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diff --git a/old/8chgs10.zip b/old/8chgs10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5e58c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8chgs10.zip diff --git a/old/9192-h.htm.2021-01-28 b/old/9192-h.htm.2021-01-28 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e8cab0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9192-h.htm.2021-01-28 @@ -0,0 +1,29111 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Channings, by Mrs. Henry Wood + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Channings, by Mrs. Henry Wood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Channings + +Author: Mrs. Henry Wood + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9192] +This file was first posted on September 14, 2003 +Last Updated: November 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHANNINGS *** + + + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charlie Kirschner, and the +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE CHANNINGS + </h1> + <h3> + A STORY + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Mrs. Henry Wood + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Author Of “East Lynne,” “Johnny Ludlow,” Etc. <br /> <i>Two Hundred And + Tenth Thousand</i> <br /> <br /> <br /> 1901 + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. — THE INKED SURPLICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. — BAD NEWS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. — CONSTANCE CHANNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. — NO HOLIDAY TO-DAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. — ROLAND YORKE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. — LADY AUGUSTA YORKE AT HOME. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. — MR. KETCH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. — THE ASSISTANT-ORGANIST. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. — HAMISH’S CANDLES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. — A FALSE ALARM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. — THE CLOISTER KEYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. — A MISHAP TO THE BISHOP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. — MAD NANCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. — KEEPING OFFICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. — A SPLASH IN THE RIVER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. — MUCH TO ALTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. — SUNDAY MORNING AT MR. + CHANNING’S, AND AT LADY AUGUSTA’S. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. — MR. JENKINS ALIVE AGAIN. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. — THE LOSS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. — THE LOOMING OF AN AWFUL FEAR. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. — MR. BUTTERBY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. — AN INTERRUPTED DINNER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. — AN ESCORT TO THE + GUILDHALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. — THE EXAMINATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. — A MORNING CALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. — CHECKMATED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. — A PIECE OF PREFERMENT. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. — AN APPEAL TO THE DEAN. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. — A TASTE OF “TAN.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. — THE DEPARTURE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. — ABROAD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. — AN OMINOUS COUGH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. — NO SENIORSHIP FOR TOM + CHANNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. — GERALD YORKE MADE INTO A + “BLOCK.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. — THE EARL OF CARRICK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. — ELLEN HUNTLEY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. — THE CONSPIRATORS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. — THE DECISION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. — THE GHOST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. — MR. KETCH’S EVENING VISIT. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. — THE SEARCH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. — AN OFFICIAL CEREMONY + INTERRUPTED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. — DRAGGING THE RIVER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. — MR. JENKINS IN A DILEMMA. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. — A NEW SUSPICION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI. — A LETTER FOR MR. GALLOWAY. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII. — DARK CLOUDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII. — MUFFINS FOR TEA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX. — A CHÂTEAU EN ESPAGNE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER L. — REALLY GONE! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER LI. — AN ARRIVAL IN A FLY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER LII. — A RELIC FROM THE + BURIAL-GROUND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER LIII. — THE RETURN HOME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER LIV. — “THE SHIP’S DROWNED.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER LV. — NEWS FROM ROLAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER LVI. — THE BROKEN PHIAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER LVII. — A GHOST AGAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER LVIII. — BYWATER’S DANCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER LIX. — READY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER LX. — IN WHAT DOES IT LIE? </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="middle"> + <br /> I remember the gleams and glooms that dart <br /> Across the + schoolboy’s brain; <br /> The song and the silence in the heart, <br /> That + in part are prophecies, and in part <br /> Are longings wild and vain. + <br /> And the voice of that fitful song <br /> Sings on and is never still: + <br /> “A boy’s will is the wind’s will, <br /> And the thoughts of youth + are long, long thoughts.” <br /> Strange to me now are the forms I meet + <br /> When I visit the dear old town; <br /> But the native air is pure and + sweet, <br /> And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street, <br /> + As they balance up and down, <br /> Are singing the beautiful song, <br /> + Are sighing and whispering still: <br /> “A boy’s will is the wind’s will, + <br /> And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. — THE INKED SURPLICE. + </h2> + <p> + The sweet bells of Helstonleigh Cathedral were ringing out in the summer’s + afternoon. Groups of people lined the streets, in greater number 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 eye could reach; all waiting in + expectation. + </p> + <p> + It was the first day of Helstonleigh Assizes; that is, the day on which + the courts of law began their sittings. Generally speaking, the commission + was opened at Helstonleigh on a Saturday; but for some convenience in the + arrangements of the circuit, it was fixed this time for Wednesday; and + when those cathedral bells burst forth, they gave signal that the judges + had arrived and were entering the sheriff’s carriage, which had gone out + to meet them. + </p> + <p> + A fine sight, carrying in it much of majesty, was the procession, as it + passed through the streets with its slow and stately steps; and although + Helstonleigh saw it twice a year, it looked at it with gratified eyes + still, and made the day into a sort of holiday. The trumpeters rode first, + blowing the proud note of advance, and the long line of well-mounted + javelin men came next, two abreast; their attire that of the livery of the + high sheriff’s family, and their javelins held in rest. Sundry officials + followed, and the governor of the county gaol sat in an open carriage, his + long white wand raised in the air. Then appeared the handsome, closed + equipage of the sheriff, its four horses, caparisoned with silver, pawing + the ground, for they chafed at the slow pace to which they were + restrained. In it, in their scarlet robes and flowing wigs, carrying awe + to many a young spectator, sat the judges. The high sheriff sat opposite + to them, his chaplain by his side, in his gown and bands. A crowd of + gentlemen, friends of the sheriff, followed on horseback; and a mob of + ragamuffins brought up the rear. + </p> + <p> + To the assize courts the procession took its way, and there the short + business of opening the commission was gone through, when the judges + re-entered the carriage to proceed to the cathedral, having been joined by + the mayor and corporation. The sweet bells of Helstonleigh were still + ringing out, not to welcome the judges to the city now, but as an + invitation to them to come and worship God. Within the grand entrance of + the cathedral, waiting to receive the judges, stood the Dean of + Helstonleigh, two or three of the chapter, two of the minor canons, and + the king’s scholars and choristers, all in their white robes. The bells + ceased; the fine organ pealed out—and there are few finer organs in + England than that of Helstonleigh—the vergers with their silver + maces, and the decrepit old bedesmen in their black gowns, led the way to + the choir, the long scarlet trains of the judges held up behind: and + places were found for all. + </p> + <p> + The Rev. John Pye began the service; it was his week for chanting. He was + one of the senior minor canons, and head-master of the college school. At + the desk opposite to him sat the Rev. William Yorke, a young man who had + only just gained his minor canonry. + </p> + <p> + The service went on smoothly until the commencement of the anthem. In one + sense it went on smoothly to the end, for no person present, not even the + judges themselves, could see that anything was wrong. Mr. Pye was what was + called “chanter” to the cathedral, which meant that it was he who had the + privilege of selecting the music for the chants and other portions of the + service, when the dean did not do so himself. The anthem he had put up for + this occasion was a very good one, taken from the Psalms of David. It + commenced with a treble solo; it was, moreover, an especial favourite of + Mr. Pye’s; and he complacently disposed himself to listen. + </p> + <p> + But no sooner was the symphony over, no sooner had the first notes of the + chorister sounded on Mr. Pye’s ear, than his face slightly flushed, and he + lifted his head with a sharp, quick gesture. <i>That</i> was not the voice + which ought to have sung this fine anthem; that was a cracked, <i>passée</i> + voice, belonging to the senior chorister, a young gentleman of seventeen, + who was going out of the choir at Michaelmas. He had done good 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 interfered most rarely with the + executive of the cathedral; and, indeed, it was not his province to do so) + had spoken himself to Mr. Pye on the conclusion of the service, and said + the boy ought not to be allowed to sing alone again. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Pye bent his head forward to catch a glimpse of the choristers, five + of whom sat on his side of the choir, the <i>decani</i>; five on the + opposite, or <i>cantori</i> side. So far as he could see, the boy, Stephen + Bywater, 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 his clean, + starched surplice, partially hid those below him. Mr. Pye wondered where + his eyes could have been, not to have noticed the boy’s absence when they + had all been gathered round the entrance, waiting for the judges. + </p> + <p> + 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 to him; 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 act of insubordination? Why was he not in his place + in the school? Why was he mixing with the congregation? But Mr. Pye could + as yet obtain no solution to the mystery. + </p> + <p> + The anthem came to an end; the dean had bent his brow at the solo, but it + did no good; and, the prayers over, the sheriff’s chaplain ascended to 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 that which is born of the + Spirit is spirit.” In the course of his sermon he pointed out that the + unhappy prisoners in the gaol, awaiting the summons to answer before an + earthly tribunal for the evil deeds they had committed, had been led into + their present miserable condition by the seductions of the flesh. They had + fallen into sin, he went on, by the indulgence of their passions; they had + placed no restraint upon their animal appetites and guilty pleasures; they + had sunk gradually into crime, and had now to meet the penalty of the law. + But did no blame, he asked, attach to those who had remained indifferent + to their downward course; who had never stretched forth a friendly hand to + rescue them from destruction; who had made no effort to teach and guide in + the ways of truth and righteousness these outcasts of society? Were we, he + demanded, at liberty to ignore our responsibility by asking in the words + of earth’s first criminal, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” No; it was at once + our duty and our privilege to engage in the noble work of man’s + reformation—to raise the fallen—to seek out the lost, and to + restore the outcast; and this, he argued, could only be accomplished by a + widely-disseminated knowledge of God’s truth, by patient, self-denying + labour in God’s work, and by a devout dependence on God’s Holy Spirit. + </p> + <p> + At the conclusion of the service the head-master proceeded to the vestry, + where the minor canons, choristers, and lay-clerks kept their surplices. + Not the dean and chapter; they robed in the chapter-house: and the king’s + scholars put on their surplices in the schoolroom. The choristers followed + Mr. Pye to the vestry, Bywater entering with them. The boys grouped + themselves together: they were expecting—to use their own expression—a + row. + </p> + <p> + “Bywater, what is the meaning of this conduct?” was the master’s stern + demand. + </p> + <p> + “I had no surplice, sir,” was Bywater’s answer—a saucy-looking boy + with a red face, who had a propensity for getting into “rows,” and, + consequently, into punishment. + </p> + <p> + “No surplice!” repeated Mr. Pye—for the like excuse had never been + offered by a college boy before. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “We were ordered to wear clean surplices this afternoon. I brought mine to + college this morning; I left it here in the vestry, and took the dirty one + home. Well, sir, when I came to put it on this afternoon, it was gone.” + </p> + <p> + “How could it have gone? Nonsense, sir! Who would touch your surplice?” + </p> + <p> + “But I could <i>not</i> find it, sir,” repeated Bywater. “The choristers + know I couldn’t; and they left me hunting for it when they went into the + hall to receive the judges. I could not go into my stall, sir, and sing + the anthem without my surplice.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurst had no business to sing it,” was the vexed rejoinder of the master. + “You know your voice is gone, Hurst. You should have gone up to the + organist, stated the case, and had another anthem put up.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, I was expecting Bywater in every minute. I thought he’d be sure + to find his surplice somewhere,” was Hurst’s defence. “And when he did not + come, and it grew too late to do anything, I thought it better to take the + anthem myself than to give it to a junior, who would be safe to have made + a mess of it. Better for the judges and other strangers to hear a faded + voice in Helstonleigh Cathedral, than to hear bad singing.” + </p> + <p> + The master did not speak. So far, Hurst’s argument had reason in it. + </p> + <p> + “And—I beg your pardon for what I am about to say, sir,” Hurst went + on: “but I hope you will allow me to assure you beforehand, that neither + 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 blame is sure to be + cast upon us; but I declare that not one of us has been in the mischief.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Pye opened his eyes. “What now?” he asked. “What is the mischief?” + </p> + <p> + “I found the surplice afterwards, sir,” Bywater said. “This is it.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke meaningly, as if preparing them for a surprise, and pointed to a + corner of the vestry. There lay a clean, but tumbled surplice, half soaked + in ink. The head-master and Mr. Yorke, lay-clerks and choristers, all + gathered round, and stared in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “They shall pay me the worth of the surplice,” spoke Bywater, an angry + shade crossing his usually good-tempered face. + </p> + <p> + “And have a double flogging into the bargain,” exclaimed the master. “Who + has done this?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks as though it had been rabbled up for the purpose,” cried Hurst, + in schoolboy phraseology, bending down and touching it gingerly with his + finger. “The ink has been poured on to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you find it?” sharply demanded the master—not that he was + angry with the boys before him, but he felt angry that the thing should + have taken place. + </p> + <p> + “I found it behind the screen, sir,” replied Bywater. “I thought I’d look + there, as a last resource, and there it was. I should think nobody has + been behind that screen for a twelvemonth past, for it’s over ankles in + dust there.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know nothing of it, Hurst?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing whatever, sir,” was the reply of the senior chorister, spoken + earnestly. “When Bywater whispered to me what had occurred, I set it down + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The head-master peered at the choristers. Innocence was in every face—not + guilt; and he, with Hurst, believed he must look elsewhere for the + culprit. That it had been done by a college boy there could be no doubt + whatever; either out of spite to Bywater, or from pure love of mischief. + The king’s scholars had no business in the vestry; but just at this period + the cathedral was undergoing repair, and they could enter, if so minded, + at any time of the day, the doors being left open for the convenience of + the workmen. + </p> + <p> + The master turned out of the vestry. The cathedral was emptied of its + crowd, leaving nothing but the dust to tell of what had been, and the + bells once more went pealing forth over the city. Mr. Pye crossed the + nave, and quitted the cathedral by the cloister door, followed by the + choristers. The schoolroom, once the large refectory of the monks in + monkish days, was on the opposite side of the cloisters; a large room, + which you gained by steps, and whose high windows were many feet from the + ground. Could you have climbed to those windows, and looked from them, you + would have beheld a fair scene. A clear river wound under the cathedral + walls; beyond its green banks were greener meadows, stretching out in the + distance; far-famed, beautiful hills bounded the horizon. Close by, were + the prebendal houses; some built of red stone, some covered with ivy, all + venerable with age. Pleasant gardens surrounded most of them, and dark old + elms towered aloft, sheltering the rooks, which seemed as old as the + trees. + </p> + <p> + The king’s scholars were in the schoolroom, cramming their surplices into + 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 calm at + sight of the master. On holidays—and this was one—it was not + usual for the masters to enter the school after service. The school was + founded by royal charter—its number limited to forty boys, who were + called king’s scholars, ten of whom, those whose voices were the best, + were chosen choristers. The master marched to his desk, and made a sign + for the boys to approach, addressing himself to the senior boy. + </p> + <p> + “Gaunt, some mischief has been done in the vestry, touching Bywater’s + surplice. Do you know anything of it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” was the prompt answer. And Gaunt was one who scorned to tell a + lie. + </p> + <p> + The master ranged his eyes round the circle. “Who does?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. The boys looked at one another, a sort of stolid + surprise for the most part predominating. Mr. Pye resumed: + </p> + <p> + “Bywater tells me that he left his clean surplice in the vestry this + morning. This afternoon it was found thrown behind the screen, tumbled + together, beyond all doubt purposely, and partially covered with ink. I + ask, who has done this?” + </p> + <p> + “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 expressly questioned or taxed + with a fault, did not accustom themselves to a voluntary denial. + </p> + <p> + “I can only think this has been the result of accident,” continued the + head-master. “It is incredible to suppose any one of you would wantonly + destroy a surplice. If so, let that boy, whoever he may have been, speak + up honourably, and I will forgive him. I conclude that the ink must have + been spilt upon it, I say accidentally, and that he then, in his + consternation, tumbled the surplice together, and threw it out of sight + behind the screen. It had been more straightforward, more in accordance + with what I wish you all to be—boys of thorough truth and honour—had + he candidly confessed it. But the fear of the moment may have frightened + his better judgment away. Let him acknowledge it now, and I will forgive + him; though of course he must pay Bywater for another surplice.” + </p> + <p> + A dead silence. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, boys?” the master sternly asked. + </p> + <p> + No answer from any one; nothing but continued silence. The master rose, + and his countenance assumed its most severe expression. + </p> + <p> + “Hear further, boys. That it is one of you, I am convinced; and your + refusing to speak compels me to fear that it was <i>not</i> an accident, + but a premeditated, wicked act. I now warn you, whoever did it, that if I + can discover the author or authors, he or they shall be punished with the + utmost severity, short of expulsion, that is allowed by the rules of the + school. Seniors, I call for your aid in this. Look to it.” + </p> + <p> + The master left the schoolroom, and Babel broke loose—questioning, + denying, protesting, one of another. Bywater was surrounded. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t there be a stunning flogging? Bywater, who did it? Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + Bywater sat himself astride over the end of a bench, and nodded. The + senior boy turned to him, some slight surprise in his look and tone. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Bywater?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well, Gaunt. There are two fellows in this school, one’s at your + desk, one’s at the second desk, and I believe they’d either of them do me + a nasty turn if they could. It was one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Who do you mean?” asked Gaunt eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Bywater laughed. “Thank you. If I tell now, it may defeat the ends of + justice, as the newspapers say. I’ll wait till I am sure—and then, + let him look to himself. <i>I</i> won’t spare him, and I don’t fancy Pye + will.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll never find out, if you don’t find out at once, Bywater,” cried + Hurst. + </p> + <p> + “Shan’t I? You’ll see,” was the significant answer. “It’s some distance + from here to the vestry of the cathedral, and a fellow could scarcely + steal there and steal back without being seen by somebody. It was done + stealthily, mark you; and when folks go on stealthy errands they are safe + to be met.” + </p> + <p> + Before he had finished speaking, a gentlemanly-looking boy of about + twelve, with delicate features, a damask flush on his face, and wavy + auburn hair, sprang up with a start. “Why!” he exclaimed, “I saw—” + And there 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 + almost as a girl’s, and it had gained for him in the school the <i>sobriquet</i> + of “Miss.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you, Miss Charley?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing, Bywater.” + </p> + <p> + “Charley Channing,” exclaimed Gaunt, “do you know who did it?” + </p> + <p> + “If I did, Gaunt, I should not tell,” was the fearless answer. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Do</i> you know, Charley?” cried Tom Channing, who was one of the + seniors of the school. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the good of asking that wretched little muff?” burst forth Gerald + Yorke. “He’s only a girl. How do you know it was not one of the + lay-clerks, Bywater? They carry ink in their pockets, I’ll lay. Or any of + the masons might have gone into the vestry, for the matter of that.” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t a lay-clerk, and it wasn’t a mason,” stoically nodded Bywater. + “It was a college boy. And I shall lay my finger upon him as soon as I am + a little bit surer than I am. I am three parts sure now.” + </p> + <p> + “If Charley Channing does not suspect somebody, I’m not here,” exclaimed + Hurst, who had closely watched the movement alluded to; and he brought his + hand down fiercely on the desk as he spoke. “Come, Miss Channing, just + shell out what you know; it’s a shame the choristers should lie under such + a ban: and of course we <i>shall</i> do so, with Pye.” + </p> + <p> + “You be quiet, Hurst, and let Miss Charley alone,” drawled Bywater. “I + don’t want him, or anybody else to get pummelled to powder; I’ll find it + out for myself, I say. Won’t my old aunt be in a way though, when she 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 be soliciting your + photograph as a keepsake.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope they’ll set it in diamonds,” retorted Hurst. + </p> + <p> + The boys began to file out, putting on their trenchers, as they clattered + down the steps. Charley Channing sat himself down in the cloisters on a + pile of books, as if willing that the rest should pass out before him. His + brother saw him sitting there, and came up to him, speaking in an + undertone. + </p> + <p> + “Charley, you know the rules of the school: one boy must not tell of + another. As Bywater says, you’d get pummelled to powder.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Tom. I tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, boy!” sharply cried Tom Channing. “Do you forget that I + am a senior? You heard the master’s words. We know no brothers in school + life, you must remember.” + </p> + <p> + Charley laughed. “Tom, you think I am a child, I believe. I didn’t enter + the school yesterday. All I was going to tell you was this: I don’t know + any more than you who inked the surplice; and suspicion goes for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Tom Channing, as he flew after the rest; and Charley sat + on, and fell into a reverie. + </p> + <p> + The senior boy of the school, you have heard, was Gaunt. The other three + seniors, Tom Channing, Harry Huntley, and Gerald Yorke, possessed a + considerable amount of power; but nothing equal to that vested in Gaunt. + They had all three entered the school on the same day, and had kept pace + with each other as they worked their way up in it, consequently not one + could be said to hold priority; and when Gaunt should quit the school at + the following Michaelmas, one of the three would become senior. Which, you + may wish to ask? Ah, we don’t know that, yet. + </p> + <p> + Charley Channing—a truthful, good boy, full of integrity, kind and + loving by nature, and a universal favourite—sat tilted on the books. + He was wishing with all his heart that he had not seen something which he + had seen that day. He had been going through the cloisters in the + afternoon, about the time that all Helstonleigh, college boys included, + were in the streets watching for the sheriff’s procession, when he saw one + of the seniors steal (Bywater had been happy in the epithet) out of the + cathedral into the quiet cloisters, peer about him, and then throw a + broken ink-bottle into the graveyard which the cloisters enclosed. The boy + stole away without perceiving Charley; and there sat Charley now, trying + to persuade himself by some ingenious sophistry—which, however, he + knew <i>was</i> sophistry—that the senior might not have been the + one in the mischief; that the ink-bottle might have been on legitimate + duty, and that he threw it from him because it was broken. Charles + Channing did not like these unpleasant secrets. There was in the school a + code of honour—the boys called it so—that one should not tell + of another; and if the head-master ever went the length of calling the + seniors to his aid, those seniors deemed themselves compelled to declare + it, if the fault became known to them. Hence Tom Channing’s hasty arrest + of his brother’s words. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if I could see the ink-bottle there?” quoth Charles to himself. + Rising from the books he ran through the cloisters to a certain part, and + there, by a dexterous spring, perched himself on to the frame of the open + mullioned windows. The gravestones lay pretty thick in the square, + enclosed yard, the long, dank grass growing around them; but there + appeared to be no trace of an ink-bottle. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you mounted up there for? Come down instantly. You know + the row there has been about the walls getting defaced.” + </p> + <p> + The speaker was Gerald Yorke, who had come up silently. Openly disobey + him, young Channing dared not, for the seniors exacted obedience in school + and out of it. “I’ll get down directly, sir. I am not hurting the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you looking at? What is there to see?” demanded Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing particular. I was looking for what I can’t see,” pointedly + returned Charley. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Miss Channing; I don’t quite understand you to-day. You were + excessively mysterious in school, just now, over that surplice affair. + Who’s to know you were not in the mess yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you might know it,” returned Charley, as he jumped down. “It was + more likely to have been you than I.” + </p> + <p> + Yorke laid hold of him, clutching his jacket with a firm grasp. “You + insolent young jackanapes! Now! what do you mean? You don’t stir from here + till you tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you, Mr. Yorke; I’d rather tell,” cried the boy, sinking his + voice to a whisper. “I was here when you came peeping out of the college + doors this afternoon, and I saw you come up to this niche, and fling away + an ink-bottle.” + </p> + <p> + Yorke’s face flushed scarlet. He was a tall, strong fellow, with a pale + complexion, thick, projecting lips, and black hair, promising fair to make + a Hercules—but all the Yorkes were finely framed. He gave young + Channing a taste of his strength; the boy, when shaken, was in his hands + as a very reed. “You miserable imp! Do you know who is said to be the + father of lies?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me alone, sir. It’s no lie, and you know it’s not. But I promise you + on my honour that I won’t split. I’ll keep it in close; always, if I can. + The worst of me is, I bring things out sometimes without thought,” he + added ingenuously. “I know I do; but I’ll try and keep in this. You + needn’t be in a passion, Yorke; I couldn’t help seeing what I did. It + wasn’t my fault.” + </p> + <p> + Yorke’s face had grown purple with anger. “Charles Channing, if you don’t + unsay what you have said, I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t unsay it,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am in God’s presence, Yorke, as well as in yours,” cried the boy, + reverently; “and I will not tell a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take your whacking! I’ll teach you what it is to invent + fabrications! I’ll put you up for—” + </p> + <p> + Yorke’s tongue and hands stopped. Turning out of the private + cloister-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 ran out of + the cloisters towards home. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. — BAD NEWS. + </h2> + <p> + The ground near the cathedral, occupied by the deanery and the prebendal + residences, was called the Boundaries. There were a few other houses in + it, chiefly of a moderate size, inhabited by private families. Across the + open gravel walk, in front of the south cloister entrance, was the house + appropriated to the headmaster; and the Channings lived in a smaller one, + nearly on the confines of the Boundaries. A portico led into it, and there + was a sitting-room on either side the hall. Charley entered; and was + going, full dash, across the hall to a small room where the boys studied, + singing at the top of his voice, when the old servant of the family, + Judith, an antiquated body, in a snow-white mob-cap and check apron, met + him, and seized his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, child! There’s ill news in the house.” + </p> + <p> + Charley dropped his voice to an awe-struck whisper. “What is it, Judith? + Is papa worse?” + </p> + <p> + “Child! there’s illness of mind as well as of body. I didn’t say sickness; + I said ill news. I don’t rightly understand it; the mistress said a word + to me, and I guessed the rest. And it was me that took in the letter! <i>Me</i>! + I wish I had put it in my kitchen fire first!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it—Judith, is it news of the—the cause? Is it over?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s over, as I gathered. ‘Twas a London letter, and it came by the + afternoon post. All the poor master’s hopes and dependencies for years + have been wrested from him. And if they’d give me my way, I’d prosecute + them postmen for bringing such ill luck to a body’s door.” + </p> + <p> + Charles stood something like a statue, the bright, sensitive colour + deserting his cheek. One of those causes, Might <i>versus</i> Right, of + which there are so many in the world, had been pending in the Channing + family for years and years. It included a considerable amount of money, + which ought, long ago, to have devolved peaceably to Mr. Channing; but + Might was against him, and Might threw it into Chancery. The decision of + the Vice-Chancellor had been given for Mr. Channing, upon which Might, in + his overbearing power, carried it to a higher tribunal. Possibly the final + decision, from which there could be no appeal, had now come. + </p> + <p> + “Judith,” Charles asked, after a pause, “did you hear whether—whether + the letter—I mean the news—had anything to do with the Lord + Chancellor?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother the Lord Chancellor!” was Judith’s response. “It had to do + with somebody that’s an enemy to your poor papa. I know that much. Who’s + this?” + </p> + <p> + The hall door had opened, and Judith and Charles turned towards it. A gay, + bright-featured young man of three and twenty entered, tall and handsome, + as it was in the nature of the Channings to be. He was the eldest son of + the family, James; or, as he was invariably styled, Hamish. He rose six + foot two in his stockings, was well made, and upright. In grace and + strength of frame the Yorkes and the Channings stood A1 in Helstonleigh. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then! What are you two concocting? Is he coming over you again to + let him make more toffy, Judy, and burn out the bottom of another + saucepan?” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, Judy says there’s bad news come in by the London post. I am + afraid the Lord Chancellor has given judgment—given it against us.” + </p> + <p> + The careless smile, the half-mocking, expression left the lips of Hamish. + He glanced from Judith to Charles, from Charles to Judith. “Is it sure?” + he breathed. + </p> + <p> + “It’s sure that it’s awful news of some sort,” returned Judith; “and the + 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 of the hall; + “and you had better go in to them. Master Hamish—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” returned Hamish, in a tone of abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “You must every one of you just make the best of it, and comfort the poor + master. You are young and strong; while he—you know what <i>he</i> + is. You, in special, Master Hamish, for you’re the eldest born, and were + the first of ‘em that I ever nursed upon my knee.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—of course,” he hastily replied. “But, oh, Judith! you + don’t know half the ill this must bring upon us! Come along, Charley; let + us hear the worst.” + </p> + <p> + Laying his arm with an affectionate gesture round the boy’s neck, Hamish + drew him towards the parlour. It was a square, light, cheerful room. Not + the best room: that was on the other side the hall. On a sofa, underneath + the window, reclined Mr. Channing, his head and shoulders partly raised by + cushions. His illness had continued long, and now, it was feared, had + become chronic. A remarkably fine specimen of manhood he must have been in + his day, his countenance one of thoughtful goodness, pleasant to look + upon. Arthur, the second son, had inherited its thoughtfulness, its + expression of goodness; James, its beauty; but there was a great likeness + between all the four sons. Arthur, only nineteen, was nearly as tall as + his brother. He stood bending over the arm of his father’s sofa. Tom, + looking very blank and cross, sat at the table, his elbows leaning on it. + Mrs. Channing’s pale, sweet face was bent towards her daughter’s, + Constance, a graceful girl of one and twenty; and Annabel, a troublesome + young lady of nearly fourteen, was surreptitiously giving twitches to + Tom’s hair. + </p> + <p> + Arthur moved from the place next his father when Hamish entered, as if + yielding him the right to stand there. A more united family it would be + impossible to find. The brothers and sisters loved each other dearly, and + Hamish they almost reverenced—excepting Annabel. Plenty of love the + child possessed; but of reverence, little. With his gay good humour, and + his indulgent, merry-hearted spirit, Hamish Channing was one to earn love + as his right, somewhat thoughtless though he was. Thoroughly well, in the + highest sense of the term, had the Channings been reared. Not of their own + wisdom had Mr. and Mrs. Channing trained their children. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter, sir?” asked Hamish, smoothing his brow, and suffering + the hopeful smile to return to his lips. “Judith says some outrageous luck + has arrived; come express, by post.” + </p> + <p> + “Joke while you may, Hamish,” interposed Mrs. Channing, in a low voice; “I + shrink from telling it you. Can you not guess the news?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish looked round at each, individually, with his sunny smile, and then + let it rest upon his mother. “The very worst I can guess is not so bad. We + are all here in our accustomed health. Had we sent Annabel up in that new + balloon they are advertising, I might fancy it had capsized with her—as + it <i>will</i> some day. Annabel, never you be persuaded to mount the air + in that fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish! Hamish!” gently reproved Mrs. Channing. But perhaps she discerned + the motive which actuated him. Annabel clapped her hands. She would have + thought it great fun to go up in a balloon. + </p> + <p> + “Well, mother, the worst tidings that the whole world could bring upon us + cannot, I say, be very dreadful, while we can discuss them as we are doing + now,” said Hamish. “I suppose the Lord Chancellor has pronounced against + us?” + </p> + <p> + “Irrevocably. The suit is for ever at an end, and we have lost it.” + </p> + <p> + “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 a less + desponding light; and by to-morrow I dare say I shall be cheerful over it. + One blessed thing—children, I say advisedly, a ‘blessed’ thing—the + worry will be over.” + </p> + <p> + Charley lifted his head. “The worry, papa?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, my boy. The agitation—the perpetual excitement—the + sickening suspense—the yearning for the end. You cannot understand + this, Charley; you can none of you picture it, as it has been, for me. + Could I have gone abroad, as other men, it would have shaken itself off + amidst the bustle of the world, and have pressed upon me only at odd times + and seasons. But here have I lain; suspense my constant companion. It was + not right, to allow the anxiety so to work upon me: but I could not help + it; I really could not.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall manage to do without it, papa,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; after a bit, we shall manage very well. The worst is, we are + behindhand in our payments; for you know how surely I counted upon this. + 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 great affliction; but it + is one of those which may be borne with an open brow.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, papa?” + </p> + <p> + “Afflictions are of two kinds. The one we bring upon ourselves, through + our own misconduct; the other is laid upon us by God for our own + advantage. Yes, my boys, we receive many blessings in disguise. Trouble of + this sort will only serve to draw out your manly energies, to make you + engage vigorously in the business of life, to strengthen your + self-dependence and your trust in God. This calamity of the lost lawsuit + we must all meet bravely. One mercy, at any rate, the news has brought + with it.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” asked Mrs. Channing, lifting her sad face. + </p> + <p> + “When I have glanced to the possibility of the decision being against me, + I have wondered <i>how</i> I should pay its long and heavy costs; whether + our home must not be broken up to do it, and ourselves turned out upon the + world. But the costs are not to fall upon me; all are to be paid out of + the estate.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s good news!” ejaculated Hamish, his face radiant, as he nodded + around. + </p> + <p> + “My darling boys,” resumed Mr. Channing, “you must all work and do your + best. 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 a moment + the sad and vain dream which some do—that of living in idleness. God + has sent us all into the world to work; some with their hands, some with + their heads; all according to their abilities and their station. You will + not be the worse off,” Mr. Channing added with a smile, “for working a + little harder than you once thought would be necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the money may come to us, after all, by some miracle,” suggested + Charley. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Mr. Channing. “It has wholly gone from us. It is as much + lost to us as though we had never possessed a claim to it.” + </p> + <p> + It was even so. This decision of the Lord Chancellor had taken it from the + Channing family for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind!” cried Tom, throwing up his trencher, which he had carelessly + carried into the room with him. “As papa says, we have our hands and + brains: and they often win the race against money in the long run.” + </p> + <p> + Yes. The boys had active hands and healthy brains—no despicable + inheritance, when added to a firm faith in God, and an ardent wish to use, + and not misuse, the talents given to them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. — CONSTANCE CHANNING. + </h2> + <p> + How true is the old proverb—“Man proposes but God disposes!” God’s + ways are not as our ways. His dealings with us are often mysterious. Happy + those, who can detect His hand in all the varied chances and changes of + the world. + </p> + <p> + I am not sure that we can quite picture to ourselves the life that had + been Mr. Channing’s. Of gentle birth, and reared to no profession, the + inheritance which ought to have come to him was looked upon as a + sufficient independence. That it would come to him, had never been doubted + by himself or by others; and it was only at the very moment when he + thought he was going to take possession of it, that some enemy set 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 a friend. 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, was a rich man and a + mighty one. I should not like to take possession of another’s money in + such a manner. The good, old-fashioned, wholesome fear would be upon me, + that it would bring no good either to me or mine. + </p> + <p> + James Channing never supposed but that the money would be his some time. + 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 and disappointment—there + was nothing else for years and years; and you know who has said, that + “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.” There have been many such cases in + the world, but I question, I say, if we can quite realize them. However, + the end had come—the certainty of disappointment; and Mr. Channing + was already beginning to be thankful that suspense, at any rate, was over. + </p> + <p> + He was the head of an office—or it may be more correct to say the + head of the Helstonleigh branch of it, for the establishment was a London + one—a large, important concern, including various departments of + Insurance. Hamish was in the same office; and since Mr. Channing’s + rheumatism had become chronic, it was Hamish who chiefly transacted the + business of the office, generally bringing home the books when he left, + and going over them in the evening with his father. Thus the work was + effectually transacted, and Mr. Channing retained his salary. The + directors were contented that it should be so, for Mr. Channing possessed + their thorough respect and esteem. + </p> + <p> + 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, to talk + it over. Constance was with them, but they would not admit Annabel. A + shady, pleasant, untidy room was that study, opening to a cool, shady + garden. It had oil-cloth on the floor instead of carpeting, and books and + playthings were strewed about it. + </p> + <p> + “What an awful shame that there should be so much injustice in the world!” + spoke passionate Tom, flinging his Euripides on the table. + </p> + <p> + “But for one thing, I should be rather glad the worry’s over,” cried + Hamish. “We know the worst now—that we have only ourselves to trust + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Our hands and brains, as Tom said,” remarked Charley. “What is the ‘one + thing’ that you mean, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish seized Charley by the waist, lifted him up, and let him drop again. + “It is what does not concern little boys to know: and I don’t see why you + should be in here with us, young sir, any more than Annabel.” + </p> + <p> + “A presentiment that this would be the ending has been upon me for some + time,” broke in the gentle voice of Constance. “In my own mind I have kept + laying out plans for us all. You see, it is not as though we should enjoy + the full income that we have hitherto had.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that, Constance?” asked Tom hotly. “The decision does not touch + papa’s salary; and you heard him say that the costs were to be paid out of + the estate. A pretty thing it would be if any big-wigged Lord Chancellor + could take away the money that a man works hard for!” + </p> + <p> + “Hasty, as usual, Tom,” she said with a smile. “You know—we all know—that, + counting fully upon this money, papa is behindhand in his payments. 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 to you, Tom; all you + can do, is to try on heartily for the seniorship and the exhibition.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, won’t it make a difference to me, though!” retorted Tom. “And suppose + I don’t gain it, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will have to work all the harder, Tom, in some other walk of + life. Failing the exhibition, of course there will be no chance of your + going up to the university; and you must give up the hope of entering the + Church. The worst off—the one upon whom this disappointment must + fall the hardest—will be Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur Channing—astride on the arm of the old-fashioned sofa—lifted + his large deep blue eyes to Constance with a flash of intelligence: it + seemed to say, that she only spoke of what he already knew. He had been + silent hitherto; he was of a silent nature: a quiet, loving, tender + nature: while the rest spoke, he was content to think. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, that it will!” exclaimed Hamish. “What will become of your articles + now, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + It should be explained that Arthur had entered the office of Mr. Galloway, + who was a proctor, and also was steward to the Dean and Chapter. Arthur + was only a subordinate in it, a clerk receiving pay—and very short + pay, too; but it was intended that he should enter upon his articles as + soon as this money that should be theirs enabled Mr. Channing to pay for + them. Hamish might well ask what would become of his articles now! + </p> + <p> + “I can’t see a single step before me,” cried Arthur. “Except that I must + stay on as I am, a paid clerk.” + </p> + <p> + “What rubbish, Arthur!” flashed Tom, who possessed a considerable share of + temper when it was roused. “As if you, Arthur Channing, could remain a + paid clerk at Galloway’s! Why, you’d be on a level with Jenkins—old + Jenkins’s son. Roland Yorke <i>would</i> look down on you then; more than + he does now. And that need not be!” + </p> + <p> + The sensitive crimson dyed Arthur’s fair open brow. Of all the failings + that he found it most difficult to subdue in his own heart, pride bore the + greatest share. From the moment the ill news had come to his father, the + boy felt that he should have to do fierce battle with his pride; that + there was ever-recurring mortification laid up in store for it. “But I <i>can</i> + battle with it,” he bravely whispered to himself: “and I will do it, God + helping me.” + </p> + <p> + “I may whistle for my new cricket-bat and stumps now,” grumbled Tom. + </p> + <p> + “And I wonder when I shall have my new clothes?” added Charley. + </p> + <p> + “How selfish we all are!” broke forth Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Selfish?” chafed Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, selfish. Here we are, croaking over our petty disappointments, and + forgetting the worst share that falls upon papa. Failing this money, how + will he go to the German baths?” + </p> + <p> + A pause of consternation. In their own grievances the boys had lost sight + of the hope which had recently been shared by them all. An eminent + physician, passing through Helstonleigh, had seen Mr. Channing, and given + his opinion that if he would visit certain medicinal spas in Germany, + health might be restored to him. When the cause should be terminated in + their favour, Mr. Channing had intended to set out. But now it was given + against him; and hope of setting out had gone with it. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could carry him on my back to Germany, and work to keep him + while he stayed there!” impulsively spoke Tom. “Wretchedly selfish we have + been, to dwell on our disappointments, by the side of papa’s. I wish I was + older.” + </p> + <p> + Constance was standing against the window. She was of middle height, + thoroughly ladylike and graceful; her features fair and beautiful, and her + dark-blue eyes and smooth white brow wonderfully like Arthur’s. She wore a + muslin dress with a delicate pink sprig upon it, the lace of its open + sleeves falling on her pretty white hands, which were playing + unconsciously with a spray of jessamine, while she listened to her + brothers as each spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” she interposed, in answer to the last remark, “it is of no use + wishing for impossibilities. We must look steadfastly at things as they + exist, and see what is the best that can be made of them. All that you and + Charles can do is to work well on at your studies—Annabel the same; + and it is to be hoped this blow will take some of her thoughtlessness out + of her. Hamish, and Arthur, and I, must try and be more active than we + have been.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” echoed Arthur. “Why, what can you do, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + A soft blush rose to her cheeks. “I tell you that I have seemed to + anticipate this,” she said, “and my mind has busied itself with plans and + projects. I shall look out for a situation as daily governess.” + </p> + <p> + 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 only + another name for a servant. Fine, that would be, for Miss Channing!” + </p> + <p> + Constance laughed. “Oh, Tom! there are worse misfortunes at sea. I would + go out wholly, but that papa would not like to spare me, and I must take + Annabel for music and other things of an evening. Don’t look cross. It is + an excellent thought; and I shall not mind it.” + </p> + <p> + “What will mamma say?” asked Tom, ironically. “You just ask her!” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma knows,” replied Constance. “Mamma has had her fears about the + termination of the lawsuit, just as I have. Ah! while you boys were + laughing and joking, and pursuing your sports or your studies of a night, + I and mamma would be talking over the shadowed future. I told mamma that + if the time and the necessity came for turning my education and talents to + account, I should do it with a willing heart; and mamma, being rather more + sensible than her impetuous son Tom, cordially approved.” + </p> + <p> + Tom made a paper bullet and flung it at Constance, his honest eyes half + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “So should I approve,” said Hamish. “It is a case, taking into + consideration my father’s state, in which all of us should help who are + able. Of course, were you boys grown up and getting money, Constance <i>should</i> + be exempt from aiding and abetting; but as it is, it is different. There + will be no disgrace in her becoming a governess; and Helstonleigh will + never think it so. She is a lady always, and so she would be if she were + to turn to and wash up dishes. The only doubt is—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and looked hesitatingly at Constance. As if penetrating his + meaning, her eyes fell before his. + </p> + <p> + “—Whether Yorke will like it,” went on Hamish, as though he had not + halted in his sentence. And the pretty blush in Constance Channing’s face + deepened to a glowing crimson. Tom made a whole heap of bullets at once, + and showered them on to her. + </p> + <p> + “So Hamish—be quiet, Tom!—you may inquire all over + Helstonleigh to-morrow, whether any one wants a governess; a well-trained + young lady of twenty-one, who can play, sing, and paint, speak really good + English, and decent French, and has a smattering of German,” rattled on + Constance, as if to cover her blushes. “I shall ask forty guineas a year. + Do you think I shall get it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you ought to ask eighty,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “So I would, if I were thirty-one instead of twenty-one,” said Constance. + “Oh dear! here am I, laughing and joking over it, but it is a serious + thing to undertake—the instruction of the young. I hope I shall be + enabled to do my duty in it. What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + It was a merry, mocking laugh, which came from the outside of the window, + and then a head of auburn hair, wild and entangled, was pushed up, and in + burst Annabel, her saucy dark eyes dancing with delight. + </p> + <p> + “You locked me out, but I have been outside the window and heard it all,” + cried she, dancing before them in the most provoking manner. “Arthur can + only be a paid clerk, and Constance is going to be a governess and get + forty guineas a year, and if Tom doesn’t gain his exhibition he must turn + bell-ringer to the college, for papa can’t pay for him at the university + now!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you deserve, you wicked little picture of deceit?” demanded + Hamish. “Do you forget the old story of the listener who lost his ears?” + </p> + <p> + “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. I wish + Tom <i>would</i> turn bell-ringer! I’d make him ring a peal that should + astonish Helstonleigh, the day Constance goes out as governess. Shan’t I + have a fine time of it! It’s lessons for me now, morning, noon, and night,—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 with her at night; but I + won’t!” + </p> + <p> + The boys began to chase her round the table. She was almost a match for + all four—a troublesome, indulged, sunny-hearted child, who delighted + in committing faults, that she might have the pleasure of avowing them. + She flew out into the garden, first knocking over Constance’s paint-box, + and some of them went after her. + </p> + <p> + At that moment Mr. Yorke came in. You have seen him once before, in his + place in Helstonleigh Cathedral: a tall, slender man, with pale, + well-formed features, and an attractive smile. His dark eyes rested on + Constance as he entered, and once more the brilliant colour lighted up her + face. When prospects should be a little better—that is, when Mr. + Yorke should have a sufficient living bestowed upon him—Constance + was to become his wife. His stipend from the minor canonry was at present + trifling. + </p> + <p> + “Judith met me in the hall as I was going into the parlour, and told me I + had better come here,” he observed. “She said bad news had arrived for Mr. + Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Hamish. “The lawsuit is lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Lost!” echoed Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Irrevocably. We were discussing ways and means amongst ourselves,” said + Hamish, “for of course this changes our prospects materially.” + </p> + <p> + “And Constance is going out as a governess, if she can find any one to + take her, and Arthur is to plod on with Joe Jenkins, and Tom means to + apply for the post of bell-ringer to the cathedral,” interposed the + incorrigible Annabel, who had once more darted in, and heard the last + words. “Can you recommend Constance to a situation, Mr. Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + He treated the information lightly; laughed at and with Annabel; but + Constance noticed that a flush crossed his brow, and that he quitted the + subject. + </p> + <p> + “Has the inked surplice been found out, Tom,—I mean the culprit?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, Mr. Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “Charles, you can tell me who it was, I hear?” + </p> + <p> + There was a startled glance for a moment in Charles’s eye, as he looked up + at Mr. Yorke, and an unconscious meaning in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Why, do <i>you</i> know who it was, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” said Mr. Yorke. “I know that, whoever it may have been deserves a + sound flogging, if he did it willfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir, why do you suppose I know?” + </p> + <p> + “I met Hurst just now, and he stopped me with the news that he was sure + Charley Channing could put his hand upon the offender, if he chose to do + it. It was not yourself, was it Charley?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke laughed as he asked the question. Charley laughed also, but in a + constrained manner. Meanwhile the others, to whom the topic had been as + Sanscrit, demanded an explanation, which Mr. Yorke gave, so far as he was + cognizant of the facts. + </p> + <p> + “What a shame to spoil a surplice! Have you cause to suspect any + particular boy, Charley?” demanded Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ask him in my presence,” interrupted Tom in the same hurried manner + that he had used in the cloisters. “I should be compelled in honour to + inform the master, and Charley would have his life thrashed out of him by + the school.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t <i>you</i> ask me, either, Mr. Yorke,” said Charles; and the tone + of his voice, still unconsciously to himself, bore a strange serious + earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” returned Mr. Yorke. “I am not a senior of the college school, + and under obedience to its head-master.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are all to stop in this room, I and Tom shall never get our + lessons done,” was all the reply made by Charles, as he drew a chair to + the table and opened his exercise books. + </p> + <p> + “And I never could afford that,” cried Tom, following his example, and + looking out the books he required. “It won’t do to let Huntley and Yorke + get ahead of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Trying for the seniorship as strenuously as ever, Tom?” asked Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am,” replied Tom Channing, lifting his eyes in slight + surprise. “And I hope to get it.” + </p> + <p> + “Which of the three stands the best chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Tom, “it will be about a neck-and-neck race between us. My + name stands first on the rolls of the school; therefore, were our merits + equal, in strict justice it ought to be given to me. But the master could + pass me over if he pleased, and decide upon either of the other two.” + </p> + <p> + “Which of those two stands first on the rolls?” + </p> + <p> + “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 as our + initial letters stood in the alphabet.” + </p> + <p> + “It will turn wholly upon your scholastic merits, then? I hear—but + Helstonleigh is famous for its gossip—that in past times it has + frequently gone by favour.” + </p> + <p> + “So it has,” said Tom Channing, throwing back his head with a whole world + of indignation in the action. “Eligible boys have been passed over, and + the most incapable dolt set up above them; all because his friends were in + a good position, and hand-in-glove with the head-master. I don’t mean Pye, + you know; before he came. It’s said the last case was so flagrant that it + came to the ears of the dean, and he interfered and forbade favour for the + future. At any rate, there’s an impression running through the school that + merit and conduct, taken together, will be allowed fair play.” + </p> + <p> + “Conduct?” echoed Arthur Channing. + </p> + <p> + Tom nodded:—“Conduct is to be brought in, this time. One day, when + the first desk fell into a row with the head-master, through some mischief + we had gone into out of school, he asked us if we were aware that our + conduct, as it might be good or ill, might gain or lose us the seniorship. + Yorke, who is bold enough, you know, for ten, remarked that that 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 fit to introduce, which he + trusted might tend to make the school different from what it had been. Of + course we had the laugh at Yorke; but the master 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.” + </p> + <p> + Tom Channing nodded sagaciously as he concluded, and they left the room to + him and Charles. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. — NO HOLIDAY TO-DAY. + </h2> + <p> + “Now, Constance, that we have a moment alone, what is this about you?” + began Mr. Yorke, as they stood together in the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Annabel said the truth—that I do think of going out as daily + governess,” she replied, bending over a carnation to hide the blush which + rose to her cheeks, a very rival to the blushing flower. “It is a great + misfortune that has fallen upon us—at least we can only look at it + in that light at present, and will, beyond doubt, be productive of some + embarrassment. Do you not see, William, that it is incumbent upon us all + to endeavour to lighten this embarrassment, those of us who can do so? I + must assume my share of the burden.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke was silent. Constance took it for granted that he was + displeased. He was of an excellent family, and she supposed he disliked + the step she was about to take—deemed it would be derogatory to his + future wife. + </p> + <p> + “Have you fully made up your mind?” he at length asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have talked it over with mamma—for indeed she and I both + seem to have anticipated this—and she thinks with me, that it is + what I ought to do. William, how could I reconcile it to my conscience not + to help?” she continued. “Think of papa! think of his strait! It appears + to be a plain duty thrown in my path.” + </p> + <p> + “By yourself, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “Not by myself,” she whispered, lifting for a moment her large blue eyes. + “Oh, William, William, do not be displeased with me! do not forbid it! It + is honourable to work—it is right to do what we can. Strive to see + it in the right light.” + </p> + <p> + “Let that carnation alone, Constance; give your attention to me. What if I + do forbid it?” + </p> + <p> + She walked a little forward, leaving the carnation bed, and halted under + the shade of the dark cedar tree, her heart and colour alike fading. Mr. + Yorke followed and stood before her. + </p> + <p> + “William, I must do my duty. There is no other way open to me, by which I + can earn something to help in this time of need, except that of becoming a + governess. Many a lady, better born than I, has done it before me.” + </p> + <p> + “A daily governess, I think you said?” + </p> + <p> + “Papa could not spare me to go out altogether; Annabel could not spare me + either; and—” + </p> + <p> + “I would not spare you,” he struck in, filling up her pause. “Was that + what you were about to say, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + 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 then with + the lightest heart!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with an expression she did not understand, and shook his + head. Constance thought it a negative shake, and her hopes fell again. + “You did not answer my question,” said Mr. Yorke. “What if I forbid it?” + </p> + <p> + “But it seems to be my duty,” she urged from between her pale and parted + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Constance, that is no answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not, do not! William, do not you throw this temptation in my way—that + of choosing between yourself and a plain duty that lies before me.” + </p> + <p> + “The temptation, as you call it, must be for a later consideration. Why + will you not answer me? What would be your course if I forbade it?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. But, Oh, William, if you gave me up—” + </p> + <p> + 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 with tears. + </p> + <p> + “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 on yourself,” + he added, laughing, as he bent his face down. + </p> + <p> + “How did I bring it on myself?” + </p> + <p> + “By doubting me. I saw you doubted me at the first, when Annabel spoke of + it in the study. Constance, if you, possessed as you are of great + acquirements, refused from any notion of false pride, to exert them for + your family in a time of need, I should say you were little fitted for the + wife of one whose whole duty it must be to do his Master’s work.” + </p> + <p> + “You will sanction the measure then?” she rejoined, her countenance + lighting up. + </p> + <p> + “How could you doubt me? I wish I could make a home at once to take you + to; but as you must remain in this a little longer, it is only fair that + you should contribute to its maintenance. We all have to bend to + circumstances. I shall not love my wife the less, because she has had the + courage to turn her talents to account. What could you be thinking of, + child?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, William,” she softly pleaded. “But you looked so grave and + were so silent.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke smiled. “The truth is, Constance, I was turning in my mind + whether I could not help to place you, and pondering the advantages and + disadvantages of a situation I know of. Lady Augusta is looking out for a + daily governess.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she?” exclaimed Constance. “I wonder whether—I—should suit + her?” + </p> + <p> + Constance spoke hesitatingly. The thought which had flashed over her own + mind was, whether Lady Augusta Yorke could afford to pay her sufficient + remuneration. Probably the same doubt had made one of the “disadvantages” + hinted at by Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “I called there yesterday, and interrupted a ‘scene’ between Lady Augusta + and Miss Caroline,” he said. “Unseemly anger on my lady’s part, and + rebellion on Carry’s, forming, as usual, its chief features.” + </p> + <p> + “But Lady Augusta is so indulgent to her children!” interrupted Constance. + </p> + <p> + “Perniciously indulgent, generally; and when the effects break out in + insolence and disobedience, then there ensues a scene. If you go there you + will witness them occasionally, and I assure you they are not edifying. + You must endeavour to train the girls to something better than they have + been trained to yet, Constance.” + </p> + <p> + “If I do go.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew how long it would last, Lady Augusta’s instructing them herself,” + resumed Mr. Yorke. “It is not a month since the governess left.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does she wish to take a daily governess instead of one in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Why</i> 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 and other + matters?” + </p> + <p> + “If you please. Papa is somewhat fastidious; but he could not object to my + going there; and its being so very near our own house would be a great + point of—” + </p> + <p> + “Constance!” interrupted a voice at this juncture. “Is Mr. Yorke there?” + </p> + <p> + “He is here, mamma,” replied Constance, walking forward to Mrs. Channing, + Mr. Yorke attending her. + </p> + <p> + “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 chat with + him. The children have told you the tidings. It is a great blow to their + prospects.” + </p> + <p> + “But they seem determined to bear it bravely,” he answered, in a hearty + tone. “You may be proud to have such children, Mrs. Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “Not proud,” she softly said. “Thankful!” + </p> + <p> + “True. I am obliged to you for correcting me,” was the clergyman’s + ingenuous answer, as he walked, with Mrs. Channing, across the hall. + Constance halted, for Judith came out of the kitchen, and spoke in a + whisper. + </p> + <p> + “And what’s the right and the wrong of it, Miss Constance? <i>Is</i> the + money gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone entirely, Judith. Gone for good.” + </p> + <p> + “For good!” groaned Judith; “I should say for ill. Why does the Queen let + there be a Lord Chancellor?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the Lord Chancellor’s fault, Judith. He only administers the + law.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn’t he just as well have given it <i>for</i> your papa, as + against him?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he considers that the law is on the other side,” sighed + Constance. + </p> + <p> + Judith, with a pettish movement, returned to her kitchen; and at that + moment Hamish came downstairs. He had changed his dress, and had a pair of + new white gloves in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going out to-night, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + There was a stress on the word “to-night,” and Hamish marked it. “I + promised, you know, Constance. And my staying away would do no good; it + could not improve things. Fare you well, my pretty sister. Tell mamma I + shall be home by eleven.” + </p> + <p> + “It’ll be a sad cut-down for ‘em all,” muttered Judith, gazing at Hamish + round the kitchen door-post. “Where he’ll find money for his white gloves + and things now, is beyond my telling, the darling boy! If I could but get + to that Lord Chancellor!” + </p> + <p> + Had you possessed the privilege of living in Helstonleigh at the time of + which this story treats—and I can assure you you might live in a + less privileged city—it is possible that, on the morning following + the above events, your peaceful slumbers might have been rudely broken by + a noise, loud enough to waken the seven sleepers of Ephesus. + </p> + <p> + Before seven o’clock, the whole school, choristers and king’s scholars, + assembled in the cloisters. But, instead of entering the schoolroom for + early school, they formed themselves into a dense mass (if you ever saw + schoolboys march otherwise, I have not), and, treading on each other’s + heels, proceeded through the town to the lodgings of the judges, in + pursuance of a time-honoured custom. There the head-boy sent in his name + to the very chamber of the Lord Chief Justice, who happened this time to + have come to the Helstonleigh circuit. “Mr. Gaunt, senior of the college + school”—craving holiday for himself, and the whole fry who had + attended him. + </p> + <p> + “College boys!” cried his lordship, winking and blinking, as other less + majestic mortals do when awakened suddenly out of their morning sleep. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord,” replied the servant. “All the school’s come up; such a lot + of ‘em! It’s the holiday they are asking for.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ah, I recollect,” cried his lordship—for it was not the first + time he had been to Helstonleigh. “Give one of my cards to the senior boy, + Roberts. My compliments to the head-master, and I beg he will grant the + boys a holiday.” + </p> + <p> + Roberts did as he was bid—he also had been to Helstonleigh before + with his master—and delivered the card and message to Gaunt. The + consequence of which was, the school tore through the streets in triumph, + shouting “Holiday!” in tones to be heard a mile off, and bringing people + in white garments, from their beds to the windows. The least they feared + was, that the town had taken fire. + </p> + <p> + Back to the house of the head-master for the pantomime to be played + through. This usually was (for the master, as wise on the subject as they + were, would lie that morning in bed) to send the master’s servant into his + room with the card and the message; upon which permission for the holiday + would come out, and the boys would disperse, exercising their legs and + lungs. No such luck, however, on this morning. The servant met them at the + door, and grinned dreadfully at the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you catch it, gentlemen! The head-master’s gone into school, and is + waiting for you; marking you all late, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone into school!” repeated Gaunt, haughtily, resenting the familiarity, + as well as the information. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I just mean that, sir,” was the reply, upon which Gaunt felt + uncommonly inclined to knock him down. But the man had a propensity for + grinning, and was sure to exercise it on all possible occasions. “There’s + some row up, and you are not to have holiday,” continued the servant; “the + master said last night I was to call him this morning as usual.” + </p> + <p> + At this unexpected reply, the boys slunk away to the college schoolroom, + their buoyant spirits sunk down to dust and ashes—figuratively + speaking. They could not understand it; they had not the most distant idea + what their offence could have been. Gaunt entered, and the rest trooped in + after him. The head-master sat at his desk in stern state: the other + masters were in their places. “What is the meaning of this + insubordination?” the master sharply demanded, addressing Gaunt. “You are + three-quarters of an hour behind your time.” + </p> + <p> + “We have been up to the judges, as usual, for holiday, sir,” replied + Gaunt, in a tone of deprecation. “His lordship sends his card and + compliments to you, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Holiday!” interrupted the master. “Holiday!” he repeated, with emphasis, + as if disbelieving his own ears. “Do you consider that the school deserves + it? A pretty senior you must be, if you do.” + </p> + <p> + “What has the school done, sir?” respectfully asked Gaunt. + </p> + <p> + “Your memory must be conveniently short,” chafed the master. “Have you + forgotten the inked surplice?” + </p> + <p> + Gaunt paused. “But that was not the act of the whole school, sir. It was + probably the act of only one.” + </p> + <p> + “But, so long as that one does not confess, the whole school must bear + it,” returned the master, looking round on the assembly. “Boys, understand + me. It is not for the fault itself—that may have been, as I said + yesterday, the result of accident; but it is the concealment of the fault + that makes me angry. Will you confess now?—he who did it?” + </p> + <p> + No; the appeal brought forth no further result than the other had done. + The master continued: + </p> + <p> + “You may think—I speak now to the guilty boy, and let him take these + words to himself—that you were quite alone when you did it; that no + eye was watching. But let me remind you that the eye of God was upon you. + What you refuse to tell, He can bring to light, if it shall so please Him, + in His own wonderful way, His own good time. There will be no holiday + to-day. Prayers.” + </p> + <p> + The boys fell into their places, and stood with hanging heads, something + like rebellion working in every breast. At breakfast-time they were + dismissed, and gathered in the cloisters to give vent to their sentiments. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it a stunning shame?” cried hot Tom Channing. “The school ought not + to suffer for the fault of one boy. The master has no right—” + </p> + <p> + “The fault lies in the boy, not in the master,” interrupted Gaunt. “A + sneak! a coward! If he has a spark of manly honour in him, he’ll speak up + now.” + </p> + <p> + “As it has come to this, I say Charley Channing should be made to declare + what he knows,” said one. “He saw it done!” + </p> + <p> + “Who says he did?” quickly asked Tom Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Some one said so; and that he was afraid to tell.” + </p> + <p> + Gaunt lifted his finger, and made a sign to Charles to approach. “Now, + boy”—as the latter obeyed—“you will answer <i>me</i>, + remember. The master has called the seniors to his aid, and I order you to + speak. Did you see this mischief done?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not!” fearlessly replied little Channing. + </p> + <p> + “If he doesn’t know, he suspects,” persisted Hurst. “Come, Miss Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “We don’t declare things upon suspicion, do we, Mr. Gaunt?” appealed + Charles. “I may suspect one; Hurst may suspect another; Bywater said he + suspected two; the whole school may be suspicious, one of another. Where’s + the use of that?” + </p> + <p> + “It is of no use,” decided Gaunt. “You say you did not see the surplice + damaged?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not; upon my word of honour.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough,” said Gaunt. “Depend upon it, the fellow, while he was at + it, took precious good precautions against being seen. When he gets found + out, he had better not come within reach of the seniors; I warn him of + that: they might not leave him a head on his shoulders, or a tooth in his + mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose it should turn out to have been a senior, Mr. Gaunt?” spoke + Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you should turn out to be an everlasting big donkey?” retorted + the senior boy. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. — ROLAND YORKE. + </h2> + <p> + Just without the Boundaries, in a wide, quiet street, called Close Street, + was the office of Richard Galloway, Esquire, Proctor, and Steward to the + Dean and Chapter. Excepting for this solitary office, the street consisted + of private houses, and it was one of the approaches to the cathedral, + though not the chief one. Mr. Galloway was a bachelor; a short, stout man, + shaped like a cask, with a fat, round face, round, open, grey eyes—that + always looked as if their owner was in a state of wonder—and a + little round mouth. But he was a shrewd man and a capable; he was also, in + his way, a dandy; dressed scrupulously in the fashion, with delicate shirt + fronts and snow-white wristbands; and for the last twenty-five years, at + least, had been a mark for all the single ladies of Helstonleigh to set + their caps at. + </p> + <p> + Of beauty, Mr. Galloway could boast little; but of his hair he was + moderately vain: a very good head of hair it was, and curled naturally. + But hair, let it be luxuriant enough to excite the admiration of a whole + army of coiffeurs, is, like other things in this sublunary world of 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, to sober grey—nay, + almost to white. He did not particularly admire the change, but he had to + submit to it. Nature is stronger than we are. A friend hinted that it + might be “dyed.” Mr. Galloway resented the suggestion: anything false was + abhorrent to him. When, however, after an illness, his hair began to fall + off alarmingly, he thought it no harm to use a certain specific, emanating + from one of her Majesty’s physicians; extensively set forth and patronized + as an undoubted remedy for hair that was falling off. Mr. Galloway used it + extensively in his fear, for he had an equal dread both of baldness and + wigs. The lotion not only had the desired effect, but it had more: the + hair grew on again luxuriantly, and its whiteness turned into the finest + flaxen you ever saw; a light delicate flaxen, exactly like the curls you + see upon the 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 be + persuaded but that he had used some delicate dye, hitherto unknown to + science; and the suspicion vexed Mr. Galloway. Behold him, therefore, with + a perfect shower of smooth, fair curls upon his head, equal to any young + beau. + </p> + <p> + 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 put off + until the termination of the suit, when Mr. Channing had looked forward to + being at his ease, in a pecuniary point of view. There were two others in + the same office. The one was Roland Yorke, who was articled; the other was + Joseph Jenkins, a thin, spare, humble man of nine and thirty, who had + served Mr. Galloway for nearly twenty years, earning twenty-five shillings + a week. He was a son of old Jenkins, the bedesman, and his wife kept a + small hosiery shop in High Street. Roland Yorke was, of course, not paid; + on the contrary, he had paid pretty smartly to Mr. Galloway for the + privilege of being initiated into the mysteries belonging to a proctor. + Arthur Channing may be said to have occupied a position in the office + midway between the two. He was to <i>become</i> on the footing of Roland + Yorke; but meanwhile, he received a small 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 somewhat anomalous position; but Arthur had held his + own bravely up in it until this blow came, looking forward to a brighter + time. + </p> + <p> + In the years gone by, one of the stalls in Helstonleigh Cathedral was held + by the Reverend Dr. Yorke: he had also some time filled the office of + sub-dean. He had married, imprudently, the daughter of an Irish peer, a + pretty, good-tempered girl, who was as fond of extravagance as she was + devoid of means to support it. She had not a shilling in the world; it was + even said that the bills for her trousseau came in afterwards to Dr. + Yorke: but people, you know, are given to scandal. Want of fortune had + been nothing, had Lady Augusta only possessed ordinary prudence; but she + spent the doctor’s money faster than he received it. + </p> + <p> + In the course of years Dr. Yorke died, leaving eight children, and slender + means for them. There were six boys and two girls. Lady Augusta went to + reside in a cheap and roomy house (somewhat dilapidated) in the + Boundaries, close to her old prebendal residence, and scrambled on in her + careless, spending fashion, never out of debt. She retained their old + barouche, and <i>would</i> retain it, and was a great deal too fond of + ordering horses from the livery stables and driving out in state. Gifted + with excellent qualities had her children been born; but of training, 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 persuasion could induce + him to be sufficiently attentive to his studies to qualify himself for it; + he was therefore placed with Mr. Galloway, and the Church honours were now + intended for Gerald. The fourth son, Theodore, was also in the college + school, a junior. Next came two girls, Caroline and Fanny, and there were + two little boys still younger. + </p> + <p> + Haughty, self-willed, but of sufficiently honourable nature, were the + Yorkes. If Lady Augusta had only toiled to foster the good, and eradicate + the evil, they would have grown up to bless her. Good soil was there to + work upon, as there was in the Channings; but, in the case of the Yorkes, + it was allowed to run to waste, or to generate weeds. In short, to do as + it pleased. + </p> + <p> + A noisy, scrambling, uncomfortable sort of home was that of the Yorkes; + the boys sometimes contending one with another, Lady Augusta often + quarrelling with all. The home of the Channings was ever full of love, + calm, and peace. Can you guess where the difference lay? + </p> + <p> + On the morning when the college boys had gone up to crave holiday of the + judges, and had not obtained it—at least not from the head-master—Arthur + Channing proceeded, as usual, to Mr. Galloway’s, after breakfast. Seated + at a desk, in his place, writing—he seemed to be ever seated there—was + Mr. Jenkins. He lifted his head when Arthur entered, with a “Good morning, + sir,” and then dropped it again over his copying. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” replied Arthur. And at that moment Mr. Galloway—his + flaxen curls in full flow upon his head, something like rings—came + forth from his private room. “Good morning, sir,” Arthur added, to his + master. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway nodded a reply to the salutation. “Have you seen anything of + Yorke?” he asked. “I want that deed that he’s about finished as soon as + possible.” + </p> + <p> + “He will not be an instant,” said Arthur. “I saw him coming up the + street.” + </p> + <p> + Roland Yorke bustled in; a dark young man of twenty-one, with large but + fine features, and a countenance expressive of indecision. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. Yorke, you promised to be here early to-day. You know that deed + is being waited for.” + </p> + <p> + “So I am early, sir,” returned Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Early! for <i>you</i> perhaps,” grunted Mr. Galloway. “Get to it at + once.” + </p> + <p> + 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 were upon + it. + </p> + <p> + “How is Mr. Channing this morning, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “Much as usual, thank you, sir. Certain news, which arrived last night, + has not tended to cheer him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, then?” remarked Mr. Galloway. “I heard a rumour of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s true enough,” said Arthur. “It is in all the morning papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there never was a more unjust decision!” emphatically spoke Mr. + Galloway. “Mark you, I am not reflecting on the Lord Chancellor’s + judgment. I have always said that there were one or two nasty points in + that suit, which the law might get hold of; but I know the whole cause by + heart, from beginning to end; and that money was as much your father’s, as + this coat, that I have on, is mine. Tell him I’ll come in one of these + fine evenings, and abuse the injustice of our laws with him,—will + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this row in the college school about a destroyed surplice, and the + boys not getting their holiday through it?” resumed Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are they not savage!” struck in Roland Yorke. “The first thing Tod + did, when he came home to breakfast, was to fling over his bowl of coffee, + he was in such a passion. Lady Augusta—she came down to breakfast + this morning, for a wonder—boxed his ears, and ordered him to drink + water; but he went into the kitchen, and made a lot of chocolate for + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “What are the particulars? How was it done? I cannot understand it at + all,” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Bywater left his clean surplice yesterday in the vestry, and some one + threw ink over it—half soaked it in ink, so the choristers told + Tom,” answered Arthur Channing. “In the afternoon—they had service + late, you know, sir, waiting for the judges—Bywater was not in his + place to sing the anthem, and Hurst sang it, and it put the master out + very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Put him out all the more that he has no one to punish for it,” laughed + Roland Yorke. “Of course Bywater couldn’t appear in his stall, and sing + the anthem, if he had no surplice to put on; and the master couldn’t tan + him for not doing it. I know this, if it had happened while I was in the + college school, I’d just have skinned some of the fellows alive, but what + I’d have made them confess.” + </p> + <p> + “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 that was + the first I had heard of the affair. Mark thinks one of the seniors was in + it; not Gaunt.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur Channing and Roland Yorke both looked up with a sharp, quick + gesture. Gaunt excepted, the only senior, besides their respective + brothers, was Harry Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “It is not likely, sir,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “A senior do it!” scoffed Roland Yorke. “What a young idiot Mark Galloway + must be, to think that!” + </p> + <p> + “Mark does not seem to think much about it on his own account,” said Mr. + 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 a senior.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he, though!” cried Yorke, looking puzzled. “Bywater’s a cautious + fellow with his money; he never bets at random. I say, sir, what else did + Galloway tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “That was all,” replied Mr. Galloway. And if you wonder at a staid old + proctor chattering about this desultory news with his clerks in business + hours, it may be explained to you that Mr. Galloway took the greatest + possible interest, almost a boyish interest, in the college school. It was + where he had been educated himself, where his nephews were being educated; + he was on intimate terms with its masters; knew every boy in it to speak + to; saw them troop past his house daily in their progress to and fro; + watched them in their surplices in a Sunday, during morning and afternoon + service; was cognizant of their advancement, their shortcomings, their + merits, and their scrapes: in fact, the head-master could not take a + greater interest in the doings of the collegiate school, than did Mr. + Galloway. Whether of work, or whether of gossip, his ears were ever open + to listen to its records. Besides, they were not so overburdened with work + in that office, but that there was ample time for discussing any news that + might be agreeable to its master. His work was light; his returns were + heavy; his stewardship alone brought him in several hundreds a year. + </p> + <p> + “The Reverend Mr. Pye seems uncommonly annoyed about it, sir,” Mr. Jenkins + ventured to put in. To interrupt, or take part in any conversation, was + not usual with him, unless he could communicate little tit-bits of + information touching the passing topic. “You are aware that Mr. Harper, + the lay-clerk, lodges at our house, sir. Well, Mr. Pye came round last + night, especially to question him about it.” + </p> + <p> + “What could Harper tell?” asked Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “He could not tell anything; except that he would answer for the + lay-clerks knowing nothing of the transaction. The master said he never + supposed the lay-clerks did know anything of it, but he had his reasons + for putting the question. He had been to the masons, too, who are + repairing the cathedral; and they declared to the master, one and all, + that they had not been into the vestry yesterday, or even round to that + side of the college where the vestry is situated.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should the master take it up so pertinaciously?” wondered Roland + Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t know, sir. He was like one in a fever, so excited over + it, Harper said.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he talk to you about it, Jenkins?” asked Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I did not see him, sir; it was Harper told me afterwards,” was the reply + of Jenkins, as he subsided to his writing again. + </p> + <p> + Just at this juncture, who should come in view of the window but the + head-master himself. He was passing it with a quick step, when out flew + Mr. Galloway, and caught him by the button. Roland Yorke, who was ever + glad of a pretext for idleness, rose from his stool, and pushed his nose + close up to the nearest pane, to listen to any colloquy that might ensue; + but, the window being open, he might have heard without leaving his seat. + </p> + <p> + “I hear the boys have not a holiday to-day, Pye,” began Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “No, that they have not,” emphatically pronounced the master; “and, if + they go on as they seem to be going on now, I’ll keep them without it for + a twelvemonth. I believe the inking of that surplice was a concocted plan, + look you, Galloway, to—” + </p> + <p> + “To what?” asked Mr. Galloway, for the master stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, just yet. I have my strong suspicions as to the guilty boy, + and I am doing what I can to convert them into proofs. If it be as I + suspect now, I shall expel him.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could it have been done for?” debated Mr. Galloway. “There’s no + point in the thing, that I can see, to ink and damage a surplice. If the + boy to whom it belonged had been inked, one might not have wondered so + much.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll ‘point him,’” cried the master, “if I catch the right one.” + </p> + <p> + “Could it have been one of the seniors?” returned the proctor, all his + strong interest awakened. + </p> + <p> + “It was one who ought to have known better,” evasively returned the + master. “I can’t stop to talk now, Galloway. I have an errand to do, and + must be back to duty at ten.” + </p> + <p> + He marched off quickly, and Mr. Galloway came indoors again. “Is that the + way you get on with your business, Mr. Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + Yorke clattered to his desk. “I’ll get on with it, sir. I was listening to + what the master said.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not concern you, what he said. It was not one of your brothers + who did it, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that it was not,” haughtily spoke Roland Yorke, drawing up his head + with a proud, fierce gesture. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway withdrew to his private room, and for a few minutes silence + supervened—nothing was to be heard but the scratching of pens. But + Roland Yorke, who had a great antipathy to steady work, and as great a + love for his own tongue, soon began again. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Channing, what an awful blow the dropping of that expected money + must be for you fellows! I’m blest if I didn’t dream of it last night! If + it spoilt my rest, what must it have done by yours!” + </p> + <p> + “Why! how could you have heard of it last night?” exclaimed Arthur, in + surprise. “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. It is in + every one’s mouth this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I had it from Hamish. He came to the party at the Knivetts’. Didn’t + Hamish get taken in!” laughed Roland. “He understood it was quite a + ladies’ affair, and loomed in, dressed up to the nines, and there he found + only a bachelor gathering of Dick’s. Hamish was disappointed, I think; he + fancied he was going to meet Ellen Huntley; and glum enough he looked—” + </p> + <p> + “He had only just heard of the loss,” interrupted Arthur. “Enough to make + him look glum.” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish! It wasn’t that. He announced at once that the money was gone for + good and all, and laughed over it, and said there were worse disasters at + sea. Knivett said he never saw a fellow carry ill news off with so high a + hand. Had he been proclaiming the accession of a fortune, instead of the + loss of one, he could not have been more carelessly cheerful. Channing, + what on earth shall you do about your articles?” + </p> + <p> + A question that caused the greatest pain, especially when put by Roland + Yorke; and Arthur’s sensitive face flushed. + </p> + <p> + “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 make + friends,” cried Roland, laughing loudly. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I don’t think Mr. Arthur Channing is likely to become a paid + clerk,” said Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Not likely to become a paid clerk! why, he <i>is</i> one. If he is not + one, I’d like to know who is. Channing, you know you are nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “I may be something else in time,” quietly replied Arthur, who knew how to + control his rebellious spirit. + </p> + <p> + “I say, what a rum go it is about that surplice!” exclaimed Roland Yorke, + dashing into another topic. “It’s not exactly the mischief itself that’s + rum, but the master seem to be making so much stir and mystery over it! + And then the hint at the seniors! They must mean Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know who they <i>mean</i>,” said Arthur, “but I am sure Huntley + never did it. He is too open, too honourable—” + </p> + <p> + “And do you pretend to say that Tom Channing and my brother Ger are not + honourable?” fiercely interrupted Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “There you go, Yorke; jumping to conclusions! It is not to be credited + that 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 and honour, so + far as I believe. Huntley, I am sure, is.” + </p> + <p> + “And of Tom, also, I conclude you feel sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am sure of Ger Yorke. So, if the master is directing his suspicion + to the seniors, he’ll get floored. It’s odd what can have turned it upon + them.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think the master suspects the seniors,” said Arthur. “He called + them to his aid.” + </p> + <p> + “You heard what he just now said to Galloway. Jenkins, there is a knock at + the door.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins went to open it. He came back, and said Mr. Yorke was wanted. + </p> + <p> + Roland lazily proceeded to the outer passage, and, when he saw who was + standing there, he put himself into a passion. “What do you mean by + presuming to come to me here?” he haughtily asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, perhaps you’ll tell me where I am to come, so as to get to see + you?” civilly replied the applicant, one who bore the appearance of a + tradesman. “It seems it’s of no use going to your house; if I went ten + times a day, I should get the same answer—that you are not at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Just take yourself off,” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Not till you pay me; or tell me for certain when you will pay me, and + keep your promise. I want my money, sir, and I must have it.” + </p> + <p> + “We want a great many things that we can’t get,” returned Roland, in a + provokingly light tone. “I’ll pay you as soon as I can, man; you needn’t + be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not exactly afraid,” spoke the man. “I suppose if it came to it, Lady + Augusta would see that I had the money.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You have said that so many times, Mr. Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Apparently satisfied, the man departed, and Roland lounged into the office + again with the same idle movements that he had left it. + </p> + <p> + “It was that confounded Simms,” grumbled he. “Jenkins, why did you say I + was in?” + </p> + <p> + “You did not tell me to say the contrary, sir. He came yesterday, but you + were out then.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he want?” asked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Wanted me to pay him a trifle I owe; but it’s not convenient to do it + till next week. What an Eden this lower world might be, if debt had never + been invented!” + </p> + <p> + “You need not get into debt,” said Arthur. “It is not compulsory.” + </p> + <p> + “One <i>might</i> build a mud hut outside the town walls, and shut one’s + self up in it, and eat herbs for dinner, and sleep upon rushes, and turn + hermit for good!” retorted Roland. “<i>You</i> need not talk about debt, + Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t owe much,” said Arthur, noting the significance of Yorke’s + concluding sentence. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t, some one else does.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur went on writing with a sinking heart. There was an undercurrent of + fear running within him—had been for some time—that Hamish did + owe money on his own private score. But this allusion to it was not + pleasant. + </p> + <p> + “How much do you owe?” went on Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a twenty-pound note would pay my debts, and leave me something out of + it,” said Arthur, in a joking tone. The fact was, that he did not owe a + shilling to any one. “Jenkins, do you know what I am to set about next?” + he continued; “I have filled in this lease.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins was beginning to look amidst some papers at his elbow, in answer + to the appeal; but at that moment Mr. Galloway entered, and despatched + Arthur to get a cheque cashed at the bank. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. — LADY AUGUSTA YORKE AT HOME. + </h2> + <p> + “If you don’t put away that trash, Caroline, and go upstairs and practise, + I’ll make you go! Strewing the table in that manner! Look what a pickle + the room is in!” + </p> + <p> + The words came from Lady Augusta Yorke, a tall, dark woman, with high + cheek-bones; and they were spoken at a height that might not have been + deemed orthodox at court. Miss Caroline Yorke, a young demoiselle, with a + “net” that was more frequently off her head than on it, slip-shod shoes, + and untidy stockings, had placed a quantity of mulberry leaves on the + centre table, and a silkworm on each leaf. She leisurely proceeded with + her work, bringing forth more silkworms from her paper trays, paying not + the least attention to her mother. Lady Augusta advanced, and treated her + to a slight tap on the ear, her favourite mode of correcting her children. + </p> + <p> + “Now, mamma! What’s that for?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear me, you disobedient child? I will have this rubbish put away, + I say. Goodness, Martha! don’t bring any one in here!” broke off Lady + Augusta, as a maid appeared, showing in a visitor. “Oh, it is you, + William! I don’t mind you. Come in.” + </p> + <p> + It was the Reverend William Yorke who entered. He was not altogether a + favourite of Lady Augusta’s. Though only distantly related to her late + husband, he yet bore the name of Yorke; and when he came to Helstonleigh + (for he was not a native of the place), and became a candidate for a + vacant minor canonry, Lady Augusta’s pride had taken fire. The minor + canons were looked upon by the exclusives of the cathedral as holding a + very inferior position amidst the clergy, and she resented that one + belonging to her should descend to set up his place amongst them. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke shook hands with Lady Augusta, and then turned to look at the + leaves and silkworms. “Are you doing that for ornament, Caroline?” + </p> + <p> + “Ornament!” wrathfully cried Lady Augusta. “She is doing it to waste time, + and to provoke me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not, mamma,” denied Miss Caroline. “My poor silkworms never have + anything but lettuce leaves. Tod brought these for me from the bishop’s + garden, and I am looking at the silkworms enjoying the change.” + </p> + <p> + “Tod is in hot water,” remarked Mr. Yorke. “He was fighting with another + boy as I came through the cloisters.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he’ll come home with his clothes torn, as he did the last time he + fought!” exclaimed Lady Augusta, in consternation. “I think no one ever + had such a set of children as mine!” she peevishly continued. “The boys + boisterous as so many wild animals, and the girls enough to drive one + crazy, with their idle, disobedient ways. Look at this room, William! + encumbered from one end to the other! things thrown out of hand by + Caroline and Fanny! As to lessons, they never open one. For three days I + have never ceased telling Caroline to go and practise, and she has not + attempted to obey me! I shall go out of my mind with one thing or another; + I know I shall! Nice dunces they’ll grow up.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and practise now, Caroline,” said Mr. Yorke. “I will put your + silkworms up for you.” + </p> + <p> + Caroline pouted. “I hate practising.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand gently upon her, gazing at her with his dark, pleasant + eyes, reproachful now; “But you do not hate obeying your mamma? You must + never let it come to that, Caroline.” + </p> + <p> + She suffered him to lead her to the door, went docilely enough to the + drawing-room, and sat down to the piano. Oh, for a little better training + for those children! Mr. Yorke began placing the silkworms in the trays, + and Lady Augusta went on grumbling. + </p> + <p> + “It is a dreadful fate—to be left a widow with a heap of unruly + children who will not be controlled! I must find a governess for the + girls, and then I shall be free from them for a few hours in the day. I + thought I would try and save the money, and teach them myself; but I might + just as well attempt to teach so many little wild Indians! I am not fitted + for teaching; it is beyond me. Don’t you think you could hear of a + governess, William? You go about so much.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of one since I saw you yesterday,” he replied. “A young + lady, whom you know, is anxious to take a situation, and I think she might + suit you.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom I know?” cried Lady Augusta. “Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Channing.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta looked up in astonishment. “Is <i>she</i> going out as + governess? That comes of losing this lawsuit. She has lost no time in the + decision.” + </p> + <p> + “When an unpalatable step has to be taken, the sooner it is set about, the + less will be the cost,” remarked Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Unpalatable! you may well say that. This will be the climax, will it not, + William?” + </p> + <p> + “Climax of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of all the unpleasantness that has attended your engagement with Miss + Channing—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Lady Augusta,” was the interruption of Mr. Yorke. “No + unpleasantness whatever has attended my engagement with Miss Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, for I consider her beneath you; and, therefore, that it is + nothing but unpleasant from beginning to end. The Channings are very well + in their way, but they are not equal to the Yorkes. You might make this a + pretext for giving her up.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke laughed. “I think her all the more worthy of me. The only + question 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 be worth + while to discuss it. About the other thing? I believe she would make an + admirable governess for Caroline and Fanny, if you could obtain her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I dare say she would do <i>that</i>. She is a lady, and has been well + educated. Would she want a large salary?” + </p> + <p> + “Forty guineas a year, to begin with.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta interrupted him with a scream. “I never could give half of + it! I am sure I never could. What with housekeeping expenses, and + milliners’ bills, and visiting, and the boys everlastingly dragging money + out of me, I have scarcely anything to spare for education.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet it is more essential than all the rest. Your income, properly + apportioned, would afford—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You rebellious, wicked fright of a boy!” was the salutation of my lady, + when she could recover breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s nothing, mamma. Don’t bother,” replied Master Tod, waving her + off. “I have been going into Pierce, senior, and have polished him off + with a jolly good licking. He won’t get me into a row again, I’ll bet.” + </p> + <p> + “What row did he get you into?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a nasty, sneaking tattler, and he took and told something to Gaunt, + and Gaunt put me up for punishment, and I had a caning from old Pye. I + vowed I’d pay Pierce out for it, and I have done it, though he is a sight + bigger than me.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it about?” inquired Mr. Yorke. “The damaged surplice?” + </p> + <p> + “Damaged surplice be hanged!” politely retorted the young gentleman, who, + in gaining the victory, appeared to have lost his temper. “It was + something concerning our lessons at the third desk, if you must know.” + </p> + <p> + “You might be civil, Tod,” said Lady Augusta. “Look at your shirt! Who, do + you suppose, is going to mend that?” + </p> + <p> + “It can go unmended,” responded Master Tod. “I wish it was the fashion to + go without clothes! They are always getting torn.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it was!” heartily responded my lady. + </p> + <p> + That same evening, in returning to her house from a visit, Constance + Channing encountered Mr. Yorke. He turned to walk with her to the door. + </p> + <p> + “I intended to call this afternoon, Constance, but was prevented from + doing so,” he observed. “I have spoken to Lady Augusta.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she answered with a smile and a blush. + </p> + <p> + “She would be very glad of <i>you</i>; 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 supposed she must + pay for it. She will give you forty guineas a year; but you are to call + upon her and settle other details. To-morrow, if it should be convenient + to you.” + </p> + <p> + Constance clasped her hands. “I am so pleased!” she exclaimed, in a low + tone. + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” said Mr. Yorke. “I would rather you went to Lady Augusta’s than + to a stranger’s. And do, Constance, try and make those poor girls more + what they ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + “That I shall try, you may be sure, William. Are you not coming in?” + </p> + <p> + “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 he had + made an engagement for this one with a brother clergyman. + </p> + <p> + Constance entered. She looked in the study for her brothers, but only + Arthur was there. He was leaning his elbow upon the table in a thoughtful + mood. + </p> + <p> + “Where are they all?” inquired Constance. + </p> + <p> + “Tom and Charles have gone to the cricket match. I don’t think Hamish has + come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not go to cricket also?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Arthur. “I did not feel much inclination for cricket + this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked depressed, Arthur, but I have some good news for you,” + Constance said, bending over him with a bright smile. “It is settled about + my going out, and I am to have forty guineas a year. Guess where it is + to?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur threw his arm round Constance, and they stood together, looking at + the trailing honeysuckle just outside the window. “Tell me, darling.” + </p> + <p> + “It is to Lady Augusta’s. William has been talking to her, and she would + like to have me. Does it not seem lucky to find it so soon?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Lucky</i>, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well! you know what I think, Arthur, though I did say ‘lucky,’” + returned Constance. “I know it is God who is helping us.” + </p> + <p> + Very beautiful, very touching, was the simple trustfulness reposed in God, + by Constance and Arthur Channing. The good seed had been sown on good + ground, and was bringing forth its fruit. + </p> + <p> + “I was deep in a reverie when you interrupted me, Constance,” Arthur + resumed. “Something seems to whisper to me that this loss, which we regard + as a great misfortune, may turn out for good in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “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 to do it, and + is despatching me out, a meek governess.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we all wanted it,” cried Arthur, meaningly. “There are other bad + habits it may stop, besides pride.” He was thinking of Hamish and his + propensity for spending. “Forty guineas you are to have?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Constance. “Arthur, do you know a scheme that I have in my + head? I have been thinking of it all day.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Stay! here is some one coming in. It is Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish entered with the account-books under his arm, preparatory to going + over them with his father. Constance drew him to her. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, I have a plan in my head, if we can only carry it out. I am going + to tell it you.” + </p> + <p> + “One that will set the river on fire?” cried gay, laughing Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “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 + send papa to the German baths yet?” + </p> + <p> + A cloud came over Hamish’s face, and his smile faded. “I don’t see how <i>that</i> + is to be done.” + </p> + <p> + “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 freedom from + pain!” + </p> + <p> + A look of positive pain seated itself on Hamish’s brow. “Yes,” he sighed, + “I wish it could be done.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do not speak hopefully.” + </p> + <p> + “Because, if I must tell you the truth, I do not feel hopefully. I fear we + could not do it: at least until things are brighter.” + </p> + <p> + “If we do our very best, we might receive great help, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “What help?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “God’s help,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Hamish smiled. He had not yet learnt what Constance had. Besides, Hamish + was just then in a little trouble on his own account: he knew very well + that <i>his</i> funds were wanted in another quarter. + </p> + <p> + “Constance, dear, do not look at me so wistfully. I will try with all my + might and main, to help my father; but I fear I cannot do anything yet. I + mean to draw in my expenses,” he went on, laughing: “to live like any old + screw of a miser, and never squander a halfpenny where a farthing will + suffice.” + </p> + <p> + He took his books and went in to Mr. Channing. Constance began training + the honeysuckle, her mind busy, and a verse of Holy Writ running through + it—“Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in Him, and He + shall bring it to pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” she murmured, glancing upwards at the blue evening sky: “our whole, + whole trust in patient reliance; and whatsoever is best for us will be + ours.” + </p> + <p> + Annabel stole up to Constance, and entwined her arms caressingly round + her. Constance turned, and parted the child’s hair upon her forehead with + a gentle hand. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to find a little rebel in you, Annabel? Will you not try and make + things smooth for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Constance, dear!” was the whispered answer: “it was only my fun last + night, when I said you should not take me for lessons in an evening. I + will study all day by myself, and get my lessons quite ready for you, so + as to give you no trouble in the evening. Would you like to hear me my + music now?” + </p> + <p> + Constance bent to kiss her. “No, dear child; there is no necessity for my + taking you in an evening, until my days shall be occupied at Lady Augusta + Yorke’s.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. — MR. KETCH. + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Channing sat with her children. Breakfast was over, and she had the + Bible open before her. Never, since their earliest years of understanding, + had she failed to assemble them together for a few minutes’ reading, + morning and evening. Not for too long at once; she knew the value of <i>not + tiring</i> young children, when she was leading them to feel an interest + in sacred things. She would take Hamish, a little fellow of three years + old, upon her knee, read to him a short Bible story, suited to his age, + and then talk to him. Talk to him in a soft, loving, gentle tone, of God, + of Jesus, of heaven; of his duties in this world; of what he must do to + attain to everlasting peace in the next. Day by day, step by step, + untiringly, unceasingly, had she thus laboured, 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 more advanced Bible stories, and thence to the + Bible itself; with other books at times and seasons: a little reading, a + little conversation, Gospel truths impressed upon them from her earnest + lips. Be you very sure that where this great duty of all duties is left + unfulfilled by a mother, a child is not brought up as it ought to be. Win + your child towards heaven in his early years, and he will not forget it + when he is old. + </p> + <p> + It will be as a very shield, compassing him about through life. He may + wander astray—there is no telling—in the heyday of his + hot-blooded youth, for the world’s temptations are as a running fire, + scorching all that venture into its heat; but the good foundation has been + laid, and the earnest, incessant prayers have gone up, and he will find + his way home again. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing closed the Bible, and spoke, as usual. It was all that + teaching should be. Good lessons as to this world; loving pictures of that + to come. She had contrived to impress them, not with the too popular + notion that heaven was a far-off place up in the skies some vague, + millions of miles away, and to which we might be millions of years off; + but that it was very near to them: that God was ever present with them; + and that Death, when he came, should be looked upon as a friend, not an + enemy. Hamish was three and twenty years old now, and he loved those + minutes of instruction as he had done when a child. They had borne their + fruit for him, and for all: though not, perhaps, in an equal degree. + </p> + <p> + The reading over, and the conversation over, she gave the book to + Constance to put away, and the boys rose, and prepared to enter upon their + several occupations. It was not the beginning of the day for Tom and + Charles, for they had been already to early school. + </p> + <p> + “Is papa so very much worse to-day, mamma?” asked Tom. + </p> + <p> + “I did not say he was worse, Tom,” replied Mrs. Channing. “I said he had + passed a restless night, and felt tired and weak.” + </p> + <p> + “Thinking over that confounded lawsuit,” cried hot, thoughtless Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas!” reproved Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, mamma. Unorthodox words are the fashion in school, and + one catches them up. I forget myself when I repeat them before you.” + </p> + <p> + “To repeat them before me is no worse than repeating them behind me, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + Tom laughed. “Very true, mamma. It was not a logical excuse. But I am sure + the news, brought to us by the mail on Wednesday night, is enough to put a + saint out of temper. Had there been anything unjust in it, had the money + not been rightly ours, it would have been different; but to be deprived of + what is legally our own—” + </p> + <p> + “Not legally—as it turns out,” struck in Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Justly, then,” said Tom. “It’s too bad—especially as we don’t know + what we shall do without it.” + </p> + <p> + “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 without it: it + remains to be proved whether we shall not do better than with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Children, I wish to say a word to you upon this subject,” said Mrs. + Channing. “When the news arrived, I was, you know, almost overwhelmed by + 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 worst aspect; a far + more sombre one than the case really merited. But, now that I have had + time to see it in its true light, my disappointment has subsided. I + consider that we took a completely wrong view of it. Had the decision + deprived us of the income we enjoy, then indeed it would have been + grievous; but in reality it deprives us of nothing. Not one single + privilege that we possessed before, does it take from us; not a single + outlay will it cost us. We looked to this money to do many things 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 we must gradually pay + off in the best way we can; it takes from us the power to article Arthur, + and it straitens us in many ways, for, as you grow up, you grow more + expensive. This is the extent of the ill, except—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mamma, you forget! The worst ill of all is, that papa cannot now go + to Germany.” + </p> + <p> + “I was about to say that, Arthur. But other means for his going thither + may be found. Understand me, my dears: I do not see any means, or chance + of means, at present: you must not fancy that; but it is possible that + they may arise with the time of need. One service, at any rate, the + decision has rendered me.” + </p> + <p> + “Service?” echoed Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” smiled Mrs. Channing. “It has proved to me that my children are + loving and dutiful. Instead of repining, as some might, they are already + seeking how they may make up, themselves, for the money that has not come. + And Constance begins it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t fear us, mother,” cried Hamish, with his sunny smile. “We will be + of more use to you yet than the money would have been.” + </p> + <p> + They dispersed—Hamish to his office, Arthur to Mr. Galloway’s, Tom + and Charles to the cloisters, that famous playground of the college + school. Stolen pleasures, it is said, are sweetest; and, just because + there had been a stir lately amongst the cathedral clergy, touching the + desirability of forbidding the cloisters to the boys for play, so much the + more eager were they to frequent them. + </p> + <p> + As Arthur was going down Close Street, he encountered Mr. Williams, the + cathedral organist, striding along with a roll of music in his hand. He + was Arthur’s music-master. When Arthur Channing was in the choir, a + college schoolboy, he had displayed considerable taste for music; and it + was decided that he should learn the organ. He had continued to take + lessons after he left the choir, and did so still. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of coming round to speak to you to-day, Mr. Williams.” + </p> + <p> + “What about?” asked the organist. “Anything pressing?” + </p> + <p> + “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 at home; + but it is of no use spending money that might be saved. But I see you are + in too great a hurry, to stay to talk now.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry! I am hurried off my legs,” cried the organist. “If a dozen or two + of my pupils would give up learning, as you talk of doing, I should only + be obliged to them. I have more work than I can attend to. And now Jupp + must go and lay himself up, and I have the services to attend myself, + morning and afternoon!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jupp was assistant-organist. An apprentice to Mr. Williams, but just + out of his time. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with Jupp?” asked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “A little bit of fever, and a great deal of laziness,” responded Mr. + Williams. “He is the laziest fellow alive. Since his uncle died, and that + money came to him, he doesn’t care a straw how things go. He was copyist + to the cathedral, and he gave that up last week. I have asked Sandon, the + lay-clerk, if he will take the copying, but he declines. He is another + lazy one.” + </p> + <p> + The organist hurried off. Arthur strove to detain him for another word or + two, but it was of no use. So he continued his way to Mr. Galloway’s. + </p> + <p> + Busy enough were his thoughts there. His fingers were occupied with + writing, but his mind went roaming without leave. This post of copyist of + music to the cathedral, which appeared to be going begging; why should not + he undertake it, if Mr. Williams would give it to him? He was quite 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, or twelve, or fifteen + pounds a year, he fancied it might bring in. Better that, than nothing; it + would be a beginning to follow in the wake that Constance had commenced; + and he could do it of an evening, or at other odd times. “I won’t lose an + hour in asking for it,” thought Arthur. + </p> + <p> + At one o’clock, when he was released from the office, he ran through the + Boundaries to the cloisters, intending to pass through them on his way to + the house of the organist, that being rather a nearer road to it, 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 the organist who was playing. + Arthur tried the cathedral door, found it open, and went it. + </p> + <p> + It was Mr. Williams. He had been trying some new music, and rose from the + organ as Arthur reached the top of the stairs, no very pleasant expression + on his countenance. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” asked Arthur, perceiving that something had put him + out. + </p> + <p> + “I hate ingratitude,” responded Mr. Williams. “Jenkins,” he called out to + the old bedesman, who had been blowing for him, “you may go to your + dinner; I shan’t want you any more now.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jenkins hobbled down from the organ-loft, and Mr. Williams continued + to Arthur: + </p> + <p> + “Would you believe that Jupp has withdrawn himself utterly?” + </p> + <p> + “From the college?” exclaimed Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “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 to send + him to his relatives in the Scotch mountains for some months, to try and + brace him up. Not a word of apology, for leaving me at a pinch.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be very inconvenient for you,” said Arthur. “I suppose that new + apprentice of yours is of no use yet for the services?” + </p> + <p> + “Use!” irascibly retorted Mr. Williams, “he could not play a psalm if it + were to save his life. I depended upon Jupp. It was an understood thing + that he should remain with me as assistant; had it not been, I should have + taken good care to bring somebody on to replace him. As to attending the + services on week-days myself, it is next door to an impossibility. If I + do, my teaching will be ruined.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I was at liberty,” said Arthur; “I would take them for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Channing,” said the organist. “Since I had this information of + old Jupp’s, my brain has been worrying itself pretty well, as you may + imagine. Now, there’s no one I would rather trust to take the week-day + services than you, for you are fully capable, and I have trained you into + my own style of playing: I never could get Jupp entirely into it; he is + too fond of noise and flourishes. It has struck me that perhaps Mr. + Galloway might spare you: his office is not overdone with work, and I + would make it worth your while.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur, somewhat bewildered at the proposal, sat down on one of the + stools, and stared. + </p> + <p> + “You will not be offended at my saying this. I speak in consequence of + your telling me, this morning, you could not afford to go on with your + lessons,” continued the organist. “But for that, I should not have thought + of proposing such a thing to you. What capital practice it would be for + you, too!” + </p> + <p> + “The best proof to convince you I am not offended, is to tell you what + brings me here now,” said Arthur in a cordial tone. “I understood, this + morning, that you were at a loss for some one to undertake the copying of + the cathedral music: I have come to ask you to give it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You may have it, and welcome,” said Mr. Williams. “That’s nothing; I want + to know about the services.” + </p> + <p> + “It would take me an hour, morning and afternoon, from the office,” + debated Arthur. “I wonder whether Mr. Galloway would let me go an hour + earlier and stay an hour later to make up for it?” + </p> + <p> + “You can put the question to him. I dare say he will: especially as he is + on terms of friendship with your father. I would give you—let me + see,” deliberated the organist, falling into a musing attitude—“twelve + pounds 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 practise them + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s face flushed. It was a great temptation: and the question flashed + into his mind whether it would not be well to leave Mr. Galloway’s, as his + prospects there appeared to be blighted, and embrace this, if that + gentleman declined to allow him the necessary hours of absence. Fifty + pounds a year! “And,” he spoke unconsciously aloud, “there would be the + copying besides.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s not much,” cried the organist. “That’s paid by the sheet.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like it excessively!” exclaimed Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Well, just turn it over in your mind. But you must let me know at once, + Channing; by to-morrow at the latest. If you cannot take it, I must find + some one else.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur Channing went out of the cathedral, hardly knowing whether he stood + on his head or his heels. “Constance said that God would help us!” was his + grateful thought. + </p> + <p> + Such a whirlwind of noise! Arthur, when he reached the cloisters, found + himself in the midst of the college boys, who were just let out of school. + Leaping, shouting, pushing, scuffling, playing, contending! Arthur had not + so very long ago been a college boy himself, and enjoyed the fun. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, old fellows—jolly?” + </p> + <p> + They gathered around him. Arthur was a favourite with them; had been + always, when he was in the school. The elder boys loftily commanded off + the juniors, who had to retire to a respectful distance. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Channing, there’s the stunningest go!” began Bywater, dancing a + triumphant hornpipe. “You know Jupp? Well, he has been and sent in word to + Williams that he is going to die, or something of that sort, and it’s + necessary he should be off on the spree, to get himself well again. Old + Jupp came this morning, just as college was over, and said it: and + Williams is in the jolliest rage; going to be left without any one to take + the organ. It will just pay him out, for being such a tyrant to us + choristers.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am going to take it,” returned Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “You?—what a cram!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not, indeed,” said Arthur. “I shall take it if I can get leave from + Mr. Galloway. Williams has just asked me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that true, Arthur?” burst forth Tom Channing, elbowing his way to the + front. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Tom, should I say it if it were not true? I only hope Mr. Galloway + will throw no difficulty in my way.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you mean to say that you are going to be cock over us choristers?” + asked Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” laughed Arthur. “Mr. Williams will best fill that honour. + Bywater, has the mystery of the inked surplice come to light?” + </p> + <p> + “No, and be shot to it! The master’s in a regular way over it, though, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think?” eagerly interrupted Tod Yorke, whose face was + ornamented with several shades of colour, blue, green, and yellow, the + result of the previous day’s pugilistic encounter: “my brother Roland + heard the master say he suspected one of the seniors.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur Channing looked inquiringly at Gaunt. The latter tossed his head + haughtily. “Roland Yorke must have made some mistake,” he observed to + Arthur. “It is perfectly out of the question that the master can suspect a + senior. I can’t imagine where the school could have picked up the notion.” + </p> + <p> + 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 committing such a + thing as that, any one of you,” he laughed. “It is curious where the + notion can have come from.” + </p> + <p> + “Such absurdity!” ejaculated Gerald Yorke. “As if it were likely Pye would + suspect one of us seniors! It’s not credible.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all credible that you would do it,” said Arthur. “Had it been the + result of accident, of course you would have hastened to declare it, any + one of you three.” + </p> + <p> + As Arthur spoke, he involuntarily turned his eyes on the sea of faces + behind the three seniors, as if searching for signs in some countenance + among them, by which he might recognize the culprit. + </p> + <p> + “My goodness!” uttered the senior boy, to Arthur. “Had any one of those + three 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 for things that a senior cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, there’d be the losing his chance of the seniorship, and of the + exhibition,” cried one from the throng of boys in the rear. + </p> + <p> + “How are you progressing for the seniorship?” asked Arthur, of the three. + “Which of you stands the best chance?” + </p> + <p> + “I think Channing does,” freely spoke up Harry Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because our progress is so equal that I don’t think one will get ahead of + another, so that the choice cannot be made that way; and Channing’s name + stands first on the rolls.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is to know if they’ll give us fair play and no humbug?’ said Tom + Channing. + </p> + <p> + “If they do, it will be what they have never given yet!” exclaimed Stephen + Bywater. “Kissing goes by favour.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I heard that the dean—” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a boy dashed into the throng, scattering it right and left. + “Where are your eyes?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Close upon them was the dean. Arm in arm with him, in his hat and apron, + walked the Bishop of Helstonleigh. The boys stood aside and took off their + trenchers. The dean merely raised his hand in response to the salutation—he + appeared to be deep in thought; but the bishop nodded freely among them. + </p> + <p> + “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 of + Helstonleigh,” said Harry Huntley, when the clergy were beyond hearing, + continuing the sentence he had been interrupted in. “I say that, with fair + play, it will be Channing’s; failing Channing, it will be mine; failing + me, it will be Yorke’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, then!” retorted Gerald Yorke. “Why should you have the chance before + me, pray?” + </p> + <p> + Huntley laughed. “Only that my name heads yours on the rolls.” + </p> + <p> + Once in three years there fell an exhibition for Helstonleigh College + school, to send a boy to Oxford. It would be due the following Easter. + Gaunt declined to compete for it; he would leave the school at Michaelmas; + and it was a pretty generally understood thing that whichever of the three + mentioned boys should be appointed senior in his place, would be presented + with the exhibition. Channing and Yorke most ardently desired to gain it; + both of them from the same motive—want of funds at home to take them + to the university. If Tom Channing did not gain it, he was making up his + mind to pocket pride, and go as a servitor. Yorke would not have done such + a thing for the world; all the proud Yorke blood would be up in arms, at + one of their name appearing as a servitor at Oxford. No. If Gerald Yorke + should lose the exhibition, Lady Augusta must manage to screw out funds to + send him. He and Tom Channing were alike designed for the Church. Harry + Huntley had no such need: the son of a gentleman of good property, the + exhibition was of little moment to him, in a pecuniary point of view; + indeed, a doubt had been whispered amongst the boys, whether Mr. Huntley + would allow Harry to take advantage of it, if he did gain it, for he was a + liberal-minded and just man. Harry, of course, desired to be the + successful one, for fame’s sake, just as ardently as did Channing and + Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “I’m blessed if here isn’t that renowned functionary, Jack Ketch!” + </p> + <p> + The exclamation came from young Galloway. Limping in at one of the + cloister doors, came the cloister porter, a surly man of sixty, whose + temper was not improved by periodical attacks of lumbago. He and the + college boys were open enemies. The porter would have rejoiced in denying + them the cloisters altogether; and nothing had gladdened his grim old + heart like the discussion which was said to have taken place between the + dean and chapter, concerning the propriety of shutting out the boys and + their noise from the cloisters, as a playground. He bore an unfortunate + name—Ketch—and the boys, you may be very sure, did not fail to + take advantage of it, joining to it sundry embellishments, more pointed + than polite. + </p> + <p> + He came up, a ragged gig-whip in his hand, which he was fond of smacking + round the throng of boys. He had never yet ventured to touch one of them, + and perhaps it was just as well for him that he had not. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you boys! be off, with your hullabaloo! Is this a decent noise to + make around gentlefolks’ doors? You don’t know, may be, as Dr. Burrows is + in town.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Burrows happened to live in a house which had a door opening to the + cloisters. 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. + </p> + <p> + “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 really believe + it is Sir John Ketch. What’s that in his hand?