldn't find him, " replied Huntley. "What was in the windlast night with old Calcraft?"

The boys looked at him demurely; and Huntley, receiving no reply, unlocked the schoolroom and entered it. They remained behind, winkingat each other, and waiting still for Charles. It wanted yet a fewminutes to seven. 

"I say, what d'ye think?" whispered Bywater. "After I had got our sheetsmuggled in, all right, and was putting it on the bed, I found two bigholes burnt in it. Won't there be a commotion when my old aunt finds itout! She'll vow I have been reading in bed. That was you, Piercesenior!"

"I'm sure I never burnt it, " retorted Pierce. "It was the flame did it, if anything. "

"Here comes Bill Simms!" exclaimed Bywater, when their smothered laughwas over. "What has he been doing to himself? He's as white as theghost!"

Mr. Bill Simms assuredly did look white. He had a pale face at the bestof times, and it was embellished with straw-coloured hair. But at thepresent moment it had turned ghastly, and his frame seemed shaking ashe came along. 

"What on earth has taken you, Simms?" demanded Hurst. 

"Oh, goodness!" uttered Simms. "I wish I was well out of this! They aresaying there's a college boy drowned!"

"What?" cried the boys, gathering round him. 

"There was a crowd down by the boat-house as I came along, " respondedSimms, as well as he could speak for his chattering teeth. "I asked afellow what it was, and he said he didn't rightly know, but he thoughtone of the college boys had been found drowned in the water. "

Some of the gentlemen-listeners' faces turned as pale as Mr. BillSimms's; as pale as each conscience. Bywater was the first to gathercourage. 

"It's not obliged to be Charley Channing, if there is any one drowned. "

"But it's sure to be him, " chattered Simms, his teeth as crazy as hisgrammar. "Griffin junior says Arthur Channing went to their house lastnight at twelve, and said they couldn't find Charley. "

The consternation into which this news plunged the guilty ones is noteasily described. A conviction that it _was_ Charles Channing who wasdrowned, overtook them all. Schoolboys are not quite without hearts, and they would have given all they possessed, in that moment, to seeCharles come flying amongst them, as usual. Some of them began to wishthey were without necks; for if Charles had come to an untimely endthrough their work, they might stand a chance of furnishing employmentto the veritable Mr. Calcraft, on their own score. Tod Yorke cameleaping up in delight. 

"Oh, wasn't it good! The young one--"

"Hold your noise, Tod! They are saying he's dead. "

"Who's dead?" wondered Tod. 

"Charley Channing. A college boy was found in the river, drowned. "

"Oh, that be hanged!" exclaimed Tod, half in mocking disbelief, half inawful fear. "It can't be, you know. Who says it?"

"There's seven! We must go in, or Huntley will be on to us. Mind!"added Pierce senior, for he was the speaker, "we must all keep eachother's counsel, and be in one tale--that we know nothing at all aboutit. "

They slunk into school. But that the senior boy was occupied with hisnew duty--the calling over of the roll--he might have observed thatsomething was wrong. To play up a bit of mischief is the legitimateprivilege of college boys; but to have led to a companion's death is aterror-striking affair; and their countenances betrayed that it was so. 

Before the roll was finished, the head-master was in school. TomChanning--it was late for him--entered afterwards. The master beckonedto him. 

"Is Charles found?"

"No, sir. We cannot learn any tidings of him at all. We have not beento bed, any of us; and the police are searching also. "

Had Tom Channing come from the other side of the Boundaries, near theboat-house, perhaps he might have been able to give a differentaccount. 

The master made no comment then. He motioned Tom to his desk, and gavethe word for prayers. As the boys were rising from their knees, HamishChanning entered the school, attended by Mr. Ketch. 

Hamish approached the master, who shook hands with him. Ketch remainedsnarling and grinning defiance at the door, shaking his fist and hisold teeth covertly at the boys. If looks could have blown up a room, the college school had certainly gone aloft then. 

"I hear you have not found the boy?" said the master to Hamish. "It isvery singular. "

"We have not found him. Mr. Pye, " continued Hamish, gravely, "I come todemand of your courtesy an immediate investigation into the doings ofthe college boys last night. That the disappearance of Charles is insome measure connected with it, we cannot do otherwise than believe. Ihave brought Ketch with me that he may tell his own tale. "

Ketch was marshalled forward and ordered to tell his tale, and thebusiness of the school was suspended. Ketch told it distinctly enough;but he could not forbear enlarging upon his cruel disappointment overthe tripe and onions, and it sent the school into convulsions. In themidst of it, Tom Channing breathed freely; Ketch's preferring thecomplaint, did away with the unpleasantness he had feared might arise, through having been forced to disclose it to the master. 

"I should be sorry to have displeasure visited upon the boys, " resumedHamish. "Indeed, I should esteem it a favour, sir, if you will notpunish them for any disclosure that may arise through this step which Ihave taken. I dare say, " he added, turning his laughing gaze upon them, "that I should have been one of the ringleaders myself, in my schooldays, therefore it would not be fair for me to bring punishment uponthem. I only wish to know which of the school were in it, that I maymake inquiries of them whether Charles was one of them or not; and, ifhe was, what they know of his movements afterwards. "

The address was fair and candid; so was Hamish's face; and some of theconspirators, in their good feeling, might have freely confessed, butfor the something just whispered to them by Simms. That closed theirlips. 

"Do you hear?" said the master, speaking sharply, for he had rather, ten times over, that the school frankly avowed mischief, when broughtto book: he was never half so severe if they were so. "Why are yousilent?"

Bill Simms, who had the bump of conscientiousness largely developed, with a wholesome dread of consequences, besides being grievously timid, felt that he could not hold out long. "Oh, murder!" he groaned to MarkGalloway, next to whom he sat: "let's tell, and have done with it. "

Mark turned cold with fear. "You're a pretty fellow!" he uttered, giving him a tremendous kick on the shins. "Would you like us all to betried for our lives?" A suggestion which made matters worse; and BillSimms's hair began to stand on end. 

"Huntley, have you any cognizance of this?" demanded Mr. Pye. 

"None, sir. " And so said the three seniors under him. 

"Boys!" said the master, bringing his cane down upon the desk in amanner he was accustomed to do when provoked: "I _will_ come to thebottom of this business. That several of you were in it, I feel sure. Is there not _one_ of you sufficiently honest to speak, when requiredso to do?"

Certain of the boys drooped their conscious faces and their eyelids. Asto Bill Simms, he felt ready to faint. 

"What have you done with Charles Channing?" thundered the master. "Where have you put him? Where is he gone? I command you to speak! Letthe senior of those who were in it speak! or the consequences be uponyour own heads. "

The threat sounded ominous in the ears of Bill Simms: he saw himself, in prospective, exposed to all the horrors of a dungeon, and tosomething worse. With a curious noise, something between a bark and agroan, he flung himself with his face on the floor, and lay therehowling. 

"Mr. Simms, " said the master, "what has taken you? Were you the chiefactor in this matter?"

All considerations had disappeared from Mr. Simms's mind except themoment's terror. He forgot what would be his own position in theschool, if he told, or--as they would have expressed it--turned sneak. Impelled by fear, he was hardly conscious of his words; hardlyresponsible for them. 

"It wasn't me, " he howled. "They all know I didn't want the trickplayed upon him. I told them that it had killed a boy down by our farm, and it might kill Channing. They know I told them. "

The master paused. "Walk here, Simms. "

Simms picked himself up from the ground and walked there. A miserableobject he looked; his eyes red, his teeth chattering, his face white, and his straw-coloured hair standing on end. 

The master leaned his arms upon his desk, and brought his face almostinto contact with the frightened one. "What trick did you play uponCharles Channing?"

"'Twasn't me, sir, " sobbed Simms. "I didn't want it done, I say, O-o-o-o-o-o-h! I didn't!"

"What trick was played upon him?"

"It was a ghost dressed up to frighten him, and he passed through thecloisters and saw it. It wasn't me! I'll never speak another word, ifit was me!"

"A ghost!" repeated the master in astonishment, while Ketch stretchedhis old neck forward, and the most intense interest was displayed bythe school. 

"They did it with a sheet and a blue flame, " went on Simms; who, nowthat the ice was broken, tried to make a clean breast of it, and grewmore alarmed every moment. "It wasn't me! I didn't want it done, and Inever lent a hand to the dressing up. If little Channing is dead, itwon't be fair to hang me. "

"Who was in the plot?" was the next question of the master. And Simmsenumerated them. The master, stern and grim, beckoned to the severalgentlemen to walk up, and to range themselves before him. "The lad hasrun some distance in his terror, " observed the master aside to Hamish, as he remembered what Judith had told him the previous night. "You willsee him home in the course of the day. "

"I trust we may!" replied Hamish, with marked emphasis. 

Bit by bit, word by word, the master drew the whole truth from thedowncast lads. Pierce senior looked dogged and obstinate: he wasinwardly vowing unheard-of revenge against Mr. Simms. Probably most ofthem were doing the same. 

"I knowed it was them! I knowed it couldn't be nobody but them!" brokeforth old Ketch, summarily interrupting the proceedings. "You sees now, sir, what incorrigible--"

"Silence!" said the master, raising his hand. "I can deal with thiswithout your assistance, Ketch. Hurst, who concocted this infamousplot?"

Hurst--who was the senior of the conspirators, with regard to hisposition in the school, though not so old as Pierce senior--could notanswer it definitively. It was concocted between them, he said; not byone more than by another. 

"Did you not know that a trick, such as this, has deprived _men_ ofreason?" continued the master. "And you play it upon a young anddefenceless boy! I am at a loss how to express my sense of yourconduct. If any ill shall have happened to him through it, you willcarry it on your consciences for ever. "

Remembering what they had just heard, the boys' consciences had begunto suffer already. 

"Who personated the ghost?" continued the master. 

"Pierce senior. " The answer came from Simms. The others would not havegiven it. 

"I might have guessed that, " was the remark of the master, who had nogreat love for the gentleman named. "I might have known that if therewas a boy in the college school who would delight to put himselfforward to trample on one younger and more sensitive than himself, itwould be Pierce senior. I'll give you something to remember this workby, Mr. Pierce. Yorke!"

Gerald Yorke knew what he was called for. He was the tallest andstrongest of all. The school knew also; and a murmur of excitement wentround. Pierce senior was going to be hoisted. 

Only in very flagrant cases was the extreme punishment of floggingresorted to by the present master. It had been more common with hispredecessor. Of course its rarity made it all the more impressive whenit did come. 

"Make ready, " said the master to Pierce senior, unlocking his desk, andtaking out a birch as big as a besom. 

Pierce turned green and white, without help from any blue flame, andslowly began to obey. There might be no resistance. The school husheditself into suspense, and Mr. Ketch's legs were on the point of takinga dance of ecstasy. A minute or two, and the group formed the centre ofthe upper part of the room. Yorke supported the great boy whose backwas bared, while the daunted faces and eager eyes were strained eagerlyfrom around. The head-master took his place, and his birch was raisedin the air to come down with a heavy stroke, when a commotion was heardat one of the desks, and Stephen Bywater rushed forward. 

"Stop, sir!" he said to the master. "If you will let Pierce go, I willtake the punishment. "

The master's arm with its weapon dropped by his side, and he turned hisastonished gaze upon Bywater. 

"I had more to do with planning the trick than Pierce had, sir, so it'sonly just that I should be the scapegoat. We fixed upon Pierce topersonate the ghost because he was tall and lanky. And a flogging isnot much to my skin, " added honest, impudent Bywater. 

"So _you_ were the planner of it, were you, Mr. Bywater?" demanded theangry master. 

"In a great measure I was, sir. If I do go in for mischief, it shallnot be said that I let others suffer for it. Little Channing hadoffended me, and I wished to serve him out. But I never thought to dohim harm. "

In the perplexity of deciding what he ought to do, when officialproceedings were interrupted in this unprecedented way, the masterhesitated. What he would have done is uncertain--flogged Pierce firstand Bywater afterwards, perhaps--but at that moment there occurredanother interruption, and a more serious one. 

Diggs, the man who lived at the boat-house, had entered the school, andwas asking to speak to the head-master. Catching sight of the signs ofthe ceremony about to be performed, he waited for no permission, butwent forward at once, a college cap in his hand, and his voicetrembling with excitement. Its excitement was not lessened when herecognized Hamish Channing. 

"I am the bearer of bad news, gentlemen, " he said, addressing themboth. "I fear one of the young college lads was drowned last night bymy boat-house. We have picked up his cap this morning. It was poorlittle Master Channing. "

Hamish controlled his emotion better than did the Rev. Mr. Pye. Thelatter turned his eyes on the horrified school, himself equallyhorrified, and then signified to Pierce senior to dress himself--toBywater to retire to his place. "The affair has become serious, " heobserved, "and must be dealt with differently. Poor child! Poor littleChanning!"

And the boys, in their emotion, broke into an echoing wail. "Poorlittle Channing! poor little Channing!"

CHAPTER XLIII. 

DRAGGING THE RIVER. 

The echoes of lamentation were dying away in the high roof of thecollege school. Hamish Channing, pale, but calm and self-controlled, stood perfectly ready to investigate the account brought by theboat-house keeper of the drowning of Charles. The feelings of those whohad had a hand in the work may be imagined, perhaps, but certainlycannot be described. Bill Simms choked and sobbed, and pulled his lankystraw-coloured hair, and kicked his legs about, and was altogetherbeside himself. The under-masters looked on with stern countenances andlowering brows; while old Ketch never had had such a disappointment inall his life (the one grand disappointment of last night excepted) ashe was feeling now, at the deferred flogging. 

Diggs, the boat-house keeper, was a widower, with one child, a girl often years old. His mother lived with him--an aged woman, confined toher bed, of late, with rheumatic fever, from which she was slowlyrecovering. On the previous night Diggs was out, and the girl had beensent on an errand, Mrs. Diggs being left in the house alone. She waslying quietly, still as was the air outside, when sudden sounds brokethat stillness, and smote upon her ear. Footsteps--young steps, theyseemed--were heard to come tearing down on the outside gravel, from thedirection of the cathedral, and descend the steps. Then there was astartling cry and a plunge into the river. 

The old woman echoed the cry; but there were none to hear it, and shewas powerless to aid. That a human soul was struggling in the water wascertain; and she called and called, but called in vain. She was shut upin the house, unable to move; and there were none outside to hear her. In her grief and distress she at length pulled the bed-clothes over herears, that she might hear no more (if more was to be heard) of thedeath agony. 

Twenty minutes or so, and then the girl came in. The old woman broughther head from under the clothes, and stated what had occurred, and thegirl went and looked at the river. But it was flowing along peacefully, showing no signs that anything of the sort had happened. Not a creaturewas on the path on either side, so far as her eyes could see in themoonlight; and she came to the conclusion that her grandmother musthave been mistaken. "She has odd fancies, " said the child to herself, "and thinks she hears things that nobody else never hears. "

At ten o'clock Diggs came home. Now, this man had a propensity foryielding to an infirmity to which many others also yield--that ofdrinking too freely. It is true that this did not often occur; but whenit did happen, it was usually at a time when his services wereespecially required. It is very much the case in this world: we oftendo things, whether good ones or bad ones, just at the wrong moment. Diggs arrived at home, stupid. His old mother called him to her room, and told him what she had heard; but she could make little impressionupon him. As his young daughter had done, he took a survey of theriver, but only from the windows of his house--the girl had gone on tothe bank--and then he tumbled into bed, and slept heavily until themorning. 

Up betimes, he remembered what had been told to him, and went out ofdoors, half expecting possibly to see something floating on thesurface. "I was detained out last night on an errand, " explained he tosome three or four stragglers who had gathered round him, "and when Igot in, my old mother told me a cock-and-bull story of a cry and asplash, as if somebody had fallen into the river. It don't look muchlike it, though. "

"A dead dog, maybe, " suggested one of the idlers. "They're alwaysthrowing rubbish into this river on the sly. "

"Who is?" sharply asked Diggs. "They had better let me catch 'em atit!"

"Lots of folks, " was the response. "But if it was a dead dog, itcouldn't well have cried out. "

Diggs went indoors to his mother's chamber. "What time was it, thistale of yours?" asked he. 

"It was about half-past seven, " she answered. "The half-hour chimed outfrom the college, just before or just after, I forget which. " And thenshe related again what she knew he could not clearly comprehend overnight: the fact of the fleet-sounding footsteps, and that they appearedto be young footsteps. "If I didn't know the cloisters were shut atthat hour, I should have thought they come direct from the west door--"

The words were interrupted by a call from below; and the man hasteneddown, A boy's cap--known, from its form, to belong to one of thecollegiate scholars--had just been found under the lower bank, lodgedin the mud. Then some one had been drowned! and it was a college boy. 

Where does a crowd collect from? I don't believe any one can tell. Notthree minutes after that trencher was picked up, people were gatheringthick and threefold, retired though the spot was; and it was at thistime that Mr. Bill Simms had passed, and heard the tale which turnedhis heart sick and his face white. 

Some time given to supposition, to comments, and to other gossip, indigenous to an event of the sort, and then Mr. Diggs started for thecollege school with the cap. Another messenger ran to the Channings'house, the name in the cap proving to whom it had belonged. Diggsrelated the substance of this to the master, suppressing certain littlepoints bearing upon himself. 

Mr. Pye took the cap in his hand, and looked inside. The name, "C. Channing, " was in Mrs. Channing's writing; and, in the sprawling handof one of the schoolboys--it looked like Bywater's--"Miss" had beenadded. Charley had scratched the addition over with strokes from a pen, but the word might still be read. 

"The river must be dragged, Diggs, " said Hamish Channing. 

"The drags are being got ready now, sir. They'll be in, by the time Iget back. "

Hamish strode to the door. Tom came up from his desk, showing someagitation, and looked at the master. "You will allow me to go, sir? Ican do no good at my lessons in this suspense. "

"Yes, " replied the master. He was going himself. 

The school rose with one accord. The under-masters rose. To think ofstudy, in this excitement, was futile; and, in defiance of allprecedent, the boys were allowed to leave the room, and troop down tothe river. It was a race which should get there first; masters and boysran together. The only one who walked pretty soberly was thehead-master, who had to uphold his dignity. 

The drags were already in the river, and the banks were lined; police, friends, spectators, gentlemen, mob, and college boys, jostled eachother. Arthur Channing, pale and agitated, came running from his home. The old vergers and bedesmen came; some of the clergy came; Judy came;and the dean came. Hamish, outwardly self-possessed, and giving hisorders with quiet authority, was inwardly troubled as he had neverbeen. The boy had been left to his charge, and how should he answer forthis to his father and mother?

He went in and saw the old woman; as did the renowned Mr. Butterby, whohad appeared with the rest. She related to them she had heard theprevious night. "I could have told, without having heard it now, thatit was the steps of a college boy, " she said. "I don't listen so oftento 'em that I need mistake. He seemed to be coming from the west dooro' the cloisters--only that the cloisters are shut at night; so he mayhave come round by the front o' the college. Desperate quick he ran, and leapt down the steps; and, a minute after, there was a cry and asplash, and the footsteps were heard no more. One might fancy that inturning the corner to run along the towing-path he had turned tooquick, and so fell over the bank. "

"Did you hear no noise afterwards?" questioned Hamish. 

"I didn't. I called out, but nobody came nigh to answer it: and then Ihid my ears. I was afraid, ye see. "

They left the old woman's bedside, and returned to the crowd on thebank. The dean quietly questioned Hamish about the facts, and shook hishead when put in possession of them. "I fear there is little hope, " hesaid. 

"Very little. My father and mother's absence makes it the moredistressing. I know not, Mr. Dean, how--"

Who was this, pushing vehemently up, to the discomfiture of every one, elbowing the dean with as little ceremony as he might have elbowedKetch, thrusting Hamish aside, and looking down on the river withflashing eyes? Who should it be, but Roland Yorke? For that was hisusual way of pushing through a crowd; as you have heard before. 

"Is it true?" he gasped. "Is Charles Channing in the water!--sent therethrough the tricks of the college boys--of Tod?"

"There is little doubt of its truth, Roland, " was the answer of Hamish. 

Roland said no more. Off went his coat, off went his waistcoat, offwent other garments, leaving him nothing but his drawers and his shirt;and in he leaped impetuously, before any one could stop him, and divedbelow, searching after Charles, paying no heed to the shouts that thedrags would get hold of him. 

But neither drags nor Roland could find Charles. The drags werecontinued, but without result. Very few had expected that there wouldbe any result, the probability being that the current had carried thebody down the stream. Hamish had been home to soothe the grief of hissisters--or rather to attempt to soothe it-and then he came back again. 

Roland, his ardour cooled, had likewise been home to exchange his wetthings for dry ones. This done, he was flying out again, when he cameupon the Reverend William Yorke, who was hastening down to the scene, in some agitation. 

"Is the boy found, Roland, do you know? How did it happen? Did he fallin?"

"Considering the light in which you regard the family, William Yorke, Iwonder you should waste your breath to ask about it, " was Roland'stouchy answer, delivered with as much scorn as he could call up. 

Mr. Yorke said no more, but quickened his pace towards the river. Roland kept up with him and continued talking. 

"It's a good thing all the world's not of your opinion, William Yorke!You thought to put a slight upon Constance Channing, when you told hershe might go along, for you. It has turned out just the best luck thatcould have happened to her. "

"Be silent, sir, " said Mr. Yorke, his pale cheek flushing. "I havealready told you that I will not permit you to mention Miss Channing'sname to me. You have nothing to do with her or with me. "

"_You_ have nothing to do with her, at any rate, " cried aggravatingRoland. "She'll soon belong to your betters, William Yorke. "

Mr. Yorke turned his flashing eye upon him, plainly asking theexplanation that he would not condescend to ask in words. It gaveRoland an advantage, and he went on swimmingly with his mischief. 

"Lord Carrick has seen the merits of Constance, if you have not; and--Idon't mind telling it you in confidence--has resolved to make her hiswife. He says she's the prettiest girl he has seen for ages. "

"It is not true, " said Mr. Yorke, haughtily. 

"Not true!" returned Roland. "You'll see whether it's true or not, whenshe's Countess of Carrick. Lady Augusta was present when he made herthe offer. He was half afraid to make it for some time, he told us, ashe was getting on in years, and had grey hair. Halloa! you are turningpale, William Yorke. She can't be anything to you! You threw her away, you know. "

William Yorke, vouchsafing no reply, broke away from his tormentor. Heprobably did look pale; certainly he felt so. Roland indulged in aquiet laugh. He had been waiting for this opportunity, ever since hebecame cognizant of what had taken place between the earl andConstance. The earl had made no secret of his intention and its defeat. "I'll have some fun over it with Mr. William, " had been Roland'sthought. 

A sudden noise! Cries and shouts on the banks of the river, and thedense crowd swayed about with excitement. Mr. Yorke and Roland set offat a run, each from his own point, and the cries took a distinct soundas they neared them. 

"They have found the body!"

It was being laid upon the bank. Those who could get near tried toobtain a glimpse of it. The college boys, with white faces andterror-stricken consciences, fought for a place; Roland Yorke foughtfor it; the head-master fought for it: I am not sure that thebishop--who had seen the commotion from his palace windows, and came upto know what it meant--did not fight for it. 

A false alarm, so far as the present object was concerned. A littlelad, who had been drowned more than a week before, had turned up now. He had incautiously climbed the parapet of the bridge, whence he fellinto the water, and their search for him had hitherto been fruitless. He was not a pleasant sight to look upon, as he lay there; but therelief to certain of the college boys, when they found it was notCharles, was immeasurable. Bywater's spirits went up to some of theirold impudence. "In looking for one thing you find another, " quoth he. 

Very true, Mr. Bywater! Sometimes we find more than we bargain for. Thedrags were thrown in again, and the excited crowd jostled each other asbefore, their faces hanging over the brink. Hush! Hark! Another prize!What is it, coming up now?

A rare prize, this time! The drags pulled and tugged, and the mencried, "Heave-ho!" and a hundred and one voices echoed it: "Heave-ho!heave-ho!" Hush! Hush--sh--sh! A breathless moment of suspense, and upit comes. Amidst straw and tangled weeds and mud, and the odds and endsthat a river will collect, something hard and clanking was thrown uponthe bank, and wondering eyes and faces peered over it. 

Nothing but two keys. A pair of large rusty keys, tied together withstring. Bywater, and Hurst, and young Galloway, and one or two more, cast significant glances together, and were nearly choking with frightand suppressed laughter. One, standing there, conspicuous for hisdress, which amongst other items comprised an apron, turned asignificant glance on _them_. Bold Bywater met it, and looked a littleless bold than usual. But the prelate had kept counsel, and meant tokeep it; and he looked away again. 

Once more were the drags thrown into the water. Once more the mob, gentle and simple, crowded its brink. When the college bell tolled outfor morning prayers, those, whose duty it was to attend the cathedral, drew themselves away unwillingly. Arthur Channing was one of them. Whatever might be his grief and suspense, engagements must befulfilled. 

Later in the day, when the search was over--for it was thought uselessto continue it--and when hope was over, a council was held at Mr. Channing's house. Mr. And Mrs. Channing must be acquainted with thissad business; but how was it to be done? By letter? by telegraph? or bya special messenger? Constance had suggested writing, and silentlyhoped that Hamish would take the task upon himself, for she feltunequal to it, in her dire distress. Mr. Galloway, who had been in andout all the morning, suggested the telegraph. Hamish approved ofneither, but proposed to despatch Arthur, to make the communication inperson. 

"I cannot leave Helstonleigh myself, " he said; "therefore it mustdevolve upon Arthur. Of course his journey will be an expense; butthere are times when expense must not be regarded. I consider this oneof them. "

"A letter would go more quickly, " said Mr. Galloway. 

"Scarcely, in these days of travelling, " was Hamish's reply. "But thatis not the question. A letter, let it be ever so explanatory, will onlyleave them in suspense. As soon as they have read it, five hundredquestions will suggest themselves that they will wish to ask; and, towait to have them satisfied, will be intolerable, especially to mymother. Arthur's going will obviate this. He knows as much as we know, and can impart his knowledge to them. "

"There is a great deal in what you say, " mused Mr. Galloway. 

"I am sure there is, " spoke Constance through her tears, "though it didnot strike me before. In mamma's anxiety and suspense, she might startfor home, to learn further details. "

"And I think it is what she would do, " said Hamish: "if not my fatheralso. It will be better that Arthur should go. He can tell them allthey would learn if they returned; and so far as it is possible, thatwould be satisfactory. "

They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Huntley and his daughter. Ellen had begged her father, when she found he was going to theChannings', to allow her to accompany him, and see Constance in herdistress. Mr. Huntley readily acquiesced. The drowning of poor Charleywas a serious affliction, in contemplation of which he forgot theinexpediency of her meeting Hamish. 

Hamish did not appear to perceive any inexpediency in the matter. Hewas the first to take Ellen's hand in his, and bend upon her his sweetsmile of welcome. Knowing what Ellen knew of Mr. Huntley's sentiments, and that he was looking on, it rendered her manner confused and hercheeks crimson. She was glad to turn to Constance, and strive to say afew words of sympathy. "Had Harry been one of those wicked, thoughtlessboys to join in this ghost trick, I could never have forgiven him!" sheimpulsively exclaimed, hot tears running down her cheeks. 

The subject under consideration was referred to Mr. Huntley, and hisopinion requested: more as a form of courtesy than anything else, forHamish had made up his mind upon the point. A thoroughly affectionateand dutiful son was Hamish Channing; and he believed that the tidingscould be rendered more bearable to his father and mother by amessenger, than by any other mode of communication. The excuse thatConstance and Arthur had, throughout, found for Hamish in their heartswas, that he had taken the bank-note out of latent affection to Mr. AndMrs. Channing. 

"You are wrong, every one of you, " said Mr. Huntley, when he hadlistened to what they had to say. "You must send neither letter normessenger. It will not do. "

Hamish looked at him. "Then what can we send, sir?

"Don't send at all. "

"Not send at all!" repeated Hamish. 

"Certainly not, " said Mr. Huntley. "You have no positive proof as yetthat the child is dead. It will be alarming them unnecessarily. "

"Mr. Huntley!" said Constance. "Is it possible that you see any groundfor hope?"

"Honestly, my dear, I do not see much ground for hope, " he replied. "But, on the other hand, there are no positive grounds for despair. Solong as these grounds are not furnished, I say keep it from Mr. AndMrs. Channing. Answer me one thing: What good end would it serve totell them?"

"Is it not a duty?"

"I do not see it, " said Mr. Huntley. "Were the poor boy's fate known, beyond uncertainty, it would be a different matter. If you send tothem, what would come of it? The very suspense, the doubt, would have abad effect upon Mr. Channing. It might bring him home; and the goodalready effected might be destroyed--his time, purse, hopes, all thathe has given to the journey, wasted. On the other hand, allowing thathe still remained, the news might delay his cure. No: my strong adviceto you is: Suffer them for the present to remain in ignorance of whathas happened. "

Hamish began to think Mr. Huntley might be right. 

"I know I am right, " said Mr. Huntley. "If putting them in possessionof the facts could produce any benefit to themselves, to you, or toCharles, I would go off myself with Arthur this hour. But it couldeffect nothing; and, to them, it might result in great evil. Until weknow something more certain ourselves, let us keep it from them. "

"Yes, I see it, " said Hamish, warmly. "It will be best so. "

Constance felt her arm touched, and coloured with emotion when shefound it was Mr. William Yorke. In this day of distress, people seemedto come in and go out without ceremony. Mr. Yorke had entered with TomChanning. He completely accepted the new view of the matter, andstrongly advised that it should not be allowed to reach the ears of Mr. And Mrs. Channing. 

Mr. Galloway, when he was departing, beckoned Constance into the hall. It was only to give her a word of friendly sympathy, of advice--not tobe overwhelmed, but to cling to hope. She thanked him, but it was withan aching heart, for Constance could not feel this hope. 

"Will you grant me the favour of a minute's private interview?" askedMr. Yorke stiffly, meeting her in the hall. 

Constance hesitated a moment. He was asking what she felt he hadno right to ask. She coloured, bowed, and stepped towards thedrawing-room. Mr. Yorke threw open the door for her, and followedher in. 

Then he became agitated. Whatever his pride or his temper may havebeen, whether the parting between them was his fault or Constance's, itwas certain that he loved her with an enduring love. Until that morninghe had never contemplated losing Constance; he had surely lookedforward to some indefinite future when she should be his; and the wordsspoken by Roland had almost driven him mad. Which was precisely whatMr. Roland hoped they would do. 

"I would not speak to you to-day, when you are in distress, when youmay deem it an unfitting time for me to speak, " he began, "but I_cannot_ live in this suspense. Let me confess that what brought mehere was to obtain this interview with you, quite as much as this otherunhappy business. You will forgive me?"

"Mr. Yorke, I do not know what you can have to speak about, " sheanswered, with dignity. "My distress is great, but I can hear what youwish to say. "

"I heard--I heard"--he spoke with emotion, and went plunging abruptlyinto his subject--"I heard this morning that Lord Carrick wassoliciting you to become his wife. "

Constance could have laughed, but for her own distress, agitated thoughhe was. "Well, sir?" she coldly said, in a little spirit of mischief. 

"Constance, you cannot do it, " he passionately retorted. "You cannot soperjure yourself!"

"Mr. Yorke! Have you the right to tell me I shall or shall not marryLord Carrick?"

"You can't do it, Constance!" he repeated, laying his hand upon hershoulder, and speaking hoarsely. "You know that your whole affectionwas given to me! It is mine still; I feel that it is. You have nottransferred it to another in this short time. You do not love andforget so lightly. "

"Is this all you have to say to me?"

"No, it is not all, " he answered, with emotion. "I want you to be _my_wife, Constance, not his. I want you to forget this miserableestrangement that has come between us, and come home to me atHazledon. "

"Listen, Mr. Yorke, " she said; but it was with the utmost difficultyshe retained her indifferent manner, and kept back her tears: she wouldhave liked to be taken then to his sheltering arms, never to have leftthem. "The cause which led to our parting, was the suspicion that fellupon Arthur, coupled with something that you were not pleased with inmy own manner relating to it. That suspicion is upon him still; and mycourse of conduct would be precisely the same, were it to come overagain. I am sorry you should have reaped up this matter, for it canonly end as it did before. "

"Will you not marry me?" he resumed. 

"No. So long as circumstances look darkly on my brother. "

"Constance! that may be for ever!"

"Yes, " she sadly answered, knowing what she did know; "they may neverbe brighter than they are now. Were I tempted to become your wife, youmight reproach me afterwards for allying you to disgrace; and that, Ithink, would kill me. I _beg_ you not to speak of this again. "

"And you refuse me for Lord Carrick! You will go and marry him!"exclaimed Mr. Yorke, struggling between reproach, affection, andtemper. 

"You must allow me to repeat that you have no right to question me, "she said, moving to the door. "When our engagement was forfeited, thatright was forfeited with it. "

She opened the door to leave the room. Mr. Yorke might have wishedfurther to detain her, but Judy came bustling up. "Lady Augusta's here, Miss Constance. "

Lady Augusta Yorke met Constance in the hall, and seized both herhands. "I had a bad headache, and lay in bed, and never heard of ituntil an hour ago!" she uttered with the same impulsive kindness thatsometimes actuated Roland. "Is it true that he is drowned? Is it truethat Tod was in it?--Gerald says he was. William, are _you_ here?"

Constance took Lady Augusta into the general sitting-room, into thepresence of the other guests. Lady Augusta asked a hundred questions, at the least; and they acquainted her with the different points, so faras they were cognizant of them. She declared that Tod should be keptupon bread and water for a week, and she would go to the school andrequest Mr. Pye to flog him. She overwhelmed Constance with kindness, wishing she and Annabel would come to her house and remain there for afew days. Constance thanked her, and found some difficulty in beingallowed to refuse. 

"Here is his exercise-book, " observed Constance, tears filling hereyes; "here is the very place in which he laid his pen. Every othermoment I think it cannot be true that he is gone--that it must be all adream. "

Lady Augusta took up the pen and kissed it: it was her impulsive way ofshowing sympathy. Mr. Huntley smiled. "Where's William gone to?" askedLady Augusta. 

The Reverend William Yorke had quitted the house, shaking the dust fromhis shoes in anger, as he crossed the threshold. Anger as much athimself, for having ever given her up, as at Constance Channing; andstill most at the Right Honourable the Earl of Carrick. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

MR. JENKINS IN A DILEMMA. 

I don't know what you will say to me for introducing you into theprivacy of Mr. And Mrs. Jenkins's bed-chamber, but it is reallynecessary to do so. We cannot very well get on without it. 

A conjugal dispute had occurred that morning when Mrs. Jenkins got up. She was an early riser; as was Jenkins also, in a general way; butsince his illness, he had barely contrived to come down in time forbreakfast. On this morning--which was not the one following theapplication of mustard to his chest, but one about a week after thatmedicinal operation--Mrs. Jenkins, on preparing to descend, peremptorily ordered him to remain in bed. Nothing need be recorded ofthe past week, except two facts: Charles Channing had not beendiscovered, either in life or in death; and the Earl of Carrick hadterminated his visit, and left Helstonleigh. 

"I'll bring up your breakfast, " said Mrs. Jenkins. 

"It is of no use to say that, " Jenkins ventured meekly to remonstrate. "You know I must get up. "

"I say you shall not get up. Here you are, growing weaker and worseevery day, and yet you won't take care of yourself! Where's the use ofyour taking a bottle a-day of cough-mixture--where's the use of yourmaking the market scarce of cod-liver oil--where's the use of wastingmustard, if it's all to do you no good? _Does_ it do you any good?"

"I am afraid it has not, as yet, " confessed Jenkins. 

"And never will, so long as you give your body and brains no rest. Outyou go by nine o'clock, in all weathers, ill or well, and there you areat your business till evening; stooping yourself double over thewriting, dancing abroad on errands, wearing out your lungs with answersto callers! There's no sense in it. "

"But, my dear, the office must be attended to, " said Jenkins, with muchdeference. 

"There's no 'must' in the case, as far as you are concerned. If I sayyou shan't go to it, why, you shan't. What's the office, pray, incomparison with a man's life?"

"But I am not so ill as to remain away. I can still go and do my work. "

"You'd be for going, if you were in your coffin!" was Mrs. Jenkins'swrathful answer. "Could you do any good then, pray?"

"But I am not in my coffin, " mildly suggested Jenkins. 

"Don't I say you'd go, if you were?" reiterated Mrs. Jenkins, whosometimes, in her heat, lost sight of the precise point under dispute. "You know you would! you know there's nothing in the whole world thatyou think of, but that office! Office--office--office, it is with youfrom morning till night. When you _are_ in your coffin, through it, you'll be satisfied. "

"But it is my duty to go as long as I can, my dear. "

"It's my duty to do a great many things that I don't do!" was theanswer; "and one of my duties which I haven't done yet, is to keep youindoors for a bit, and nurse you up. I shall begin from to-day, and seeif I can't get you well, that way. "

"But--"

"Hold your tongue, Jenkins. I never say a thing but you are sure to putin a 'but. ' You lie in bed this morning, --do you hear?--and I'll bringup your breakfast. "

Mrs. Jenkins left the room with the last order, and that ended thediscussion. Had Jenkins been a free agent--free from work--he had beenonly too glad to obey her. In his present state of health, the dutiesof the office had become almost too much for him; it was withdifficulty that he went to it and performed them. Even the walk, shortas it was, in the early morning, was almost beyond his strength; eventhe early rising was beginning to tell upon him. And though he hadlittle hope that nursing himself up indoors would prove of essentialservice, he felt that the _rest_ it brought would be to him aninestimable boon. 

But Jenkins was one who thought of duty before he thought ofhimself; and, therefore, to remain away from the office, if he_could_ drag himself to it, appeared to him little less than a sin. He was paid for his time and services--fairly paid--liberally paid, some might have said--and they belonged to his master. But it was notso much from this point of view that Jenkins regarded the necessity ofgoing--conscientious though he was--as at the thought of what theoffice would do without him; for there was no one to replace him butRoland Yorke. Jenkins knew what he was; and so do we. 

To lie in bed, or remain indoors, under these circumstances, Jenkinsfelt to be impossible; and when his watch gave him warning that thebreakfast hour was approaching, up he got. Behold him sitting on theside of the bed, trying to dress himself--_trying_ to do it. Never hadJenkins felt weaker, or less able to battle with his increasingillness, than on this morning; and when Mrs. Jenkins dashed in--for herquick ears had caught the sounds of his stirring--he sat there still, stockings in hand, unable to help himself. 

"So you were going to trick me, were you! Are you not ashamed ofyourself, Jenkins?"

Jenkins gasped twice before he could reply. A giddiness seemed to bestealing over him, as it had done that other evening, under the elmtrees. "My dear, it is of no use your talking; I must go to theoffice, " he panted. 

"You shan't go--if I lock you up! There!"

Jenkins was spared the trouble of a reply. The giddiness had increasedto faintness, his sight left him, and he fell back on to the bed in astate of unconsciousness. Mrs. Jenkins rather looked upon it as atriumph. She put him into bed, and tucked him up. 

"This comes of your attempting to disobey me!" said she, when he hadcome round again. "I wonder what would become of you poor, soft mortalsof men, if you were let have your own way! There's no office for you today, Jenkins. "

Very peremptorily spoke she. But, lest he should attempt the sameagain, she determined to put it out of his power. Opening a closet, shethrust every article of his clothing into it, not leaving him so muchas a waistcoat, turned the key, and put it into her pocket. PoorJenkins watched her with despairing eyes, not venturing to remonstrate. 