—a piece of rope? + Surely, Mr. Ketch, you have not been turning off that unfortunate prisoner + who was condemned yesterday? Rather hasty work, sir; was it not?” + </p> + <p> + 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 ‘em on! Take + care, young gent, as I don’t complain of you to the dean. Seniors have + been hoisted afore now.” + </p> + <p> + “Have they, really? Well, you ought to know, Mr. Calcraft. There’s the + dean, 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 he won’t report + Mr. Gaunt for punishment.” + </p> + <p> + The porter could have danced with rage; and his whip was smacking + ominously. He did not dare advance it too near the circle when the senior + boy was present, or indeed, when any of the elder boys were. + </p> + <p> + “How’s your lumbago, Mr. Ketch?” demanded Stephen Bywater. “I’d advise you + to get rid of that, before the next time you go on duty; it might be in + your way, you know. Never was such a thing heard of, as for the chief + toppler-off of the three kingdoms to be disabled in his limbs! What <i>would</i> + you do? I’m afraid you’d be obliged to resign your post, and sink into + private life.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I just vow to goodness, as I’ll do all I can to get these cloisters + took from you boys,” shrieked old Ketch, clasping his hands together. + “There’s insults as flesh and blood can’t stand; and, as sure as I’m + living, I’ll pay you out for it.” + </p> + <p> + He turned tail and hobbled off, as he spoke, and the boys raised “three + groans for Jack Ketch,” and then rushed away by the other entrance to + their own dinners. The fact was, the porter had brought ill will upon + himself, through his cross-grained temper. He had no right whatever to + interfere between the boys and the cloisters; it was not his place to do + so. The king’s scholars knew this; and, being spirited king’s scholars, as + they were, would not stand it. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said Arthur Channing, “don’t say anything at home about the organ. + Wait and see if I get it, first. Charley did not hear; he was ordered off + with the juniors.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. — THE ASSISTANT-ORGANIST. + </h2> + <p> + Things often seem to go by the rule of contrary. Arthur returned to the + office at two o’clock, brimful of the favour he was going to solicit of + Mr. Galloway; but he encountered present disappointment. For the first + time for many weeks, Mr. Galloway did not make his appearance in the + office at all; he was out the whole of the afternoon. Roland Yorke, to + whom Arthur confided the plan, ridiculed it. + </p> + <p> + “Catch me taking such a task upon myself! If I could play the organ like a + Mendelssohn, and send the folks into ecstasies, I’d never saddle myself + with the worry of doing it morning and afternoon. You’ll soon be sick of + the bargain, Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “I should never be sick of it, if I did it for nothing: I am too fond of + music for that. And it will be a very easy way of earning money.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so easy as making your mother stump up,” was the reply. And if your + refinement turns from the expression, my good reader, I am sorry you + should have to read it; but it is what Mr. Roland Yorke <i>said</i>. “I + had a regular scene with Lady Augusta this morning. It’s the most + unreasonable thing in the world, you know, Channing, for her to think I + can live without money, and so I told her—said I must and would have + it, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did. I wanted to pay Simms, and one or two more trifles that + were pressing; I was not going to have the fellow here after me again. I + wish such a thing as money had never been invented!” + </p> + <p> + “You may as well wish we could live without eating.” + </p> + <p> + “So I do, sometimes—when I go home, expecting a good dinner, and + there’s only some horrid cold stuff upon the table. There never was a + worse housekeeper than Lady Augusta. It’s my belief, our servants must + live like fighting cocks; for I am sure the bills are heavy enough, and <i>we</i> + don’t get the benefit of them.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you so late this afternoon?” asked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I went round to pay Simms, for one thing; and then I called in upon + Hamish, and stayed talking with him. Wasn’t he in a sea of envy when I + told him I had been scoring off that Simms! He wished he could do the + same.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish does not owe anything to Simms!” cried Arthur, with hasty retort. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t he?” laughed Roland Yorke. “That’s all you know about it. Ask him + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, sir,” interposed Mr. Jenkins, at this juncture, “I shall + soon be waiting for that paper. Mr. Galloway directed me to send it off by + post.” + </p> + <p> + “Bother the paper!” returned Roland; but, nevertheless, he applied himself + to complete it. He was in the habit of discoursing upon private topics + before Jenkins without any reserve, regarding him as a perfect nonentity. + </p> + <p> + When Arthur went home in the evening, he found Mr. Galloway sitting with + his father. “Well,” cried the proctor, as Arthur entered, “and who has + been at the office this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “No one in particular, sir. Oh yes, there was, though—I forgot. The + dean looked in, and wanted to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he want?” + </p> + <p> + “He did not say, sir. He told Jenkins it would do another time.” Arthur + left his father and Mr. Galloway together. He did not broach the subject + that was uppermost in his heart. Gifted with rare delicacy of feeling, he + would not speak to Mr. Galloway until he could see him alone. To prefer + the request in his father’s presence might have caused Mr. Galloway more + trouble in refusing it. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t think what has happened to Arthur this evening!” exclaimed one of + them. “His spirits are up to fever heat. Tell us what it is, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur laughed. “I hope they will not be lowered to freezing point within + the next hour; that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + When he heard Mr. Galloway leaving, he hastened after him, and overtook + him in the Boundaries. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to say a few words to you, sir, if you please?” + </p> + <p> + “Say on,” said Mr. Galloway. “Why did you not say them indoors?” + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely know how I shall say them now, sir; for it is a very great + favour that I have to ask you, and you may be angry, perhaps, at my + thinking you might grant it.” + </p> + <p> + “You want a holiday, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, sir; nothing of that sort. I want—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” cried Mr. Galloway, surprised at his hesitation; but now that the + moment of preferring the request had come, Arthur shrank from doing it. + </p> + <p> + “Could you allow me, sir—would it make very much difference—to + allow me—to come to the office an hour earlier, and remain in it an + hour later?” stammered Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” exclaimed Mr. Galloway, with marked surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I have had an offer made me, sir, to take the cathedral organ at week-day + service. I should very much like to accept it, if it could be managed.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, where’s Jupp?” uttered Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Jupp has resigned. He is ill, and is going out for his health. I’ll tell + you how it all happened,” went on Arthur, losing diffidence now that he + was fairly launched upon his subject. “Of course, this failure of the suit + makes a great difference to our prospects at home; it renders it incumbent + upon us to do what we can to help—” + </p> + <p> + “Why does it?” interrupted Mr. Galloway. “It may make a difference to your + future ease, but it makes none to your present means.” + </p> + <p> + “There is money wanted in many ways, sir; a favourable termination to the + suit was counted upon so certainly. For one thing, it is necessary that my + father should try the German baths.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, he must try them,” cried Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “But it will cost money, sir,” deprecated Arthur. “Altogether, we have + determined to do what we can. Constance has set us the example, by + engaging herself as daily governess at Lady Augusta’s. She goes on + Monday.” + </p> + <p> + “Very commendable of her,” observed the proctor, who loved a gossip like + any old woman. “I hope she’ll not let those two unruly girls worry her to + death.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was casting about in my mind, this morning, what I could do to + help, when I met the organist,” proceeded Arthur. “He chanced to say that + he could find no one to take the music copying. Well, sir, I thought 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 his post, and Mr. + Williams had no one to replace him. The long and the short of it is, sir, + that he offered it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And did you accept it?” crossly responded Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I could not do that, sir, until I had spoken to you. If it were + possible that I could make up the two hours to you, I should be very glad + to take it.” + </p> + <p> + “And do it for nothing, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. He would give me fifty pounds a year. And there would be the + copying besides.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a great deal!” cried Mr. Galloway. “It appears to me to be good + pay,” replied Arthur. “But he would lose a great deal more than that, if + he had to attend the cathedral himself. He said it would ruin his + teaching.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! self-interest—two for himself and one for you!” ejaculated the + proctor. “What does Mr. Channing say?” + </p> + <p> + “I have said nothing at home. It was of no use telling them, until I had + spoken to you. Now that my prospects are gone—” + </p> + <p> + “What prospects?” interrupted Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “My articles to you, sir. Of course there’s no chance of that now.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway grunted. “The ruin that Chancery suits work! Mark you, Arthur + Channing, this is such a thing as was never asked a proctor before—leave + of absence for two hours in the best part of the day! If I grant it, it + will be out of the great friendship I bear your father.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir! I shall never forget the obligation.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care you don’t. You must come and work for two hours before + breakfast in a morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly—readily!” exclaimed Arthur Channing, his face glowing. + “Then may I really tell Mr. Williams that I can accept it?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Arthur was startled. “What now, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you to be instructor to those random animals, the choristers?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no: I shall have nothing to do with that.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. If you <i>had</i> taken to them, I should have recommended you + to guard against such a specimen of singing as was displayed the other day + before the judges.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur laughed; spoke a word of heartfelt thanks; and took his way + off-hand to the residence of the organist as light as any bird. + </p> + <p> + “I have obtained leave, Mr. Williams; I may take your offer!” he exclaimed + with scant ceremony, when he found himself in that gentleman’s presence, + who was at tea with his wife. “Mr. Galloway has authorized me to accept + it. How do you do, Mrs. Williams?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a great weight off my mind, then!” cried the organist. “I set that + dolt of an apprentice of mine to play the folks out of college, this + afternoon, when service was over, and—of all performances! Six + mistakes he made in three bars, and broke down at last. I could have boxed + his ears. The dean was standing below when I went down. ‘Who was that + playing, Mr. Williams?’ he demanded. So, I told him about Jupp’s + ill-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 fine ear + for music the dean has:—‘besides,’ he added, ‘is he not at + Galloway’s?’ I said we hoped Mr. Galloway would spare you, and that I + would answer for your competency. So, mind, Channing, you must put on the + steam, and not disgrace my guarantee. I don’t mean the steam of <i>noise</i>, + or that you should go through the service with all the stops out.” + </p> + <p> + 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 on his + road, he overtook Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you spring from?” exclaimed Hamish, passing his arm within + Arthur’s. + </p> + <p> + “From concluding an agreement that will bring me in fifty pounds a year,” + said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Gammon, Master Arthur!” + </p> + <p> + “It is <i>not</i> gammon, Hamish. It is sober truth.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish turned and looked at him, aroused by something in the tone. “And + what are you to do for it?” + </p> + <p> + “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 <i>wonderful</i>, + that this help should so soon have come to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay! Where are you going?” interrupted Hamish, as Arthur was turning + into a side-street. + </p> + <p> + “This is the nearest way home.” + </p> + <p> + “I had rather not go that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” exclaimed Arthur, in surprise. “Hamish, how funny you look! What is + the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Must I tell you? It is for your ear alone, mind. There’s a certain + tradesman’s house down there that I’d rather not pass; he has a habit of + coming out and dunning me. Do you remember Mr. Dick Swiveller?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish laughed gaily. He would have laughed on his road to prison: it was + in his nature. But Arthur seemed to take a leap from his high ropes. “Is + it Simms?” he breathed. + </p> + <p> + “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 luck of + yours?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur did not immediately reply. A dark shadow had fallen upon his + spirit, as a forerunner of evil. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. — HAMISH’S CANDLES. + </h2> + <p> + 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 Judith indulging + in a moment’s idleness. She appeared to be holding soliloquy with herself. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the most incomprehensible thing in the world! I have heard of ghosts—and, + talking about ghosts, that child was in a tremor, last night, again—I’m + sure he was. Brave little heart! he goes up to bed in the dark on purpose + to break himself of the fear. I went in for them shirts missis told me of, + and he started like anything, and his face turned 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 a light, 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 I only wish I could get that wicked girl punished + as I’d punish her, for it was her work. But about the t’other? I have + heard of ghosts walking—though, thank goodness, I’m not frightened + at ‘em, like the child 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 I never did hear on. If it was once in a way, ‘twould be a + different thing; but it’s always. I’m sure it’s pretty nigh a year since—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Judith, you are in a brown study!” + </p> + <p> + The interruption came from Constance, who had entered the kitchen to give + an order. Judith looked up. + </p> + <p> + “I’m in a peck of trouble, Miss Constance. And the worst is, I don’t know + whether to tell about it, or to keep it in. He’d not like it to get to the + missis’s ears, I know: but then, you see, perhaps I ought to tell her—for + his sake.” + </p> + <p> + Constance smiled. “Would you like to tell me, instead of mamma? Charley + has been at some mischief again, among the saucepans? Burnt out more + bottoms, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “Not he, the darling!” resentfully rejoined Judith. “The burning out of + that one was enough for him. I’m sure he took contrition to himself, as if + it had been made of gold.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “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 <i>will</i> + tell you, Miss Constance, and it’ll be, so far, a weight off my mind. 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, in all my born + days.” + </p> + <p> + Constance felt a little startled. “What does he do?” she hastily asked. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Miss Constance, my bedroom’s overhead, above the kitchen here, + and, being built out on the side, I can see the windows at the back 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 twelvemonth ago—I’m + sure its not far short of it—I took to notice that the light in Mr. + Hamish’s chamber wasn’t put out so soon as it was in the other rooms. So, + one night, when I was half-crazy with that face-ache—you remember my + having it, Miss Constance?—and knew I shouldn’t get to sleep, 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 morning his light + was still burning?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Constance, feeling the tale was not half told. + </p> + <p> + “I thought, what on earth could he be after? I might have feared that he + had got into bed and left it alight by mistake, but that I saw his shadow + once or twice pass the blind. Well, I didn’t say a word to him next 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 light was in. Miss + Constance, I thought I’d trick him: so I took care to put just 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 not candle-ends that will + stop ‘em!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean that the light burnt still, in spite of your inch of + candle?” said Constance. + </p> + <p> + “It just did,” returned Judith. “He gets into my kitchen and robs my + candle-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 at the back. Two + great big composite candles it had in it, and another half burnt away. Oh, + this is where you keep your store, my young master, is it? I thought. They + were them big round things, which seems never to burn to an end, three to + the pound.” + </p> + <p> + Constance made no reply. Judith gathered breath, and continued: + </p> + <p> + “I took upon myself to speak to him. I told him it wasn’t well for + anybody’s health, to sit up at night, in that fashion; not counting the + danger he ran of setting the house on fire and burning us all to cinders + in our beds. He laughed—you know his way, Miss Constance—and + said he’d take care of his health and of the house, and I was just to make + myself easy and hold my tongue, and that <i>I</i> need not be uneasy about + fire, for I could open my window and drop into the rain-water barrel, 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, I have never + opened my lips about it to anybody living.” + </p> + <p> + “And he burns the light still?” + </p> + <p> + “Except Saturday and Sunday nights, it’s always alight, longer or shorter. + Them two nights, he gets into bed respectable, as the rest of the house + do. You have noticed, Miss Constance, that, the evenings he is not out, + he’ll go up to his chamber by half-past nine or ten?” + </p> + <p> + “Frequently,” assented Constance. “As soon as the reading is over, he will + wish us good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, them nights, when he goes up early, he puts his light out sooner—by + twelve, or by half-past, or by one; but when he spends his evenings out, + not getting home until eleven, he’ll have it burning till two or three in + the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “What can he sit up for?” involuntarily exclaimed Constance. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, unless it is that the work at the office is too heavy for + him,” said Judith. “He has his own work to do there, and master’s as + well.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not at all heavy,” said Constance. “There is an additional clerk + since papa’s illness, you know. It cannot be that.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He takes—them—for safety,” spoke Constance, in a very + hesitating manner, as if not feeling perfectly assured of the grounds for + her assertion. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe,” sniffed Judith, in disbelief. “It can’t be that he sits up to + read,” she resumed. “Nobody in their senses would do that. Reading may be + pleasant to some folks, especially them story-books; but sleep is + pleasanter. This last two or three blessed nights, since that ill news + come to make us miserable, I question if he has gone to bed at all, for + his candle has only been put out when daylight came to shame it.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Judith, how do you know all this?” exclaimed Constance, after a few + minutes’ reflection. “You surely don’t sit up to watch the light?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty fit I should be for my work in the morning, if I did! No, Miss + Constance. I moved my bed round to the other corner, so as I could see his + window as I lay in it; and I have got myself into a habit of waking up at + all hours and looking. Truth to say, I’m not easy: fire is sooner set + alight than put out: and if there’s the water-butt for me to drop into, + there ain’t water-butts for the rest of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” murmured Constance, speaking as if she were in reflection. + </p> + <p> + “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 the morning + has come, my resolution has failed me. It might worry her, and anger Mr. + Hamish, and do no good after all. If he really has not time for his books + in the day, why he must do ‘em at night, I suppose; it would never do for + him to fall off, and let the master’s means drop through. What ought to be + done, Miss Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “I really do not know, Judith,” replied Constance. “You must let me think + about it.” + </p> + <p> + She fell into an unpleasant reverie. The most feasible solution she could + come to, was the one adopted by Judith—that Hamish passed his nights + at the books. If so, how sadly he must idle away his time in the day! Did + he give his hours up to nonsense and pleasure? And how could he contrive + to hide his shortcomings from Mr. Channing? Constance was not sure whether + the books went regularly under the actual inspection of Mr. Channing, or + whether Hamish went over them aloud. If only the latter, could the faults + be concealed? She knew nothing of book-keeping, and was unable to say. + Leaving her to puzzle over the matter, we will return to Hamish himself. + </p> + <p> + We left him in the last chapter, you may remember, objecting to go down a + certain side-street which would have cut off a short distance of their + road; his excuse to Arthur being, that a troublesome creditor of his 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 a moderate sum + would have settled them; but that moderate sum Hamish did not possess. Let + us give him his due. But that he had fully counted upon a time of wealth + being close at hand, it is probable that he never would have contracted + them. When Hamish erred, it was invariably from thoughtlessness—from + carelessness—never from deliberate intention. + </p> + <p> + Arthur, of course, turned from the objectionable street, and continued his + straightforward course. They were frequently hindered; the streets were + always crowded at assize time, and acquaintances continually stopped them. + Amongst others, they met Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming round to Cator’s, to-night?” he asked of Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” returned Hamish, with his usual gay laugh. “I am going to draw in + my expenses, and settle down into a miser.” + </p> + <p> + “Moonshine!” cried Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Is it moonshine, though? It is just a little bit of serious fact, Yorke. + When lord chancellors turn against us and dash our hopes, we can’t go on + as though the exchequer had no bottom to it.” + </p> + <p> + “It will cost you nothing to come to Cator’s. He is expecting one or two + fellows, and has laid in a prime lot of Manillas.” + </p> + <p> + “Evening visiting costs a great deal, one way or another,” returned + Hamish, “and I intend to drop most of mine for the present. You needn’t + stare so, Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “I am staring at you. Drop evening visiting! Any one, dropping that, may + expect to be in a lunatic asylum in six months.” + </p> + <p> + “What a prospect for me!” laughed Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Will</i> you come to Cator’s?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are a muff!” retorted Roland, as he went on. + </p> + <p> + It was dusk when they reached the cathedral. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder whether the cloisters are still open!” Arthur exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “It will not take a minute to ascertain,” said Hamish. “If not, we must go + round.” + </p> + <p> + They found the cloisters still unclosed, and passed in. Gloomy and sombre + were they at that evening hour. So sombre that, in proceeding along the + west quadrangle, the two young men positively started, when some dark + figure glided from within a niche, and stood in their way. + </p> + <p> + “Whose ghost are you?” cried Hamish. + </p> + <p> + A short covert whistle of surprise answered him. “You here!” cried the + figure, in a tone of excessive disappointment. “What brings you in the + cloisters so late?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish dextrously wound him towards what little light was cast from the + graveyard, and discerned the features of Hurst. Half a dozen more figures + brought themselves out of the niches—Stephen Bywater, young + Galloway, Tod Yorke, Harrison, Hall, and Berkeley. + </p> + <p> + “Let me alone, Mr. Hamish Channing. Hush! Don’t make a row.” + </p> + <p> + “What mischief is going on, Hurst?” asked Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “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 go through, + without coming bothering into the cloisters?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to have spoiled sport,” laughed Hamish. “I should not have + liked it done to me when I was a college boy. Let us know what the treason + was.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t tell!” + </p> + <p> + “No; if it is nothing very bad. Honour bright.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a bit, Hurst,” hastily interposed Bywater. “There’s no knowing what + he may think ‘very bad.’ Give generals, not particulars. Here the fellow + comes, I do believe!” + </p> + <p> + “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 spoil + sport for another time. Gently, boys!” + </p> + <p> + Hurst and the rest stole round the cloisters, and out at the south door. + Hamish and Arthur followed, more leisurely, and less silently. Ketch came + up. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s this here, a-haunting the cloisters at this time o’ night? Who be + you, I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “The cloisters are free until they are closed, Ketch,” cried Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody haven’t no right to pass through ‘em at this hour, except the + clergy theirselves,” grumbled the porter. “We shall have them boys + a-playing in ‘em at dark, next.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The porter growled. He knew that he did not dare to close them before + dusk, almost dark, and he knew that Hamish knew it too; and therefore he + 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 ‘ud be a + jovial day for me!” + </p> + <p> + Hamish and Arthur passed out, wishing him good night. He did not reply to + it, but banged the gate on their heels, locked it, and turned to retrace + his steps through the cloisters. The college boys, who had hidden + themselves from his view, came forward again. + </p> + <p> + “He has got off scot-free to-night, but perhaps he won’t do so to-morrow,” + cried Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “Were you going to set upon him?” asked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “We were not going to put a finger upon him; I give you my word, we were + not,” said Hurst. + </p> + <p> + “What, then, were you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + 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 it out + to Gaunt; and Gaunt might turn crusty and forbid it. We were going to + serve the fellow out; but not to touch him or to hurt him; and that’s + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” said Hamish. “He is a surly old fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “He is an old brute! he’s a dog in a kennel! he deserves hanging!” burst + from the throng of boys. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think he went and did this afternoon?” added Hurst to the two + Channings. “He sneaked up to the dean with a wretched complaint of us + boys, which hadn’t a word of truth in it; not a syllable, I assure you. He + did it only because Gaunt had put him in a temper at one o’clock. The dean + did not listen to him, that’s one good thing. How <i>jolly</i> he’d have + been, just at this moment, if you two had not come up! Wouldn’t he, boys?” + </p> + <p> + The boys burst into a laugh; roar upon roar, peal upon peal; shrieking and + 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. + </p> + <p> + But Arthur was heavy at heart in the midst of it. “Do you owe much money, + Hamish?” he inquired, after they had left the boys, and were walking + soberly along, under the quiet elm-trees. + </p> + <p> + “More than I can pay, old fellow, just at present,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “But is it <i>much</i>, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not much, taking it in the abstract. Quite a trifling sum.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur caught at the word “trifling;” it seemed to dissipate his fears. + Had he been alarming himself for nothing! “Is it ten pounds, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten pounds!” repeated Hamish, in a tone of mockery. “That would be little + indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it fifty?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say it may be. A pound here and a pound there, and a few pounds + elsewhere—yes, taking it altogether, I expect it would be fifty.” + </p> + <p> + “And how much more?” thought Arthur to himself. “You said it was a + trifling sum, Hamish!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, fifty pounds is not a large sum. Though, of course, we estimate + sums, like other things, by comparison. You can understand now, why I was + not sanguine with regard to Constance’s hopeful project of helping my + father to get to the German baths. I, the eldest, who ought to be the + first to assist in it, am the least likely to do so. I don’t know how I + managed to get into debt,” mused Hamish. “It came upon me imperceptibly; + it did, indeed. I depended so entirely upon that money falling to us, that + I grew careless, and would often order things which I was not in need of. + Arthur, since that news came, I have felt overwhelmed with worry and + botheration.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were free!” + </p> + <p> + “If wishes were horses, we should all be on horseback. How debts grow upon + you!” Hamish continued, changing his light tone for a graver one. “Until + within the last day or two, when I have thought it necessary to take stock + of outstanding claims, I had no idea I owed half so much.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall you do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “That is more easily asked than answered. My own funds are forestalled for + some time to come. And, the worst is, that, now this suit is known to have + terminated against us, people are not so willing to wait as they were + before. I have had no end of them after me to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “How shall you contrive to satisfy them?” + </p> + <p> + “Satisfy them in some way, I must.” + </p> + <p> + “But how, I ask, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “Rob some bank or other,” replied Hamish, in his off-hand, joking way. + </p> + <p> + “Shall you speak to my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the use?” returned Hamish. “He cannot help me just now; he is + straitened enough himself.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I have made up my mind to say nothing to my father. If he could assist + me, I would disclose all to him: as it is, it would only be inflicting + upon him unnecessary pain. Understand, Arthur, what I have said to you is + in confidence: you must not speak of it to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. I should not think of interfering between you and him. I + wish I could help you!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you could, old fellow. But you need not look so serious.” + </p> + <p> + “How you can be so gay and careless over it, I cannot imagine,” said + Arthur. + </p> + <p> + Hamish laughed. “If there’s only a little patch of sunshine as large as a + man’s hand, I am sure to see it and trust to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any sunshine in this?” + </p> + <p> + “A little bit: and I hope it will help me out of it. I am sure I was born + with a large share of hope in my composition.” + </p> + <p> + “Show me the bit of sunshine, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t do that,” was the answer. “I fear it is not so much actual + sunshine that’s to be seen yet—only its reflection. You could not + see it at all, Arthur; but I, as I tell you, am extravagantly hopeful.” + </p> + <p> + The same ever-gay tone, the same pleasant smile, accompanied the words. + And yet, at that moment, instead of walking straightforward into the open + space beyond the elm-trees, as Arthur did, Hamish withdrew his arm from + his brother’s, and halted under their shade, peering cautiously around. + They were then within view of their own door. + </p> + <p> + “What are you looking at?” + </p> + <p> + “To make sure that the coast is clear. I heard to-day—Arthur, I know + that 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.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur was indeed shocked. “Oh, Hamish!” was all he uttered. But the tone + betrayed a strange amount of pain mingled with reproach. + </p> + <p> + “You must not think ill of me. I declare that I have been led into this + scrape blindfolded, as may be said. I never dreamt I was getting into it. + I am not reckless by nature; and, but for the expectation of that money, I + should be as free now as you are.” + </p> + <p> + Thought upon thought was crowding into Arthur’s mind. He did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot charge myself with any foolish or unnecessary expenditure,” + Hamish resumed. “And,” he added in a deeper tone, “my worst enemy will not + accuse me of rashly incurring debts to gratify my own pleasures. I do not + get into mischief. Were I addicted to drinking, or to gambling, my debts + might have been ten times what they are.” + </p> + <p> + “They are enough, it seems,” said Arthur. But he spoke the words in + sadness, not in a spirit of reproof. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur, they may prove of the greatest service, in teaching me caution + for the future. Perhaps I wanted the lesson. Let me once get out of this + hash, and I will take pretty good care not to fall into another.” + </p> + <p> + “If you only can get out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall do it, somehow; never fear. Let us go on, there seems to be + no one about.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. — A FALSE ALARM. + </h2> + <p> + They reached home unmolested. Arthur went straight to Mr. Channing, who + was lying, as usual, on his sofa, and bent over him with a smile, sweet + and hopeful as that of Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Father, may I gain fifty pounds a year, if I can do it, without detriment + to my place at Mr. Galloway’s?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, my boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have any objection to my taking the organ at college on week + days? Mr. Williams has offered it to me.” + </p> + <p> + 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 the office; + and young Jupp takes the organ. What is it that you are talking of?” + </p> + <p> + 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 place to + him, and Mr. Galloway had authorized him to accept it. He should only have + to go to the office for two hours before breakfast in a morning, to make + up for the two lost in the day. + </p> + <p> + “My brave boy!” exclaimed Mr. Channing, making prisoner of his hand. “I + said this untoward loss of the suit might turn out to be a blessing in + disguise. And so it will; it is bringing forth the sterling love of my + children. You are doing this for me, Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “Doing it a great deal for myself, papa. You do not know the gratification + it will be to me, those two hours’ play daily!” + </p> + <p> + “I understand, my dear—understand it all!” + </p> + <p> + “Especially as—” Arthur came to a sudden stop. + </p> + <p> + “Especially as what?” asked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “As I had thought of giving up taking lessons,” Arthur hastily added, not + going deeper into explanations. “I play quite well enough, now, to cease + learning. Mr. Williams said one day, that, with practice, I might soon + equal him.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what those parents do, Arthur, who own ungrateful or rebellious + children!” Mr. Channing exclaimed, after a pause of thought. “The world is + full of trouble; and it is of many kinds, and takes various phases; but if + we can only be happy in our children, all other trouble may pass lightly + over us, as a summer cloud. I thank God that my children have never + brought home to me an hour’s care. How merciful He has been to me!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s thoughts reverted to Hamish and <i>his</i> trouble. He felt + thankful, then, that it was hid from Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I have already accepted the place, papa. I knew I might count upon your + consent.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my warm approbation. My son, do your best at your task. And,” Mr. + Channing added, sinking his voice to a whisper, “when the choristers peal + out their hymn of praise to God, during these sacred services, let <i>your</i> + heart ascend with it in fervent praise and thanksgiving. Too many go + through these services in a matter-of-course spirit, their heart far away. + Do not you.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish at this moment came in, carrying the books. “Are you ready, sir? + There’s not much to do, this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Ready at any time, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish laid the books before him on the table, and sat down. Arthur left + the room. Mr. Channing liked to be alone with Hamish when the accounts + were being gone over. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing was in the drawing-room, some of the children with her. + Arthur entered. “Mrs. Channing,” cried he, with mock ceremony, “allow me + to introduce you to the assistant-organist of the cathedral.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, supposing it to be some joke. “Very well, sir. He can come + in!” + </p> + <p> + “He is in, ma’am. It is myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Is young Mr. Jupp there?” she asked; for he sometimes came home with + Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Young Mr. Jupp has disappeared from public life, and I am appointed in + his place. It is quite true.” + </p> + <p> + “Arthur!” she remonstrated. + </p> + <p> + “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-day services; + and papa is glad of it, and I hope you will be glad also.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> have known of it since this morning,” spoke Tom, with an + assumption of easy consequence; while Mrs. Channing was recovering her + senses, which had been nearly frightened away. “Arthur, I hope Williams + intends to pay you?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty pounds a year, And the copying besides.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Is</i> it true, Arthur?” breathlessly exclaimed Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I have told you that it is, mother mine. Jupp has resigned, and I am + assistant-organist.” + </p> + <p> + Annabel danced round him in an ecstasy of delight. Not at his success—success + or failure did not much trouble Annabel—but she thought 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?” + </p> + <p> + “You little stupid!” cried Tom. “Much good you could do at blowing! A girl + blowing the college organ! That’s rich! Better let Williams catch you + there! She’d actually go, I believe!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not your business, Tom; it is Arthur’s,” retorted Annabel, with + flushed cheeks. “Mamma, can’t you teach Tom to interfere with himself, and + not with me?” + </p> + <p> + “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 the college + bells, as blow the organ, child.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like that,” said Annabel. “Oh, what fun, if the rope went up + with me!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing turned a reproving glance on her, and resumed her + conversation with Arthur. “Why did you not tell me before, my boy? It was + too good news to keep to yourself. How long has it been in contemplation?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear mamma, only to-day. It was only this morning that Jupp resigned.” + </p> + <p> + “Only to-day! It must have been decided very hastily, then, for a measure + of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Williams was so put to it that he took care to lose no time. He spoke + to me at one o’clock. I had gone to him to the cathedral, asking for the + copying, which I heard was going begging, and he broached the other + subject, on the spur of the moment, as it seemed to me. Nothing could be + decided until I had seen Mr. Galloway, and I spoke to him after he left + here, this afternoon. He will allow me to be absent from the office an + hour, morning and afternoon, on condition that I attend for two hours + before breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Arthur, you will have a great deal upon your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Not any too much. It will keep me out of mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “When shall you find time to do the copying?” + </p> + <p> + “In an evening, I suppose. I shall find plenty of time.” + </p> + <p> + As Hamish had observed, there was little to do at the books, that evening, + and he soon left the parlour. Constance happened to be in the hall as he + crossed it, on his way to his bedroom. Judith, who appeared to have been + on the watch, came gliding from the half-opened kitchen door and + approached Constance, looking after Hamish as he went up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see, Miss Constance?” she whispered. “He is carrying the books up + with him, as usual!” + </p> + <p> + At this juncture, Hamish turned round to speak to his sister. “Constance, + I don’t want any supper to-night, tell my mother. You can call me when it + is time for the reading.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is going to set on at ‘em, now, and he’ll be at ‘em till morning + light!” continued Judith’s whisper. “And he’ll drop off into his grave + with decline!—‘taint in the nature of a young man to do without + sleep—and that’ll be the ending! And he’ll burn himself up first, + and all the house with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I will go and speak to him,” debated Constance. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</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.” + </p> + <p> + But Constance hesitated, considerably. She did not at all like to + interfere; 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 have entered. It was + locked. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s there?” called out Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Can I come in for a minute, Hamish? I want to say a word to you.” + </p> + <p> + He did not undo the door immediately. There appeared to be an opening and + 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 the + table, the pen and ink near it; the others were not to be seen. The keys + were in the table lock. A conviction flashed over the mind of Constance + that Judith was right, in supposing the office accounts to be the object + that kept him up. “What can he do with his time in the day?” she thought. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you let me speak to you, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I see you were,” she said, glancing at the ledger. “Hamish, you must not + be offended with me, or think I interfere unwarrantably. I would not do + it, but that I am anxious for you. Why is it that you sit up so late at + night?” + </p> + <p> + 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 Judy been + telling tales?” + </p> + <p> + “Judy is uneasy about it, and she spoke to me this evening. She has + visions of the house being burnt up with every one in it, and of your + fatally injuring your health. I believe she would consider the latter + calamity almost more grievous than the former, for you know you were + always her favourite. Hamish; is there no danger of either?” + </p> + <p> + “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 her + water-butt, and what more can she desire?” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, why do you sit up? Have you not time for your work in the day?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Or else I should do it in the day. I do not sit up enough to hurt me. + I have, on an average, three hours’ night-work, five days in the week; and + if that can damage a strong fellow like me, call me a puny changeling.” + </p> + <p> + “You sit up much longer than that?” + </p> + <p> + “Not often. These light days, I sometimes do not sit up half so long; I + get up in the morning, instead. Constance, you look grave enough for a + judge!” + </p> + <p> + “And you, laughing enough to provoke me. Suppose I tell papa of this habit + of yours, and get him to forbid it?” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear, you would work irreparable mischief,” he replied, becoming + grave in his turn. “Were I to be prevented from doing as I please in my + chamber in this house, I must find a room elsewhere, in which I should be + my own master.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish!” + </p> + <p> + “You oblige me to say it, Constance. You and Judy must lay your heads + together upon some other grievance, for, indeed, for this particular one + there is no remedy. She is an old goose, and you are a young one.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it right that we should submit to the risk of being set on fire?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, if that is the point, I’ll have a fire-escape placed over the + front door every night, and pay a couple of watchmen to act as guardians. + Constance!” again dropping his tone of mockery, “you know that you may + trust me better than that.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Hamish, how do you spend your time, that you cannot complete your + books in the day?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” drawled Hamish, “ours is the laziest office! gossiping and scandal + going on in it from morning till night. In the fatigue induced by that, I + am not sure that I don’t take a nap, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Constance could not tell what to make of him. He was gazing at her with + the most perplexing expression of face, looking ready to burst into a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “One last word, Hamish, for I hear Judith calling to you. Are you obliged + to do this night-work?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will say no more; and things must go on as it seems they have + hitherto done.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur came running upstairs, and Hamish met him at the chamber door. + Arthur, who appeared strangely agitated, began speaking in a half-whisper, + unconscious that his sister was within. She heard every word. + </p> + <p> + “Judy says some young man wants you, Hamish! I fear it may be the fellow + to serve the writ. What on earth is to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “Did Judy say I was at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and has handed him into the study, to wait. Did you not hear her + calling to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t—see him,” Hamish was about to say. “Yes, I will see him,” + he added after a moment’s reflection. “Anything rather than have a + disturbance which might come to my mother’s ears. And I suppose if he + could not serve it now, he would watch for me in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go down first, and hear what he has to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Arthur, boy, it would do no good. I have brought this upon myself, and + must battle with it. A Channing cannot turn coward!” + </p> + <p> + “But he may act with discretion,” said Arthur. “I will speak to the man, + and if there’s no help for it, I’ll call you.” + </p> + <p> + Down flew Arthur, four stairs at a time. Hamish remained with his body + inside 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. + </p> + <p> + “A false alarm, Hamish! It’s only Martin Pope.” + </p> + <p> + “Martin Pope!” echoed Hamish, considerably relieved, for Martin Pope was + an acquaintance of his, and sub-editor of one of the Helstonleigh + newspapers. “Why could not Judy have opened her mouth?” + </p> + <p> + He ran down the stairs, the colour, which had left his face, returning to + it. But it did not to that of Constance; hers had changed to an ashy + whiteness. Arthur saw her standing there; saw that she must have heard and + understood all. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Arthur, has it come to this? Is Hamish in <i>that</i> depth of debt!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! What brought you here, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “What writ is it that he fears? Is there indeed one out against him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know much about it. There may be one.” + </p> + <p> + 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’s + position?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not agitate yourself,” he implored. “It can do no good.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing can do good: nothing, nothing. Oh, what trouble!” + </p> + <p> + “Constance, in the greatest trouble there is always one Refuge.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she mentally thought, bursting into tears. “What, but for that + shelter, would become of us in our bitter hours of trial?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. — THE CLOISTER KEYS. + </h2> + <p> + It was the twenty-second day of the month, and nearly a week after the + date of the last chapter. Arthur Channing sat in his place at the + cathedral organ, playing the psalm for the morning; for the hour was that + of divine service. + </p> + <p> + “O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is gracious: and His mercy endureth + for ever!” + </p> + <p> + The boy’s whole heart went up with the words. <i>He</i> gave thanks: + mercies had come upon him—upon his; and that great dread—which + was turning his 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, in a softer voice, he echoed the sweet song of the choristers below, + verse after verse as each verse rose on the air, filling the aisles of the + old cathedral: how that God delivers those who cry unto Him—those + who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death; those whose hearts fail + through heaviness, who fall down and there is none to help them—He + brings them out of the darkness, and breaks their bonds in sunder. They + that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in great + waters, 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 their agony of + distress cry unto Him to help them; and He hears the cry, and delivers + them. He stills the angry waves, and calms the storm, and brings them into + the haven where they would be; and then they are glad, because they are at + rest. + </p> + <p> + “O that men would therefore praise the Lord for His goodness: and declare + the wonders that He doeth for the children of men! + </p> + <p> + “And again, when they are minished, and brought low: through oppression, + through any plague or trouble; though He suffer them to be evil intreated + through tyrants: and let them wander out of the way in the wilderness; yet + helpeth He the poor out of misery: and maketh him households like a flock + of sheep. + </p> + <p> + “Whoso is wise will ponder these things: and they shall understand the + loving-kindness of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + The refrain died away, the gentle echo died after it, and silence fell + upon the cathedral. It was broken by the voice of the Reverend William + Yorke, giving out the first lesson—a chapter in Jeremiah. + </p> + <p> + At the conclusion of the service, Arthur Channing left the college. In the + cloisters he was overtaken by the choristers, who were hastening back to + the schoolroom. At the same moment Ketch, the porter, passed, coming + towards them from the south entrance of the cloisters. He touched his hat + in his usual ungracious fashion to the dean and Dr. Gardner, who were + turning into the chapter-house, carrying their trenchers, and looked the + other way as he passed the boys. + </p> + <p> + Arthur caught hold of Hurst. “Have you ‘served out’ old Ketch, as you + threatened?” he laughingly asked. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” whispered Hurst. “It has not come off yet. We had an idea that an + inkling of it had got abroad, so we thought it best to keep quiet for a + few nights, lest the Philistines should be on the watch. But the time is + fixed now, and I can tell you that it is not a hundred nights off.” + </p> + <p> + With a shower of mysterious nods and winks, Hurst rushed away and bounded + up the stairs to the schoolroom. Arthur returned to Mr. Galloway’s. “It’s + the awfullest shame!” burst forth Tom Channing that day at dinner (and + allow me to remark, <i>par parenthèse</i>, that, in reading about + schoolboys, you must be content to accept their grammar as it comes); and + he brought the handle of his knife down upon the table in a passion. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas!” uttered Mr. Channing, in amazed reproof. + </p> + <p> + “Well, papa, and so it is! and the school’s going pretty near mad over + it!” returned Tom, turning his crimsoned face upon his father. “Would you + believe that I and Huntley are to be passed over in the chance for the + seniorship, and Yorke is to have it, without reference to merit?” + </p> + <p> + “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 that unseemly + manner. Did you ever know a hot temper do good to its possessor?” + </p> + <p> + “I know I am hot-tempered,” confessed Tom. “I cannot help it, papa; it was + born with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Many of our failings were born with us, my boy, as I have always + understood. But they are to be subdued; not indulged.” + </p> + <p> + “Papa, you must acknowledge that it is a shame if Pye has promised the + seniorship to Yorke, over my head and Huntley’s,” reiterated Tom, who was + apt to speak as strongly as he thought. “If he gets the seniorship, the + exhibition will follow; that is an understood thing. Would it be just?” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you saying this? What have you heard?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is a roundabout tale,” answered Tom. “But the rumour in the + school is this—and if it turns out to be true, Gerald Yorke will + about get eaten up alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the rumour, Tom?” said Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + 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 we hear that + they have been salving over Pye—” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, Tom!” put in Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Talking over Pye, then,” corrected Tom, impatient to proceed with his + story; “and Pye has promised to promote Gerald Yorke to the seniorship. He—” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Burrows has gone away again,” interrupted Annabel. “I saw him go by + to-day in his travelling carriage. Judy says he has gone to his rectory; + some of the deanery servants told her so.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get something, Annabel, if you interrupt in that fashion,” cried + Tom. “Last Monday, Dr. Burrows gave a dinner-party. Pye was there, and + Lady Augusta was there; and it was then they got Pye to promise it to + Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it known that they did?” asked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “The boys all say it, papa. It was circulating through the school this + morning like wild-fire.” + </p> + <p> + “You will never take the prize for logic, Tom. <i>How</i> did the boys + hear it, I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Through Mr. Calcraft,” replied Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Tom!” + </p> + <p> + “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 with some + of the boys this morning before ten-o’clock school, and, of course, they + went into a wordy war—which is nothing new. Huntley was the only + senior present, and Ketch was insolent to him. One of the boys told Ketch + that he would not dare to be so, next year, if Huntley should be senior + boy. Ketch sneered at that, and said Huntley never would be senior boy, + nor Channing either, for it was already given to Yorke. The boys took his + words up, ridiculing the notion of <i>his</i> 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 said Lady Augusta Yorke was at + Galloway’s office yesterday, boasting about it before Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “A roundabout tale, indeed!” remarked Mr. Channing; “and told in a + somewhat roundabout manner, Tom. I should not put faith in it. Did you + hear anything of this, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. I know that Lady Augusta called at the office yesterday + afternoon while I was at college. I don’t know anything more.” + </p> + <p> + “Huntley intends to drop across Jenkins this afternoon, and question him,” + resumed Tom Channing. “There can’t be any doubt that it was he who gave + the information to Ketch. If Huntley finds that Lady Augusta did assert + it, the school will take the affair up.” + </p> + <p> + 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 under + surveillance? Or send Lady Augusta a challenge?” + </p> + <p> + Tom Channing nodded his head mysteriously. “There is many a true word + spoken in jest, Hamish. I don’t know yet what we should do: we should do + something. The school won’t stand it tamely. The day for that one-sided + sort of oppression has gone out with our grandmothers’ fashions.” + </p> + <p> + “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, and not by + merit, where is the use of any of us putting out our mettle?” + </p> + <p> + “You be quiet, Miss Charley! you juniors have nothing to do with it,” were + all the thanks the boy received from Tom. + </p> + <p> + Now the facts really were very much as Tom Channing asserted; though + whether, or how far, Mr. Pye had promised, and whether Lady Augusta’s + boast had been a vain one, was a matter for speculation. Neither could it + be surmised the part, if any, played in it by Prebendary Burrows. It was + certain that Lady Augusta had, on the previous day, boasted to Mr. + Galloway, in his office, that her son was to have the seniorship; that Mr. + 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 much self-gratulation, and + she laughingly told Jenkins, who was at his desk writing, that he might + wish Gerald joy when he next saw him. Jenkins accepted it all as truth: it + may be questioned if Mr. Galloway did, for he knew that Lady Augusta did + not always weigh her words before speaking. + </p> + <p> + In the evening—this same evening, mind, after the call at the office + of Lady Augusta—Mr. Jenkins proceeded towards home when he left his + work. He took the road through the cloisters. As he was passing the + porter’s lodge, who should he see in it but his father, old Jenkins, the + bedesman, holding a gossip with Ketch; and they saw him. + </p> + <p> + “If that ain’t our Joe a-going past!” exclaimed the bedesman. + </p> + <p> + Joe stepped in. He was proceeding to join in the converse, when a lot of + the college boys tore along, hooting and shouting, and kicking a ball + about. It was kicked into the lodge, and a few compliments were thrown at + the boys by the porter, before they could get the ball out again. These + compliments, you may be quite sure, the boys did not fail to return with + interest: Tom Channing, in particular, being charmingly polite. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “No, he will not,” said Joe Jenkins, speaking impulsively in his superior + knowledge. “Yorke is to be senior.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that, Joe?” asked his father. + </p> + <p> + Joe replied by relating what he had heard said by the Lady Augusta that + afternoon. It did not conciliate the porter in the remotest degree: he was + not more favourably inclined to Gerald Yorke than he was to Tom Channing. + Had he heard the school never was to have a senior again, or a junior + either, that might have pleased him. + </p> + <p> + But on the following morning, when he fell into dispute with the boys in + the cloisters, he spoke out his information in a spirit of triumph over + Huntley. Bit by bit, angered by the boys’ taunts, he repeated every word + he had heard from Jenkins. The news, as it was busily circulated from one + to the other, caused no slight hubbub in the school, and gave rise to that + explosion of Tom Channing’s at the dinner-table. + </p> + <p> + Huntley sought Jenkins, as he had said he would do, and received + confirmation of the report, so far as the man’s knowledge went. But + Jenkins was terribly vexed that the report had got abroad through him. He + determined to pay a visit to Mr. Ketch, and reproach him with his + incaution. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch sat in his lodge, taking his supper: bread and cheese, and a + pint of ale procured at the nearest public-house. Except in the light + months of summer, it was his habit to close the cloister gates before + supper-time; but as Mr. Ketch liked to take that meal early—that is + to say, at eight o’clock—and, as dusk, for at least four months in + the year, obstinately persisted in putting itself off to a later hour, in + spite of his growling, and as he might not shut up before dusk, he had no + 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 nook of the + cathedral, near the grand entrance. He was pursuing his meal after his own + peculiar custom: eating, drinking, and grumbling. + </p> + <p> + “It’s worse nor leather, this cheese! Selling it to a body for + double-Gloucester! I’d like to double them as made it. Eight-pence a + pound!—and short weight beside! I wonder there ain’t a law passed to + keep down the cost o’ provisions!” + </p> + <p> + A pause, given chiefly to grunting, and Mr. Ketch resumed:— + </p> + <p> + “This bread’s rougher nor a bear’s hide! Go and ask for new, and they + palms you off with stale. They’ll put a loaf a week old into the oven to + hot up again, and then sell it to you for new! There ought to be a + criminal code passed for hanging bakers. They’re all cheats. They mixes up + alum, and bone-dust, and plaster of Paris, and—Drat that door! Who’s + kicking at it now?” + </p> + <p> + No one was kicking. Some one was civilly knocking. The door was pushed + slightly open, and the inoffensive face of Mr. Joseph Jenkins appeared in + the aperture. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Mr. Ketch,” began he in a mild tone of deprecation, “whatever is + it that you have gone and done?” + </p> + <p> + “What d’ye mean?” growled old Ketch. “Is this a way to come and set upon a + gentleman in his own house? Who taught you manners, Joe Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “You have been repeating what I mentioned last night about Lady Augusta’s + son getting the seniorship,” said Jenkins, coming in and closing the door. + </p> + <p> + “You did say it,” retorted Mr. Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “I know I did. But I did not suppose you were going to repeat it again.” + </p> + <p> + “If it was a secret, why didn’t you say so?” asked Mr. Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “It was not exactly a secret, or Lady Augusta would not have mentioned it + before me,” remonstrated Joe. “But it is not the proper thing, for me to + come out of Mr. Galloway’s office, and talk of anything I may have heard + said in it by his friends, and then for it to get round to his ears again! + Put it to yourself, Mr. Ketch, and say whether you would like it.” + </p> + <p> + “What <i>did</i> you talk of it for, then?” snarled Ketch, preparing to + take a copious draught of ale. + </p> + <p> + “Because I thought you and father were safe. You might both have known + better than to speak of it out of doors. There is sure to be a commotion + over it.” + </p> + <p> + “Miserable beer! Brewed out of ditch-water!” + </p> + <p> + “Young Mr. Huntley came to me to-day, to know the rights and the wrongs of + it—as he said,” continued Joseph. “He spoke to Mr. Galloway about it + afterwards—though I must say he was kind enough not to bring in my + name; only said, in a general way, that he had ‘heard’ it. He is an + honourable young gentleman, is that Huntley. He vows the report shall be + conveyed to the dean.” + </p> + <p> + “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 ‘em good.” + </p> + <p> + “Galloway did not say much—except that he knew what he should do, + were he Huntley’s or Channing’s father. Which I took to mean that, in his + opinion, there ought to be an inquiry instituted.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know there ought,” said Mr. Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> know! I’m sure I don’t know,” was the mild answer. “It is not my + place to reflect upon my superiors, Mr. Ketch—to say they should do + this, or they should do that. I like to reverence them, and to keep a + civil tongue in my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is what you don’t do. If I knowed who brewed this beer I’d enter an + action again him, for putting in no malt.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep ‘em shut then,” growled old Ketch. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch leisurely finished his supper, and the two continued talking + until 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 on which he had been perched, and prepared to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Come along of me while I lock up,” said Ketch, somewhat less ungraciously + than usual. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jenkins hesitated. “My wife will be wondering what has become of me; + 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. + </p> + <p> + The two large keys, one at each end of a string, were hung up just within + the lodge door; they belonged to the two gates of the cloisters. Old Ketch + took them down and went out with Jenkins, merely closing his own door; he + rarely fastened it, unless he was going some distance. + </p> + <p> + Very dark were the enclosed cloisters, as they entered by the west gate. + It was later than the usual hour of closing, and it was, moreover, a + gloomy evening, the sky overcast. They went through the cloisters to the + south gate, Ketch grumbling all the way. He locked it, and then turned + back again. + </p> + <p> + Arrived about midway of the west quadrangle, the very darkest part in all + the cloisters, and the most dreary, Jenkins suddenly startled his + companion by declaring there was a light in the burial-ground. + </p> + <p> + “Come along!” growled Ketch. “You’ll say there’s corpse-candles there + next.” + </p> + <p> + “It is only a little spark, like,” said Jenkins, halting. “I should not + wonder but it is one of those pretty, innocent glowworms.” + </p> + <p> + 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. Ketch shuffled on; + the keys, held somewhat loosely in his hand by the string, clanking + together. + </p> + <p> + “Be you going to stop there all night?” he called out, when he had gone a + few paces, half turning round to speak. + </p> + <p> + At that moment a somewhat startling incident occurred. The keys were + whisked out of Mr. Ketch’s hand, and fell, or appeared to fall, with a + clatter on the flags at his feet. He turned his anger upon Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, you senseless calf! What did you do that for?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you speak?” asked Jenkins, taking his elbows from the distant + window-frame, and approaching. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch felt a little staggered. His belief had been that Jenkins had + come up silently, and dashed the keys from his hand; but Jenkins, it + appeared, had not left the window. However, like too many other + cross-grained spirits, he persisted in venting blame upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, to play an old man such a trick?” + </p> + <p> + “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 in that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” cried the porter in his wrath. “You took and clutched the keys from + me, and throwed ‘em on the ground! Pick ‘em up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never heard the like!” said Jenkins. “I was not within yards and + 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. + </p> + <p> + The porter grunted. An inner current of conviction rose in his heart that + he must undoubtedly have dropped them, though he could have declared at + the time that they were mysteriously snatched from him. He seized the + string firmly now, and hobbled on to the west door, abusing Jenkins all + the way. + </p> + <p> + They arrived at the west door, which was gained by a narrow closed passage + from the gate of entrance, as was the south door in a similar manner; 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 and locked. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth has done this?” shrieked he. + </p> + <p> + “Done what?” asked Mr. Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Done what!” was the irascible echo. “Be you a fool, Joe Jenkins? Don’t + you see the door’s fast!” + </p> + <p> + “Unfasten it,” said Jenkins sensibly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch proceeded to do so—at least to apply one of the keys to + the lock—with much fumbling. It apparently did not occur to him to + wonder how the locking-up process could have been effected, considering + that the key had been in his own possession. + </p> + <p> + Fumbling and fumbling, now with one key, now with the other, and then + critically feeling the keys and their wards, the truth at length burst + upon the unhappy man that the keys were not the right keys, and that he + and Jenkins were—locked in! A profuse perspiration broke out over + him. + </p> + <p> + “They <i>must</i> be the keys,” remonstrated Mr. Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “They are <i>not</i> the keys,” shrieked Ketch. “D’ye think I don’t know + my own keys, now I come to feel ‘em?” + </p> + <p> + “But they were your keys that fell down and that I picked up,” argued + Jenkins, 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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 was + built. <i>You</i> have changed ‘em, you have!” he sobbed, the notion + taking possession of him forcibly. “You are a-doing it to play me a + infamous trick, and I’ll have you up before the dean to-morrow! I’ll shake + the life out of you, I will!” + </p> + <p> + Laying summary hold of Mr. Jenkins, he began to shake him with all his + feeble strength. The latter soon extricated himself, and he succeeded in + impressing on the man the fallacy of his suspicion. “Don’t I want to get + home to my supper and my wife? Don’t I tell you that she’ll set upon me + like anything for keeping it waiting?” he meekly remonstrated. “Do I want + to be locked up in these unpleasant cloisters? Give me the keys and let me + try them.” + </p> + <p> + Ketch, in sheer helplessness, was fain to comply. He resigned the keys to + Jenkins, and Jenkins tried them: but he was none the nearer unlocking the + gate. In their increasing perplexity, they resolved to return to the place + in the quadrangle where the keys had fallen—a very forlorn + suggestion proceeding from Mr. Jenkins that the right keys might be lying + there still, and that this rusty pair might, by some curious and + unaccountable chance, have been lying there also. + </p> + <p> + They commenced their search, disputing, the one hotly, the other + temperately, as to which was the exact spot. With feet and hands they + hunted as well as the dark would allow them; all in vain; and Ketch gave + vent to a loud burst of feeling when he realized the fact that they were + positively locked up in the cloisters, beyond hope of succour, in the dark + and lonely night. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. — A MISHAP TO THE BISHOP. + </h2> + <p> + “Fordham, I wonder whether the cloisters are closed?” + </p> + <p> + “I will see, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + 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 was now + conducting his lordship down the grand staircase, on his departure. In + proceeding to the palace from the deanery, to go through the cloisters cut + off quite two-thirds of the distance. + </p> + <p> + Fordham left the hall, a lamp in his hand, and traversed sundry passages + which brought him to the deanery garden. Crossing the garden, and treading + another short passage, he came to the cloisters. The bishop had followed, + lighted by Fordham, and talking affably. A very pleasant man was the + Bishop of Helstonleigh, standing little upon forms and ceremonies. In + frame he was nearly as active as a college boy. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right, I think, my lord,” said Fordham. “I hear the porter’s + voice now in the cloisters.” + </p> + <p> + “How dark it is!” exclaimed the bishop. “Ketch must be closing late + to-night. What a noise he is making!” + </p> + <p> + In point of fact, Mr. Ketch had just arrived at that agreeable moment + which concluded the last chapter—the conviction that no other keys + were to be found, and that he and Jenkins were fast. The tone in which he + was making his sentiments known upon the calamity, was not a subdued one. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I light you round, my lord?” + </p> + <p> + “By no means—by no means. I shall be up with Ketch in a minute. He + seems in a temper. Good night, Fordham.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night to your lordship.” + </p> + <p> + The servant went back to the deanery. The prelate groped his way round to + the west quadrangle. + </p> + <p> + “Are you closing, Ketch?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch started as if he had been shot, and his noise dropped to a calm. + Truth to say, his style of complaint had not been orthodox, or exactly + suitable to the ears of his bishop. He and Jenkins both recognized the + voice, and bowed low, dark though it was. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Ketch? You are making enough noise.” + </p> + <p> + “Matter, my lord!” groaned Ketch. “Here’s matter enough to make a saint—saving + your lordship’s presence—forget his prayers. We be locked up in the + cloisters.” + </p> + <p> + “Locked up!” repeated the bishop. “What do you mean? Who is with you?” + </p> + <p> + “It is me, my lord,” said Jenkins, meekly, answering for himself. “Joseph + Jenkins, my lord, at Mr. Galloway’s. I came in with the porter just for + company, my lord, when he came to lock up, and we have somehow got locked + in.” + </p> + <p> + The bishop demanded an explanation. It was not very easily afforded. Ketch + and Jenkins talked one against the other, and when the bishop did at + length understand the tale, he scarcely gave credence to it. + </p> + <p> + “It is an incomprehensible story, Ketch, that you should drop your keys, + and they should be changed for others as they lay on the flags. Are you + sure you brought out the right keys?” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I <i>couldn’t</i> bring out any others,” returned Ketch, in a + tone that longed to betray its resentment, and would have betrayed it to + any one but a bishop. “I haven’t no others to bring, my lord. The two keys + hang up on the nail always, and there ain’t another key besides in the + house, except the door key.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one must have changed them previously—must have hung up these + in their places,” remarked the bishop. + </p> + <p> + “But, my lord, it couldn’t be, I say,” reiterated old Ketch, almost + shrieking. “I know the keys just as well as I know my own hands, and they + 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 done that with + these wretched old rusty things?” + </p> + <p> + “The keys must be on the flags still,” said his lordship. + </p> + <p> + “That is the only conclusion I can come to, my lord,” mildly put in + Jenkins. “But we cannot find them.” + </p> + <p> + “And meanwhile we are locked in for the night, and here’s his right + reverend lordship, the bishop, locked in with us!” danced old Ketch, + almost beside himself with anger. “Of course, it wouldn’t matter for me + and Jenkins: speaking in comparison, we are nobody; but it is a shameful + indignity for my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “We must try and get out, Ketch,” said his lordship, in a tone that + sounded as if he were more inclined to laugh than cry. “I will go back to + the deanery.” + </p> + <p> + Away went the bishop as quickly as the gloom allowed him, and away went + the other two in his wake. Arrived at the passage which led from the + cloisters to the deanery garden they groped their way to the end—only + to find the door closed and locked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is a pleasant situation!” exclaimed the bishop, his tone + betraying amusement as well as annoyance; and with his own prelatical + hands he pummelled at the door, and shouted with his own prelatical voice. + When the bishop was tired, Jenkins and Ketch began to pummel and to shout, + and they pummelled and shouted till their knuckles were sore and their + throats were hoarse. It was all in vain. The garden intervened between + them and the deanery, and they could not be heard. + </p> + <p> + It certainly was a pretty situation, as the prelate remarked. The Right + Reverend the Lord Bishop of Helstonleigh, ranking about fifth, by + precedence, on the episcopal bench, locked up ignominiously in the + cloisters of Helstonleigh, with Ketch the porter, and Jenkins the + steward’s clerk; likely, so far as appearances might be trusted, to have + to pass the night there! The like had never yet been heard of. + </p> + <p> + The bishop went to the south gate, and tried the keys himself: the bishop + went to the west gate and tried them there; the bishop stamped about the + west quadrangle, hoping to stamp upon the missing keys; but nothing came + of it. Ketch and Jenkins attended him—Ketch grumbling in the most + angry terms that he dared, Jenkins in humble silence. + </p> + <p> + “I really do not see what is to be done,” debated the bishop, who, no + doubt, wished himself well out of the dilemma, as any less exalted mortal + would have done, “The doors leading into the college are sure to be + closed.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure,” groaned Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “And to get into the college would not serve us, that I see,” added the + bishop. “We should be no better off there than here.” + </p> + <p> + “Saving that we might ring the bell, my lord,” suggested Jenkins, with + deference. + </p> + <p> + They proceeded to the college gates. It was a forlorn hope, and one that + did not serve them. The gates were locked, the doors closed behind them. + No reaching the bell that way; it might as well have been a hundred miles + off. + </p> + <p> + They traversed the cloisters again, and tried the door of the schoolroom. + It was locked. Had it not been, the senior boy might have expected + punishment from the head-master. They tried the small door leading into + the residence of Dr. Burrows—fast also; that abode just now was + empty. The folding doors of the chapter-house were opened easily, and they + entered. But what did it avail them? There was the large, round room, + lined with its books, furnished with its immense table and easy-chairs; + but it was as much shut in from the hearing of the outside world as they + were. The bishop came into contact with a chair, and sat down in it. + Jenkins, who, as clerk to Mr. Galloway, the steward to the dean and + chapter, was familiar with the chapter-house, felt his way to the spot + where he knew matches were sometimes kept. He could not find any: it was + the time of light evenings. + </p> + <p> + “There’s just one chance, my lord,” suggested Jenkins. “That the little + unused door at the corner of the cloisters, leading into the body of the + cathedral, may not be locked.” + </p> + <p> + “Precious careless of the sextons, if it is not!” grunted Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “It is a door nobody ever thinks of going in at, my lord,” returned + Jenkins, as if he would apologize for the sextons’ carelessness, should it + be found unfastened. “If it is open, we might get to the bell.” + </p> + <p> + “The sextons, proud, stuck-up gentlemen, be made up of carelessness and + anything else that’s bad!” groaned Ketch. “Holding up their heads above us + porters!” + </p> + <p> + It was worth the trial. The bishop rose from the chair, and groped his way + out of the chapter-house, the two others following. + </p> + <p> + “If it hadn’t been for that Jenkins’s folly, fancying he saw a light in + the burying-ground, and me turning round to order him to come on, it might + not have happened,” grumbled Ketch, as they wound round the cloisters. + </p> + <p> + “A light in the burial-ground!” hastily repeated the bishop. “What light?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a corpse-candle, or some nonsense of that sort, he had his mind + running on, my lord. Half the world is idiots, and Jenkins is the biggest + of ‘em.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” spoke poor Jenkins, deprecatingly, “I never had such a thought + within me as that it was a ‘corpse-candle.’ I said I fancied it might be a + glowworm. And I believe it was one, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “A more sensible thought than the other,” observed the prelate. + </p> + <p> + Luck at last! The door was found to be unlocked. It was a low narrow door, + only used on the very rare occasion of a funeral, and was situated in a + shady, out-of-the-way nook, where no one ever thought of looking. “Oh, + come, this is something!” cried the bishop, cheerily, as he stepped into + the cathedral. + </p> + <p> + “And your lordship now sees what fine careless sextons we have got!” + struck in Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “We must overlook their carelessness this time, in consideration of the + service it renders us,” said the bishop, in a kindly tone. “Take care of + the pillars, Ketch.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye, my lord. I’m going along with my hands held out before me, to + save my head,” returned Ketch. + </p> + <p> + Most likely the bishop and Jenkins were doing the same. Dexterously + steering clear of the pillars, they emerged in the wide, open body of the + cathedral, and bent their steps across it to the spot where hung the ropes + of the bells. + </p> + <p> + The head sexton to the cathedral—whom you must not confound with a + gravedigger, as you might an ordinary sexton; cathedral sextons are + personages of more importance—was seated about this hour at supper + in his home, close to the cathedral. Suddenly the deep-toned college bell + boomed out, and the man started as if a gun had been fired at him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that’s the college bell!” he uttered to his family. And the family + stared with open mouths without replying. + </p> + <p> + The college bell it certainly was, and it was striking out sharp irregular + strokes, as though the ringer were not accustomed to his work. The sexton + started up, in a state of the most amazed consternation. + </p> + <p> + “It is magic; it is nothing less—that the bell should be ringing out + at this hour!” exclaimed he. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” suggested a juvenile, “perhaps somebody’s got locked up in the + college.” For which prevision he was rewarded with a stinging smack on the + head. + </p> + <p> + “Take that, sir! D’ye think I don’t know better than to lock folks up in + the college? It was me, myself, as locked up this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “No need to box him for that,” resented the wife. “The bell <i>is</i> + ringing, and I’ll be bound the boy’s right enough. One of them masons must + have fallen asleep in the day, and has just woke up to find himself shut + in. Hope he likes his berth!” + </p> + <p> + Whatever it might be, ringing the bell, whether magic or mason, of course + it must be seen to; and the sexton hastened out, the cathedral keys in his + hand. He bent his steps towards the front entrance, passing the cloisters, + which, as he knew, would be locked at that hour. “And that bear of a Ketch + won’t hurry himself to unlock them,” soliloquized he. + </p> + <p> + He found the front gates surrounded. The bell had struck upon the + wondering ears of many living within the precincts of the cathedral, who + flocked out to ascertain the reason. Amongst others, the college boys were + coming up in troops. + </p> + <p> + “Now, good people, please—by your leave!” cried the sexton. “Let me + get to the gates.” + </p> + <p> + They made way for the man and his ponderous keys, and entrance to the + college was gained. The sexton was beginning a sharp reproof to the + “mason,” and the crowd preparing a chorus to it, when they were seized + with consternation, and fell back on each other’s toes. It was the Bishop + of Helstonleigh, in his laced-up hat and apron, who walked forth. + </p> + <p> + The sexton humbly snatched off his hat; the college boys raised their + trenchers. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you all for coming to the rescue,” said the bishop, in a pleasant + tone. “It was not an agreeable situation, to be locked in the cathedral.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” stammered the sexton, in awe-struck dread, as to whether he had + unwittingly been the culprit: “how did your lordship get locked in?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what we must inquire into,” replied the bishop. + </p> + <p> + The next to hobble out was Ketch. In his own fashion, almost ignoring the + presence of the bishop, he made known the tale. It was received with + ridicule. The college boys especially cast mockery upon it, and began + dancing a jig when the bishop’s back was turned. “Let a couple of keys + drop down, and, when picked up, you found them transmogrified into old + rusty machines, made in the year one!” cried Bywater. “<i>That’s</i> very + like a whale, Ketch!” + </p> + <p> + 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 keys always hung, + except when in use, and holding out the rusty dissemblers for public view, + in a furious passion. + </p> + <p> + He dashed open the door. The college boys, pushing before the crowd, and + following on the bishop’s heels—who had probably his own reasons for + wishing to see the solution of the affair—thronged into the lodge. + “There’s the nail, my lord, and there—” + </p> + <p> + Ketch stopped, dumbfounded. On the nail, hanging by the string, as quietly + as if they had hung for ages, were the cloister keys. Ketch rubbed his + eyes, and stared, and rubbed again. The bishop smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I told you, Ketch, I thought you must be mistaken, in supposing you + brought the proper keys out.” + </p> + <p> + Ketch burst into a wail of anger and deprecation. He had took out the + right keys, and Jenkins could bear him out in the assertion. Some wicked + trick had been played upon him, and the keys brought back during his + absence and hung up on their hook! He’d lay his life it was the college + boys! + </p> + <p> + The bishop turned his eyes on those young gentlemen. But nothing could be + more innocent than their countenances, as they stood before him in their + trenchers. Rather too innocent, perhaps: and the bishop’s eyes twinkled, + and a half-smile crossed his lips; but he made no sign. Well would it be + if all the clergy were as sweet-tempered as that Bishop of Helstonleigh! + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ketch, take care of your keys for the future,” was all he said, as + he walked away. “Good night, boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night to your lordship,” replied the boys, once more raising their + trenchers; and the crowd, outside, respectfully saluted their prelate, who + returned it in kind. + </p> + <p> + “What are you waiting for, Thorpe?” the bishop demanded, when he found the + sexton was still at the great gates, holding them about an inch open. + </p> + <p> + “For Jenkins, my lord,” was the reply. “Ketch said he was also locked in.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he was,” replied the bishop. “Has he not come forth?” + </p> + <p> + “That he has not, my lord. I have let nobody whatever out except your + lordship and the porter. I have called out to him, but he does not answer, + and does not come.” + </p> + <p> + “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 not know + that the doors are open.” + </p> + <p> + The bishop left, crossing over to the palace. Thorpe, calling one of the + old bedesmen, some of whom had then come up, left him in charge of the + gate, and did as he was ordered. He descended the steps, passed through + the wide doors, and groped his way in the dark towards the choir. + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins!” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins!” he called out again. + </p> + <p> + Still there was no answer: except the sound of the sexton’s own voice as + it echoed in the silence of the large edifice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is an odd go!” exclaimed Thorpe, as he leaned against a pillar + and surveyed the darkness of the cathedral. “He can’t have melted away + into a ghost, or dropped down into the crypt among the coffins. Jenkins, I + say!” + </p> + <p> + With a word of impatience at the continued silence, the sexton returned to + the entrance gates. All that could be done was to get a light and search + for him. + </p> + <p> + They procured a lantern, Ketch ungraciously supplying it; and the sexton, + taking two or three of the spectators with him, proceeded to the search. + “He has gone to sleep in the organ-loft, that is what he has done,” cried + Thorpe, making known what the bishop had said. + </p> + <p> + Alas! Jenkins had not gone to sleep. At the foot of the steps, leading to + 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? What had + caused it? + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the college boys, after driving Mr. Ketch nearly wild with + their jokes and ridicule touching the mystery of the keys, were scared by + the sudden appearance of the head-master. They decamped as fast as their + legs could carry them, bringing themselves to an anchor at a safe + distance, under shade of the friendly elm trees. Bywater stuck his back + against one, and his laughter came forth in peals. Some of the rest tried + to stop it, whispering caution. + </p> + <p> + “It’s of no good talking, you fellows! I can’t keep it in; I shall burst + if I try. I have been at bursting point ever since I twitched the keys 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 without our boots, + and to wait. If half a dozen had gone, we should never have got away + unheard.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> pretty nearly burst when I saw the bishop come out, instead of + Ketch,” cried Tod Yorke. “Burst with fright.” + </p> + <p> + “So did a few more of us,” said Galloway. “I say, will there be a row?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness knows! He is a kind old chap is the bishop. Better for it to + have been him than the dean.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it Ketch said, about Jenkins seeing a glowworm?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” shrieked Bywater, holding his sides, “that was the best of all! I + had taken a lucifer out of my pocket, playing with it, while they went + round to the south gate, and it suddenly struck fire. I threw it over to + the burial-ground: and that soft Jenkins took it for a glowworm.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a stunning go!” emphatically concluded Mr. Tod Yorke. “The best we + have had this half, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush—sh—sh—sh!” whispered the boys under their breath. + “There goes the master.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. — MAD NANCE. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Galloway was in his office. Mr. Galloway was fuming and fretting at + the non-arrival of his clerk, Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Jenkins was a punctual man; + in fact, more than punctual: his proper time for arriving at the office + was half-past nine; but the cathedral clock had rarely struck the + quarter-past before Mr. Jenkins would be at his post. Almost any other + morning it would not have mattered a straw to Mr. Galloway whether Jenkins + was a little after or a little before his time; but on this particular + morning he had especial need of him, and had come himself to the office + unusually early. + </p> + <p> + One-two, three-four! chimed the quarters of the cathedral. “There it goes—half-past + nine!” ejaculated Mr. Galloway. “What <i>does</i> Jenkins mean by it? He + knew he was wanted early.” + </p> + <p> + A sharp knock at the office door, and there entered a little dark woman, + in a black bonnet and a beard. She was Mr. Jenkins’s better half, and had + the reputation for being considerably the grey mare. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mr. Galloway. A pretty kettle of fish, this is!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter now?” asked Mr. Galloway, surprised at the address. + “Where’s Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins is in bed with his head plastered up. He’s the greatest booby + living, and would positively have come here all the same, but I told him + I’d strap him down with cords if he attempted it. A pretty object he’d + have looked, staggering through the streets, with his head big enough for + two, and held together with white plaster!” + </p> + <p> + “What has he done to his head?” wondered Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious! have you not heard?” exclaimed the lady, whose mode of + speech was rarely overburdened with polite words, though she meant no + disrespect by it. “He got locked up in the cloisters last night with old + Ketch and the bishop.” + </p> + <p> + 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 the + occurrence. Had he been within hearing when the college bell tolled out at + night, he would have run to ascertain the cause as eagerly as any + schoolboy. “Locked up in the cloisters with old Ketch and the bishop!” he + repeated, in amazement. “I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins proceeded to enlighten him. She gave the explanation of the + strange affair of the keys, as it had been given to her by the unlucky + Joe. While telling it, Arthur Channing entered, and, almost immediately + afterwards, Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “The bishop, of all people!” uttered Mr. Galloway. “What an untoward thing + for his lordship!” + </p> + <p> + “No more untoward for him than for others,” retorted the lady. “It just + serves Jenkins right. What business had he to go dancing through the + cloisters with old Ketch and his keys?” + </p> + <p> + “But how did Jenkins get hurt?” asked Mr. Galloway, for that particular + point had not yet been touched upon. + </p> + <p> + “He is the greatest fool going, is Jenkins,” was the complimentary retort + of Jenkins’s wife. “After he had helped to ring out the bell, he must + needs go poking and groping into the organ-loft, hunting for matches or + some such insane rubbish. He might have known, had he possessed any sense, + that candles and matches are not likely to be there in summer-time! Why, + if the organist wanted ever so much to stop in after dark, when the + college is locked up for the night, he wouldn’t be allowed to do it! It’s + only in winter, when he has to light a candle to get through the afternoon + service, that they keep matches and dips up there.” + </p> + <p> + “But about his head?” repeated Mr. Galloway, who was aware of the natural + propensity of Mrs. Jenkins to wander from the point under discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, about his head!” she wrathfully answered. “In attempting to descend + the stairs again, he missed his footing, and pitched right down to the + bottom of the flight. That’s how his head came in for it. He wants a nurse + with him always, does Jenkins, for he is no better than a child in + leading-strings.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he much hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “And there he’d have lain till morning, but for the bishop,” resumed Mrs. + Jenkins, passing over the inquiry. “After his lordship got out, he, + finding Jenkins did not come, told Thorpe to go and look for him in the + 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 doors again, and + there Jenkins would have been fast! They found him lying at the foot of + the stairs, just inside the choir gates, with no more life in him than + there is in a dead man.” + </p> + <p> + “I asked you whether he is seriously hurt, Mrs. Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well. He came to his senses as they were bringing him home, and + somebody ran for Hurst, the surgeon. He is better this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But not well enough to come to business?” + </p> + <p> + “Hurst told him if he worried himself with business, or anything else + to-day, he’d get brain fever as sure as a gun. He ordered him to stop in + bed and keep quiet, if he could.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he must do so,” observed Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “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 to keep + quiet. I’d rather have an animal ill in the house, than I’d have a man—they + are ten times more reasonable. There has Jenkins been, tormenting himself + ever since seven o’clock this morning about coming here; he was wanted + particularly, he said. ‘Would you go if you were dead?’ I asked him; and + he stood it out that if he were dead it would be a different thing. ‘Not + different at all,’ I said. A nice thing it would be to have to nurse him + through a brain fever!” + </p> + <p> + “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 must not + venture here again, until Mr. Hurst says he may come with safety.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have told him that, to pacify him, whether you had said it or + not,” candidly avowed Mrs. Jenkins. “And now I must go back home on the + run. As good have no one to mind my shop as that young house-girl of ours. + If a customer comes in for a pair of black stockings, she’ll take and give + ‘em a white knitted nightcap. She’s as deficient of common sense as + Jenkins is. Your servant, sir. Good morning, young gentlemen!” + </p> + <p> + “Here, wait a minute!” cried Mr. Galloway, as she was speeding off. “I + cannot understand at all. The keys could not have been changed as they lay + on the flags.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither can anybody else understand it,” returned Mrs. Jenkins. “If + Jenkins was not a sober man—and he had better let me catch him being + anything else!—I should say the two, him and Ketch, had had a drop + too much. The bishop himself could make neither top nor tail of it. It’ll + teach Jenkins not to go gallivanting again after other folk’s business!” + </p> + <p> + She finally turned away, and Mr. Galloway set himself to revolve the + perplexing narrative. The more he thought, the less he was nearer doing + so; like the bishop, he could make neither top nor tail of it. “It is + entirely beyond belief!” he remarked to Arthur Channing; “unless Ketch + took out the wrong keys!” + </p> + <p> + “And if he took out the wrong keys, how could he have locked the south + door?” interrupted Roland Yorke. “I’d lay anybody five shillings that + those mischievous scamps of college boys were at the bottom of it; I taxed + Gerald with it, and he flew out at me for my pains. But the seniors may + not have been in it. You should have heard the bell clank out last night, + Mr. Galloway!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it brought out a few,” was Mr. Galloway’s rejoinder. + </p> + <p> + “It did that,” said Arthur Channing. “Myself for one. When I saw the + bishop emerge from the college doors, I could scarcely believe my sight.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d have given half-a-crown to see him!” cried Roland Yorke. “If there’s + any fun going on, it is sure to be my fate to miss it. Cator was 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your opinion of last night’s work, Arthur?” asked Mr. Galloway, + returning to the point. + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s opinion was a very decided one, but he did not choose to say so. + The meeting with the college boys at their stealthy post in the cloisters, + when he and Hamish were passing through at dusk, a few nights before, + coupled with the hints then thrown out of the “serving out” of Ketch, + could leave little doubt as to the culprits. Arthur returned an answer, + couched in general terms. + </p> + <p> + “Could it have been the college boys, think you?” debated Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “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 to + breakfast 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 to Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “One of you gentlemen can just step in to see Jenkins in the course of the + day, and reassure him that he is not wanted,” said Mr. Galloway. “I know + how necessary it is to keep the mind tranquil in any fear of brain + affection.” + </p> + <p> + No more was said, and the occupation of the day began. A busy day was that + at Mr. Galloway’s, much to the chagrin of Roland Yorke, who had an + unconquerable objection to doing too much. He broke out into grumblings at + Arthur, when the latter came running in from his duty at college. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what is, Channing; you ought not to have made the bargain + to go to that bothering organ on busy days; and Galloway must have been + out of his mind to let you make it. Look at the heap of work there is to + do!” + </p> + <p> + “I will soon make up for the lost hour,” said Arthur, setting to with a + will. “Where’s Mr. Galloway?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone to the bank,” grumbled Roland. “And I have had to answer a dozen + callers-in at least, and do all my writing besides. I wonder what + possessed Jenkins to go and knock his head to powder?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway shortly returned, and sat down to write. It was a thing he + rarely did; he left writing to his clerks, unless it was the writing of + letters. By one o’clock the chief portion of the work was done, and Mr. + Roland Yorke’s spirits recovered their elasticity. He went home to dinner, + as usual. Arthur preferred to remain at his post, and get on further, + 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, in return 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 one o’clock, as it + was the most convenient hour for the boys. Growing youths are not + satisfied with anything less substantial than a dinner in the middle of + the day, and two dinners in a household tell heavily upon the + house-keeping. The Channings did not afford two, neither did Lady Augusta + Yorke; so their hour was one o’clock. + </p> + <p> + “What a muff you must be to go without your dinner!” cried Roland Yorke to + Arthur, when he returned at two o’clock. “I wouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I have had my dinner,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “What did you have?” cried Roland, pricking up his ears. “Did Galloway + send to the hotel for roast ducks and green peas? That’s what we had at + home, and the peas were half-boiled, and the ducks were scorched, and + cooked without stuffing. A wretched set of incapables our house turns out! + and my lady does not know how to alter it. You have actually finished that + deed, Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “It is finished, you see. It is surprising how much one can do in a quiet + hour!” + </p> + <p> + “Is Galloway out?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Channing, there’s positively nothing left to do,” went on Roland, + casting his eyes over the desk. “Here are these leases, but they are not + wanted until to-morrow. Who says we can’t work in this office?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur laughed good-naturedly, to think of the small amount, out of that + day’s work, which had fallen to Roland’s share. + </p> + <p> + Some time elapsed. Mr. Galloway came into their room from his own to + consult 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 four + pages. While he was looking at the book, the cathedral clock chimed the + three-quarters past two, and the bell rang for divine service. + </p> + <p> + “It can never be that time of day!” exclaimed Mr. Galloway, in + consternation, as he took out his watch. “Sixteen minutes to three! and I + am a minute slow! How has the time passed? I ought to have been at—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway brought his words to a standstill, apparently too absorbed in + the railway guide to conclude them. Roland Yorke, who had a free tongue, + even with his master, filled up the pause. + </p> + <p> + “Were you going out, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that any business of yours, Mr. Roland? Talking won’t fill in that + lease, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “The lease is not in a hurry, sir,” returned incorrigible Roland. But he + held his tongue then, and bent his head over his work. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway dipped his pen in the ink, and copied something from + “Bradshaw” into the closely-written letter, standing at Jenkins’s desk to + do it; then he passed the blotting-paper quickly over the words, and + folded the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Channing,” he said, speaking very hastily, “you will see a twenty-pound + bank-note on my desk, and the directed envelope of this letter; bring them + here.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur went, and brought forth the envelope and bank-note. Mr. Galloway + doubled the note in four and slipped it between the folds of the letter, + putting both into the envelope. He had fastened it down, when a loud noise + and commotion was heard in the street. Curious as are said to be + antiquated maidens, Mr. Galloway rushed to the window and threw it up, his + two clerks attending in his wake. + </p> + <p> + Something very fine, in a white dress, and pink and scarlet flowers on her + bonnetless head, as if attired for an evening party, was whirling round + the middle of the road in circles: a tall woman, who must once have been + beautiful. She appeared to be whirling someone else with her, amid + laughter and shrieks, and cries and groans, from the gathering mob. + </p> + <p> + “It is Mad Nance!” uttered Mr. Galloway. “Poor thing! she really ought to + be in confinement.” + </p> + <p> + So every one had said for a long time, but no one bestirred themselves to + place her in it. This unfortunate creature, Mad Nance, as she was called, + was sufficiently harmless to be at large on sufferance, and sufficiently + mad at times to put a street in an uproar. In her least sane 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 were her favourites; she + would make them into a wreath, and fasten it on, letting her entangled + hair hang beneath. To-day she had contrived to pick up some geranium + blossoms, scarlet and pink. + </p> + <p> + “Who has she got hold of there?” exclaimed Mr. Galloway. “He does not seem + to like it.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur burst into laughter when he discovered that it was Harper, the + lay-clerk. This unlucky gentleman, who had been quietly and inoffensively + proceeding up Close Street on his way to service in the cathedral, 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, she laughed, she danced, she + flew with him round and round. He shrieked also; his hat was off, his wig + was gone; and it was half the business of Mr. Harper’s life to make that + wig appear as his own hair. He talked, he raved, he remonstrated; I am + very much afraid that he swore. Mr. Galloway laughed till the tears ran + down his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + 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 his mirth as he + best could while he effected it. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have the law of her!” panted Harper, as he picked up his hat and + wig. “If there’s justice to be got in Helstonleigh, she shall suffer for + this! It’s a town’s shame to let her go about, molesting peaceable + wayfarers, and shaking the life out of them!” + </p> + <p> + Something at a distance appeared to attract the attention of the unhappy + woman, and she flew away. Hamish and Mr. Harper were left alone in the + streets, the latter still exploding with wrath, and vowing all sorts of + revenge. + </p> + <p> + “Put up with it quietly, Harper,” advised Hamish. “She is like a little + child, not accountable for her actions.” + </p> + <p> + “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 the sight + of a whole street?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wear one,” answered Hamish, laughing. “Here’s your hat; not much + damaged, apparently.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Harper, settling his wig on his head, and composing himself as he best + could, continued his way to the cathedral, turning his hat about in his + hand, and closely looking at it. Hamish stepped across to Mr. Galloway’s, + meeting that gentleman at the door. + </p> + <p> + “A good thing you came up as you did, Mr. Hamish. Harper will remember Mad + Nance for a year to come.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect he will,” replied Hamish, laughing still. Mr. Galloway laughed + also, and walked hastily down the street. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. — KEEPING OFFICE. + </h2> + <p> + Hamish entered the office. Arthur and Roland Yorke had their heads + stretched out of the window, and did not hear his footsteps. He advanced + quietly and brought his hands down hastily upon the shoulder of each. + Roland started, and knocked his head against the window-frame. + </p> + <p> + “How you startle a fellow! I thought it was Mad Nance come in to lay hands + upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “She has laid hands upon enough for one day,” said Hamish. “Harper will + dream of her to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought Galloway would have gone into a fit, he laughed so,” cried + Arthur. “As for my sides, they’ll ache for an hour.” + </p> + <p> + Roland Yorke’s lip curled with an angry expression. “My opinion agrees + with Harper’s,” he said. “I think Mad Nance ought to be punished. We are + none of us safe from her, if this is to be her game.” + </p> + <p> + “If you punish her to-day, she would do the same again to-morrow, were the + fit to come over her,” rejoined Hamish. “It is not often she breaks out + like this. The only thing is to steer clear of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish has a fellow-feeling for Mad Nance,” mockingly spoke Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, poor thing! for her story is a sad one. If the same grievous wrong + were worked upon some of us, perhaps we might take to dancing for the + benefit of the public. Talking of the public, Arthur,” continued Hamish, + turning to his brother, “what became of you at dinner-time? The mother was + for setting the town-crier to work.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not get home to-day. We have had double work to do, as Jenkins is + away.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish tilted himself on to the edge of Mr. Jenkins’s desk, and took up + the letter, apparently in absence of mind, which Mr. Galloway had left + there, ready for the post. “Mr. Robert Galloway, Sea View Terrace, + Ventnor, Isle of Wight,” he read aloud. “That must be Mr. Galloway’s + cousin,” he remarked: “the one who has run through so much money.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is,” answered Roland Yorke. “Galloway pretty near keeps him: + I know there’s a twenty-pound bank-note going to him in that letter. Catch + me doing it if I were Galloway.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it was going into my pocket instead,” said Hamish, balancing the + letter on his fingers, as if wishing to test its weight. + </p> + <p> + “I wish the clouds would drop sovereigns! But they don’t,” said Roland + Yorke. + </p> + <p> + Hamish put the letter back from whence he had taken it, and jumped off the + desk. “I must be walking,” said he. “Stopping here will not do my work. If + we—” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove! there’s Knivett!” uttered Roland Yorke. “Where’s he off to, so + fast? I have something that I must tell him.” + </p> + <p> + Snatching up his hat, Roland darted at full speed out of the office, in + search of one who was running at full speed also down the street. Hamish + looked out, amused, at the chase; Arthur, who had called after Roland in + vain, seemed vexed. “Knivett is one of the fleetest runners in + Helstonleigh,” said Hamish. “Yorke will scarcely catch him up.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Yorke would allow himself a little thought, and not act upon + impulse,” exclaimed Arthur. “I cannot stop three minutes longer: and he + knows that! I shall be late for college.” + </p> + <p> + He was already preparing to go there. Putting some papers in order upon + his desk, and locking up others, he carried the letter for Ventnor into + Mr. Galloway’s private room and placed it in the letter rack. Two others, + ready for the post, were lying there. Then he went to the front door to + look out for Yorke. Yorke was not to be seen. + </p> + <p> + “What a thoughtless fellow he is!” exclaimed Arthur, in his vexation. + “What is to be done? Hamish, you will have to stop here.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! what else?” asked Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “I must be at the college, whatever betide.” This was true: yet neither + might the office be left vacant. Arthur grew a little flurried. “Do stay, + Hamish: it will not hinder you five minutes, I dare say. Yorke is sure to + be in.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish came to the door, halting on its first step, and looking out over + Arthur’s shoulder. He drew his head in again with a sudden movement. + </p> + <p> + “Is not that old Hopper down there?” he asked, in a whisper, the tone + sounding as one of fear. + </p> + <p> + Arthur turned his eyes on a shabby old man who was crossing the end of the + street, and saw Hopper, the sheriff’s officer. “Yes, why?” + </p> + <p> + “It is that old fellow who holds the writ. He may be on the watch for me + now. I can’t go out just yet, Arthur; I’ll stay here till Yorke comes back + again.” + </p> + <p> + 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 gay face of + Hamish Channing. Arthur, waiting for no second permission, flew towards + the cathedral as fast as his long legs would carry him. The dean and + chapter were preparing to leave the chapter-house as he tore past it, + through the cloisters. Three o’clock was striking. Arthur’s heart and + breath were alike panting when he gained the dark stairs. At that moment, + to his excessive astonishment, the organ began to peal forth. + </p> + <p> + Seated at it was Mr. Williams; and a few words of explanation ensued. The + organist said he should remain for the service, which rendered Arthur at + liberty to go back again. + </p> + <p> + He was retracing his steps underneath the elm-trees in the Boundaries at a + slower pace than he had recently passed them, when, in turning a corner, + he came face to face with the sheriff’s officer. Arthur, whose thoughts + were at that moment fixed upon Hamish and his difficulties, started away + from the man, with an impulse for which he could not have accounted. + </p> + <p> + “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 was good + for him, had been a clerk in Mr. Channing’s office. “I have nothing about + me that will bite you.” + </p> + <p> + He laid a stress upon the “you” in both cases. Arthur understood only too + well what was meant, though he would not appear to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Nor any one else, either, I hope, Hopper. A warm day, is it not!” + </p> + <p> + Hopper drew close to Arthur, not looking at him, apparently examining with + hands and eyes the trunk of the elm-tree underneath which they had halted. + “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, as I suppose + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” breathed Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t want to serve the writ upon him; I won’t serve it unless he + makes me, by throwing himself within length of my arm. If he sees me + coming 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 about here + once or twice a day for show, but I come at a time when I am pretty sure + he can’t be seen; just gone out, or just gone in. I’d rather not harm + him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not so considerate to all,” said Arthur, after a pause given to + revolving the words, and to wondering whether they were spoken in good + faith, or with some concealed purpose. He could not decide which. + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not,” pointedly returned Hopper, in answer. “There are some that + I look after, sharp as a ferret looks after a rat, but I’ll never do 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 own friends did. But + for him, I should have starved in that long illness I had, when the office + would have me no longer. Why doesn’t Mr. Hamish settle this?” he abruptly + added. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he cannot,” answered Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “It is only a bagatelle at the worst, and our folks would not have gone to + extremities if he had shown only a disposition to settle. I am sure that + if he would go to them now, and pay down a ten-pound note, and say, ‘You + shall have the rest as I can get it,’ they’d withdraw proceedings; ay, + even for five pounds I believe they would. Tell him to do it, Mr. Arthur; + tell him I always know which way the wind blows with our people.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell him, but I fear he is very short of money just now. Five or + ten pounds may be as impossible to find, sometimes, as five or ten + thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Better find it than be locked up,” said Hopper. “How would the office get + 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 in Mr. Channing’s + office for ten years, Mr. Arthur, and I know every trick and turn in it, + though I have left it a good while. And now that I have just said this, + I’ll go on my way. Mind you tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” warmly replied Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “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 may + peer! I don’t mind them; deaneries don’t trouble themselves with sheriff’s + officers.” + </p> + <p> + He glided away, and Arthur went straight to the office. Hamish was alone; + he was seated at Jenkins’s desk, writing a note. + </p> + <p> + “You here still, Hamish! Where’s Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + “Echo answers where,” replied Hamish, who appeared to have recovered his + full flow of spirits. “I have seen nothing of him.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s Yorke all over! it is too bad.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be, were this a busy afternoon with me. But what brings you + back, Mr. Arthur? Have you left the organ to play itself?” + </p> + <p> + “Williams is taking it; he heard of Jenkins’s accident, and thought I + might not be able to get away from the office twice today, so he attended + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “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 you fulfil it. + Yes, it was considerate of Williams.” + </p> + <p> + “Considerate for himself,” laughed Arthur. “He did not come down to give + me holiday, but in the fear that Mr. Galloway might prevent my attending. + ‘A pretty thing it would have been,’ he said to me, ‘had there been no + organist this afternoon; it might have cost me my post.’” + </p> + <p> + “Moonshine!” said Hamish. “It might have cost him a word of reproof; + nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “Helstonleigh’s dean is a strict one, remember. I told Williams he might + always depend upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “What should you have done, pray, had I not been here to turn + office-keeper?” laughed Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Of the two duties I must have obeyed the more important one. I should + have locked up the office and given the key to the housekeeper till + college was over, or until Yorke returned. He deserves something for this + move. Has any one called?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Arthur, I have been making free with a sheet of paper and an + envelope,” said Hamish, completing the note he was writing. “I suppose I + am welcome to it?” + </p> + <p> + “To ten, if you want them,” returned Arthur. “To whom are you writing?” + </p> + <p> + “As if I should put you <i>au courant</i> of my love-letters!” gaily + answered Hamish. + </p> + <p> + How could Hamish indulge in this careless gaiety with a sword hanging over + his head? It was verily a puzzle to Arthur. A light, sunny nature was + Hamish Channing’s. This sobering blow which had fallen on it had probably + not come before it was needed. Had his bark been sailing for ever in + smooth waters, he might have wasted his life, indolently basking on the + calm, seductive waves. But the storm rose, the waves ran high, threatening + to engulf him, and Hamish knew that his best energies must be put forth to + surmount them. Never, never talk of troubles as great, unmitigated evils: + to the God-fearing, the God-trusting, they are fraught with hidden love. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, were I threatened with worry, as you are, I could not be + otherwise than oppressed and serious.” + </p> + <p> + “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 a + fellow good? I never did: but a great deal of harm. I shall manage to + scramble out of the pit somehow. You’ll see.” He put the note into his + pocket, as he spoke, and took up his hat to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Stop an instant longer, Hamish. I have just met Hopper.” + </p> + <p> + “He did not convert you into a writ-server, I hope. I don’t think it would + be legal.” + </p> + <p> + “There you are, joking again! Hamish, he has the writ, but he does not + wish to serve it. You are to keep out of his way, he says, and he will not + seek to put himself in yours. My father was kind to him in days gone by, + and he remembers it now.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a regular trump! I’ll send him half-a-crown in a parcel,” exclaimed + Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would hear me out. He says a ten-pound note, perhaps a + five-pound note, on account, would induce ‘his people’—suppose you + understand the phrase—to stay proceedings, and to give you time. He + strongly advises it to be done. That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + Not only all Arthur had to say upon the point, but all he had time to say. + At that moment, the barouche of Lady Augusta Yorke drove up to the door, + 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 a missionary + meeting at the Guildhall, and had called for Roland, that he might escort + her into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Roland is not to be found, Lady Augusta,” said Hamish, raising his hat + with one of his sunny smiles. “He darted off, it is impossible to say + where, thereby making me a prisoner. My brother had to attend the + cathedral, and there was no one to keep office.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think I must make a prisoner of you in turn, Mr. Hamish Channing,” + graciously said Lady Augusta. “Will you accompany us?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish shook his head. “I wish I could; but I have already wasted more + time than I ought to have done.” + </p> + <p> + “It will not cost you five minutes more,” urged Lady Augusta. “You shall + only just take us into the hall; I will release you then, if you must be + released. Three ladies never can go in alone—fancy how we should be + stared at!” + </p> + <p> + Constance bent her pretty face forward. “Do, Hamish, if you can!” + </p> + <p> + He suffered himself to be persuaded, stepped into the barouche, and took + his seat by Lady Augusta. As they drove away, Arthur thought the greatest + ornament the carriage contained had been added to it in handsome Hamish. + </p> + <p> + A full hour Arthur worked on at his deeds and leases, and Roland Yorke + never returned. Mr. Galloway came in then. “Where’s Yorke?” was his first + question. + </p> + <p> + Arthur replied that he did not know; he had “stepped out” somewhere. + Arthur Channing was not one to make mischief, or get another into trouble. + Mr. Galloway asked no further; he probably inferred that Yorke had only + just gone. He sat down at Jenkins’s desk, and began to read over a lease. + </p> + <p> + “Can I have the stamps, sir, for this deed?” Arthur presently asked. + </p> + <p> + “They are not ready. Have the letters gone to the post?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You can take them now, then. And, Arthur, suppose you step in, as you + return, and see how Jenkins is.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir.” He went into Mr. Galloway’s room, and brought forth the + three letters from the rack. “Is this one not to be sealed?” he inquired + of Mr. Galloway, indicating the one directed to Ventnor, for it was Mr. + Galloway’s invariable custom to seal letters which contained money, after + they had been gummed down. “It is doubly safe,” he would say. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, to be sure,” replied Mr. Galloway. “I went off in a hurry, and did + not do it. Bring me the wax.” + </p> + <p> + 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 out his + hand for another of the letters, and sealed that. “And this one also?” + inquired Arthur, holding out the third. + </p> + <p> + “No. You can take them now.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur departed. A few paces from the door he met Roland Yorke, coming + along in a white heat. + </p> + <p> + “Channing, I could not help it—I could not, upon my honour. I had to + go somewhere with Knivett, and we were kept till now. Galloway’s in an + awful rage, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “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 do it again, + or Mr. Galloway may hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is all owing to that confounded Jenkins!” flashed Roland. “Why did he + go and get his head smashed? You are a good fellow, Arthur. I’ll do you a + neighbourly turn, some time.” + </p> + <p> + He sped into the office, and Arthur walked to the post with the letters. + Coming back, he turned into Mrs. Jenkins’s shop in the High Street. + </p> + <p> + 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, up the + two-pair flight, and I’ll take my affidavit that there’s been fifty folks + here this day to see him, if there has been one. I could sow a peck of + peas on the stairs! You’ll find other company up there.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur groped his way up the stairs; they were dark too, coming in from + the sunshine. He found the room, and entered. Jenkins lay in bed, his + bandaged head upon the pillow; and, seated by his side, his apron falling, + and his clerical hat held between his knees, was the Bishop of + Helstonleigh. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. — A SPLASH IN THE RIVER. + </h2> + <p> + Amongst other facts, patent to common and uncommon sense, is the very + obvious 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 different portions of + his narrative at one and the same time. Thus you will readily 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 <i>his</i> + concerns; although in the strict order of time and sequence, the latter + gentleman might have claimed an equal, if not a premier right. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch stood in his lodge, leaning for support upon the shut-up + press-bedstead, which, by day, looked like a high chest of drawers with + brass handles, his eyes fixed on the keys, hanging on the opposite nail. + 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: it was yellow and + withered; and his small bright eyes were always dropping water; and the + two or three locks of hair, which he still possessed, were faded, and + stood out, solitary and stiff, after the manner of those pictures you have + seen of heathens who decorate their heads with upright tails. At this + moment his countenance looked particularly unpleasant. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch had spent part of the night and the whole of this morning + revolving the previous evening’s affair of the cloisters. The more he + thought of it, the less he liked it, and the surer grew his conviction + that the evil had been the work of his enemies, the college boys. + </p> + <p> + “It’s as safe as day,” he wrathfully soliloquized. “There be the right + keys,” 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 the + rusty keys, upon entering his lodge last night, accompanied by the crowd. + “They meant to lock me up all night in the cloisters, the wicked + cannibals! I hope the dean’ll expel ‘em! I’ll make my complaint to the + head-master, I will! Drat all college schools! there’s never no good done + in ‘em!” + </p> + <p> + “How are you this morning, Ketch?” + </p> + <p> + The salutation proceeded from Stephen Bywater, who, in the boisterous + manner peculiar to himself and his tribe, had flung open the door without + the ceremony of knocking. + </p> + <p> + “I’m none the better for seeing you,” growled Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “You need not be uncivil,” returned Bywater, with great suavity. “I am + only making a morning call upon you, after the fashion of gentlefolks; the + public delights to pay respect to its officials, you know. How <i>do</i> + you feel after that mishap last night? We can’t think, any of us, how you + came to make the mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll ‘mistake’ you!” shrieked Ketch. “I kep’ a nasty old, rusty brace o’ + keys in my lodge to take out, instead o’ the right ones, didn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “How uncommonly stupid it was of you to do so!” said Bywater, pretending + to take the remark literally. “<i>I</i> would not keep a duplicate pair of + keys by me—I should make sure they’d bring me to grief. What do you + say? You did <i>not</i> keep duplicate keys—they were false ones! + Why, that’s just what we all told you last night. The bishop told you so. + He said he knew you had made a mistake, and taken out the wrong keys for + the right. My belief is, that you went out without any keys at all. You + left them hanging upon the nail, and you found them there. You had not got + a second pair!” + </p> + <p> + “You just wait!” raved old Ketch. “I’m a-coming round to the head-master, + and I’ll bring the keys with me. He’ll let you boys know whether there’s + two pairs, or one. Horrid old rusty things they be; as rusty as you!” + </p> + <p> + “Who says they are rusty?” + </p> + <p> + “Who says it! They <i>are</i> rusty!” shrieked the old man. “You’d like to + get me into a madhouse, you boys would, worrying me! I’ll show you whether + 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 the dean! I’ll + show ‘em again to his lordship the bi—What’s gone of the keys?” + </p> + <p> + The last sentence was uttered in a different tone and in apparent + perplexity. With shaking hands, excited by passion, Mr. Ketch was + rummaging the knife-box—an old, deep, mahogany tray, dark with age, + divided by a partition—rummaging for the rusty keys. He could not + find them. He searched on this side, he searched on that; he pulled out + the contents, one by one: a black-handled knife, a white-handled fork, a + green-handled knife with a broken point, and a brown-handled fork with one + prong, which comprised his household cutlery; a small whetstone, a comb + and a blacking-brush, a gimlet and a small hammer, some leather + shoe-strings, three or four tallow candles, a match-box and an + extinguisher, the key of his door, the bolt of his casement window, and a + 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. The keys + were not there. + </p> + <p> + When he had fully taken in the fact—it cost him some little time to + do it—he turned his anger upon Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “You have took ‘em, you have! you have turned thief, and stole ‘em! I put + ‘em here in the knife-box, and they are gone! What have you done with + ‘em?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, that’s good!” exclaimed Bywater, in too genuine a tone to admit a + suspicion of its truth. “I have not been near your knife-box; I have not + put my foot inside the door.” + </p> + <p> + In point of fact, Bywater had not. He had stood outside, bending his head + and body inwards, his hands grasping either door-post. + </p> + <p> + “What’s gone with ‘em? who ‘as took ‘em off? I’ll swear I put ‘em there, + and I have never looked at ‘em nor touched ‘em since! There’s an infamous + conspiracy forming against me! I’m going to be blowed up, like Guy + Fawkes!” + </p> + <p> + “If you did put them there—‘<i>if</i>,’ you know—some of your + friends must have taken them,” cried Bywater, in a tone midway between + reason and irony. + </p> + <p> + “There haven’t a soul been nigh the place,” shrieked Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “Except the milk, and he gave me my ha’porth through the winder.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah!” said Bywater, throwing up his trencher. “It’s a clear case of + dreams. You dreamt you had a second pair of keys, Ketch, and couldn’t get + rid of the impression on awaking. Mr. Ketch, D.H., Dreamer-in-chief to + Helstonleigh!” + </p> + <p> + Bywater commenced an aggravating dance. Ketch was aggravated sufficiently + without it. “What d’ye call me?” he asked, in a state of concentrated + 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 to call me by his + name.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Ketch! call <i>you</i> by his name! I never thought of such a + thing,” politely retorted Bywater. “You are not promoted to that honour + yet. D.H., stands for Deputy-Hangman. Isn’t it affixed to the cathedral + roll, kept amid the archives in the chapter-house”—John Ketch, D.H., + porter to the cloisters! “I hope you don’t omit the distinguishing + initials when you sign your letters?” + </p> + <p> + Ketch foamed. Bywater danced. The former could not find words. The latter + found plenty. + </p> + <p> + “I say, though, Mr. Calcraft, don’t you make a similar mistake when you + are going on public duty. If you were to go <i>there</i>, dreaming you had + the right apparatus, and find, in the last moment, that you had brought + the wrong, you don’t know what the consequences might be. The real victim + might escape, rescued by the enraged crowd, and they might put the + nightcap upon you, and operate upon you instead! So, be careful. We + couldn’t afford to lose you. Only think, what a lot of money it would cost + to put the college into mourning!” + </p> + <p> + 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-brick + floor, and banged the door in Bywater’s face. Bywater withdrew to a short + distance, under cover of the cathedral wall, and bent his body backwards + and forwards with the violence of his laughter, unconscious that the + Bishop of Helstonleigh was standing near him, surveying him with an + exceedingly amused expression. His lordship had been an ear-witness to + part of the colloquy, very much to his edification. + </p> + <p> + “What is your mirth, Bywater?” + </p> + <p> + Bywater drew himself straight, and turned round as if he had been shot. “I + was only laughing, my lord,” he said, touching his trencher. + </p> + <p> + “I see you were; you will lose your breath altogether some day, if you + laugh in that violent manner. What were you and Ketch quarrelling about?” + </p> + <p> + “We were not quarrelling, my lord. I was only chaff—teasing him,” + rejoined Bywater, substituting one word for the other, as if fearing the + first might not altogether be suited to the bishop’s ears; “and Ketch fell + into a passion.” + </p> + <p> + “As he often does, I fear,” remarked his lordship. “I fancy you boys + provoke him unjustifiably.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” said Bywater, turning his red, impudent, but honest face full + upon the prelate, “I don’t deny that we do provoke him; but you can have + no idea what an awful tyrant he is to us. I can’t believe any one was ever + born with such a cross-grained temper. He vents it upon every one: not + only upon the college boys, but upon all who come in his way. If your + lordship were not the bishop,” added bold Bywater, “he would vent it upon + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Would he?” said the bishop, who was a dear lover of candour, and would + have excused a whole bushel of mischief, rather than one little grain of + falsehood. + </p> + <p> + “Not a day passes, but he sets upon us with his tongue. He would keep us + out of the cloisters; he would keep us out of our own schoolroom. He goes + to the head-master with the most unfounded cram—stories, and when + the master declines to notice them (for he knows Ketch of old), then he + goes presumingly to the dean. If he let us alone, we should let him alone. + I am not speaking this in the light of a complaint to your lordship,” + Bywater added, throwing his head back. “I don’t want to get him into a + row, tyrant though he is; and the college boys can hold their own against + Ketch.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect they can,” significantly replied the bishop. “He would keep you + out of the cloisters, would he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is aiming at it,” returned Bywater. “There never would have been a + word said about our playing there, but for him. If the dean shuts us out, + it will be Ketch’s doings. The college boys have played in the cloisters + since the school was founded.” + </p> + <p> + “He would keep you out of the cloisters; so, by way of retaliation, you + lock him into them—an uncomfortable place of abode for a night, + Bywater.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord!” cried Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” responded his lordship. + </p> + <p> + “Does your lordship think it was I who played that trick on Ketch?