"There, " said she, speaking amiably in her glow of satisfaction: "youcan go to the office now--if you like. I'll not stop you; but you'llhave to march through the streets leaving your clothes in that closet. "

Under these difficulties Jenkins did not quite see his way to getthere. Mrs. Jenkins went instead, catching Mr. Roland Yorke just uponhis arrival. 

"What's up, that Jenkins is not here?" began Roland, before she couldspeak. 

"Jenkins is not in a fit state to get out of his bed, and I have cometo tell Mr. Galloway so, " replied she. 

Roland Yorke's face grew to twice its usual length at the news. "I say, though, that will never do, Mrs. Jenkins. What's to become of thisoffice?"

"The office must do the best it can without him. _He's_ not coming toit. "

"_I_ can't manage it, " said Roland, in consternation. "I should godead, if I had to do Jenkins's work, and my own as well. "

"He'll go dead, unless he takes some rest in time, and gets a littlegood nursing. I should like to know how I am to nurse him, if he isdown here all day?"

"That's not the question, " returned Roland, feeling excessively blank. "The question is, how the office, and I, and Galloway are to get onwithout him? Couldn't he come in a sedan?"

"Yes, he can; if he likes to come without his clothes, " retorted Mrs. Jenkins. "I have taken care to lock _them_ up. "

"Locked his clothes up!" repeated Roland, in wonder. "What's that for?"

"Because, as long as he has a bit of life in him, he'll use it to draghimself down here, " answered Mrs. Jenkins, tartly. "That's why. He wasgetting up to come this morning, defying me and every word I saidagainst it, when he fell down on the bed in a fainting fit. I thoughtit time to lock his things up then. "

"Upon my word, I don't know what's to be done, " resumed Roland, growingquite hot with dismay and perplexity, at the prospect of some extrawork for himself. "Look here!" exhibiting the parchments on Jenkins'sdesk, all so neatly left--"here's an array! Jenkins did not intend tostay away, when he left those last night, I know. "

"_He_ intend to stay away! catch him thinking of it, " retorted Mrs. Jenkins. "It is as I have just told him--that he'd come in his coffin. And it's my firm belief that if he knew a week's holiday would save himfrom his coffin, he'd not take it, unless I was at his back to makehim. It's well he has somebody to look after him that's not quitedeficient of common sense!"

"Well, this is a plague!" grumbled Roland. 

"So it is--for me, I know, if for nobody else, " was Mrs. Jenkins'sreply. "But there's some plagues in the world that we must put up with, and make the best of, whether we like 'em or not; and this is one ofthem. You'll tell Mr. Galloway, please; it will save me waiting. "

However, as Mrs. Jenkins was departing, she encountered Mr. Galloway, and told him herself. He was both vexed and grieved to hear it; grievedon Jenkins's score, vexed on his own. That Jenkins was growing veryill, he believed from his own observation, and it could not havehappened at a more untoward time. Involuntarily, Mr. Galloway'sthoughts turned to Arthur Channing, and he wished he had him in theoffice still. 

"You must turn over a new leaf from this very hour, Roland Yorke, " heobserved to that gentleman, when he entered. "We must both of usbuckle-to, if we are to get through the work. "

"It's not possible, sir, that I can do Jenkins's share and mine, " saidRoland. 

"If you only do Jenkins's, I'll do yours, " replied Mr. Galloway, significantly. "Understand me, Roland: I shall expect you to showyourself equal to this emergency. Put aside frivolity and idleness, andapply yourself in earnest. Jenkins has been in the habit of taking partof your work upon himself, as I believe no clerk living would havedone; and, in return, you must now take his. I hope in a few days hemay be with us again. Poor fellow, we shall feel his loss!"

Mr. Galloway had to go out in the course of the morning, and Roland wasleft alone to the cares and work of the office. It occurred to himthat, as a preliminary step, he could not do better than open thewindow, that the sight of people passing (especially any of hisacquaintances, with whom he might exchange greetings) should cheer himon at his hard work. Accordingly, he threw it up to its utmost extent, and went on with his writing, giving alternately one look to his task, and two to the street. Not many minutes had he been thus spurring onhis industry, when he saw Arthur Channing pass. 

"Hist--st--st!" called out Roland, by way of attracting his attention. "Come in, old fellow, will you? Here's such a game!"

CHAPTER XLV. 

A NEW SUSPICION. 

Arthur Channing had been walking leisurely down Close Street. Time hungheavily on his hands. In leaving the cathedral after morning service, he had joined Mr. Harper, the lay clerk, and went with him, talking, towards the town; partly because he had nothing to do elsewhere--partlybecause out of doors appeared more desirable than home. In theuncertain state of suspense they were kept in, respecting Charles, theminds of all, from Hamish down to Annabel, were in a constant state ofunrest. When they rose in the morning the first thought was, "Shall wehear of Charles to-day?" When they retired at bedtime, "What may notthe river give up this night?" It appeared to them that they werecontinually expecting tidings of some sort or other; and, with thisexpectation, hope would sometimes mingle itself. 

Hope; where could it spring from? The only faint suspicion of it, indulged at first, that Charley had been rescued in some providentialmanner, and conveyed to a house of shelter, had had time to die out. Afew houses there were, half-concealed near the river, as there are nearto most other rivers of traffic, which the police trusted just as faras they could see, and whose inmates did not boast of shiningreputations; but the police had overhauled these thoroughly, and foundno trace of Charley. Nor was it likely that they would conceal a child. So long as Charles's positive fate remained a mystery, suspense couldnot cease; and with this suspense there did mingle some faint glimmerof hope. Suspense leads to exertion; inaction is intolerable to it. Hamish, Arthur, Tom, all would rather be out of doors now, than in;there might be something to be heard of, some information to begathered, and looking after it was better than staying at home to waitfor it. No wonder, then, that Arthur Channing's steps would bendunconsciously towards the town, when he left the cathedral, morning andafternoon. 

It was in passing Mr. Galloway's office, the window of which stood wideopen, that Arthur had found himself called to by Roland Yorke. 

"What is it?" he asked, halting at the window. 

"You are the very chap I wanted to see, " cried Roland. "Come in! Don'tbe afraid of meeting Galloway: he's off somewhere. "

The prospect of meeting Mr. Galloway would not have prevented Arthurfrom entering. He was conscious of no wrong, and he did not shrink asthough he had committed one. He went in, and Mr. Harper proceeded onhis way. 

"Here's a go!" was Roland's salutation. "Jenkins is laid up. " It wasnothing but what Arthur had expected. He, like Mr. Galloway, hadobserved Jenkins growing ill and more ill. "How shall you managewithout him?" asked Arthur; Mr. Galloway's dilemma being the firstthing that occurred to his mind. 

"Who's to know?" answered Roland, who was in an explosive temper. "_I_don't. If Galloway thinks to put it all on my back, it's a scandalousshame! I never could do it, or the half of it. Jenkins worked like ahorse when we were busy. He'd hang his head down over his desk, andnever lift it for two hours at a stretch!--you know he would not. Fancymy doing that! I should get brain fever before a week was out. "

Arthur smiled at this. "Is Jenkins much worse?" he inquired. 

"I don't believe he's worse at all, " returned Roland, tartly. "He'dhave come this morning, as usual, fast enough, only she locked up hisclothes. "

"Who?" said Arthur, in surprise. 

"She. That agreeable lady who has the felicity of owning Jenkins. Shewas here this morning as large as life, giving an account of herdoings, without a blush. She locked up his things, she says, to keephim in bed. I'd be even with her, I know, were I Jenkins. I'd put onher flounces, but what I'd come out, if I wanted to. Rather shortthey'd be for him, though. "

"I shall go, Roland. My being here only hinders you. "

"As if that made any difference worth counting! Look here!--piles andpiles of parchments! I and Galloway could never get through them, hindered or not hindered. _I_ am not going to work over hours! _I_won't kill myself with hard labour. There's Port Natal, thank goodness, if the screw does get put upon me too much!"

Arthur did not reply. It made little difference to Roland: whetherencouraged or not, talk he would. 

"I _have_ heard of folks being worked beyond their strength; and thatwill be my case, if one may judge by present appearances. It's too badof Jenkins!"

Arthur spoke up: he did not like to hear blame, even from Roland Yorke, cast upon patient, hard-working Jenkins. "You should not say it, Roland. It is not Jenkins's fault. "

"It is his fault. What does he have such a wife for? She keeps Jenkinsunder her thumb, just as Galloway keeps me. She locked up his clothes, and then told him he might come here without them, if he liked: mybelief is, she'll be sending him so, some day. Jenkins ought to put herdown. He's big enough. "

"He would be sure to come here, if he were equal to it, " said Arthur. 

"He! Of course he would!" angrily retorted Roland. "He'd crawl here onall fours, but what he'd come; only she won't let him. She knows ittoo. She said this morning that he'd come when he was in his coffin! Ishould like to see it arrive!"

Arthur had been casting a glance at the papers. They were unusuallynumerous, and he began to think with Roland that he and Mr. Gallowaywould not be able to get through them unaided. Most certainly theywould not, at Roland's present rate of work. "It is a pity you are nota quick copyist, " he said. 

"I dare say it is!" sarcastically rejoined Roland, beginning to play atball with the wafer-box. "I never was made for work; and if--"

"You will have to do it, though, sir, " thundered Mr. Galloway, who hadcome up, and was enjoying a survey of affairs through the open window. Mr. Roland, somewhat taken to, dropped his head and the wafer-boxtogether, and went on with his writing as meekly as poor Jenkins wouldhave done; and Mr. Galloway entered. 

"Good day, " said he to Arthur, shortly enough. 

"Good day, sir, " was the response. Mr. Galloway turned to his idleclerk. 

"Roland Yorke, you must either work or say you will not. There is notime for playing and fooling; no time, sir! do you hear? Who put thatwindow stark staring open?"

"I did, sir, " said incorrigible Roland. "I thought the office might bethe better for a little air, when there was so much to do in it. "

Mr. Galloway shut it with a bang. Arthur, who would not leave withoutsome attempt at a passing courtesy, let it be ever so slight, made aremark to Mr. Galloway, that he was sorry to hear Jenkins was worse. 

"He is so much worse, " was the response of Mr. Galloway, spokensharply, for the edification of Roland Yorke, "that I doubt whether hewill ever enter this room again. Yes, sir, you may look; but it is thetruth!"

Roland did look, looked with considerable consternation. "How on earthwill the work get done, then?" he muttered. With all his grumbling, hehad not contemplated Jenkins being away more than a day or two. 

"I do not know how it will get done, considering that the clerk uponwhom I have to depend is Roland Yorke, " answered Mr. Galloway, withseverity. "One thing appears pretty evident, that Jenkins will not beable to help to do it. "

Mr. Galloway, more perplexed at the news brought by Mrs. Jenkins thanhe had allowed to appear (for, although he chose to make a show ofdepending upon Roland, he knew how much dependence there was in realityto be placed upon him--none knew better), had deemed it advisable tosee Jenkins personally, and judge for himself of his state of health. Accordingly, he proceeded thither, and arrived at an inopportune momentfor his hopes. Jenkins was just recovering from a second fainting fit, and appeared altogether so ill, so debilitated, that Mr. Galloway wasstruck with dismay. There would be no more work from Jenkins--as hebelieved--for him. He mentioned this now in his own office, and Rolandreceived it with blank consternation. 

An impulse came to Arthur, and he spoke upon it. "If I can be of anyuse to you, sir, in this emergency, you have only to command me. "

"What sort of use?" asked Mr. Galloway. 

Arthur pointed to the parchments. "I could draw out these deeds, andany others that may follow them. My time is my own, sir, except the twohours devoted to the cathedral, and I am at a loss how to occupy it. Ihave been idle ever since I left you. "

"Why don't you get into an office?" said Mr. Galloway. 

Arthur's colour deepened. "Because, sir, no one will take me. "

"Ah!" said Mr. Galloway, drily, "a good name is easier lost than won. "

"Yes, it is, " freely replied Arthur. "However, sir, to return to thequestion. I shall be glad to help you, if you have no one better athand. I could devote several hours a day to it, and you know that I amthoroughly to be trusted with the work. I might take some home now. "

"Home!" returned Mr. Galloway. "Did you mean that you could do it athome?"

"Certainly, sir; I did not think of doing it here, " was the pointedreply of Arthur. "I can do it at home just as well as I could here;perhaps better, for I should shut myself up alone, and there would benothing to interrupt me, or to draw off my attention. "

It cannot be denied that this was a most welcome proposition to Mr. Galloway; indeed, his thoughts had turned to Arthur from the first. Arthur would be far better than a strange clerk, looked for and broughtin on the spur of the moment--one who might answer well or answerbadly, according to chance. Yet that such must have been his resource, Mr. Galloway knew. 

"It will be an accommodation to me, your taking part of the work, " hefrankly said. "But you had better come to the office and do it. "

"No, sir; I would rather--"

"Do, Charming!" cried out Roland Yorke, springing up as if he wereelectrified. "The office will be bearable if you come back again. "

"I would prefer to do it at home, sir, " continued Arthur to Mr. Galloway, while that gentleman pointed imperiously to Yorke, as a hintto him to hold his tongue and mind his own business. 

"You _may_ come back here and do it, " said Mr. Galloway. 

"Thank you, I cannot come back, " was the reply of Arthur. 

"Of course you can't!" said angry Roland, who cared less for Mr. Galloway's displeasure than he did for displaying his own feelings whenthey were aroused. "You won't, you mean! I'd not show myself such aduffer as you, Channing, if I were paid for it in gold!"

"You'll get paid in something, presently, Roland Yorke, but it won't bein gold!" reproved Mr. Galloway. "You will do a full day's work to-day, sir, if you stop here till twelve o'clock at night. "

"Oh, of course I expect to do that, sir, " retorted Roland, tartly. "Considering what's before me, on this desk and on Jenkins's, there'slittle prospect of my getting home on this side four in the morning. They needn't sit up for me--I can go in with the milk. I wonder whoinvented writing? I wish I had the fingering of him just now!"

Arthur turned to the parchments. He was almost as much at home withthem as Jenkins. Mr. Galloway selected two that were most pressing, andgave them to him, with the requisite materials for copying. "You willkeep them secure, you know, " he remarked. 

"Perfectly so, sir; I shall sit quite alone. "

He carried them off with alacrity. Mr. Galloway's face cleared as helooked after him, and he made a remark aloud, expressive of hissatisfaction. "There's some pleasure in giving out work when you knowit will be done. No play--no dilatoriness--finished to the minute thatit's looked for! You should take a leaf out of his book, Yorke. "

"Yes, sir, " freely answered Roland. "When you drove Arthur Channing outof this office, you parted with the best clerk you ever had. Jenkins isall very well for work, but he is nothing but a muff in other things. Arthur's a gentleman, and he'd have served you well. Jenkins himselfsays so. He is honourable, he is honest, he--"

"I know enough of your sentiments with respect to his honesty, "interrupted Mr. Galloway. "We need not go over that tale again. "

"I hope every one knows them, " rejoined Roland. "I have never concealedmy opinion that the accusation was infamous; that, of all of us in thisoffice, from its head down to Jenkins, none was less likely to fingerthe note than Arthur Channing. But of course my opinion goes fornothing. "

"You are bold, young man. "

"I fear it is my nature to be so, " cried Roland. "If it should everturn up how the note went, you'll be sorry, no doubt, for havingvisited it upon Arthur. Mr. Channing will be sorry; the preciousmagistrates will be sorry; that blessed dean, who wanted to turn himfrom the college, will be sorry. Not a soul of them but believes himguilty; and I hope they'll be brought to repentance for it, insackcloth and ashes. "

"Go on with your work, " said Mr. Galloway, angrily. 

Roland made a show of obeying. But his tongue was like a steam-engine:once set going, it couldn't readily be stopped, and he presently lookedup again. 

"I am not uncharitable: at least, to individuals. I always said thepost-office helped itself to the note, and I'd lay my last half-crownupon it. But there _are_ people in the town who think it could onlyhave gone in another way. You'd go into a passion with me, sir, perhaps, if I mentioned it. "

Mr. Galloway--it has been before mentioned that he possessed anunbounded amount of curiosity, and also a propensity to gossip--so farforgot the force of good example as to ask Roland what he meant. Rolandwanted no further encouragement. 

"Well, sir, there are people who, weighing well all the probabilitiesof the case, have come to the conclusion that the note could only havebeen abstracted from the letter by the person to whom it was addressed. None but he broke the seal of it. "

"Do you allude to my cousin, Mr. Robert Galloway?" ejaculated Mr. Galloway, as soon as indignation and breath allowed him to speak. 

"Others do, " said Roland. "I say it was the post-office. "

"How dare you repeat so insolent a suspicion to my face, Roland Yorke?"

"I said I should catch it!" cried Roland, speaking partly to himself. "I am sure to get in for it, one way or another, do what I will. It'snot my fault, sir, if I have heard it whispered in the town. "

"Apply yourself to your work, sir, and hold your tongue. If you sayanother word, Roland Yorke, I shall feel inclined also to turn youaway, as one idle and incorrigible, of whom nothing can be made. "

"Wouldn't it be a jolly excuse for Port Natal!" exclaimed Roland, butnot in the hearing of his master, who had gone into his own room inmuch wrath. Roland laughed aloud; there was nothing he enjoyed so muchas to be in opposition to Mr. Galloway; it had been better for theadvancement of that gentleman's work, had he habitually kept a tighterrein over his pupil. It was perfectly true, however, that the new phaseof suspicion, regarding the loss of the note, had been spoken of in thetown, and Roland only repeated what he had heard. 

Apparently, Mr. Galloway did not like this gratuitous suggestion. Hepresently came back again. A paper was in his hand, and he begancomparing it with one on Roland's desk. "Where did you hear thatunjustifiable piece of scandal?" he inquired, as he was doing it. 

"The first person I heard speak of it was my mother, sir. She came homeone day from calling upon people, and said she had heard it somewhere. And it was talked of at Knivett's last night. He had a bachelors'party, and the subject was brought up. Some of us ridiculed the notion;others thought it might have grounds. "

"And pray, which did you favour?" sarcastically asked Mr. Galloway. 

"I? I said then, as I have said all along, that there was no one tothank for it but the post-office. If you ask me, sir, who first set thenotion afloat in the town, I cannot satisfy you. All I know is, therumour is circulating. "

"If I could discover the primary author of it, I would take legalproceedings against him, " warmly concluded Mr. Galloway. 

"I'd help, " said undaunted Roland. "Some fun might arise out of that. "

Mr. Galloway carried the probate of a will to his room, and sat down toexamine it. But his thoughts were elsewhere. This suspicion, mentionedby Roland Yorke, had laid hold of his mind most unpleasantly, in spiteof his show of indignation before Roland. He had no reason to think hiscousin otherwise than honest; it was next to impossible to suppose hecould be guilty of playing him such a trick; but somehow Mr. Gallowaycould not feel so sure upon the point as he would have wished. Hiscousin was a needy man--one who had made ducks and drakes of his ownproperty, and was for ever appealing to Mr. Galloway for assistance. Mr. Galloway did not shut his eyes to the fact that if this _should_have been the case, Robert Galloway had had forty pounds from himinstead of twenty--a great help to a man at his wits' ends for money. He had forwarded a second twenty-pound note, upon receiving informationof the loss of the first. What he most disliked, looking at it fromthis point of view, was, not the feeling that he had been cleverlydeceived and laughed at, but that Arthur Channing should have sufferedunjustly. If the lad _was_ innocent, why, how cruel had been his ownconduct towards him! But with these doubts came back the remembranceof Arthur's unsatisfactory behaviour with respect to the loss;his non-denial; his apparent guilt; his strange shrinking frominvestigation. Busy as Mr. Galloway was, that day, he could not confinehis thoughts to his business. He would willingly have given anothertwenty-pound note out of his pocket to know, beyond doubt, whether ornot Arthur was guilty. 

Arthur, meanwhile, had commenced his task. He took possession of thestudy, where he was secure from interruption, and applied himselfdiligently to it. How still the house seemed! How still it had seemedsince the loss of Charles! Even Annabel and Tom were wont to hush theirvoices; ever listening, as it were, for tidings to be brought of him. Excepting the two servants, Arthur was alone in it. Hamish was abroad, at his office; Constance and Annabel were at Lady Augusta's; Tom was inschool; and Charles was not. Judith's voice would be heard now andthen, wafted from the kitchen regions, directing or reproving Sarah;but there was no other sound. Arthur thought of the old days when thesun had shone; when he was free and upright in the sight of men; whenConstance was happy in her future prospects of wedded life; when Tomlooked forth certainly to the seniorship; when Charley's sweet voiceand sweeter face might be seen and heard; when Hamish--oh, bitterthought, of all!--when Hamish had not fallen from his pedestal. It hadall changed--changed to darkness and to gloom; and Arthur may bepardoned for feeling gloomy with it. But in the very midst of thisgloom, there arose suddenly, without effort of his, certain wordsspoken by the sweet singer of Israel; and Arthur _knew_ that he had butto trust to them:--

"For his wrath endureth but the twinkling of an eye, and in hispleasure is life; heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh inthe morning. "

CHAPTER XLVI. 

A LETTER FOR MR. GALLOWAY. 

Morning passed into afternoon, and afternoon was drawing towards itsclose. Roland Yorke had contrived to struggle through it, and be stillliving, in spite of the amount of work which was pressed upon him. Mr. Galloway had put on his spectacles and copied out several pageshimself--a thing he rarely attempted. But he had gone out now, and hadcarried with him some letters to post. 

"Yes!" grumbled Roland. "He can stretch _his_ legs, but he takes goodcare I shall not stretch mine! Why couldn't he send me with thoseletters? It's my place to post them: it's not his. Write, write, write!till my fingers are cramped, and my feet have no more feeling in themthan the stool has! Why, I wouldn't stop by myself in this horrid, musty, parchmented old place--Oh, it's you, is it?"

This was addressed to the postman, who came in with the afternoondelivery of letters. Two. He handed them to Roland, and departed. 

Of course Roland immediately began to scrutinize them: turning themover; critically guessing at the senders; playing with them at pitchand toss--anything to while away the time, and afford him somecessation from his own work. By these means he contrived to pass fiveminutes rather agreeably (estimating things by comparison), when Mr. Galloway's servant entered. 

"Is my master in, Mr. Roland?"

"Of course he's not, " said Roland. "He's gone gallivanting somewhere. He has all the pleasure of it, and I have all the work. "

"Will you please to give him this letter, then?" said the man. "Thepost has just left it at our house, so I brought it round. "

"What's it brought round here for?" asked Roland. 

"Because he ordered it to be done. He said he expected a letter wouldbe delivered at the house by the afternoon post, and if it came I wasto bring it to him at once. Good afternoon, sir. "

This little bit of information was quite enough for Roland. He seizedthe letter, as he had done the others, and subjected it to the samescrutiny. The address was written in a singular hand; in large, print-looking letters. Roland satisfied his curiosity, so far as theoutside of the letter could do it, and then rose from his stool andlaid the three letters upon Mr. Galloway's desk in his private room. 

A short time, and that gentleman entered. "Anything by the post?" washis first question. 

"Two letters, sir, " replied Roland. "And John brought round one, whichwas addressed to the house. He said you expected it. "

Mr. Galloway went into his private room. He glanced casually at theaddresses on the letters, and then called Roland Yorke. "Where is theletter John brought round?" he inquired, somewhat testily. 

Roland pointed it out. "That was it, sir. "

"That!" Mr. Galloway bent on it a keener glance, which probablysatisfied him that it bore his private address. "Was this the only onehe brought?" added he; and from his manner and words Roland inferredthat it was not the letter he had expected. 

"That was all, sir. "

Roland returned to his own room, and Mr. Galloway sat down and openedhis letters. The first two were short communications relative tobusiness; the last was the one brought by John. 

What did it contain? For one thing, It contained a bank-note for twentypounds. But the contents? Mr. Galloway gazed at it and rubbed his brow, and gazed again. He took off his spectacles, and put them on; he lookedat the bank-note, and he read and re-read the letter; for it completelyupset the theory and set at nought the data he had been going upon;especially the data of the last few hours. 

"The finder of that lost twenty-pound note sends it back to Mr. Galloway. His motive in doing so is that the wrongly suspected may becleared. He who was publicly accused of the offence was innocent, aswere all others upon whom suspicion (though not acted upon) may havefallen. The writer of this alone took the note, and now restores it. "

Abrupt and signatureless, such was the letter. When Mr. Galloway hadsufficiently overcome his surprise to reason rationally, it struck himas being a singular coincidence that this should come to him on the daywhen the old affair had been renewed again. Since its bustle had diedout at the time of the occurrence, Mr. Galloway did not remember tohave voluntarily spoken of it, until that morning with Roland Yorke. 

He took up the bank-note. Was it the one actually taken--the samenote--kept possibly, in fear, and now returned? He had no means ofknowing. He thought it was not the same. His recollection of the lostnote had seemed to be that it was a dirty note, which must have passedthrough many hands; but he had never been quite clear upon that point. This note was clean and crisp. Who _had_ taken it? Who had sent itback? It quite disposed of that disagreeable suspicion touching hiscousin. Had his cousin so far forgotten himself as to take the note, hewould not have been likely to return it: _he_ knew nothing of theproceedings which had taken place in Helstonleigh, for Mr. Galloway hadnever mentioned them to him. The writer of this letter was cognizant ofthem, and had sent it that they might be removed. 

At the first glance, it of course appeared to be proof positive thatArthur Channing was not guilty. But Mr. Galloway was not accustomed totake only the superficial view of things: and it struck him, as itwould strike others, that this might be, after all, a refined bit offinessing on Arthur's own part to remove suspicion from himself. True, the cost of doing so was twenty pounds: but what was that compared withthe restoration of his good name?

The letter bore the London post-mark. There was not a doubt that it hadbeen there posted. That betrayed nothing. Arthur, or any one else, could have a letter posted there, if wishing to do it. "Where there's awill, there's a way, " thought Mr. Galloway. But again, where was ArthurChanning to procure twenty pounds from? Mr. Galloway did not think thathe could procure this sum from anywhere, or that he possessed, himself, a twentieth part of it. So far the probability was against Arthur'sbeing the author. Mr. Galloway quite lost himself in conjectures. Whyshould it have been addressed to his residence, and not to the office?He had been expecting a letter from one, that afternoon, who always didaddress to his residence: and that letter, it appeared, had notarrived. However, that had nothing to do with this. Neither paper norwriting afforded any clue to the sender, and the latter was palpablydisguised. 

He called in Roland Yorke, for the purpose of putting to him a fewuseless questions--as a great many of us do when we arepuzzled--questions, at any rate, that could throw no light upon themain subject. 

"What did John say when he brought this letter?"

"Only what I told you, sir. That you expected a letter addressed to thehouse, and ordered him to bring it round. "

"But _this_ is not the letter I expected, " tapping it with his finger, and looking altogether so puzzled and astonished that Roland stared inhis turn. 

"It's not my fault, " returned he. "Shall I run round, sir, and ask Johnabout it?"

"No, " testily answered Mr. Galloway. "Don't be so fond of runninground. This letter--There's some one come into the office, " he brokeoff. Roland turned with alacrity, but very speedily appeared again, onhis best behaviour, bowing as he showed in the Dean of Helstonleigh. 

Mr. Galloway rose, and remained standing. The dean entered upon thebusiness which had brought him there, a trifling matter connected withthe affairs of the chapter. This over, Mr. Galloway took up the letterand showed it to him. The dean read it, and looked at the bank-note. 

"I cannot quite decide in what light I ought to take it, sir, " remarkedMr. Galloway. "It either refutes the suspicion of Arthur Channing'sguilt, or else it confirms it. "

"In what way confirms it? I do not understand you, " said the dean. 

"It may have come from himself, Mr. Dean. A wheel within a wheel. "

The dean paused to revolve the proposition, and then shook his headnegatively. "It appears to me to go a very great way towards provinghis innocence, " he observed. "The impression upon my own mind has been, that it was not he who took it--as you may have inferred, Mr. Galloway, by my allowing him to retain his post in the cathedral. "

"But, sir, if he is innocent, who is guilty?" continued Mr. Galloway, in a tone of remonstrance. 

"That is more than I can say, " replied the dean. "But for thecircumstances appearing to point so strongly to Arthur Channing, Inever could have suspected him at all. A son of Mr. Channing's wouldhave been altogether above suspicion, in my mind: and, as I tell you, for some time I have not believed him to be guilty. "

"If he is not guilty--" Mr. Galloway paused; the full force of what hewas about to say, pressing strongly upon his mind. "If he is notguilty, Mr. Dean, there has been a great deal of injustice done-notonly to himself--"

"A great deal of injustice is committed every day, I fear, " quietlyremarked the dean. 

"Tom Channing will have lost the seniorship for nothing!" went on Mr. Galloway, in a perturbed voice, not so much addressing the dean, asgiving vent to his thoughts aloud. 

"Yes, " was the answer, spoken calmly, and imparting no token of whatmight be the dean's private sentiments upon the point. "You will see tothat matter, " the dean continued, referring to his own business there, as he rose from his chair. 

"I will not forget it, Mr. Dean, " said Mr. Galloway. And he escortedthe dean to the outer door, as was his custom when honoured by thatdignitary with a visit, and bowed him out. 

Roland just then looked a pattern of industry. He had resumed his seat, after rising in salutation as the dean passed through the office, andwas writing away like a steam-engine. Mr. Galloway returned to his ownroom, and set himself calmly to consider all the bearings of thiscurious business. The great bar against his thinking Arthur innocent, was the difficulty of fixing upon any one else as likely to have beenguilty. Likely! he might almost have said as _possible_ to have beenguilty. "I have a very great mind, " he growled to himself, "to send forButterby, and let him rake it all up again!" The uncertainty vexed him, and it seemed as if the affair was never to have an end. "What, if Ishow Arthur Channing the letter first, and study his countenance as helooks at it? I may gather something from that. I don't fancy he'd be anover good actor, as some might be. If he has sent this money, I shallsee it in his face. "

Acting upon the moment's impulse, he suddenly opened the door of theouter office, and there found that Mr. Roland's industry had, for thepresent, come to an end. He was standing before the window, makingpantomimic signs through the glass to a friend of his, Knivett. Hisright thumb was pointed over his shoulder towards the door of Mr. Galloway's private room; no doubt, to indicate a warning that thatgentleman was within, and that the office, consequently, was not freefor promiscuous intruders. A few sharp words of reprimand to Mr. Rolandensued, and then he was sent off with a message to Arthur Channing. 

It brought Arthur back with Roland. Mr. Galloway called Arthur into hisown room, closed the door, and put the letter into his hand in silence. 

He read it twice over before he could understand it; indeed, he did notdo so fully then. His surprise appeared to be perfectly genuine, and soMr. Galloway thought it. "Has this letter been sent to you, sir? Hasany money been sent to you?"

"This has been sent to me, " replied Mr. Galloway, tossing thetwenty-pound note to him. "Is it the one that was taken, Channing?"

"How can I tell, sir?" said Arthur, in much simplicity. And Mr. Galloway's long doubts of him began to melt away. 

"_You_ did not send the money--to clear yourself?"

Arthur looked up in surprise. "Where should I get twenty pounds from?"he asked. "I shall shortly have a quarter's salary from Mr. Williams:but it is not quite due yet. And it will not be twenty pounds, oranything like that amount. "

Mr. Galloway nodded. It was the thought which had struck himself. Another thought, however, was now striking Arthur; a thought whichcaused his cheek to flush and his brow to lower. With the word "salary"had arisen to him the remembrance of another's salary due about thistime; that of his brother Hamish. Had Hamish been making this use ofit--to remove the stigma from him? The idea received additional forcefrom Mr. Galloway's next words: for they bore upon the point. 

"This letter is what it purports to be: a missive from the actualthief; or else it comes from some well-wisher of yours, who sacrificestwenty pounds to do you a service. Which is it?"

Mr. Galloway fixed his eyes on Arthur's face and could not help notingthe change which had come over it, over his bearing altogether. Theopen candour was gone: and in its place reigned the covert look, thehesitating manner, the confusion which had characterized him at theperiod of the loss. "All I can say, sir, is, that I know nothing ofthis, " he presently said. "It has surprised me as much as it cansurprise any one. "

"Channing!" impulsively exclaimed Mr. Galloway, "your manner and yourwords are opposed to each other, as they were at the time. The onegives the lie to the other. But I begin to believe you did not takeit. "

"I did not, " returned Arthur. 

"And therefore--as I don't like to be played with and made sport of, like a cat tormenting a mouse--I think I shall give orders to Butterbyfor a fresh investigation. "

It startled Arthur. Mr. Galloway's curiously significant tone, hispiercing gaze upon his face, also startled him. "It would bring nosatisfaction, sir, " he said. "Pray do not. I would far rather continueto bear the blame. "

A pause. A new idea came glimmering into the mind of Mr. Galloway. "Whom are you screening?" he asked. But he received no answer. 

"Is it Roland Yorke?"

"Roland Yorke!" repeated Arthur, half reproachfully. "No, indeed. Iwish every one had been as innocent of it as was Roland Yorke. "

In good truth, Mr. Galloway had only mentioned Roland's name as cominguppermost in his mind. He knew that no suspicion attached to Roland. Arthur resumed, in agitation:

"Let the matter drop, sir. Indeed, it will be better. It appears, now, that you have the money back again; and, for the rest, I am willing totake the blame, as I have done. "

"If I have the money back again, I have not other things back again, "crossly repeated Mr. Galloway. "There's the loss of time it hasoccasioned, the worry, the uncertainty: who is to repay me all that?"

"My portion in it has been worse than yours, sir, " said Arthur, in alow, deep tone. "Think of _my_ loss of time; my worry and uncertainty;my waste of character; my anxiety of mind: they can never be repaid tome. "

"And whose the fault? If you were truly innocent, you might havecleared yourself with a word. "

Arthur knew he might. But that word he had not dared to speak. At thisjuncture, Roland Yorke appeared. "Here's Jenner's old clerk come in, sir, " said he to his master. "He wants to see you, he says. "

"He can come in, " replied Mr. Galloway. "Are you getting on with thatcopying?" he added to Arthur, as the latter was going out. 

"Yes, sir. "

The gentleman, whom Roland Yorke designated as "Jenner's old clerk, "was shut in with Mr. Galloway; and Roland, who appeared to be on thethorns of curiosity, arrested Arthur. 

"I say, what is it that's agate? He has been going into fits, prettynear, over some letter that came, asking me five hundred questionsabout it. What have you to do with it? What does he want with you?"

"Some one has been sending him back the money, Roland. It came in aletter. "

Roland opened his eyes. "What money?"

"The money that was lost. A twenty-pound note has come. He asked mewhether it was the veritable note that was taken. "

"A twenty-pound note come!" repeated puzzled Roland. 

"It's quite true, Roland. It purports to be sent by the stealer of themoney for the purpose of clearing me. "

Roland stood for a few moments, profound surprise on his face, and thenbegan to execute a triumphant hornpipe amidst the desks and stools ofthe office. "I said it would come right some time; over and over againI said it! Give us your hand, old fellow! He's not such a bad trumpafter all, that thief!"

"Hush, Roland! you'll be heard. It may not do me much good. Gallowayseems to doubt me still. "

"Doubt you still!" cried Roland, stopping short in his dance, andspeaking in a very explosive tone. "Doubt you _still_! Why, what wouldhe have?"

"I don't know;" sighed Arthur. "I have assured him I did not send it;but he fancies I may have done it to clear myself. He talks of callingin Butterby again. "

"My opinion then, is, that he wants to be transported, if he is to turnup such a heathen as that!" stamped Roland. "What would he have, I ask?Another twenty, given him for interest? Arthur, dear old fellow, let'sgo off together to Port Natal, and leave him and his office to it! I'llfind the means, if I rob his cash-box to get them!"

But Arthur was already beyond hearing, having waved his adieu to RolandYorke and his impetuous but warm-hearted championship. Anxious to geton with the task he had undertaken, he hastened home. Constance was inthe hall when he entered, having just returned from Lady AugustaYorke's. 

His confidant throughout, his gentle soother and supporter, his everready adviser, Arthur drew her into one of the rooms, and acquaintedher with what had occurred. A look of terror rose to her face, as shelistened. 

"Hamish has done it!" she uttered, in a whisper. "This puts all doubtat an end. There are times--they have been times"--she burst into tearsas she spoke--"when I have fondly tried to cheat myself that we weresuspecting him wrongfully. Arthur! others suspect him. "

Arthur's face reflected the look that was upon hers. "I trust not!"

"But they do. Ellen Huntley dropped a word inadvertently, whichconvinces me that he is in some way doubted there. She caught it upagain in evident alarm, ere it was well spoken; and I dared not pursuethe subject. It is Hamish who has sent this money. "

"You speak confidently, Constance. "

"Listen. I know that he has drawn money--papa's salary and his own: hementioned it incidentally. A few days ago I asked him for money forhousekeeping purposes, and he handed me a twenty-pound note, in mistakefor a five-pound. He discovered the mistake before I did, and snatchedit back again in some confusion. "

'I can't give you that, ' he said in a laughing manner, when herecovered himself. 'That has a different destination. ' Arthur! thatnote, rely upon it, was going to Mr. Galloway. "

"When was this?" asked Arthur. 

"Last week. Three or four days ago. "

Trifling as the incident was, it seemed to bear out their suspicions, and Arthur could only come to the same conclusion as his sister: thethought had already crossed him, you remember. 

"Do not let it pain you thus, Constance, " he said, for her tears werefalling fast. "He may not call in Butterby. Your grieving will do nogood. "

"I cannot help it, " she exclaimed, with a burst of anguish. "How God istrying us!"

Ay! even as silver, which must be seven times purified, ere it besufficiently refined. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

DARK CLOUDS. 

Constance Channing sat, her forehead buried in her hands. _How God wastrying them!_ The sentence, wrung from her in the bitterness of herheart, but expressed the echo of surrounding things. Her own futureblighted; Arthur's character gone; Tom lost the seniorship; Charley notheard of, dead or alive! There were moments, and this was one of them, when Constance felt almost beyond the pale of hope. The college school, meanwhile existed in a state of constant suspense, the sword of terrorever hanging over its head. Punishment for the present was reserved;and what the precise punishment would be when it came, none could tell. Talkative Bywater was fond of saying that it did not matter whetherMiss Charley turned up or not, so far as their backs were concerned:_they_ would be made to tingle, either way. 

Arthur, after communicating to Constance the strange fact of the returnof the money to Mr. Galloway, shut himself up in the study to pursuehis copying. Tea-time arrived, and Sarah brought in the tea-things. Butneither Hamish nor Tom had come in, and Constance sat alone, deep inunpleasant thoughts. 

That it was Hamish who had now returned the money to Mr. Galloway, Constance could not entertain the slightest doubt. It had a verydepressing effect upon her. It could not render worse what hadpreviously happened, indeed, it rather mended it, insomuch as that itserved to show some repentance, some good feeling; but it made thesuspicion against Hamish a certainty; and there had been times whenConstance had been beguiled into thinking it only a suspicion. And nowcame this new fear of Mr. Butterby again!