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do—speaking of you conjointly with the school.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater’s eyes and his good-humoured countenance fell before the steady + gaze of the prelate. But in the gaze there was an earnest—if Bywater + could read it aright—of good feeling, of excuse for the mischief, + rather than of punishment in store. The boy’s face was red enough at all + times, but it turned to scarlet now. If the bishop had before suspected + the share played in the affair by the college boys, it had by this time + been converted into a certainty. + </p> + <p> + “Boy,” said he, “confess it if you like, be silent if you like; but do not + tell me a lie.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater turned up his face again. His free, fearless eyes—free in + the cause of daring, but fearless in that of truth—looked straight + into those of the bishop. “I never do tell lies,” he answered. “There’s + not a boy in the school punished oftener than I am; and I don’t say but I + generally deserve it! but it is never for telling a lie. If I did tell + them, I should slip out of many a scrape that I am punished for now.” + </p> + <p> + The bishop could read truth as well as any one—better than many—and + he saw that it was being told to him now. “Which of you must be punished + for this trick as ringleader?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I, my lord, if any one must be,” frankly avowed Bywater. “We should have + let him out at ten o’clock. We never meant to keep him there all night. If + I am punished, I hope your lordship will be so kind as allow it to be put + down to your own account, not to Ketch’s. I should not like it to be + thought that I caught it for <i>him</i>. I heartily beg your pardon, my + lord, for having been so unfortunate as to include you in the locking-up. + We are all as sorry as can be, that it should have happened. I am ready to + take any punishment, for that, that you may order me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the bishop, “had you known that I was in the cloisters, your + friend Ketch would have come off scot free!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that he would, until—” + </p> + <p> + “Until what?” asked the bishop, for Bywater had brought his words to a + standstill. + </p> + <p> + “Until a more convenient night, I was going to say, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s candid,” said the bishop. “Bywater,” he gravely added, “you + have spoken the truth to me freely. Had you equivocated in the slightest + degree, I should have punished you for the equivocation. As it is, I shall + look upon this as a confidential communication, and <i>not</i> order you + punishment. But we will not have any more tricks played at locking up + Ketch. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “All right, my lord. Thank you a hundred times.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater, touching his trencher, leaped off. The bishop turned to enter his + palace gates, which were close by, and encountered Ketch talking to the + head-master. The latter had been passing the lodge, when he was seen and + pounced upon by Ketch, who thought it a good opportunity to make his + complaint. + </p> + <p> + “I am as morally sure it was them, sir, as I am that I be alive.” he was + saying when the bishop came up. “And I don’t know who they has dealings + with; but, for certain, they have sperited away them rusty keys what did + the mischief, without so much as putting one o’ their noses 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 they deserve. I am + nothing, of course. If they had locked me up, and kept me there till I was + worn to a skeleton, it might be thought light of; but his lordship, the + bishop”—bowing sideways to the prelate—“was a sufferer by + their wickedness.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I was,” said the bishop, in a grave tone, but with a twinkle + in his eye; “and therefore the complaint to Mr. Pye must be preferred by + me, Ketch. We will talk of it when I have leisure,” he added to Mr. Pye, + with a pleasant nod, as he went through the palace gates. + </p> + <p> + The head-master bowed to the bishop, and walked away, leaving Ketch on the + growl. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Bywater, flying through the cloisters, came upon Hurst, and two + or three more of the conspirators. The time was between nine and ten + o’clock. The boys had been home for breakfast after early school, and were + now reassembling, but they did not go into school until a quarter before + ten. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Knows that it was us!” echoed the startled boys. “How did it come out to + him?” asked Hurst. + </p> + <p> + “He guessed it, I think,” said Bywater, “and he taxed me with it. So I + couldn’t help myself, and told him I’d take the punishment; and he said + he’d excuse us, but there was to be no locking up of Mr. Calcraft again. + I’d lay a hundred guineas the bishop went in for scrapes himself, when he + was a boy!” emphatically added Bywater. “I’ll be bound he thinks we only + served the fellow right. Hurrah for the bishop!” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah for the bishop!” shouted Hurst, with the other chorus of voices. + “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. “My father says he + doesn’t know but what brain fever will come on.” + </p> + <p> + “Moonshine!” laughed the boys. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word and honour, it is not. He pitched right upon his head; it + might have cost him his life had he fallen upon the edge of the stone + step, but they think he alighted flat. My father was round with him this + morning at six o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Does your father know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not he. What next?” cried Hurst. “Should I stand before him, and take my + trencher off, with a bow, and say, ‘If you please, sir, it was the college + boys who served out old Ketch!’ That would be a nice joke! He said, at + breakfast, this morning, that that fumbling old Ketch must have got hold + of the wrong keys. ‘Of course, sir!’ answered I.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what do you think, though!” interrupted Bywater. “Ketch can’t find + the keys. He put them into a knife-box, he says, and this morning they are + gone. He intended to take them round to Pye, and I left him going rampant + over the loss. Didn’t I chaff him?” + </p> + <p> + Hurst laughed. He unbuttoned the pocket of his trousers, and partially + exhibited two rusty keys. “I was not going to leave them to Ketch for + witnesses,” 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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 search this + morning, and visit our pockets? You’d floor us at once!” + </p> + <p> + “The truth is, I don’t know where to put them,” ingenuously acknowledged + Hurst. “If I hid them at home, they’d be found; if I dropped them in the + street, some hullaballoo might arise from it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s carry them back to the old-iron shop, and get the fellow to buy + them back at half-price!” + </p> + <p> + “Catch him doing that! Besides, the trick is sure to get wind in the town; + he might be capable of coming forward and declaring that we bought the + keys at his shop.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s throw ‘em down old Pye’s well!” + </p> + <p> + “They’d come up again in the bucket, as ghosts do!” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t we make a railway parcel of them, and direct it to ‘Mr. Smith, + London?’” + </p> + <p> + “‘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.” + </p> + <p> + “Throw them into the river,” said Stephen Bywater. “That’s the only safe + place for them: they’d lie at the bottom for ever. We have time to do it + now. Come along.” + </p> + <p> + Acting upon the impulse, as schoolboys usually do, they went galloping out + of the cloisters, running against the head-master, who was entering, and + nearly overturning his equilibrium. He gave them an angry word of caution; + they touched their caps in reply, and somewhat slackened their speed, + resuming the gallop when he was out of hearing. + </p> + <p> + Inclosing the cathedral and its precincts on the western side, was a wall, + built of red stone. It was only breast high, standing on the cathedral + side; but on the other side it descended several feet, to the broad path + which ran along the banks of the river. The boys made for this wall and + gained it, their faces hot, and their breath gone. + </p> + <p> + “Who’ll pitch ‘em in?” cried Hurst, who did not altogether relish being + chief actor himself, for windows looked on to that particular spot from + various angles and corners of the Boundaries. “You shall do it, Galloway!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh shall I, though!” returned young Galloway, not relishing it either. + </p> + <p> + “You precious rebel! Take the keys, and do as I order you!” + </p> + <p> + Young Galloway was under Hurst. He no more dared to disobey him than he + could have disobeyed the head-master. Had Hurst ordered him to jump into + the river he must have done it. He took the keys tendered him by Hurst, + and was raising them for the pitch, when Bywater laid his hand upon them + and struck them down with a sudden movement, clutching them to him. + </p> + <p> + “You little wretch, you are as deaf as a donkey!” he uttered. “There’s + somebody coming up. Turn your head, and look who it is.” + </p> + <p> + It proved to be Fordham, the dean’s servant. He was accidentally passing. + The boys did not fear him; nevertheless, it was only prudent to remain + still, until he had gone by. They stood, all five, leaning upon the wall, + soiling their waistcoats and jackets, in apparent contemplation of the + view beyond. A pleasant view! The river wound peacefully between its green + banks; meadows and cornfields were stretched out beyond; while an opening + afforded a glimpse of that lovely chain of hills, and the white houses + nestled at their base. A barge, drawn by a horse, was appearing slowly + from underneath the city bridge, blue smoke ascending from its chimney. A + woman on board was hanging out linen to dry—a shirt, a pair of + stockings, and a handkerchief—her husband’s change for the coming + Sunday. A young girl was scraping potatoes beside her; and a man, probably + the husband, sat steering, his pipe in his mouth. The boys fixed their + eyes upon the boat. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t mind such a life as that fellow’s yonder!” exclaimed young + Berkeley, who was fonder of idleness than he was of Latin. “I’ll turn + bargeman when other trades fail. It must be rather jolly to sit steering a + boat all day, and do nothing but smoke.” + </p> + <p> + “Fordham’s gone, and be hanged to him! Now for it, Galloway!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a bit,” said Bywater. “They must be wrapped up, or else tied close + together. Better wrap them up, and then no matter who sees. They can’t + swear there are keys inside. Who has any paper about him?” + </p> + <p> + One of the boys, Hall, had his exercise-book with him. They tore a sheet + or two out of it, and folded it round the keys, Hurst producing some + string. “I’ll fling them in,” said Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “Make haste, then, or we shall have to wait till the barge has gone by.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater took a cautious look round, saw nobody, and flung the parcel into + the middle of the river. “<i>Rari nantes in gurgite vasto</i>!” ejaculated + he. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you gents, what be you throwing into the river?” + </p> + <p> + The words came from Hudson, the porter to the Boundaries, who appeared to + have sprung up from the ground. In reality, he had been standing on the + steps leading to the river, but the boat-house had hidden him from their + view. He was a very different man from the cloister porter; was afraid of + the college boys, rather than otherwise, and addressed them individually + as “sir.” The keeper of the boat-house heard this, and came up the steps. + </p> + <p> + “If you gentlemen have been throwing anything into the river you know that + it’s against the rules.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t bother!” returned Hurst, to the keeper. + </p> + <p> + “But you know it <i>is</i> wrong, gentlemen,” remonstrated the keeper. + “What was it you threw in? It made a dreadful splash.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! what was it?” coolly answered Hurst. “What should you say to a dead + cat? Hudson, have the goodness to mind <i>your</i> business, unless you + would like to get reported for interfering with what does not concern + you.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a quarter to ten!” exclaimed Bywater, as the college clock chimed + the three-quarters. “We shall be marked late, every soul of us!” + </p> + <p> + They flew away, their feet scarcely touching the ground, clattered up the + schoolroom stairs, and took their places. Gaunt was only beginning to call + over the roll, and they escaped the “late” mark. + </p> + <p> + “It’s better to be born lucky than rich,” said saucy Bywater. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. — MUCH TO ALTER. + </h2> + <p> + At the same moment Constance Channing was traversing the Boundaries, on + her 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 would willingly have + commenced the daily routine at an earlier hour. Lady Augusta freely + confessed that to come earlier would be useless, for she could not get her + daughters up. Strictly speaking, Lady Augusta did not personally try to + get them up, for she generally lay in bed herself. + </p> + <p> + “That is one of the habits I must alter in the children,” thought + Constance. + </p> + <p> + She entered, took off her things in the room appropriated to her, and + passed into the schoolroom. It was empty, though the children ought to + have been there, preparing their lessons. Fanny came running in, her hair + in curl-papers, some bread and butter in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Carry has not finished her breakfast, Miss Channing,” quoth she. “She was + lazy this morning!” + </p> + <p> + “I think some one else was lazy also,” said Constance, gently drawing the + child to her. “Why did you come down half-dressed, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite dressed,” responded Fanny. “My frock’s on, and so is my + pinafore.” + </p> + <p> + “And these?” said Constance, touching the curl-papers. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Martha got up late, and said she had no time to take them out. It + will keep in curl all the better, Miss Channing; and perhaps I am going to + the missionary meeting with mamma.” + </p> + <p> + Constance rang the bell. Martha, who was the only maid kept, except the + cook, appeared in answer to it. Lady Augusta was wont to say that she had + too much expense with her boys to keep many servants; and the argument was + a true one. + </p> + <p> + “Be so kind as to take the papers out of Miss Fanny’s hair. And let it be + done in future, Martha, before she comes to me.” + </p> + <p> + Gently as the words were spoken, there was no mistaking that the tone was + one of authority, and not to be trifled with. Martha withdrew with the + child. And, just then, Caroline came in, full of eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Channing, mamma says she shall take one of us to the missionary + meeting, whichever you choose to fix upon. Mind you fix upon me! What does + that little chit, Fanny, want at a missionary meeting? She is too young to + go.” + </p> + <p> + “It is expected to be a very interesting meeting,” observed Constance, + making no reply to Miss Caroline’s special request. “A gentleman who has + lived for some years amongst the poor heathens is to give a history of his + personal experiences. Some of the anecdotes are beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you they were?” asked Caroline. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Yorke,” replied Constance, a pretty blush rising to her cheek. “He + knows the lecturer well. You would be pleased to hear them.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you wish so much to attend this one?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I shall wear my new dress. I have not had it on yet. It rained + last Sunday, and mamma would not let me put it on for college. I was in + such a passion.” + </p> + <p> + Constance wondered where she should begin. There was so much to do; so + much to alter in so many ways. To set to work abruptly would never answer. + It must be commenced gradually, almost imperceptibly, little by little. + </p> + <p> + “Caroline, do you know that you have disobeyed me?” + </p> + <p> + “In what way, Miss Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I not request you to have that exercise written out?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Caroline, with some contrition. “I intended to write it out + this morning before you came; but somehow I lay in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “If I were to come to you every morning at seven o’clock, would you + undertake to get up and be ready for me?” asked Constance. + </p> + <p> + Caroline drew a long face. She did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you are fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” responded Caroline. + </p> + <p> + “And you must not feel hurt if I tell you that I should think no other + young lady of that age and in your position is half so deficient as you + are. 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Annabel says you worry her into learning.” + </p> + <p> + “Annabel is fond of talking nonsense; but she is a good, loving child at + heart. You would be surprised at the little trouble she really gives me + while she makes a show of giving me a great deal. I have <i>so much</i> to + teach you, Caroline—to your mind and heart, as well as to your + intellect—that I feel the hours as at present arranged, will be + insufficient for me. My dear, when you grow up to womanhood, I am sure you + will wish to be loving and loved.” + </p> + <p> + Caroline burst into tears. “I should do better if mamma were not so cross + with me, Miss Channing. I always do anything that William Yorke asks me; + and I will do anything for you.” + </p> + <p> + Constance kissed her. “Then will you begin by rising early, and being + ready for me at seven?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will,” answered Caroline. “But Martha must be sure to call me. Are + you going to the meeting this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said Constance. “My time now belongs to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I think mamma wishes you to go with us. She said something about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she? I should very much like to go.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta came in and proffered the invitation to Constance to + accompany them. Constance then spoke of giving the children the extra two + hours, from seven to nine: it was really necessary, she said, if she was + to do her duty by them. + </p> + <p> + “How very conscientious you are!” laughed Lady Augusta, her tone savouring + of ridicule. + </p> + <p> + Constance coloured almost to tears with her emotion. “I am responsible to + One always, Lady Augusta. I may not make mine only eye-service.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I will return home to breakfast. I should prefer to do so. And I will be + here again at ten.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever time do you get up?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very early,” answered Constance. “Hitherto I have risen at seven, + summer and winter. Dressing and reading takes me just an hour; for the + other 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 here at + seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Lady Augusta. “I suppose this will only apply to the + summer months. One of the girls shall go with us to-day; whichever + deserves it best.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not leaving one of them at home to make room for me, I hope, Lady + Augusta?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” answered Lady Augusta. “I never <i>chaperon</i> two children + to a crowded meeting. People might say they took up the room of grown-up + persons.” + </p> + <p> + “You will let me go—not Caroline, Miss Channing?” pleaded Fanny, + when her mother had quitted them. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Caroline, sharply; “Miss Channing will fix upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall obey Lady Augusta, and decide upon the one who shall best merit + it,” smiled Constance. “It will be only right to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we are both good, and merit it equally?” suggested Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear little girl, you must not be disappointed if, in that case, + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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 were forgotten, and + idleness followed. Not only idleness, temper also. Never had she been so + troublesome to Constance as on this day; she even forgot herself so far as + to be insolent. Fanny was taken to the meeting—you saw her in the + carriage when Lady Augusta drove to Mr. Galloway’s office, and persuaded + Hamish to join them—Caroline was left at home, in a state of open + rebellion, with the lessons to learn which she had <i>not</i> learnt in + the day. + </p> + <p> + “How shall you get on with them, Constance?” the Rev. William Yorke + inquired of her that same evening. “Have the weeds destroyed the good + seed?” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite destroyed it,” replied Constance, though she sighed sadly as + she 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, with her, + have had longer time to get ahead. I think, perhaps, if I could keep her + wholly with me for a twelvemonth or so, watching over her constantly, a + great deal might be effected.” + </p> + <p> + “If that anticipated living would fall in, which seems very far away in + the clouds, and you were wholly mine, we might have Caroline with us for a + time,” laughed Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + Constance laughed too. “Do not be impatient, or it will seem to be further + off still. It will come, William.” + </p> + <p> + They had been speaking in an undertone, standing together at a window, + apart from the rest. Mr. Channing was lying on his sofa underneath the + other window, and now spoke to Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “You had a treat, I hear, at the meeting to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “We had, indeed, sir,” replied Mr. Yorke, advancing to take a seat near + him. “It is not often we have the privilege of listening to so eloquent a + speaker as Dr. Lamb. His experience is great, and his whole heart was in + his subject. I should like to bring him here to call upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be pleased to receive him,” replied Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is possible that his experience in another line may be of + service to you,” continued Mr. Yorke. “You are aware that ill health drove + him home?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard so.” + </p> + <p> + “His complaint was rheumatism, very much, as I fancy, the same sort of + rheumatism that afflicts you. He told me he came to Europe with very + little hope: he feared his complaint had become chronic and incurable. But + he has been restored in a wonderful manner, and is in sound health again.” + </p> + <p> + “And what remedies did he use?” eagerly asked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “A three months’ residence at some medicinal springs in Germany. Nothing + else. When I say nothing else, of course I must imply that he was under + medical treatment there. It is the very thing, you see, sir, that has been + ordered for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” sighed Mr. Channing, feeling how very faint appeared to be the hope + that he should have the opportunity of trying it. + </p> + <p> + “I was mentioning your case to him,” observed Mr. Yorke. “He said he had + no doubt the baths would do you equal good. He is a doctor, you know. I + will bring him here to talk it over with you.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment Mr. Galloway entered: the subject was continued. Mr. Yorke + and Mr. Galloway were eloquent on it, telling Mr. Channing that he <i>must</i> + go to Germany, as a point of duty. The Channings themselves were silent; + they could not see the way at all clear. When Mr. Yorke was leaving, he + beckoned Constance and Arthur into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Channing must go,” he whispered to them. “Think of all that is at + stake! Renewed health, exertion, happiness! Arthur, you did not urge it by + a single word.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur did not feel hopeful; indeed his heart sank within him the whole + time that they were talking. Hamish and his difficulties were the dark + shadow; though he could not tell this to Mr. Yorke. Were Mr. Channing to + go abroad, and the arrest of Hamish to follow upon it, the post they held, + and its emoluments, might be taken from them at once and for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Lamb says the cost was so trifling as scarcely to be credited,” + continued Mr. Yorke in a tone of remonstrance. “Arthur, <i>don’t</i> you + care to help—to save him?” + </p> + <p> + “I would move heaven and earth to save my father!” impulsively spoke + Arthur, stung by the implied reproof. “I should not care what labour it + cost me to procure the money, so that I succeeded.” + </p> + <p> + “We all would,” said Constance; “you must know we would, William. From + Hamish downwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is that, making free with Hamish’s name?” demanded that gentleman + himself, entering the house with a free step and merry countenance. “Did + you think I was lost? I was seduced into joining your missionary-meeting + people, and have had to stop late at the office, to make up for it.” + </p> + <p> + “We have been talking about papa, Hamish,” said Constance. “Fresh hope + seems to arise daily that those German baths would restore him to health. + They cured Dr. Lamb.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Hamish, that the money must be found for it somehow,” added Mr. + Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Found! of course it shall be found,” cried gay Hamish. “I intend to be a + chief contributor to it myself.” But his joking words and careless manner + jarred at that moment upon the spirit both of Arthur and Constance + Channing. + </p> + <p> + Why? Could there have been any unconscious foreshadowing of evil to come? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. — SUNDAY MORNING AT MR. CHANNING’S, AND AT LADY + AUGUSTA’S. + </h2> + <p> + The day of rest came round in due course. A day of rest it is in truth to + those who have learnt to make it such; a pleasant time of peace; a + privileged season of commune with God; a loving day of social happiness + for home and home ties. And yet, strange to say, it is, to some, the most + hurried, uncomfortable, disagreeable day of all the seven. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing’s breakfast hour was nine o’clock on ordinary days, made + thus late for the sake of convenience. On Sundays it was half-past eight. + Discipline and training had rendered it easy to observe rules at Mr. + Channing’s; or, it may be better to say, it had rendered them difficult to + be disobeyed. At half-past eight all were in the breakfast-room, dressed + for the day. When the hour for divine service arrived, they had only to + put on their hats and bonnets to be ready for it. Even old Judy was grand + on a Sunday morning. Her mob-cap was of spotted, instead of plain net, and + her check apron was replaced by a white one. + </p> + <p> + With great personal inconvenience, and some pain—for he was always + worse in the morning—Mr. Channing would on that day rise to + breakfast. It had been his invariable custom to take the reading himself + on Sunday—the little time he devoted to religion—and he was + unwilling to break through it. Breakfast over, it was immediately entered + upon, and would be finished by ten o’clock. He did not preach a sermon; he + did not give them much reading; it was only a little homely preparation + for the day and the services they were about to enter upon. Very unwise + had it been of Mr. Channing, to tire his children with a private service + before the public service began. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast, on these mornings, was always a longer meal than usual. There + was no necessity to hurry over it, in order to hasten to the various + occupations of every-day life. It was taken leisurely, amidst much + pleasant, social converse. + </p> + <p> + 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, that Mr. + Channing looked at him with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I have been to see Jenkins, sir,” he explained. “In coming home last + night, I met Mr. Hurst, who told me he feared Jenkins was getting worse. I + would not go to see him then; it might have been late to disturb him, so I + have been now.” + </p> + <p> + “And how is he?” inquired Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “A great deal better,” replied Arthur. “So much better that Mr. Hurst + says he may come to the office to-morrow should there be no relapse. He + enjoins strict quiet for to-day. And Mrs. Jenkins is determined that he + shall have quiet; therefore I am sure, he will,” Arthur added, laughing. + “She says he appeared ill last night only from the number of visitors he + had seen. They were coming in all day long; and on Friday besides.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should people flock to see Jenkins?” exclaimed Tom. “He is nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just what Mrs. Jenkins said this morning,” returned Arthur. “I + believe they go out of curiosity to hear the truth of the locking-up in + the cloisters. The bishop’s having been one of the sufferers has aroused + the interest of Helstonleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad that Jenkins is better,” observed Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” emphatically answered Arthur. He was pretty sure Tom had had no + share in the exploit; but he did not know about Charley. + </p> + <p> + “The dean preaches to-day,” suddenly called out Tom. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” demanded Annabel. + </p> + <p> + “Because I do,” oracularly spoke Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Will you condescend to inform me how you know it, Tom, if you will not + inform Annabel?” asked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + Tom laughed. “The dean began his close residence yesterday, papa. + Therefore we know he will preach to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing sighed. He was debarred from attending the services, and he + felt the deprivation keenly when he found that any particularly eminent + man was to fill the cathedral pulpit. The dean of Helstonleigh was an + admirable preacher. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Channing, in the uncontrollable impulse of the moment, + “if I could only regain health and strength!” + </p> + <p> + “It will come, James; God willing,” said Mrs. Channing, looking up + hopefully from the cups she was filling. “What I have heard of Dr. Lamb’s + restoration has put new confidence into me.” + </p> + <p> + “I think Mr. Yorke intends to bring Dr. Lamb to see you this afternoon, + papa,” said Constance. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad to see him; I shall be glad to hear the particulars of + his case and its cure,” exclaimed Mr. Channing, with all conscious + eagerness. “Did Mr. Yorke tell you he should bring him to-day, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, papa. Dr. Lamb intends to be at the cathedral for afternoon service, + and Mr. Yorke said he would bring him here afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “You must get him to take tea with us, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” answered Mrs. Channing. “In six months from this, James, you + may be as well and active as ever.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing raised his hands, as if warding off the words. Not of the + words was he afraid, but of the hopes they whispered. “I think too much + about it, already, Mary. It is not as though I were sure of getting to the + medicinal baths.” + </p> + <p> + “We will take care that you do that, sir,” said Hamish, with his sunny + smile. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> cannot help in it, you know, Hamish,” interposed saucy + Annabel. “It will be Arthur and Constance who will help—not you. I + heard you say so!” + </p> + <p> + “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 would better + become a certain little girl, not to chatter quite so much!” + </p> + <p> + Was Hamish speaking in jest, or earnest, with regard to the <i>helping</i> + point of the affair? A peculiar tone in his voice, in spite of its + lightness, had struck both Constance and Arthur, each being in the secret + of his more than want of funds. + </p> + <p> + The second bell was beginning to chime as the Channings entered the + cloister gates. Tom and Charles had gone on before. Panting, breathless, + almost knocking down Annabel, came Tod Yorke, terribly afraid of being + marked late. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Tod!” exclaimed Hamish. “Are you running for a wager?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t keep me, Mr. Hamish Channing! Those incapable servants of ours + never called us till the bell began. I have had no breakfast, and Gerald + couldn’t find his shirt. He has had to come off in his dirty one, with his + waistcoat buttoned up. Won’t my lady be in a rage when she sees him?” + </p> + <p> + Getting up and breakfasting were generally bustling affairs at Lady + Augusta’s; but the confusion of every day was as nothing compared with + that of Sunday. Master Tod was wrong when he complained that he had not + been called. The servants had called both him and Gerald, who shared the + same room, but the young gentlemen had gone to sleep again. The breakfast + hour was the same as other mornings, nine o’clock; but, for all the + observance it obtained, it might as well have been nine at night. To give + the servants their due, breakfast, on this morning, was on the table at + nine—that is, the cloth, the cups and saucers: and there it remained + until ten. The maids meanwhile enjoyed their own leisurely breakfast in + the kitchen, regaling themselves with hot coffee, poached eggs, buttered + toast, and a dish of gossip. At ten, Lady Augusta, who made a merit of + always rising to breakfast on a Sunday, entered the breakfast-room in a + dirty morning wrapper, and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Is nobody down?” cried she, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I think not, my lady,” was Martha’s reply. “I have not heard them. I have + been three times in the young ladies’ room, but they would not get up.” + </p> + <p> + This was not quite true. Martha had been in <i>once</i>, and had been + scolded for her pains. “None of them ever will get up on a Sunday + morning,” added Martha; “they say, ‘where’s the good?’” + </p> + <p> + “Bring in breakfast,” crossly responded Lady Augusta. “And then go to the + young ladies, and see whether the rest are getting up. What has the cook + been at with this coffee?” Lady Augusta added, when she began to pour it + out. “It is cold. Her coffee is always cold.” + </p> + <p> + “It has been made half an hour, I know, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + The first to appear was the youngest child of all, little Frank; the next + his brother, a year older; they wore dirty collars, and their hair was + uncombed. Then came the girls—Caroline without a frock, a shawl + thrown on, instead, and Fanny in curl papers. Lady Augusta scolded them + for their late appearance, forgetting, possibly, that she herself set the + example. + </p> + <p> + “It is not much past ten,” said Caroline. “We shall be in time for + college.” + </p> + <p> + “It is nearly upon half-past,” replied Lady Augusta. “Why do you come down + in a petticoat, Caroline?” + </p> + <p> + “That stupid dressmaker has put no tape to my dress,” fretfully responded + Caroline. “Martha is sewing it on.” + </p> + <p> + Roland lounged in, not more presentable than the rest. Why had Lady + Augusta not brought them up to better habits? Why should they come down on + a Sunday morning more untidy than on other mornings? They would have told + you, had you asked the question, that on other mornings they must be ready + to hasten to their daily occupations. Had <i>Sunday</i> no occupation, + then? Did it deserve no marked deference? Had I been Lady Augusta Yorke, I + should have said to Roland that morning, when I saw his slip-shod slippers + and his collarless neck, “If you can show no respect for me, show it for + the day.” + </p> + <p> + Half-past ten struck, and Lady Augusta started up to fly to her own room. + She had still much to do, ere she could be presentable for college. + Caroline followed. Fanny wondered what Gerald and Tod would do. Not yet + down! + </p> + <p> + “Those boys will get a tanning, to-morrow, from old Pye!” exclaimed + Roland, remembering the time when “tannings” had been his portion for the + same fault. “Go and see what they are after, Martha.” + </p> + <p> + They were “after” jumping up in alarm, aroused by the college bell. Amidst + wild confusion, for nothing seemed to be at hand, with harsh reproaches to + Martha, touching their shirts and socks, and other articles of attire, + they scrambled downstairs, somehow, and flew out of the house on their way + to the college schoolroom; Gerald drinking a freshly made scalding cup of + coffee; Tod cramming a thick piece of bread and butter into his pocket, + and trusting to some spare moment to eat it in. All this was the usual + scramble of Sunday morning. The Yorkes did get to college, somehow, and + there was an end of it. + </p> + <p> + After the conclusion of the service, as the congregation were dispersing, + Mr. Galloway came up to Arthur Channing in the cloisters, and drew him + aside. + </p> + <p> + “Do you recollect taking the letters to the post, on Friday afternoon?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “On Friday?” mused Arthur, who could not at the moment recollect much + about that particular day’s letters; it was he who generally posted them + for the office. “Oh yes, I do remember, sir,” he replied, as the relative + circumstances flashed across him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway looked at him, possibly doubting whether he really did + remember. “How many letters were there for the post that afternoon?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Three,” promptly rejoined Arthur. “Two were for London, and one was for + Ventnor.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” assented Mr. Galloway. “Now, then, to whom did you intrust the + posting of those letters?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not intrust them to any one,” replied Arthur; “I posted them + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure, sir,” answered Arthur, in some surprise. But Mr. Galloway + said no more, and gave no reason for his inquiry. He turned into his own + house, which was situated near the cloister gates, and Arthur went on + home. + </p> + <p> + Had you been attending worship in Helstonleigh Cathedral that same + afternoon, you might have observed, as one of the congregation, a tall + stout man, with a dark, sallow face, and grey hair. He sat in a stall near + to the Reverend William Yorke, who was the chanter for the afternoon. It + was Dr. Lamb. A somewhat peculiar history was his. Brought up to the + medical profession, and taking his physician’s degree early, 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 sad spiritual state of these + poor heathens gave the deepest concern to Dr. Lamb. He did what he could + for them in his leisure hours, but his profession took up most of his + time: often did he wish he had more time at his command. A few years of + hard work, and then the wish was realized. A small patrimony was + bequeathed him, sufficient to enable him to live without work. From that + time he applied himself to the arduous duties of a missionary, and his + labours were crowned with marked success. Next came illness. He was + attacked with rheumatism in the joints; and after many useless remedies + had been tried, he came home in search of health, which he found, as you + have heard, in certain German spas. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing watched the clock eagerly. Unless it has been your portion, + my reader, to undergo long and apparently hopeless affliction, and to find + yourself at length unexpectedly told that there <i>may</i> be a cure for + you; that another, afflicted in a similar manner, has been restored to + health by simple means, and will call upon you and describe to you what + they were—you could scarcely understand the nervous expectancy of + Mr. Channing on this afternoon. Four o’clock! they would soon be here now. + </p> + <p> + A very little time longer, and they were with him—his family, Mr. + Yorke, and Dr. Lamb. The chief subject of anxiety was soon entered upon, + Dr. Lamb describing his illness at great length. + </p> + <p> + “But were you as helpless as I am?” inquired Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Quite as helpless. I was carried on board, and carried to a bed at an + hotel when I reached England. From what I have heard of your case, and + from what you say, I should judge the nature of your malady to be + precisely similar to mine.” + </p> + <p> + “And now tell me about the healing process.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Lamb paused. “You must promise to put faith in my prescription.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing raised his eyes in surprise. “Why should I not do so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it will appear to you so very simple. I consulted a medical man + in London, one skilled in rheumatic cases, and he gave it as his opinion + that a month or two passed at one of the continental springs might restore + me. I laughed at him.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not believe him?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not, indeed. Shall I confess to you that I felt <i>vexed</i> with + him? There was I, a poor afflicted man, lying helpless, racked with pain; + and to be gravely assured that a short sojourn at a pleasant foreign + watering-place would, in all probability, <i>cure</i> me, sounded very + like mockery. I knew something of the disease, its ordinary treatment, and + its various phases. It was true I had left Europe for many years, and + strange changes had been taking place in medical science. Still, I had no + faith in what he said, as being applicable to my own case; and for a whole + month, week after week, day after day, I declined to entertain his views. + I considered that it would be so much time and money wasted.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Lamb paused. Mr. Channing did not interrupt him. + </p> + <p> + “One Sunday evening, I was on my solitary sofa—lying in pain—as + I can see 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 had + assembled within the walls of the sanctuary, from which privilege I was + excluded, I took up my Bible. It opened at the fifth chapter of the second + book of Kings. I began to read, somewhat listlessly, I fear—listlessly, + at any rate, compared with the strange enthusiasm which grew upon me as I + read, ‘Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again + to thee, and thou shalt be clean. And Naaman was wroth.... And his + servants spake unto him and said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee + do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? how much rather then, + when he saith unto thee, Wash, and be clean?’ + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Channing,” Dr. Lamb continued in a deeper tone, “the words sounded in + 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; the scales + seemed to fall from my eyes, and I said, ‘Shall I not try that simple + thing?’ A firm conviction that the chapter had been directed to me that + night as a warning, seated itself within me; and, from that hour, I never + entertained a shadow of doubt but that the baths would be successful.” + </p> + <p> + “And you journeyed to them?” + </p> + <p> + “Instantly. Within a week I was there. I seemed to <i>know</i> that I was + going to my cure. You will not, probably, understand this.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand it perfectly,” was Mr. Channing’s answer. “I believe that a + merciful Providence does vouchsafe, at rare times, to move us by these + direct interpositions. I need not ask you if you were cured. I have heard + that you were. I see you are. Can you tell me aught of the actual means?” + </p> + <p> + “I was ordered to a small place in the neighbourhood of Aix-la-Chapelle; a + quiet, unpretending place, where there are ever-rising springs of boiling, + sulphuric water. The precise course of treatment I will come in another + day and describe to you. I had to drink a great deal of the water, warm—six + or eight half-pints of it a day; I had to bathe regularly in this water; + and I had to take what are called douche baths every other day.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of the douche baths,” said Mr. Channing. “Rather fierce, are + they not?” + </p> + <p> + “Fierce!” echoed the doctor. “The first time I tried one, I thought I + should never come out alive. The water was dashed upon me, through a tube, + with what seemed alarming force until I grew used to it; whilst an + attendant rubbed and turned and twisted my limbs about, as if they had + been so many straws in his strong hand. So violent is the action of the + water that my face had to be protected by a board, lest it should come + into contact with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Strong treatment!” remarked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “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, I was, under + God’s goodness, restored to health. I entertain no doubt that you may be + restored in like manner.” + </p> + <p> + “And the cost?” asked Mr. Channing, with a sigh he could not wholly + suppress. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the beauty of it! the advantage to us poor folks, who possess a + shallow purse, and that only half filled,” laughed Dr. Lamb. “Had it been + costly, <i>I</i> could not have afforded it. These baths, mind you, are in + the hotel, which is the greatest possible accommodation to invalids; the + warm baths cost a franc each, the douche two francs, the water you drink, + nothing. The doctor’s fee is four and sixpence, and you need not consult + him often. Ascertain the proper course, and go on with it.” + </p> + <p> + “But the hotel expenses?” + </p> + <p> + “That cost me four shillings a day, everything included, except a trifle + for servants. Candles alone were extras, and I did not burn them very + much, for I was glad to go to bed early. Wine I do not take, or that also + would have been an extra. You could not live very much cheaper at home.” + </p> + <p> + “How I should like to go!” broke from the lips of Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + Hamish came forward. “You must go, my dear father! It shall be managed.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak hopefully, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish smiled. “I feel so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you feel so, also, my friend!” said Dr. Lamb, fervently. “Go forth to + the remedy as I did, in the full confidence that God can, and will, send + His blessing upon it.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. — MR. JENKINS ALIVE AGAIN. + </h2> + <p> + The quiet of Sunday was over, and Helstonleigh awoke on the Monday morning + to the bustle of every-day life. Mr. Jenkins awoke, with others, 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 to resume his + occupation that day, with Mr. Hurst’s and Mrs. Jenkins’s permission: the + former he might have defied; the latter he dared not. However, he was on + the safe side, for both had accorded it. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins was making breakfast in the small parlour behind her hosiery + shop, when her husband appeared. He looked all the worse for his accident. + Poor Joe was one whom a little illness told upon. Thin, pale, and + lantern-jawed at the best of times—indeed he was not infrequently + honoured with the nickname of “scare-crow”—he now looked thinner and + paler than ever. His tall, shadowy form seemed bent with the weakness + induced by lying a few days in bed; while his hair had been cut off in + three places at the top of his head, to give way to as many patches of + white plaster. + </p> + <p> + “A nice figure you’ll cut in the office, to-day, with those ornaments on + your crown!” was Mrs. Jenkins’s salutation. + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking to fold this broadly upon my head, and tie it under my + chin,” said he, meekly, holding out a square, black silk handkerchief + which he had brought down in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “That would not hide the patch upon your forehead, stupid!” responded Mrs. + Jenkins. “I believe you must have bumped upon the edge of every stair in + the organ-loft, as you came down, to get so many wounds!” she continued + crossly. “If you ever do such a senseless trick again, you shan’t stir + abroad without me or the maid at your back, to take care of you; I promise + you that!” + </p> + <p> + “I have combed my hair over the place on my forehead!” civilly replied Mr. + Jenkins. “I don’t think it shows much.” + </p> + <p> + “And made yourself look like an owl! I thought it was nothing less than a + stuffed owl coming in. Why can’t you wear your hat? That would hide your + crown and your forehead too.” + </p> + <p> + “I did think of that; and I dare say Mr. Galloway would allow me to do it, + and overlook the disrespect in consideration of the circumstances,” + answered Jenkins. “But then, I thought again, suppose the dean should + chance to come into the office to-day?—or any of the canons? There’s + no 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d frighten them away, if you did,” said Mrs. Jenkins, dashing some + water into the teapot. + </p> + <p> + “Therefore,” he added, when she had finished speaking, “I think it will be + better to put on this handkerchief. People do wear them, when suffering + from neuralgia, or from toothache.” + </p> + <p> + “Law! wear it, if you like! what a fuss you make about nothing! If you + chose to go with your head wrapped up in a blanket, nobody would look at + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” meekly coughed Mr. Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” irascibly demanded Mrs. Jenkins, perceiving that of + two slices of bacon which she had put upon his plate, one had been + surreptitiously conveyed back to the dish. + </p> + <p> + “I am not hungry this morning. I cannot eat it.” + </p> + <p> + “I say you shall eat it. What next? Do you think you are going to starve + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “My appetite will come back to me in a morning or two,” he deprecatingly + observed. + </p> + <p> + “It is back quite enough for that bacon,” was the answer. “Come! I’ll have + it eaten.” + </p> + <p> + She ruled him in everything as she would a child; and, appetite or no + appetite, 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 hat was + well drawn over the brows, and Mr. Jenkins started. When Mr. Galloway + entered his office that morning, which he did earlier than usual, there + sat Mr. Jenkins in his usual place, copying a lease. + </p> + <p> + He looked glad to see his old clerk. It is pleasant to welcome a familiar + face after an absence. “Are you sure you are equal to work, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, sir, thank you. I had a little fever at first, and Mr. Hurst + was afraid of that; but it has quite subsided. Beyond being a trifle sore + on the head, and stiff at the elbows and one hip, I am quite myself + again.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sorry to hear of the accident, Jenkins,” Mr. Galloway resumed. + </p> + <p> + “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 to + business, perhaps for weeks, did worry me much. I don’t deny, too, that I + have been in a little pain. But oh, sir! it was worth happening! it was + indeed; only to experience the kindness and good fellowship that have been + shown me. I am sure half the town has been to see me, or to ask after me.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear you have had your share of visitors.” + </p> + <p> + “The bishop himself came,” said poor Jenkins, tears of gratitude rising to + his eyes in the intensity of his emotion. “He did, indeed, sir. He came on + the Friday, and groped his way up our dark stairs (for very dark they are + when Mr. Harper’s sitting-room door is shut), and sat down by my bedside, + and chatted, just as plainly and familiarly as if he had been no better + than one of my own acquaintances. Mr. Arthur Channing found him there when + he came with your kind message, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “So I heard,” said Mr. Galloway. “You and the bishop were both in the same + boat. I cannot, for my part, get at the mystery of that locking-up + business.” + </p> + <p> + “The bishop as good as said so, sir—that we had both been in it. I + was trying to express my acknowledgments to his lordship for his + condescension, apologizing for my plain bedroom, and the dark stairs, and + all that, and saying, as well as I knew how, that the like of me was not + worthy of a visit from him, when he laughed, in his affable way, and said, + ‘We were both caught in the same trap, Jenkins. Had I been the one to + receive personal injury, I make no doubt that you would have come the next + day to inquire after me.’ What a great thing it is, to be blessed with a + benevolent heart, like the Bishop of Helstonleigh’s!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur Channing came in and interrupted the conversation. He was settling + to his occupation, when Mr. Galloway drew his attention; in an abrupt and + angry manner, as it struck Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Channing, you told me, yesterday, that you posted that letter for Ventnor + on Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “So I did, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It has been robbed.” + </p> + <p> + “Robbed!” returned Arthur, in surprise, scarcely realizing immediately the + meaning of the word. + </p> + <p> + “You know that it contained money—a twenty-pound note. You saw me + put it in.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I—know—that,” hesitated Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “What are you stammering at?” + </p> + <p> + In good truth, Arthur could not have told, except that he hesitated in + surprise. He had cast his thoughts into the past, and was lost in them. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, you did <i>not</i> post the letters yourself,” resumed Mr. + Galloway. “You gave them to somebody else to post, in a fit of idleness, + and the result is, that the letter was rifled, and I have lost twenty + pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I assure you, that I did post them myself,” replied Arthur, with + firmness. “I went straight from this door to the post-office. In coming + back, I called on Jenkins”—turning to him—“as you bade me, and + afterwards I returned here. I mentioned to you, then, sir, that the bishop + was with Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jenkins glanced up from his desk, a streak of colour illumining his + thin cheek, half hidden by the black handkerchief. “I was just saying, + sir, to Mr. Galloway, that you found his lordship at my bedside,” he said + to Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Has the note been taken out of the letter, sir?” demanded Arthur. “Did + the letter reach its destination without it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Mr. Galloway, in answer to both questions. “I had a few + lines from Mr. Robert Galloway yesterday morning, stating that the letter + had arrived, but no bank-note was enclosed in it. Now, where is the note?” + </p> + <p> + “Where can it be?” reiterated Arthur. “The letter must have been opened on + the road. I declare to you, sir, that I put it myself into the + post-office.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a crying shame for this civilized country, that one cannot send a + bank-note across the kingdom in a letter, but it must get taken out of + it!” exclaimed Mr. Galloway, in his vexation. “The puzzle to me is, how + those letter-carriers happen just to pitch upon the right letters to open—those + letters that contain money!” + </p> + <p> + 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 not + hearing or seeing Roland Yorke, who had entered, and was wishing him good + morning. + </p> + <p> + “What’s amiss? he seems in a tantrum,” ejaculated Mr. Roland, with his + usual want of ceremony. “Hallo, Jenkins; is it really you? By the accounts + brought here, I thought you were not going to have a head on your + shoulders for six months to come. Glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir. I am thankful to say I have got pretty well over the + hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “Roland,” said Arthur, in a half-whisper, bringing his head close to his + friend’s, as they leaned together over the desk, “you remember that + Ventnor letter, sent on Friday, with the money in it—” + </p> + <p> + “Ventnor letter!” interrupted Roland. “What Ventnor letter?” + </p> + <p> + “The one for Robert Galloway. Hamish was looking at it. It had a + twenty-pound note in it.” + </p> + <p> + “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 the Wandering + Jew. What of the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “It has been robbed of the note.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” uttered Roland. + </p> + <p> + “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 not taking + it myself to the post. As if I should confide letters of value to any one + not worthy of trust!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you post it yourself?” asked Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did. When you were coming in, after playing truant on Friday + afternoon, I was then going. You might have seen the letters in my hand.” + </p> + <p> + Roland shook his head. “I was in too great a stew to notice letters, or + anything else. This will cure Galloway of sending bank-notes in letters. + Have the post-office people had news of the loss sent to them? They must + hunt up the thief.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Galloway is sure to do all that’s necessary,” remarked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “For my part, if I sent bank-notes across the country in letters, I should + expect them to be taken. I wonder at Galloway. He is cautious in other + things.” + </p> + <p> + Others had wondered at Mr. Galloway, besides Roland Yorke. A man of + caution, generally, he yet persisted in the practice of enclosing + bank-notes in letters. Persons cognizant of this habit had remonstrated + with 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 the + point, and, not a week before the present time, had answered in a sort of + contradictory spirit that his money-letters had always gone safely + hitherto, and he made no doubt they always would go safely. The present + loss, therefore, coming as it were, to check his obstinacy, vexed him more + than it would otherwise have done. He did not care for the loss of the + money half so much as he did for the tacit reproof to himself. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if Galloway took the number of the note?” cried Roland. “Whether + or not, though, it would not serve him much: bank-notes lost in transit + never come to light.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t they, though!” retorted Arthur. “Look at the many convictions for + post-office robbery!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not suppose that one case in ten is tracked home,” disputed Roland. + “They are regular thieves, those letter-carriers. But, then, the fellows + are paid so badly.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be so sweeping in your assertions, Roland Yorke,” interposed Mr. + Galloway, coming forward from his own room. “How dare you so asperse the + letter-carriers? They are a hard-working, quiet, honest body of men. Yes, + sir; honest—I repeat it. Where one has yielded to temptation, + fingering what was not his own, hundreds rise superior to it, retaining + their integrity. I would advise you not to be so free with your tongue.” + </p> + <p> + Not to be free with his tongue would have been hard to Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Augusta was sending a box of camomile pills to some friend in + Ireland, the other day, sir, but it was never heard of again, after she + put it into the post-office, here,” cried he to Mr. Galloway. “The fellow + who appropriated it no doubt thought he had a prize of jewels. I should + like to have seen his mortification when he opened the parcel and found it + contained pills! Lady Augusta said she hoped he had liver complaint, and + then they might be of service to him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway made no response. He had caught up a lease that was lying on + Jenkins’s desk, and stood looking at it with no pleasant expression of + countenance. On went that undaunted Roland: + </p> + <p> + “The next thing Lady Augusta had occasion to send by post was a gold cameo + pin. It was enclosed in a pasteboard box, and, when packed, looked just + like the parcel of pills. I wrote PILLS on it, in great round text-hand. + That reached its destination safely enough, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “More safely than you would, if it depended upon your pursuing your + business steadily,” retorted Mr. Galloway to Roland. “Fill in that tithe + paper.” + </p> + <p> + As Roland, with a suppressed yawn, and in his usual lazy manner, set + himself to work, there came a clatter at the office-door, and a man + entered in the uniform of a telegraphic official, bearing a despatch in + his hand. Mr. Galloway had then turned to his room, and Roland, ever ready + for anything but work, started up and received the packet from the man. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s it from?” asked he, in his curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Southampton,” replied the messenger. + </p> + <p> + “A telegram from Southampton, sir,” announced Roland to Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + The latter took the despatch, and opened it, directing Jenkins to sign the + paper. This done, the messenger departed. The words of the message were + few, but Mr. Galloway’s eye was bending upon them sternly, and his brow + had knitted, as if in perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “Young gentlemen, you must look to this,” he said, coming forward, and + standing before Roland and Arthur. “I find that the post-office is not to + blame for this loss; it must have occurred in this room, before the letter + went to the post-office.” + </p> + <p> + They both looked up, both coloured, as if with inward consternation. + Thoughts, we all know, are quick as lightning: what was each thinking of, + that it should give rise to emotion? Arthur was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Do you allude to the loss of the bank-note, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “What else should I allude to?” sharply answered Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “But the post-office must be cheeky to deny it off-hand!” flashed Roland. + “How is it possible that they can answer for the honesty of every man + whose hands that letter passed through?” + </p> + <p> + “Pray who told you they had denied it, Mr. Roland Yorke?” demanded his + master. + </p> + <p> + Roland felt a little checked. “I inferred it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “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 yet + cognizant of the loss. I do not jump at conclusions as you do, Roland + Yorke, and I thought it necessary to make a little private inquiry before + accusing the post-office, lest the post-office might not be in fault, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, I have no doubt, sir,” replied Roland, in a chafed accent, + for Mr. Galloway was speaking satirically, and Roland never liked to have + ridicule cast upon him. Like old Ketch, it affected his temper. + </p> + <p> + “By this communication,” touching the telegraphic despatch, “I learn that + the letter was not opened after it left this office,” resumed Mr. + Galloway. “Consequently, the note must have been abstracted from it while + the letter lay here. Who has been guilty of it?” + </p> + <p> + Neither Arthur nor Roland spoke. It was not a pleasant accusation—if + you can call it an accusation—and their faces deepened to scarlet; + while Mr. Jenkins looked up half terrified, and began to think, what a + mercy it was that he had broken his head, just that last particular + Thursday night, on the marble flags of the cathedral. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. — THE LOSS. + </h2> + <p> + When money is lost out of an office, suspicion very frequently falls upon + one or more of that office’s <i>employés</i>. Mr. Galloway’s doubts, + however, had not yet extended to those employed in his. The letter + containing the bank-note had been despatched to Mr. Robert Galloway, at + Ventnor, on the Friday. On the Sunday morning, while Mr. Galloway was at + breakfast, a short answer was delivered to him from his cousin:—“Your + letter has reached me, but not the note; you must have omitted to enclose + it,” was the news it contained relative to that particular point. Mr. + Galloway knew that he had enclosed the note; there was little doubt that + both his clerks could testify that he had done so, for it was done in + their presence. How could it have been taken out again? Had it been + abstracted while the letter was still in his office?—or on its way + to the post?—or in its transmission to Ventnor? “If in the office,” + argued Mr. Galloway, “it must have been done before I sealed it; if + afterwards, that seal must have been tampered with, probably broken. I’ll + drop a note to Robert, and ask the question.” He rose from his breakfast + and penned a line to Southampton, where, as he had reason to believe, Mr. + Robert Galloway would be on the Monday. It was not Mr. Galloway’s habit to + write letters on a Sunday, but he considered that the present occasion + justified the act. “I certainly enclosed the note in my letter,” he wrote. + “Send me word instantly whether the seal had been tampered with. I stamped + it with my private seal.” Mr. Robert Galloway received this on the Monday + morning. He did not wait for the post, but forwarded the reply by + telegraph—“The seal had not been broken. Will send you back the + envelope by first post.” This was the despatch which you saw Mr. Galloway + receive in his office. + </p> + <p> + He went back into his private room, carrying the despatch with him, and + there he sat down to think. From the very first, he had not believed the + fraud to lie with the post-office—for this reason: had the note been + taken out by one of its servants, the letter would almost certainly not + have reached its destination; it would have disappeared with the note. He + had cast a doubt upon whether Arthur Channing had posted the letters + himself. Arthur assured him that he had done so, and Mr. Galloway believed + him; the information that the seal of the letter was unbroken was now a + further confirmation, had he needed it. At least, it confirmed that the + letter had not been opened after it left the office. Mr. Galloway + perfectly remembered fastening down the letter. He probably would have + sealed it then, but for the commotion that arose at the same moment in the + street caused by Mad Nance. There could be no shadow of doubt, so far as + Mr. Galloway could see, and so far as he believed, that the abstraction + had taken place between the time of his fastening down the envelope and of + his sealing it. Who had done it? + </p> + <p> + “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 soft + moment to take that organ, or I should never have done it, quitting the + office daily!—and, Yorke, in his indolent carelessness, must have + got gossiping outside, leaving, it is hard to say who, in the office! This + comes of poor Jenkins’s fall!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway rang his bell. It was answered by Jenkins. “Send Mr. Arthur + Channing in,” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + Arthur entered, in obedience. Mr. Galloway signed to him to close the + door, and then spoke. + </p> + <p> + “This is an awkward business, Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “Very awkward, indeed, sir,” replied Arthur, at no loss to understand what + Mr. Galloway alluded to. “I do not see that it was possible for the note + to have been taken from the letter, except in its transmission through the + post.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you it was taken from it before it left this office,” tartly + returned Mr. Galloway. “I have my reasons for the assertion. Did you see + me put the bank-note into the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did, sir. I was standing by when you did it: I remained by + you after bringing you the note from this room.” + </p> + <p> + “I enclosed the note, and fastened down the envelope,” said Mr. Galloway, + pointing the feather of his quill pen at each proposition. “I did not seal + it then, because looking at Mad Nance hindered me, and I went out, leaving + the letter on Jenkins’s desk, in your charge and Yorke’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I placed the letter in the rack in your room, immediately + afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “And, pray, what loose acquaintances did you and Yorke receive here that + afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Not any,” replied Arthur. “I do not know when the office has been so free + from callers. No person whatever entered it, except my brother Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all nonsense,” said Mr. Galloway. “You are getting to speak as + incautiously as Yorke. How can you tell who came here when you were at + college? Yorke would be alone, then.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Yorke was not,” Arthur was beginning. But he stopped suddenly and + hesitated. He did not care to tell Mr. Galloway that Yorke had played + truant all that afternoon. Mr. Galloway saw his hesitation, and did not + like it. + </p> + <p> + “Come, what have you to conceal? You and Yorke held a levee here, I + suppose? 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 you were off + to college, they stayed on with Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. For one thing, I did not take the organ that afternoon. I went, + as usual, but Mr. Williams was there himself, so I came back at once. I + was only away about ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “And how many did you find with Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + “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 as little + as possible. “Hamish was here, sir; you met him coming in as you were + going out, and I got him to stay in the office till I returned.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I was obliged to go to college, sir,” said Arthur, in a tone of + deprecation. + </p> + <p> + “Was Yorke obliged to go out?” + </p> + <p> + “I was back again very shortly, I assure you, sir,” said Arthur, passing + over the remark. “And I did not leave the office again until you sent me + to the post.” + </p> + <p> + “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 to college, + left Hamish keeping office! Did any one else come in besides Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “Not any one. When I returned from college I inquired of Hamish who had + called, and he said no one had called. Then Lady Augusta Yorke drove up, + and Hamish went away with her. She was going to the missionary meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “And you persist in saying that no one came in, after that?” + </p> + <p> + “No one did come in, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Send Yorke to me.” + </p> + <p> + Roland made his appearance, a pen behind his ear, and a ruler in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “More show than work!” sarcastically exclaimed Mr. Galloway. “Now, sir, I + have been questioning Mr. Arthur Channing about this unpleasant business, + for I am determined to come to the bottom of it. I can get nothing + 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 Friday afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “On Friday?—let’s see,” began Roland, out of his wits with + perplexity as to how he should conceal his afternoon’s absence from Mr. + Galloway. “It’s difficult to recollect what one does on one particular day + more than another, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed! Perhaps, to begin with, you can remember the circumstances of + my enclosing the bank-note in the letter, I went into the other room to + consult a ‘Bradshaw’—” + </p> + <p> + “I remember that quite well, sir,” interrupted Roland. “Channing fetched + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “After that?” pursued Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “After that? I think, sir, you went out after that, and Hamish Channing + came in.” + </p> + <p> + “Who else came in?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t remember any one else,” answered Roland, wishing some one would + come in <i>then</i>, and stop the questioning. No such luck, however. + </p> + <p> + “How many people called in, while Channing was at college, and you were + keeping office?” demanded Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + Roland fidgeted, first on one leg, then on the other. He felt that it must + all come out. “What a passion he’ll go into with me!” thought Roland. “It + is certain that no one can have touched the bank-note in this office, + sir,” he said aloud. “Those poor, half-starved postmen must have helped + themselves to it.” + </p> + <p> + “When I ask for your opinion upon ‘who has helped themselves to it,’ it + will be time enough to give it me,” returned Mr. Galloway, drily. “I say + that the money was taken from the letter before it left this office, when + it was under the charge of you and Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you do not suspect us of taking it, sir!” said Roland, going into + a heat. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it could not, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Then it is my business to ascertain, if I can, how it did get out + of it. You have not answered my question. Who came into this office, while + Channing was at the cathedral, on Friday afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “I declare nobody ever had such luck as I,” burst forth Roland, in a tone + half comic, half defiant, as he felt he must make a merit of necessity, + and confess. “If I get into the smallest scrape in the world, it is safe + to come out. The fact is, sir, I was not here, last Friday afternoon, + during Channing’s hour for college.” + </p> + <p> + “What! not at all?” exclaimed Mr. Galloway, who had not suspected that + Yorke was absent so long. + </p> + <p> + “As I say, it’s my luck to be found out!” grumbled Roland. “I can’t lift a + finger to-day, if it ought not to be lifted, but it is known to-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 stopping out with him longer + than I ought to have done.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway stared at Roland. “At what time did you go out?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Just after you did, sir. The bell was going for college.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray what time did you come in again?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you saw me come in. It was getting on for five o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you had not been in at all, between those hours!” + </p> + <p> + “It was Knivett’s fault,” grumbled Roland. “He kept me.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway sat drumming on his desk, apparently gazing at Roland; in + reality thinking. To hear that Mr. Roland Yorke had taken French leave for + nearly a whole afternoon, just on the especial afternoon that he ought not + to have taken it—Jenkins being away—did not surprise him in + the least; it was very much in the line of the Yorkes to do so. To scold + or punish Roland for it, would have been productive of little good, since + he was sure to do it again the very next time the temptation offered + itself. Failing temptation, he would remain at his post steadily enough. + No; it was not Roland’s escapade that Mr. Galloway was considering; but + the very narrow radius that the affair of the letter appeared to be + drawing itself into. If Roland was absent, he could not have had half the + town in, to chatter; and if Arthur Channing asserted that none had been + in, Mr. Galloway could give credence to Arthur. But then—how had the + money disappeared? Who had taken it? + </p> + <p> + “Channing!” he called out, loudly and sharply. + </p> + <p> + Arthur, who was preparing to attend the cathedral, for the bell had rung + out, hastened in. + </p> + <p> + “How came you not to tell me when we were speaking of Roland Yorke’s + absence, that he remained away all the afternoon?” questioned Mr. + Galloway. + </p> + <p> + Arthur was silent. He glanced once at Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” cried Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “It was better for him to tell you himself, sir; as I conclude he has now + done.” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, you are two birds of a feather,” stormed Mr. Galloway, who, + when once roused, which was not often, would say anything that came + 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 the office during + my absence from it on Friday afternoon?” he continued to Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Then who can have taken the money?” uttered Mr. Galloway, speaking what + was uppermost in his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Which is as much as to say that I took it,” burst from haughty Roland. + “Mr. Galloway, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Keep quiet, Roland Yorke,” interrupted that gentleman. “I do not suspect + you of taking it. I did suspect that you might have got some idlers in + here, <i>mauvais sujets</i>, you know, for you call plenty of them + friends; but, if you were absent yourself, that suspicion falls to the + ground. Again I say, who can have taken the money?” + </p> + <p> + “It is an utter impossibility that Yorke could have taken it, even were he + capable of such a thing,” generously spoke Arthur. “From the time you left + the office yourself, sir, until after the letters were taken out of it to + be posted, he was away from it.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like him!” exclaimed Mr. Galloway. “It must have been done while + your brother Hamish was waiting in the office. We must ascertain from him + who came in.” + </p> + <p> + “He told me no one came in,” repeated Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “When service is over, just go down as far as your brother’s office, and + ask him about it.” + </p> + <p> + “He is as obstinate as any old adder!” exclaimed Roland Yorke to Arthur, + when they left Mr. Galloway alone. “The only possible way in which it can + have gone, is through that post-office. The men have forked it; as they + did Lady Augusta’s pills.” + </p> + <p> + “He says it was not the post-office,” mused Arthur. “He said—as I + understood—that the telegraphic despatch proved to him that it had + been taken out here.” + </p> + <p> + “What an idiot you are!” ejaculated Roland. “How <i>could</i> a despatch + tell him who took it, or who did not?—unless it was a despatch from + those spirit-rappers—mesmerists, or whatever they call themselves. + They profess to show you who your grandmother was, if you don’t know!” + </p> + <p> + Roland laughed as he spoke. Arthur was not inclined for joking; the affair + perplexed him in no ordinary degree. “I wish Mr. Galloway would mention + his grounds for thinking the note was taken before it went to the post!” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “He ought to mention them,” cried Roland fiercely. “He says he learns, by + the despatch, that the letter was not opened after it left this office. + Now, it is impossible that any despatch could tell him that. He talks to + me about broad assertions! That’s a pretty broad one. What did the + despatch say? who sent it?” + </p> + <p> + “Would it afford you satisfaction to know, Mr. Roland?” and Roland wheeled + round with a start, for it was the voice of Mr. Galloway. He had followed + them into the front office, and caught the latter part of the + conversation. “Come, sir,” he added, “I will teach you a lesson in + caution. When I have sealed letters that contained money after they were + previously fastened down with gum, I have seen you throw your head back, + Mr. Roland, with that favourite scornful movement of yours. ‘As if 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, enables me to say that + the letter was not opened after it left my hands. The despatch you are so + curious about was from my cousin, telling me that the seal reached him + intact.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know the letter was sealed,” remarked Roland. “But that proves + nothing, sir. They might melt the wax, and seal it up again. Every one + keeps a stamp of this sort,” he added, stretching his hand out for the + seal usually used in the office—an ordinary cross-barred wafer + stamp. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Mr. Galloway, “you are very clever, Master Roland. But I + happened to stamp that letter with my own private seal.” + </p> + <p> + “That alters the case, of course,” said Roland, after a pause. “Sir, I + wish you would set me to work to find out,” he impulsively continued. “I’d + go to the post-office, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And there make enough noise for ten, and defeat your own ends,” + interrupted Mr. Galloway. “Channing, you will be late. Do not forget to + see Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must be off,” said Arthur, coming out of his reverie with a start. + He had waited to hear about the seal. And now flew towards the cathedral. + </p> + <p> + “I wish it had not happened!” he ejaculated. “I know Galloway does not + suspect me or Yorke: but still I wish it had never happened!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. — THE LOOMING OF AN AWFUL FEAR. + </h2> + <p> + Hamish Channing sat in his private room; his now; for, in the absence of + Mr. Channing, Hamish was master. The insurance office was situated in + Guild Street, a principal street, near to the Town Hall. It consisted of + an entrance hall, two rooms, and a closet for hanging up coats, and for + washing hands. The room on the left of the hall, as you entered, was the + principal office; the room on the right, was the private room of Mr. + Channing; now used, I say, by Hamish. The upper part of the house was + occupied as a dwelling; the people renting it having nothing to do with + the office. It was a large, roomy house, and possessed a separate + entrance. + </p> + <p> + Hamish—gay, good-tempered, careless, though he was—ruled the + office with a firm hand. There was no familiarity of manner there; the + clerks liked him, but they had to defer to him and obey him. He was seated + at his desk, deep in some accounts, on this same morning—the one + mentioned in the last chapter—when one of the clerks entered, and + said that 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. + </p> + <p> + Arthur entered. Hamish pushed his books from him, and stretched himself. + “Well, old fellow! you seem out of breath.” + </p> + <p> + “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 never seen + him put out as he is now.” + </p> + <p> + “Has his hair taken a change again, and come out a lovely rose colour?” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>wish</i> you would not turn everything into joke,” cried Arthur, who + was really troubled, and the words vexed him. “You saw a letter on + Jenkins’s desk last Friday—the afternoon, you know, that Yorke went + off, and you remained while I went to college? There was a twenty-pound + note in it. Well, the note has, in some mysterious manner, been abstracted + from it.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish lifted his eyebrows. “What can Galloway expect, if he sends + bank-notes in letters?” + </p> + <p> + “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 his cousin’s + intact, the seal unbroken—a pretty sure proof that the note could + not have been in it when it was sealed.” + </p> + <p> + “Who took it out?” asked Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the question. There was not a soul near the place, that I can find + 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 in the + office.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so much as a ghost came in,” said Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! I am sure they did not, unless I dropped asleep. <i>That</i> was + not an unlikely catastrophe to happen; shut up by myself in that dull + office, amidst musty parchments, with nothing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, can you be serious for once? This is a serious matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Martin Pope wants you, sir,” said the clerk again, interrupting at + this juncture. Martin Pope’s face came in also, over the clerk’s shoulder. + It was red, and he looked in a hurry. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, he has had a letter, and is off by the half-past eleven train,” + spoke Martin Pope, in some excitement. “You must rush up to the station, + if you want a last word with him. You will hardly catch him, running your + best.” + </p> + <p> + Up jumped Hamish, in excitement as great as his friend’s. He closed and + locked 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, <i>did</i> any one come in? It was Mr. Galloway sent me here to + ascertain.” + </p> + <p> + “No, they did not. Should I not tell you if they had? Take care, Arthur. I + must fly like the wind. Come away, Pope!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur walked back to Mr. Galloway’s. That gentleman was out. Roland Yorke + was out. But Jenkins, upon whom the unfortunate affair had taken great + hold, lifted his face to Arthur, his eyes asking the question that his + tongue scarcely presumed to do. + </p> + <p> + “My brother says no one came in while he was here. It is very strange!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arthur, sir, if I had repined at all at that accident, and felt it as + a misfortune, how this would have reproved me!” spoke Jenkins, in his + simple faith. “Why, sir, it must have come to me as a mercy, a blessing; + to take me away out of this office at the very time.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no telling, sir, but Mr. Galloway might have suspected me. It is + the first loss we have had since I have been here, all these years; and—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” interrupted Arthur. “You may as well fear that Mr. Galloway + will suspect me, or Mr. Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, you and Mr. Yorke are different; you are gentlemen. Mr. Galloway + would no more suspect you, than he would suspect himself. I am thankful I + was absent.” + </p> + <p> + “Be easy, Jenkins,” smiled Arthur. “Absent or present, every one can trust + you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway did not return until nearly one o’clock. He went straight to + his own room. Arthur followed him. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen Hamish, sir. He says no person whatever entered on Friday, + while he was here alone.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway paused, apparently revolving the news. “Hamish must be + mistaken,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “He told me at the time, last Friday, that no one had been in,” resumed + Arthur. “I asked the question when I returned from college, thinking + people might have called on business. He said they had not done so; and he + says the same now.” + </p> + <p> + “But look you here, Arthur,” debated Mr. Galloway, in a tone of reasoning. + “I suspect neither you nor Yorke; indeed, as it seems, Yorke put himself + out of suspicion’s way, by walking off; but if no one came to the office, + and yet the note <i>went</i>, remember the position in which you place + yourself. I say I don’t blame you, I don’t suspect you; but I do say that + the mystery must be cleared up. Are you certain no person came into the + office during your presence in it?” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite certain of that, sir. I have told you so.” + </p> + <p> + “And is Hamish equally certain—that no one entered while he was here + alone?” + </p> + <p> + “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 more + positively had Hamish not joked about it. + </p> + <p> + “‘Says’ will not do for me,” retorted Mr. Galloway. “I should like to see + Hamish. You have nothing particular to finish before one o’clock; suppose + you run up to Guild Street, and request him to come round this way, as he + goes home to dinner? It will not take him two minutes out of his road.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur departed; choosing the nearest way to Guild Street. It led him + through the street Hamish had been careful to avoid on account of a + troublesome creditor. Arthur had no such fear. One o’clock struck as he + turned into it. About midway down it, what was his astonishment at + encountering Hamish! Not hurrying along, dreading to be seen, but + flourishing leisurely at his ease, nodding to every one he knew, his sweet + smile in full play, and his cane whirling circlets in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish! I thought this was forbidden ground!” + </p> + <p> + “So it was, until a day or two ago,” laughed Hamish; “but I have managed + to charm the enemy.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in his usual light, careless, half-mocking style, and passed his + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That was the fiercest enemy in all this street of Philistines, Arthur. + See how civil he is now.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you ‘charm’ him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by a process known to myself. Did you come down on purpose to escort + me home to dinner? Very polite of you!” + </p> + <p> + “I came to ask you to go round by Mr. Galloway’s office, and to call in + and see him. He will not take your word at second hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Take my word about what?” asked Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “That the office had no visitors while you were in it the other day. That + money matter grows more mysterious every hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I have not time to go round,” exclaimed Hamish, in—for him—quite + an impatient accent. “I don’t know anything about the money or the letter. + Why should I be bothered?” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, you <i>must</i> go,” said Arthur, impressively. “Do you know that—so + far as can be ascertained—no human being was in the office alone + with the letter, except you and I. Were we to shun inquiry, suspicion + might fall upon us.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish drew himself up haughtily, somewhat after the fashion of Roland + Yorke. “What absurdity, Arthur! steal a twenty-pound note!” But when they + came to the turning where two roads met, one of which led to Close Street, + Hamish had apparently reconsidered his determination. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must go, or the old fellow will be offended. You can tell + them at home that I shall be in directly; don’t let them wait dinner.” + </p> + <p> + He walked away quickly. Arthur pursued the path which would take him round + the cathedral to the Boundaries. He bent his head in thought. He was lost + in perplexity; in spite of what Mr. Galloway urged, with regard to the + seal, he could not believe but that the money had gone safely to the + post-office, and was stolen afterwards. Thus busied within himself, he had + reached the elm-trees, when he ran up against Hopper, the bailiff. Arthur + looked up, and the man’s features relaxed into a smile. + </p> + <p> + “We shut the door when the steed’s stolen, Mr. Arthur,” was his + salutation. “Now that my pockets are emptied of what would have done no + good to your brother, I come here to meet him at the right time. Just to + show folks—should any be about—that I did know my way here; + although it unfortunately fell out that I always missed him.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded and winked. Arthur, completely at sea as to his meaning, made + some trifling remark in answer. + </p> + <p> + “He did well to come to terms with them,” continued Hopper, dropping his + voice. “Though it was only a five pound, as I hear, and a promise for 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 was as glad as + could be when they withdrew the writ. I do hope he will go on smooth and + straight now that he has begun paying up a bit. Tell him old Hopper says + it, Mr. Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + 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 it mean? Every + drop of blood in Arthur Channing’s body stood still, and then coursed on + fiercely. Had he seen the cathedral tower toppling down upon his head, he + had feared it less than the awful dread which was dawning upon him. + </p> + <p> + He went home to dinner. Hamish went home. Hamish was more gay and + talkative than usual—Arthur was silent as the grave. What was the + matter, some one asked him. His head ached, was the answer; and, indeed, + it was no false plea. Hamish did not say a syllable about the loss at + table; neither did Arthur. Arthur was silenced now. + </p> + <p> + 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 did + Arthur Channing. Until this loophole had appeared, the facts had been to + Arthur’s mind utterly mysterious; they now shone out all too clearly, in + glaring colours. He knew that he himself had not touched the money, and no + one else had been left with it, except Hamish. Debt! what had the paltry + fear of debt and its consequences been compared with this? + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway talked much of the mystery that afternoon; Yorke talked of + it; Jenkins talked of it. Arthur barely answered; never, except when + obliged to do so; and his manner, confused at times, for he could not help + its being so, excited the attention of Mr. Galloway. “One would think you + had helped yourself to the money, Channing!” he crossly exclaimed to him + once, when they were alone in the private room. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I did not,” Arthur answered, in a low tone; but his face flushed + scarlet, and then grew deadly pale. If a Channing, his brother, had done + it—why, he felt himself almost equally guilty; and it dyed his brow + with shame. Mr. Galloway noticed the signs, and attributed them to the + pain caused by his question. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be foolish, Arthur. I feel sure of you and Yorke. Though, with + Yorke’s carelessness and his spendthrift habits, I do not know that I + should have been so sure of him, had he been left alone with the + temptation.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” exclaimed Arthur, in a tone of pain, “Yorke did not touch it. I + would answer for his innocence with my life.” + </p> + <p> + “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 no + elucidation turns up between now and to-morrow morning, I shall place it + in the hands of the police.” + </p> + <p> + The announcement scared away Arthur’s caution; almost scared away his + senses. “Oh! pray, pray, Mr. Galloway, do not let the police become + cognizant of it!” he uttered, in an accent of wild alarm. And Mr. Galloway + stared at him in very amazement; and Jenkins, who had come in to ask a + question, stared too. + </p> + <p> + “It might not produce any good result, and would cause us no end of + trouble,” Arthur added, striving to assign some plausible explanation to + his words. + </p> + <p> + “That is my affair,” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + When Arthur reached home, the news had penetrated there also. Mrs. + Channing’s tea-table was absorbed with it. Tom and Charles gave the school + version of it, and the Rev. Mr. Yorke, who was taking tea with them, gave + his. Both accounts were increased by sundry embellishments, which had + never taken place in reality. + </p> + <p> + “Not a soul was ever near the letter,” exclaimed Tom, “except Arthur and + Jenkins, and Roland Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “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 been there.” + </p> + <p> + “Mark Galloway says his uncle had a telegraphic despatch, to say the + post-office knew nothing about it,” exclaimed Charles. + </p> + <p> + “Much you know about it, Miss Charley!” quoth Tom. “The despatch was about + the seal: it was not from the post-office at all. They have not accused + the post-office yet.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur let them talk on; headache the excuse for his own silence. It did + ache, in no measured degree. When appealed to, “Was it this way, Arthur?” + “Was it the other?” he was obliged to speak, so that an accurate version + of the affair was arrived at before tea was over. Constance alone saw that + something unusual was the matter with him. She attributed it to fears at + the absence of Hamish, who had been expected home to tea, and did not come + in. Constance’s own fears at this absence grew to a terrific height. Had + he been <i>arrested</i>? + </p> + <p> + She beckoned Arthur from the room, for she could no longer control + herself. Her lips were white, as she drew him into the study, and spoke. + “Arthur, what has become of Hamish? Has anything happened to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Happened to him!” repeated Arthur, vaguely, too absorbed in his own sad + thoughts to reply at once. + </p> + <p> + “Has—he—been—<i>taken</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Taken! Hamish? Oh, you mean for debt!” he continued, his heart beating, + and fully aroused now. “There is no further fear, I believe. He has + managed to arrange with the people.” + </p> + <p> + “How has he contrived it?” exclaimed Constance, in wonder. + </p> + <p> + Arthur turned his face away. “Hamish does not make me his confidant.” + </p> + <p> + Constance stole her hand into his. “Arthur, what is the matter with you + this evening? Is it that unpleasant affair at Mr. Galloway’s?” + </p> + <p> + He turned from her. He laid his face upon the table and groaned in + anguish. “Be still, Constance! You can do no good.” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>what</i> is it?” uttered Constance in alarm. “You surely do not + fear that suspicion should be cast on you, or on Hamish—although, as + it appears, you and he were alone in the office with the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Be still, I say, Constance,” he wailed. “There is nothing for it but to—to—to + bear. You will do well to ask no more about it.” + </p> + <p> + A faint dread began to dawn upon her. “You and Hamish were alone with the + letter!” the echo of the words came thumping against her brain. But she + beat it off. Suspect a Channing! “Arthur, I need not ask if you are + innocent; it would be a gratuitous insult to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he quietly said, “you need not ask that.” + </p> + <p> + “And—Hamish?” she would have continued, but the words would not + come. She changed them for others. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that he has paid any of his debts, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard it. I—” + </p> + <p> + 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, + if Hamish were safe in the hall, he could not be in prison—Constance + flew to him, and clasped her hands round his neck. “Oh, Hamish, Hamish! + thank Heaven that you are here!” + </p> + <p> + Hamish was surprised. He went with Constance into the study, where Arthur + had remained. “What do you mean, Constance? What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I am always fearful,” she whispered; “always fearful; I know you owe + money, and that they might put you in prison. Hamish, I think of it by + night and by day.” + </p> + <p> + “My pretty sister!” cried Hamish, caressingly, as he smoothed her hair, + just as Constance sometimes smoothed Annabel’s: “that danger has passed + for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “If you were arrested, papa might lose his post,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “I know it; it is that which has worried me. I have been doing what I + could to avert it. Constance, these things are not for you. Who told you + anything about them?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. I—” + </p> + <p> + “What will you give me for something I have found?” exclaimed Annabel, + bursting in upon them, her hands behind her, and her eyes dancing. “It is + one of your treasures, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “Then give it me, Annabel. Come! I am tired; I cannot play with you this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t give it you until you guess what it is.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish was evidently in no mood for play. Annabel danced round and about + him, provokingly eluding his grasp. He caught her suddenly, and laid his + hands upon hers. With a shriek of laughing defiance, she flung something + on the floor, and four or five sovereigns rolled about. + </p> + <p> + It was Hamish’s purse. She had found it on the hall table, by the side of + his hat and gloves, left there most probably inadvertently. Hamish stooped + to pick up the money. + </p> + <p> + “See how rich he is!” danced Annabel; “after telling us he was as poor as + a church mouse! Where has it all come from?” + </p> + <p> + 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 ringing tone of + command, not to meddle with his things again. He quitted the room, and + Annabel ran after him, laughing and defiant still. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Where has it all come from</i>?” The words, spoken in innocence by the + child, 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 + the meeting with Hopper under the elm-trees. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. — MR. BUTTERBY. + </h2> + <p> + The clock of Helstonleigh Cathedral was striking eight, and the postman + was going his rounds through the Boundaries. Formerly, nothing so common + as a regular postman, when on duty, was admitted within the pale of that + exclusive place. The Boundaries, chiefly occupied by the higher order of + the clergy, did not condescend to have its letters delivered in the + ordinary way, and by the ordinary hands. It was the custom for the postman + to take them to the Boundary-gate, and there put them into the porter’s + great box, just as if he had been posting letters at the town post-office; + and the porter forthwith delivered them at their several 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 exonerated from that portion of his duty, and the postman + entered upon it. There was a fresh porter now, but the old custom had not + been resumed. + </p> + <p> + Ring—ring—ring—ring—for one peculiarity of the + Boundaries was, that most of its doors possessed no knockers, only bells—on + he went, the man, on this morning, leaving letters almost everywhere. At + length he came to Mr. Galloway’s, and rang there a peal that it is the + delight of a postman to ring; but when the door was opened, he delivered + in only one letter and a newspaper. The business letters were generally + directed to the office. + </p> + <p> + 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 his breakfast + and his Times. Occasionally, as on this morning, he would sit down before + eight, in order that he might have nearly finished breakfast before the + letters arrived. His servants knew by experience that, when this happened, + he was expecting something unusual by the post. + </p> + <p> + His man came in. He laid the letter and the newspaper by his master’s + side. Mr. Galloway tore open the Times, gave one glance at the price of + the funds and the money article, then put aside the paper, and took up the + letter. + </p> + <p> + The latter was from his cousin, Mr. Robert Galloway. It contained also the + envelope in which Mr. Galloway had enclosed the twenty-pound note. “You + perceive,” wrote Mr. Robert, “that the seal has not been tampered with. It + is perfectly intact. Hence I infer that you must be in error in supposing + that you enclosed the note.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway examined the envelope closely. His cousin had not broken the + seal in opening the letter, but had <i>cut</i> the paper above it. He was + a methodical man in trifles, this Mr. Robert Galloway, and generally did + cut open his envelopes. It had been all the better for him had he learnt + to be methodical with his money. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it is as Robert says,” soliloquized Mr. Galloway. “The seal has not + been touched since it went out of my hands; therefore the note must + previously have been extracted from the letter. Now, who did it?” + </p> + <p> + He sat—his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, and the + envelope before him. Apparently, he was studying it minutely; in reality + he was lost in thought. “It’s just like the work of a conjuror!” he + presently exclaimed. “Not a caller near the place, that I can find out, + and yet the bank-note vanishes out of the letter! Notes don’t vanish + without hands, and I’ll do as I said yesterday—consult the police. + If any one can 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 crime + would have lain with them, and so would the discovery. As it is, the + business is mine.” + </p> + <p> + 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 very near + Mr. Galloway’s; on the other side of the cathedral, halfway between that + edifice and the town-hall. In ten minutes after the servant had left the + house, Mr. Butterby was on his road to it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Butterby puzzled Helstonleigh. He was not an inspector, he was not a + sergeant, he was not a common officer, and he was never seen in official + dress. Who was Mr. Butterby? Helstonleigh wondered. That he had a great + deal to do with the police, was one of their staff, and received his pay, + was certain; but, what his standing might be, and what his peculiar line + of duty, they could not tell. Sometimes he was absent from Helstonleigh + for months at a time, probably puzzling other towns. Mr. Galloway would + have told you he was a detective; but perhaps Mr. Galloway’s grounds for + the assertion existed only in his own opinion. For convenience-sake we + will call him a detective; remembering, however, that we have no authority + for the term. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Butterby came forward, a spare, pale man, of middle height, his eyes + deeply set, and his nose turned up to the skies. He was of silent habit; + probably, of a silent nature. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway recited the circumstances of his loss. The detective sat near + him, his hands on his knees, his head bent, his eyes cast upon the floor. + He did not interrupt the story by a single word. When it was ended, he + took up the envelope, and examined it in equal silence; examined it with + ridiculous minuteness, Mr. Galloway thought, for he poked, and peered, and + touched it everywhere. He held it up to the light, he studied the + postmarks, he gazed at the seal through an odd-looking little glass that + he took from his waistcoat pocket, he particularly criticised the folds, + he drew his fingers along its edges, he actually sniffed it—all in + silence, and with an impassive countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Have you the number of the note?” was his first question. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + He looked up at this. The thought may have struck him, that, not to take + the number of a bank-note, sent by post, betrayed some carelessness for a + man of business. Mr. Galloway, at least, inferred this, and answered the + look. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am in the habit of taking their numbers; I don’t know that I + ever did such a thing before, as send a bank-note away without it. I had + an appointment, as I tell you, at the other end of the town for a quarter + to three; it was of importance; and, when I heard the college strike out + the three-quarters—the very hour I ought to have been there—I + hurriedly put the note into the folds of the letter, without waiting to + take its number. It was not that I forgot to do so, but that I could not + spare the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any means of ascertaining the number, by tracing the note back + to whence it may have come into your possession?” was the next question. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway was obliged to confess that he had none. “Bank-notes are so + 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 lease of 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 I could not tell you which + particular notes came from each man—no, not if you paid me the worth + of the whole to do it. Neither could I tell whence I had the note which I + put into the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “In this way, if a note should turn out to be bad, you could not return it + to its owner.” + </p> + <p> + “I never took a bad note in my life,” said Mr. Galloway, speaking + impulsively. “There’s not a better judge of notes than myself in the + kingdom; and Jenkins is as good as I am.” + </p> + <p> + Another silence. Mr. Butterby remained in the same attitude, his head and + eyes bent. “Have you given me all the particulars?” he presently asked. + </p> + <p> + “I think so. All I remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Then allow me to go over them aloud,” returned the detective; “and, if I + make any mistake or omission, have the goodness to correct me:—On + Friday last, you took a twenty-pound note out of your cash drawer, not + taking or knowing its number. This note you put within the folds of a + letter, 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 Channing + came in. Immediately following upon that, Yorke went out, leaving the + brothers alone. Arthur departed to attend college, Hamish remaining in the + office. Arthur Channing soon returned, finding there was no necessity for + him to stay in the cathedral; upon which Hamish left. Arthur Channing + remained alone for more than an hour, no one calling or entering the + office during that period. You then returned yourself; found the letter in + the same state, apparently, in which you had left it, and you sealed it, + and sent Arthur Channing with it to the post-office. These are the brief + facts, so far as you are cognizant of them, and as they have been related + to you?” + </p> + <p> + “They are,” replied Mr. Galloway. “I should have mentioned that Arthur + Channing carried the letter into my private room before he left the office + for college.” + </p> + <p> + “Locking the door?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, no! Closing the door, no doubt, but not locking it. It would + have been unusual to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “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 different light + from that in which it was spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins was at home at the time, confined to his bed; and, had he not + been, I would answer for Jenkins’s honesty as I would for my own. Can you + see any possible solution to the mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “A very possible one,” was the dry answer. “There is no doubt whatever + upon my mind, that the theft was committed by Arthur Channing.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway started up with an exclamation of surprise, mingled with + anger. Standing within the room was his nephew Mark. The time had gone on + 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 their uncle was + not stingy with his sixpences, and they were always on the look-out. Mr. + Mark did not get a sixpence this time. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you intrude upon me in this sly way, sir? Don’t you see I am + engaged? I will have you knock at my room door before you enter. Take + yourself off again, if you please!” + </p> + <p> + Mark, with a word of deprecation, went off, his ears pricking with the + sentence he had heard from the detective—Arthur Channing the thief! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway turned again to the officer. He resented the imputation. “The + Channings are altogether above suspicion, from the father downwards,” he + remonstrated. “Were Arthur Channing dishonestly inclined, he has had the + opportunity to rob me long before this.” + </p> + <p> + “Persons of hitherto honourable conduct, honest by nature and by habit, + have succumbed under sudden temptation or pressing need,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur Channing is in no pressing need. He is not hard up for money.” + </p> + <p> + A smile actually curled the detective’s lip. “A great many more young men + are harder up for money than they allow to appear. The Channings are in + what may be called difficulties, through the failure of their Chancery + suit, and the lad must have yielded to temptation.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway could not be brought to see it. “You may as well set on and + suspect Hamish,” he resentfully said. “He was equally alone with the + letter.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” was the answer of the keen officer. “Hamish Channing is in a + responsible position; he would not be likely to emperil it for a + twenty-pound note; and he could not know that the letter contained money.” + Mr. Butterby was not cognizant of quite the facts of the case, you see. + </p> + <p> + “It is absurd to suspect Arthur Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is the more absurd—to suspect him, or to assume that the + bank-note vanished without hands? forced its own way through the envelope, + and disappeared up the chimney in a whirlwind?” asked the officer, + bringing sarcasm to his aid. “If the facts are as you have stated, that + only the two Channings had access to the letter, the guilt must lie with + one of them. Facts are facts, Mr. Galloway.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway admitted that facts <i>were</i> facts, but he could not be + brought to allow the guilt of Arthur Channing. The detective rose. + </p> + <p> + “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 satisfactory conclusion. + One more question I must ask you. Is it known to your clerks that you have + not the number of the note?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I fear you stand little chance of ever seeing it again. That fact + known, no time would be lost in parting with it; they’d make haste to get + it safe off.” + </p> + <p> + Not an instant did Mr. Butterby take for consideration upon quitting Mr. + Galloway. With a sharp, unhesitating step, as though his mind had been + made up for a month past as to what his course must be, he took his way to + the house of Mr. Joe Jenkins. That gentleman, his head still tied up, was + just leaving for the office, and Mr. Butterby encountered him coming + through the shop. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Jenkins. I want a word with you alone.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins bowed, in his civil, humble fashion; but “a word alone” was more + easily asked than had, Mrs. Jenkins being all-powerful, and burning with + curiosity. The officer had to exert some authority before he could get rid + of her, and be left at peace with Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “What sources of expense has Arthur Channing?” demanded he, so abruptly as + to startle and confuse Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Sources of expense, sir?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “What are his habits? Does he squander money? Does he go out in an evening + into expensive company?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure, sir, I cannot tell you anything about it,” Jenkins was mildly + beginning. He was imperatively interrupted by the detective. + </p> + <p> + “I ask <i>to know</i>. You are aware that I possess authority to compel + you to speak; therefore, answer me without excuse or circumlocution; it + will save trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “But indeed, sir, I really do <i>not</i> know,” persisted Jenkins. “I + should judge Mr. Arthur Channing to be a steady, well-conducted young + gentleman, who has no extravagant habits at all. As to his evenings, I + think he spends them mostly at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know whether he has any pressing debts?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard him say to Mr. Yorke one day, that a twenty-pound note would pay + all he owed, and leave him something out of it,” spoke Jenkins in his + unconscious simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Butterby, drawing in his lips, though his face remained + impassive as before. “When was this?” + </p> + <p> + “Not long ago, sir. About a week, it may have been, before I met with that + accident—which accident, I begin to see now, sir, happened + providentially, for it caused me to be away from the office when that + money was lost.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He does feel it very much, sir. He was as agitated about it yesterday as + could be, when Mr. Galloway talked of putting it into the hands of the + police. It is a disagreeable thing to happen in an office, you know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + A slight pause of silence was made by the detective ere he rejoined. + “Agitated, was he? And Mr. Roland Yorke the same, no doubt?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; Mr. Roland does not seem to care much about it. He thinks it + must have been taken in its transit through the post-office, and I cannot + help being of the same opinion, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Another question or two, and Jenkins attended Mr. Butterby to the door. He + was preparing to follow him from it, but a peremptory female voice + arrested his departure. + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins, I want you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is hard upon half-past nine, my dear. I shall be late.” + </p> + <p> + “If it’s hard upon half-past ten, you’ll just walk here. I want you, I + say.” + </p> + <p> + Meek as any lamb, Mr. Jenkins returned to the back parlour, and was + marshalled into a chair. Mrs. Jenkins closed the door and stood before + him. “Now, then, what did Butterby want?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what he wanted,” replied Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “You will sit there till you tell me,” resolutely replied the lady. “I am + not going to have police inquisitors making mysterious visits inside my + doors, and not know what they do it for. You’ll tell me every word that + passed, and the sooner you begin, the better.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am ignorant myself of what he did want,” mildly deprecated Jenkins. + “He asked me a question or two about Mr. Arthur Channing, but why I don’t + know.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving Mrs. Jenkins to ferret out the questions one by one—which, + you may depend upon it, she would not fail to do, and to keep Jenkins a + prisoner until it was over—and leaving Mr. Butterby to proceed to + the house of the cathedral organist, whither he was now bent, to ascertain + whether Mr. Williams did take the organ voluntarily, and (to Arthur) + unexpectedly, the past Friday afternoon, we will go on to other matters. + Mr. Butterby best knew what bearing this could have upon the case. Police + officers sometimes give to their inquiries a strangely wide range. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. — AN INTERRUPTED DINNER. + </h2> + <p> + Have you ever observed a large lake on the approach of a sudden storm?—its + unnatural stillness, death-like and ominous; its undercurrent of anger not + yet apparent on the surface; and then the breaking forth of fury when the + storm has come? + </p> + <p> + 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 reaching + that at which sat the seniors—a rumour which shook the equanimity of + the school to its centre; and, when one o’clock struck, the boys, instead + of clattering out with all the noise of which their legs and lungs were + capable, stole down the stairs quietly, and formed into groups of + whisperers in the cloisters. It was the calm that precedes a storm. + </p> + <p> + So unusual a state of affairs was noticed by the senior boy. + </p> + <p> + “What’s up now?” he asked them, in the phraseology in vogue there and + elsewhere. “Are you all going to a funeral? I hope it’s your sins that you + are about to bury!” + </p> + <p> + A heavy silence answered him. Gaunt could not make it out. The other three + seniors, attracted by the scene, came back, and waited with Gaunt. By that + time the calm was being ruffled by low murmurings, and certain distinct + words came from more than one of the groups. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” burst forth Tom Channing, darting forward as the words + caught his ear. “You, Jackson! speak up; <i>what</i> is it?” + </p> + <p> + Not Jackson’s voice especially, but several other voices arose then; a + word from one, a word from another, half sentences, disjointed hints, + forming together an unmistakable whole. “The theft of old Galloway’s + bank-note has been traced to Arthur Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “Who says it? Who dares to say it?” flashed Tom, his face flaming, and his + hand clenched. + </p> + <p> + “The police say it. Butterby says it.” + </p> + <p> + “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 say it + here?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, then! Come, Mr. Channing, though you are a senior, and can put me + up to Pye for punishment upon any false plea that you choose,” answered a + tall fellow, Pierce senior, who was chiefly remarkable for getting into + fights, and was just now unusually friendly with Mark Galloway, at whose + desk he sat. + </p> + <p> + Quick as lightning, Tom Channing turned and faced him. “Speak out what you + have to say,” cried he; “no hints.” + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” retorted Pierce senior, “do you think I am afraid? I say that + Arthur Channing stole the note lost by old Galloway.” + </p> + <p> + Tom, in uncontrollable temper, raised his hand and struck him. One + half-minute’s struggle, nothing more, and Pierce senior was sprawling on + the ground, while Tom Channing’s cheek and nose were bleeding. Gaunt had + stepped in between them. + </p> + <p> + “I stop this,” he said. “Pierce, get up! Don’t lie there like a + floundering donkey. Channing, what possessed you to forget yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “You would have done the same, Gaunt, had the insult been offered to you. + Let the fellow retract his words, or prove them.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. That is how you ought to have met it at first,” said Gaunt. + “Now, Mr. Pierce, can you make good your assertion?” + </p> + <p> + Pierce had floundered up, and was rubbing one of his long legs, which had + doubled under him in the fall, while his brother, Pierce junior, was + collecting an armful of scattered books, and whispering prognostications + of parental vengeance in prospective; for, so surely as Pierce senior fell + into a fight at school, to the damage of face or clothes, so surely was it + followed up by punishment at home. + </p> + <p> + “If you want proof, go to Butterby at the police station, and get it from + him,” sullenly replied Pierce, who owned a sulky temper as well as a + pugnacious one. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” interrupted Mark Galloway, springing to the front: “Pierce + was a fool to bring it out in that way, but I’ll speak up now it has come + 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 there was no doubt + the theft had been committed by Arthur Channing. Mind, Channing,” Mark + added, turning to Tom, “I am not seconding the accusation on my own score; + but, that Butterby said it I’ll declare.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw! is that all?” cried Tom Channing, lifting his head with a haughty + gesture, and not condescending to notice the blood which trickled from his + cheek. “You must have misunderstood him, boy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not,” replied Mark Galloway. “I heard him as plainly as I hear + you now.” + </p> + <p> + “It is hardly likely that Butterby would say that before you, Galloway,” + observed Gaunt. + </p> + <p> + “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 out again + pretty quick, I can tell you; but not till I had heard Butterby say that.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have misunderstood him,” returned Gaunt, carelessly taking up + Tom Channing’s notion; “and you had no right to blurt out such a thing to + the school. Arthur Channing is better known and trusted than you, Mr. + Mark.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t accuse Arthur Channing to the school. I only repeated to my desk + what Butterby said.” + </p> + <p> + “It is that ‘only repeating’ which does three parts of the mischief in + this world,” said Gaunt, giving the boys a little touch of morality + gratis, to their intense edification. “As to you, Pierce senior, you’ll + get more than you bargain for, some of these days, if you poke your + ill-conditioned nose so often into other people’s business.” + </p> + <p> + Tom Channing had marched away towards his home, head erect, his step + ringing firmly and proudly on the cloister flags. Charley ran by his side. + But Charley’s face was white, and Tom caught sight of it. + </p> + <p> + “What are you looking like that for?” + </p> + <p> + “Tom! you don’t think it’s true, do you?” + </p> + <p> + Tom turned his scorn upon the boy. “You little idiot! True! A Channing + turn thief! <i>You</i> may, perhaps—it’s best known to yourself—but + never Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean that. I mean, can it be true that the police suspect him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that’s what your face becomes milky for? You ought to have been born + a girl, Miss Charley. If the police do suspect him, what of that?—they’ll + only have the tables turned upon themselves, Butterby might come out and + say he suspects me of murder! Should I care? No; I’d prove my innocence, + and make him eat his words.” + </p> + <p> + They were drawing near home. Charley looked up at his brother. “You must + wipe your face, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + Tom took out his handkerchief, and gave his face a rub. In his + indignation, his carelessness, he would have done nothing of the sort, had + he not been reminded by the boy. “Is it off?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s off. I am not sure but it will break out again. You must take + care.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother! let it. I should like to have polished off that Pierce senior + as he deserves. A little coin of the same sort would do Galloway no 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 in private, as it + is; but I can’t put him up for punishment, or act in it as Gaunt could.” + </p> + <p> + “Arthur is our brother, therefore we feel it more pointedly than Gaunt,” + sensibly remarked Charley. + </p> + <p> + “I’d advise you not to spell forth that sentimental rubbish, though you + are 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said the younger and more thoughtful of the two, “don’t let us say + anything of this at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Tom, hotly. He would have run in open-mouthed. + </p> + <p> + “It would pain mamma to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Boy! do you suppose <i>she</i> would fear Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to misconstrue all I say, Tom. Of course she would not fear him—you + did not fear him; but it stung you, I know, as was proved by your knocking + down Pierce.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t speak of it before her,” conciliated Tom, somewhat won + over, “or before my father, either; but catch me keeping it from the + rest.” + </p> + <p> + As Charles had partially foretold, they had barely entered, when Tom’s + face again became ornamented with crimson. Annabel shrieked out, startling + Mr. Channing on his sofa. Mrs. Channing, as it happened, was not present; + Constance was: Lady Augusta Yorke and her daughters were spending part of + the day in the country, therefore Constance had come home at twelve. + </p> + <p> + “Look at Tom’s face!” cried the child. “What has he been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, little stupid,” returned Tom, hastily bringing his + handkerchief into use again; which, being a white one, made the worse + exhibition of the two, with its bright red stains. “It’s nothing but a + scratch.” + </p> + <p> + But Annabel’s eyes were sharp, and she had taken in full view of the hurt. + “Tom, you have been fighting! I am sure of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Come to me, Tom,” said Mr. Channing. “Have you been fighting?” he + demanded, as Tom crossed the room in obedience, and stood close to him. + “Take your handkerchief away, that I may see your face.” + </p> + <p> + “It could not be called a fight, papa,” said Tom, holding his cheek so + that the light from the window fell full upon the hurt. “One of the boys + offended me; I hit him, and he gave me this; then I knocked him down, and + there it ended. It’s only a scratch.” + </p> + <p> + “Thomas, was this Christian conduct?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, papa. It was schoolboy’s.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing could not forbear a smile. “I know it was a schoolboy’s + conduct; that is bad enough: and it is my son’s, that is worse.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had given him what he deserved, he would have had ten times as much; + and perhaps I should, for my temper was up, only Gaunt put in his + interference. When I am senior, my rule will be different from Gaunt’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Tom! your ‘temper up!’ It is that temper of yours which brings you + harm. What was the quarrel about?” + </p> + <p> + “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 tell it + without betraying something about somebody, which it may be as well to + keep in.” + </p> + <p> + “After that lucid explanation, you had better go and get some warm water + for your face,” said Mr. Channing. “I will speak with you later.” + </p> + <p> + Constance followed him from the room, volunteering to procure the warm + water. They were standing in Tom’s chamber afterwards, Tom bathing his + face, and Constance looking on, when Arthur, who had then come in from Mr. + Galloway’s, passed by to his own room. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” he called out; “what’s the matter, Tom?” + </p> + <p> + “Such a row!” answered Tom. “And I wish I could have pitched into Pierce + senior as I’d have liked. What do you think, Arthur? The school were + taking up the notion that you—you!—had stolen old Galloway’s + bank-note. Pierce senior set it afloat; that is, he and Mark Galloway + together. Mark said a word, and Pierce said two, and so it went on. I + should have paid Pierce out, but for Gaunt.” + </p> + <p> + A silence. It was filled up by the sound of Tom splashing the water on his + face, and by that only. Arthur spoke presently, his tone so calm a one as + almost to be unnatural. + </p> + <p> + “How did the notion arise?” + </p> + <p> + “Mark Galloway said he heard Butterby talking with his uncle; that + Butterby said the theft could only have been committed by Arthur Channing. + Mark Galloway’s ears must have played him false; but it was a regular + sneak’s trick to come and repeat it to the school. I say, Constance, is my + face clean now?” + </p> + <p> + Constance woke up from a reverie to look at his face. “Quite clean,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + He dried it, dried his hands, gave a glance at his shirt-front in the + glass, which had, however, escaped damage, brushed his hair, and went + downstairs. Arthur closed the door and turned to Constance. Her eyes were + seeking his, and her lips stood apart. The terrible fear which had fallen + upon both the previous day had not yet been spoken out between them. It + must be spoken now. + </p> + <p> + “Constance, there is tribulation before us,” he whispered. “We must school + ourselves to bear it, however difficult the task may prove. Whatever + betide the rest of us, suspicion must be averted from <i>him</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “What tribulation do you mean?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “The affair has been placed in the hands of the police; and I believe—I + believe,” Arthur spoke with agitation, “that they will publicly + investigate it. Constance, they suspect <i>me</i>. The college school is + right, and Tom is wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Constance leaned against a chest of drawers to steady herself, and pressed + her hand upon her shrinking face. “How have you learnt it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have gathered it from different trifles; one fact and another. Jenkins + said Butterby was with him this morning, asking questions about me. Better + that I should be suspected than Hamish. God help me to bear it!” + </p> + <p> + “But it is so unjust that you should suffer for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Were it traced home to him, it might be the whole family’s ruin, for my + father would inevitably lose his post. He might lose it were only + suspicion to stray to Hamish. There is no alternative. I must screen him. + Can you be firm, Constance, when you see me accused?” + </p> + <p> + Constance leaned her head upon her hand, wondering whether she could be + firm in the cause. But that she knew where to go for strength, she might + have doubted it; for the love of right, the principles of justice were + strong within her. “Oh, what could possess him?” she uttered, wringing her + hands; “what could possess him? Arthur, is there no loophole, not the + faintest loophole for hope of his innocence?” + </p> + <p> + “None that I see. No one whatever had access to the letter but Hamish and + 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—as it has + done.” + </p> + <p> + “How could he brave the risk of detection?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. My head aches, pondering over it. I suppose he concluded + that suspicion would fall upon the post-office. It would have done so, but + for that seal placed on the letter afterwards. What an unfortunate thing + it was, that Roland Yorke mentioned there was money inside the letter in + the hearing of Hamish!” + </p> + <p> + “Did he mention it?” exclaimed Constance. + </p> + <p> + He said there was a twenty-pound note in the letter, going to the cousin + Galloway, and Hamish remarked that he wished it was going into his pocket + instead. “I <i>wish</i>” Arthur uttered, in a sort of frenzy, “I had + locked the letter up there and then.” + </p> + <p> + Constance clasped her hands in pain. “I fear he may have been going wrong + for some time,” she breathed. “It has come to my knowledge, through + Judith, that he sits up for hours night after night, doing something to + the books. Arthur,” she shivered, glancing fearfully round, “I hope those + accounts are right?” + </p> + <p> + The doubt thus given utterance to, blanched even the cheeks of Arthur. + “Sits up at the books!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “He sits up, that is certain; and at the books, as I conclude. He takes + them into his room at night. It may only be that he has not time, or does + not make time, to go over them in the day. It <i>may</i> be so.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust it is; I pray it may be. Mind you, Constance, our duty is plain: + we must screen him; screen him at any sacrifice to ourselves, for the + father and mother’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Sacrifice to you, you ought to say. What were our other light troubles, + compared with this? Arthur, will they publicly accuse you?” + </p> + <p> + “It may come to that; I have been steeling myself all the morning to meet + it.” + </p> + <p> + He looked into her face as he said it. Constance could see how his brow + and heart were aching. At that moment they were called to dinner, and + Arthur turned to leave the room. Constance caught his hand, the tears + raining from her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur,” she whispered, “in the very darkest trouble, God can comfort us. + Be assured He will comfort you.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish did not make his appearance at dinner, and they sat down without + him. This was not so very unusual as to cause surprise; he was + occasionally detained at the office. + </p> + <p> + The meal was about half over, when Annabel, in her disregard of the bounds + of discipline, suddenly started from her seat and flew to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Charley, there are two policemen coming here! Whatever can they want?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps to take you,” said Mrs. Channing, jestingly. “A short sojourn at + the tread-mill might be of great service to you, Annabel.” + </p> + <p> + The announcement had struck upon the ear and memory of Tom. “Policemen!” + he exclaimed, standing up in his place, and stretching his neck to obtain + a view of them. “Why—it never can be that—old Butterby—Arthur, + what ails you?” + </p> + <p> + A sensitive, refined nature, whether implanted in man or woman, is almost + sure to betray its emotions on the countenance. Such a nature was Arthur + Channing’s. Now that the dread had really come, every drop of blood + forsook his cheeks and lips, leaving his face altogether of a deathly + whiteness. He was utterly unable to control or help this, and it was this + pallor which had given rise to Tom’s concluding exclamation. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing looked at Arthur, Mrs. Channing looked at him; they all + looked at him, except Constance, and she bent her head lower over her + plate, to hide, as she best might, her own white face and its shrinking + terror. “Are you ill, Arthur?” inquired his father. + </p> + <p> + A low brief reply came; one struggling for calmness. “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Impetuous Tom, forgetting caution, forgetting all except the moment + actually present, gave utterance to more than was prudent. “Arthur, you + are never fearing what those wretched schoolboys said? The police are not + come to arrest you. Butterby wouldn’t be such a fool!” + </p> + <p> + But the police were in the hall, and Judith had come to the dining-room + door. “Master Arthur, you are wanted, please.” + </p> + <p> + “What is all this?” exclaimed Mr. Channing in astonishment, gazing from + Tom to Arthur, from Arthur to the vision of the blue official dress, a + glimpse of which he could catch beyond Judith. Tom took up the answer. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing, papa. It’s a trick they are playing for fun, I’ll lay. They + <i>can’t</i> really suspect Arthur of stealing the bank-note, you know. + They’ll never dare to take him up, as they take a felon.” + </p> + <p> + Charley stole round to Arthur with a wailing cry, and threw his arms round + him—as if their weak protection could retain him in its shelter. + Arthur gently unwound them, and bent down till his lips touched the + yearning face held up to him in its anguish. + </p> + <p> + “Charley, boy, I am innocent,” he breathed in the boy’s ear. “You won’t + doubt that, I know. Don’t keep me. They have come for me, and I must go + with them.