Hamish's own footstep in the hall. Constance roused herself. He camein, books under his arm, as usual, and his ever-gay face smiling. Therewere times when Constance almost despised him for his perpetualsunshine. The seriousness which had overspread Hamish at the time ofCharley's disappearance had nearly worn away. In his sanguinetemperament, he argued that not finding the body was a proof thatCharley was yet alive, and would come forth in a mysterious manner oneof these days. 

"Have I kept you waiting tea, Constance?" began he. "I came home by wayof Close Street, and was called into Galloway's by Roland Yorke, andthen got detained further by Mr. Galloway. Where's Arthur?"

"He has undertaken some copying for Mr. Galloway, and is busy with it, "replied Constance in a low tone. "Hamish!" raising her eyes to hisface, as she gathered resolution to speak of the affair: "have youheard what has happened?"

"That some good fairy has forwarded a bank-note to Galloway on thewings of the telegraph? Roland Yorke would not allow me to remain inignorance of that. Mr. Galloway did me the honour to ask whether I hadsent it. "

"You!" uttered Constance, regarding the avowal only from her own pointof view. "He asked whether _you_ had sent it?"

"He did. "

She gazed at Hamish as if she would read his very soul. "And whatdid--what did you answer?"

"Told him I wished a few others would suspect me of the same, and countimaginary payments for real ones. "

"Hamish!" she exclaimed, the complaint wrung from her: "how can you beso light, so cruel, when our hearts are breaking?"

Hamish, in turn, was surprised at this. "I, cruel! In what manner, Constance? My dear, I repeat to you that we shall have Charley backagain. I feel sure of it; and it has done away with my fear. Someinward conviction, or presentiment--call it which you like--tells methat we shall; and I implicitly trust to it. We need not mourn forhim. "

"It is not for Charley: I do not speak of Charley now, " she sadlyreiterated. "You are straying from the point. Hamish, have you _no_love left for Arthur?"

"I have plenty of love for every one, " said Mr. Hamish. 

"Then _how_ can you behave like this? Arthur is not guilty; you know heis not. And look what he has to bear! I believe you would laugh at thegreatest calamity! Sending back this money to Mr. Gallowayhas--has--sadly distressed me. "

Hamish turned his smiling eyes upon her, but his tone was grave. "Waituntil some great calamity occurs, Constance, and then see whether Ilaugh. Did I laugh that dreadful night and day that succeeded toCharley's loss? Sending back the money to Mr. Galloway is not a causefor sadness. It most certainly exonerates Arthur. "

"And you are gay over it!" She would have given anything to speak moreplainly. 

"I am particularly gay this afternoon, " acknowledged Hamish, who couldnot be put out of temper by any amount of reproach whatever. "I havehad great news by the post, Constance. "

"From Germany?" she quickly cried. 

"Yes, from Germany, " he answered, taking a letter from his pocket, andspreading it open before Constance. 

It contained the bravest news: great news, as Hamish expressed it. Itwas from Mr. Channing himself, and it told them of his being so farrestored that there was no doubt now of his ability to resume his ownplace at his office. They intended to be home the first week inNovember. The weather at Borcette continued warm and charming, and theywould prolong their stay there to the full time contemplated. It hadbeen a fine autumn everywhere. There was a postscript added to theletter, as if an afterthought had occurred to Mr. Channing. "When yousee Mr. Huntley, tell him how well I am progressing. I remember, by theway, that he hinted at being able to introduce you to something, shouldI no longer require you in Guild Street. "

In the delight that the news brought, Constance partially lost sight ofher sadness. "It is not all gloom, " she whispered to herself. "If wecould only dwell on God's mercies as we do on His chastisement; if wecould only feel more trust, we should see the bright side of the cloudoftener than we do. "

But it _was_ dark; dark in many ways, and Constance was soon to bereminded again of it forcibly. She had taken her seat at the tea-table, when Tom came in. He looked flushed--stern; and he flung his Gradus, and one or two other books in a heap, on the side table, with moreforce than was necessary; and himself into a chair, ditto. 

"Constance, I shall leave the school!"

Constance, in her dismay, dropped the sugar-tongs into the sugar. "What, Tom?"

"I shall leave the school!" he repeated, his tone as fiery as his face. "I wouldn't stop in it another month, if I were bribed with gold. Things are getting too bad there. "

"Oh, Tom, Tom! Is this your endurance?"

"Endurance!" he exclaimed. "That's a nice word in theory, Constance;but just you try it in practice! Who has endured, if I have not? Ithought I'd go on and endure it, as you say; at any rate, until papacame home. But I can't--I can't!"

"What has happened more than usual?" inquired Hamish. 

"It gets worse and worse, " said Tom, turning his blazing face upon hisbrother. "I wouldn't wish a dog to live the life that I live in thecollege school. They call me a felon, and treat me as one; they send meto Coventry; they won't acknowledge me as one of their seniors. Myposition is unbearable. "

"Live it down, Tom, " said Hamish quietly. 

"Haven't I been trying to live it down?" returned the boy, suppressinghis emotion. "It has lasted now these two months, and I have borne itdaily. At the time of Charley's loss I was treated better for a day ortwo, but that has worn away. It is of no use your looking at mereproachfully, Constance; I must complain. What other boy in the worldhas ever been put down as I? I was head of the school, next to Gaunt;looking forward to be the head; and what am I now? The seniorship takenfrom me in shame; Huntley exalted to my place; my chance of theexhibition gone--"

"Huntley does not take the exhibition, " interrupted Constance. 

"But Yorke will. _I_ shan't be allowed to take it. Now I know it, Constance, and the school knows it. Let a fellow once go down, and he'skept down: every dog has a fling at him. The seniorship's gone, theexhibition is going. I might bear that tamely, you may say; and ofcourse I might, for they are negative evils; but what I can't and won'tbear, are the insults of every-day life. Only this afternoon they--"

Tom stopped, for his feelings were choking him; and the complaint hewas about to narrate was never spoken. Before he had recovered breathand calmness, Arthur entered and took his seat at the tea-table. PoorTom, allowing one of his unfortunate explosions of temper to get thebetter of him, sprang from his chair and burst forth with a passionatereproach to Arthur, whom he regarded as the author of all the ill. 

"Why did you do it? Why did you bring this disgrace upon us? But foryou, I should not have lost caste in the school. "

"Tom!" interposed Hamish, in a severe tone. 

Mr. Tom, brave college boy that he was--manly as he coveted to bethought--actually burst into tears. Tears called forth, not bycontrition, I fear; but by remembered humiliation, by vexation, by themoment's passion. Never had Tom cast a reproach openly to Arthur;whatever he may have felt he buried it within himself; but that hisopinion vacillated upon the point of Arthur's guilt, was certain. Constance went up to him and laid her hand gently and soothingly uponhis shoulder. 

"Tom, dear boy, your troubles are making you forget yourself. Do not beunjust to Arthur. He is innocent as you. "

"Then if he is innocent, why does he not speak out like a man, andproclaim his innocence?" retorted Tom, sensibly enough, but with rathertoo much heat. "That's what the school cast in my teeth, more thananything again. 'Don't preach up your brother's innocence to us!' theycry; 'if he did not take it, wouldn't he say so?' Look at Arthurnow"--and Tom pointed his finger at him--"he does not, even here, tome, assert that he is innocent!"

Arthur's face burnt under the reproach. He turned it upon Hamish, witha gesture almost as fiery, quite as hasty, as any that had beenvouchsafed them by Tom. Plainly as look could speak, it said, "Will_you_ suffer this injustice to be heaped upon me?" Constance saw thelook, and she left Tom with a faint cry, and bent over Arthur, afraidof what truth he might give utterance to. 

"Patience yet, Arthur!" she whispered. "Do not let a moment's angerundo the work of weeks. Remember how bravely you have borne. "

"Ay! Heaven forgive my pride, Tom!" Arthur added, turning to himcalmly. "I would clear you--or rather clear myself--in the eyes of theschool, if I could: but it is impossible. However, you have less toblame me for than you may think. "

Hamish advanced. He caught Tom's arm and drew him to a distant window. "Now, lad, " he said, "let me hear all about this bugbear. I'll see ifit can be in any way lightened for you. "

Hamish's tone was kindly, his manner frank and persuasive, and Tom waswon over to speak of his troubles. Hamish listened with an attentiveear. "Will you abide by my advice?" he asked him, when the catalogue ofgrievances had come to an end. 

"Perhaps I will, " replied Tom, who was growing cool after his heat. 

"Then, as I said to you before, so I say now--_Live it down_. It is thebest advice I can give you. "

"Hamish, you don't know what it is!"

"Yes, I do. I can enter into your trials and annoyances as keenly as ifI had to encounter them. I do not affect to disparage them to you: Iknow that they are real trials, real insults; but if you will only makeup your mind to bear them, they will lose half their sharpness. Yourinterest lies in remaining in the college school; more than that, yourduty lies in it. Tom, don't let it be said that a Channing shrunk fromhis duty because it brought him difficulties to battle with. "

"I don't think I _can_ stop in it, Hamish. I'd rather stand in apillory, and have rotten eggs shied at me. "

"Yes, you can. In fact, my boy, for the present you _must_. Disobedience has never been a fault amongst us, and I am sure you willnot be the one to inaugurate it. Your father left me in charge, in hisplace, with full control; and I cannot sanction any such measure asthat of your leaving the school. In less than a month's time he will behome, and you can then submit the case to him, and abide by hisadvice. "

With all Tom's faults, he was not rebellious, neither was heunreasonable; and he made up his mind, not without some grumbling, todo as Hamish desired him. He drew his chair with a jerk to thetea-table, which of course was unnecessary. I told you that the youngChannings, admirably as they had been brought up, had their faults; asyou have yours, and I have mine. 

It was a silent meal. Annabel, who was wont to keep them alive, whatever might be their troubles, had remained to take tea at LadyAugusta Yorke's, with Caroline and Fanny. Had Constance known that shewas in the habit of thoughtlessly chattering upon any subject that cameuppermost, including poor Charles's propensity to be afraid of ghosts, she had allowed her to remain with them more charily. Hamish took abook and read. Arthur only made a show of taking anything, and soonleft them, to resume his work; Tom did not even make a show of it, butunequivocally rejected all good things. "How could he be hungry?" heasked, when Constance pressed him. An unsociable meal it was--almost asunpleasant as were their inward thoughts. They felt for Tom, in themidst of their graver griefs; but they were all at cross purposestogether, and they knew it; therefore they could only retain anuncomfortable reticence one with another. Tom laid the blame to theshare of Arthur; Arthur and Constance to the share of Hamish. To whomHamish laid it, was only known to himself. 

He, Hamish, rose as the tea-things were carried away. He was preparingfor a visit to Mr. Huntley's. His visits there, as already remarked, had not been frequent of late. He had discovered that he was notwelcome to Mr. Huntley. And Hamish Channing was not one to thrust hiscompany upon any one: even the attraction of Ellen could not inducethat. But it is very probable that he was glad of the excuse Mr. Channing's letter afforded him to go there now. 

He found Miss Huntley alone; a tall, stiff lady, who always looked asif she were cased in whalebone. She generally regarded Hamish with somefavour, which was saying a great deal for Miss Huntley. 

"You are quite a stranger here, " she remarked to him as he entered. 

"I think I am, " replied Hamish. "Mr. Huntley is still in thedining-room, I hear?"

"Mr. Huntley is, " said the lady, speaking as if the fact did not giveher pleasure, though Hamish could not conceive why. "My niece haschosen to remain with him, " she added, in a tone which denoteddissatisfaction. "I am quite _tired_ of talking to her! I tell her thisis proper, and the other is improper, and she goes and mixes up myadvice in the most extraordinary way; leaving undone what she ought todo, and doing what I tell her she ought not! Only this very morning Iread her a sermon upon 'Propriety, and the fitness of things. ' It tookme just an hour--an hour by my watch, I assure you, Mr. HamishChanning!--and what is the result? I retired from the dinner-tableprecisely ten minutes after the removal of the cloth, according to myinvariable custom; and Ellen, in defiance of my warning her that it isnot lady-like, stays there behind me! 'I have not finished my grapes, aunt, ' she says to me. And there she stays, just to talk with herfather. And he encourages her! What will become of Ellen, I cannotimagine; she will never be a lady!"

"It's very sad!" replied Hamish, coughing down a laugh, and putting onthe gravest face he could call up. 

"Sad!" repeated Miss Huntley, who sat perfectly upright, her hands, cased in mittens, crossed upon her lap. "It is _grievous_, Mr. HamishChanning! She--what do you think she did only yesterday? One of ourmaids was going to be married, and a dispute, or some unpleasantnessoccurred between her and the intended husband. Would you believe thatEllen actually wrote a letter for the girl (a poor ignorant thing, whonever learnt to read, let alone to write, but an excellent servant) tothis man, that things might be smoothed down between them? My niece, Miss Ellen Huntley, lowering herself to write a--a--I can scarcelyallow my tongue to utter the word, Mr. Hamish--a love-letter!"

Miss Huntley lifted her eyes, and her mittens. Hamish expressed himselfinexpressibly shocked, inwardly wishing he could persuade Miss EllenHuntley to write a few to him. 

"And I receive no sympathy from any one!" pursued Miss Huntley. "None!I spoke to my brother, and he could not see that she had done anythingwrong in writing: or pretended that he could not. Oh dear! how thingshave altered from what they were when I was a young girl! Then--"

"My master says, will you please to walk into the dining-room, sir?"interrupted a servant at this juncture. And Hamish rose and followedhim. 

Mr. Huntley was alone. Hamish threw his glance to the four corners ofthe room, but Ellen was not in it. The meeting was not very cordial onMr. Huntley's side. "What can I do for you?" he inquired, as he shookhands. Which was sufficient to imply coldly, "You must have come to myhouse for some particular purpose. What is it?"

But Hamish could not lose his sunny temperament, his winning manner. "Ibring you great news, Mr. Huntley. We have heard from Borcette: and theimprovement in my father's health is so great, that all doubts as tothe result are over. "

"I said it would be so, " replied Mr. Huntley. 

They continued talking some little time, and then Hamish mentioned thematter alluded to in the postscript of the letter. "Is it correct thatyou will be able to help me to something, " he inquired, "when my fathershall resume his own place in Guild Street?"

"It is correct that I told your father so, " answered Mr. Huntley. "Ithought then that I could. "

"And is the post gone? I assume that it was a situation of some sort?"

"It is not gone. The post will not be vacant until the beginning of theyear. Have you heard that there is to be a change in the joint-stockbank?"

"No, " replied Hamish, looking up with much interest. 

"Mr. Bartlett leaves. He is getting in years, his health is failing, and he wishes to retire. As one of the largest shareholders in thebank, I shall possess the largest voice in the appointment of a. Successor, and I had thought of you. Indeed, I have no objection to saythat there is not the slightest doubt you would have been appointed;otherwise, I should not have spoken confidently to Mr. Channing. "

It was an excellent post; there was no doubt of that. The bank was notan extensive one; it was not the principal bank of Helstonleigh; but itwas a firmly established, thoroughly respectable concern; and Mr. Bartlett, who had been its manager for many years, enjoyed manyprivileges, and a handsome salary. A far larger salary than was Mr. Channing's. The house, a good one, attached to the bank, was used ashis residence, and would be, when he left, the residence of hissuccessor. 

"I should like it of all things!" cried Hamish. 

"So would many a one, young sir, who is in a better position than you, "drily answered Mr. Huntley. "I thought you might have filled it. "

"Can I not, sir?"

"No. "

Hamish did not expect the answer. He looked inquiringly at Mr. Huntley. "Why can I not?"

"Because I cannot now recommend you to it, " was the reply. 

"But why not?" exclaimed Hamish. 

"When I spoke of you as becoming Mr. Bartlett's successor, I believedyou would be found worthy to fulfil his duties. "

"I can fulfil them, " said Hamish. 

"Possibly. But so much doubt has arisen upon that point in my own mind, that I can no longer recommend you for it. In fact, I could notsanction your appointment. "

"What have I done?" inquired Hamish. 

"Ask your conscience. If that does not tell you plainly enough, I shallnot. "

"My conscience accuses me of nothing that need render me unfit to fillthe post, and to perform my duties in it, Mr. Huntley. "

"I think otherwise. But, to pursue the subject will be productive of nobenefit, so we will let it drop. I would have secured you theappointment, could I have done so conscientiously, but I cannot; andthe matter is at an end. "

"At least you can tell me why you will not?" said Hamish, speaking withsome sarcasm, in the midst of his respect. 

"I have already declined to do so. Ask your own conscience, Hamish. "

"The worst criminal has a right to know his accusation, Mr. Huntley. Otherwise he cannot defend himself. "

"It will be time enough for you to defend yourself when you arepublicly accused. I shall say no more upon the point. I am sorry yourfather mentioned the thing to you, necessitating this explanation, sofar; I have also been sorry for having ever mentioned it to him. Myworst explanation will be with your father, for I cannot enter intocause and effect, any more than I can to you. "

"I have for some little time been conscious of a change in your mannertowards me, Mr. Huntley. "

"Ay--no doubt. "

"Sir, you _ought_ to tell me what has caused it. I might explain awayany prejudice or wrong impression--"

"There, that will do, " interrupted Mr. Huntley. "It is neitherprejudice nor wrong impression that I have taken up. And now I havesaid the last word upon the matter that I shall say. "

"But, sir--"

"No more, I say!" peremptorily interrupted Mr. Huntley. "The subject isover. Let us talk of other things. I need not ask whether you have newsof poor Charley; you would have informed me of that at once. You see, Iwas right in advising silence to be kept towards them. All this time ofsuspense would have told badly on Mr. Channing. "

Hamish rose to leave. He had done little good, it appeared, by hisvisit; certainly, he could not wish to prolong it. "There was anunsealed scrap of paper slipped inside my father's letter, " he said. "It was from my mother to Charley. This is it. "

It appeared to have been written hastily--perhaps from a sudden thoughtat the moment of Mr. Channing's closing his letter. Mr. Huntley took itin his hand. 

"MY DEAR LITTLE CHARLEY, "

"How is it you do not write to mamma? Not a message from you now: not aletter! I am sure you are not forgetting me. "

"Poor boy!" exclaimed Mr. Huntley, handing it back to Hamish. "Poormother!"

"I did not show it to Constance, " observed Hamish. "It would onlydistress her. Good night, sir. By the way, " added Hamish, turning as hereached the door: "Mr. Galloway has received that money back again. "

"What money?" cried Mr. Huntley. 

"That which was lost. A twenty-pound note came to him in a letter bythis afternoon's post. The letter states that Arthur, and all otherswho may have been accused, are innocent. "

"Oh, indeed!" cried Mr. Huntley, with cutting sarcasm, as theconviction flashed over him that Hamish, and no other, had been thesender. "The thief has come to his senses at last, has he? So far as torender lame justice to Arthur. "

Hamish left the room. The hall had not yet been lighted, and Hamishcould hardly see the outline of a form, crossing it from the staircaseto the drawing-room. _He_ knew whose it was, and he caught it to him. 

"Ellen, " he whispered, "what has turned your father against me?"

Of course she could not enlighten him; she could not say to HamishChanning, "He suspects you of being a thief. " Her whole spirit wouldhave revolted from that, as much as it did from the accusation. Thesubject was a painful one; she was flurried at the sudden meeting--thestealthy meeting, it may be said; and--she burst into tears. 

I am quite afraid to say what Mr. Hamish did, this being a sober story. When he left the hall, Ellen Huntley's cheeks were glowing, and certainsweet words were ringing changes in her ears. 

"Ellen! they shall never take you from me!"

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

MUFFINS FOR TEA. 

A week or two passed by, and November was rapidly approaching. Thingsremained precisely as they were at the close of the last chapter:nothing fresh had occurred; no change had taken place. Tom Channing'sremark, though much cannot be said for its elegance, was indisputablein point of truth--that when a fellow was down, he was kept down, andevery dog had a fling at him It was being exemplified in the case ofArthur. The money, so mysteriously conveyed to Mr. Galloway, had provedof little service towards clearing him; in fact, it had the contraryeffect; and people openly expressed their opinion that it had come fromhimself or his friends. He was _down_; and it would take more than thatto lift him up again. 

Mr. Galloway kept his thoughts to himself, or had put them into hiscash-box with the note, for he said nothing. 

Roland Yorke did not imitate his example; he was almost as explosiveover the present matter as he had been over the loss. It would havepleased him that Arthur should be declared innocent by publicproclamation. Roland was in a most explosive frame of mind on anotherscore, and that was the confinement to the office. In reality, he wasnot overworked; for Arthur managed to get through a great amount of itat home, which he took in regularly, morning after morning, to Mr. Galloway. Roland, however, thought he was, and his dissatisfaction wasbecoming unbearable. I do not think that Roland _could_ have done ahard day's work. To sit steadily to it for only a couple of hoursappeared to be an absolute impossibility to his restless temperament. He must look off; he must talk; he must yawn; he must tilt his stool;he must take a slight interlude at balancing the ruler on his nose, orat other similar recreative and intellectual amusements; but, applyhimself in earnest, he could not. Therefore there was little fear ofMr. Roland's being overcome with the amount of work on hand. 

But what told upon Roland was the confinement--I don't mean upon hishealth, you know, but his temper. It had happened many a day sinceJenkins's absence, that Roland had never stirred from the office, except for his dinner. He must be there in good time in the morning--atthe frightfully early hour of nine--and he often was not released untilsix. When he went to dinner at one, Mr. Galloway would say, "You mustbe back in half an hour, Yorke; I may have to go out. " Once or twice hehad not gone to dinner until two or three o'clock, and then he was halfdead with hunger. All this chafed poor Roland nearly beyond endurance. 

Another cause was rendering Roland's life not the most peaceful one. Hewas beginning to be seriously dunned for money. Careless in that, as hewas in other things, improvident as was ever Lady Augusta, Rolandrarely paid until he was compelled to do so. A very good hand was he atcontracting debts, but a bad one at liquidating them. Roland did notintend to be dishonest. Were all his creditors standing around him, anda roll of bank-notes before him he would freely have paid them all;very probably, in his openheartedness, have made each creditor apresent, over and above, for "his trouble. " But, failing the roll ofnotes, he only staved off the difficulties in the best way he could, and grew cross and ill-tempered on being applied to. His chief failingwas his impulsive thoughtlessness. Often, when he had teased or worriedLady Augusta out of money, to satisfy a debt for which he was beingpressed, that very money would be spent in some passing folly, arisingwith the impulse of the moment, before it had had time to reach thecreditor. There are too many in the world like Roland Yorke. 

Roland was late in the office one Monday evening, he and a lamp sharingit between them. He was in a terrible temper, and sat kicking his feeton the floor, as if the noise, for it might be heard in the street, would while away the time. He had nothing to do; the writing he hadbeen about was positively finished; but he had to remain in, waitingfor Mr. Galloway, who was absent, but had not left the office for theevening. He would have given the whole world to take his pipe out ofhis pocket and begin to smoke; but that pastime was so firmly forbiddenin the office, that even Roland dared not disobey. 

"There goes six of 'em!" he uttered, as the cathedral clock rang outthe hour, and his boots threatened to stave in the floor. "If I standthis life much longer, I'll be shot! It's enough to take the spirit outof a fellow; to wear the flesh off his bones; to afflict him withnervous fever. What an idiot I was to let my lady mother put me here!Better have stuck to those musty old lessons at school, and gone in fora parson! Why can't Jenkins get well, and come back? He's shirking it, that's my belief. And why can't Galloway have Arthur back? He might, ifhe pressed it! Talk of solitary confinement driving prisoners mad, attheir precious model prisons, what else is this? I wish I could go madfor a week, if old Galloway might be punished for it! It's worse thanany prison, this office! At four o'clock he went out, and now it's six, and I have not had a blessed soul put his nose inside the door to say, 'How are you getting on?' I'm a regular prisoner, and nothing else. Whydoesn't he--"

The complaint was cut short by the entrance of Mr. Galloway. Unconscious of the rebellious feelings of his clerk, he passed throughthe office to his own room, Roland's rat-tat-to having ceased at hisappearance. To find Roland drumming the floor with his feet was nothingunusual--rather moderate for him; Mr. Galloway _had_ found him doing itwith his head. Two or three minutes elapsed, and Mr. Galloway came outagain. 

"You can shut up, Roland. And then, take these letters to the post. Putthe desks straight first; what a mess you get them into. Is that willengrossed?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Very well! Be here in time in the morning. Good night. "

"Good night, sir, " responded Roland. "Yes! it's all very fine, " he wenton, as he opened the desks, and shoved everything in with his hands, indiscriminately, _en masse_, which was _his_ way of putting thingsstraight. "'Be here in time!' Of course! No matter what time I am letoff the previous evening. If I stand this long--"

Roland finished his sentence by an emphatic turn of the key of theoffice-door, which expressed quite as much as words could have done;for he was already out of the room, his hat on his head, and theletters in his hand. Calling out lustily for the housekeeper, he flungthe key to her, and bounded off in the direction of the post-office. 

His way lay past Mrs. Jenkins's shop, which the maid had, for the hour, been left to attend to. She was doing it from a leaf taken out ofRoland's own book--standing outside the door, and gazing all ways. Itsuddenly struck Roland that he could not do better than pay Jenkins avisit, just to ascertain how long he meant to absent himself. In hedarted, with his usual absence of hesitation, and went on to theparlour. There was no hurry for the letters; the post did not closeuntil nine. 

The little parlour, dark by day, looked very comfortable now. A brightfire, a bright lamp, and a well-spread tea-table, at which Mrs. Jenkinssat. More comfortable than Jenkins himself did, who lay back in hiseasy-chair, white and wan, meekly enjoying a lecture from his wife. Hestarted from it at the appearance of Roland, bowing in his usual humblefashion, and smiling a glad welcome. 

"I say, Jenkins, I have come to know how long you mean to leave us toourselves?" was Roland's greeting. "It's too bad, you know. How d'yedo, Mrs. Jenkins? Don't you look snug here? It's a nasty cutting night, and I have to tramp all the way to the post-office. "

Free and easy Roland drew a chair forward on the opposite side of thehearth to Jenkins, Mrs. Jenkins and her good things being in themiddle, and warmed his hands over the blaze. "Ugh!" he shivered, "Ican't bear these keen, easterly winds. It's fine to be you, Jenkins!basking by a blazing fire, and junketing upon plates of butteredmuffins!"

"Would you please to condescend to take a cup of tea with us, sir?" wasJenkins's answer. "It is just ready. "

"I don't care if I do, " said Roland. "There's nothing I like betterthan buttered muffins. We get them sometimes at home; but there's somany to eat at our house, that before a plate is well in, a dozen handsare snatching at it, and it's emptied. Lady Augusta knows no more aboutcomfort than a cow does, and she _will_ have the whole tribe of youngones in to meals. "

"You'll find these muffins different from what you get at home, " saidMrs. Jenkins, in her curt, snappish, but really not inhospitable way, as she handed the muffins to Roland. "I know what it is when thingsare left to servants, as they are at your place; they turn outuneatable--soddened things, with rancid butter, nine times out of ten, instead of good, wholesome fresh. Servants' cooking won't do forJenkins now, and it never did for me. "

"These are good, though!" exclaimed Roland, eating away with intensesatisfaction. "Have you got any more downstairs? Mrs. Jenkins, don't Iwish you could always toast muffins for me! Is that some ham?"

His eyes had caught a small dish of ham, in delicate slices, put thereto tempt poor Jenkins. But he was growing beyond such tempting now, forhis appetite wholly failed him. It was upon this point he had beenundergoing Mrs. Jenkins's displeasure when Roland interrupted them. Thequestion led to an excellent opportunity for renewing the grievance, and she was too persistent a diplomatist to let it slip. Catching upthe dish, and leaving her chair, she held it out before Roland's eyes. 

"Young Mr. Yorke, do you see anything the matter with that ham? Pleaseto tell me. "

"I see that it looks uncommonly good, " replied Roland. 

"Do you hear?" sharply ejaculated Mrs. Jenkins, turning short roundupon her husband. 

"My dear, I never said a word but what it was good; I never had anyother thought, " returned he, with deprecation. "I only said that Icould not eat it. I can't--indeed, I can't! My appetite is gone. "

Mrs. Jenkins put the dish down upon the table with a jerk. "That's howhe goes on, " said she to Roland. "It's enough to wear a woman'spatience out! I get him muffins, I get him ham, I get him fowls, I gethim fish, I get him puddings, I get him every conceivable nicety that Ican think of, and not a thing will he touch. All the satisfaction I canget from him is, that 'his stomach turns against food!'"

"I wish I could eat, " interposed Jenkins, mildly. "I have tried to doit till I can try no longer. I wish I could. "

"Will you take some of this ham, young Mr. Yorke?" she asked. "_He_won't. He wants to know what scarcity of food is!"

"I'll take it all, if you like, " said Roland. "If it's going begging. "

Mrs. Jenkins accommodated him with a plate and knife and fork, and withsome more muffins. Roland did ample justice to the whole, despatchingit down with about six cups of good tea, well sugared and creamed. Jenkins looked on with satisfaction, and Mrs. Jenkins appeared toregard it in the light of a personal compliment, as chief of thecommissariat department. 

"And now, " said Roland, turning back to the fire, "when are you comingout again, Jenkins?"

Jenkins coughed--more in hesitation for an answer, than of necessity. "I am beginning to think, sir, that I shall not get out again at all, "he presently said. 

"Holloa! I say, Jenkins, don't go and talk that rubbish!" was Roland'sreply. "You know what I told you once, about that dropsy. I heard of aman that took it into his head to fancy himself dead. And he ordered acoffin, and lay down in it, and stopped in it for six days, onlygetting up at night to steal the bread and cheese! His folks couldn'tthink, at first, where the loaves went to. You'll be fancying the same, if you don't mind!"

"If I could only get a little stronger, sir, instead of weaker, Ishould soon be at my duty again. I am anxious enough sir, as you mayimagine, for there's my salary, sir, coming to me as usual, and I doingnothing for it. "

"It's just this, Jenkins, that if you don't come back speedily, I shalltake French leave, and be off some fine morning. I can't stand it muchlonger. I can't tell you how many blessed hours at a stretch am I inthat office with no one to speak to. I _wish_ I was at Port Natal!"

"Sir, " said Jenkins, thinking he would say a word of warning, in hiskindly spirit: "I have heard that there's nothing more deceptive thanthose foreign parts that people flock to when the rage arises for them. Many a man only goes out to starve and die. "

"Many a muff, you mean!" returned self-complaisant Roland. "I say, Jenkins, isn't it a shame about Arthur Channing? Galloway has his moneyback from the very thief himself, as the letter said, and yet the oldgrumbler won't speak out like a man, and say, 'Shake hands, oldfellow, ' and 'I know you are innocent, and come back to the officeagain. ' Arthur would return, if he said that See if I don't start forPort Natal!"

"I wish Mr. Arthur was back again, sir. It would make me easier. "

"He sits, and stews, and frets, and worries his brains about thatoffice, and how it gets on without him!" tartly interposed Mrs. Jenkins. "A sick man can't expect to grow better, if he is to frethimself into fiddlestrings!"

"I wish, " repeated poor Jenkins in a dreamy sort of mood, his eyesfixed on the fire, and his thin hands clasped upon his knees: "I dowish Mr. Arthur was back. In a little while he'd quite replace me, andI should not be missed. "

"Hear him!" uttered Mrs. Jenkins. "That's how he goes on!"

"Well, " concluded Roland, rising, and gathering up his letters, whichhe had deposited upon a side table, "if this is not a nice part of theworld to live in, I don't know what is! Arthur Channing kept down underGalloway's shameful injustice; Jenkins making out that things are allover with him; and I driven off my head doing everybody's work! Goodnight, Jenkins. Good night, Mrs. J. That was a stunning tea! I'll comein again some night, when you have toasted muffins!"

CHAPTER XLIX. 

A CHÂTEAU EN ESPAGNE. 

A keen wind, blowing from the east, was booming through the streets ofHelstonleigh, striking pitilessly the eyes and cheeks of the wayfarers, cutting thin forms nearly in two, and taking stout ones off their legs. 

Blinded by the sharp dust, giving hard words to the wind, to the cold, to the post-office for not being nearer, to anything and everything, Roland Yorke dashed along, suffering nothing and no one to impede hisprogress. He flung the letters into the box at the post-office, when hereached that establishment, and then set off at the same pace backagain. 

Roland was in a state of inward commotion. He thought himself the mostinjured, the most hard-worked, the most-to-be-pitied fellow under thesun. The confinement in the office, with the additional work he had toget through there, was his chief grievance; and a grievance it reallywas to one of Roland's temperament. When he had Arthur Channing andJenkins for his companions in it, to whom he could talk as he pleased, and who did all the work, allowing Roland to do all the play, it hadbeen tolerably bearable; but that state of things was changed, andRoland was feeling that he could bear it no longer. 

Another thing that Roland would perhaps be allowed to bear no longerwas--immunity from his debts. _They_ had grown on him latterly, as muchas the work had. Careless Roland saw no way out of that difficulty, anymore than he did out of the other, except by an emigration to thatdesired haven which had stereotyped itself on the retina of hisimagination in colours of the brightest phantasy--Port Natal. For itsown sake, Roland was hurrying to get to it, as well as that it might beconvenient to do so. 

"Look here, " said he to himself, as he tore along, "even if Carrickwere to set me all clear and straight--and I dare say he might, if Itold him the bother I am in--where would be the good? It would notforward me. I wouldn't stop at Galloway's another month to be made intoa royal duke. If he'd take back Arthur with honours, and Jenkins cameout of his cough and his thinness and returned, I don't know but Imight do violence to my inclination and remain. I can't, as it is. Ishould go dead with the worry and the work. "

Roland paused, fighting for an instant with a puff of wind and dust. Then he resumed:

"I'd pay my debts if I could; but, if I can't, what am I to do butleave them unpaid? Much better get the money from Carrick to start meoff to Port Natal, and set me going there. Then, when I have madeenough, I'll send the cash to Arthur, and get him to settle up for me. I don't want to cheat the poor wretches out of their money; I'd ratherpay 'em double than do that. Some of them work hard enough to get it:almost as hard as I do at Galloway's; and they have a right to theirown. In three months' time after landing, I shall be able to do thething liberally. I'll make up my mind from to-night, and go: I know itwill be all for the best. Besides, there's the other thing. "

What the "other thing" might mean, Mr. Roland did not state moreexplicitly. He came to another pause, and then went on again. 

"That's settled. I'll tell my lady to-night, and I'll tell Galloway inthe morning; and I'll fix on the time for starting, and be off toLondon, and see what I can do with Carrick. Let's see! I shall want totake out lots of things. I can get them in London. When Bagshaw went, he told me of about a thousand. I think I dotted them down somewhere: Imust look. Rum odds and ends they were: I know frying-pans were amongstthem, Carrick will go with me to buy them, if I ask him; and then he'llpay, if it's only out of politeness. Nobody sticks out for politenessmore than Carrick. He--"

Roland's castles in the air were suddenly cut short. He was passing adark part near the cathedral, when a rough hand--rough in texture, notin motion--was laid upon his shoulder, and a peculiar piece of paperthrust upon him. The assailant was Hopper, the sheriff's officer. 

Roland flew into one of his passions. He divined what it was, perfectlywell: nothing less than one of those little mandates from our SovereignLady the Queen, which, a short time back, had imperilled HamishChanning. He repaid Hopper with a specimen of his tongue, and flung thewrit back at him. 

"Now, sir, where's the good of your abusing me, as if it was my fault?"returned the man, in a tone of remonstrance. "I have had it in mypocket this three weeks, Mr. Yorke, and not a day but I could haveserved it on you: but I'm loth to trouble young gentlemen such as you, as I'm sure many of you in this town could say. I have got intodispleasure with our folk about the delay in this very paper, and--inshort, sir, I have not done it, till I was obliged. "

"You old preacher!" foamed Roland. "I have not tipped you withhalf-a-crown lately, and therefore you can see me!"

"Mr. Yorke, " said the man, earnestly, "if you had filled my hands withhalf-crowns yesterday, I must have done this to-day. I tell you, sir, Ihave got into a row with our people over it; and it's the truth. Whydon't you, sir--if I may presume to give advice--tell your littleembarrassments to your mother, the Lady Augusta? She'd be sure to seeyou through them. "

"How dare you mention the Lady Augusta to me?" thundered haughtyRoland. "Is it fitting that the Lady Augusta's name should be bandiedin such transactions as these? Do you think I don't know what's due toher better than that? If I have got into embarrassment, I shall notdrag my mother into it. "

"Well, sir, you know best. I did not mean to offend you, but thecontrary. Mind, Mr. Roland Yorke!" added Hopper, pointing to the writ, which still lay where it had been flung: "you can leave it there if youchoose, sir, but I have served it upon you. "

Hopper went his way. Roland caught up the paper, tore it to pieces withhis strong hands, and tossed them after the man. The wind took up thequarrel, and scattered the pieces indiscriminately, right and left. Roland strode on. 

"What a mercy that there's a Port Natal to be off to!" was his comment. 

Things were not particularly promising at home, when Roland entered, looking at them from a quiet, sociable point of view. Lady Augusta wasspending the evening at the deanery, and the children, from Geralddownwards, were turning the general parlour into a bear-garden. Romping, quarrelling, shouting and screaming, they were really asunrestrained as so many young bears. It would often be no better whenLady Augusta was at home. How Gerald and Tod contrived to do theirlessons amidst it was a marvel to every one. Roland administered a fewcuffs, to enjoin silence, and then went out again, he did not much carewhere. His feet took him to the house of his friend, Knivett, with whomhe spent a pleasant evening, the topics of conversation turning chieflyupon the glories of Port Natal, and Roland's recent adventure withHopper. Had anything been wanted to put the finishing touch to Roland'sresolution, that little adventure would have supplied it. 

It was past ten when he returned home. The noisy throng had dispersedthen, all except Gerald. Gerald had just accomplished his tasks, andwas now gracefully enjoying a little repose before the fire; his headon the back of my lady's low embroidered chair, and his feet extendedon either hob. 

"What's for supper?" asked Roland, turning his eyes on the cloth, whichbore traces that a party, and not a scrupulously tidy one, had alreadypartaken of that meal. 

"Bones, " said Gerald. 

"Bones?" echoed Roland. 

"Bones, " rejoined Gerald. "They made a show of broiling somedownstairs, but they took good care to cut off the meat first. Whereall the meat goes to in this house, I can't think. If a good half ofthe leg of mutton didn't go down from dinner to-day, I possessed noeyes. "

"They are not going to put me off with bones, " said Roland, ringing thebell. "When a man's worked within an ace of his life, he must eat. Martha, "--when the maid appeared--"I want some supper. "

"There's no meat in the house, sir. There were some broiled bo--"

"You may eat the bones yourself, " interrupted Roland. "I never saw sucha house as this! Loads of provisions come into it, and yet there'srarely anything to be had when it's wanted. You must go and order mesome oysters. Get four dozen. I am famished. If I hadn't had asubstantial tea, supplied me out of charity, I should be faintingbefore this! It's a shame! I wonder my lady puts up with you twoincapable servants. "

"There are no oysters to be had at this time, Mr. Roland, " returnedMartha, who was accustomed to these interludes touching thehousekeeping. "The shop shuts up at ten. "

Roland beat on the floor with the heel of his boot. Then he turnedround fiercely to Martha. "Is there _nothing_ in the house that'seatable?"

"There's an apple pie, sir. "

"Bring that, then. And while I am going into it, the cook can do mesome eggs and ham. "

Gerald had turned round at this, angry in his turn, "If there's anapple pie, Martha, why could you not have produced it for our supper?You know we were obliged to put up with cheese and butter!"

"Cook told me not to bring it up, Master Gerald. My lady gave noorders. Cook says if she made ten pies a day they'd get eaten, once youyoung gentlemen knew of their being in the house. "

"Well?" said Gerald. "She doesn't provide them out of her own pocket. "

Roland paid his court to the apple pie, Gerald joining him. After itwas finished, they kept the cook employed some time with the eggs andham. Then Gerald, who had to be up betimes for morning school, went tobed; and I only hope he did not suffer from nightmare. 

Roland took up his place before the fire, in the same chair andposition vacated by Gerald. Thus he waited for Lady Augusta. It was notlong before she came in. 

"Come and sit down a bit, good mother, " said Roland. "I want to talk toyou. "

"My dear, I am not in a talking humour, " she answered. "My head aches, and I shall be glad to get to bed. It was a stupid, humdrum evening"

She was walking to the side table to light her bed-candle, but Rolandinterposed. He drew the couch close to the fire, settled his mother init, and took his seat with her. She asked him what he had to say soparticularly that night. 

"I am going to tell you what it is. But don't you fly out at me, motherdear, " he coaxingly added. "I find I can't get along here at all, mother, and I shall be off to Port Natal. "

Lady Augusta did fly out--with a scream, and a start from her seat. Roland pulled her into it again. 

"Now, mother, just listen to me quietly. I can't bear my life atGalloway's. I can't do the work. If I stopped at it, I'm not sure but Ishould do something desperate. You wouldn't like to see your son turnjockey, and ride in a pink silk jacket and yellow breeches on therace-course; and you wouldn't like to see him enlist for a soldier, orrun away for a sailor! Well, worse than that might come, if I stoppedat Galloway's. Taking it at the very best, I should only be worked intomy grave. "

"I will not hear another word, Roland, " interrupted Lady Augusta. "Howcan you be so wicked and ungrateful?"

"What is there wicked in it?" asked Roland. "Besides, you don't knowall. I can't tell you what I don't owe in Helstonleigh, and I've not asixpence to pay it with. You wouldn't like to see me marched off toprison, mother. "

Lady Augusta gave another shriek. 

"And there's a third reason why I wish to be away, " went on Roland, drowning the noise. "But I'll not go into that, because it concernsmyself alone. "

Of course the announcement that it concerned himself alone, only mademy lady the more inquisitive to hear it. She peremptorily orderedRoland to disclose it to her. 

But Roland could be as peremptory as she, and he declined, in positiveterms, to explain further. 

"It would not afford you any pleasure, mother, " he said, "and I shouldnot have mentioned it but as an additional reason why I must be off. "

"You unhappy boy! You have been doing something dreadful!"

"It's not over-good, " acknowledged Roland. "Perhaps I'll write you wordall about it from London. I've not smothered William Yorke, or set oldGalloway's office on fire, and those respected gentlemen are my two_bêtes noires_. So don't look so scared, mother. "

"Roland!" uttered Lady Augusta, as the fact struck her, "if you go offin this manner, all the money that was paid with you to Mr. Gallowaywill be lost! I might as well have sent it down the gutter. "

"So I said at the time, " answered cool Roland. "Never mind that, mother. What's that paltry hundred or two, compared with the millions Ishall make? And as to these folks that I owe money to--"

"They'll be coming upon me, " interposed Lady Augusta. "Heaven knows, _I_ have enough to pay. "

"They will do nothing of the sort, " said Roland. "You have no legalright to pay my debts. Not one of them but has been contracted since Iwas of age. If they come to you, tell them so. "

"Roland, Lord Carrick gave you money once or twice when he was here, "resumed Lady Augusta, "I know he did. What have you done with it all?"

"Money melts, " responded Roland. "Upon my word of honour, I do believeit must melt at times; it vanishes so quickly. "

My lady could not cavil at the assertion. She was only too much givento the same belief herself. Roland continued:

"In a little while--about three months, as I calculate--after myarrival at Port Natal, I shall be in a position to send funds home topay what I owe; and be assured, I will faithfully send them. There isthe finest opening, mother, at Port Natal! Fortunes are being madethere daily. In a few years' time I shall come home with my pocketslined, and shall settle down by you for life. "

"If I could only think the prospect was so good a one!" exclaimed LadyAugusta. 

"It is good, " said Roland emphatically. "Why, mother, Port Natal is allthe rage: hundreds are going out. Were there no reasons to urge meaway, you would be doing the most unwise thing possible to stand in thelight of my going. If I were at something that I liked, that I was notworked to death at; if I did not owe a shilling; if my prospects here, in short, were first-rate, and my life a bower of rose-leaves, I shoulddo well to throw it all up for Port Natal. "

"But in what manner are these great fortunes made?" wondered LadyAugusta. 

"Of course, I shall acquire all that information. Stuck in thisknow-nothing Helstonleigh, I can only state the fact that they _are_made. I dare say I can find an opening for one or two of the boys outthere. "

Lady Augusta--persuadable as ever was a child--began to look upon theplan with less prejudiced eyes--as Roland would have styled it. As toRoland, so fully had he become imbued with the golden harvest to begathered at Port Natal, that had an angel descended to undeceive him, he would have refused to listen. 

"There will be the losing you, Roland, " said Lady Augusta, hesitatingwhether she should scold or cry. 

"Law, what's that?" returned Roland, slightingly. "You'll get over thatin a day, and return thanks that there's one source of trouble less. Look here! If I were in the luck of having a good commission given mein some crack Indian regiment, would you not say, 'Oh be joyful, ' andstart me off at once? What are you the worse for George's being away?Mother!" he added somewhat passionately, "_would_ you like to see metied down for life to an old proctor's office?"

"But, Roland, you cannot go out without money. There'll be your outfitand your passage; and you can't land with empty pockets. "

"As to an outfit, " said Roland, "you must not run your head upon such aone as George had. A few new shirts, and a pair or two of waterproofboots--that will be about all I shall want. I remember shirts andwaterproof boots were mentioned by Bagshaw. What I shall chiefly wantto buy will be tools, and household utensils: frying-pans, and items ofthat sort. "

"Frying-pans!" ejaculated Lady Augusta. 

"I am sure frying-pans were mentioned, " answered Roland. "Perhaps itwas only one, though, for private use. I'll hunt up Bagshaw's list, andlook it over. "

"And where's the money to come from?" repeated my lady. 

"I shall get it of Lord Carrick. I know he'll give me what I want. Ioften talked to him about Port Natal when he was here. "

"I had a letter from him to-day, " said Lady Augusta. "He will bereturning to Ireland next week. "

"Will he, though?" uttered Roland, aroused by the information. "I haveno time to lose, then. "

"Well, Roland I must hear more about this to-morrow, and consider itover, " said my lady, rising to retire. "I have not said yet you are togo, mind. "

"I shall go, whether you say it or not, " replied frank Roland. "Andwhen I come home with my pockets lined, a rich man for life, the firstthing I'll buy shall be a case of diamonds for you. "

"Stupid boy!" said she laughing. "I shall be too old to wear diamondsthen. "

"Oh no, you won't. "

My lady gave him a hearty kiss, and went to bed and to sleep. Roland'svisions were not without their effect upon her, and she had a mostdelightful dream of driving about in a charming city, whose streetswere paved with malachite marble, brilliant to look upon. How manytimes Roland had dreamt that Port Natal was paved with _gold_, he aloneknew. 

Had Roland been troubled with over-sensitiveness in regard to otherpeople's feelings, and felt himself at a loss how to broach the matterto Mr. Galloway, he might have been pleased to find that the way was, in a degree, paved to him. On the following morning Mr. Galloway was atthe office considerably before his usual hour; consequently, beforeRoland Yorke. Upon looking over Roland's work of the previous day, hefound that a deed--a deed that was in a hurry, too--had beenimperfectly drawn out, and would have to be done over again. The causemust have been sheer carelessness, and Mr. Galloway naturally feltangered. When the gentleman arrived, he told him what he thought of hisconduct, winding up the reproaches with a declaration that Roland didhim no service at all, and would be as well out of the office as in it. 

"I am glad of that, sir, " was Roland's answer. "What I was about totell you will make no difference, then. I wish to leave, sir. "

"Do you?" retorted Mr. Galloway. 

"I am going to leave, sir, " added Roland, rather improving upon theassertion. "I am going to Port Natal. "

Mr. Galloway was a little taken aback. "Going to where?" cried he. 

"To Port Natal. "

"To Port Natal!" echoed Mr. Galloway in the most unboundedastonishment, for not an inkling of Roland's long-thought-of projecthad ever reached him. "What on earth should you want there?"

"To make my fortune, " replied Roland. 

"Oh!" said Mr. Galloway. "When do you start?"

"It is quite true, sir, " continued Roland. "Of course I could not gowithout informing you. "

"Do you start to-day?" repeated Mr. Galloway, in the same mocking tone. 

"No, I don't, " said Roland. "But I _shall_ start, sir, before long, andI beg you to believe me. I have talked Lady Augusta over to the plan, and I shall get the money for it from Lord Carrick. I might drum onhere all my life and never rise to be anything better than a proctor, besides having my life worked out of me; whereas, if I can get to PortNatal, my fortune's made. Hundreds and thousands of enterprisingspirits are emigrating there, and they are all going to make theirfortunes. "

Had Mr. Galloway not been angry, he would have laughed out-right. "Yorke, " said he, "did you ever hear of a sickness that fell suddenlyupon this kingdom, some years ago? It was called the gold fever. Hundreds and thousands, as you phrase it, caught the mania, and flockedout to the Australian gold-diggings, to 'make their fortunes' bypicking up gold. Boy!"--laying his hand on Roland's shoulder--"how manyof those, think you, instead of making their fortunes, only went out TODIE?"

"That was not Port Natal, sir. "

"It was not. But, unless some of you wild young men come to yoursenses, we shall have a second edition of the Australian madness atPort Natal. Nothing can be more futile than these visionary schemes, Roland Yorke; they are like the apples of Sodom--fair and promising tothe eye, ashes to the taste. Do not you be deceived by them. "

"One _must_ get on at Port Natal, sir. "

"If one does not get 'off, '" returned Mr. Galloway, in a cynicaltone that chafed Roland's ear. "The stream that flocked out to thegold-diggings all thought they should get on--each individual was fullypersuaded that he should come home in a year or two with a plum in eachof his breeches pockets. Where one made his way, Roland--madewealth--many starved; died; vanished, it was not known how; were neverheard of by their friends, or saw old England again. What good do yousuppose _you_ could do at Port Natal?"

"I intend to do a great deal, " said Roland. 

"But suppose you found you could do none--suppose it, I say--what wouldbecome of you out in a strange place, without money, and withoutfriends?"

"Well, " returned Roland, who was never at a loss for an answer: "ifsuch an impossible thing as a failure were to turn up, I should comeback to my Uncle Carrick, and make him start me in something else. "

"Ah!" mockingly observed Mr. Galloway, "a rolling stone gathers nomoss. Meanwhile, Mr. Roland Yorke, suppose you come down from theclouds to your proper business. Draw out this deed again, and see ifyou can accomplish it to a little better purpose than you didyesterday. "

Roland, liking the tone less and less, sat down and grew sullen. "Don'tsay I did not give you notice, sir, " he observed. 

But Mr. Galloway vouchsafed no reply. Indeed, it may be questioned ifhe heard the remark, for he went into his own room at the moment Rolandspoke, and shut the door after him. 

"Mocking old caterpillar!" grumbled angry Roland. "No fortunes at PortNatal! I'd go off, if it was only to tantalize _him!_"

CHAPTER L. 

REALLY GONE!

Mrs. Jenkins had many virtues. Besides the cardinal one which has beenparticularly brought under the reader's notice--that of keeping herhusband in due subjection--she also possessed, in an eminent degree, the excellent quality of being a most active housewife. In fact, shehad the bump of rule and order, and personally superintendedeverything--with hands and tongue. 

Amongst other careful habits, was that of never letting any one put afinger on her best sitting-room, for the purpose of cleaning it, exceptherself. She called it her drawing-room--a small, pretty room over theshop, very well furnished. It was let to Mr. Harper, with the bedroombehind it. Had Lydia dared even to wipe the dust off a table, it mighthave cost her her place. Mrs. Jenkins was wont to slip her old buffdressing-gown over her clothes, after she was dressed in a morning, andtake herself to this drawing-room. Twice a week it was carefully swept, and on those occasions a large green handkerchief, tied cornerwise uponMrs. Jenkins's head, to save her cap from dust, was added to hercostume. 

On the morning following Roland's communication to Mr. Galloway, Mrs. Jenkins was thus occupied--a dust-pan in one hand, a short hand-broomin the other--for you may be sure she did not sweep her carpets withthose long, slashing, tear-away brooms that wear out a carpet in sixmonths--and the green kerchief adjusted gracefully over her ears--whenshe heard a man's footsteps clattering up the stairs. In muchastonishment as to who could have invaded the house at that hour, Mrs. Jenkins rose from her knees and flung open the door. 

It was Roland Yorke, coming up at full speed, with a carpet-bag in hishand. "Whatever do you want?" exclaimed she. "Is anything the matter?"

"The matter is, that I want to say a word to Jenkins, " replied Roland. "I know he must be in bed, so I just ran straight through the shop andcame up. "

"I'm sure you are very polite!" exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins. "For all youknew, I might have been in the room. "

"So you might!" cried easy Roland. "I never thought of that. I shouldnot have swallowed you, Mrs. Jenkins. Take care! I have hardly a minuteto spare. I shall lose the train. "

On he went, up the second flight of stairs, without the slightesthesitation, and into Jenkins's room, ignoring the ceremony of knocking. Poor Jenkins, who had heard the colloquy, and recognized Roland'svoice, was waiting for him with wondering eyes. 

"I am off, Jenkins, " said Roland, advancing and bending over the bed. "I wouldn't go without just saying a word to you. "

"Off where, sir?" returned Jenkins, who could not have looked morebewildered had he been suddenly aroused from sleep. 

"To Port Natal. I am sick and tired of everything here, so I'm off atlast. "

Jenkins was struck dumb. Of course, the first thought that passedthrough his mind was Mr. Galloway's discomfiture, unless he wasprepared for it. "This is very sudden, sir!" he cried, when speech cameto him. "Who is replacing you at the office?"

"No one, " replied Roland. "That's the primest bit in the whole play. Galloway will know what work is, now. I told him yesterday morning thatI should go, but he went into a tantrum, and didn't take it in earnest. He pointed out to me about sixty things as my day's work to-day, whenhe left the office last night; errands to go upon, and writings to do, and answers to give, and the office to mind! A glorious commotionthere'll be, when he finds it's all thrown upon his own hands. He'llsee how _he_ likes work!"

Jenkins could do nothing but stare. Roland went on:

"I have just slipped round there now, to leave a message, with mycompliments. It will turn his hair green when he hears it, and finds Iam really gone. Do you feel any better, Jenkins?"

The question was put in a different tone; a soft, gentle tone--one inwhich Roland rarely spoke. He had never seen Jenkins look so ill as hewas looking now. 

"I shall never feel any better in this world, sir. "

"Well, give us your hand, Jenkins; I must be off. You are the only one, old fellow, that I have said good-bye to. You have been a good lot, Jenkins, and done things for me that other clerks would not. Good luckto you, old chap, whether you go into the next world, or whether youstop in this!"

"God bless you, Mr. Roland! God bless you everywhere!"

Roland leapt down the stairs. Mrs. Jenkins stood at the drawing-roomdoor. "Good-bye, " said he to her. "You see I should not have had timeto eat you. What d'ye call that thing you have got upon your head, Mrs. Jenkins? Only wear it to church next Sunday, and you'll set thefashion. "

Away he tore to the station. The first person he saw there, officialsexcepted, was Hamish Channing, who had gone to it for the purpose ofseeing a friend off by the train. The second, was Lady Augusta Yorke. 

Hamish he saw first, as he was turning away from getting his ticket. "Hamish, " said he, "you'll tell Arthur that I did not come round to himfor a last word; I shall write it from London. "

"Roland"--and Hamish spoke more gravely than was his wont--"you arestarting upon a wild-goose scheme. "

"It is _not_, " said Roland; "why do you preach up nonsense? If theworst came to the worst, I should come back to Carrick, and he'd set meon my legs again. I tell you, Hamish, I have a hundred reasons to urgeme away from Helstonleigh. "

"Is this carpet-bag all your luggage?"

"All I am taking with me. The rest will be sent afterwards. Had Idespatched the bellman about the town to announce my departure, I mighthave been stopped; so I have told no one, except poor harmlessJenkins. "

Of course it never occurred to proud and improvident Roland that it waspossible to travel in any carriage but a first-class one. A first-classticket he took, and a first-class compartment he entered. Fortunatelyit was an empty one. Hamish was filling up the door, talking to him, when sounds of distress were heard coming swiftly along the platform. Before Hamish had time to see what caused them, they were close uponhis ear, and he found himself vehemently pushed aside, just as Rolandhimself might have pushed him. He turned with surprise. Panting, breathless, in tears, wailing out that she should never see her darlingson again, stood the Lady Augusta Yorke. 

What could be the cause of her appearing there in that state? The causewas Roland. On the previous day, he had held a second conversation withhis mother, picturing the glories of Port Natal in colours so vivid, that the thought nearly crossed my lady's mind, couldn't she go too, and make _her_ fortune? She then inquired when he meant to start. "Oh, "answered Roland, carelessly, "between now and a week's time. " The realfact was, that he contemplated being away on the following morning, before my lady was up. Roland's motive was not an unfilial one. He knewhow she excited herself over these partings; the violent, if short, grief to which she gave the reins; he remembered what it had been onthe departure of his brother George. One other motive also held weightwith him, and induced reticence. It was very desirable, rememberingthat he was not perfectly free from claims upon his purse, that heshould depart, if not absolutely _sub rosâ_, still without its beingextensively known, and that, he knew, would be next door to animpossibility, were the exact period confided to my lady. Lady AugustaYorke could not have kept a secret for a single hour, had it been tosave her life. Accordingly, she retired to rest in blissful ignorance:and in ignorance she might have remained until he was fairly off, butfor Roland's own want of caution. Up with daylight--and daylight, youknow, does not surprise us too early when the dark days of November areat hand--Roland began turning over his drawers and closets, to pick outthe few articles he meant to carry with him: the rest would be packedafterwards. This aroused his mother, whose room was underneath his, andshe angrily wondered what he could be doing. Not for some time untilafter the noise had ceased did the faintest suspicion of the truthbreak upon her; and it might not then have done so, but for the suddenremembrance which rose in her mind of Roland's particularlyaffectionate farewell the night before. Lady Augusta rang her bell. 

"Do you know what Mr. Roland is about in his room?" she inquired, whenMartha answered it. 

"Mr. Roland is gone out, my lady, " was Martha's reply. "He came down tothe kitchen and drank a cup of coffee; and then went out with acarpet-bag. "

Lady Augusta became excited. "Where's he gone?" she wildly asked. 

"Somewhere by rail, I think, my lady. He said, as he drank his coffee, that he hoped our heads wouldn't ache till he saw us again. Cook and mecouldn't think what he meant, my lady. "

My lady divined only too well. She gave a prolonged series of shrieks, jumped out of bed, flung on any clothes that came uppermost, andstarted in pursuit of him, to the intense wonder of Martha, and to theastonishment of Helstonleigh, as she flew wildly through the streets tothe station. The sight of Hamish at a carriage-door guided her to herrunagate son. 

She sprang into the carriage--it was well, I say, that it wasempty!--and overwhelmed him with a torrent of reproaches, all the whilekissing and hugging him. Not two minutes could be given to theirfarewell, for the time was up, and Lady Augusta had to descend again, weeping bitterly. 

"Take care of her home, Hamish, " said Roland, putting his head out. "Mother dear, you'll live to say I have done well, yet. You'll see mecome home, one of these fine days, with a covered waggon after me, bringing the bags of gold. " Poor Roland!

The train steamed off, and Lady Augusta, to the discomfiture of Hamish, and the admiration of the porters and station boys, set off at fullspeed after it, wringing her hands, and tearing her hair, and sobbingand shrieking out that "She'd go--she'd go with it! that she shouldnever see her darling boy again!" With some difficulty Hamish soothedher down to tolerable calmness, and put her into a fly. 

They were scarcely beyond the station when she suddenly bent forward toHamish, who sat on the seat opposite to her, and seized his hands. "Isit true that every one gets rich who goes to Port Natal?"

The question was a poser for sunny Hamish. He liked to scatter flowersin his path, rather than thorns. How could he tell that grieving woman, that Roland--careless, lazy, improvident Roland--would be almost sureto return in a worse plight than he had gone? "I have heard of peopledoing well at Port Natal, " he answered; "and Roland is young andstrong, and has years before him. "

"I cannot think how so much money can be made, " continued my lady, beginning to dry her tears. "There are no gold fields there, arethere?"

"I think not, " said Hamish. 

"They must trade, then, I suppose. And, goodness me! what does Rolandknow about trading? Nothing. He talks of taking out tools andfrying-pans. "

"Frying-pans!" repeated Hamish, struck with the item. 

"I am sure he said frying-pans. Oh dear!" sobbed Lady Augusta, "what arelief it would be if folks never had any children; or if boys did notpossess wills of their own! Hamish, you have never given sorrow to_your_ mother! I feel that you have not!"

Hamish smiled at her. "Now you know, Lady Augusta, that your childrenare your dearest treasures, " cried he, soothingly. "You would be themost unhappy woman living if you had none. "

"Ah! you can't judge, Mr. Hamish Channing. You have no children of yourown. "

"No, " said Hamish, laughing, "but my turn may come some day. Dear LadyAugusta, if Roland has his faults, he has his good qualities. Look onthe bright side of things. Look forward with hope to the time that youshall see him home safe and well again. It will be sure to come. "

"You speak as if you believed it would. "

"Of course I do, " said Hamish. "And every one finds me a true prophet. "

They were then passing the Hazledon Charity. At the iron gates of theinclosure, talking to an old man, stood the Rev. William Yorke. "Rolandleft a message for him!" exclaimed Hamish, half mockingly, as his eyesfell upon the clergyman. 

Lady Augusta, impulse all over, suddenly put her head out at the windowand stopped the fly. William Yorke, looking surprised to see who wereits inmates, advanced to the door. The lady's tears flowed afresh. 

"He is gone, William! My darling, self-willed, troublesome boy is gone, and I shall, perhaps, never see him more, till I am an old woman. "

"Who is gone?" returned Mr. Yorke. 

"Roland. Never was a mother so tried as I. He will soon be on the sea, ploughing his way to Port Natal. I wish there was no sea!--no PortNatals! He went off without saying a word to me, and he is GONE!"

Mr. Yorke, bewildered, turned his eyes on Hamish for explanation. Hehad never heard of the Port Natal project. Hamish nodded inconfirmation. 

"The best place for him, " said Mr. Yorke. "He must work for his bread, there, before he eats it. "

Lady Augusta shrieked. "How cruelly hard you are, William!"

"Not hard, Lady Augusta--kind, " he gently said. "If your boys werebrought up to depend upon their own exertions, they would make bettermen. "

"You said you had a message for him from Roland, " resumed Lady Augusta, looking at Hamish. 

Hamish smiled significantly. "Not much of one, " he said, and his lips, as he bent towards William Yorke, assumed an expression of sarcasticseverity. "He merely requested me, after he was in the train, to givehis love to the Rev. William Yorke, as a parting legacy. "

Either the words or the tone, probably the latter, struck on the Rev. William Yorke's self-esteem, and flushed his cheek crimson. Since therupture with Constance, Hamish, though not interfering in the remotestdegree, had maintained a tone of quiet sarcasm to Mr. Yorke. And thoughMr. Yorke did not like it, he could not prevent it. 

"When does Mr. Channing return?" he abruptly asked of Hamish. 

"We shall be expecting him shortly now. "

Lady Augusta gave the signal for the fly to drive on. William Yorke puthis hand over the door, and took hers as the man began to whip up hishorse. 

"Do not grieve too much after him, Lady Augusta. It may prove to be thebest day's work Roland ever did. God has given him hands, and brains;and a good heart, as I verily believe. If he shall only learn theirvalue out there, let his lines be ever so hard, he may come home a wiseand a good man. One of my poor pensioners here said to me, not tenminutes ago, I was brought to know my Saviour, sir, through 'hardlines. ' Lady Augusta, those 'hard lines' are never sent in vain. "

CHAPTER LI. 

AN ARRIVAL IN A FLY. 

Was any one ever so ill-used as that unfortunate Mr. Galloway? On themorning which witnessed his troublesome clerk's departure, he setrather longer than usual over his breakfast, never dreaming of thecalamity in store for him. That his thoughts were given to business, there was no doubt, for his newspaper lay untouched. In point of fact, his mind was absorbed by the difficulties which had arisen in hisoffice, and the ways and means by which those difficulties might bebest remedied. 

That it would be impossible to get on with Roland Yorke alone, he hadsaid to himself twenty times; and now he was saying it again, littlesupposing, poor unconscious man, that even Roland, bad as he was, hadtaken flight. He had never intended to get along with only Roland, butcircumstances had induced him to attempt doing so for a time. In thefirst place, he had entertained hopes, until very recently, thatJenkins would recover; in the second place, failing Jenkins, there wasno one in the wide world he would so soon have in his office as ArthurChanning--provided that Arthur could prove his innocence. With Arthurand Roland, he could go on very well, or with Jenkins and Roland; butpoor Jenkins appeared to be passing beyond hope; and Arthur's innocencewas no nearer the light than it had been, in spite of that strangerestitution of the money. Moreover, Arthur had declined to return tothe office, even to help with the copying, preferring to take it home. All these reflections were pressing upon Mr. Galloway's mind. 

"I'll wait no longer, " said he, as he brought them to a conclusion. "I'll go this very day after that young Bartlett. I think he mightsuit, with some drilling. If he turns out a second Yorke, I shall havea nice pair upon my hands. But he can't well turn out as bad as Roland:he comes of a more business-like stock. "

This point settled, Mr. Galloway took up the _Times_. Something in itspages awoke his interest, and he sat longer over it than had been hiswont since the departure of Jenkins. It was twenty minutes past nine byhis watch when he started for his office. 

"Now, I wonder how I shall find that gentleman?" soliloquized he, whenhe drew near. "Amusing himself, as usual, of course. He'll have made ashow of putting out the papers, and there they will be, lying unopened. He'll be at Aunt Sally with the letters, or dancing a quadrille withthe stools, or stretched three parts out of the window, saluting thepassengers. I never thought he'd do me much good, and should not havetaken him, but for the respect I owed the late Dr. Yorke. Now for it!"

It was all very well for Mr. Galloway to say, "Now for it, " and to puthis hand stealthily upon the door-handle, with the intention ofpouncing suddenly upon his itinerant pupil. But the door would notopen. Mr. Galloway turned, and turned, and shook the handle, as ourrespected friend Mr. Ketch did when he was locked up in the cloisters, but he turned it to no purpose. 

"He has not come yet!" wrathfully exclaimed Mr. Galloway. "All the workof the office on his shoulders and mine, the most busy time of thewhole year, and here's half-past nine, and no appearance of him! If Ilive this day out, I'll complain to Lady Augusta!"

At this moment the housekeeper's little maid came running forward. "Where's Mr. Yorke?" thundered the proctor, in his anger, as if thechild had the keeping of him. 

"Please, sir, he's gone to Port Natal. "

"Gone to--what?" uttered Mr. Galloway. 

She was unlocking the door, and then stood back to curtsey while Mr. Galloway entered, following in after him--an intelligent child for heryears. 

"Please, sir, Mr. Yorke came round this morning, while me and missiswas a dusting of the place, and he said we was to tell Mr. Galloway, when he come, that he had gone to Port Natal, and left hiscompliments. "

"It is not true!" cried Mr. Galloway. "How dare he play these tricks?"he added, to himself. 

"Please, sir, missis said she thought it was true, 'cause he had acarpet-bag, " returned the young servant. 

Mr. Galloway stared at the child. "You go round at once to LadyAugusta's, " said he, "and ask what Mr. Yorke means by being so late. Idesire that he will come immediately. "

The child flew off, and Mr. Galloway, hardly knowing what to make ofmatters, proceeded to do what he ought to have found done. He andJenkins had duplicate keys to the desks, letter-box, etc. SinceJenkins's illness, his keys had been in the possession of Roland. 

Presently the child came back again. 

"Please, sir, her ladyship's compliments, and Mr. Roland have gone toPort Natal. "

The consternation that this would have caused Mr. Galloway, had hebelieved it, might have been pitiable. An intimation that our clerk, who was in the office last night, pursuing his legitimate work, has"gone to Port Natal, " as we might say of some one who goes to make amorning call at the next door, is not very credible. Neither did Mr. Galloway give credence to it. 

"Did you see her ladyship?" he asked. 

"Please, sir, I saw one of the servants, and she went to her ladyship, and brought out the message. "

The young messenger retired, leaving Mr. Galloway to his fate. Hepersisted in assuming that the news was too absurd to be correct; but adreadful inward misgiving began to steal over him. 

The question was set at rest by the Lady Augusta. Feeling excessivelyvexed with Roland for not having informed Mr. Galloway of his intendeddeparture--as from the message, it would appear he had not done--shedetermined to go round; and did so, following closely on the heels ofthe maid. Her ladyship had already wonderfully recovered her spirits. They were of a mercurial nature, liable to go up and down at touch; andHamish had contrived to cheer her greatly. 

"What does all this mean? Where's Roland?" began Mr. Galloway, showinglittle more deference to her ladyship, in his flurry, than he mighthave shown to Roland himself. 

"Did you not know he was going?" she asked. 

"I know nothing. Where is he gone?"

"He has started for Port Natal; that is, he has started for London, onhis way to it. He went by the eight o'clock train. "

Mr. Galloway sat down in consternation. "My lady, allow me to inquirewhat sort of behaviour you call this?"

"Whether it is good or bad, right or wrong, I can't help it, " was thereply of Lady Augusta. "I'm sure _I_ have enough to bear!" she added, melting into tears. "Of course he ought to have informed you of hisintention, Mr. Galloway. I thought he did. He told me he had done so. "

A reminiscence of Roland's communication crossed Mr. Galloway's mind;of his words, "Don't say I did not give you notice, sir. " He had paidno heed to it at the time. 

"He is just another of my headstrong boys, " grumbled Lady Augusta. "They are all specimens of wilfulness. I never knew that it was thismorning he intended to be off, until he was gone, and I had to runafter him to the station. Ask Hamish Channing. "

"He must be mad!" exclaimed Mr. Galloway. 

"He says great fortunes are made, out at Port Natal. I don't knowwhether it is so. "

"Great fortunes made!" irascibly responded Mr. Galloway. "Pittances, that folks go out with, are lost, when they are such as he. That's whatit is. Harem-scarem chaps, who won't work, can do no good at PortNatal. Great fortunes made, indeed! I wonder that you can be led awayby notions so wild and extravagant, Lady Augusta!"

"I am not led away by them, " peevishly returned Lady Augusta, arecollection of her own elation on the point darting unpleasantly toher mind. "Where would have been the use of my holding out against it, when he had set his heart upon the thing? He would have gone in spiteof me. Do you _not_ think fortunes are made there, Mr. Galloway?"

"I am sure they are not, by such as Roland, " was the reply. "A man whoworks one hour in the day, and plays eleven, would do less good at PortNatal than he would in his own country. A business man, thoroughlyindustrious, and possessing some capital, may make something at PortNatal, as he would at any other port. In the course of years he mightrealize a fortune--in the course of _years_, I say, Lady Augusta. "

This was not precisely the prospect Roland had pictured to LadyAugusta, or to which her own imagination had lent its hues, and shestood in consternation almost equal to Mr. Galloway's. "What on earthwill he do, then, when he gets there?" ejaculated she. 

"Find out his mistake, my lady, and come home without a coat to hisback, as hundreds have done before him, and worked their passage home, to get here. It is to be hoped he will have to do the same. It willteach him what work is. "

"There never was such an unhappy mother as I am!" bewailed my lady. "They _will_ do just as they like, and always would, from Georgedownwards: they won't listen to me. Poor dear boy! reduced, perhaps, tolive on brown bread and pea-soup!"

"And lucky to get that!" cried angry Mr. Galloway. "But the presentquestion, Lady Augusta, is not what he may do when he gets to PortNatal, but what am I to do without him here. Look at the position ithas placed me in!"

Lady Augusta could give neither help nor counsel. In good truth, it wasnot her fault. But she saw that Mr. Galloway seemed to think it washers, or that it was partially hers. She departed home again, feelingcross with Roland, feeling damped about his expedition, and beginningto fancy that Port Natal might not, after all, bring her diamonds towear, or offer her streets paved with malachite marble. 

Mr. Galloway sat down, and reiterated the question in relation tohimself, which Lady Augusta had put regarding Roland when he shouldarrive at Port Natal--What on earth was he to do? He could not closehis office; he could not perform its various duties himself; he couldnot be out of doors and in, at one and the same time, unless, indeed, he cut himself in two! What _was_ he to do?

It was more than Mr. Galloway could tell. He put his two hands upon hisknees, and stared in consternation, feeling himself grow hot and coldalternately. Could Roland--then whirling along in the train, recliningat his ease, his legs up on the opposite cushion as he enjoyed aluxurious pipe, to the inestimable future benefit of the carriage--havetaken a view of Mr. Galloway and his discomfiture, his delight wouldhave been unbounded. 

"Incorrigible as he was, he was better than nobody, " ejaculated Mr. Galloway, rubbing up his flaxen curls. "He could keep office, if he didnot do much in it; he received and answered callers; he went out onhasty messages; and, upon a pinch, he did accomplish an hour or so'scopying. I am down on my beam-ends, and no mistake. What a simpletonthe fellow must be! Port Natal, indeed, for him! If Lord Carrick werenot own brother to my lady, he might have the sense to stop it. Why--"

Arrival the first, and no one to answer it but Mr. Galloway! A fly haddriven up and stopped at the door. No one appeared to be getting out ofit, so Mr. Galloway, perforce, proceeded to see what it wanted. Itmight contain one of the chapter, or the dean himself!

But, by the time he reached the pavement, the inmates were descending. A short lady, in a black bonnet and short black skirts, had let herselfout on the opposite side, and had come round to assist somebody out onthis. Was it a ghost, or was it a man? His cheeks were hollow andhectic, his eyes were glistening as with fever, his chest heaved. Hehad a fur boa wrapped round his neck, and his overcoat hung loosely onhis tall, attenuated form, which seemed too weak to support itself, orto get down the fly steps without being lifted. 

"Now don't you be in a hurry!" the lady was saying, in a cross tone. "You'll come pitch into the mud with your nose. Can't you wait? It's mybelief you are wanting to do it. Here, let me get firm hold of you; youknow you are as weak as ever was a rat!"

You may recognize the voice as belonging to Mrs. Jenkins, and that poorshadow could be no one but Jenkins himself, for there certainly was notanother like it in all Helstonleigh. Mr. Galloway stood inastonishment, wondering what this new move could mean. The descentaccomplished, Jenkins was conducted by his wife through the passage tothe office. He went straight to his old place at his desk, and sat downon his stool, his chest palpitating, his breath coming in great sighs. Laying his hat beside him, he turned respectfully to Mr. Galloway, whohad followed him in, speaking with all his native humility:

"I have come, sir, to do what I can for you in this emergency. "

And there he stopped--coughing, panting, shaking; looking like a manmore fit to be lying on his death-bed than to be keeping office. Mr. Galloway gazed at him with compassion. He said nothing. Jenkins at thatmoment could neither have heard nor answered, and Mrs. Jenkins was out, paying the driver. 

The paroxysm was not over when she came in. She approached Jenkins, slightly shook him--her mode of easing the cough--dived in his pocketsfor his silk handkerchief, with which she wiped his brow, took off thefur from his neck, waited until he was quiet, and began:

"I hope you are satisfied! If you are not, you ought to be. Who's toknow whether you'll get back alive? _I_ don't. "

"What did he come for?" asked Mr. Galloway. 

"Ah!" said Mrs. Jenkins, "that's just what I want to know! As if hecould do any good in the state he is! Look at him, sir. "

Poor Jenkins, who was indeed a sight to be looked at, turned his wanface upon Mr. Galloway. 

"I cannot do much sir, I know; I wish I could: but I can sit in theoffice--at least, I hope I can--just to take care of it while you areout, sir, until you can find somebody to replace Mr. Roland. "

"How did you know he was gone off?" demanded Mr. Galloway. 

"It was in this way, " interposed Mrs. Jenkins, ages before poorJenkins could gain breath to answer. "I was on my hands and knees, brushing the fluff off my drawing-room carpet this morning, when Iheard something tearing up the stairs at the rate of a coach-and-six. Who should it be but young Mr. Yorke, on his way to Jenkins in bed, without saying so much as 'With your leave, ' or 'By your leave. ' Aminute or two, and down he came again, gave me a little touch of hisimpudence, and was gone before I could answer. Well, sir, I kept onat my room, and when it was done I went downstairs to see about thebreakfast, never suspecting what was going on with _him_"--pointingher finger at Jenkins. "I was pouring out his tea when it was readyto take up to him, and putting a bit of something on a plate, whichI intended to make him eat, when I heard somebody creeping down thestairs--stumbling, and panting, and coughing--and out I rushed. Therestood he--_he_, Mr. Galloway! dressed and washed, as you see him now!he that has not got up lately till evening, and me dressing him then!'Have you took leave of your senses?' said I to him. 'No, ' said he, 'mydear, but I must go to the office to-day: I can't help myself. YoungMr. Yorke's gone away, and there'll be nobody. ' 'And good luck go withhim, for all the use he's of here, getting you out of your bed, ' saidI. If Jenkins were as strong as he used to be, Mr. Galloway, I shouldhave felt tempted to treat him to a shaking, and then, perhaps, he'dhave remembered it!"

"Mr. Roland told me he was going away, sir, and that you had nobody toreplace him; indeed, I gathered that you were ignorant of the step, "struck in the quiet, meek voice of poor Jenkins. "I could not stayaway, sir, knowing the perplexity you would be put to. "

"No, it's my belief he could not, " tartly chimed in Jenkins's lady. "Hewould have tantalized himself into a fever. Why, Mr. Galloway, had Imarched him back to his bed and turned the key upon him, he'd have beencapable of letting himself down by a cord from his window, in the faceand eyes of all the street. Now, Jenkins, I'll have none of yourcontradiction! you know you would. "

"My dear, I am not contradicting; I am not well enough to contradict, "panted poor Jenkins. 

"He would have come off there and then, all by himself: he would, Mr. Galloway, as I am a living sinner!" she hotly continued. "It'sunbeknown how he'd have got here--holding on by the wall, like a snail, or fastening himself on to the tail of a cart; but try at it, in someway, he would! Be quiet, Jenkins! How dare you attempt to interrupt!"

Poor Jenkins had not thought to interrupt; he was only making amovement to pull off his great-coat. Mrs. Jenkins resumed:

"'No, ' said I to him; 'if you must go, you shall be conveyed there, butyou don't start without your breakfast. ' So I sat him down in hischair, Mr. Galloway, and gave him his breakfast--such as it was! Ifthere's one thing that Jenkins is obstinate in, above all others, it'sabout eating. Then I sent Lydia for a fly, and wrapped up his throat inmy boa--and that he wanted to fight against!--and here he is!"

"I wished to get here, sir, before you did, " cried Jenkins, meekly. "Iknew the exertion would set me coughing at first, but, if I had satawhile before you saw me, I should not have seemed so incapable. Ishall be better presently, sir. "

"What are you at with that coat?" tartly asked Mrs. Jenkins. "I declareyour hands are never at rest. Your coat's not to come off, Jenkins. Theoffice is colder than our parlour, and you'll keep it on. "

Jenkins, humbly obeying, began to turn up the cuffs. "I can do a littlewriting, sir, " he said to Mr. Galloway, "Is there anything that is in ahurry?"

"Jenkins, " said Mr. Galloway, "I could not suffer you to write; I couldnot keep you here. Were I to allow you to stop, in the state you are, just to serve me, I should lay a weight upon my conscience. "

Mrs. Jenkins looked up in triumph. "You hear, Jenkins! What did I tellyou? I said I'd let you have your way for once--'twas but the cost ofthe fly; but that if Mr. Galloway kept you here, once he set eyes onyour poor creachy body, I'd eat him. "

"Jenkins, my poor fellow!" said Mr. Galloway, gravely, "you must knowthat you are not in a state to exert yourself. I shall not forget yourkindness; but you must go back at once. Why, the very draught from thefrequent opening of the door would do you an injury; the exertion ofspeaking to answer callers would be too much for you. "

"Didn't I tell you so, Jenkins, just in them very words?" interruptedthe lady. 

"I am aware that I am not strong, sir, " acknowledged Jenkins to Mr. Galloway, with a deprecatory glance towards his wife to be allowed tospeak. "But it is better I should be put to a trifle of inconveniencethan that you should, sir. I can sit here, sir, while you are obligedto be out, or occupied in your private room. What could you do, sir, left entirely alone?"

"I don't know what I can do, " returned Mr. Galloway, with an acidity oftone equal to that displayed by Mrs. Jenkins, for the question recalledall the perplexity of his position. "Sacrifice yourself to me, Jenkins, you shall not. What absurd folly can have taken off Roland Yorke?" headded. "Do you know?"

"No, sir, I don't. When Mr. Roland came in this morning, and said hewas really off, you might have knocked me down with a feather. He wouldoften get talking about Port Natal, but I never supposed it would cometo anything. Mr. Roland was one given to talk. "

"He had some tea at our house the other night, and was talking about itthen, " struck in Mrs. Jenkins. "He said he was worked to death. "

"Worked to death!" satirically repeated Mr. Galloway. 

"I'm afraid, sir, that, through my unfortunate absence, he has foundthe work heavier, and he grew dissatisfied, " said Jenkins. "It hastroubled me very much. "

"You spoilt him, Jenkins; that's the fact, " observed Mr. Galloway. "Youdid his work and your own. Idle young dog! He'll get a sickener at PortNatal. "

"There's one thing to be thankful for, sir, " said patient Jenkins, "that he has his uncle, the earl, to fall back upon. "

"Hark at him!" interrupted Mrs. Jenkins. "That's just like him! He'd be'thankful' to hear that his worst enemy had an uncle to fall back upon. That's Jenkins all over. But now, what is to be the next movement?" shesharply demanded. "I must get back to my shop. Is he to come with me, or to stop here--a spectacle for every one that comes in?"

But at this moment, before the question could be decided--though youmay rest assured Mrs. Jenkins would only allow it to be decided in herown way--hasty footsteps were heard in the passage, and the door wasthrown open by Arthur Charming. 

CHAPTER LII. 

A RELIC FROM THE BURIAL-GROUND. 

When Hamish Charming joined the breakfast-table at home that morning atnine o'clock, he mentioned his adventure at the station with LadyAugusta Yorke. It was the first intimation they had received ofRoland's departure; indeed, the first that some of them had heard ofhis intention to depart. 

Arthur laid down his knife and fork. To him alone could the fullconsequences of the step present themselves, as regarded Mr. Galloway. 

"Hamish! he cannot actually have gone?"

"That he is actually off by the train to London, I can certify, " wasthe reply of Hamish. "Whether he will be off to Port Natal, is anotherthing. He desired me to tell you, Arthur, that he should write hisadieu to you from town. "

"He might have come to see me, " observed Arthur, a shade of resentmentin his tone. "I never thought he would really go. "

"I did, " said Hamish, "funds permitting him. If Lord Carrick willsupply those, he'll be off by the first comfortable ship that sails. His mind was so completely bent upon it. "

"What can he think of doing at Port Natal?" inquired Constance, wonderingly. 

"Making his fortune. " But Hamish laughed as he said it. "Wherever I mayhave met him latterly, his whole talk has been of Port Natal. LadyAugusta says he is going to take out frying-pans to begin with. "

"Hamish!"

"She said so, Constance. I have no doubt Roland said so to her. Ishould like to see the sort of cargo he will lay in for the start. "

"What does Mr. Galloway say to it, I wonder?" exclaimed Arthur, thatgentleman's perplexities presenting themselves to his mind aboveeverything else. "I cannot think what he will do. "

"I have an idea that Mr. Galloway is as yet unaware of it, " saidHamish. "Roland assured me that no person whatever knew of hisdeparture, except Jenkins. He called upon him on his way to thestation. "

"Unaware of it!" Arthur fell into consternation great as Mr. Galloway's, as he repeated the words. Was it possible that Roland hadstolen a march on Mr. Galloway? He relapsed into silence and thought. 

"What makes you so sad?" Constance asked of Arthur later, when theywere dispersing to their several occupations. 

"I am not sad, Constance; only thoughtful. I have been carrying on aninward battle, " he added, half laughingly. 

"With your conscience?"

"With my spirit. It is a proud one yet, in spite of all I have had totame it; a great deal more rebellious than I like it to be. "

"Why, what is the matter, Arthur?"

"Constance, I think I ought to come forward and help Mr. Galloway outof this strait. I think my duty lies in doing it. "

"To return to his office, you mean?"

"Yes; until he can see his way out of the wood. But it goes against thegrain. "

"Arthur dear, I know you will do it, " she gently said. "Were our dutyalways pleasant to us, where would be the merit in fulfilling it?"

"I shall do it, " he answered. "To that I have made up my mind. Thedifficulty is, Constance, to do it with a good grace. "

She looked at him with a loving smile. "Only try. A firm will, Arthur, will conquer even a rebellious spirit. "

Arthur knew it. He knew how to set about it. And a little later, he wason his way to Close Street, with the best grace in the world. Not onlyin appearance, mind you, but inwardly. It is a GREAT thing, reader, toconquer the risings of a proud spirit! To bring it from its haughty, rebellious pedestal, down to cordiality and love. Have you learnt theway?

Some parchments under his arm, for he had stayed to collect themtogether, Arthur bounded in to Mr. Galloway's. The first object hiseyes fell on was that shadowy form, coughing and panting. "Oh, Jenkins!" he involuntarily uttered, "what do you do out of your house?"

"Anxiety for me has brought him out, " said Mr. Galloway. "How can Iscold him?"

"I could not rest, sir, knowing my master was alone in his need, " criedJenkins to Arthur. "What is to become of the office, sir, with no onein it?"

"But he is not alone, " said Arthur; and, if he had wanted a reward forcoming forward, that moment would have supplied it, in satisfying poorJenkins. "If you will allow me, sir, " Arthur added, turning frankly toMr. Galloway, "I will take my place here, until you shall be suited. "

"Thank you, " emphatically replied Mr. Galloway. "It will relieve mefrom a serious embarrassment. "

Arthur went to his old desk, and sat down on his old stool, and begansettling the papers and other things on it, just as though he had notbeen absent an hour. "I must still attend the cathedral as usual, sir, "he observed to Mr. Galloway; "but I can give you the whole of myremaining time. I shall be better for you than no one. "

"I would rather have you here than any one else, Channing; he"--layinghis hand on Jenkins's shoulder--"excepted. I offered that you shouldreturn before. "

"I know you did, sir, " replied Arthur, in a brief tone--one that seemedto intimate he would prefer not to pursue the subject. 

"And now are you satisfied?" struck in Mrs. Jenkins to her husband. 

"I am more than satisfied, " answered Jenkins, clasping his hands. "WithMr. Arthur in the office, I shall have no fear of its missing me, and Ican go home in peace, to die. "

"Please just to hold your tongue about dying, " reprimanded Mrs. Jenkins. "Your business is to get well, if you can. And now I amgoing to see after a fly. A pretty dance I should have had here, ifhe had persisted in stopping, bringing him messes and cordials everyhalf-hour! Which would have worn out first, I wonder--the pavement ormy shoes?"

"Channing, " said Mr. Galloway, "let us understand each other. Have youcome here to do anything there may be to do--out of doors as well asin? In short, to be my clerk as heretofore?"

"Of course I have, sir; until"--Arthur spoke very distinctly--you shallbe able to suit yourself; not longer. "

"Then take this paper round to Deering's office, and get it signed. Youwill have time to do it before college. "

Arthur's answer was to put on his hat, and vault away with the paper. Jenkins turned to Mr. Galloway as soon as they were alone. "Oh, sir, keep him in your office!" he earnestly said. "He will soon be of morevalue to you than I have ever been!"

"That he will not, Jenkins. Nor any one else. "

"Yes, he will, sir! He will be able to replace you in the chapter houseupon any emergency, and I never could do that, you know, sir, not beinga gentleman. When you have him to yourself alone, sir, you will see hisvalue; and I shall not be missed. He is steady and thoughtful beyondhis years, sir, and every day will make him older. "

You forget the charge against him, Jenkins. Until he shall be clearedof that--if he can be cleared of it--he will not be of great value toany one; certainly not to me. "

"Sir, " said Jenkins, raising his wan face, its hectic deepening, findhis eye lighting, while his voice sunk to a whisper, so deep as tosavour of solemnity, "that time will come! He never did it, and he willas surely be cleared, as that I am now saying it! Sir, I have thoughtmuch about this accusation; it has troubled me in sleep; but I knowthat God will bring the right to light for those who trust in Him. Ifany one ever trusted in God, it is Mr. Arthur Channing. I lie and thinkof all this, sir. I seem to be so near God, now, " Jenkins went ondreamily, "that I know the right must come to light; that it will comein God's own good time. And I believe I shall live to see it!"

"You have certainly firm faith in his innocence, Jenkins. How then doyou account for his very suspicious manner?"

"It does not weigh with me, sir. I could as soon believe a goodwholesome apple-tree would bring forth poison, as that Mr. Arthur wouldbe guilty of a deliberately bad action. Sometimes I have thought, sir, when puzzling over it, that he may be screening another. There's notelling how it was. I hear, sir, that the money has been returned toyou. "

"Yes. Was it he who told you?"

"It was Mr. Roland Yorke who told me, sir. Mr. Roland is another, sir, who has had firm faith in his innocence from the first. "

"Much his faith goes for!" ejaculated Mr. Galloway, as he came backfrom his private room with a letter, which he handed to Jenkins, whowas skilled in caligraphy. "What do you make of it?" he asked. "It isthe letter which came with the returned money. "

"It is a disguised hand, sir--there's no doubt of that, " repliedJenkins, when he had surveyed it critically. "I do not remember to haveseen any person write like it. "

Mr. Galloway took it back to his room, and presently a fly drove upwith Mrs. Jenkins inside it. Jenkins stood at the office door, hat inhand, his face turned upon the room. Mrs. Jenkins came up and seizedhis arm, to marshal him to the fly. 

"I was but taking a farewell of things, sir, " he observed to Mr. Galloway. "I shall never see the old spot again. "

Arthur arrived just as Jenkins was safely in. He put his hand over thedoor. "Make yourself easy, Jenkins; it will all go on smoothly here. Good-bye, old fellow! I'll come and see you very soon. "

"How he breaks, does he not, sir?" exclaimed Arthur to Mr. Galloway. 

"Ay! he's not long for this world!"

The fly proceeded on its way; Mrs. Jenkins, with her snappish manner, though really not unkind heart, lecturing Jenkins on his variousshortcomings until it drew up at their own door. As Jenkins was beinghelped down from it, one of the college boys passed at a great speed; arailroad was nothing to it. It was Stephen Bywater. Something, legitimate or illegitimate, had detained him, and now the college bellwas going. 

He caught sight of Jenkins, and, hurried as he was, much of punishmentas he was bargaining for, it had such an effect upon him, that hepulled up short. Was it Jenkins, or his ghost? Bywater had never beenso struck with any sight before. 

The most appropriate way in which it occurred to him to give vent tohis surprise, was to prop his back against the shop door, and indulgein a soft, prolonged whistle. He could not take his eyes from Jenkins'sface. "Is it you, or your shadow, Jenkins?" he asked, making room forthe invalid to pass. 

"It's myself, sir, thank you. I hope you are well, sir. "

"Oh, I'm always jolly, " replied Bywater, and then he began to whistleagain. 

He followed Mr. And Mrs. Jenkins into the shop with his eyes; that is, they followed Jenkins. Bywater had heard, as a matter of necessity, ofJenkins's illness, and had given as much thought to it as he would havedone if told Jenkins had a headache; but to fancy him like _this_ hadnever occurred to Bywater. 

Now somewhere beneath Bywater's waistcoat, there really was a littlebit of heart; and, as he thus looked, a great fear began to thumpagainst it. He followed Jenkins into the parlour. Mrs. Jenkins, afterdivesting Jenkins of his coat, and her boa, planted him right beforethe fire in his easy-chair, with a pillow at his back, and was nowwhisking down into the kitchen, regardless of certain customers waitingin the shop to be served. 

Bywater, unasked, sat himself in a chair near to poor Jenkins and hispanting breath, and indulged in another long stare. "I say, Jenkins, "said he, "what's the matter with you?"

Jenkins took the question literally. "I believe it may be called a sortof decline, sir. I don't know any other name for it. "

"Shan't you get well?"

"Oh no, sir! I don't look for that, now. "

The fear thumped at Bywater's heart worse than before. A past vision oflocking up old Ketch in the cloisters, through which pastime Jenkinshad come to a certain fall, was uncomfortably present to Bywater justthen. He had been the ringleader. 

"What brought it on?" asked he. 

"Well, sir, I suppose it was to come, " meekly replied Jenkins. "I havehad a bad cough, spring and autumn, for a long while now, MasterBywater. My brother went off just the same, sir, and so did my mother. "

Bywater pushed his honest, red face, forward; but it did not look quiteso impudent as usual. "Jenkins, " said he, plunging headlong into thefear, "DID--THAT--FALL--DO--IT?"

"Fall, sir! What fall?"

"That fall down from the organ loft. Because that was my fault. I hadthe most to do with locking up the cloisters, that night. "

"Oh, bless you, sir, no! Never think that. Master Bywater"--loweringhis voice till it was as grave as Bywater's--"that fall did megood--good, sir, instead of harm. "

"How do you make out that?" asked Bywater, drawing his breath a littleeasier. 

"Because, sir, in the few days' quiet that I had in bed, my thoughtsseemed in an unaccountable manner to be drawn to thinking of heaven. Ican't rightly describe, sir, how or why it could have been. I rememberhis lordship, the bishop, talked to me a little bit in his pleasant, affable way, about the necessity of always, being prepared; and mywife's Bible lay on the drawers by my bed's head, and I used to pick upthat. But I don't think it was either of those causes much; I believe, sir, that it was God Himself working in my heart. I believe He sent thefall in His mercy. After I got up, I seemed to know that I should soongo to Him; and--I hope it is not wrong to say it--I seemed to wish togo. "

Bywater felt somewhat puzzled. "I am not speaking about your heart andreligion, and all that, Jenkins. I want to know if the fall helped tobring on this illness?"

"No, sir; it had nothing to do with it. The fall hurt my head alittle--nothing more; and I got well from it directly. This illness, which has been taking me off, must have been born with me. "

"Hoo--" Bywater's shout, as he tossed up his trencher, was broken inupon by Mrs. Jenkins. She had been beating up an egg with sugar andwine, and now brought it in in a tumbler. 

"My dear, " said Jenkins, "I don't feel to want it. "

"Not want it!" said Mrs. Jenkins resolutely. And in two seconds she hadtaken hold of him, and it was down his throat. "I can't stop parleyinghere all day, with my shop full of customers. " Bywater laughed, and sheretreated. 

"If I could eat gold, sir, she'd get it for me, " said Jenkins; "but myappetite fails. She's a good wife, Master Bywater. "

"Stunning, " acquiesced Bywater. "I wouldn't mind a wife myself, ifshe'd feed me up with eggs and wine. "

"But for her care, sir, I should not have lasted so long. She has hadgreat experience with the sick. "

Bywater did not answer. Rising to go, his eyes had fixed themselvesupon some object on the mantelpiece as pertinaciously as they hadpreviously been fixed upon Jenkins's face. "I say, Jenkins, where didyou get this?" he exclaimed. 

"That, sir? Oh, I remember. My old father brought it in yesterday. Hehad cut his hand with it. Where now did he say he found it? In thecollege burial-ground, I think, Master Bywater. "

It was part of a small broken phial, of a peculiar shape, which hadonce apparently contained ink; an elegant shape, it may be said, notunlike a vase. Bywater began turning it about in his fingers; he wasliterally feasting his eyes upon it. 

"Do you want to keep it, Jenkins?"

"Not at all, sir. I wonder my wife did not throw it away before this. "

"I'll take it, then, " said Bywater, slipping it into his pocket. "Andnow I'm off. Hope you'll get better, Jenkins. "

"Thank you, sir. Let me put the broken bottle in paper, Master Bywater. You will cut your fingers if you carry it loose in your pocket. "

"Oh, that be bothered!" answered Bywater. "Who cares for cut fingers?"

He pushed himself through Mrs. Jenkins's customers, with as littleceremony as Roland Yorke might have used, and went flying towards thecathedral. The bell ceased as he entered. The organ pealed forth; andthe dean and chapter, preceded by some of the bedesmen, were enteringfrom the opposite door. Bywater ensconced himself behind a pillar, until they should have traversed the body, crossed the nave, and weresafe in the choir. Then he came out, and made his way to old Jenkinsthe bedesman. 

The old man, in his black gown, stood near the bell ropes, for he hadbeen one of the ringers that day. Bywater noticed that his left handwas partially tied up in a handkerchief. 

"Holloa, old Jenkins, " said he, _sotte voce_, "what have you done withyour hand?"

"I gave it a nasty cut yesterday, sir, just in the ball of the thumb. Iwrapped my handkerchief round it just now, for fear of opening itagain, while I was ringing the bell. See, " said he, taking off thehandkerchief and showing the cut to Bywater. 

"What an old muff you must be, to cut yourself like that!"

"But I didn't do it on purpose, " returned the old man. "We was orderedinto the burial-ground to put it a bit to rights, and I fell down withmy hand on a broken phial. I ain't as active as I was. I say, though, sir, do you know that service has begun?"

"Let it begin, " returned careless Bywater. "This was the bottle youfell over, was it not? I found it on Joe's mantelpiece, just now. "

"Ay, that was it. It must have laid there some time. A good threemonths, I know. "

Bywater nodded his head. He returned the bottle to his pocket, and wentto the vestry for his surplice. Then he slid into college under thesevere eyes of the Reverend Mr. Pye, which were bent upon him from thechanting-desk, and ascended, his stall just in time to take his part inthe _Venite, exultemus Domino_. 

CHAPTER LIII. 

THE RETURN HOME. 

It almost seemed, to Mr. Channing's grateful heart, as if the weatherhad prolonged its genial warmth on purpose for him. A more charmingautumn had never been known at Borcette, and up to the very hour of Mr. Channing's departure, there were no signs of winter. Taking it as awhole, it had been the same at Helstonleigh. Two or three occasionalwet days, two or three cold and windy ones; but they soon passed overand people remarked to each other how this fine weather would shortenthe winter. 

Never did November turn out a more lovely day than the one that was towitness Mr. Channing's return. The sun shone brightly; the blue sky waswithout a cloud. All Nature seemed to have put on a smiling face togive him welcome. And yet--to what was he returning?

For once in his life, Hamish Channing shrank from meeting his fatherand mother. How should he break the news to them? They were arrivingfull of joy, of thankfulness at the restoration to health of Mr. Channing: how could Hamish mar it with the news regarding Charles? Toldit must be; and he must be the one to do it. In good truth, Hamish wasstaggered at the task. His own hopeful belief that Charley would someday "turn up, " was beginning to die out; for every hour that draggedby, without bringing him, certainly gave less and less chance of it. And even if Hamish had retained hope himself, it was not likely hecould impart it to Mr. Or Mrs. Channing. 

"I shall get leave from school this afternoon, " Tom suddenly exclaimedthat morning at breakfast. 

"For what purpose?" inquired Hamish. 

"To go up to the station and meet them. "

"No, Tom. You must not go to the station. "

"Who says so?" sharply cried Tom. 

"I do, " replied Hamish. 

"I dare say! that's good!" returned Tom, speaking in his hasty spirit. "You know you are going yourself, Hamish, and yet you would like todeprive me of the same pleasure. Why, I wouldn't miss being there foranything! Don't say, Hamish, that you are never selfish. "

Hamish turned upon him with a smile, but his tone changed to sadness. "I wish with all my heart, Tom, that you or some one else, could go andmeet them, instead of myself, and undertake what I shall have to do. Ican tell you I never had a task imposed upon me that I found souncongenial as the one I must go through this day. "

Tom's voice dropped a little of its fierce shade. "But, Hamish, there'sno reason why I should not meet them at the station. That will not makeit the better or the worse for you. "

"I will tell you why I think you should not, " replied Hamish; "why itwill be better that you should not. It is most desirable that theyshould be home, here, in this house, before the tidings are broken tothem. I should not like them to hear of it in the streets, or at thestation; especially my mother. "

"Of course not, " assented Tom. 

"And, were you at the station, " quietly went on Hamish to him, "thefirst question would be, 'Where's Charley?' If Tom Channing can getleave of absence from school, Charley can. "

"I could say--"

"Well?" said Hamish, for Tom had stopped. 

"I don't know what I could say, " acknowledged Tom. 

"Nor I. My boy, I have thought it over, and the conclusion I come to, if you appear at the station, is this: either that the tidings must betold to them, then and there, or else an evasion, bordering upon anuntruth. If they do not see you there, they will not inquireparticularly after Charles; they will suppose you are both in school. "

"I declare I never set my mind upon a thing but something starts in tofrustrate it!" cried Tom, in vexation. But he relinquished hisintention from that moment. 

Chattering Annabel threw up her head. "As soon as papa and mamma comehome, we shall put on mourning, shall we not? Constance was talkingabout it with Lady Augusta. "

"Do not talk of mourning, child, " returned Hamish. "_I_ can't give himup, if you do. "

Afternoon came, and Hamish proceeded alone to the station. Tom, listening to the inward voice of reason, was in school, and Arthur wasoccupied in the cathedral; the expected hour of their arrival wastowards the close of afternoon service. Hamish had boasted that heshould _walk_ his father through Helstonleigh for the benefit ofbeholders, if happily he came home capable of walking; but, like poorTom and _his_ plan, that had to be relinquished. In the firsthalf-dozen paces they would meet half a dozen gossipers, and the firstremark from each, after congratulations, would be, "What a sad thingthis is about your little Charles!" Hamish lived in doubt whether itmight not, by some untoward luck, come out at the station, in spite ofhis precaution in keeping away Tom. 

But, so far, all went well. The train came in to its time, and Hamish, his face lighted with excitement, saw his father once more inpossession of his strength, descending without assistance from thecarriage, walking alone on the platform. Not in the full strength andpower of old; that might never be again. He stooped slightly, and movedslowly, as if his limbs were yet stiff, limping a little. But that hewas now in a sound state of health was evident; his face betrayed it. Hamish did not know whose hands to clasp first; his, or his mother's. 

"Can you believe that it is myself, Hamish?" asked Mr. Channing, whenthe first few words of thankful greeting had passed. 

"I should hide my head for ever as a false prophet if it could be anyone else, " was the reply of Hamish. "You know I always said you wouldso return. I am only in doubt whether it is my mother. "

"What is the matter with me, Hamish?" asked Mrs. Channing. "Because youwould make about two of the thin, pale, careworn Mrs. Channing who wentaway, " cried he, turning his mother round to look at her, deep loveshining out from his gay blue eyes. "I hope you have not taken to rougeyour cheeks, ma'am, but I am bound to confess they look uncommonly likeit. "

Mrs. Channing laughed merrily. "It has done me untold good, Hamish, aswell as papa; it seems to have set me up for years to come. Seeing himgrow better day by day would have effected it, without any otherchange. "

Mr. Channing had actually gone himself to see after the luggage. Howstrange it seemed! Hamish caught him up. "If you can give yourselftrouble now, sir, there's no reason that you should do so, while youhave your great lazy son at your elbow. "

"Hamish, boy, I am proud of doing it. "

It was soon collected. Hamish hastily, if not carelessly, told a porterto look to it, took Mr. Channing's arm, and marched him to the fly, which Mrs. Channing had already found. Hamish was in lively dread ofsome officious friend or other coming up, who might drop a hint of thestate of affairs. 

"Shall I help you in, father!"

"I can help myself now, Hamish. I remember you promised me I shouldhave no fly on my return. You have thought better of it. "

"Yes, sir, wishing to get you home before bed-time, which might not bethe case if you were to show yourself in the town, and stop at all theinterruptions. "

Mr. Channing stepped into the fly. Hamish followed, first giving thedriver a nod. "The luggage! The luggage!" exclaimed Mrs. Channing, asthey moved off. 

"The porter will bring it, mother. He would have been a month puttingit on to the fly. "

How could they suppose anything was the matter? Not a suspicion of itever crossed them. Never had Hamish appeared more light-hearted. Infact, in his self-consciousness, Hamish a little overdid it. Let himget them home before the worst came!

"We find you all well, I conclude!" said Mrs. Channing. "None of themcame up with you! Arthur is in college, I suppose, and Tom and Charlesare in school. "

"It was Arthur's hour for college, " remarked Hamish, ignoring the restof the sentence. "But he ought to be out now. Arthur is at Galloway'sagain, " he added. "He did not write you word, I believe, as you were soshortly expected home. "

Mr. Channing turned a glance on his son, quick as lightning. "Cleared, Hamish?"

"In my opinion, yes. In the opinion of others, I fear not much morethan he was before. "

"And himself?" asked Mr. Channing. "What does he say now?"

"He does not speak of it to me. "

Hamish put his head out at the window, nodding to some one who waspassing. A question of Mr. Channing's called it in again. 

"Why has he gone back to Galloway's?"

Hamish laughed. "Roland Yorke took an impromptu departure one finemorning, for Port Natal, leaving the office and Mr. Galloway to do thebest they could with each other. Arthur buried his grievances andoffered himself to Mr. Galloway in the emergency. I am not quite surethat I should have been so forgiving. "

"Hamish! He has nothing to forgive Mr. Galloway. It is on the otherside. "

"I am uncharitable, I suppose, " remarked Hamish. "I cannot like Mr. Galloway's treatment of Arthur. "

"But what is it you say about Roland Yorke and Port Natal?" interposedMrs. Channing. "I do not understand. "

"Roland is really gone, mother. He has been in London these ten days, and it is expected that every post will bring news that he has sailed. Roland has picked up a notion somewhere that Port Natal is an enchantedland, converting poor men into rich ones; and he is going to try whatit will do for him, Lord Carrick fitting him out. Poor Jenkins issinking fast. "

"Changes! changes!" remarked Mr. Channing. "Go away only for two orthree months, and you must find them on return. Some gone; some dying;some--"

"Some restored, who were looked upon as incurable, " interrupted Hamish. "My dear father, I will not have you dwell on dark things the verymoment of your arrival; the time for that will come soon enough. "

Judy nearly betrayed all; and Constance's aspect might have betrayedit, had the travellers been suspicious. She, Constance, came forward inthe hall, white and trembling. When Mrs. Channing shook hands withJudy, she put an unfortunate question--"Have you taken good care ofyour boy?" Judy knew it could only allude to Charles, and for answerthere went up a sound, between a cry and a sob, that might have beenheard in the far-off college schoolroom. Hamish took Judy by theshoulders, bidding her go out and see whether any rattletraps were leftin the fly, and so turned it off. 

They were all together in the sitting-room--Mr. And Mrs. Channing, Hamish, Constance, Arthur, and Annabel; united, happy, as friends areand must be when meeting after a separation; talking of this and ofthat, giving notes of what had occurred on either side. Hamish showedhimself as busy as the rest; but Hamish felt all the while upon a bedof thorns, for the hands of the timepiece were veering on for five, andhe must get the communication over before Tom came in. At length Mrs. Channing went up to her room, accompanied by Constance; Annabelfollowed. And now came Hamish's opportunity. Arthur had gone back toMr. Galloway's, and he was alone with his father. He plunged into it atonce; indeed, there was no time for delay. 

"Father!" he exclaimed, with deep feeling, his careless manner changingas by magic: "I have very grievous news to impart to you. I would notenter upon it before my mother: though she must be told of it also, andat once. "

Mr. Channing was surprised; more surprised than alarmed. He neverremembered to have seen Hamish betray so much emotion. A thoughtcrossed his mind that Arthur's guilt might have been brought clearly tolight. 

"Not that, " said Hamish. "It concerns--Father, I do not like to enterupon it! I shrink from my task. It is very bad news indeed. "

"You, my children, are all well, " cried Mr. Channing, hastily speakingthe words as a fact, not as a question. "What other 'very bad' news canbe in store for me?"

"You have not seen us all, " was Hamish's answer. And Mr. Channing, alarmed, now looked inquiringly at him. "It concerns Charles. An--anaccident has happened to him. "

Mr. Channing sat down and shaded his eyes. He was a moment or twobefore he spoke. "One word, Hamish; is he dead?"

Hamish stood before his father and laid his hand affectionately uponhis shoulder. "Father, I _wish_ I could have prepared you better forit!" he exclaimed, with emotion. "We do not know whether he is dead oralive. "

Then he explained--explained more in summary than in detail--touchinglightly upon the worst features of the case, enlarging upon his ownhopeful view of it. Bad enough it was, at the best, and Mr. Channingfound it so. _He_ could feel no hope. In the revulsion of grief, heturned almost with resentment upon Hamish. 

"My son, I did not expect this treatment from you. "

"I have taken enough blame to myself; I know he was left in my charge, "sadly replied Hamish; "but, indeed, I do not see how I could havehelped it. Although I was in the room when he ran out of it, I wasburied in my own thoughts, and never observed his going. I had nosuspicion anything was astir that night with the college boys. Father, I would have saved his life with my own!"

"I am not blaming you for the fact, Hamish; blame is not due to you. Had I been at home myself, I might no more have stopped his going outthan you did. But you ought to have informed me of this instantly. Awhole month, and I to be left in ignorance!"

"We did it for the best. Father, I assure you that not a stone has beenleft unturned to find him; alive, or--or dead. You could not have donemore had you hastened home; and it has been so much suspense and griefspared to you. "

Mr. Channing relapsed into silence. Hamish glanced uneasily to thatever-advancing clock. Presently he spoke. 

"My mother must be told before Tom comes home. It will be better thatyou take the task upon yourself, father. Shall I send her in?"

Mr. Channing looked at Hamish, as if he scarcely understood the meaningof the words. From Hamish he looked to the clock. "Ay; go and sendher. "

Hamish went to his mother's room, and returned with her. But he did notenter. He merely opened the door, and shut her in. Constance, with aface more frightened than ever, came and stood in the hall. Annabelstood there also. Judy, wringing her hands, and sending off shortejaculations in an undertone, came to join them, and Sarah stoodpeeping out from the kitchen door. They remained gazing at the parlourdoor, dreading the effect of the communication that was going oninside. 

"If it had been that great big Tom, it wouldn't matter so much, " wailedJudith, in a tone of resentment. "The missis would know that _he'd_ besafe to turn up, some time or other; a strong fellow like him!"

A sharp cry within the room. The door was flung open, and Mrs. Channingcame forth, her face pale, her hands lifted. "It cannot be true! Itcannot be! Hamish! Judith! Where is he?"

Hamish folded her hands in his, and gently drew her in again. They allfollowed. No reason why they should not, now that the communication wasmade. Almost at the same moment, Mr. Huntley arrived. 

Of course, the first thought that had occurred to the minds of Mr. AndMrs. Channing was, that had _they_ been at home to direct affairs inthe search, Charley would have been found. It is the thought that wouldoccur to us all: we never give others credit for doing as much as weshould have done. "This might have been tried, and the other might havebeen tried. " It makes little difference when told that they _have_ beentried; for then we fall back upon some other suggestion. Mrs. Channingreproached Hamish with keeping it from them. 

"My dear lady, you must blame me, not him, " interposed Mr. Huntley. "Left to himself, Hamish would have started Arthur off to you, posthaste. It was I who suggested the desirability of keeping you inignorance; it was I who brought Hamish to see it: and I know that, whenthe brunt of your grief shall have passed, you will acknowledge that itwas the best, the wisest, and the kindest course. "

"But there are so many things that we could have suggested; thatperhaps none but a father or mother would think of!" urged Mrs. Channing, lifting her yearning face. They wished they could see herweep. 

"You could have suggested nothing that has not been done, " returned Mr. Huntley. "Believe me, dear Mrs. Channing! We have had many goodcounsellors. Butterby has conducted the search. "

Mr. Channing turned to them. He was standing at the far window. "Ishould like to see Butterby. "

"He will be here in an hour's time, " said Hamish. "I knew you wouldwish to see him, and I requested him to come. "

"The worst feature of the whole, " put in Judith, with as much acrimonyas ever was displayed by Mr. Ketch, "is that them boys should not havegot their deserts. They have not as much as had a birching; and I saythat the college masters ought to be hooted. I'd 'ghost' 'em!"

"The punishment lies in abeyance for the present, " explained Hamish. "Adifferent punishment from any the head-master could inflict will berequired, should--should--" Hamish stopped. He did not like to say, inthe presence of his mother, "should the body be found. " "Some of themare suffering pretty well, as it is, " he continued, after a briefpause. "Master Bill Simms lay in bed for a week with fright, and theywere obliged to have Mr. Hurst to him. Report goes, that Hurst soundlyflogged his son, by way of commencing his share. "

A pushing open of the outer door, a bang, and hasty footsteps in thehall. Tom had arrived. Tom, with his sparkling eyes, his glowing face. They sparkled for his father only in that first moment; his father, whoturned and _walked_ to meet him. 

"Oh, papa! What baths those must be!" cried honest Tom. "If ever I getrich, I'll go over there and make them a present of a thousand pounds. To think that nothing else should have cured you!"

"I think something else must have had a hand in curing me, Tom. "

Tom looked up inquiringly. "Ah, papa! You mean God. "

"Yes, my boy. God has cured me. The baths were only instruments in Hishands. "

CHAPTER LIV. 

"THE SHIP'S DROWNED. "

Rejecting all offers of refreshment--the meal which Constance hadplanned, and Judith prepared, both with so much loving care--Mr. Channing resolved to seek out Butterby at once. In his state ofsuspense, he could neither wait, nor eat, nor remain still; it would bea satisfaction only to see Butterby, and hear his opinion. 

Mr. Huntley accompanied him; scarcely less proud than Hamish would havebeen, to walk once more arm in arm with Mr. Channing. But, as there isnot the least necessity for our going to the police-station, for Mr. Butterby could tell us no more than we already know; we will pay ashort visit to Mr. Stephen Bywater. 

That gentleman stood in the cloisters, into which he had seduced oldJenkins, the bedesman, having waited for the twilight hour, that hemight make sure no one else would be there. Ever since the last day yousaw old Jenkins in the cathedral, he had been laid up in his house, with a touch of what he called his "rheumatiz. " Decrepit old fellowswere all the bedesmen, monopolizing enough "rheumatiz" between them forhalf the city. If one was not laid up, another would be, especially inwinter. However, old Jenkins had come out again to-day, to thegratification of Mr. Bywater, who had been wanting him. The cloisterswere all but dark, and Mr. Ketch must undoubtedly be most agreeablyengaged, or he would have shut up before. 

"Now then, old Jenkins!" Bywater was saying. "You show me the exactspot, and I'll give you sixpence for smoke. "

Old Jenkins hobbled to one of the mullioned windows near to the collegeentrance, and looked over into the dim graveyard. "'Twas about four orfive yards off here, " said he. 

"But I want to know the precise spot, " returned Bywater. "Get over, andshow me!"

The words made old Jenkins laugh. "Law, sir! me get over there! Youmight as well ask me to get over the college. How am I to do it?"

"I'll hoist you up, " said Bywater. 

"No, no, " answered the man. "My old bones be past hoisting now. Ishould never get back alive, once I were propelled over into thatgraveyard. "

Bywater felt considerably discomfited. "What a weak rat you must be, old Jenkins! Why, it's nothing!"

"I know it ain't--for you college gents. 'Twouldn't have been much forme when I was your age. Skin and clothes weren't of much account to me, then. "

"Oh, it's that, is it?" returned Bywater, contemptuously. "Look here, old Jenkins! if your things come to grief, I'll get my uncle to lookyou out some of his old ones. I'll give you sixpence for baccy, I say!"

The old bedesman shook his head. "If you give me a waggin load ofbaccy, I couldn't get over there. You might just as good put a babby inarms on the ground, and tell it to walk!"

"Here! get out of the way for an old muff!" was Bywater's rejoinder;and in a second he had mounted the window-frame, and dropped into theburial-ground. "Now then, old Jenkins, I'll go about and you call outwhen I come to the right spot. "

By these means, Bywater arrived at a solution of the question, wherethe broken phial was found; old Jenkins pointing out the spot, to thebest of his ability. Bywater then vaulted back again, and alighted safeand sound in the cloisters. Old Jenkins asked for his sixpence. 

"Why, you did not earn it!" said Bywater. "You wouldn't get over!"

"A sixpence is always useful to me, " said the old man; "and some of yougents has 'em in plenty. I ain't paid much; and Joe, he don't give memuch. 'Tain't him; he'd give away his head, and always would--it's her. Precious close she is with the money, though she earns a sight of it, Iknow, at that shop of her'n, and keeps Joe like a king. Wine, and allthe rest of it, she's got for him, since he was ill. 'There's a knifeand fork for ye, whenever ye like to come, ' she says to me, in her tartway. But deuce a bit of money will she give. If it weren't for one andanother friend giving me an odd sixpence now and then, Master Bywater, I should never hardly get any baccy!"

"There; don't bother!" said Bywater, dropping the coin into his hand. 

"Why, bless my heart, who's this, a prowling in the cloisters at thishour?" exclaimed a well-known cracked voice, advancing upon them withshuffling footsteps. "What do you do here, pray?"

"You would like to know, wouldn't you, Mr. Calcraft?" said Bywater. "Studying architecture. There!"

Old Ketch gave a yell of impotent rage, and Bywater decamped, as fastas his legs would carry him, through the west door. 

Arrived at his home, or rather his uncle's, where he lived--forBywater's paternal home was in a far-away place, over the sea--he wentstraight up to his own room, where he struck a match, and lighted acandle. Then he unlocked a sort of bureau, and took from it the phialfound by old Jenkins, and a smaller piece which exactly fitted into thepart broken. He had fitted them in ten times before, but it appeared toafford him satisfaction, and he now sat down and fitted them again. 

"Yes, " soliloquized he, as he nursed one of his legs--his favouriteattitude--"it's as sure as eggs. And I'd have had it out before, ifthat helpless old muff of a Jenkins had been forthcoming. I knew it wassafe to be somewhere near the college gates; but it was as Well toask. "

He turned the phial over and over between his eye and the candle, andresumed;

"And now I'll give Mr. Ger a last chance. I told him the other day thatif he'd only speak up like a man to me, and say it was an accident, I'ddrop it for good. But he won't. And find it out, I will. I have said Iwould from the first, just for my own satisfaction: and if I break myword, may they tar and feather me! Ger will only have himself to thank;if he won't satisfy me in private, I'll bring it against him in public. I suspected Mr. Ger before; not but that I suspected another; but sinceCharley Channing----Oh! bother, though! I don't want to get thinking of_him_!"

Bywater locked up his treasures, and descended to his tea. That over, he had enough lessons to occupy him for a few hours, and keep him outof mischief. 

Meanwhile Mr. Channing's interview with the renowned Mr. Butterby hadbrought forth nothing, and he was walking back home with Mr. Huntley. Mr. Huntley strove to lead his friend's thoughts into a differentchannel: it seemed quite a mockery to endeavour to whisper hope forCharley. 

"You will resume your own place in Guild Street at once?" he observed. 

"To-morrow, please God. "

They walked a few steps further in silence; and then Mr. Channingentered upon the very subject which Mr. Huntley was hoping he would notenter upon. "I remember, you spoke, at Borcette, of having something inview for Hamish, should I be able to attend to business again. What isit?"

"I did, " said Mr. Huntley; "and I am sorry that I did. I spokeprematurely. "

"I suppose it is gone?"

"Well--no; it is not gone, " replied Mr. Huntley, who was aboveequivocation. "I do not think Hamish would suit the place. "

Mr. Channing felt a little surprised. There were few places that Hamishmight not suit, if he chose to exercise his talents. "You thought hewould suit then?" he remarked. 

"But circumstances have since induced me to alter my opinion, " said Mr. Huntley. "My friend, " he more warmly added to Mr. Channing, "you willoblige me by allowing the subject to drop. I candidly confess to youthat I am not so pleased with Hamish as I once was, and I would rathernot interfere in placing him elsewhere. "

"How has he offended you? What has he done?"

"Nay, that is all I will say. I could not help giving you a hint, toaccount for what you might have thought caprice. Hamish has not pleasedme, and I cannot take him by the hand. There, let it rest. "

Mr. Channing was content to let it rest. In his inmost heart heentertained no doubt that the cause of offence was in some wayconnected with Mr. Huntley's daughter. Hamish was poor: Ellen would berich; therefore it was only natural that Mr. Huntley should considerhim an ineligible _parti_ for her. Mr. Channing did not quite see whatthat had to do with the present question; but he could not, indelicacy, urge it further. 

They found quite a levee when they entered: the Reverend Mr. Pye, Mr. Galloway--who had called in with Arthur upon leaving the office for thenight--and William Yorke. All were anxious to welcome and congratulateMr. Channing; and all were willing to tender a word of sympathyrespecting Charles. Possibly Mr. Yorke had also another motive: if so, we shall come to it in due time. 

Mr. Pye stayed only a few minutes. He did not say a word about theseniorship, neither did Mr. Channing to him. What, indeed, could eitherof them say? The subject was unpleasant on both sides; therefore it wasbest avoided. Tom, however, thought differently. 

"Papa!" he exclaimed, plunging into it the moment Mr. Pye's back wasturned, "you might have taken the opportunity to tell him that I shallleave the school. It is not often he comes here. "

"But you are not going to leave the school, " said Mr. Channing. 

"Yes, I am, " replied Tom, speaking with unmistakable firmness. "Hamishmade me stay on, until you came home; and I don't know how I have doneit. It is of no use, papa! I cannot put up with the treatment--theinsults I receive. It was bad enough to lose the seniorship, but thatis as nothing to the other. And to what end should I stop, when mychance of the exhibition is gone?"

"It is not gone, Tom. Mr. Huntley--as word was written to me atBorcette--has declined it for his son. "

"It is not the less gone for me, papa. Let me merit it as I will, Ishall not be allowed to receive it, any more than I did the seniorship. I am out of favour, both with master and boys; and you know what thatmeans, in a public school. If you witnessed the way I am served by theboys, you would be the first to say I must leave. " "What do they do?"asked Mr. Channing. 

"They do enough to provoke my life out of me, " said Tom, falling into alittle of his favourite heat. "Were it myself only that they attacked, I might perhaps stop and brave it out; but it is not so. They go onagainst Arthur in a way that would make a saint mad. "

"Pooh, pooh!" interposed Mr. Galloway, who was standing by. "If I amcontent to accept Arthur's innocence, surely the college school maybe. "

Mr. Channing turned to the proctor. "Do you now believe him innocent?"

"I say I am content to accept his innocence, " was the reply of Mr. Galloway; and Arthur, who was within hearing, could only do as he hadhad to do so many times before--school his spirit to patience. "Contentto accept, " and open exculpation, were essentially different things. 

"Let me speak with you a minute, Galloway, " said Mr. Channing, takingthe proctor's arm and leading him across the hall to the drawing-room. "Tom, " he added, looking back, "you shall tell me of these grievancesanother time. "

The drawing-room door closed upon them, and Mr. Channing spoke witheagerness. "Is it possible that you still suspect Arthur to have beenguilty?"

"Channing, I am fairly puzzled, " returned Mr. Galloway, "His ownmanner, relating to it, has not changed, and that manner is notcompatible with innocence, You made the same remark yourself, at thetime. "

"But you have had the money returned to you, I understand. "

"I know I have. "

"Well, that surely is a proof that the thief could not have beenArthur. "

"Pardon me, " replied Mr. Galloway, "It may be a proof as much againsthim as for him: it may have come from himself. "

"Nay, where was Arthur to find twenty pounds to send to you?"

"There are two ways in which he might find it. But"--Mr. Galloway brokeoff abruptly--"I do not like to urge these things on you; they can onlyinflict pain. "

"Not greater pain than I have already undergone, " was Mr. Channing'sanswer. "Tell me, I pray you, all your thoughts--all you suspect: justas though you were speaking to any indifferent friend. It is right thatI should know it. Yes, come in, Huntley, " Mr. Channing added, for Mr. Huntley at that moment opened the door, unconscious that any privateconference was going forward. "I have no secrets from you. Come in. Weare talking of Arthur. "

"I was observing that there are two means by which the money could havecome from Arthur, " resumed Mr. Galloway, when Mr. Huntley had entered. "The one, by his never having used the note originally taken; theother, by getting a friend to return it for him. Now, my opinion is, that he did not pursue the first plan, I believe that, if he took thenote, he used it. I questioned him on the evening of its arrival, andat the first moment his manner almost convinced me that he wasinnocent. He appeared to be genuinely surprised at the return of themoney, and ingenuously confessed that he had not possessed any to send. But his manner veered again--suddenly, strangely--veered round to allits old unsatisfactory suspiciousness; and when I hinted that I shouldrecall Butterby to my counsels, he became agitated, as he had doneformerly. My firm belief, " Mr. Galloway added, laying his handimpressively upon Mr. Channing--"my firm belief is, that Arthur did getthe money sent back to me through a friend. "

"But what friend would be likely to do such a thing for him?" debatedMr. Channing, not in the least falling in with the argument. "I know ofnone. "

"I think"--and Mr. Galloway dropped his voice--"that it came fromHamish. "

"From Hamish!" was Mr. Channing's echo, in a strong accent of dissent. "That is nonsense. Hamish would never screen guilt. Hamish has nottwenty pounds to spare. "

"He might spare it in the cause of a brother; and for a brother's sakehe might even screen guilt, " pursued Mr. Galloway. "Honourable and openas Hamish is, I must still express my belief that the twenty poundscame from him. "

"Honourable and open as Hamish is!" the words grated on Mr. Huntley, and a cynical expression rose to his face. Mr. Channing observed it. "What do you think of it?" he involuntarily asked. 

"I have never had any other opinion but that the money did come fromHamish, " drily remarked Mr. Huntley. And Mr. Channing, in his utterastonishment, could not answer. 

"Hamish happened to call in at my office the afternoon that the moneywas received, " resumed Mr. Galloway. "It was after I had spoken toArthur. I had been thinking it over, and came to the conclusion that ifit had come from Arthur, Hamish must have done it for him. In theimpulse of the moment, I put the question to him--Had he done it toscreen Arthur? And Hamish's answer was a mocking one. "

"A mocking one!" repeated Mr. Channing. "A mocking, careless answer;one that vexed me, I know, at the time. The next day I told Arthur, point blank, that I believed the money came from Hamish. I wish youcould have seen his flush of confusion! and, deny it, he did not. Altogether, my impression against Arthur was rather confirmed, than thecontrary, by the receipt of the money; though I am truly grieved tohave to say it. "

"And _you_ think the same!" Mr. Channing exclaimed to Mr. Huntley. 

"Never mind what I think, " was the answer. "Beyond the one opinion Iexpressed, I will not be drawn into the discussion. I did not intend tosay so much: it was a slip of the tongue. "

Mr. Huntley was about to leave the room as he spoke, perhaps lest heshould make other "slips;" but Mr. Channing interposed and drew himback. "Stay, Huntley, " he said, "we cannot rest in this uncertainty. Oblige me by remaining one instant, while I call Hamish. "

Hamish entered in obedience. He appeared somewhat surprised to see themassembled in conclave, looking so solemn; but he supposed it related toCharles. Mr. Channing undeceived him. 

"Hamish, we are speaking of Arthur. Both these gentlemen have expresseda belief--"

"I beg your pardon, " interrupted Mr. Huntley. "I said that I should beobliged if you would leave me out of the discussion. "

"What does it signify?" returned Mr. Channing, his tone one of haste. "Hamish, Mr. Galloway has expressed to me a belief that you have so fartaken part with Arthur in that unhappy affair, as to send back themoney to him. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Hamish; and his manner was precisely what Mr. Galloway had described it to have been at the time; light, mocking, careless. "Mr. Galloway did me the honour to express something of thesame belief, I remember. "

"Did you send it, Hamish?" asked his father, a severe look crossing hisface. 

"No, sir, I did not, " emphatically replied Hamish. And Mr. Huntleyturned and bent his keen eye upon him. In his heart of hearts hebelieved it to be a deliberate falsehood. 

"I did not send the money, and I do not know who did send it, " went onHamish. "But, as we are upon the subject, perhaps I may be allowed toexpress my opinion that, if there were as much labour taken toestablish Arthur's innocence, as it seems to me there is to prove himguilty, he might have been cleared long ago. "

That the remark was aimed at Mr. Galloway, there was no doubt. Mr. Huntley answered it; and, had they been suspicious, they might havedetected a covert meaning in his tone. 

"You, at any rate, must hold firm faith in his innocence. "

"Firm and entire faith, " distinctly assented Hamish. "Father, " headded, impulsively turning to Mr. Channing, "put all notion of Arthur'sguilt from you, at once and for ever. I would answer for him with mylife. "

"Then he must be screening some one, " cried Mr. Galloway. "It is onething or the other. Hamish, it strikes me you know. Who is it?"

A red flush mounted to Hamish's brow, but he lapsed into his formermocking tone. "Nay, " said he, "I can tell nothing about that. "

He left the room as he spoke, and the conference broke up. It appearedthat no satisfactory solution could be come to, if they kept it on tillmidnight. Mr. Galloway took leave, and hastened home to dinner. 

"I must be going also, " remarked Mr. Huntley. Nevertheless, he returnedwith Mr. Channing to the other room. 

"You told me at Borcette that you were fully persuaded of Arthur'sinnocence; you were ready to ridicule me for casting a doubt upon it, "Mr. Channing remarked to him in a low tone, as they crossed the hall. 

"I have never been otherwise than persuaded of it, " said Mr. Huntley. "He is innocent as you, or as I. "

"And yet you join Mr. Galloway in assuming that he and Hamish sent backthe money! The one assertion is incompatible with the other. "

Mr. Huntley laid his hand upon Mr. Channing's shoulder. "My dearfriend, all that you and I can do, is to let the matter rest. We shouldonly plunge into shoals and quicksands, and lose our way in them, werewe to pursue it. "

They had halted at the parlour door to speak. Judith came bustling upat that moment from the kitchen, a letter in her hand, looking as if inher hurry she might have knocked them over, had they not made way forher to enter. 

"Bad luck to my memory, then! It's getting not worth a button. Here, Master Arthur. The postman gave it me at the door, just as I had caughtsight of the fly turning the corner with the master and missis. Islipped it into my pocket, and never thought of it till this minute. "

"So! it has come at last, has it?" cried Arthur, recognising RolandYorke's handwriting. 

"Is he really off?" inquired Tom. 

"Yes, he is really off, " replied Arthur, opening the letter andbeginning to glance over the contents. "He has sailed in the ship_Africa_. Don't talk to me, Tom. What a long letter!"

They left him to read it in peace. Talking together--Mr. And Mrs. Channing, Mr. Huntley, William Yorke, Hamish, Constance--all were in agroup round the fire, paying no attention to him. No attention, untilan exclamation caused them to turn. 

An exclamation half of distress, half of fear. Arthur had risen fromhis chair, and stood, the picture of excitement, his face and lipsblanching. 

"What is the matter?" they exclaimed. 

"Roland--the ship--Roland"--and there Arthur stopped, apparently unableto say more. 

"Oh, it's drowned! it's drowned!" cried quick Annabel. "The ship'sdrowned, and Roland with it!" And Arthur sank back in his chair again, and covered his face with his hands. 

CHAPTER LV. 

NEWS FROM ROLAND. 

You will like to look over Arthur's shoulder, as he reads the letterjust received from Roland Yorke. 

"DEAR OLD CHUM, "

"By the time you get this letter, I shall be ploughing the waves of thebriny deep, in the ship _Africa_. You will get the letter on Wednesdaynight. That is, you ought to get it; for I have desired Carrick to postit accordingly, and I'm sure he'll do it if he does not forget. And oldGalloway will get a letter at the same time, and Lady Augusta will getone. _I_ shall have been off more than twenty-four hours, for we leaveGravesend on Tuesday at noon. Carrick has behaved like a trump. He hasbought me all the things I asked him, and paid my passage-money, andgiven me fifty pounds in my pocket to land with; so I am safe to geton. The only thing he stood out about was the frying-pans. He couldn'tsee of what use they'd be, he said. So we made a compromise, and I amtaking out only four-and-twenty, instead of the forty dozen that I hadthought of. I could not find Bagshaw's list, and the frying-pans areabout all I am taking, in the shape of utensils, except a largetool-chest, which they palmed off upon Carrick, for it was as dear asfire's hot. "

"I dare say you have been vowing vengeance upon me, for not cominground to see you before I started; but I stopped away on purpose, for Imight have let out something that I did not care to let out then; andthat's what I am writing for. "

"Old fellow, I have been fit to kill myself. All that bother that theylaid upon you about the bank-note ought to have fallen upon me, for itwas I who took it. There! the confession's made. And now explode at mefor ten minutes, with all your energy and wrath, before you read on. Itwill be a relief to your feelings and to mine. Perhaps if you'd go outof the way to swear a bit, it mightn't be amiss. "

It was at this juncture that Arthur had started up so wildly, causingAnnabel to exclaim that the "ship was drowned. " In his access ofbewilderment, the first shadowy thought that overpowered him was adreadful feeling of grief, for Roland's sake. He had liked Roland; withall his faults, he had liked him much; and it was as if some cherishedstatue had fallen, and been dashed to pieces. Wild, joyful beatings ofrelief, that Hamish was innocent, were mingling with it, thumpingagainst his heart, soon to exclude all else and fill it to bursting. But as yet this was indistinct; and the first clear idea that came tohim was--Was Roland telling truth, or was he only playing a joke uponhim? Arthur read on. 

"I was awfully hard up for money. I was worse than Hamish, and he waspretty hard up then; though he seems to have staved off the fellowssince--he best knows how. I told him one day I should like to borrowthe receipt, and he laughed and said he'd give it to me with all thepleasure in life if it were transferable. Ask him if he rememberssaying it. When Galloway was sending the money that day to the cousinGalloway, I thought what a shame it was, as I watched him slip thebank-note into the letter. That cousin Galloway was always having moneysent him, and I wished Galloway would give it me instead. Then camethat row with Mad Nance; and as you and Galloway turned to see what wasup, I just pulled open the envelope, that instant wet and stuck down, took out the money, pressed the gum down again, and came and stood atyour back, at the window, leaning out. It did not take me half aminute; and the money was in my pocket, and the letter was empty! Butnow, look here!--I never meant to steal the note. I am not a Newgatethief, yet. I was in an uncommon fix just then, over a certain affair;and if I could not stop the fellow's mouth, there'd have been thedickens to pay. So I took the money for _that_ stop-gap, neverintending to do otherwise than replace it in Galloway's desk as soon asI could get it. I knew I should be having some from Lord Carrick. Itwas all Lady Augusta's fault. She had turned crusty, and would not helpme. I stopped out all that afternoon with Knivett, if you remember, andthat placed me beyond suspicion when the stir came, though it was notfor that reason I stayed, for I never had a thought that the row wouldfall upon us in the office. I supposed the loss would be set down tothe letter-carriers--as of course it ought to have been. I stayed out, the bank-note burning a hole all the while in my waistcoat pocket, andsundry qualms coming over me whether I should not put it back again. Ibegan to wonder how I could get rid of it safely, not knowing but thatGalloway might have the number, and I think I should have put it back, what with that doubt and my twitchings of conscience, but for a thingthat happened. After I parted with Knivett, I ran home for something Iwanted, and Lady Augusta heard me and called me into her bedroom. 'Roland, ' said she, 'I want you to get me a twenty-pound note from thebank; I have occasion to send one to Ireland. ' Now, Arthur, I ask you, was ever such encouragement given to a fellow in wrong-doing? Ofcourse, my note, that is, Galloway's note, went to Ireland, and ajoyful riddance it seemed; as thoroughly _gone_ as if I had despatchedit to the North Pole. Lady Augusta handed me twenty sovereigns, and Imade believe to go to the bank and exchange them for a note. She put itinto a letter, and I took it to the post-office at once. No wonder yougrumbled at my being away so long!"

"Next came the row. And when I found that suspicion fell upon _you_, Iwas nearly mad. If I had not parted with the money, I should have gonestraight to Galloway and said, 'Here it is; I took it. ' Not a soulstood up for you as they ought! Even Mr. Channing fell into thesuspicion, and Hamish seemed indifferent and cool as a cucumber. I havenever liked Galloway since; and I long, to this day, to give Butterby aducking. How I kept my tongue from blurting out the truth, I don'tknow: but a gentleman born does not like to own himself a thief. It wasthe publicity given to it that kept me silent; and I hope old Gallowayand Butterby will have horrid dreams for a week to come, now they knowthe truth! I was boiling over always. I don't know how I managed tolive through it; and that soft calf of a Jenkins was always defendingGalloway when I flew out about him. Nobody could do more than I did tothrow the blame upon the post-office--and it was the most likely thingin the world for the post-office to have done?--but the more I talked, the more old Galloway brought up that rubbish about his 'seals!' I hopehe'll have horrid dreams for a month to come! I'd have prosecuted thepost-office if I had had the cash to do it with, and that might haveturned him. "

"Well, old chap, it went on and on--you lying under the cloud, and Imad with every one. I could do nothing to clear you (unless I hadconfessed), except sending back the money to Galloway's, with a letterto say you did not do it. It was upon my mind night and day. I wasalways planning how to accomplish it; but for some time I could notfind the money. When Carrick came to Helstonleigh he was short himself, and I had to wait. I told him I was in an awful mess for the want oftwenty pounds. And that was true in more senses than one, for I did notknow where to turn to for money for my own uses. At last Carrick gaveit me--he had given me a trifle or two before, of five pounds or so, ofno use--and then I had to wait an opportunity of sending it to Londonto be posted. Carrick's departure afforded that. I wrote the note toGalloway with my _left_ hand, in print sort of letters, put the moneyinto it, and Carrick promised to post it in London. I told him it was a_Valentine_ to old Galloway, flattering him on his youthful curls, andCarrick laughed till he was hoarse, at the notion. Deuce take hismemory! he had been pretty nearly a week in London before he thought ofthe letter, and then putting his hand into his pocket he found it. Ihad given it up by that time, and thought no one in the world ever hadsuch luck as I. At last it came; and all I can say is, I wish thepost-office had taken that, before it ever did come. Of all the cryingshames, that was the worst! The old carp got the money, and _yet_ wouldnot clear you! I shall never forgive Galloway for that! and when I comeback from Port Natal, rolling in wealth, I'll not look at him when Ipass him in the street, which will cork him uncommonly, and I don'tcare if you tell him so. Had I wavered about Port Natal before, thatwould have decided me. Clear you I would, and I saw there was no way todo it but by telling the truth, which I did not care to do while I wasin Helstonleigh. And now I am off, and you know the truth, and Gallowayknows it, for he'll have his letter when you have yours (and I hope itwill be a pill for him), and all Helstonleigh will know it, and you arecleared, dear old Arthur!"

"The first person that I shall lavish a little of my wealth upon, whenI return, will be poor Jenkins, if he should be still in the land ofthe living. We all know that he has as much in him as a gander, andlets that adorable Mrs. J. (I wish you could have seen her turban themorning I took leave!) be mistress and master, but he has done me manya good turn: and, what's more, he _stood up for you_. When Galloway, Butterby, and Co. Were on at it, discussing proofs against you, Jenkins's humble voice would be heard, 'I am sure, gentlemen, Mr. Arthur never did it!' Many a time I could have hugged him! and he shallhave some of my good luck when I reach home. You shall have it too, Arthur! I shall never make a friend to care for half as much as I carefor you, and I wish you would have been persuaded to come out with meand make your fortune; but as you would not, you shall share mine. Mind! I should have cleared you just the same, if you had come. "

"And that's all I have to tell. And now you see why I did not careto say 'Good-bye, ' for I don't think I could have said it withouttelling all. Remember me to the folks at your house, and I hope Mr. Channing will come home stunning. I shall look to you for all thenews, mind! If a great wind blows the cathedral down, or a fire burnsthe town up, it's you who must write it; no one else will. Direct tome--Post-office, Port Natal, until I send you an address, which I shalldo the first thing. Have you any news of Charley?"

"I had almost forgotten that bright kinsman of mine, the chaplain ofHazledon. Pray present my affectionate compliments to him, and say hehas not the least idea how very much I revere him. I should like to seehis face when he finds it was I who was the delinquent. Constance canturn the tables on him now. But if she ever forgives him, she'lldeserve to be as henpecked as Jenkins is; and tell her I say so. "

"I meant to have told you about a spree I have had since I came toLondon, but there's no room, so I'll conclude sentimentally, as a ladydoes, "

"Yours for ever and ever, "

"ROLAND YORKE. "

You must not think that Arthur Channing read this letter deliberately, as you have been able to read it. He had only skimmed it--skimmed itwith straining eye and burning brow; taking in its general sense, itsvarious points; but of its words, none. In his overpoweringemotion--his perplexed confusion--he started up with wild words: "Oh, father! he is innocent! Constance, he is innocent! Hamish, Hamish!forgive--forgive me! I have been wicked enough to believe you guiltyall this time!"

To say that they stared at him--to say that they did not understandhim--would be weak words to express the surprise that fell upon them, and seemed to strike them dumb. Arthur kept on reiterating the words, as if he could not sufficiently relieve his overburdened heart. 

"Hamish never did it! Constance, we might have known it. Constance, what could so have blinded our reason? He has been innocent all thistime. "

Mr. Huntley was the first to find his tongue. "Innocent of what?" askedhe. "What news have you received there?" pointing to the letter. 

"It is from Roland Yorke. He says"--Arthur hesitated, and lowered hisvoice--"that bank-note lost by Mr. Galloway--"

"Well?" they uttered, pressing round him. 

"It was Roland who took it!"

Then arose a Babel of voices: questions to Arthur, references to theletter, and explanations. Mr. Channing, amidst his deep thankfulness, gathered Arthur to him with a fond gesture. "My boy, there has beencontinual conflict waging in my heart, " he said; "appearances _versus_my better judgment. But for your own doubtful manner, I should havespurned the thought that you were guilty. Why did you not speak outboldly?"

"Father, how could I--believing that it was Hamish? Hamish, dearHamish, say you forgive me!"

Hamish was the only one who had retained calmness. Remarkablycool was he. He gazed upon them with the most imperturbableself-possession--rather inclined to be amused than otherwise. "Suspect me!" cried he, raising his eyebrows. 

"We did, indeed!"

"_Bien obligé_, " responded Mr. Hamish. "Perhaps _you_ shared the honourof the doubt?" he mockingly added, turning to Mr. Huntley. 

"I did, " replied that gentleman. "Ellen did not, " he added, losinghis seriousness in a half laugh. "Miss Ellen and I have been atdaggers-drawn upon the point. "

Hamish actually blushed like a schoolgirl. "Ellen knows me better, " wasall he said, speaking very quietly. "I should have thought some of therest of you had known me better, also. "

"Hamish, " said Mr. Huntley, "I think we were all in for a host ofblunders. "

Mr. Channing had listened in surprise, Mrs. Channing in indignation. Her brave, good Hamish! her best and dearest!

"I cannot see how it was possible to suspect Hamish, " observed Mr. Channing. 

But, before any more could be said, they were interrupted by Mr. Galloway, an open letter in his hand. "Here's a pretty repast for aman!" he exclaimed. "I go home, expecting to dine in peace, and I findthis pill upon my plate!" Pill was the very word Roland had used. 

They understood, naturally, what the pill was. Especially Arthur, whohad been told by Roland himself, that he was writing to Mr. Galloway. "You see, sir, " said Arthur with a bright smile, "that I was innocent. "

"I do see it, " replied Mr. Galloway, laying his hand on Arthur'sshoulder. "Why could you not speak openly to my face and tell me so?"

"Because--I am ashamed, sir, now to confess why. We were all atcross-purposes together, it seems. "

"He suspected that it was all in the family, Mr. Galloway, " criedHamish, in his gay good humour. "It appears that he laid the charge ofthat little affair to _me_. "

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Galloway. 

"We both did, " exclaimed Constance, coming forward with tears in hereyes. "Do you think that the mere fact of suspicion being cast uponhim, publicly though it was made, could have rendered us as cowardlymiserable as it did? Hamish, how shall we atone to you?"

"The question is, how shall I atone to you, my old friend, for thewrong done your son?" exclaimed Mr. Galloway, seizing Mr. Channing'shand. "Arthur, you and I shall have accounts to make up together. "

"If reparation for unjust suspicion is to be the order of the day, Ithink I ought to have some of it, " said laughing Hamish, with a glanceat Mr. Huntley. 

A sudden thought seemed to strike Mr. Channing. "Huntley, " heimpulsively cried, "was this the cause of displeasure that you hintedhad been given you by Hamish?"

"That, and nothing else, " was Mr. Huntley's answer. "I suppose I musttake him into favour again--'make reparation, ' as he says. "

A saucy smile crossed the lips of Hamish. It as good as said, "I knowwho will, if you don't. " But Mr. Galloway was interrupting. 

"The most extraordinary thing of the whole is, " he observed, withunwonted emphasis, "that we never suspected Roland Yorke, knowing himas we did know him. It will be a caution to me as long as I live, neverto go again by appearances. Careless, thoughtless, impulsive, conscienceless Roland Yorke! Of course! Who else would have been likelyto help themselves to it? I wonder what scales were before our eyes?"

Mr. Channing turned to his son Tom, who had been seated astride on thearm of a sofa, in a glow of astonishment, now succeeded bysatisfaction. "Tom, my boy! There'll be no particular hurry for leavingthe college school, will there?"

Tom slid off his perch and went straight up to Arthur. "Arthur, I begyour pardon heartily for the harsh words and thoughts I may have givenyou. I was just a fool, or I should have known you could not be guilty. Were you screening Roland Yorke?"

"No, " said Arthur, "I never suspected him for a moment. As to any one'sbegging _my_ pardon, I have most cause to do that, for suspectingHamish. You'll be all right now, Tom. "

But now, in the midst of this demonstration from all sides, I willleave you to judge what were the feelings of that reverend divine, William Yorke. You may remember that he was present. He had gone to Mr. Channing's house ostensibly to welcome Mr. Channing home andcongratulate him on his restoration. Glad, in truth, was he to possessthe opportunity to do that; but Mr. Yorke's visit also included apurpose less disinterested. Repulsed by Constance in the two or threeappeals he had made to her, he had impatiently awaited the return ofMr. Channing, to solicit his influence. Remembering the past, listeningto this explanation of the present, you may imagine, if you can, whathis sensations must have been. He, who had held up his head, in hishaughty Yorke spirit, ready to spurn Arthur for the suspicion cast uponhim, ready to believe that he was guilty, resenting it upon Constance, had now to stand and learn that the guilt lay in his family, not intheirs. No wonder that he stood silent, grave, his lips drawn in tosternness. 

Mr. Galloway soon departed again. He had left his dinner untouched uponhis table. Mr. Huntley took the occasion to leave with him; and, in theearnestness of discussion, they all went out with them to the hall, except Constance. This was Mr. Yorke's opportunity. His arms folded, his pale cheek flushed to pain, he moved before her, and stood there, drawn to his full height, speaking hoarsely. 

"Constance, will it be possible for you to forgive me?"

What a fine field it presented for her to play the heroine! To go intofierce declamations that she never could, and never would forgive him, but would hold herself aloof from him for ever and a day, condemninghim to bachelorhood! Unfortunately for these pages, Constance Channinghad nothing of the heroine in her composition. She was only one ofthose simple, truthful, natural English girls, whom I hope you oftenmeet in your every-day life. She smiled at William Yorke through herglistening eye-lashes, and drew closer to him. Did he take the hint? Hetook _her_; took her to that manly breast that would henceforth be hershelter for ever. 

"Heaven knows how I will strive to atone to you, my darling. "

It was a happy evening, chequered, though it necessarily must be, withthoughts of Charles. And Mr. Channing, in the midst of his deep griefand perplexity, thanked God for His great mercy in restoring thesuspected to freedom. "My boy!" he exclaimed to Arthur, "how bravelyyou have borne it all!"

"Not always very bravely, " said Arthur, shaking his head. "There weretimes when I inwardly rebelled. "

"It could not have been done without one thing, " resumed Mr. Channing:"firm trust in God. "

Arthur's cheek kindled. That had ever been present with him. "Whenthings would wear their darkest aspect, I used to say to myself, 'Patience and hope; and trust in God!' But I never anticipated thisbright ending, " he added. "I never thought that I and Hamish shouldboth be cleared. "

"I cannot conceive how you could have suspected Hamish!" Mr. Channingrepeated, after a pause. Of all the wonders, that fact seemed to havetaken most hold of his mind. 

Arthur made a slight answer, but did not pursue the topic. There werecircumstances connected with it, regarding Hamish, not yet explained. He could not speak of them to Mr. Channing. 

Neither were they to be explained, as it seemed to Arthur. At any rate, not at present. When they retired to rest, Hamish came into his room;as he had done that former night, months ago, when suspicion had justbeen thrown upon Arthur. They went up together, and Hamish, instead ofturning into his own room, followed Arthur to his. He set down thecandle on the table, and turned to Arthur with his frank smile. 

"How is it that we can have been playing at these cross-purposes, Arthur? Why did you not tell me at the time that you were innocent?"

"I think I did tell you so, Hamish: if my memory serves me rightly. "

"Well, I am not sure; it may have been so; but in a veryundemonstrative sort of manner, if you did at all. That sort of mannerfrom you, Arthur, would only create perplexity. "

Arthur smiled. "Don't you see? believing that you had taken it, Ithought you must know whether I was innocent or guilty. And, for yoursake, I did not dare to defend myself to others. Had only a breath ofsuspicion fallen upon you, Hamish, it might have cost my father hispost. "

"What induced you to suspect me? Surely not the simple fact of beingalone for a few minutes with the letter in Galloway's office?"

"Not that. That alone would have been nothing; but, coupled with othercircumstances, it assumed a certain weight. Hamish, I will tell you. Doyou remember the trouble you were in at the time--owing money in thetown?"

A smile parted Hamish's lips; he seemed half inclined to make fun ofthe reminiscence. "I remember it well enough. What of that?"

"You contrived to pay those debts, or partially pay them, at the exacttime the note was taken; and we knew you had no money of your own to doit with. We saw you also with gold in your purse-through Annabel'stricks, do you remember?--and we knew that it could not beyours--legitimately yours, I mean. "

Hamish's smile turned into a laugh. "Stop a bit, Arthur. The money withwhich I paid up, and the gold you saw, _was_ mine; legitimately mine. Don't speak so fast, old fellow. "

"But where did it come from, Hamish?"

"It did not come from Galloway's office, and it did not drop from theskies, " laughed Hamish. "Never mind where else it came from. Arthurboy, I wish you had been candid, and had given me a hint of yoursuspicion. "

"We were at cross purposes, as you observe, " repeated Arthur. "Onceplunge into them, and there's no knowing when enlightenment will come;perhaps never. But you were not very open with me. "

"I was puzzled, " replied Hamish. "You may remember that my seeing acrowd round the Guildhall, was the first intimation I received of thematter. When they told me, in answer to my questions, that my brother, Arthur Channing, was taken up on suspicion of stealing a bank-note, andwas then under examination, I should have laughed in their faces, butfor my inclination to knock them down. I went into that hall, Arthur, trusting in your innocence as implicitly as I trusted in my own, boiling over with indignation against all who had dared to accuse you, ready to stand up for you against the world. I turned my eyes upon youas you stood there, and your gaze met mine. Arthur, what made you lookso? I never saw guilt--or perhaps I would rather say shame, consciousshame--shine out more palpably from any countenance than it did fromyours then. It startled me--it _cowed_ me; and, in that moment, I didbelieve you guilty. Why did you look so?"

"I looked so for your sake, Hamish. Your countenance betrayed yourdismay, and I read it for signs of your own guilt and shame. Not untilthen did I fully believe you guilty. We were at cross-purposes, yousee, throughout the piece. "

"Cross-purposes, indeed!" repeated Hamish. 

"Have you believed me guilty until now?"

"No, " replied Hamish. "After a few days my infatuation wore off. It wasan infatuation, and nothing less, ever to have believed a Channingguilty. I then took up another notion, and that I have continued toentertain. "

"What was it?"

"That you were screening Roland Yorke. "

Arthur lifted up his eyes to Hamish. 

"I did indeed. Roland's excessive championship of you, his impetuousagitation when others brought it up against you, first aroused mysuspicions that he himself must have been guilty; and I came to theconclusion that you also had discovered his guilt, and were generouslyscreening him. I believed that you would not allow a stir be made in itto clear yourself, lest it should bring it home to him. Cross purposesagain, you will say. "

"Ah, yes. Not so much as an idea of suspecting Roland Yorke ever cameacross me. All my fear was, that he, or any one, should suspect you. "

Hamish laughed as he placed his hands upon Arthur's shoulders. "Thebest plan for the future will be, to have no secrets one from theother; otherwise, it seems hard to say what labyrinths we may not getinto. What do you say, old fellow?"

"You began the secrets first, Hamish. "

"Did I? Well, let us thank Heaven that the worst are over. "

Ay, thank Heaven! Most sincerely was Arthur Channing doing that. Thetime to give thanks had come. 

Meanwhile Mr. Huntley had proceed home. He found Miss Huntley in thestiffest and most uncompromising of moods; and no wonder, for Mr. Huntley had kept dinner waiting, I am afraid to say how long. Harry, who was to have dined with them that day, had eaten his, and flown offto the town again, to keep some appointment with the college boys. MissHuntley now ate hers in dignified displeasure; but Mr. Huntley, sittingopposite to her, appeared to be in one of his very happiest moods. Ellen attributed it to the fact of Mr. Channing's having returned homewell. She asked a hundred questions about them--of their journey, theirarrival--and Mr. Huntley never seemed tired of answering. 

Barely was the cloth removed, when Miss Huntley rose. Mr. Huntleycrossed the room to open the door for her, and bow her out. Although hewas her brother, she would never have forgiven him, had he omitted thatlittle mark of ceremony. Ellen was dutifully following. She could notalways brave her aunt. Mr. Huntley, however, gave Ellen a touch as shewas passing him, drew her back, and closed the door upon his sister. 

"Ellen, I have been obliged to take Mr. Hamish into favour again. "

Ellen's cheeks became glowing. She tried to find an answer, but nonecame. 

"I find Hamish had nothing to do with the loss of the bank-note. "

Then she found words. "Oh, papa, no! How could you ever have imaginedsuch a thing? You might have known the Channings better. They are abovesuspicion. "

"I did know them better at one time, or else you may be sure, younglady, Mr. Hamish would not have been allowed to come here as he did. However, it is cleared up; and I suppose you would like to tell me thatI was just a donkey for my pains. "

Ellen shook her head and laughed. She would have liked to ask whetherMr. Hamish was to be allowed to come again on the old familiar footing, had she known how to frame the question. But it was quite beyond hercourage. 

"When I told him this evening that I had suspected him--"

She clasped her hands and turned to Mr. Huntley, her rich colour goingand coming. "Papa, you _told_ him?"

"Ay. And I was not the only one to suspect him, or to tell him. I canassure you that, Miss Ellen. "

"What did he say? How did he receive it?"

"Told us he was much obliged to us all. I don't think Hamish _could_ beput out of temper. "

"Then you do not dislike him now, papa?" she said, timidly. 

"I never have disliked him. When I believed what I did of him, I couldnot dislike him even then, try as I would. There, you may go to youraunt now. "

And Ellen went, feeling that the earth and air around her had suddenlybecome as Eden. 

CHAPTER LVI. 

THE BROKEN PHIAL. 

That broken phial, you have heard of, was burning a hole in Bywater'spocket, as Roland Yorke had said the bank-note did in his. He had beenundecided about complaining to the master; strangely so for Bywater. The fact was, he had had a strong suspicion, from the very first, thatthe boy who did the damage to the surplice was Pierce senior. At least, his suspicions had been divided between that gentleman and GeraldYorke. The cause of suspicion against Pierce need not be entered into, since it was misplaced. In point of fact, Mr. Pierce was, so far asthat feat went, both innocent and unconscious. But Bywater could not besure that he was, and he did not care to bring the accusation publiclyagainst Gerald, should he be innocent. 

You saw Bywater, a chapter or two back, fitting the broken piecestogether in his bedroom. On the following morning--it was also themorning following the arrival of the important letter from RolandYorke--Bywater detained Gerald Yorke when the boys tore down theschoolroom steps after early school. 

"I say, Yorke, I said I'd give you a last chance, and now I am doingit, " he began. "If you'll acknowledge the truth to me about thatsurplice affair, I'll let it drop. I will, upon my honour. I'll neversay another word about it. "

Gerald flew into a rage. "Now look you here, Mr. Bywater, " was hisangry retort. "You bother me again with that stale fish, and I'll putyou up for punishment. It's--"

Gerald stopped. Tom Channing was passing close to them, and Mr. Geraldhad never cared to be heard, when talking about the surplice. At thatmoment a group of boys, who were running out of the cloisters, theopposite road to Tom Channing, turned round and hissed him, Tod Yorkeadding some complimentary remark about "stolen notes. " As usual, it wasa shaft launched at Arthur. Not as usual did Tom receive it. There wasnothing of fierce defiance now in his demeanour; nothing ofhalf-subdued rage. Tom halted; took off his trencher with a smile ofsuavity that might have adorned Hamish, and thanked them with as muchcourtesy as if it had been real, especially Tod. Gerald Yorke andBywater looked on with surprise. They little dreamt of the great secretthat Tom now carried within him. He could afford to be calm. 

"Why, it's four months, good, since that surplice was damaged, " resumedGerald, in a tone of irritation, to Bywater, as soon as they were aloneagain. "One would think it was of rare value, by your keeping up theball in this way. Every now and then you break out afresh about thatsurplice. Was it made of gold?"

"It was made of Irish linen, " returned Bywater, who generally contrivedto retain his coolness, whoever might grow heated. "I tell you that Ihave a fresh clue, Yorke; one I have been waiting for. I thought itwould turn up some time. If you say you did it, by accident or how youlike, I'll let it drop. If you don't, I'll bring it before Pye afterbreakfast. "

"Bring it, " retorted Gerald. 

"Mind you, I mean what I say. I shall bring the charge against you, andI have the proofs. "

"Bring it, I say!" fiercely repeated Gerald. "Who cares for yourbringings? Mind your bones afterwards, that's all!"

He pushed Bywater from him with a haughty gesture, and raced home tobreakfast, hoping there would be something good to assuage his hunger. 

But Bywater was not to be turned from his determination. Never a boy inthe school less likely than he. He went home to _his_ breakfast, andreturned to school to have his name inscribed on the roll, and thenwent into college with the other nine choristers, and took his part inthe service. And the bottle, I say, was burning a hole in his pocket. The Reverend William Yorke was chanting, and Arthur Channing sat at theorgan. Would the Very Reverend the Dean of Helstonleigh, standing inhis stall so serenely placid, his cap resting on the cushion besidehim, ever again intimate a doubt that Arthur was not worthy to takepart in the service? But the dean did not know the news yet. 

Back in the school-room, Bywater lost no time. He presented himselfbefore the master, and entered upon his complaint, schoolboy fashion. 

"Please, sir, I think I have found out who inked my surplice. "

The master had allowed the occurrence to slip partially from hismemory. At any rate, it was some time since he had called it up. "Oh, indeed!" said he somewhat cynically, to Bywater, after a pause given torevolving the circumstances. "Think you have found out the boy, doyou?"

"Yes, sir; I am pretty sure of it. I think it was Gerald Yorke. "

"Gerald Yorke! One of the seniors!" repeated the master, casting apenetrating gaze upon Bywater. 

The fact was, Mr. Pye, at the time of the occurrence, had been somewhatinclined to a secret belief that the real culprit was Bywater himself. Knowing that gentleman's propensity to mischief, knowing that thedestruction of a few surplices, more or less, would be only fun to him, he had felt an unpleasant doubt upon the point. "Did you do ityourself?" he now plainly asked of Bywater. 

Bywater for once was genuinely surprised. "I had no more to do with it, sir, than this desk had, " touching the master's. "I should not havespent many an hour since, trying to ferret it out, if I had done it. "

"Well, what have you found out?"

"On the day it happened, sir, when we were discussing it in thecloisters, little Channing suddenly started up with a word that causedme to think he had seen something connected with it, in which GeraldYorke was mixed up. But the boy recollected himself before he had saidmuch, and I could get no more from him. Once afterwards I heard himtell Yorke that he had kept counsel about the inked surplice. "

"Is that all?" asked the master, while the whole school sat withtingling ears, for Bywater was not making his complaint in private. 

"Not quite, sir. Please to look at this. "

Bywater had whipped the broken phial out of his pocket, and was handingthe smaller piece towards the master. Mr. Pye looked at it curiously. 

"As I was turning over my surplice, sir, in the vestry, when I found itthat day, I saw this bit of glass lying in the wet ink. I thought itbelonged to a small ornamental phial, which Gerald Yorke used to keep, about that time, in his pocket, full of ink. But I couldn't be sure. SoI put the bit of glass into my pocket, thinking the phial would turn upsome day, if it did belong to it. And so it has. You can put the pieceinto it, sir, and see whether it fits. "

Gerald Yorke left his place, and joined Bywater before the head master. He looked white and haughty. "Is it to be borne, sir, that he shouldtell these lies of me?"

"Are they lies?" returned Mr. Pye, who was fitting the piece into thebottle. 

"I have told no lies yet, " said Bywater. "And I have not said forcertain you did it. I say I think so. "

"You never found that bottle upon the surplice! I don't believe it!"foamed Gerald. 

"I found the little piece of glass. I put it into my trousers pocket, wet with ink as it was, and here are the stains of ink still, " addedBywater, turning out that receptacle for the benefit of Mr. Pye. "Itwas this same pair of trousers I had on that day. "

"Bywater, " said the master, "why did you not say, at the time, that youfound the piece of glass?"

"Because, sir, the bit, by itself, would have told nothing. I thoughtI'd wait till the bottle itself turned up. Old Jenkins, the bedesman, found it a few days ago in the college burial-ground, pretty near tothe college gates; just in the spot where it most likely would be, sir, if one came out of the college in a fright and dashed it over. "

"Does this belong to you, Yorke?" inquired the master, scrutinizingthat gentleman's countenance, as he had previously scrutinizedBywater's. 

Gerald Yorke took the phial in his hand and examined it. He knewperfectly well that it was his, but he was asking himself whether theschool, apart from Bywater, could contradict him, if he said it wasnot. He feared they might. 

"I had a phial very much like this, sir, " turning it over and over inhis hand, apparently for the purpose of a critical inspection. "I amnot sure that this is the same; I don't think it is. I lost mine, sir:somebody stole it out of my pocket, I think. "

"When did you lose it?" demanded Mr. Pye. 

"About the time that the surplice got inked, sir; a day or two beforeit. "

"Who is telling lies now?" cried bold Bywater. "He had the bottle thatvery day, sir, at his desk, here, in this schoolroom. The upper boysknow he had it, and that he was using it. Channing"--turning round andcatching Tom's eye, the first he did catch--"you can bear witness thathe was using it that morning. "

"Don't call upon me, " replied Tom, stolidly. "I decline to interferewith Mr. Yorke; for, or against him. "

"It is his bottle, and he had it that morning; and I say that I thinkhe must have broken it over the surplice, " persisted Bywater, with asmuch noise as he dared display in the presence of the master. "Otherwise, how should a piece out of the bottle be lying on thesurplice?"

The master came to the conclusion that the facts were tolerablyconclusive. He touched Yorke. "Speak the truth, boy, " he said, with atone that seemed to imply he rather doubted Gerald's strict adherenceto truth at all times and seasons. 

Gerald turned crusty. "I don't know anything about it, sir. Won't Ipummel you for this!" he concluded, in an undertone, to Bywater. 

"Besides that, sir, " went on Bywater, pushing Gerald aside with hiselbow, as if he were nobody: "Charles Channing, I say, saw somethingthat led him to suspect Gerald Yorke. I am certain he did. I think itlikely that he saw him fling the bottle away, after doing the mischief. Yorke knows that I have given him more than one chance to get out ofthis. If he had only told me in confidence that it was he who did it, whether by accident or mischief, I'd have let it drop. "

"Yorke, " said the master, leaning his face forward and speaking in anundertone, "do you remember what I promised the boy who did thismischief? Not for the feat itself, but for braving me, when I orderedhim to speak out, and he would not. "

Yorke grew angry and desperate. "Let it be proved against me, sir, ifyou please, before you punish. I don't think even Bywater, rancorous ashe is, can prove me guilty. "

At this moment, who should walk forward but Mr. Bill Simms, much to theastonishment of the head-master, and of the school in general. SinceMr. Simms's confession to the master, touching the trick played onCharles Channing, he had not led the most agreeable of lives. Some ofthe boys treated him with silent contempt, some worried his life out ofhim, and all hated him. He could now enjoy a little bit of retaliationon one of them, at any rate. 

"Please, sir, the day the surplice was inked, I saw Gerald Yorke comeout of the college just before afternoon service, and chuck a brokenink-bottle over into the burial-ground. "

"You saw it!" exclaimed the master, while Gerald turned his livid face, his flashing eye on the young tell-tale. 

"Yes, sir. I was in the cloisters, inside one of the niches, and sawit. Charley Channing was in the cloisters, too, but he didn't see me, and I don't think Mr. Yorke saw either of us. "

"Why did you not tell me this at the time?"

Mr. Bill Simms stood on his heels and stood on his toes, and pulled hislanky straw-coloured hair, and rubbed his face, ere he spoke. "I wasafraid, sir. I knew Mr. Yorke would beat me. "

"Cur!" ejaculated Gerald, below his breath. The head-master turned hiseyes upon him. 

"Yorke, I--"

A commotion at the door, and Mr. Pye stopped. There burst in a ladywith a wide extent of crinoline, but that was not the worst of thebustle. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands lifted, her eyes wild;altogether she was in a state of the utmost excitement. Gerald staredwith all his might, and the head-master rose to receive her as shesailed down upon him. It was Lady Augusta Yorke. 

CHAPTER LVII. 

A GHOST AGAIN. 

Minds are differently constituted: as was exemplified in the case underour immediate notice. While one of Mr. Galloway's first thoughts, onthe receipt of Roland Yorke's letter, was to rush round to LadyAugusta's with the news, half in anger, half in a reproachful humour, Arthur Channing was deliberating how they could contrive to keep itfrom her. The one was actuated by an angry, the other by a generousspirit. 

Mr. Galloway at length concluded his long-delayed dinner that evening. Then he put on his hat, and, with Roland's letter safe in his pocket, went out again to call on Lady Augusta. It happened, however, that LadyAugusta was not at home. 

She had gone to dine at Colonel Joliffe's, a family who lived somedistance from Helstonleigh--necessitating an early departure from home, if she would be in time for their six o'clock dinner-hour. It had thusoccurred that when the afternoon's post arrived, Lady Augusta was inthe bustle and hurry of dressing; and Lady Augusta was one of those whoare, and must be, in a bustle, even if they are only going to afriendly dinner-party. 

Martha was busily assisting, and the cook brought up two letters. "Bothfor my lady, " she said, giving them to Martha. 

"I have no time for letters now, " called out my lady. "Put them into mydrawer, Martha. "

Martha did as she was bid, and Lady Augusta departed. She returned homepretty late, and the letters remained in their receptacle untouched. 

Of course, to retire to rest late, necessitated, with Lady AugustaYorke, rising late the next morning. About eleven o'clock she came downto breakfast. A letter on the breakfast-table brought to herremembrance the letters of the previous night, and she sent Martha forthem. Looking at their addresses, she perceived one of them to be fromRoland; the other from Lord Carrick: and she laid them by her to beopened presently. 

"Mr. Galloway called last night, my lady, " observed Martha. 

"Oh, did he?" said Lady Augusta. 

"He said he wanted to see your ladyship particularly. But I said youwere gone to Colonel Joliffe's. "

Barely had Lady Augusta tasted her coffee, the letters still lyingunopened at her side, when William Yorke entered, having just left thecathedral. 

"This is a terrible blow, Lady Augusta, " he observed, as he sat down. 

"What's a blow?" returned Lady Augusta. "Will you take some coffee, William?" "Have you not heard of it?" he replied, declining the coffeewith a gesture. "I thought it probable that you would have receivednews from Roland. "

"A letter arrived from Roland last night, " she said, touching theletter in question. "What is the matter? Is there bad news in it? What!have you heard anything?"

Mr. Yorke had not the slightest doubt that the letter before him mustcontain the same confession which had been conveyed to Arthur and toMr. Galloway. He thought it better that she should hear it from him, than read it unprepared. He bent towards her, and spoke in a low toneof compassion. 

"I fear that the letter does contain bad news; very bad news, indeed. Ro--"

"Good heavens! what has happened to him?" she interrupted, falling intoexcitement, just as Roland himself might have done. "Is he ill? Has hegot hurt? Is he killed?"

"Now, pray calm yourself, Lady Augusta. Roland is well in health, andhas sailed for Port Natal, under what he considers favourable auspices. He--"

"Then why in the world do you come terrifying me out of my wits withyour tales, William Yorke?" she broke forth. "I declare you are nobetter than a child!"

"Nay, Lady Augusta, you terrified yourself, jumping to conclusions. Though Roland is safe and sound, there is still some very disagreeablenews to be told concerning him. He has been making a confession of badbehaviour. "

"Oh, " cried Lady Augusta, in a tone which seemed to say, "Is thatall?" as if bad behaviour and Roland might have some affinity for eachother. William Yorke bent his head nearer, and dropped his voice lower. 

"In that mysterious affair of the bank-note, when Arthur Channing wasaccused--"

"Well? well?" she hastily repeated--for he had made a slight pause--anda tone of dread, as a shadow of evil, might be detected in her accents. 

"It was Roland who took the note. "

Lady Augusta jumped up. She _would_ not receive it. "It is not true; itcannot be true!" she reiterated. "How dare you so asperse him, WilliamYorke? Thoughtless as Roland is, he would not be guilty of dishonour. "

"He has written full particulars both to Arthur Channing and to Mr. Galloway, " said Mr. Yorke, calmly. "I have no doubt that that letter toyou also relates to it. He confesses that to clear Arthur was a greatmotive in taking him from Helstonleigh. "

Lady Augusta seized the letter and tore it open. She was too agitatedto read calmly, but she saw enough to convince her that Roland, and noother, had appropriated the money. This must have been the matter hehad obscurely hinted at in one of his last conversations with her. Theletter was concluded very much after Roland's own fashion. 

"Now, mother, if you care that anything in the shape of honour shouldever shine round me again, you'll go off straight to the collegeschool, and set Tom Channing right with it and with the masters. And ifyou don't, and I get drowned on my voyage, I'll not say but my ghostwill come again and haunt every one who has had to do with theinjustice. "

Ghosts were not agreeable topics to Lady Augusta, and she gave a shriekat the bare thought. But that was as nothing, compared with her anger. Honourable in the main--hot, hasty, impulsive, losing all judgment, allself-control when these fits of excitement came upon her--it is morethan probable that her own course would have been to fly to the collegeschool, unprompted by Roland. A sense of justice was strong within her;and in setting Tom right, she would not spare Roland, her own sonthough he was. 

Before William Yorke knew what she was about, she had flown upstairs, and was down again with her things on. Before he could catch her up, she was across the Boundaries, entering the cloisters, and knocking atthe door of the college school. 

There she broke in upon that interesting investigation, touching theinked surplice. 

Bywater, who seemed to think she had arrived for the sole purpose ofsetting at rest the question of the phial's ownership, and not beingtroubled with any superfluous ideas of circumlocution, eagerly held outthe pieces to her when she was yards from his desk. "Do you know this, Lady Augusta? Isn't it Gerald's?"

"Yes, it is Gerald's, " replied she. "He took it out of my desk one dayin the summer, though I told him not, and I never could get it backagain. Have you been denying that it was yours?" she sternly added toGerald. "Bad luck to you, then, for a false boy. You are going to takea leaf out of your brother Roland's pattern, are you? Haven't I hadenough of you bad boys on my hands, but there must something fresh comeup about one or the other of you every day that the sun rises? Mr. Pye, I have come by Roland's wish, and by my own, to set the young Channingsright with the school. You took the seniorship from Tom, believing thatit was his brother Arthur who robbed Mr. Galloway. Not but that Ithought some one else would have had that seniorship, you know!"

In Lady Augusta's present mood, had any one of her sons committed amurder, she must have proclaimed it, though it had been to condemn himto punishment. She had not come to shield Roland; and she did not care, in her anger, how bad she made him out to be; or whether she did it inIrish or English. The head-master could only look at her withastonishment. He also believed her visit must have reference to thematter in hand. 

"It is true, Lady Augusta. But for the suspicion cast upon his brother, Channing would not have lost the seniorship, " said the master, ignoringthe hint touching himself. 

"And all of ye"--turning round to face the wondering school--"havebeen ready to fling ye're stones at Tom Channing, like the badlybrought up boys that ye are. _I_ have heard of it. And my two, Geraldand Tod, the worst of ye at the game. You may look, Mr. Tod, but I'llbe after giving ye a jacketing for ye're pains. Let me tell ye all, that it was not Tom Channing's brother took the bank-note; it was_their_ brother--Gerald's and Tod's! It was my ill-doing boy, Roland, who took it. "

No one knew where to look. Some looked at her ladyship; some at thehead-master; some at the Reverend William Yorke, who stood pale andhaughty; some at Gerald and Tod; some at Tom Channing. Tom did notappear to regard it as news: he seemed to have known it before: theexcessive astonishment painted upon every other face was absent fromhis. But, half the school did not understand Lady Augusta. Noneunderstood her fully. 

"I beg your ladyship's pardon, " said the head-master. "I do notcomprehend what it is that you are talking about. "

"Not comprehend!" repeated her ladyship. "Don't I speak plainly? Myunhappy son Roland has confessed that it was he who stole the bank-notethat so much fuss has been made about, and that Arthur Channing wastaken up for. You two may look and frown"--nodding to Gerald andTod--"but it was your own brother who was the thief; Arthur Channingwas innocent. I'm sure I shan't look a Channing in the face for monthsto come! Tell them about it in a straightforward way, William Yorke. "

Mr. Yorke, thus called upon, stated, in a few concise words, the factsto the master. His tone was low, but the boys caught the sense, thatArthur was really innocent, and that poor Tom had been degraded fornothing. The master beckoned Tom forward. 

"Did you know of this, Channing?"

"Yes, sir; since the letter came to my brother Arthur last night. "

Lady Augusta rushed up impulsively to Tom. She seized his hands, andshook them heartily. Tom never afterwards was sure that she didn't kisshim. "You'll live to be an honour to your parents yet, Tom, " she said, "when my boys are breaking my heart with wilfulness. "

Tom's face flushed with pleasure; not so much at the words as at theyearning, repentant faces cast at him from all parts of the room. Therewas no mistaking that they were eager to offer reparation. Tom Channinginnocent all this time! How should they make it up to him? He turned toresume his seat, but Huntley slipped out of the place he occupied asthe head of the school, and would have pushed Tom into it. There wassome slight commotion, and the master lifted his spectacles. 

"Silence, there! Huntley, what are you about? Keep your seat. "

"No, sir, " said Huntley, advancing a step forward. "I beg your pardon, sir, but the place is no longer mine. I never have considered it minelegally, and I will, with your permission, resign it to its rightfulowner. The place is Channing's; I have only occupied it for him. "

He quietly pushed Tom into it as he spoke, and the school, findingtheir voices, and ignoring the presence of the master and of LadyAugusta, sprang from their desks at one bound and seized upon Tom, wishing him luck, asking him to be a good old fellow and forgive them. "Long live Tom Channing, the senior of Helstonleigh school!" shoutedbold Bywater; and the boys, thus encouraged, took up the shout, and theold walls echoed it. "Long live Tom Channing, the senior ofHelstonleigh school!"

Before the noise had died away, Lady Augusta was gone, and another hadbeen added to the company, in the person of Mr. Huntley. "Oh, " he said, taking in a rapid glance of affairs: "I see it is all right. Knowinghow thoughtless Harry is, I feared he might not recollect to do an actof justice. That he would be the first to do it if he remembered, Iknew. "

"As if I should forget that, sir!" responded Mr. Harry. "Why, I couldno more live, with Channing under me now, than I could let any one ofthe others be above me. And I am not sorry, " added the young gentleman, _sotto voce_. "If the seniorship is a great honour, it is also a greatbother. Here, Channing, take the keys. "

He flung them across the desk as he spoke; he was proceeding to flingthe roll also, and two or three other sundries which belong to thecharge of the senior boy, but was stopped by the head-master. 

"Softly, Huntley! I don't know that I can allow this wholesale changingof places and functions. "

"Oh yes, you can, sir, " said Harry, with a bright look. "If I committedany unworthy act, I should be degraded from the seniorship, and anotherappointed. The same thing can be done now, without the degradation. "

"He deserves a recompense, " said Mr. Huntley to the master. "But thiswill be no recompense; it is Channing's due. He will make you a bettersenior than Harry, Mr. Pye. And now, " added Mr. Huntley, improving uponthe whole, "there will be no necessity to separate the seniorship fromthe Oxford exhibition. "

It was rather a free and easy mode of dealing with the master'sprivileges, and Mr. Pye relaxed into a smile. In good truth, his senseof justice had been inwardly burning since the communication made byLady Augusta. Tom, putting aside a little outburst or two of passion, had behaved admirably throughout the whole season of opprobrium; therewas no denying it. And Mr. Pye felt that he had done so. 

"Will you do your duty as senior, Channing?" unnecessarily asked themaster. 

"I will try, sir. "

"Take your place, then. "

Mr. Huntley was the first to shake his hand when he was in it. "I toldyou to bear up bravely, my boy! I told you better days might be instore. Continue to do your duty in single-hearted honesty, under God, as I truly believe you are ever seeking to do it, and you may wellleave things in His hands. God bless you, Tom!"

Tom was a little overcome. But Mr. Bywater made a divertisement. Heseized the roll, with which it was no business of his to meddle, andcarried it to Mr. Pye. "The names have to be altered, sir. " In returnfor which Mr. Pye sternly motioned him to his seat, and Bywaterfavoured the school with a few winks as he lazily obeyed. 

"Who could possibly have suspected Roland Yorke!" exclaimed the master, talking in an undertone with Mr. Huntley. 

"Nay, if we are to compare merits, he was a far more likely subject forsuspicion than Arthur, " was Mr. Huntley's reply. 

"He was, taking them comparatively. What I meant to imply was, that onecould not have suspected that Roland, knowing himself guilty, wouldsuffer another to lie under the stigma. Roland has his good points--ifthat may be said of one who helps himself to bank-notes, " concluded themaster. 

"Ay, he is not all bad. Witness sending back the money to Galloway;witness his persistent championship of Arthur; and going away partly toclear him, as he no doubt has done! I was as sure from the first thatArthur Channing was not guilty, as that the sun shines in the heavens. "

"Did you suspect Roland?"

"No. I had a peculiar theory of my own upon the matter, " said Mr. Huntley, smiling, and apparently examining closely the grain of themaster's desk. "A theory, however, which has proved to be worthless; asso many theories which obtain favour in this world often are. But Iwill no longer detain you, Mr. Pye. You must have had enough hindrancefrom your legitimate business for one morning. "

"The hindrance is not at an end yet, " was the master's reply, as heshook hands with Mr. Huntley. "I cannot think what has possessed theschool lately: we are always having some unpleasant business or otherto upset it. "

Mr. Huntley went out, nodding cordially to Tom as he passed his desk;and the master turned his eyes and his attention on Gerald Yorke. 

Lady Augusta had hastened from the college school as impetuously as shehad entered it. Her errand now was to the Channings. She was eager toshow them her grieved astonishment, her vexation--to make herself the_amende_ for Roland, so far as she could do so. She found both Mr. AndMrs. Channing at home. The former had purposed being in Guild Streetearly that morning; but so many visitors had flocked in to offer theircongratulations that he had hitherto been unable to get away. Constancealso was at home. Lady Augusta had insisted upon it that she should notcome to the children on that, the first day after her father andmother's return. They were alone when Lady Augusta entered. 

Lady Augusta's first movement was to fling herself into a chair andburst into tears. "What am I to say to you?" she exclaimed. "Whatapology can I urge for my unhappy boy?"

"Nay, dear Lady Augusta, do not let it thus distress you, " said Mr. Channing. "You are no more to be held responsible for what Roland hasdone, than we were for Arthur, when he was thought guilty. "

"Oh, I don't know, " she sobbed. "Perhaps, if I had been more strictwith him always, he would never have done it. I wish I had made a pointof giving them a whipping every night, all round, from the time theywere two years old!" she continued, emphatically. "Would that have mademy children turn out better, do you think?"

Mrs. Channing could not forbear a smile. "It is not exactly_strictness_ that answers with children, Lady Augusta. "

"Goodness me! I don't know what does answer with them, then! I havebeen indulgent enough to mine, as every one else knows; and see howthey are turning out! Roland to go and take a bank-note! And, as ifthat were not bad enough, to let the odium rest upon Arthur! You willnever forgive him! I am certain that you never can or will forgive him!And you and all the town will visit it upon me!"

When Lady Augusta fell into this tearful humour of complaint, it wasbetter to let it run its course; as Mr. And Mrs. Channing knew by pastexperience. They both soothed her; telling her that no irreparablewrong had been done to Arthur; nothing but what would be now maderight. 

"It all turns contrary together!" exclaimed my lady, drying up hertears over the first grievance, and beginning upon another. "I suppose, Constance, you and William Yorke will be making it up now. "

Constance's self-conscious smile, and her drooping eyelids might havetold, without words, that that was already done. 

"And the next thing, of course, will be your getting married!"continued Lady Augusta. "When is it to be? I suppose you have beensettling the time. "

The question was a direct and pointed one, and Lady Augusta waited foran answer. Mrs. Channing came to the relief of Constance. 

"It would have been very soon indeed, Lady Augusta, but for thisdreadful uncertainty about Charles. In any case, it will not be delayedbeyond early spring. "

"Oh, to be sure! I knew that! Everything goes contrary and cross forme! What am I to do for a governess? I might pay a thousand a year andnot find another like Constance. They are beginning to improve underyou: they are growing more dutiful girls to me; and now it will all beundone again, and they'll just be ruined!"

Constance looked up with her pretty timid blush. "William and I havebeen thinking, Lady Augusta, that, if you approved of it, they hadbetter come for a few months to Hazledon House. I should then have themconstantly under my own eye, and I think I could effect some good. Weused to speak of this in the summer; and last night we spoke of itagain. "

Lady Augusta flew into an ecstasy as great as her late grief had been. "Oh, it would be delightful!" she exclaimed. "Such a relief to me! andI know it would be the making of them. I shall thank you and Williamfor ever, Constance; and I don't care what I pay you. I'd go withoutshoes to pay you liberally. "

Constance laughed. "As to payment, " she said, "I shall have nothing todo with that, on my own score, when once I am at Hazledon. Those thingswill lie in William's department, not in mine. I question if he willallow you to pay him anything, Lady Augusta. We did not think of it inthat light, but in the hope that it might benefit Caroline and Fanny. "

Lady Augusta turned impulsively to Mrs. Channing. "What good childrenGod has given you!"

Tears rushed into Mrs. Channing's eyes; she felt the remark in all itsgrateful truth. She was spared a reply; she did not like to contrastthem with Lady Augusta's, ever so tacitly, and say they were indeedgood; for Sarah entered, and said another visitor was waiting in thedrawing-room. 

As Mr. Channing withdrew, Lady Augusta rose to depart. She took Mrs. Channing's hand. "How dreadful for you to come home and find one ofyour children gone!" she uttered. "How can you bear it and be calm!"

Emotion rose then, and Mrs. Channing battled to keep it down. "The sameGod who gave me my children, has taught me how to bear, " she presentlysaid. "For the moment, yesterday, I really was overwhelmed; but itpassed away after a few hours' struggle. When I left home, I humblycommitted my child to God's good care, in perfect trust; and I feel, that whether dead or alive, that care is still over him. "

"I wish to goodness one could learn to feel as you do!" uttered LadyAugusta. "Troubles don't seem to touch you and Mr. Channing; you risesuperior to them: but they turn me inside out. And now I must go! And Iwish Roland had never been born before he had behaved so! You must tryto forgive him, Mrs. Channing: you must promise to try and welcome him, should he ever come back again!"

"Oh yes, " Mrs. Channing answered, with a bright smile. "The one will beas easy as the other has been. He is already forgiven, Lady Augusta. "

"I have done what I could in it. I have been to the college school, andtold them all, and Tom is put into his place as senior. It's true, indeed! and I hope every boy will be flogged for putting upon him;Gerald and Tod amongst the rest. And now, good-bye. "

Sarah was holding the street door open for Lady Augusta. Lady Augusta, who generally gave a word of gossip to every one, even as Roland, hadher head turned towards the girl as she passed out of it, and therebynearly fell over a boy who at the moment was seeking to enter, beingled by a woman, as if he had no strength to walk alone. A tall, thin, white-faced boy, with great eyes and little hair, and a redhandkerchief tied over his head, to hide the deficiency; but abeautiful boy in spite of all, for he bore a strange resemblance toCharles Channing. 

Was it Charles? Or was it his shadow? My lady turned again to the hall, startling the house with her cries, that Charley's ghost had come, andbringing forth its inmates in consternation. 

CHAPTER LVIII. 

BYWATER'S DANCE. 

Not Charley's shadow--not Charley's ghost--but Charley himself, in realflesh and blood. One knew him, if the rest did not; and that wasJudith. She seized upon him with sobs and cries, and sat down on thehall bench and hugged him to her. But Charley had seen some one else, and he slipped from Judith to the arms that were held out to shelterhim, his warm tears breaking forth. "Mamma! mamma!"

Mrs. Channing's tears fell fast as she received him. She strained himto her bosom, and held him there; and they had to hold _her_, for heremotion was great. It is of no use endeavouring to describe this sortof meeting. When the loved who have been thought dead, are restored tolife, all description must fall short of reality, if it does notutterly fail. Charley, whom they had mourned as lost, was with themagain: traces of sickness, of suffering were in his face, in hisattenuated form; but still he was in life. You must imagine what itwas. Mr. And Mrs. Channing, Lady Augusta, Constance, the servants, andthe Bishop of Helstonleigh: for no less a personage than thatdistinguished prelate had been the visitor to Mr. Channing, come tocongratulate him on his cure and his return. 

The woman who had accompanied Charley stood apart--a hard-featuredwoman, in a clean cotton gown, and clean brown apron, whose faceproclaimed that she lived much in the open air. Perhaps she lived somuch in it as to disdain bonnets, for she wore none--a red cottonhandkerchief, fellow to the one on Charley's head, being pinned overher white calico cap. 

Many unexpected meetings take place in this life. A casual acquaintancewhom we have met years ago, but whom we never expected to see again, may come across our path to-morrow. You, my reader, did not, I am sure, expect to meet that woman again, whom you saw hanging up linen in aboat, as it glided beneath the old cathedral walls, under the noses ofBywater and a few more of his tribe, the morning they were throwingaway those unlucky keys, which they fondly thought were never to befished up again. But here is that very woman before you now, come topay these pages as unexpected a visit as the keys paid to the collegeboys. Not more unlooked for, and not more strange than some of ourmeetings in actual life. 

"Mamma, I have been ill; I have been nearly dying; and she has nursedme through it, and been kind to me. "

Mrs. Channing leaned forward and grasped the woman's hand, gratitudeshining in her wet eyes. Mr. Channing and Judith had a fight whichshould grasp the other. Lady Augusta laid hold of her behind, Sarahassailed her in front. There appeared to be no room left for Constanceand the Bishop, or they might have assisted at the demonstration--asthe French say. 

It was soon explained. That same barge had been passing down streamagain that night, when Charley fell into the water. The man heard thesplash, called to his horse to stop, leaped overboard, and saved him. Apoor little boy, with a wound in his head, quite senseless, it provedto be, when they had him on board and laid him on the bench forinspection. Meanwhile the docile horse went on of its own accord, andbefore the knotty question was decided as to whether the man shouldbring-to, and get him on shore, and try and discover to whom hebelonged, the barge was clear of the town, for the current was strong. It had been nearly clear of it when it passed the cathedral wall, andthe splash occurred. The man thought it as well that it was so; hisvoyage, this journey, was being made against time, and he dared notlinger. Had the boat-house keeper's mother not put her head under thebed-clothes and kept it there, she might possibly have heard sounds ofthe rescue. 

So they kept Charley on board. He had evidently struck his head againstsomething which had caused the wound, and stunned him. It may havebeen, it is just possible that it may have been, against the projectingwall of the boat-house, as he turned the corner in his fright andhurry. If so, that, no doubt, caused his fall and his stumble into thewater. The woman--she had children of her own: that great girl whom yousaw scraping potatoes was one, and she had two others stillyounger--washed the wound, and tried to bring Charley round. But shecould not awaken him to full consciousness. His mind appeared to bewandering, and ere another day had passed he was in strong delirium. Whether it was the blow, or the terrible fright which had preceded it, or--and this was most probable--both combined, Charles Channing wasattacked with brain fever. The woman nursed him through it; she appliedher own simple remedies. She cut off his hair, and kept wet linenconstantly to his head; and hot bricks, wrapped round with wet steamingflannels, to his feet; and she gave him a certain herb tea to drink, which, in her firm belief and experience, had never yet failed tosubdue fever. Perhaps Charley did as well without a doctor as he wouldhave done with one. By the time they reached their destination themalady was subsiding; but the young patient was so prostrated and weakthat all he could do was to lie quite still, scarcely opening his eyes, scarcely moving his hands. 

When he became able to talk, they were beginning to move up streamagain, as the woman called it. Charley told her all about himself, about his home, his dear mamma and Judith, his papa's ill-health, andhopes of restoration, his college schoolboy life. It was delicious tolie there in the languor of returning health, and talk of these things. The kindly woman won his love and confidence; but when she asked himhow he came to fall into the river, he could never remember. In thesocial atmosphere of companionship, in the bright sunlight, Charleycould look back on the "ghost" in the cloisters, and draw his owndeductions. His good sense told him it was no ghost; that it was all atrick of Bywater's and others of the college boys. The woman's opinionwas, that if they did do such a thing to frighten him, they ought to bewhipped; but she was inclined to view it as a delusion of Charley'simagination, a relic left by the fever. 

"Your folks'll be fine and pleased to see you again, dear, " she wouldsay to him. "My master'll moor the barge to the side when we gets tothe place, and I'll take ye home to 'um. "

How Charley longed for it, he alone could tell; pleasant as it was, nowhe was better, to lie on deck, on a rude bed made of sacks, and glidepeacefully along on the calm river, between the green banks, the bluesky above, the warm sun shining on him. Had Charley been placed on thatbarge in health, he would have thought it the nastiest place he hadever seen--confined, dirty, monotonous. But waking to it from fever, when he did not care where he lay, so that he could only lie, he grewreconciled to it. Indeed, Charley began to like the boat; but he wasnone the less eager for the day that would see him leave it. 

That day came at last. The barge was brought-to; and here you seeCharley and his protector. Charley's clothes looked a mile too smallfor him, he had so grown in his illness; and Charley was minus a cap, and the handkerchief did duty for one. But it was Charley, in spite ofall; and I say that you must imagine the meeting. You must imaginetheir heartfelt thanks to the woman, and their more substantialrecompense. 

"Charley, darling, if you could only have written to us, what dreadfuldistress you would have saved!" exclaimed Constance. 

"_He_ write, miss!" interposed the woman. "He couldn't have writ tosave his life! And we was a-moving up stream again before he was wellenough to tell us anything about himself. My husband might have writ aword else; I ain't no hand at a pen myself. We have got quite used tothe little gentleman, and shall miss him now. "

"Constance, tell her. Is it not true about the ghost? I am sure youmust have heard of it from the boys. She thinks I dreamt it, she says. "

Judith broke out volubly before Constance could answer, testifying thatit was true, and relating the ill-doings of the boys that night rathermore at length than she need have done. She and the woman appeared tobe in perfect accord as to the punishment merited by those gentlemen. 

The bishop leaned over Charley. "You hear what a foolish trick it was, "he said. "Were I you, I would be upon good terms with such ghosts infuture. There are no other sorts of ghosts, my boy. "

"I know there are not, " answered Charles. "Indeed, my lord, I do knowthere are not, " he repeated more earnestly. "And I knew it then; only, somehow I got frightened. I will try and learn to be as brave in thedark as in the light. "

"That's my sensible boy!" said the bishop. "For my part, Charley, Irather like being in the dark. God seems all the nearer to me. "

The woman was preparing to leave, declining all offers that she shouldrest and take refreshment. "Our turn both down and up was hurried thistime, " she explained, "and I mayna keep the barge and my mastera-waiting. I'll make bold, when we are past the town again, to stepashore, and see how the young gentleman gets on. "

Charley clung to her. "You shall not go till you promise to stay awhole day with us!" he cried. "And you must bring the children formamma to see. She will be glad to see them. "

The woman laughed. "A whole day! a whole day's pleasure was na for thelikes of them, " she answered; "but she'd try and spare a bit longer tostop than she could spare now. "

With many kisses to Charles, with many hand-shakes from all, she tookher departure. The Bishop of Helstonleigh, high and dignified prelatethat he was, and she a poor, hard-working barge-woman, took her handinto his, and shook it as heartily as the rest. Mr. Channing went outwith her. He was going to say a word of gratitude to the man. Thebishop also went out, but he turned the other way. 

As he was entering Close Street, the bishop encountered Arthur. Thelatter raised his hat and was passing onwards, but the bishop arrestedhim. 

"Channing, I have just heard some news from your father. You are atlength cleared from that charge. You have been innocent all this time. "

Arthur's lips parted with a smile. "Your lordship may be sure that I amthankful to be cleared at last. Though I am sorry that it should be atthe expense of my friend Yorke. "

"Knowing yourself innocent, you might have proclaimed it moredecisively. What could have been your motive for not doing so?"

The ingenuous flush flew into Arthur's cheek. "The truth is, my lord, Isuspected some one else. Not Roland Yorke, " he pointedly added. "But--it was one against whom I should have been sorry to bring acharge. And so--and so--I went on bearing the blame. "

"Well, Channing, I must say, and I shall say to others, that you havebehaved admirably; showing a true Christian spirit. Mr. Channing maywell be happy in his children. What will you give me, " added thebishop, releasing Arthur's hand, which he had taken, and relapsing intohis free, pleasant manner, "for some news that I can impart to you?"

Arthur wondered much. What news could the bishop have to impart whichconcerned him?

"The little lost wanderer has come home. "

"Not Charles!" uttered Arthur, startled to emotion. "Charles! and notdead?"

"Not dead, certainly, " smiled the bishop, "considering that he can talkand walk. He will want some nursing, though. Good-bye, Channing. This, take it for all in all, must be a day of congratulation for you andyours. "

To leap into Mr. Galloway's with the tidings, to make but a few boundsthence home, did not take many minutes for Arthur. He found Charles indanger of being kissed to death--Mrs. Channing, Lady Augusta, Constance, and Judith, each taking her turn. I fear Arthur only madeanother. 

"Why, Charley, you have grown out of your clothes!" he exclaimed. "Howthin and white you are!"

The remarks did not please Judith. "Thin and white!" she resentfullyrepeated. "Did you expect him to come home as red and fat as aturkey-cock, and him just brought to the edge of the grave with brainfever? One would think, Master Arthur, that you'd rejoice to see him, if he had come back a skeleton, when it seemed too likely you'd neversee him at all. And what if he have outgrown his clothes? They can belet out, or replaced with new ones. I have hands, and there's tailorsin the place, I hope. "

The more delighted felt Judith, the more ready was she to take upremarks and convert them into grievances. Arthur knew her, and onlylaughed. A day of rejoicing, indeed, as the bishop had said. A day ofpraise to God. 

Charley had been whispering to his mother. He wanted to go to thecollege schoolroom and surprise it. He was longing for a sight of hisold companions. That happy moment had been pictured in his thoughtsfifty times, as he lay in the boat; it was almost as much desired asthe return home. Charley bore no malice, and he was prepared to laughwith them at the ghost. 

"You do not appear strong enough to walk even so far as that, " saidMrs. Channing. 

"Dear mamma, let me go! I could walk it, for that, if it were twice asfar. "

"Yes, let him go, " interposed Arthur, divining the feeling. "I willhelp him along. "

Charley's trencher--the very trencher found on the banks--was broughtforth, and he started with Arthur. 

"Mind you bring him back safe this time!" called out Judy in a tone ofcommand, as she stood at the door to watch them along the Boundaries. 

"Arthur, " said the boy, "were they punished for playing me that ghosttrick?"

"They have not been punished yet; they are to be. The master waited tosee how things would turn out. "

You may remember that Diggs, the boat-house keeper, when he took newsof Charles's supposed fate to the college school, entered it just intime to interrupt an important ceremony, which was about to beperformed on the back of Pierce senior. In like manner--and thecoincidence was somewhat remarkable--Charles himself now entered it, when that same ceremony was just brought to a conclusion, only that theback, instead of being Pierce senior's, was Gerald Yorke's. Terribledisgrace for a senior! and Gerald wished Bywater's surplice had been atthe bottom of the river before he had meddled with it. He had not doneit purposely. He had fallen in the vestry, ink-bottle in hand, whichhad broken and spilt its contents over the surplice. In an unluckymoment, Gerald had determined to deny all knowledge of the accident, never supposing it would be brought home to him. 

Sullen, angry, and resentful, he was taking his seat again, and thehead-master, rather red and hot with exertion, was locking up the greatbirch, when the door was opened, and Arthur Channing made hisappearance; a boy, carrying the college cap, with him. 

The school were struck dumb. The head-master paused, birch in hand. Butthat he was taller and thinner, and that the bright colour and auburncurls were gone, they would have said at once it was Charley Channing. 

The master let fall the birch and the lid of his desk. "_Channing!_" heuttered, as the child walked up to him. "Is it really you? What hasbecome of you all this time? Where have you been?"

"I have been a long way in a barge, sir. The barge-man saved me. And Ihave had brain fever. "

He looked round for Tom; and Tom, in the wild exuberance of hisdelight, took Charley in his arms, and tears dropped from his eyes ashe kissed him as warmly as Judith could have done. And then brave Tomcould have eaten himself up, in mortification at having been sodemonstrative in sight of the college school. 

But the school were not in the humour to be fastidious just then. Someof them felt more inward relief at sight of Charles than they cared totell; they had never experienced anything like it in their lives, andprobably never would again. In the midst of the murmur of heartfeltdelight that was arising, a most startling interruption occurred fromMr. Bywater. That gentleman sprang from his desk to the middle of theroom, turned a somersault, and began dancing a hornpipe on his head. 

"_Bywater_!" uttered the astounded master. "Are you mad?"

Bywater finished his dance, and then brought himself to his feet. 

"I am so glad he has turned up all right, sir. I forgot you were inschool. "

"I should think you did, " significantly returned the master. ButCharles interrupted him. 

"You will not punish them, sir, now I have come back safe?" he pleaded. 

"But they deserve punishment, " said the master. 

"I know they have been sorry; Arthur says they have, " urged Charley. "Please do not punish them now, sir; it is so pleasant to be backagain!"

"Will you promise never to be frightened at their foolish tricksagain?" said the master. "Not that there is much danger of theirplaying you any: this has been too severe a lesson. I am surprised thata boy of your age, Charles, could allow himself to be alarmed by'ghosts. ' You do not suppose there are such things, surely?"

"No, sir; but somehow, that night I got too frightened to think. Youwill forgive them, sir, won't you?"

"Yes! There! Go and shake hands with them, " said Mr. Pye, relaxing hisdignity. "It is worth something, Charley, to see you here again. "

The school seemed to think so; and I wish you had heard the shout thatwent up from it--the real, true, if somewhat noisy delight, thatgreeted Charles. "Charley, we'll never dress up a ghost again! We'llnever frighten you in any way!" they cried, pressing affectionatelyround him. "Only forgive us!"

"Why are you sitting in the senior's place, Tom?" asked Arthur. 

"Because it is his own, " said Harry Huntley, with a smile ofsatisfaction. "Lady Augusta came in and set things right for you, andTom is made senior at last. Hurrah! Arthur cleared, Tom senior, Charleyback, and Gerald flogged! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah! If Pye were worth a dump, he'd give us a holiday!" echoed boldBywater. 

CHAPTER LIX. 

READY. 

The glorious surprise of Charley's safety greeted Hamish on his returnhome to dinner. In fact, he was just in time, having come in somewhatbefore one o'clock, to witness Charley's arrival from the collegeschoolroom, escorted by the whole tribe, from the first to the last. Even Gerald Yorke made one, as did Mr. William Simms. Gerald, the smartover, thought it best to put a light, careless face upon hispunishment, disgraceful though it was considered to be for a senior. Togive Gerald his due, his own share in the day's exploits faded intoinsignificance, compared with the shock of mortification which shookhim, when he heard the avowal of his mother, respecting Roland. He andTod had been the most eager of all the school to cast Arthur's guilt inTom Channing's cheek; they had proclaimed it as particularlyobjectionable to their feelings that the robbery should have takenplace in an office where their brother was a pupil; and now they foundthat Tom's brother had been innocent, and their own brother guilty! Itwas well that Gerald's brow should burn. "But she'd no cause to comehere and blurt it out to the lot, right in one's face!" soliloquizedGerald, alluding to Lady Augusta. "They'd have heard it soon enough, without that. "

Mr. William Simms, I have said, also attended Charles. Mr. William washoping that the return of Charley would put him upon a better footingwith the school. He need not have hoped it: his offence had been onethat the college boys never forgave. Whether Charley returned dead oralive, or had never returned at all, Simms would always remain a sneakin their estimation. "Sneak Simms, " he had been called since theoccurrence: and he had come to the resolution, in his own mind, ofwriting word home to his friends that the studies in Helstonleighcollege school were too much for him, and asking to be removed to aprivate one. I think he would have to do so still. 

Hamish lifted Charley to him with an eager, fond movement. A weight wastaken from his mind. Although really irresponsible for thedisappearance of Charles, he had always felt that his father and mothermight inwardly attach some blame to him--might think him to have beenwanting in care. Now, all was sunshine. 

Dinner over, Mr. Channing walked with Hamish to the office. They weresome time in getting there. Every other person they met, stopped Mr. Channing to congratulate him. It seemed that the congratulations werenever to end. It was not only Mr. Channing's renewed health that peoplehad to speak of. Helstonleigh, from one end to the other, was ringingwith the news of Arthur's innocence; and Charley's return was gettingwind. 

They reached Guild Street at last. Mr. Channing entered and shook handswith his clerks, and then took his own place in his private room. "Where are we to put you, now, Hamish?" he said, looking at his sonwith a smile. "There's no room for you here. You will not like to takeyour place with the clerks again. "

"Perhaps I had better follow Roland Yorke's plan, and emigrate, "replied Hamish, demurely. 

"I wish Mr. Huntley--By the way, Hamish, it would only be a mark ofcourtesy if you stepped as far as Mr. Huntley's and told him ofCharles's return, " broke off Mr. Channing; the idea occurring to himwith Mr. Huntley's name. "None have shown more sympathy than he, and hewill be rejoiced to hear that the child is safe. "

"I'll go at once, " said Hamish. Nothing loth was he, on his own part, to pay a visit to Mr. Huntley's. 

Hamish overtook Mr. Huntley close to his own home. He was returningfrom the town. Had he been home earlier, he would have heard the newsfrom Harry. But Harry had now had his dinner and was gone again. He didnot dine at the later hour. 

"I have brought you some news, sir, " said Hamish, as they enteredtogether. 

"News again! It cannot be very great, by the side of what we werefavoured with last night from Mr. Roland, " was the remark of Mr. Huntley. 

"But indeed it is. Greater news even than that. We have found Charley, Mr. Huntley. "

Mr. Huntley sprang from the chair he was taking. "Found Charley! Haveyou really? Where has he--Hamish, I see by your countenance that thetidings are good. He must be alive. "

"He is alive and well. At least, well, comparatively speaking. A bargewas passing down the river at the time he fell in, and the man leapedoverboard and saved him. Charley has been in the barge ever since, andhas had brain fever. "

"And how did he come home?" wondered Mr. Huntley, when he hadsufficiently digested the news. 

"The barge brought him back. It is on its way up again. Charley arrivedunder escort of the barge-woman, a red handkerchief on his head in lieuof his trencher, which, you know, he lost that night, " added Hamish, laughing. "Lady Augusta, who was going out of the house as he entered, was frightened into the belief that it was his ghost, and startled themall with her cries to that effect, including the bishop, who was withmy father in the drawing-room. "

"Hamish, it is like a romance!" said Mr. Huntley. 

"Very nearly, taking one circumstance with another. My father's return, cured; Roland's letter; and now Charley's resuscitation. Their allhappening together renders it the more remarkable. Poor Charley doeslook as much like a ghost as anything, and his curls are gone. They hadto cut his hair close in the fever. "

Mr. Huntley paused. "Do you know, Hamish, " he presently said, "I beginto think we were all a set of wiseacres. We might have thought of abarge. "

"If we had thought of a barge, we should never have thought the bargewould carry him off, " objected Hamish. "However, we have him back now, and I thank God. I always said he would turn up, you know. "

"I must come and see him, " said Mr. Huntley. "I was at the collegeschool this morning, therefore close to your house, but I did not call. I thought your father would have enough callers, without me. "

Hamish laughed. "He has had a great many. The house, I understand, hasbeen like a fair. He is in Guild Street this afternoon. It looks likethe happy old times, to see him at his post again. "

"What are you going to do, now your place is usurped?" asked Mr. Huntley. "Subside into a clerk again, and discharge the one who wastaken on in your stead, when you were promoted?"

"That's the question--what is to be done with me?" returned Hamish, inhis joking manner. "I have been telling my father that I had perhapsbetter pay Port Natal a visit, and join Roland Yorke. "

"I told your father once, that when this time came, I would help you toa post. "

"I am aware you did, sir. But you told me afterwards that you hadaltered your intention--I was not eligible for it. "

"Believing you were the culprit at Galloway's. "

Hamish raised his eyebrows. "The extraordinary part of that, sir, is, how you could have imagined such a thing of me. "

"Hamish, I shall always think so myself in future. But I have thisjustification--that I was not alone in the belief. Some of your family, who might be supposed to know you better than I, entertained the sameopinion. "

"Yes; Constance and Arthur. But are you sure, sir, that it was nottheir conduct that first induced you to suspect me?"

"Right, lad. Their conduct--I should rather say their manner--wasinexplicably mysterious, and it induced me to ferret out its cause. That they were screening some one, was evident, and I could only cometo the conclusion that it was you. But, Master Hamish, there werecircumstances on your own part which tended to strengthen the belief, "added Mr. Huntley, his tone becoming lighter. "Whence sprang that moneywherewith you satisfied some of your troublesome creditors, just atthat same time?"

Once more, as when it was alluded to before, a red flush dyed the faceof Hamish. Certainly, it could not be a flush of guilt, while thatingenuous smile hovered on his lips. But Hamish seemed attacked withsudden shyness. "Your refusal to satisfy me on this point, when wepreviously spoke of it, tended to confirm my suspicions, " continued Mr. Huntley. "I think you might make a confidant of me, Hamish. That moneycould not have dropped from the clouds; and I am sure you possessed nofunds of your own just then. "

"But neither did I steal it. Mr. Huntley"--raising his eyes to thatgentleman's face--"how closely you must have watched me and myaffairs!"

Mr. Huntley drew in his lips. "Perhaps I had my own motives for doingso, young sir. "

"I earned the money, " said Hamish, who probably penetrated into Mr. Huntley's "motives;" at any rate, he hoped he did so. "I earned itfairly and honourably, by my own private and special industry. "

Mr. Huntley opened his eyes. "Private and special industry! Have youturned shoemaker?"

"Not shoemaker, " laughed Hamish. "Book-maker. The truth is, Mr. Huntley--But will you promise to keep my secret?"

"Ay. Honour bright. "

"I don't want it to be known just yet. The truth is, I have been doingsome literary work. Martin Pope gave me an introduction to one of theLondon editors, and I sent him some papers. They were approved of andinserted: but for the first I received no pay. I threatened to strike, and then payment was promised. The first instalment, I chiefly used to_arrest_ my debts; the second and third to liquidate them. That's wherethe money came from. "

Mr. Huntley stared at Hamish as if he could scarcely take in the news. It was, however, only the simple truth. When Martin Pope paid a visitto Hamish, one summer night, frightening Hamish and Arthur, who dreadedit might be a less inoffensive visitor; frightening Constance, for thatmatter, for she heard more of their dread than was expedient; hiserrand was to tell Hamish that in future he was to be paid for hispapers: payment was to commence forthwith. You may remember theevening, though it is long ago. You may also remember Martin Pope'scoming hurriedly into the office in Guild Street, telling Hamish someone was starting by the train; when both hastened to the station, leaving Arthur in wonder. That was the very London editor himself. Hehad been into the country, and was taking Helstonleigh on his way backto town; had stayed in it a day or two for the purpose of seeing MartinPope, who was an old friend, and of being introduced to HamishChanning. That shy feeling of reticence, which is the characteristic ofmost persons whose genius is worth anything, had induced Hamish to buryall this in silence. 

"But when have you found time to write?" exclaimed Mr. Huntley, unableto get over his surprise. "You could not find it during office hours?"

"Certainly not. I have written in the evening, and at night. I havebeen a great rake, stopping up later than I ought, at this writing. "

"Do they know of it at home?"

"Some of them know that I sit up; but they don't know what I sit upfor. By way of a blind--I suppose it may be called a justifiabledeceit, " said Hamish, gaily--"I have taken care to carry the officebooks into my room, that their suspicions may be confined to theaccounts. Judy's keen eyes detected my candle burning later than sheconsidered it ought to burn, and her rest has been disturbed withvisions of my setting the house on fire. I have counselled her to keepthe water-butt full, under her window, so that she may be safe fromdanger. "

"And are you earning money now?"

"In-one sense, I am: I am writing for it. My former papers were for themost part miscellaneous--essays, and that sort of thing; but I am abouta longer work now, to be paid for on completion. When it is finishedand appears, I shall startle them at home with the news, and treat themto a sight of it. When all other trades fail, sir, I can set up my tentas an author. "

Mr. Huntley's feelings glowed within him. None, more than he, knew thevalue of silent industry--the worth of those who patiently practise it. His heart went out to Hamish. "I suppose I must recommend you toBartlett's post, after all, " said he, affecting to speak carelessly, his eye betraying something very different. 

"Is it not gone?" asked Hamish. 

"No, it is not gone. And the appointment rests with me. How would youlike it?"

"Nay, " said Hamish, half mockingly: "the question is, should I behonest enough for it?"

Mr. Huntley shook his fist at him. "If you ever bring that reproach upto me again, I'll--I'll--You had better keep friends with me, you know, sir, on other scores. "

Hamish laughed. "I should like the post very much indeed, sir. "

"And the house also, I suppose, you would make no objection to?" noddedMr. Huntley. 

"None in the world. I must work away, though, if it is ever to befurnished. "

"How can you tell but that some good spirit might furnish it for you?"cried Mr. Huntley, quaintly. 

They were interrupted before anything more was said. Ellen, who hadbeen out with her aunt, came running in, in excitement. "Oh, papa! suchhappy news! Charles Channing is found, and--"

She stopped when she saw that she had another auditor. Hamish rose togreet her. He took her hand, released it, and then returned to the fireto Mr. Huntley. Ellen stood by the table, and had grown suddenly timid. 

"You will soon be receiving a visit from my mother and Constance, "observed Hamish, looking at her. "I heard certain arrangements beingdiscussed, in which Miss Ellen Huntley's name bore a part. We are soonto lose Constance. "

Ellen blushed rosy red. Mr. Huntley was the first to speak. "Yorke hascome to his senses, I suppose?"

"Yorke and Constance between them. In a short time she is to betransplanted to Hazledon. "

"It is more than he deserves, " emphatically declared Mr. Huntley. "Isuppose you will be for getting married next, Mr. Hamish, when you comeinto possession of that house we have been speaking of, and are yourown master?"

"I always intended to think of it, sir, as soon as I could do so, "returned saucy Hamish. And Ellen ran out of the room. 

That same afternoon Arthur Channing was seated at the organ inpursuance of his duty, when a message came up from the dean. He wasdesired to change the selected anthem, taken from the thirty-fifthPsalm, for another: "O taste, and see, how gracious the Lord is!"

It was not an anthem in the cathedral collection, but one recentlycomposed and presented to it by a private individual. It consisted of atreble solo and chorus. Why had the dean specially commanded it forthat afternoon? Very rarely indeed did he change the services afterthey were put up. Had he had _Arthur_ in his mind when he decided uponit? It was impossible to say. Be it as it would, the words found astrange echo in Arthur's heart, as Bywater's sweet voice rang throughthe cathedral. "O taste, and see, how gracious the Lord is, blessed isthe man that trusteth in him. O fear the Lord, ye that are his saints. For they that fear him lack nothing. The lions do lack, and sufferhunger: but they who seek the Lord shall want no manner of thing thatis good. The eyes of the Lord are over the righteous: and his ears areopen unto their prayers. Great are the troubles of the righteous; butthe Lord delivereth him out of all. The Lord delivereth the souls ofhis servants: and all they that put their trust in him shall not bedestitute. "

Every word told upon Arthur's heart, sending it up in thankfulness tothe Giver of all good. 

He found the dean waiting for him in the nave, when he went down at theconclusion of the service. Dr. Gardner was with him. The dean held outhis hand to Arthur. 

"I am very glad you are cleared, " he said. "You have behaved nobly. "

Arthur winced. He did not like to take the faintest meed of praise thatwas not strictly his due. The dean might have thought he deserved less, did he know that he had been only screening Hamish; but Arthur couldnot avow that tale in public. He glanced at the dean with a franksmile. 

"You see now, sir, that I only spoke the truth when I assured you of myinnocence. "

"I do see it, " said the dean. "I believed you then. " And once moreshaking Arthur's hand, he turned into the cloisters with Dr. Gardner. 

"I have already offered my congratulations, " said the canon, goodhumouredly, nodding to Arthur. This was correct. He had waylaid Arthuras he went into college. 

Arthur suffered them to go on a few steps, and then descended to thecloisters. Old Ketch was shuffling along. 

"What's this I've been a hearing, about that there drownded boy havingcome back?" asked he of Arthur, in his usual ungracious fashion. 

"I don't know what you may have heard, Ketch. He has come back. "

"And he ain't dead nor drownded?"

"Neither one nor the other. He is alive and well. "

Ketch gave a groan of despair. "And them horrid young wretches'llescape the hangman! I'd ha' walked ten miles to see em--"

"Gracious, Sir John, what's that you are talking about?" interruptedBywater, as the choristers trooped up, "Escaped you! so we have, foronce. What an agony of disappointment it must be for you, Mr. Calcraft!Such practice for your old hands, to topple off a dozen or so of us!Besides the pay! How much do you charge a head, Calcraft?"

Ketch answered by a yell. 

"Now, don't excite yourself, I beg, " went on aggravating Bywater. "Weare thinking of getting up a petition to the dean, to console you foryour disappointment, praying that he'll allow you to wear a cap we haveordered for you! It's made of scarlet cloth, with long ears and a setof bells! Its device is a cross beam and a cord, and we wish you healthto wear it out! I say, let's wish Mr. Calcraft health! What's tripe apound to-day, Calcraft?"

The choristers, in various stages of delight, entered on theiraggravating shouts, their mocking dance. When they had driven Mr. Ketchto the very verge of insanity, they decamped to the schoolroom. 

I need not enlarge on the evening of thankfulness it was at Mr. Channing's. Not one, but had special cause for gratitude--except, perhaps, Annabel. Mr. Channing restored to health and strength; Mrs. Channing's anxiety removed; Hamish secure in his new prospects-for Mr. Huntley had made them certain; heaviness removed from the heart ofConstance; the cloud lifted from Arthur; Tom on the pedestal he thoughthe had lost, sure also of the Oxford exhibition; Charley amongst themagain! They could trace the finger of God in all; and were fond ofdoing it. 

Soon after tea, Arthur rose. "I must drop in and see Jenkins, " heobserved. "He will have heard the items of news from twenty people, there's little doubt; but he will like me to go to him withparticulars. No one in Helstonleigh has been more anxious that thingsshould turn out happily, than poor Jenkins. "

"Tell him he has my best wishes for his recovery, Arthur, " said Mr. Channing. 

"I will tell him, " replied Arthur. "But I fear all hope of recovery forJenkins is past. "

It was more decidedly past than even Arthur suspected when he spoke. Ayoung woman was attending to Mrs. Jenkins's shop when Arthur passedthrough it. Her face was strange to him; but from a certain peculiarityin the eyes and mouth, he inferred it to be Mrs. Jenkins's sister. Inpoint of fact, that lady, finding that her care of Jenkins and her careof the shop rather interfered with each other, had sent for her sisterfrom the country to attend temporarily on the latter. Lydia went up toJenkins's sick-room, and said a gentleman was waiting: and Mrs. Jenkinscame down. 

"Oh, it's you!" quoth she. "I hope he'll be at rest now. He has beenbothering his mind over you all day. My opinion is, he'd never havecome to this state if he had taken things easy, like sensible people. "

"Is he in his room?" inquired Arthur. 

"He is in his room, and in his bed. And what's more, young Mr. Channing, hell never get out of it alive. "

"Then he is worse?"

"He has been worse this four days. And I only get him up now to havehis bed made. I said to him yesterday, 'Jenkins, you may put on yourthings, and go down to the office if you like. ' 'My dear, ' said he, 'Icouldn't get up, much less get down to the office;' which I knew wasthe case, before I spoke. I wish I had had my wits about me!" somewhatirascibly went on Mrs. Jenkins: "I should have had his bed brought downto the parlour here, before he was so ill. I don't speak for the shop, I have somebody to attend to that; but it's such a toil and a trapes upthem two pair of stairs for every little thing that's wanted. "

"I suppose I can go up, Mrs. Jenkins?"

"You can go up, " returned she; "but mind you don't get worrying him. Iwon't have him worried. He worries himself, without any one else doingit gratis. If it's not about one thing, it's about another. Sometimesit's his master and the office, how they'll get along; sometimes it'sme, what I shall do without him; sometimes it's his old father. Hedon't need any outside things to put him up. "

"I am sorry he is so much worse, " remarked Arthur. 

"So am I, " said Mrs. Jenkins, tartly. "I have been doing all I couldfor him from the first, and it has been like working against hope. Ifcare could have cured him, or money could have cured him, he'd be wellnow. I have a trifle of savings in the bank, young Mr. Channing, and Ihave not spared them. If they had ordered him medicine at a guinea abottle, I'd have had it for him. If they said he must have wine, ordelicacies brought from the other ends of the earth, they should havebeen brought. Jenkins isn't good for much, in point of spirit, as allthe world knows; but he's my husband, and I have strove to do my dutyby him. Now, if you want to go up, you can go, " added she, after animperceptible pause. "There's a light on the stairs, and you know hisroom. I'll take the opportunity to give an eye to the kitchen; I don'tcare to leave him by himself now. Finely it's going on, I know!"

Mrs. Jenkins whisked down the kitchen stairs, and Arthur proceeded up. Jenkins was lying in bed, his head raised by pillows. Whatever may havebeen Mrs. Jenkins's faults of manner, her efficiency as a nurse andmanager could not be called into question. A bright fire burnt in thewell-ventilated though small room, the bed was snowy white, theapartment altogether thoroughly comfortable. But--Jenkins!

Fully occupied with his work for Mr. Galloway, it was several dayssince Arthur had called on Jenkins, and the change he now saw in hisface struck him sharply. The skin was drawn, the eyes were unnaturallybright, the cheeks had fallen in; certainly there could not be verymany hours of life left to Jenkins. A smile sat on his parched lips, and his eyelashes became moist as he looked up to Arthur, and held outhis feeble hand. 

"I knew you would be cleared, sir! I knew that God would surely bringthe right to light! I have been humbly thanking Him for you, sir, allday. "

Arthur's eyes glistened also as he bent over him. "You have heard it, then, Jenkins? I thought you would. "

"Yes, sir, I heard it this morning, when it was getting towardsmid-day. I had a visit, sir, from his lordship the bishop. I had, indeed! He came up as he has done before--as kindly, and with as littleceremony, as if he had been a poor body like myself. It was he whofirst told me, Mr. Arthur. "

"I am glad he came to see you, Jenkins. "

"He talked so pleasantly, sir. 'It is a journey that we must all take, Jenkins, ' he said; 'and for my part, I think it matters little whetherwe take it sooner or later, so that God vouchsafes to us the grace toprepare for it. ' For affability, sir, it was just as if it had been abrother talking to me; but he said things different from what any poorbrother of mine could have said, and they gave me comfort. Then heasked me if I had taken the Sacrament lately; and I thanked him, andsaid I had taken it on Sunday last; our clergyman came round to meafter service. Mr. Arthur"--and poor Jenkins's eyes wore an eager lookof gratitude--"I feel sure that his lordship would have administered itto me with his own hands. I wonder whether all bishops are like him!"

Arthur did not answer. Jenkins resumed, quitting the immediate topicfor another. 

"And I hear, sir, that Mr. Channing has come home restored, and thatthe little boy is found. His lordship was so good as to tell me both. Oh, Mr. Arthur, how merciful God has been!"

"We are finding Him so, just now, " fervently spoke Arthur. 

"And it is all right again, sir, with you and Mr. Galloway?"

"Quite right. I am to remain in the office. I am to be in your place, Jenkins. "

"You'll occupy a better position in it, sir, than I ever did. But youwill not be all alone, surely?"

"Young Bartlett is coming to be under me. Mr. Galloway has made finalarrangements to-day. We shall go on all right now. "

"Ay, " said Jenkins, folding his thin hands upon the counterpane, andspeaking as in self-commune; "we must live near to God to know Hismercy. It does seem almost as if I had asked a favour of any earthlyperson, so exactly has it been granted me! Mr. Arthur, I prayed that Imight live to see you put right with Mr. Galloway and the town, and Ifelt as sure as I could feel, by some inward evidence which I cannotdescribe, but which was plain to me, that God heard me, and would grantme my wish. It seems, sir, as if I had been let live for that. I shan'tbe long now. "

"While there is life there is hope, you know, Jenkins, " replied Arthur, unable to say anything more cheering in the face of circumstances. 

"Mr. Arthur, the hope for me now is, to go, " said Jenkins. "I would notbe restored if I could. How can I tell, sir, but I might fall away fromGod? If the call comes to-night, sir, it will find me ready. Oh, Mr. Arthur, if people only knew the peace of living close to God--offeeling that they are READY! Ready for the summons, let it come in thesecond or third watch!"

"Jenkins!" exclaimed Arthur, as the thought struck him: "I have notheard you cough once since I came in! Is your cough better!"

"Oh, sir, there's another blessing! Now that I have grown so weak thatthe cough would shatter me--tear my frame to pieces--it is gone! It isnearly a week, sir, since I coughed at all. My death-bed has been madequite pleasant for me. Except for weakness, I am free from pain, and Ihave all things comfortable. I am rich in abundance: my wife waits uponme night and day--she lets me want for nothing; before I can express awish, it is done. When I think of all the favours showered down uponme, and how little I can do, or have ever done, for God, in return, Iam overwhelmed with shame. "

"Jenkins, one would almost change places with you, to be in your frameof mind, " cried Arthur, his tone impassioned. 

"God will send the same frame of mind to all who care to go to Him, "was the reply. "Sir, " and now Jenkins dropped his voice, "I was grievedto hear about Mr. Roland. I could not have thought it. "

"Ay; it was unwelcome news, for his own sake. "

"I never supposed but that the post-office must have been to blame. Ithink, Mr. Arthur, he must have done it in a dream; as one, I mean, whohas not his full faculties about him. I hope the Earl of Carrick willtake care of him. I hope he will live to come back a good, brave man!If he would only act less on impulse and more on principle, it would bebetter for him. Little Master Charles has been ill, I hear, sir? Ishould like to see him. "

"I will bring him to see you, " replied Arthur. 

"Will you, sir?" and Jenkins's face lighted up. "I should like just toset eyes on him once again. But--it must be very soon, Mr. Arthur. "

"You think so?" murmured Arthur. 

"I know it, sir--I feel it. I do not say it before my wife, sir, for Idon't think she sees herself that I am so near the end, and it wouldonly grieve her. It _will_ grieve her, sir, whenever it comes, thoughshe may not care to show people that it does. I shall see you again, Ihope, Mr. Arthur?"

"That you shall be sure to do. I will not miss a day now, withoutcoming in. It will do me good to see you, Jenkins; to hear you tell me, again, of your happy state of resignation. "

"It is better than resignation, Mr. Arthur, it is a state of hope. Notbut that I shall leave some regrets behind me. My wife will be lone andcomfortless, and must trust to her own exertions only. And my poor oldfather--"

"If I didn't know it! If I didn't know that, on some subject or other, he'd be safe to be worrying himself, or it would not be him! I'd putmyself into my grave at once, if I were you, Jenkins. As good do itthat way, as by slow degrees. "

Of course you cannot fail to recognize the voice. She entered at thatunlucky moment when Jenkins was alluding to his father. He attempted adefence--an explanation. 

"My dear, I was not worrying. I was only telling Mr. Arthur Channingthat there were some things I should regret to leave. My poor oldfather for one; he has looked to me, naturally, to help him a littlebit in his old age, and I would rather, so far as that goes, have beenspared to do it. But, neither that nor anything else can worry me now. I am content to leave all to God. "

"Was ever the like heard?" retorted Mrs. Jenkins, "Not worrying! _I_know. If you were not worrying, you wouldn't be talking. Isn't oldJenkins your father, and shan't I take upon myself to see that he doesnot want? You know I shall, Jenkins. When do I ever go from my word?"

"My dear, I know you will do what's right, " returned Jenkins, in hispatient meekness: "but the old man will feel it hard, my departingbefore him. Are you going, sir?"

"I must go, " replied Arthur, taking one of the thin hands. "I willbring Charley in to-morrow. "

Jenkins pressed Arthur's hand between his. "God bless you, Mr. Arthur, "he fervently said. "May He be your friend for ever! May He render yourdying bed happy, as He has rendered mine!" And Arthur turnedaway--never again to see Jenkins in life. 

"Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord when He cometh shall findwatching. "

As Jenkins was, that night, when the message came for him. 

CHAPTER LX. 

IN WHAT DOES IT LIE?

Had the clerk of the weather been favoured with an express lettercontaining a heavy bribe, a more lovely day could not have been securedthan that one in January which witnessed the marriage of ConstanceChanning to the Rev. William Yorke. 

The ceremony was over, and they were home again; seated at breakfastwith their guests. But only a few guests were present, and they for themost part close friends: the Huntleys; Lady Augusta Yorke, and Gerald;Mr. Galloway; and the Rev. Mr. Pye, who married them. It has sincebecome the fashion to have a superfluity of bridesmaids: I am not surethat a young lady would consider herself legally married unless sheenjoyed the privilege. Constance, though not altogether a slave tofashion, followed it, not in a very extensive degree. Annabel Channing, Ellen Huntley, and Caroline and Fanny Yorke, had been the _demoisellesd'honneur_. Charley's auburn curls had grown again, and Charley himselfwas in better condition than when he arrived from his impromptuexcursion. For grandeur, no one could approach Miss Huntley; herbrocade silk stood on end, stiff, prim, and stately as herself. Judy, in her way, was stately too; a curiously-fine lace cap on her head, which had not been allowed to see the light since Charley'schristening, with a large white satin bow in front, almost as large asthe cap itself. And that was no despicable size. 

The only one who did not behave with a due regard to what might beexpected of him, was Hamish--grievous as it is to have to record it. Ithad been duly impressed upon Hamish that he was to conduct Miss Huntleyin to breakfast, etiquette and society consigning that lady to hisshare. Mr. Hamish, however, chose to misconstrue instructions in themost deplorable manner. He left Miss Huntley, a prey to whomsoevermight pick her up, and took in Miss Ellen. It might have passed, possibly, but for Annabel, who appeared as free and unconcerned thatimportant morning as at other times. 

"Hamish, that's wrong! It is Miss Huntley you are to take in; notEllen. "

Hamish had grown suddenly deaf. He walked on with Ellen, leavingconfusion to right itself. Arthur stepped up in the dilemma, and thetips of Miss Huntley's white-gloved fingers were laid upon his arm. Itwould take her some time to forgive Hamish, favourite though he was. Later on, Hamish took the opportunity of reading Miss Annabel a privatelecture on the expediency of minding her own business. 

Hamish was in his new post now, at the bank: thoroughlywell-established. He had not yet taken up his abode in the house. Itwas too large, he laughingly said, for a single man. 

The breakfast came to an end, as other breakfasts do; and next, Constance came down in her travelling dress. Now that the moment ofparting was come, Constance in her agitation longed for it to be over. She hurriedly wished them adieu, and lifted her tearful face last toher father. 

Mr. Channing laid his hands upon her. "May God bless my dear child, andbe her guide and refuge for ever! William Yorke, it is a treasure ofgreat price that I have given you this day. May she be as good a wifeas she has been a daughter!"

Mr. Yorke, murmuring a few heartfelt words, put Constance into thecarriage, and they drove away. 

"It will be your turn next, " whispered Hamish to Ellen Huntley, whostood watching the departure from one of the windows. 

What Ellen would have said--whether she would have given any otheranswer than that accorded by her blushing cheeks, cannot be told. Thewhisper had not been quite so low as Hamish thought it, and it wasoverheard by Mr. Huntley. 

"There may be two words to that bargain, Mr. Hamish. "

"Twenty, if you like, sir, " responded Hamish, promptly, "so that theybe affirmative ones. "

"Ellen, " whispered Mr. Huntley, "would you have him, with all hisgracelessness?"

Ellen seemed ready to fall, and her eyes filled. "Do not joke now, papa, " was all she said. 

Hamish caught her hand, and took upon himself the task of soothing her. And Mr. Huntley relapsed into a smile, and did not hinder him. 

But some one else was bursting into tears: as the sounds testified. Itproved to be Lady Augusta Yorke. A few tears might well be excused toMrs. Channing, on the occasion of parting with her ever-loving, ever-dutiful child, but what could Lady Augusta have to cry about?

Lady Augusta was excessively impulsive: as you have long ago learned. The happiness of the Channing family, in their social relations to eachother; the loving gentleness of Mr. And Mrs. Channing with theirchildren; the thorough respect, affection, duty, rendered to them bythe children in return--had struck her more than ever on this morning. She was contrasting the young Channings with her own boys and girls, and the contrast made her feel very depressed. Thus she was just in acondition to go off, when the parting came with Constance, and theburst took place as she watched the carriage from the door. Had any oneasked Lady Augusta why she cried, she would have been puzzled to state. 

"Tell me!" she suddenly uttered, turning and seizing Mrs. Channing'shands--"what makes the difference between your children and mine? Mychildren were not born bad, any more than yours were; and yet, look atthe trouble they give me! In what does it lie?"

"I think, " said Mrs. Channing, quietly, and with some hesitation--forit was not pleasant to say anything which might tacitly reflect on theLady Augusta--"that the difference in most children lies in thebringing up. Children turn out well or ill, as they are trained; and inaccordance with this rule they will become our blessing or our grief. "

"Ah, yes, that must be it, " acquiesced Lady Augusta. "And yet--I don'tknow, " she rejoined, doubtingly. "Do you believe that so very much liesin the training?"

"It does, indeed, Lady Augusta. God's laws everywhere proclaim it. Takea rough diamond from a mine--what is it, unless you polish it, and cutit, and set it? Do you see its value, its beauty, in its originalstate? Look at the trees of our fields, the flowers and fruits of theearth--what are they, unless they are pruned and cared for? It is bycultivation alone that they can be brought, to perfection. And, if Godso made the productions of the earth, that it is only by our constantattention and labour that they can be brought to perfection, would He, think you, have us give less care to that far more important product, our children's minds? _They_ may be trained to perfectness, or they maybe allowed to run to waste from neglect. "

"Oh dear!" sighed Lady Augusta. "But it is a dreadful trouble, alwaysto be worrying over children. "

"It is a trouble that, in a very short time after entering upon it, grows into a pleasure, " said Mrs. Channing. "I am sure that there isnot a mother, really training her children to good, who will not bearme out in the assertion. It is a pleasure that they would not bewithout. Take it from them, and the most delightful occupation of theirlives is gone. And think of the reward! Were there no higher end to belooked for, it would be found in the loving obedience of the children. You talk of the trouble, Lady Augusta: those who would escape troublewith their children should be careful how they train them. "

"I think I'll begin at once with mine, " exclaimed Lady Augusta, brightening up. 

A smile crossed Mrs. Channing's lips, as she slightly shook her head. None knew better than she, that training, to bear its proper fruit, must be begun with a child's earliest years. 

Meanwhile, the proctor was holding a conference with Mr. Channing. "Presents seem to be the order of the day, " he was remarking, inallusion to sundry pretty offerings which had been made to Constance. "I think I may as well contribute my mite--"

"Why, you have done it! You gave her a bracelet, you know, " cried MissAnnabel. For which abrupt interruption she was forthwith consigned to adistance; and ran away, to be teased by Tom and Gerald. 

"I have something in my pocket which I wish to give to Arthur; which Ihave been intending for some time to give him, " resumed Mr. Galloway, taking from his pocket what seemed to be a roll of parchment. "Will youaccept them, Arthur?"

"What, sir?"

"Your articles. "

"Oh! Mr. Galloway--"

"No thanks, my boy. I am in your debt far deeper than I like to be! Atrifling thing such as this"--touching the parchment--"cannot wipe outthe suspicion I cast upon you, the disgrace which followed it. Perhapsat some future time, I may be better able to atone for it. I hope weshall be together many years, Arthur. I have no son to succeed to mybusiness, and it may be--But I will leave that until the future comes. "

It was a valuable present gracefully offered, and Mr. Channing andArthur so acknowledged it, passing over the more important hint insilence. 

"Children, " said Mr. Channing, as, the festivities of the day at anend, and the guests departed, they were gathered together round theirfireside, bereft of Constance "what a forcible lesson of God's mercyought these last few months to teach us! Six months ago, there came tous news that our suit was lost; other troubles followed upon it, andthings looked dark and gloomy. But I, for one, never lost my trust inGod; it was not for a moment shaken; and if you are the children I andyour mother have striven to bring up, you did not lose yours. Tom, "turning suddenly upon him, "I fear you were the only impatient one. "

Tom looked contrite. "I fear I was, papa. "

"What good did the indulgence of your hasty spirit do you?"

"No good, but harm, " frankly confessed Tom. "I hope it has helped me tosome notion of patience, though, for the future, papa. "

"Ay, " said Mr. Channing. "Hope on, strive on, work on, and trust on! Ibelieve that you made those your watchwords; as did I. And now, in analmost unprecedentedly short time, we are brought out of our troubles. While others, equally deserving, have to struggle on for years beforethe cloud is lifted, it has pleased God to bring us wonderfully quicklyout of ours; to heap mercies and blessings, and a hopeful future uponus. I may truly say, 'He has brought us to great honour, and comfortedus on every side. '"

"I HAVE BEEN YOUNG, AND NOW AM OLD; AND YET SAW I NEVER THE RIGHTEOUSFORSAKEN, NOR HIS SEED BEGGING THEIR BREAD. "