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. — AN ESCORT TO THE GUILDHALL. + </h2> + <p> + The group would have formed a study for a Wilkie. The disturbed + dinner-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 glancing + behind her with a sense of undefined dread; the pale, <i>conscious</i> + countenances of Arthur and Constance; Tom standing up in haughty + impetuosity, defiant of every one; the lively terror of Charley’s face, as + he clung to Arthur; and the wide-opened eyes of Annabel expressive of + nothing but surprise—for it took a great deal to alarm that careless + young lady; while at the door, holding it open for Arthur, stood Judith in + her mob-cap, full of curiosity; and in the background the two policemen. A + scene indeed, that Wilkie, in the day of his power, would have rejoiced to + paint. + </p> + <p> + Arthur, battling fiercely with his outraged pride, and breathing an inward + prayer for strength to go through with his task, for patience to endure, + put Charley from him, and went into the hall. He saw not what was + immediately around him—the inquiring looks of his father and mother, + the necessity of some explanation to them; he saw not Judith and her + curious face. A scale was, as it were, before his eyes, blinding them to + all outward influences, except one—the officers of justice standing there, + and the purpose for which they had come. “What on earth has happened, + Master Arthur?” whispered Judith, as he passed her, terrifying the old + servant with his pale, agitated face. But he neither heard nor answered; + he walked straight up to the men. + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you quietly,” he said to them, in an undertone. “Do not + make a disturbance, to alarm my mother.” + </p> + <p> + We cannot always have our senses about us, as the saying runs. Some of us, + I fear, enjoy that privilege rarely, and the very best lose them on + occasion. But that Arthur Channing’s senses had deserted him, he would not + have pursued a line of conduct, in that critical moment, which was liable + to be construed into an admission, or, at least, a consciousness of guilt. + In his anxiety to avert suspicion from Hamish, he lost sight of the + precautions necessary to protect himself, so far as was practicable. And + yet he had spent time that morning, thinking over what his manner, his + bearing must be if it came to this! Had it come upon him unexpectedly he + would have met it very differently; with far less outward calmness, but + most probably with indignant denial. “I will go with you quietly,” he said + to the men. + </p> + <p> + “All right, sir,” they answered with a nod, and a conviction that he was a + cool hand and a guilty one. “It’s always best not to resist the law—it + never does no good.” + </p> + <p> + He need not have resisted, but he ought to have waited until they asked + him to go. A dim perception of this had already begun to steal over him. + He was taking his hat from its place in the hall, when the voice of Mr. + Channing came ringing on his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur, what is this? Give me an explanation.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur turned back to the room, passing through the sea of faces to get + there; for all; except his helpless father, had come from their seats to + gather round and about that strange mystery in the hall, to try to fathom + it. Mr. Channing gave one long, keen glance at Arthur’s face—which + was very unlike Arthur’s usual face just then; for all its candour seemed + to have gone out of it. He did not speak to him; he called in one of the + men. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me your business here?” he asked courteously. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know it, sir?” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not,” replied Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, it’s an unpleasant accusation that is brought against this + young gentleman. But perhaps he’ll be able to make it clear. I hope he + will. It don’t give us no pleasure when folks are convicted, especially + young ones, and those we have always known to be respectable; we’d rather + see ‘em let off.” + </p> + <p> + Tom interrupted—Tom, in his fiery indignation. “Is it of stealing + that bank-note of Galloway’s that you presume to accuse my brother?” he + asked, speaking indistinctly in his haste and anger. + </p> + <p> + “You have said it, sir,” replied the man. “That’s it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I say whoever accuses him ought to be—” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Thomas,” interrupted Mr. Channing. “Allow me to deal with this. + Who brings this accusation against my son?” + </p> + <p> + “We had our orders from Mr. Butterby, sir. He is acting for Mr. Galloway. + He was called in there early this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you come for my son to go with you to Mr. Galloway’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Not there, sir. We have to take him straight to the Guildhall. The + magistrates are waiting to hear the case.” + </p> + <p> + A dismayed pause. Even Mr. Channing’s heart, with all its implicit faith + in the truth and honour of his children, beat as if it would burst its + bounds. Tom’s beat too; but it was with a desire to “pitch into” the + policemen, as he had pitched into Pierce senior in the cloisters. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing turned to Arthur. “You have an answer to this, my son?” + </p> + <p> + The question was not replied to. Mr. Channing spoke again, with the same + calm emphasis. “Arthur, you can vouch for your innocence?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur Channing did the very worst thing that he could have done—he + hesitated. Instead of replying readily and firmly “I can,” which he might + have done without giving rise to harm, he stopped to ask himself how far, + consistently with safety to Hamish, he might defend his own cause. His + mind was not collected; he had not, as I have said, his senses about him; + and the unbroken silence, waiting for his answer, the expectant faces + turned upon him, helped to confuse him and to drive his reason further + away. The signs, which certainly did look like signs of guilt, struck a + knell on the heart of his father. “Arthur!” he wailed out, in a tone of + intense agony, “you <i>are</i> innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “Y—es,” replied Arthur, gulping down his rising agitation; his + rising words—impassioned words of exculpation, of innocence, of + truth. They had bubbled up within him—were hovering on the verge of + his burning lips. He beat them down again to repression; but he never + afterwards knew how he did it. + </p> + <p> + Better that he had been still silent, than speak that dubious, indecisive + “Y—es.” It told terribly against him. One, conscious of his own + innocence, does not proclaim it in indistinct, half-uttered words. Tom’s + mouth dropped with dismay, and his astonished eyes seemed as if they could + not take themselves from Arthur’s uncertain face. Mrs. Channing staggered + against the wall, with a faint cry. + </p> + <p> + The policeman spoke up: he meant to be kindly. In all Helstonleigh there + was not a family more respected than were the Channings; and the man 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 the accused.” + </p> + <p> + “Time’s up,” called out the one who was in the hall, to his fellow. “We + can’t stop here all day.” + </p> + <p> + The hint was taken at once, both by Arthur and the man. Constance had kept + herself still, throughout, by main force; but Mrs. Channing could not 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!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, mother! don’t unnerve me,” he whispered. “It is bad enough as it + is.” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot be guilty, Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + For answer he looked into her eyes for a single moment. His habitual + expression had come back to them again—the earnest of truth, which + she had ever known and trusted. It spoke calm to her heart now. “You are + innocent,” she murmured. “Then go in peace.” + </p> + <p> + Annabel broke into a storm of sobs. “Oh, Judith! will they hang him? What + has he done?” + </p> + <p> + “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 hang you + both up to two of those elm-trees yonder, right in front of one another. + Coming to a gentleman’s house on this errand!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not take me publicly through the streets,” said Arthur to his keepers. + “I give you my word to make no resistance: I will go to the Guildhall, or + anywhere else that you please, as freely as if I were bound thither on my + own pleasure. You need not betray that I am in custody.” + </p> + <p> + They saw that they might trust him. One of the policemen went to the + opposite side of the way, as if pacing his beat; the other continued by + the side of Arthur; not closely enough to give rise to suspicion in those + they met. A few paces from the door Tom Channing came pelting up, and put + his arm within Arthur’s. + </p> + <p> + “Guilty, or not guilty, it shall never be said that a Channing was + deserted by his brothers!” quoth he, “I wish Hamish could have been here.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom, you are thinking me guilty?” Arthur said, in a quiet, tone, which + did not reach the ears of his official escort. + </p> + <p> + “Well—I am in a fix,” avowed Tom. “If you are guilty, I shall never + believe in anything again. I have always thought that building a + cathedral: well and good; but if it turns out to be a myth, I shan’t be + surprised, after this. <i>Are</i> you guilty?” + </p> + <p> + “No, lad.” + </p> + <p> + The denial was simple, and calmly expressed; but there was sufficient in + its tone to make Tom Channing’s heart give a great leap within him. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God! What a fool I was! But, I say, Arthur, why did you not deny + it, out-and-out? Your manner frightened us. I suppose the police scared + you?” + </p> + <p> + Tom, all right now, walked along, his head up, escorting Arthur with as + little shame to public examination, as he would have done to a public + crowning. It was not the humiliation of undeserved suspicion that could + daunt the Channings: the consciousness of guilt could alone effect that. + Hitherto, neither guilt nor its shadow had fallen upon them. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” asked Arthur, when they had reached the hall, and were about to + enter: “will you do me a little service?” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t I, though! what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Make the best of your way to Mr. Williams’s, and tell him I am prevented + from taking the organ this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t tell him the reason,” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? In an hour’s time it will be known from one end of Helstonleigh + to the other.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. — THE EXAMINATION. + </h2> + <p> + 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 in + saying they were waiting for it—Arthur became acquainted with one + great fact: that it was not Mr. Galloway who had driven matters to this + extremity. Neither was he aware that Arthur had been taken into custody. + Mr. Butterby had assumed the responsibility, and acted upon it. Mr. + Butterby, since his interview with Mr. Galloway in the morning, had + gathered, as he believed, sufficiently corroborating facts to establish, + or nearly so, the guilt of Arthur Channing. He supposed that this was all + Mr. Galloway required to remove his objection to stern measures; and, in + procuring the warrant for the capture, Mr. Butterby had acted as for Mr. + Galloway. + </p> + <p> + When Arthur was placed in the spot where he had often seen criminals + standing, his face again wore the livid hue which had overspread it in his + home. In a few moments this had changed to crimson; brow and cheeks were + glowing with it. It was a painful situation, and Arthur felt it to the + very depths of his naturally proud spirit. I don’t think you or I should + have liked it. + </p> + <p> + The circumstances were stated to the magistrates just as they have been + stated to you. The placing of the bank-note and letter in the envelope by + Mr. Galloway, his immediately fastening it down by means of the gum, the + extraction of the note, between that time and the period when the seal was + placed on it later in the day, and the fact that Arthur Channing alone had + access to it. “Except Mr. Hamish Channing, for a few minutes,” Mr. + Butterby added, “who kindly remained in the office while his brother + proceeded as far as the cathedral and back again; the other clerks, Joseph + Jenkins and Roland Yorke, being absent that afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + A deeper dye flushed Arthur’s face when Hamish’s name and share in the + afternoon’s doings were mentioned, and he bent his eyes on the floor at + his feet, and kept them there. Had Hamish not been implicated, he would + have stood there with a clear eye and a serene brow. It was that, the all + too vivid consciousness of the sin of Hamish, which took all spirit out of + him, and drove him to stand there as one under the brand of guilt. He + scarcely dared look up, lest it should be read in his countenance that he + was innocent, and Hamish guilty; he scarcely dared to 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 have spoken out boldly and freely + that day. There was the bitter shock of the crime, felt for Hamish’s own + sake: Hamish whom they had all so loved, so looked up to: and there was + the dread of the consequences to Mr. Channing in the event of discovery. + Had the penalty been hanging, I believe that Arthur would have gone to it, + rather than betray Hamish. But you must not suppose he did not <i>feel</i> + it for himself; there were moments when he feared lest he should not carry + it through. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Butterby was waiting for a witness—Mr. Galloway himself: and + meanwhile, he entertained the bench with certain scraps, anecdotal and + other, premising what would be proved before them. Jenkins would show that + the prisoner had avowed in his presence, it would take a twenty-pound note + to clear him from his debts, or hard upon it— + </p> + <p> + “No,” interrupted the hitherto silent prisoner, to the surprise of those + present, “that is not true. It is correct that I did make use of words to + that effect, but I spoke them in jest. I and Roland Yorke were one day + speaking of debts, and I jokingly said a twenty-pound note would 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 not owe anything.” + </p> + <p> + It was an assertion more easily made than proved. Arthur Channing might + have large liabilities upon him, for all that appeared in that court to + the contrary. Mr. Butterby handed the seal to the bench, who examined it + curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I could have understood this case better had any stranger or strangers + approached the letter,” observed one of the magistrates, who knew the + Channings personally, and greatly respected their high character. “You are + sure you are not mistaken in supposing no one came in?” he added, looking + kindly at Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly no one came in whilst I was alone in the office, sir,” was the + unhesitating answer. + </p> + <p> + The magistrate spoke in an under-tone to those beside him. “That avowal is + in his favour. Had he taken the note, one might suppose he would be + anxious to make it appear that strangers did enter, and so throw suspicion + off himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I have made very close inquiry, and cannot find that the office was + entered at all that afternoon,” observed Mr. Butterby. Mr. Butterby <i>had</i> + made close inquiry; and, to do him justice, he did not seek to throw one + shade more of guilt upon Arthur than he thought the case deserved. “Mr. + Hamish Channing also—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Butterby stopped. There, standing within the door, was Hamish himself. + In passing along the street he had seen an unusual commotion around the + town-hall; and, upon inquiring its cause, was told that Arthur Channing + was under examination, on suspicion of having stolen the bank-note, lost + by Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + To look at Hamish you would have believed him innocent and unconscious as + the day. He strode into the justice-room, his eye flashing, his brow + haughty, his colour high. Never had gay Hamish looked so scornfully + indignant. He threw his glance round the crowded court in search of + Arthur, and it found him. + </p> + <p> + Their eyes met. A strange gaze it was, going out from the one to the + other; a gaze which the brothers had never in all their lives exchanged. + Arthur’s spoke of shame all too palpably—he could not help it in + that bitter moment—shame for his brother. And Hamish shrank under + it. If ever one cowered visibly in this world, Hamish Channing did then. A + low, suppressed cry went up from Arthur’s heart: whatever fond, faint + doubt may have lingered in his mind, it died out from that moment. + </p> + <p> + Others noticed the significant look exchanged between them; but they, not + in the secret, saw only, on the part of Hamish, what they took for + vexation at his brother’s position. It was suggested that it would save + time to take the evidence of Mr. Hamish Channing at once. Mr. Galloway’s + might be received later. + </p> + <p> + “What evidence?” demanded Hamish, standing before the magistrates in a + cold, uncompromising manner, and speaking in a cold, uncompromising tone. + “I have none to give. I know nothing of the affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much, we are aware; but what little you do know must be spoken, Mr. + Hamish Channing.” + </p> + <p> + They did not swear him. These were only informal, preliminary proceedings. + Country courts of law are not always conducted according to orthodox + rules, nor was that of Helstonleigh. There would be another and a more + formal examination before the committal of the prisoner for trial—if + committed he should be. + </p> + <p> + A few unimportant questions were put to Hamish, and then he was asked + whether he saw the letter in question. + </p> + <p> + “I saw a letter which I suppose to have been the one,” he replied. “It was + addressed to Mr. Robert Galloway, at Ventnor.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you observe your brother take it into Mr. Galloway’s private room?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Hamish. “In putting the desks straight before departing + for college, my brother carried the letter into Mr. Galloway’s room and + left it there. I distinctly remember his doing so.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see the letter after that?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “How long did you remain alone while your brother was away?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not look at my watch,” irritably returned Hamish, who had spoken + resentfully throughout, as if some great wrong were being inflicted upon + him in having to speak at all. + </p> + <p> + “But you can guess at the time?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t,” shortly retorted Hamish. “And ‘guesses’ are not evidence.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it ten minutes?” + </p> + <p> + “It may have been. I know he seemed to be back almost as soon as he had + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Did any person—clerk, or stranger, or visitor, or otherwise—come + into the office during his absence from it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “No person whatever?” + </p> + <p> + “No person whatever. I think,” continued Hamish, volunteering an opinion + upon the subject, although he knew it was out of all rule and precedent to + do so, “that there is a great deal of unprofitable fuss being made about + the matter. The money must have been lost in going through the post; it is + impossible to suppose otherwi—” + </p> + <p> + Hamish was stopped by a commotion. Clattering along the outer hall, and + bursting in at the court door, his black hair disordered, his usually pale + cheeks scarlet, his nostrils working with excitement, came Roland Yorke. + He was in a state of fierce emotion. Learning, as he had done by accident, + that Arthur had been arrested upon the charge, he took up the cause hotly, + gave vent to a burst of passionate indignation (in which he abused every + one under the sun, except Arthur), and tore off to the town-hall. Elbowing + the crowd right and left, in his impetuosity, pushing one policeman here + and another there, who would have obstructed his path, he came up to + Arthur and ranged himself by his side, linking his arm within his in an + outburst of kindly generosity. + </p> + <p> + “Old fellow, who has done this?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roland Yorke!” exclaimed the bench, indignantly. “What do you mean by + this behaviour? Stand away, if you please, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care that their worships don’t commit you for contempt of court,” + retorted Mr. Butterby. “You are going on for it, Roland Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them commit me, if they will,” foamed Roland. “I am not going to see + a friend falsely accused, and not stand up for him. Channing no more + touched that money than any of you did. The post-office must have had it.” + </p> + <p> + “A moment, Mr. Roland Yorke: if you can calm yourself sufficiently to + answer as a rational being,” interposed the magistrate who had addressed + Arthur. “Have you any proof to urge in support of your assertion that the + prisoner did not touch it?” + </p> + <p> + “Proof, sir!” returned Roland, subsiding, however, into a tone of more + respect: “does it want proof to establish the innocence of Arthur + Channing? Every action of his past life is proof. He is honest as the + day.” + </p> + <p> + “This warm feeling does you credit, in one sense—” + </p> + <p> + “It does me no credit at all,” fiercely interrupted Roland. “I don’t + defend him because he is my friend; I don’t defend him because we are in + the same office, and sit side by side at the same desk; I do it, because I + know him to be innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “He <i>could</i> not be guilty. He is incapable of it. Better accuse me, + or Jenkins, than accuse him!” + </p> + <p> + “You and Jenkins were not at the office during the suspected time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know we were not,” acknowledged Roland, lowering his voice to a + more reasonable tone. “And, just because it happened, by some + cross-grained luck, that Channing was, Butterby pitches upon him, and + accuses him of the theft. He never did it! and I’ll say it with my last + breath.” + </p> + <p> + With some trouble: threatenings on the part of the court; and more + explosions from himself: Mr. Roland Yorke was persuaded to retire. He went + as far as the back of the room, and there indulged in under-currents of + wrath, touching injustice and Mr. Butterby, to a select circle who + gathered round him. Warm-hearted and generous, by fits and starts, was + Roland Yorke; he had inherited it with his Irish blood from Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + But meanwhile, where was Mr. Galloway? He did not make his appearance, and + it was said he could not be found. Messenger after messenger was + despatched to his office, to his house; and at length Mr. Butterby went + himself. All in vain; his servants knew nothing about him. Jenkins, who + had 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 back + crest-fallen, and confessed that, not to take up longer the time of their + worships unnecessarily, the case must be remanded to the morrow. + </p> + <p> + “We will take bail,” said the magistrates, before the application was + made. “One surety will be sufficient; fifty pounds.” + </p> + <p> + At that, Mr. Roland, who by this time was standing in a sullen manner + against a pillar of the court, his violence gone, and biting his nails + moodily, made a rush to the front again, heeding little who he knocked + down in the process. “I’ll be bail,” he cried eagerly. “That is, Lady + Augusta will—as I am not a householder. I’ll hunt her up and bring + her here.” + </p> + <p> + He was turning in impetuous haste to “hunt up” Lady Augusta, when Hamish + Channing imperatively waved to him to be still, and spoke to the bench. + </p> + <p> + “My father’s security will be sufficient, I presume?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so.” + </p> + <p> + Since Mr. Channing’s incapacity, power to sign and to act for him had been + vested in Hamish; and the matter was concluded at once. The court poured + 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 could never make + enough of him. + </p> + <p> + “The miserable idiots! to bring such a charge against you, Arthur! I have + been half mad ever since I heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Yorke. You are very kind—” + </p> + <p> + “‘Kind!’ Don’t talk that school-girl rubbish!” passionately interrupted + Roland. “If I were taken up upon a false charge, wouldn’t you stand by + me?” + </p> + <p> + “That I would; were it false or true.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll pay that Butterby out, if it’s ten years hence! And you, knowing + your own innocence, could stand before them there, meek-faced as a tame + cat, letting Butterby and the bench have it their own way! A calm temper, + such as yours, Arthur, may be very—what do they call it?—Christian; + but I’m blest if it’s useful! I should have made their ears tingle, had + they put me there, as they have not tingled for many a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Who do you suppose took the note?” inquired Hamish of Roland Yorke, + speaking for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Bother the note!” was the rejoinder of Mr. Roland. “It’s nothing to us + who took it. Arthur didn’t. Go and ask the post-office.” + </p> + <p> + “But the seal?” Hamish was beginning in a friendly tone of argument. + Roland bore him down. + </p> + <p> + “Who cares for the seal? I don’t. If Galloway had stuck himself upon the + letter, instead of his seal, and never got off till it reached the cousin + Galloway’s hand, I wouldn’t care. It tells nothing. Do you <i>want</i> 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 a brother to stand + up for me. Now then, you people! Are you thinking we are live kangaroos + escaped from a menagerie? Be off about your own business! Don’t come after + us.” + </p> + <p> + The last was addressed to a crowd, who had followed upon their heels from + the court, staring, with that innate delicacy for which the English are + remarkable. They had seen Arthur Channing a thousand times before, every + one of them, but, as he had been arrested, they must look at him again. + Yorke’s scornful reproach and fierce face somewhat scattered them. + </p> + <p> + “If it had been Galloway’s doings, I’d never have put my foot inside his + confounded old office again!” went on Roland. “No! and my lady might have + tried her best to force me. Lugging a fellow up for a pitiful, paltry sum + of twenty pounds!—who is as much a gentleman as himself!—who, + as his own senses might tell him, wouldn’t touch it with the end of his + finger! But it was that Butterby’s handiwork, not Galloway’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Galloway must have given Butterby his instructions,” observed Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “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 been away + ever since eleven o’clock, we can’t tell where. It is nobody but that + evil, mischief-making Butterby, and I’d give a crown out of my pocket to + have a good duck at him in the river!” + </p> + <p> + With regard to Mr. Galloway’s knowing nothing of the active proceedings + taken against Arthur, Roland was right. Mr. Butterby had despatched a note + 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—and + the note had been lying there ever since. + </p> + <p> + It was being opened now. Now—at the exact moment that Mr. Roland + Yorke was 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 with + him a few miles by rail into the country, on unexpected business. He had + just returned to find the note, and to hear Jenkins’ account of Arthur’s + arrest. + </p> + <p> + “I am vexed at this,” he exclaimed, his tone betraying excessive + annoyance. “Butterby has exceeded his orders.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins thought he might venture to put in a word for Arthur. He had been + intensely surprised, indeed grieved, at the whole affair; and not the less + so that he feared what he had unconsciously repeated, about a twenty-pound + note paying Arthur’s debts, might have helped it on. + </p> + <p> + “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 for more than + twelve months without learning something of his principles.” + </p> + <p> + “The principles of all the Channings are well known,” returned Mr. + Galloway. “No; whatever may be the apparent proofs, I cannot bring myself + to think it could be Arthur Channing. Although—” Mr. Galloway did + not say although <i>what</i>, but changed the topic abruptly. “Are they in + court now?” + </p> + <p> + “I expect so, sir. Mr. Yorke is not back yet.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway walked to the outer door, deliberating what his course should + be. The affair grieved him more than he could express; it angered him; + chiefly for his old friend Mr. Channing’s sake. “I had better go up to the + Guildhall,” he soliloquized, “and see if—” + </p> + <p> + There they were, turning the corner of the street; Roland Yorke, Hamish, + and Arthur; and the followers behind. Mr. Galloway waited till they 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 been exchanged between + the brothers. “No wonder that he shuns coming in!” thought Arthur. Roland + Yorke threw his hat from him in silence, and sat down in his place at the + desk. Mr. Galloway touched Arthur with his finger, motioned him towards + the private room, and stood there facing him, speaking gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the truth, as before God. Are you innocent or guilty? What you + say shall not be used against you.” + </p> + <p> + Quick as lightning, in all solemn earnestness, the word “innocent” was on + Arthur’s lips. It had been better for him, perhaps, that he had spoken it. + But, alas! that perplexity, as to how far he might venture to assert his + own innocence, was upon him still. What impression could this hesitation, + coupled with the suspicious circumstances, make upon the mind of Mr. + Galloway? + </p> + <p> + “Have you <i>no</i> answer?” emphatically asked Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I am not guilty, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, what do you suppose were the sensations of Mr. Channing? We all + know that anguish of mind is far more painful to bear when the body is + quiescent, than when it is in motion. In any great trouble, any terrible + suspense, look at our sleepless nights! We lie, and toss, and turn; and + say, When will the night be gone? In the day we can partially shake it + off, walking hither and thither; the keenness of the anguish is lost in + exertion. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing could not take this exertion. Lying there always, his days + were little better to him than nights, and this strange blow, which had + fallen so suddenly and unexpectedly, nearly overwhelmed him. Until that + afternoon he would have confidently said that his son might have been + trusted 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 one urgent + message had been despatched for Mr. Galloway, but that gentleman was + unable to go to him until late in the evening. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Mr. Galloway, bending over the sofa, when they were + alone, “I am more grieved at this than you can be.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing clasped his hand. “Tell me what you think yourself; the + simple truth; I ask it, Galloway, by our long friendship. Do you think him + innocent or guilty?” + </p> + <p> + 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. “I + believe him to be guilty.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing closed his eyes, and his lips momentarily moved. A word of + prayer, to be helped <i>to bear</i>, was going up to the throne of God. + </p> + <p> + “But, never think that it was I who instituted these proceedings against + him,” resumed Mr. Galloway. “When I called in Butterby to my aid this + morning, I had no more notion that it was Arthur Channing who was guilty, + than I had that it was that sofa of yours. Butterby would have cast + suspicion to him then, but I repelled it. He afterwards acted upon his own + responsibility while my back was turned. It is as I say often to my office + people: I can’t stir out for a few hours but something goes wrong! You + know the details of the loss?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay; by heart,” replied Mr. Channing. “They are suspicious against Arthur + only in so far as that he was alone with the letter. Sufficient time must + have been taken, as I conclude, to wet the envelope and unfasten the gum; + and it would appear that he alone had that time. This apparent suspicion + would have been nothing to my mind, knowing Arthur as I do, had it not + been coupled with a suspicious manner.” + </p> + <p> + “There it is,” assented Mr. Galloway, warmly. “It is that manner which + leaves no room for doubt. I had him with me privately when the examination + was over, and begged him to tell me, as before God: innocent or guilty. He + could not. He stood like a statue, confused, his eyes down, and his colour + varying. He is badly constituted for the commission of crime, for he + cannot brave it out. One, knowing himself wrongfully accused, would lay + his hand upon his heart, with an upright countenance, and say, I am + innocent of this, so help me Heaven! I must confess I did not like his + manner yesterday, when he heard me say I should place it in the hands of + the police,” continued Mr. Galloway. “He grew suddenly agitated, and + begged I would not do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” cried Mr. Channing, with a groan of pain he could not wholly + suppress. “It is an incredible mystery. What could he want with the money? + The tale told about his having debts has no foundation in fact; he has + positively none.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway shook his head; he would not speak out his thoughts. He knew + that Hamish was in debt; he knew that Master Roland Yorke indulged in + expensive habits whenever he had the opportunity, and he now thought it + likely that Arthur, between the two examples, might have been drawn in. “I + shall not allow my doubts of him to go further than you,” he said aloud. + “And I shall put a summary stop to the law proceedings.” + </p> + <p> + “How will you do that, now that they are publicly entered upon?” asked Mr. + Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll manage it,” was the reply. “We’ll see which is strongest, I or + Butterby.” + </p> + <p> + When they were gathering together for the reading, that night, Arthur took + his place as usual. Mr. Channing looked at him sternly, and spoke sternly—in + the presence of them all. “Will your conscience allow you to join in + this?” + </p> + <p> + How it stung him! Knowing himself innocent; seeing Hamish, the real + culprit, basking there in their love and respect, as usual; the unmerited + obloquy cast upon him was almost too painful to bear. He did not answer; + he was battling down his rebellious spirit; and the gentle voice of Mrs. + Channing rose instead. + </p> + <p> + “James, there is all the more need for him to join in it, if things are as + you fear.” And Mr. Channing applied himself to the reading. + </p> + <p> + “My son, if thou come to serve the Lord, prepare thy soul for temptation. + Set thy heart aright, and constantly endure, and make not haste in time of + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + It was a portion of Scripture rarely chosen, and, perhaps for that reason, + it fell upon Arthur with greater force. As he listened, the words brought + healing with them; and his sore spirit was soothed, and grew trusting and + peaceful as that of a little child. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. — A MORNING CALL. + </h2> + <p> + You may possibly be blaming Arthur Channing for meeting this trouble in so + sad a spirit. Were such an accusation cast unjustly upon you, you would + throw it off impatiently, and stand up for yourself and your innocence 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 that desponding + depth, and thereby give a colouring to the doubt cast upon you. Are you + thinking this? But you must remember that it was not for <i>himself</i> + that Arthur was so weighed down. Had he possessed no conception as to how + the note went, he would have met the charge very differently, bearing + himself bravely, and flinging their suspicion to the winds. “You people + cannot think <i>me</i> guilty,” he might have said; “my whole previous + life is a refutation to the charge.” He would have held up his head and + heart cheerfully; waiting, and looking for the time when elucidation + should come. + </p> + <p> + No; his grief, his despondency were felt for Hamish. If Arthur Channing + had cherished faith in one living being more than in another, it was in + his elder brother. He loved him with a lasting love, he revered him as few + revere a brother; and the shock was great. He would far rather have fallen + down to guilt himself, than that Hamish should have fallen. Tom Channing + had said, with reference to Arthur, that, if he were guilty, he should + never believe in anything again; they might tell him that the cathedral + was a myth, and not a cathedral, and he should not be surprised. This sort + of feeling had come over Arthur. It had disturbed his faith in honour and + goodness—it had almost disgusted him with the world. Arthur Channing + is not the only one who has found his faith in fellow-men rudely shaken. + </p> + <p> + And yet, the first shock over, his mind was busy finding excuses for him. + He knew that Hamish had not erred from any base self-gratification, but + from love. You may be inclined to think this a contradiction, for all such + promptings to crime must be base. Of course they are; but as the motives + differ, so do the degrees. As surely as though the whole matter had been + laid before him, felt Arthur, Hamish had been driven to it in his + desperate need, to save his father’s position, and the family’s means of + support. He felt that, had Hamish alone been in question, he would not + have appropriated a pin that was not his, to save himself from arrest: + what he had done he had done in love. Arthur gave him credit for another + thing—that he had never cast a glance to the possibility of + suspicion falling on Arthur; the post-office would receive credit for the + loss. Nothing more tangible than that wide field, where they might hunt + for the supposed thief until they were tired. + </p> + <p> + It was a miserable evening that followed the exposure; the precursor of + many and many miserable evenings in days to come. Mr. and Mrs. Channing, + Hamish, Constance, and Arthur sat in the usual sitting-room when the rest + had retired—sat in ominous silence. Even Hamish, with his naturally + sunny face and sunny temper, looked gloomy as the grave. Was he + deliberating as to whether he should show that all principles of manly + justice were not quite dead within him, by speaking up at last, and + clearing his wrongfully accused brother? But then—his father’s post—his + mother’s home? all might be forfeited. Who can tell whether this was the + purport of Hamish’s thoughts as he sat there in abstraction, away from the + light, his head upon his hand. <i>He</i> did not say. + </p> + <p> + Arthur rose; the silence was telling upon him. “May I say good night to + you, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you nothing else to say?” asked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “In what way, sir?” asked Arthur, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “In the way of explanation. Will you leave me to go to my restless pillow + without it? This is the first estrangement which has come between us.” + </p> + <p> + What explanation <i>could</i> he give? But to leave his father suffering + in body and in mind, without attempt at it, was a pain hard to bear. + </p> + <p> + “Father, I am innocent,” he said. It was all he could say; and it was + spoken all too quietly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing gazed at him searchingly. “In the teeth of appearances?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, in the teeth of appearances.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why—if I am to believe you—have assumed the aspect of + guilt, which you certainly have done?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur involuntarily glanced at Hamish; the thought of his heart was, “<i>You</i> + know why, if no one else does;” and caught Hamish looking at him + stealthily, under cover of his fingers. Apparently, Hamish was annoyed at + being so caught, and started up. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, mother. I am going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + They wished him good night, and he left the room. Mr. Channing turned + again 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 this guilt + fall upon you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father, don’t judge me harshly!” he implored. “Indeed I am innocent.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing paused. “Arthur, you never, as I believe, told me a lie in + your life. What is this puzzle?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not telling a lie now.” + </p> + <p> + “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; you resigned + yourself, voluntarily, a prisoner. When Mr. Galloway questioned you + privately of your innocence, you could not assert it.” + </p> + <p> + Neither could he now in a more open way than he was doing. + </p> + <p> + “Can you look me in the face and tell me, in all honour, that you know + nothing of the loss of the note?” + </p> + <p> + “All I can say, sir, is, that I did not take it or touch it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but you are equivocating!” exclaimed Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + Arthur felt that he was, in some measure, and did not gainsay it. + </p> + <p> + “Are you aware that to-morrow you may be committed for trial on the + charge?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” replied Arthur. “Unless—unless—” he stopped in + agitation. “Unless you will interest yourself with Galloway, and induce + him to withdraw proceedings. Your friendship with him has been close and + long, sir, and I think he would do it for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you ask this if you were innocent?” said Mr. Channing. “Arthur, it + is not the punishment you ought to dread, but the consciousness of + meriting it.” + </p> + <p> + “And of that I am not conscious,” he answered, emphatically, in his + bitterness. “Father! I would lay down my life to shield you from care! + think of me as favourably as you can.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not make me your full confidant?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could! I <i>wish</i> I could!” + </p> + <p> + He wrung his father’s hand, and turned to his mother, halting before her. + Would she give him her good-night kiss? + </p> + <p> + Would she? Did a fond mother ever turn against her child? To the prison, + 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, and burst into sobs as she + sheltered it on her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> will have faith in me, my darling mother!” + </p> + <p> + The words were spoken in the softest whisper. He kissed her tenderly, and + hastened from the room, not trusting himself to say good night to + Constance. In the hall he was waylaid by Judith. + </p> + <p> + “Master Arthur, it isn’t true?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is not true, Judith. Don’t you know me better?” + </p> + <p> + “What an old oaf I am for asking, to be sure! Didn’t I nurse him, and + haven’t I watched him grow up, and don’t I know my own boys yet?” she + added to herself, but speaking aloud. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure you have, Judy.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Master Arthur, why is the master casting blame to you? And when them + insolent police came strutting here to-day, as large as life, in their + ugly blue coats and shiny hats, why didn’t you hold the door wide, and + show ‘em out again? I’d never have demeaned myself to go with ‘em + politely.” + </p> + <p> + “They wanted me at the town-hall, you know, Judith. I suppose you have + heard it all?” + </p> + <p> + “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. I shouldn’t + wonder but they fingered the money themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur made his escape, and went up to his room. He was scarcely within it + when Hamish left his chamber and came in. Arthur’s heart beat quicker. Was + he coming to make a clean breast of it? Not he! + </p> + <p> + “Arthur,” Hamish began, speaking in a kindly, but an estranged tone—or + else Arthur fancied it—“can I serve you in any way in this + business?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you cannot,” replied Arthur: and he felt vexed with himself + that his tone should savour of peevishness. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for it, as you may readily believe, old fellow,” resumed + Hamish. “When I entered the court to-day, you might have knocked me down + with a feather.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I should suppose so,” said Arthur. “You did not expect the charge + would be brought upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “I neither expected it nor believed it when I was told. I inquired of + Parkes, the beadle, what unusual thing was going on, seeing so many people + about the doors, and he answered that you were under examination. I + laughed at him, thinking he was joking.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you?” repeated Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “You can leave me to myself, Hamish. That’s about the kindest thing you + can do for me to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish did not take the hint immediately. “We must have the accusation + quashed at all hazards,” he went on. “But my father thinks Galloway will + withdraw it. Yorke says he’ll not leave a stone unturned to make + Helstonleigh believe the money was lost in the post-office.” + </p> + <p> + “Yorke believes so himself,” reproachfully rejoined Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I think most people do, with the exception of Butterby. Confounded old + meddler! There would have been no outcry at all, but for him.” + </p> + <p> + A pause. Arthur did not seem inclined to break it. Hamish had caught up a + bit of whalebone, which happened to be lying on the drawers, and was + twisting 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 world that + each was wishing to speak out more freely. But some inward feeling + restrained them. Hamish broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have nothing to say to me, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur thought the “saying” should have been on the other side. He had + cherished some faint hope that Hamish would at least <i>acknowledge</i> + the trouble he had brought upon him. “I could not help it, Arthur; I was + driven to my wit’s end; but I never thought the reproach would fall upon + you,” or words to that effect. No: nothing of the sort. + </p> + <p> + Constance was ascending the stairs as Hamish withdrew. “Can I come in, + Arthur?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + For answer, he opened the door and drew her inside. “Has Hamish spoken of + it?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word—as to his own share in it. He asked, in a general way, + if he could serve me. Constance,” he feverishly added, “they do not + suspect downstairs, do they?” + </p> + <p> + “Suspect what?” + </p> + <p> + “That it was Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course they do not. They suspect you. At least, papa does. He cannot + make it out; he never was so puzzled in all his life. He says you 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 arisen without fault on our + part; but this, the greatest, has been brought by guilt.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no help for it,” wailed Arthur. “I could only clear myself at + the expense of Hamish, and it would be worse for them to grieve for him + than for me. Bright, sunny Hamish! whom my mother has, I believe in her + heart, loved the best of all of us. Thank you, Constance, for keeping my + counsel.” + </p> + <p> + “How unselfish you are, Arthur!” + </p> + <p> + “Unselfish! I don’t see it as a merit. It is my simple duty to be so in + this case. If I, by a rash word, directed suspicion to Hamish, and our + home in consequence got broken up, who would be the selfish one then?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s the consideration which frightens and fetters us. Papa must have + been thinking of that when he thanked God that the trouble had not fallen + upon Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he do that?” asked Arthur, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, just now. ‘Thank God that the cloud did not fall upon Hamish!’ he + exclaimed. ‘It had been far worse for us then.’” + </p> + <p> + Arthur listened. Had he wanted anything to confirm him in the sacrifice he + 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 he knew, as well + as his children, how much depended upon Hamish. + </p> + <p> + The tears were welling up into the eyes of Constance. “I wish I could + speak comfort to you!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Comfort will come with time, I dare say, darling. Don’t stay. I seem + quite fagged out to-night, and would be alone.” + </p> + <p> + Ay, alone. Alone with his grief and with God. + </p> + <p> + To bed at last, but not to sleep; not for hours and for hours. His anxiety + of mind was intense, chiefly for Hamish; though he endured some on his own + score. To be pointed at as a thief in the town, stung him to the quick, + even in anticipation; and there was also the uncertainty as to the + morrow’s proceedings; for all he knew, they might end in the prosecution + being carried on, and his committal for trial. Towards morning he dropped + into a heavy slumber; and, to awake from that, was the worst of all; for + his trouble came pressing upon his brain with tenfold poignancy. + </p> + <p> + He rose and dressed, in some perplexity—perplexity as to the + immediate present. 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—and + there was little doubt of that, now—of course he could no longer be + tolerated in the office. On the other hand, to stop away voluntarily, + might look like an admission of guilt. + </p> + <p> + He determined to go, and did so. It was the early morning hour, when he + had the office to himself. He got through his work—the copying of a + somewhat elaborate will—and returned home to breakfast. He found Mr. + Channing had risen, which was not usual. Like Arthur, his night had been + an anxious one, and the bustle of the breakfast-room was more tolerable + than bed. I wonder what Hamish’s had been! The meal passed in + uncomfortable silence. + </p> + <p> + A tremendous peal at the hall bell startled the house, echoing through the + Boundaries, astonishing the rooks, and sending them on the wing. On state + occasions it pleased Judith to answer the door herself; her helpmate, over + whom she held undisputed sway, ruling her with a tight hand, dared not + come forward to attempt it. The bell tinkled still, and Judy, believing it + could be no one less than the bishop come to alarm them with a matutinal + visit, hurried on a clean white apron, and stepped across the hall. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roland Yorke. No one more formidable. He passed Judith with an + unceremonious nod, and marched into the breakfast-room. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning all! I say, old chap, are you ready to come to the office? + It’s good to see you down at this early hour, Mr. Channing.” + </p> + <p> + He was invited to take a seat, but declined; it was time they were at + Galloway’s, he said. Arthur hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know whether Mr. Galloway will expect me,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Not expect you!” flashed Roland, lapsing into his loud, excited manner. + “I can tell you what, Arthur: if he doesn’t expect you, he shan’t expect + me. Mr. Channing, did you ever know anything so shamefully overbearing and + unjust as that affair yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Unjust, if it be unfounded,” replied Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Unfounded!” uttered Roland. “If that’s not unfounded, there never was an + unfounded charge brought yet. I’d answer for Arthur with my own life. I + should like to sew up that Butterby! I hope, sir, you’ll bring an action + against him.” + </p> + <p> + “You feel it strongly, Roland.” + </p> + <p> + “I should hope I do! Look you, Mr. Channing: it is a slur on our office; + on me, and on Jenkins, and on Galloway himself. Yes, on Galloway. I say + what I mean, and nobody shall talk me down. I’d rather believe it was + Galloway did it than Arthur. I shall tell him so.” + </p> + <p> + “This sympathy shows very kind feeling on your part, Ro—” + </p> + <p> + “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!’ they mince out. Incorrigible idiots! Kind! Why, + Mr. Channing, if that cat of yours there, were to be accused of swallowing + down a mutton chop, and you felt morally certain that she did not do it, + wouldn’t you stand up for her against punishment?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing could not forbear a smile at Roland and his hot championship. + “To be ‘morally certain’ may do when cats are in question, Mr. Roland; but + the law, unfortunately, requires something more for us, the superior + animal. No father living has had more cause to put faith in his children + than I. The unfortunate point in this business is, that the loss appears + to have occurred so mysteriously, when the letter was in Arthur’s charge.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if it had occurred that way; but who believes it did, except a few + pates with shallow brains?” retorted Roland. “The note is burning a hole + 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 of no use to + interrupt me with arguments about old Galloway’s seal. They go in at one + ear and out at the other. What more easy than to put a penknife under the + seal, and unfasten it?” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot do this where gum is used as well: as it was to that letter.” + </p> + <p> + “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 done somehow. + Watch a conjuror at his tricks! You can’t <i>tell</i> how he gets a + shilling out of a box which you yourself put in—all you know is, he + does get it out; or how he exhibits some receptacle, crammed full, which + you could have sworn was empty. Just so with the letter. The bank-note did + get out of it, but we can’t tell how, except that it was not through + Arthur. Come along, old fellow, or Galloway may be blowing us up for + arriving late.” + </p> + <p> + Twitching Tom’s hair as he passed him, treading on the cat’s tail, and + tossing a branch of sweetbriar full of thorns at Annabel, Mr. Roland Yorke + made his way out in a commotion. Arthur, yielding to the strong will, + followed. Roland passed his arm within his, and they went towards Close + Street. + </p> + <p> + “I say, old chum, I haven’t had a wink of sleep all night, worrying over + this bother. My room is over Lady Augusta’s, and she sent up this morning + to know what I was pacing about for, like a troubled ghost. I woke at four + o’clock, and I could not get to sleep after; so I just stamped about a + bit, to stamp the time away.” + </p> + <p> + In a happier mood, Arthur might have laughed at his Irish talk, “I am glad + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “He had better!” flashed Roland. “I’d turn him!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Williams appeared to “take up the affair” in a resentful, haughty sort + of spirit, something like Roland, only that he was quieter over it. He + threw ridicule upon the charge. “I am astonished at Galloway!” he + observed, when he had spoken with them some moments. “Should he go on with + the case, the town will cry shame upon him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you see it was that meddling Butterby, not Galloway,” returned + Yorke. “As if Galloway did not know us chaps in his office better than to + suspect us!” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy Butterby is fonder of meddling than he need be,” said the + organist. “A certain person in the town, living not a hundred miles from + this very spot, was suspected of having made free with a ring, which + disappeared from a dressing-table, where she was paying an evening visit; + and I declare if Butterby did not put his nose into it, and worm out all + the particulars!” + </p> + <p> + “That she had not taken it?” + </p> + <p> + “That she had. But it produced great annoyance; all parties concerned, + even those who had lost the ring, would rather have buried it in silence. + It was hushed up afterwards. Butterby ought to understand people’s wishes, + before he sets to work.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish press-gangs were in fashion!” emphatically uttered Roland. “What a + nice prize he’d make!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I can depend upon you to take the duty at College this + morning?” Mr. Williams said to Arthur, as he was leaving them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall be out in time for the examination at the Guildhall. The + hour fixed is half-past eleven.” + </p> + <p> + “Old villains the magistrates must have been, to remand it at all!” was + the concluding comment of Mr. Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. — CHECKMATED. + </h2> + <p> + Constance Channing proceeded to her duties as usual at Lady Augusta + Yorke’s. She drew her veil over her face, only to traverse the very short + way that conveyed her thither, for the sense of shame was strong upon her; + not shame for Arthur, but for Hamish. It had half broken Constance’s + heart. + </p> + <p> + There are times in our every-day lives when all things seem to wear a + depressing aspect, turn which way we will. They were wearing it that day + to Constance. Apart from home troubles, she felt particularly discouraged + in the educational task she had undertaken. You heard the promise made to + her by Caroline Yorke, to be up and ready for her every morning at seven. + Caroline kept it for two mornings and then failed. This morning and the + previous morning Constance had been there at seven, and returned home + without seeing either of the children. Both were ready for her when she + entered now. + </p> + <p> + “How am I to deal with you?” she said to Caroline, in a sad but + affectionate tone. “I do not wish to force you to obey me; I would prefer + that you should do it cheerfully.” + </p> + <p> + “It is tiresome to get up early,” responded Caroline. “I can’t wake when + Martha comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Whether Martha goes to you at seven, or at eight, or at nine, she has the + same trouble to get you up.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see any good in getting up early,” cried Caroline. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see any good in acquiring good habits, instead of bad ones?” asked + Constance. + </p> + <p> + “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 who + have their living to earn.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it only the poor who are accountable to God for waste of time, + Caroline?” + </p> + <p> + Caroline paused. She did not like to give up her argument. “It’s so very + low-lived to get up with the sun. I don’t think real ladies ever do it.” + </p> + <p> + “You think ‘real ladies’ wait until the sun has been up a few hours and + warmed the earth for them?” + </p> + <p> + “Y—es,” said Caroline. But it was not spoken very readily, for she + had a suspicion that Miss Channing was laughing at her. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask where you have acquired your notions of ‘real ladies,’ + Caroline?” + </p> + <p> + Caroline pouted. “Don’t you call Colonel Jolliffe’s daughters ladies, Miss + Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—in position.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s where we went yesterday, you know. Mary Jolliffe says she never + gets up until half-past eight, and that it is not lady-like to get up + earlier. Real ladies don’t, Miss Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, shall I relate to you an anecdote that I have heard?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” replied Caroline, her listless mood changing to animation; + anecdotes, or anything of that desultory kind, being far more acceptable + to the young lady than lessons. + </p> + <p> + “Before I begin, will you tell me whether you condescend to admit that our + good Queen is a ‘real lady’?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Channing, now you are laughing at me! As if any one, in all + England, could be so great a lady as the Queen.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. When she was a little girl, a child of her own age, the + daughter of one of the nobility, was brought to Kensington Palace to spend + the day with her. In talking together, the Princess Victoria mentioned + something she had seen when out of doors that morning at seven o’clock. + ‘At seven o’clock!’ exclaimed the young visitor; ‘how early that is to be + abroad! I never get out of bed until eight. Is there any use in rising so + early?’ The Duchess of Kent, who was present, took up the answer: ‘My + daughter may be called to fill the throne of England when she shall be + grown up; therefore, it is especially necessary that she should learn the + full value of time.’ You see, Caroline, the princess was not allowed to + waste her mornings in bed, although she was destined to be the first lady + in the land. We may be thankful to her admirable mother for making her in + that, as in many other things, a pattern to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a true anecdote, Miss Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “It was related to my mother, many years ago, by a lady who was, at that + time, very much at Kensington Palace. I think there is little doubt of its + truth. One fact we all know, Caroline: the Queen retains her early habits, + and implants them in her children. What do you suppose would be her + Majesty’s surprise, were one of her daughters—say, the Princess + Helena, or the Princess Louise—to decline to rise early for their + morning studies with their governess, Miss Hildyard, on the plea that it + was not ‘lady-like’?” + </p> + <p> + Caroline’s objection appeared to be melting away under her. “But it is a + dreadful plague,” she grumbled, “to be obliged to get up from one’s nice + warm bed, for the sake of some horrid old lessons!” + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of ‘the poor’—those who ‘have their living to earn’—as + the only class who need rise early,” resumed Constance. “Put that notion + away from you at once and for ever, Caroline; there cannot be a more false + one. The higher we go in the scale of life, the more onerous become our + duties in this world, and the greater is our responsibility to God. He to + whom five talents were intrusted, did not make them other five by wasting + his days in idleness. Oh, Caroline!—Fanny, come closer and listen to + me—your time and opportunities for good must be <i>used</i>—not + abused or wasted.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>will</i> try and get up,” said Caroline, repentantly. “I wish mamma + had trained me to it when I was a child, as the Duchess of Kent trained + the princess! I might have learned to like it by this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Long before this,” said Constance. “Do you remember the good old saying, + ‘Do what you ought, that you may do what you like’? Habit is second + nature. Were I told that I might lie in bed every morning until nine or + ten o’clock, as a great favour, I should consider it a great punishment.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have not been trained to get up, Miss Channing; and it is nothing + short of punishment to me to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “The punishment of self-denial we all have to bear, Caroline. But I can + tell you what will take away half its sting.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Caroline, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Constance bent towards her. “Jesus Christ said, ‘If any will come after + me, 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.” + </p> + <p> + “No cross, no crown!” Constance had sufficient cross to carry just then. + In the course of the morning Lady Augusta came into the room boisterously, + her manner indicative of great surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Channing, what <i>is</i> this tale, about your brother’s having been + arrested for stealing that missing bank-note? Some visitors have just + called in upon me, and they say the town is ringing with the news.” + </p> + <p> + It was one of the first of Constance Channing’s bitter pills; they were to + be her portion for many a day. Her heart fluttered, her cheek varied, and + her answer to Lady Augusta Yorke was low and timid. + </p> + <p> + “It is true that he was arrested yesterday on suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + “What a shocking thing! Is he in prison?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he take the note?” + </p> + <p> + The question pained Constance worse than all. “He did not take it,” she + replied, in a clear, soft tone. “To those who know Arthur well, it would + be impossible to think so.” + </p> + <p> + “But he was before the magistrates yesterday, I hear, and is going up + again to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is so.” + </p> + <p> + “And Roland could not open his lips to tell me of this when I came home + last night!” grumbled my lady. “We were late, and he was the only one up; + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be far worse, Lady Augusta, if we believed him guilty,” she + replied from her aching heart. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! I hope he is not guilty!” continued my lady, displaying as + little delicacy of feeling as she could well do. “It would be quite a + dangerous thing, you know, for my Roland to be in the same office.” + </p> + <p> + “Be at ease, Lady Augusta,” returned Constance, with a tinge of irony she + could not wholly suppress. “Your son will incur no harm from the + companionship of Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “What does Hamish say?—handsome Hamish! He does not deserve that + such a blow should come to him.” + </p> + <p> + Constance felt her colour deepen. She bent her face over the exercise she + was correcting. + </p> + <p> + “Is he likely to be cleared of the charge?” perseveringly resumed Lady + Augusta. + </p> + <p> + “Not by actual proof, I fear,” answered Constance, pressing her hand upon + her brow as she remembered that he could only be proved innocent by + another’s being proved guilty. “The note seems to have been lost in so + very mysterious a manner, that positive proof of his innocence will be + difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is a dreadful thing!” concluded Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, at the very moment her ladyship was speaking, the magistrates + were in the town-hall in full conclave—the case before them. The + news had spread—had excited interest far and wide; the bench was + crowded, and the court was one dense sea of heads. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway was the first witness put forth by Mr. Butterby. The latter + gentleman was in high feather also, believing he saw his way clear to a + triumphant conviction. Mr. Galloway was questioned; and for some minutes + it all went on swimmingly. + </p> + <p> + “On the afternoon of the loss, before you closed your letter, who were in + your office?” + </p> + <p> + “My clerks—Roland Yorke and Arthur Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “They saw the letter, I believe?” + </p> + <p> + “They did.” + </p> + <p> + “And the bank-note?” + </p> + <p> + “Most probably.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the prisoner, Arthur Channing, who fetched the bank-note from your + private room to the other? Did he see you put it into the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say.” + </p> + <p> + A halt. “But he was in full possession of his eyes just then?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt he was.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what should hinder his seeing you put the note into the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not swear that I put the note into the letter.” + </p> + <p> + The magistrates pricked up their ears. Mr. Butterby pricked up his, and + looked at the witness. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not swear that I put the bank-note inside the letter,” + deliberately repeated Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Not swear that you put the bank-note into the letter? What is it that you + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “The meaning is plain enough,” replied Mr. Galloway, calmly. “Must I + repeat it for the third time? I will not swear that I put the note into + the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “But your instructions to me were that you did put the note into the + letter,” cried Mr. Butterby, interrupting the examination. + </p> + <p> + “I will not swear it,” reiterated the witness. + </p> + <p> + “Then there’s an end of the case!” exclaimed the magistrates’ clerk, in + some choler. “What on earth was the time of the bench taken up for in + bringing it here?” + </p> + <p> + And there <i>was</i> an end of the case—at any rate for the present—for + nothing more satisfactory could be got out of Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I have been checkmated,” ejaculated the angry Butterby. + </p> + <p> + 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 lingered somewhere + behind. Jenkins—truehearted Jenkins, in the black handkerchief still—was + doubly respectful to Arthur, and rose to welcome him; a faint hectic of + pleasure illumining his face at the termination of the charge. + </p> + <p> + “Who said our office was going to be put down for a thief’s!” uttered + Roland. “Old Galloway’s a trump! Here’s your place, Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + 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 bade to + do so. Mr. Galloway came in, and motioned him into his own room. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur Channing,” he said, “I have acted leniently in this unpleasant + matter, for your father’s sake; but, from my very heart, I believe you to + be guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, sir,” Arthur said, “for that and all other kindness. I am + not as guilty as you think me. Do you wish me to leave?” + </p> + <p> + “If you can give me no better assurance of your innocence—if you can + give me no explanation of the peculiar and most unsatisfactory manner in + which you have met the charge—yes. To retain you here would be + unjust to my own interests, and unfair as regards Jenkins and Roland + Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + To give this explanation was impossible; neither dared Arthur assert more + emphatically his innocence. Once convince Mr. Galloway that he was not the + guilty party, and that gentleman would forthwith issue fresh instructions + to Butterby for the further investigation of the affair: of this Arthur + felt convinced. He could only be silent and remain under the stigma. + </p> + <p> + “Then—I had better—you would wish me, perhaps—to go at + once?” hesitated Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” shortly replied Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + 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 together certain + trifles that belonged to him. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that for?” asked Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Going!” roared Roland, jumping to his feet, and dashing down his pen full + of ink, with little regard to the deed he was copying. “Galloway has never + turned you off!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he has.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll go too!” thundered Roland, who, truth to say, had flown into an + uncontrollable passion, startling Jenkins and arousing Mr. Galloway. “I’ll + not stop in a place where that sort of injustice goes on! He’ll be turning + me out next! Catch me stopping for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you taken crazy, Mr. Roland Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + The question proceeded from his master, who came forth to make it. Roland + turned to him, his temper unsubdued, and his colour rising. + </p> + <p> + “Channing never took the money, sir! It is not just to turn him away.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you help him to take it, pray, that you identify yourself with the + affair so persistently and violently?” demanded Mr. Galloway, in a cynical + tone. And Roland answered with a hot and haughty word. + </p> + <p> + “If you cannot attend to your business a little better, you will get your + dismissal from me; you won’t require to dismiss yourself,” said Mr. + Galloway. “Sit down, sir, and go on with your work.” + </p> + <p> + “And that’s all the thanks a fellow gets for taking up a cause of + oppression!” muttered Mr. Roland Yorke, as he sullenly resumed his place + at the desk. “This is a precious world to live in!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. — A PIECE OF PREFERMENT. + </h2> + <p> + Before the nine days’ wonder, which, you know, is said to be the + accompaniment of all marvels, had died away, Helstonleigh was fated to be + astonished by another piece of news of a different nature—the + preferment of the Reverend William Yorke. + </p> + <p> + A different preferment from what had been anticipated for him; otherwise + the news had been nothing extraordinary, for it is usual for the Dean and + Chapter to provide livings for their minor canons. In a fine, open part of + the town was a cluster of buildings, called Hazeldon’s Charity, so named + from its founder Sir Thomas Hazeldon—a large, paved inclosure, + fenced in by iron railings, and a pair of iron gates. A chapel stood in + the midst. On either side, right and left, ran sixteen almshouses, and at + the end, opposite to the iron gates, stood the dwelling of the chaplain to + the charity, a fine residence, called Hazeldon House. This preferment, + worth three hundred a year, had been for some weeks vacant, the chaplain + having died. It was in the gift of the present baronet, Sir Frederick + Hazeldon, a descendant of the founder, and he now suddenly conferred it + upon the Rev. William Yorke. It took Helstonleigh by surprise. It took Mr. + Yorke himself entirely by surprise. He possessed no interest whatever with + Sir Frederick, and had never cast a thought to the probability of its + becoming his. Perhaps, Sir Frederick’s motive for bestowing it upon him + was this—that, of all the clergy in the neighbourhood, looking out + for something good to fall to them, Mr. Yorke had been almost the only one + who had not solicited it of Sir Frederick. + </p> + <p> + It was none the less welcome. It would not interfere in the least with the + duties or preferment of his minor canonry: a minor canon had once before + held it. In short, it was one of those slices of luck which do sometimes + come unexpectedly in this world. + </p> + <p> + In the soft light of the summer evening, Constance Channing stood under + the 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 and + purple floated on the horizon; a roseate hue tinged the atmosphere, and + lighted with its own loveliness the sweet face of Constance. It was an + evening that seemed to speak peace to the soul—so would it have + spoken to that of Constance, but for the ever-present trouble which had + fallen there. + </p> + <p> + Another trouble was falling upon her, or seemed to be; one that more + immediately concerned herself. Since the disgrace had come to Arthur, Mr. + Yorke had been less frequent in his visits. Some days had now elapsed from + the time of Arthur’s dismissal from Mr. Galloway’s, and Mr. Yorke had + called only once. This might have arisen from accidental circumstances; + but Constance felt a different fear in her heart. + </p> + <p> + Hark! that is his ring at the hall-bell. Constance has not listened for, + 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 it towards him. She + knows nothing yet of his appointment to the Hazeldon chaplaincy; Mr. Yorke + has not known it himself two hours. + </p> + <p> + He came up and laid his hands upon her shoulders playfully, looking down + at her. “What will you give me for some news, by way of greeting, + Constance?” + </p> + <p> + “News?” she answered, raising her eyes to his, and scarcely knowing what + she did say, in the confusion of meeting him, in her all-conscious love. + “Is it good or bad news?” + </p> + <p> + “Helstonleigh will not call it good, I expect. There are those upon whom + it will fall as a thunder-clap.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell it me, William; I cannot guess,” she said, somewhat wearily. “I + suppose it does not concern me.” + </p> + <p> + “But it does concern you—indirectly.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Constance, timorous and full of dread since this grief had fallen, + was too apt to connect everything with that one source. We have done the + same in our lives, all of us, when under the consciousness of some secret + terror. She appeared to be living upon a mine, which might explode any + hour and bring down Hamish in its <i>débris</i>. The words bore an ominous + sound; and, foolish as it may appear to us, who know the nature of Mr. + Yorke’s news, Constance fell into something very like terror, and turned + white. + </p> + <p> + “Does—does—it concern Arthur?” she uttered. + </p> + <p> + “No. Constance,” changing his tone, and dropping his hands as he gazed at + her, “why should you be so terrified for Arthur? You have been a changed + girl since that happened—shrinking, timid, starting at every sound, + unable to look people in the face. Why so, if he is innocent?” + </p> + <p> + 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, it concerns + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it will concern you, Constance. At any rate, it concerns me. The + news,” he gravely added, “is, that I am appointed to the Hazeldon + chaplaincy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, William!” The sudden revulsion of feeling from intense, undefined + terror to joyful surprise, was too much to bear calmly. Her emotion + overpowered her, and she burst into tears. Mr. Yorke compelled her to sit + down on the bench, and stood over her—his arm on her shoulder, her + hand clasped in his. + </p> + <p> + “Constance, what is the cause of this?” he asked, when her emotion had + passed. + </p> + <p> + She avoided the question. She dried her tears and schooled her face to + smiles, and tried to look as unconscious as she might. “Is it really true + that you have the chaplaincy?” she questioned. + </p> + <p> + “I received my appointment this evening. Why Sir Frederick should have + conferred it upon me I am unable to say: I feel all the more obliged to + him for its being unexpected. Shall you like the house, Constance?” + </p> + <p> + The rosy hue stole over her face again, and a happy smile parted her lips. + “I once said to mamma, when we had been spending the evening there, that I + should like to live at Hazeldon House. I like its rooms and its situation; + I shall like to be busy among all those poor old people, but, when I said + it, William, I had not the slightest idea that the chance would ever be + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “You have only to determine now how soon the ‘chance’ shall become + certainty,” 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.” + </p> + <p> + The rose grew deeper. She bent her brow down upon her hand and his, hiding + her face. “It could not possibly be, William.” + </p> + <p> + “What could not be?” + </p> + <p> + “So soon. Papa and mamma are going to Germany, you know, and I must keep + house here. Besides, what would Lady Augusta say at my leaving her + situation almost as soon as I have entered upon it?” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Augusta—” Mr. Yorke was beginning impulsively, but checked + himself. Constance lifted her face and looked at him. His brow was knit, + and a stern expression had settled on it. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, William?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know what caused your grief just now,” was his abrupt + rejoinder. “And what is it that has made you appear so strange of late?” + </p> + <p> + The words fell on her as an ice-bolt. For a few brief moments she had + forgotten her fears, had revelled in the sunshine of the happiness so + suddenly laid out before her. Back came the gloom, the humiliation, the + terror. + </p> + <p> + “Had Arthur been guilty of the charge laid to him, and you were cognizant + of it, I could fancy that your manner would be precisely what it is,” + answered Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + Her heart beat wildly. He spoke in a reserved, haughty tone, and she felt + a foreboding that some unpleasant explanation was at hand. She felt more—that + perhaps she ought not to become his wife with this cloud hanging over + them. She nerved herself to say what she deemed she ought to say. + </p> + <p> + “William,” she began, “perhaps you would wish that our marriage should be + delayed until—until—I mean, now that this suspicion has fallen + upon Arthur—?” + </p> + <p> + She could scarcely utter the words coherently, so great was her agitation. + Mr. Yorke saw how white and trembling were her lips. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot believe Arthur guilty,” was his reply. + </p> + <p> + She remembered that Hamish was, though Arthur was not; and in point of + disgrace, it amounted to the same thing. Constance passed her hand over + her perplexed brow. “He is looked upon as guilty by many: that, we + unfortunately know; and it may not be thought well that you should, under + the circumstance, make me your wife. <i>You</i> may not think so.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke made no reply. He may have been deliberating the question. + </p> + <p> + “Let us put it in this light, William,” she resumed, her tone one of + intense pain. “Suppose, for argument’s sake, that Arthur were guilty; + would you marry me, all the same?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a hard question, Constance,” he said, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “It must be answered.” + </p> + <p> + “Were Arthur guilty and you cognizant of it—screening him—I + should lose half my confidence in you, Constance.” + </p> + <p> + That was the knell. Her heart and her eyes alike fell, and she knew, in + that one moment, that all hope of marrying William Yorke was at an end. + </p> + <p> + “You think that, were he guilty—I am speaking only for argument’s + sake,” she breathed in her emotion,—“you think, were I cognizant of + it, I ought to betray him; to make it known to the world?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say that, Constance. No. But you are my affianced wife; and, + whatever cognizance of the matter you might possess, whatever might be the + mystery attending it—and a mystery I believe there is—you + should repose the confidence and the mystery in me.” + </p> + <p> + “That you might decide whether or not I am worthy to be your wife!” she + exclaimed, a flash of indignation lighting up her spirit. To doubt her! + She felt it keenly, Oh, that she could have told him the truth! But this + she dare not, for Hamish’s sake. + </p> + <p> + He took her hand in his, and gazed searchingly into her face. “Constance, + you know what you are to me. This unhappy business has been as great a + trial to me as to you. Can you deny to me all knowledge of its 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?” + </p> + <p> + She could not. “I believe in Arthur’s innocence,” she replied, in a low + tone. + </p> + <p> + So did Mr. Yorke, or he might not have rejoined as he did. “I believe also + in his innocence,” he said. “Otherwise—” + </p> + <p> + “You would not make me your wife. Speak it without hesitation, William.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—I cannot tell what my course would be. Perhaps, I would not.” + </p> + <p> + A silence. Constance was feeling the avowal in all its bitter humiliation. + It seemed to humiliate <i>her</i>. “No, no; it would not be right of him + to make me his wife now,” she reflected. “Hamish’s disgrace 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 would never do. William,” she said, + aloud, “we must part.” + </p> + <p> + “Part?” echoed Mr. Yorke, as the words issued faintly from her trembling + lips. + </p> + <p> + Tears rose to her eyes; it was with difficulty she kept them from falling. + “I cannot become your wife while this cloud overhangs Arthur. It would not + be right.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you believe in his innocence,” was the reply of Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “I do. But the world does not. William,” she continued, placing her hand + in his, while the tears rained freely down her face, “let us say farewell + now.” + </p> + <p> + He drew her closer to him. “Explain this mystery, Constance. Why are you + not open with me? What has come between us?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot explain,” she sobbed. “There is nothing for us but to part.” + </p> + <p> + “We will not part. Why should we, when you say Arthur is innocent, and I + believe him to be so? Constance, my darling, what is this grief?” + </p> + <p> + What were the words but a tacit admission that, if Arthur were not + innocent, they should part? Constance so interpreted them. Had any + additional weight been needed to strengthen her resolution, this would + have supplied it. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell! farewell, William! To remain with you is only prolonging the + pain of parting.” + </p> + <p> + That her resolution to part was firm, he saw. It was his turn to be angry + now. A slight touch of the haughty Yorke temper was in him, and there were + times when it peeped out. He folded his arms, and the flush left his + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand you, Constance. I cannot fathom your motive, or why + you are doing this; unless it be that you never cared for me.” + </p> + <p> + “I have cared for you as I never cared for any one; as I shall never care + for another. To part with you will be like parting with life.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why speak of it? Be my wife, Constance; be my wife!” + </p> + <p> + “No, it might bring you disgrace,” she hysterically answered; “and, that, + you shall never encounter through me. Do not keep me, William; my + resolution is irrevocable.” + </p> + <p> + Sobbing as though her heart would break, she turned from him. Mr. Yorke + followed her indoors. In the hall stood Mrs. Channing. Constance turned + aside, anywhere, to hide her face from her mother’s eye. Mrs. Channing did + not particularly observe her, and turned to accost Mr. Yorke. An angry + frown was on his brow, an angry weight on his spirit. Constance’s words + and course of action had now fully impressed him with the belief that + Arthur was guilty; that she knew him to be so; and the proud Yorke blood + within him whispered that it was <i>well</i> so to part. But he had loved + her with a deep and enduring love, and his heart ached bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “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 for our journey.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed, and followed her into the sitting-room. He did not speak of what + had just occurred, leaving that to Constance, if she should choose to give + an explanation. It was not Mr. Yorke’s place to say, “Constance has given + me up. She has impressed me with the conviction that Arthur is guilty, and + she says she will not bring disgrace upon me.” No, certainly; he could not + tell them that. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing lay as usual on his sofa, Hamish near him. Gay Hamish, who + was looking as light-faced as ever; undoubtedly, he seemed as + light-hearted. Hamish had a book before him, a map, and a pencil. He was + tracing out the route for his father and mother, joking always. + </p> + <p> + After much anxious consideration, Mr. Channing had determined to proceed + at once to Germany. It is true that he could not well afford to do so; + and, before he heard from Dr. Lamb the very insignificant cost it would + prove, he had always put it from him, as wholly impracticable at present. + But the information given him by the doctor altered his views, and he + began to think it not only practicable, but feasible. His children were + giving much help now to meet home expenses—Constance, in going to + Lady Augusta’s; Arthur, to the Cathedral. Dr. Lamb strongly urged his + going, and Mr. Channing himself knew that, if he could only come home + restored to health and to activity, the journey instead of being an + expense, would, in point of fact, prove an economy. With much + deliberation, with much prayer to be helped to a right decision, Mr. + Channing at length decided to go. + </p> + <p> + 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 wasted in the + unhappy business concerning Arthur. But all the grieving over that, all + the staying at home for it, could do no good; Mr. Channing was fain to see + this, and the preparations were hastened. Hamish was most active in all—in + urging the departure, in helping to pack, in carving out their route: but + always joking. + </p> + <p> + “Now, mind, mother, as you are to be commander in chief, it is the <i>Antwerp</i> + packet you are to take,” he was saying, in a serio-comic, dictatorial + manner. “Don’t get seduced on to any indiscriminate steamer, or you may + find yourselves carried off to some unknown regions inhabited by + cannibals, and never be heard of again. The Antwerp steamer; and it starts + from St. Katherine’s Docks—if you have the pleasure of knowing that + enchanting part of London. I made acquaintance with it in a fog, in that + sight-seeing visit I paid to town; and its beauty, I must confess, did not + impress me. From St. Katherine’s Docks you will reach Antwerp in about + eighteen hours—always provided the ship does not go to pieces.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish!” + </p> + <p> + “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 all right. + An Irishman slept at the top of a very high hotel. ‘Are you not afraid to + sleep up there, in case of fire?’ a friend asked him. ‘By the powers, no!’ + said he; ‘they tell me the house is insured.’ Now, mother mine—” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we have to stay in Antwerp, Hamish?” interrupted Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as you return, sir; an answer that you will think emanated from our + Irish friend. No one ever yet went to Antwerp without giving the fine old + town a few hours’ inspection. I only wish the chance were offered 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 I anticipate.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be too sanguine, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear father,” and Hamish’s tone assumed a deeper feeling, “to be + sanguine was implanted in my nature, at my birth: but in this case I am + more 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 the station + here, or if I do, it will be for the mother’s exclusive use and benefit; I + shall parade you through the town on my arm, showing your renewed strength + of leg and limb to the delighted eyes of Helstonleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so silent?” Mrs. Channing inquired of William Yorke. She had + suddenly noticed that he had scarcely said a word; had sat in a fit of + abstraction since his entrance. + </p> + <p> + “Silent? Oh! Hamish is talking for all of us,” he answered, starting from + his reverie. + </p> + <p> + “The ingratitude of some people!” ejaculated Hamish. “Is he saying that in + a spirit of complaint, now? Mr. Yorke, I am astonished at you.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Tom was heard to enter the house. That it could be no one + but Tom was certain, by the noise and commotion that arose; the others + were quieter, except Annabel, and she was a girl. Tom came in, tongue, + hands, and feet all going together. + </p> + <p> + “What luck, is it not, Mr. Yorke? I am so glad it has been given to you!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing looked up in surprise. “Tom, you will never learn manners! + What has been given?” + </p> + <p> + “Has he not told you?” exclaimed Tom, ignoring the reproof to his manners. + “He is appointed to Hazeldon Chapel. Where’s Constance? I’ll be bound he + has told <i>her</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Saucy Tom! They received his news in silence, looking to Mr. Yorke for + explanation. He rose from his chair, and his cheek slightly flushed as he + confirmed the tidings. + </p> + <p> + “Does Constance know it?” inquired Mrs. Channing, speaking in the moment’s + impulse. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was Mr. Yorke’s short answer. And then he said something, not very + coherently, about having an engagement, and took his leave, wishing Mr. + Channing every benefit from his journey. + </p> + <p> + “But, we do not go until the day after to-morrow,” objected Mr. Channing. + “We shall see you before that.” + </p> + <p> + Another unsatisfactory sentence from Mr. Yorke, that he “was not sure.” In + shaking hands with Mrs. Channing he bent down with a whisper: “I think + Constance has something to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing found her in her room, in a sad state of distress. “Child! + what is this?” she uttered. + </p> + <p> + “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 quite sick + with the various troubles that seemed to be coming upon her, inquired <i>why</i> + it was at an end. + </p> + <p> + “He feels that the disgrace which has fallen upon us would be reflected + upon him, were he to make me his wife. Mother, there is no help for it: it + <i>would</i> disgrace him.” + </p> + <p> + “But where there is no real guilt there can be no real disgrace,” objected + Mrs. Channing. “I am firmly persuaded, however mysterious and + unsatisfactory things may appear, that Arthur is not guilty, and that time + will prove him so.” + </p> + <p> + Constance could only shiver and sob. Knowing what she knew, she could + entertain no hope. + </p> + <p> + “Poor child! poor child!” murmured Mrs. Channing, her own tears dropping + upon the fair young face, as she gathered it to her sheltering bosom. + “What have you done that this blight should extend to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Teach me to bear it, mother. It must be God’s will.” And Constance + Channing lay in her resting-place, and there sobbed out her heart’s grief, + as she had done in her early girlhood. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. — AN APPEAL TO THE DEAN. + </h2> + <p> + The first sharpness of the edge worn off, Arthur Channing partially + recovered his cheerfulness. The French have a proverb, which is familiar + to us all: “<i>Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute</i>.” There is a + great deal of truth in it, as experience teaches us, and as Arthur found. + “Of what use my dependence upon God,” Arthur also reasoned with himself + 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 not happened, trusting + all to God.” + </p> + <p> + A good resolution, and one that none could have made, and kept, unless he + had learnt that trust, which is the surest beacon-light we can possess in + the world. Hour after hour, day after day, did that trust grow in Arthur + Channing’s heart. He felt a sure conviction that God would bring his + innocence to light in His own good time: and that time he was content to + wait for. Not at the expense of Hamish. In his brotherly love for Hamish, + which this transaction had been unable to dispel, he would have shielded + his reputation at any sacrifice to himself. He had grown to excuse Hamish, + far more than he could ever have excused himself, had he been guilty of + it. He constantly hoped that the sin might never be brought home to + Hamish, even by the remotest suspicion. He hoped that he would never fall + again. Hamish was now so kind to Arthur—gentle in manner, + thoughtfully considerate, anxious to spare him. He had taken to profess + his full belief in Arthur’s innocence; not as loudly perhaps, but quite as + urgently, as did Roland Yorke. “He would <i>prove</i> my innocence, and + take the guilt to himself, but that it would bring ruin to my father,” + fondly soliloquised Arthur. + </p> + <p> + Arthur Channing’s most earnest desire, for the present, was to obtain some + employment. His weekly salary at Mr. Galloway’s had been very trifling; + but still it was so much loss. He had gone to Mr. Galloway’s not so much + to be of help to that gentleman, who really did not require a third clerk, + as to get his hand into the routine of the office, preparatory to being + articled. Hence his weekly pay had been almost a nominal sum. Small though + it was, he was anxious to replace it; and he sought to hear of something + in the town. As yet, without success. Persons were not willing to engage + one on whom a doubt rested; and a very great doubt, in the opinion of the + town, did rest upon Arthur. The manner in which the case had terminated—by + Mr. Galloway’s refusing to swear he put the bank-note into the envelope, + when it was known that Mr. Galloway <i>had</i> put it in, and that Mr. + Galloway himself knew that he had done so—told more against Arthur + than the actual charge had done. It was not, you see, establishing + Arthur’s innocence; on the contrary, 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’s sake,” was the motive the town imputed to Mr. Galloway. + His summary dismissal, also, from the office, was urged against him. + Altogether, Arthur did not stand well with Helstonleigh; and fresh + employment did not readily show itself. This was of little moment, + comparatively speaking, while his post in the Cathedral was not + endangered. But that was to come. + </p> + <p> + On the day before the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Channing, Arthur was + seated at the organ at afternoon service, playing the anthem, when Mr. + Williams came up. Arthur saw him with surprise. It was not the day for + practising the choristers; therefore, what could he want? A feeling of + dread that it might mean ill to him, came over Arthur. + </p> + <p> + A feeling all too surely borne out. “Channing,” Mr. Williams began, + scarcely giving himself time to wait until service was over and the + congregation were leaving, “the dean has been talking to me about this + bother. What is to be done?” + </p> + <p> + The life-blood at his heart seemed to stand still, and then go on again. + His place there was about to be taken from him; he knew it. Must he become + an idle, useless burden upon them at home? + </p> + <p> + “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 ought + not to be allowed to retain your place here. I told him you were not + guilty—that I felt thoroughly convinced of it; but he listened + coldly. The dean is a stern man, and I have always said it.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a good man, and only stern in the cause of injustice,” replied + Arthur, who was himself too just to allow blame to rest where it was not + due, even though it were to defend himself. “Did he give orders for my + dismissal?” + </p> + <p> + “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. He answered + pretty warmly, that of course it ought not; but that, if appearances might + be trusted, you were not wrongly accused.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur sat, scoring some music with his pencil. Never had he felt that + appearances were against him more plainly than he felt it then. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I would step down and tell you this, Channing,” Mr. Williams + observed. “I shall not dismiss you, you may be sure of that; but, if the + dean puts forth his veto, I cannot help myself. He is master of the + Cathedral, not I. I cannot think what possesses the people to doubt you! + They never would, if they had ten grains of sense.” + </p> + <p> + The organist concluded his words as he hurried down the stairs—he + was always much pressed for time. Arthur, a cold weight lying at his + heart, put the music together, and departed. + </p> + <p> + He traversed the nave, crossed the body, and descended the steps to the + cloisters. As he was passing the Chapter House, the doors opened, and Dr. + Gardner came out, in his surplice and trencher. He closed the doors after + him, but not before Arthur had seen the dean seated alone at the table—a + large folio before him. Both of them had just left the Cathedral. + </p> + <p> + Arthur raised his hat to the canon, who acknowledged it, but—Arthur + thought—very coldly. To a sore mind, fancy is ever active. A thought + flashed over Arthur that he would go, there and then, and speak to the + dean. + </p> + <p> + Acting upon the moment’s impulse, without premeditation as to what he + should say, he turned back and laid his hand upon the door handle. A + passing tremor, as to the result, arose within him; but he had learned + where help in need is ever to be obtained, and an earnestly breathed word + went up then. The dean looked round, saw that it was Arthur Channing, rose + from his seat, and awaited his approach. + </p> + <p> + “Will you pardon my intruding upon you here, Mr. Dean?” he began, in his + gentle, courteous manner; and with the urgency of the occasion, all his + energy seemed to come to him. Timidity and tremor vanished, and he stood + before the dean, a true gentleman and a fearless one. The dean still wore + his surplice, and his trencher lay on the table near him. Arthur placed + his own hat by its side. “Mr. Williams has just informed me that you cast + a doubt as to the propriety of my still taking the organ,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “True,” said the dean. “It is not fitting that one, upon whom so heavy an + imputation lies, should be allowed to continue his duty in this + Cathedral.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir—if that imputation be a mistaken one?” + </p> + <p> + “How are we to know that it is a mistaken one?” demanded the dean. + </p> + <p> + Arthur paused. “Sir, will you take my word for it? I am incapable of + telling a lie. I have come to you to defend my own cause; and yet I can + only do it by my bare word of assertion. You are not a stranger to the + circumstances of my family, Mr. Dean; and I honestly avow that if this + post is taken from me, it will be felt as a serious loss. I have lost what + little I had from Mr. Galloway; I trust I shall not lose this.” + </p> + <p> + “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 the dean’s + reply. “But this crime which has been laid to your charge is a heavy one. + If you were guilty of it, it cannot be overlooked.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not guilty of it,” Arthur impressively said, his tone full of + emotion. “Mr. Dean! believe me. When I shall come to answer to my Maker + for my actions upon earth, I cannot then speak with more earnest truth + than I now speak to you. I am entirely innocent of the charge. I did not + touch the money; I did not know that the money was lost, until Mr. + Galloway announced it to me some days afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + The dean gazed at Arthur as he stood before him; at his tall form—noble + even in its youthfulness—his fine, ingenuous countenance, his + earnest eye; it was impossible to associate such with the brand of guilt, + and the dean’s suspicious doubts melted away. If ever uprightness was + depicted unmistakably in a human countenance, it shone out then from + Arthur Channing’s. + </p> + <p> + “But there appears, then, to be some mystery attaching to the loss, to the + proceedings altogether,” debated the dean. + </p> + <p> + “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 to grant + me a favour?” + </p> + <p> + The dean wondered what was coming. + </p> + <p> + “Although I have thus asserted my innocence to you; and it is the solemn + truth; there are reasons why I do not wish to speak out so unequivocally + to others. Will you kindly regard this interview as a confidential one—not + speaking of its purport even to Mr. Galloway?” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” asked the dean. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot explain. I can only throw myself upon your kindness, Mr. Dean, + to grant the request. Indeed,” he added, his face flushing, “my motive is + an urgent one.” + </p> + <p> + “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 publicly assert it, + if, as you say, you are innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I am innocent,” repeated Arthur. “Should one ray of light ever be + thrown upon the affair, you will see, Mr. Dean, that I have spoken truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I will accept it as truth,” said the dean. “You may continue to take the + organ.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew God would be with me in the interview!” thought Arthur, as he + thanked the dean and left the Chapter House. + </p> + <p> + He did not go home immediately. He had a commission to execute in the + town, and went to do it. It took him about an hour, which brought it to + five o’clock. In returning through the Boundaries he encountered Roland + Yorke, just released from that bane of his life, the office, for the day. + Arthur told him how near he had been to losing the Cathedral. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” uttered Roland, flying into one of his indignant fits. “A nice + dean he is! He’d deserve to lose his own place, if he had done it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the danger is over for the present. I say, Yorke, does Galloway + talk much about it?” + </p> + <p> + “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 having sent + you away, and I don’t care if he hears me. There’s an awful amount to do + since you went. I and Jenkins are worked to death. And there’ll be the + busiest time of all the year coming on soon, with the autumn rents and + leases. I shan’t stop long in it, I know!” + </p> + <p> + Smiling at Roland’s account of being “worked to death,” for he knew how + much the assertion was worth, Arthur continued his way. Roland continued + his, and, on entering his own house, met Constance Channing leaving it. He + exchanged a few words of chatter with her, though it struck him that she + looked unusually sad, and then found his way to the presence of his + mother. + </p> + <p> + “What an uncommonly pretty girl that Constance Channing is!” quoth he, in + his free, unceremonious fashion. “I wonder she condescends to come here to + teach the girls!” + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall dismiss her, Roland,” said Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + “I expect she’ll dismiss herself, ma’am, without waiting for you to do it, + now William Yorke has found bread and cheese, and a house to live in,” + returned Roland, throwing himself at full length on a sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Then you expect wrong,” answered Lady Augusta. “If Miss Channing leaves, + it will be by my dismissal. And I am not sure but I shall do it,” she + added, nodding her head. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Roland, lazily. + </p> + <p> + “It is not pleasant to retain, as instructress to my children, one whose + brother is a thief.” + </p> + <p> + Roland tumbled off the sofa, and rose up with a great cry—a cry of + passionate anger, of aroused indignation. “What?” he thundered. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious! are you going mad?” uttered my lady. “What is Arthur + Channing to you, that you should take up his cause in this startling way + upon every possible occasion?” + </p> + <p> + “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 both in + the same office, and the shameful charge might have been cast upon me, as + it was cast upon him. It was mere chance. Channing is as innocent 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!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t want to be uncharitable,” cried Lady Augusta, whose + heart was kind enough in the main. “And I am sure the dean never was + uncharitable in his life: he is too good and enlightened a man to be + uncharitable. Half the town says he must be guilty, and what is one to + think? Then you would not recommend me to let it make any difference to + Miss Channing’s coming here?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” burst forth Roland, in a tone that might have brought down the roof, + had it been made of glass. “I’d scorn such wicked injustice.” + </p> + <p> + “If I were you, I’d ‘scorn’ to put myself into these fiery tempers, upon + other people’s business,” cried my lady. + </p> + <p> + “It is my business,” retorted Roland. “Better go into tempers than be hard + and unjust. What would William Yorke say at your speaking so of Miss + Channing?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta smiled. “It was hearing what William Yorke had done that + almost 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 his wife + from a disgraced family. I have been telling him so ever since it + happened.” + </p> + <p> + Roland stood before her, as if unable to digest the news: his mouth open, + his eyes staring. “It is not true!” he shrieked. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, it is perfectly true. I gathered a suspicion of it from William + Yorke’s manner to-day, and I put the question plainly to Miss Channing + herself. ‘Had they parted in consequence of this business of Arthur’s?’ + She acknowledged that it was so.” + </p> + <p> + Roland turned white with honest anger. He dashed his hair from his brow, + 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 a little personal + explosion with the Reverend William Yorke. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. — A TASTE OF “TAN.” + </h2> + <p> + The cloisters of Helstonleigh were echoing with the sounds of a loud + dispute, according as little with their sacred character, as with the fair + beauty of the summer’s afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The excitement caused in the college school by the rumour of Lady Augusta + Yorke’s having obtained the promise of the head-master that her son should + be promoted to the seniorship over the heads of Channing and Huntley, had + been smouldering ominously, and gathering greater strength from the very + fact that the boys appeared to be powerless in it. Powerless they were: in + spite of Tom Channing’s boast at the dinner-table that the school would + not stand it tamely, and his meaning nod when Hamish had mockingly + inquired whether the school intended to send Lady Augusta a challenge, or + to recommend Mr. Pye to the surveillance of the dean. + </p> + <p> + In the first flow of their indignation, the boys, freely ringing the + changes of rebellion, had avowed to one another that they would acquaint + the dean with the head-master’s favouritism, and request his interference—as + too many of us do when things happen that annoy us. We are only too prone + to speak out our mind, and to proclaim what our remedy or revenge shall + be. But when our anger has subsided, and we see things in their true + light, we find that those boasts were only loud talking, and cannot be + acted upon. Thus it was with the Helstonleigh college boys. They had + hurled forth indignation at the master, had pretty nearly conned over the + very words in which they should make known their grievance to the dean; + but when the practical part came to be considered, their courage oozed out + at their fingers’ ends. The mice, you remember, passed a resolution in + solemn conclave that their enemy, the old cat, should be belled: an + excellent precaution, and only wanting one small thing to render it + efficient—no mouse would undertake to do it. + </p> + <p> + To prefer a complaint to the dean of their head-master was a daring + measure; such as the school, with all its hardihood, had never yet + attempted. It might recoil upon themselves; might produce no good to the + 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 a piece of + favouritism so unjust, without doing something. In the midst of this + perplexity, one of them suddenly mooted the suggestion that a written + memorial should be sent to the head-master from the school collectively, + respectfully requesting him to allow the choice of senior to be made in + the legitimate order of things, by merit or priority, but not by favour. + </p> + <p> + Lame as the suggestion was, the majority were for its adoption simply + because no other plan could be hit upon. Some were against it. Hot + arguments prevailed on both sides, and a few personal compliments rather + tending to break the peace, had been exchanged. The senior boy held + himself aloof from acting personally: it was his place they were fighting + for. Tom Channing and Huntley were red-hot against what they called the + “sneaking,” meaning the underhand work. Gerald Yorke was equally for + non-interference, either to the master or the dean. Yorke protested it was + not in the least true that Lady Augusta had been promised anything of the + sort. In point of fact, there was no proof that she had been, excepting + her own assertion, made in the hearing of Jenkins. Gerald gravely declared + that Jenkins had gone to sleep and dreamt it. + </p> + <p> + 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 had been + severe; the second master had caned a whole desk, and threatened another, + and double lessons had been set the upper boys for the following morning. + Altogether, when the gentlemen were released at five o’clock, they were + not in the sweetest of tempers, and entered upon a wordy war in the + cloisters. + </p> + <p> + “What possessed you to take and tear up that paper you were + surreptitiously scribbling at, when Pye ordered you to go up and hand it + in?” demanded Gaunt, of George Brittle. “It was that which put him out + with us all. Was it a love-letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Who was to think he’d go and ask for it?” returned Brittle, an + indifferent sort of gentleman, who liked to take things easily. “Guess + what it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk to me about guessing!” imperiously spoke Gaunt. “I ask you + what it was?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing less than the memorial to himself,” laughed Brittle. “Some of us + 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 so stealthily busy + over, Mr. Brittle?—hand it in,’ of course I could only tear it into + minute pieces, and pretend to be deaf.” + </p> + <p> + “You had best not try it on again,” said Gaunt. “Nothing puts out Pye like + disobeying him to his face.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, doesn’t it, though!” returned Brittle. “Cribs put him out the worst. + He thought that was a crib, or he’d not have been so eager for it.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a shell is it?” asked Harry Huntley. “Who drew it out?” + </p> + <p> + “It won’t do at all,” interposed Hurst. “The head of it is, ‘Revered + master,’ and the tail, ‘Yours affectionately.’” + </p> + <p> + A shout of laughter; Brittle’s voice rose above the noise. “And the middle + is an eloquent piece of composition, calculated to take the master’s + obdurate heart by storm, and move it to redress our wrongs.” + </p> + <p> + “We have no wrongs to redress of that sort,” cried Gerald Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Being an interested party, you ought to keep your mouth shut,” called out + Hurst to Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “Keep yours shut first,” retorted Yorke to Hurst. “Not being interested, + there’s no need to open yours at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s see the thing,” said Huntley. + </p> + <p> + 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 memorial drawn + out between them. Shorn of what Hurst had figuratively called the head and + tail, and which had been added for nonsense, it was not a bad production. + The boys clustered round Brittle, looking over his shoulder, as he read + the composition aloud for the benefit of those who could not elbow space + to see. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t be bad,” said Huntley, critically, “if it were done into good + grammar.” + </p> + <p> + “Into what?” roared Brittle. “The grammar’s as good as you can produce any + day, Huntley. Come!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll correct it for you,” said Huntley, coolly. “There are a dozen faults + in it.” + </p> + <p> + “The arrogance of those upper-desk fellows!” ejaculated Brittle. “The + stops are not put in yet, and they haven’t the gumption to allow for them. + 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 good English, there to + be framed and glazed. I’ll do it to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no business of yours, Mr. Brittle, that you should interfere to take + an active part in it,” resumed Gerald Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “No business of mine! That’s good! When I’m thinking of going in for the + seniorship myself another time!” + </p> + <p> + “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 on his head + on the open mullioned window-frame, thereby running the danger of coming + to grief amongst the gravestones and grass of the College burial-yard. “If + Pye does not get called to order now, he may lapse into the habit of + passing over hard-working fellows with brains, to exalt some + good-for-nothing cake with none, because he happens to have a Dutchman for + his mother. That <i>would</i> wash, that would!” + </p> + <p> + “You, Bywater! do you mean that for me?” hotly demanded Gerald Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “As if I did!” laughed Bywater. “As if I meant it for any cake in + particular! Unless the cap happens to fit ‘em. <i>I</i> don’t say it + does.” + </p> + <p> + “The thing is this,” struck in Hurst: “who will sign the paper? It’s of no + use for Brittle, or any other fellow, to be at the bother of writing it + out, if nobody can be got to sign it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? The school’s ready to sign it.” + </p> + <p> + “Are the seniors?” + </p> + <p> + With the seniors there was a hitch. Gaunt put himself practically out of + the affair; Gerald Yorke would not sign it; and Channing could not. + Huntley alone remained. + </p> + <p> + Why could not Channing sign it? Ah, there was the lever that was swaying + and agitating the whole school this afternoon. Poor Tom Channing was not + just now reposing upon rose-leaves. What with his fiery temper and his + pride, Tom had enough to do to keep himself within bounds; for the school + was resenting upon him the stigma that had fallen 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 a petition to the master headed by + Tom Channing:—Tom, you remember, stood on the rolls next to Gaunt. + They said that if Tom Channing were to succeed as senior of the school, + the school would rise up in open rebellion. That this feeling against him + was very much fostered by the Yorkes, was doubted. Gerald was actuated by + a twofold motive, one of which was, that it enhanced his own chance of the + seniorship. The other arose from resentment against Arthur Channing, for + having brought disgrace upon the office which contained his brother + Roland. Tod fraternized in this matter with Gerald, though the same could + not be said of him in general; no two brothers in the school agreed less + well than did the Yorkes. Both of them fully believed Arthur to be guilty. + </p> + <p> + “As good have the thing out now, and settle it,” exclaimed Griffin, who + came next to Gerald Yorke, and would be fourth senior when Gaunt should + leave. “Are you fellows going to sign it, or not?” + </p> + <p> + “To whom do you speak?” demanded Gaunt. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I speak to all,” said Griffin, a good-humoured lad, but terribly + mischievous, and, for some cause best known to himself, warmly espousing + the cause of Gerald Yorke. “Shall you sign it, Gaunt?” + </p> + <p> + “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 suddenly + hoisted above my head and made cock of the walk, I’d know the reason why. + It is not talking that would satisfy me, or grumbling either; I’d act.” + </p> + <p> + “Gaunt doesn’t sign it,” proceeded Griffin, telling off the names upon his + fingers. “That’s one. Huntley, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t come next to Gaunt,” was Huntley’s answer. “I’ll speak in my + right turn.” + </p> + <p> + Tom Channing stood near to Huntley, his trencher stuck aside on his head, + his honest face glowing. One arm was full of books, the other rested on + his hip: his whole attitude bespoke self-possession; his looks, defiance. + Griffin went on. + </p> + <p> + “Gerald Yorke, do you sign it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d see it further, first.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s two disposed of, Gaunt and Yorke,” pursued Griffin. “Huntley, + there’s only you.” + </p> + <p> + Huntley gave a petulant stamp. “I have told you I will not speak out of my + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will,” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + Then it was that the hubbub arose, converting the cloisters into an arena. + One word led to another. Fiery blood bubbled up; harsh things were said. + Gerald Yorke and his party reproached Tom Channing with being a <i>disgrace</i> + to the school’s charter, through his brother Arthur. Huntley and a few + more warmly espoused Tom’s cause, of whom saucy Bywater was one, who + roared out cutting sarcasms from his gymnasium on the window-frame. Tom + controlled himself better than might have been expected, but he and Gerald + Yorke flung passionate retorts one to the other. + </p> + <p> + “It is not fair to cast in a fellow’s teeth the shortcomings of his + relations,” continued Bywater. “What with our uncles and cousins, and + mothers and grandmothers, there’s sure to be one among them that goes off + the square. Look at that rich lot, next door to Lady Augusta’s, with their + carriages and servants, and soirées, and all the rest of their grandeur!—their + uncle was hanged for sheep-stealing.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather steal a sheep and be hanged for it, than help myself to a + nasty 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 Arthur Channing + intended suspicion to fall upon him.” + </p> + <p> + A howl from Bywater. He had gone over, head foremost, to make acquaintance + with the graves. They were too much engrossed to heed him. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother was a great deal more likely to have helped himself to it, + than Arthur Channing,” raged Tom. “He does a hundred dirty things every + day, that a Channing would rather cut off his arm than attempt.” + </p> + <p> + The disputants’ faces were almost touching each other, and very fiery + faces they were—that is, speaking figuratively. Tom’s certainly was + red enough, but Gerald’s was white with passion. Some of the bigger boys + stood close to prevent blows, which Gaunt was forbidding. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>know</i> he did it!” shrieked Gerald. “There!” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t know it!” stamped Tom. “You don’t know it!” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>do</i>. And for two pins I’d tell.” + </p> + <p> + The boast was a vain boast, the heat of passion alone prompting it. Gerald + Yorke was not scrupulously particular in calm moments; but little recked + he what he said in his violent moods. Tom repudiated it with scorn. But + there was another upon whom the words fell with intense fear. + </p> + <p> + And that was Charley Channing. Misled by Gerald’s positive and earnest + tone, the boy really believed that there must be some foundation for the + assertion. A wild fear seized him, lest Gerald should proclaim some + startling fact, conveying a conviction of Arthur’s guilt to the minds of + the school. The blood forsook his face, his lips trembled, and he pushed + his way through the throng till he touched Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say it, Gerald Yorke! Don’t!” he imploringly whispered. “I have + kept counsel for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Gerald, wheeling round. + </p> + <p> + “I have kept your counsel about the surplice. Keep Arthur’s in return, if + you do know anything against him.” + </p> + <p> + I wish you could have witnessed the change in Gerald Yorke’s countenance! + A streak of scarlet crossed its pallor, his eyes blazed forth defiance, + and a tremor, as of fear, momentarily shook him. To the surprise of the + boys, who had no notion what might have been the purport of Charley’s + whisper, he seized the boy by the arm, and fiercely dragged him away up + the cloisters, turning the corner into the west quadrangle. + </p> + <p> + “Get down!” he hissed; “get down upon your knees, and swear that you’ll + never breathe a syllable of that calumny again! Do you hear me, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not get down,” said brave Charley. + </p> + <p> + Gerald drew in his lips. “You have heard of a wild tiger, my boy? One + escaped from a caravan the other day, and killed a few people. I am worse + than a wild tiger now, and you had better not provoke me. Swear it, or + I’ll kill you!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not swear,” repeated the child. “I’ll try and keep the promise I + gave you, not to betray about the surplice—I will indeed; but don’t + you say again, please, that Arthur is guilty.” + </p> + <p> + 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 good + thrashing. He held the victim at arm’s length, his eyes dilating, his + right hand raised, when a head was suddenly propelled close upon them from + the graveyard. Gerald was so startled as to drop his hold of Charley. + </p> + <p> + The head belonged to Stephen Bywater, who must have crept across the + burial-ground and chosen that spot to emerge from, attracted probably by + the noise. “What’s the row?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “I was about to give Miss Channing a taste of tan,” replied Gerald, who + appeared to suddenly cool down from his passion. “He’d have got it + sweetly, had you not come up. I’ll tan you too, Mr. Bywater, if you come + thrusting in yourself, like that, where you are not expected, and not + wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Tan away,” coolly responded Bywater. “I can tan again. What had the young + one been up to?” + </p> + <p> + “Impudence,” shortly answered Yorke. “Mark you, Miss Channing! I have not + done with you, though it is my pleasure to let you off for the present. + Halloa! What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + It was a tremendous sound of yelling, as if some one amidst the throng of + boys was being “tanned” there. Gerald and Charley flew off towards it, + followed by Bywater, who propelled himself upwards through the mullioned + frame in the best way he could. The sufferer proved to be Tod Yorke, who + was writhing under the sharp correction of some tall fellow, six feet + high. To the surprise of Gerald, he recognized his brother Roland. + </p> + <p> + You may remember it was stated in the last chapter that Roland Yorke flew + off, in wild indignation, from Lady Augusta’s news of the parting of the + Reverend Mr. Yorke and Constance Channing. Roland, in much inward + commotion, was striding through the cloisters on his way to find that + reverend divine, when he strode up to the throng of disputants, who were + far too much preoccupied with their own concerns to observe him. The first + distinct voice that struck upon Roland’s ear above the general hubbub, was + that of his brother Tod. + </p> + <p> + When Gerald had rushed away with Charley Channing, it had struck Tod that + 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 front of Tom + Channing, and began. For some little time the confusion was so great he + could not be heard, but Tod persevered; his manner was overbearing, his + voice loud. + </p> + <p> + “I say that Tom Channing might have the decency to take himself out of the + school. When our friends put us into it, they didn’t expect we should have + to consort with thieves’ brothers.” + </p> + <p> + “You contemptible little reptile! How dare you presume to cast aspersion + at my brother?” scornfully uttered Tom. And the scorn was all he threw at + him; for the seniors disdained, whatever the provocation, to attack + personally those younger and less than themselves. Tod Yorke knew this. + </p> + <p> + “How dare I! Oh!” danced Tod. “I dare because I dare, and because it’s + true. When my brother Gerald says he knows it was Arthur Channing helped + himself to the note, he does know it. Do you think,” he added, improving + upon Gerald’s suggestion, “that my brother Roland could be in the same + office, and not know that he helped himself to it? He—” + </p> + <p> + It was at this unlucky moment that Roland had come up. He heard the words, + 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 an angry lion + might lift a contemptible little animal that had enraged him. Roland Yorke + was not an inapt type of an angry lion just then, with his panting breath, + his blazing eye, and his working nostrils. + </p> + <p> + “Take that! and that! and that!” cried he, giving Tod a taste of his + strength. “<i>You</i> speak against Arthur Channing!—take that! You + false little hound!—and that! Let me catch you at it again, and I + won’t leave a whole bone in your body!” + </p> + <p> + Tod writhed; Tod howled; Tod shrieked; Tod roared for mercy. All in vain. + Roland continued his “and thats!” and Gerald and the other two absentees + came leaping up. Roland loosed him then, and turned his flashing eyes upon + Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “Is it true that you said you knew Arthur Channing took the bank-note?” + </p> + <p> + “What if I did?” retorted Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “Then you told a lie! A lie as false as you are. If you don’t eat your + words, you are a disgrace to the name of Yorke. Boys, believe <i>me!</i>” + flashed Roland, turning to the wondering throng—“Gaunt, <i>you</i> + believe me—Arthur Channing never did take the note. I know it. I + know it, I tell you! I don’t care who it was took it, but it was not + Arthur Channing. If you listen again to his false assertions,” pointing + scornfully to Gerald, “you’ll show yourselves to be sneaking curs.” + </p> + <p> + Roland stopped for want of breath. Bold Bywater, who was sure to find his + tongue before anybody else, elbowed his way to the inner circle, and + flourished about there, in complete disregard of the sad state of + dilapidation he was in behind; a large portion of a very necessary article + of attire having been, in some unaccountable manner, torn away by his + recent fall. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, Roland Yorke!” cried he. “I’d scorn the action of bringing + up a fellow’s relations against him. Whether Arthur Channing took the + note, or whether he didn’t, what has that to do with Tom?—or with + us? They are saying, some of them, that Tom Channing shan’t sign a + petition to the master about the seniorship!” + </p> + <p> + “What petition?” uttered Roland, who had not calmed down a whit. + </p> + <p> + “Why! about Pye giving it to Gerald Yorke, over the others’ heads,” + returned Bywater. “<i>You</i> know Gerald’s crowing over it, like + anything, but I say it’s a shame. I heard him and Griffin say this morning + that there was only Huntley to get over, now Tom Channing was put out of + it through the bother about Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the dean about, that he does not give Pye a word of a sort?” asked + Roland. + </p> + <p> + “The dean! If we could only get to tell the dean, it might be all right. + But none of us dare do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for your defence of Arthur,” said Tom Channing to Roland Yorke, + as the latter was striding away. + </p> + <p> + Roland looked back. “I am ashamed for all the lot of you! You might know + that Arthur Channing needs no defence. He should not be aspersed in my + school, Gaunt, if I were senior.” + </p> + <p> + What with one thing and another, Roland’s temper had not been so aroused + for many a day. Gaunt ran after him, but Roland would not turn his head, + or speak. + </p> + <p> + “Your brothers are excited against Tom Channing, and that makes them hard + upon him, with regard to this accusation of Arthur,” observed Gaunt. “Tom + has gone on above a bit, about Gerald’s getting his seniorship over him + and Huntley. Tom Channing can go on at a splitting rate when he likes, and + he has not spared his words. Gerald, being the party interested, does not + like it. That’s what they were having a row over, when you came up.” + </p> + <p> + “Gerald has no more right to be put over Tom Channing’s head, than you + have to be put over Pye’s,” said Roland, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “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 a windfall for + Gerald; he makes it into an additional reason why Tom, at any rate, should + not have the seniorship. And there only remains Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + “He does, does he!” exclaimed Roland. “If the dean—” + </p> + <p> + Roland’s voice—it had not been a soft one—died away. The dean + himself appeared suddenly at the door of the chapter-house, which they + were then passing. Roland raised his hat, and Gaunt touched his trencher. + The dean accosted the latter, his tone and manner less serene than usual. + </p> + <p> + “What is the cause of this unusual noise, Gaunt? It has disturbed me in my + reading. If the cloisters are to be turned into a bear-garden, I shall + certainly order them to be closed to the boys.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go and stop it at once, sir,” replied Gaunt, touching his trencher + again, as he hastily retired. He had no idea that the dean was in the + chapter-house. + </p> + <p> + 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. Not + that Roland was one who cared much about justice or injustice in the + abstract; but he was feeling excessively wroth with Gerald, and in a + humour to espouse Tom Channing’s cause against the world. + </p> + <p> + “The college boys are in a state of semi-rebellion, Mr. Dean, and are not + so quiet under it as they might be. They would like to bring their cause + of complaint to you; but they don’t dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said the dean. + </p> + <p> + “The senior boy leaves the school at Michaelmas,” went on Roland, scarcely + giving the dean time to say the word. “The one who stands first to step + into his place is Tom Channing; the next is Huntley; the last is Gerald + Yorke. There is a belief afloat that Mr. Pye means to pass over the two + first, without reference to their merits or their rights, and to bestow it + upon Gerald Yorke. The rumour is, that he has promised 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’s wishes and my brother’s + interests.” + </p> + <p> + “Where have you heard this?” inquired the dean. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the whole town is talking of it, sir. Of course, that does not prove + its truth; but the college boys believe it. They think,” said Roland, + pointedly, “that the dean ought to ascertain its grounds of foundation, + and to interfere. Tom Channing is bearing the brunt of this false + accusation on his brother, which some of the cowards are casting to him. + It would be too bad were Pye to deprive him of the seniorship!” + </p> + <p> + “You think the accusation on Arthur Channing to be a false one?” returned + the dean. + </p> + <p> + “There never was a more false accusation brought in this world,” replied + Roland, relapsing into excitement. “I would answer for Arthur Channing + 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 no telling. Things that + I have heard this afternoon have put my temper up.” + </p> + <p> + He strode away towards the west door, leaving the dean looking after him + 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 somewhat singular + corroboration of Arthur Channing’s private defence to the dean only an + hour ago. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Gaunt had gone up to scatter the noisy crew. “A nice row you + have got me into with your quarrelling,” he exclaimed. “The dean has been + in the chapter-house all the time, and isn’t he in a passion! He threatens + to shut up the cloisters.” + </p> + <p> + The announcement brought stillness, chagrin. “What a bothering old duffer + he is, that dean!” uttered Bywater. “He is always turning up when he’s not + wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Take your books, and disperse in silence,” was the command of the senior + boy. + </p> + <p> + “Stop a bit,” said Bywater, turning himself round and about for general + inspection. “Look at me! Can I go home?” + </p> + <p> + “My!” roared the boys, who had been too preoccupied to be observant. + “Haven’t they come to grief!” + </p> + <p> + “But can I go through the streets?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! Make a rush for it. Tell the folks you have been in the wars.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. — THE DEPARTURE. + </h2> + <p> + I like to see fair skies and sunshine on the morning fixed for a journey. + It seems to whisper a promise that satisfaction from that journey lies + before it: a foolish notion, no doubt, but a pleasant one. + </p> + <p> + Never did a more lovely morning arise to gladden the world, than that + fixed upon for Mr. and Mrs. Channing’s departure. The August sky was + without a cloud, the early dew glittered in the sunbeams, bees and + butterflies sported amidst the opening flowers. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing was up early, and had gathered his children around him. Tom + and Charles had, by permission, holiday that morning from early school, + and Constance had not gone to Lady Augusta Yorke’s. The very excitement + and bustle of preparation had appeared to benefit Mr. Channing; perhaps it + was the influence of the hope which had seated itself in his heart, and + was at work there. But Mr. Channing did not count upon this hope one whit + more than he could help; for disappointment <i>might</i> be its ending. In + this, the hour of parting from his home and his children, the hope seemed + to have buried itself five fathoms deep, if not to have died away + completely. Who, in a similar position to Mr. Channing’s, has not felt + this depression on leaving a beloved home? + </p> + <p> + The parting had been less sad but for the dark cloud hanging over Arthur. + Mr. Channing had no resource but to believe him guilty, and his manner to + him had grown cold and stern. It was a pleasing sight—could you have + looked in upon it that morning—one that would put you in mind of + that happier world where partings are not. + </p> + <p> + For it was to that world that Mr. Channing had been carrying the thoughts + of his children in these, the last moments. The Bible was before him, but + all that he had chosen to read was a short psalm. And then he prayed God + to bless them; to keep them from evil; to be their all-powerful protector. + There was not a dry eye present; and Charles and Annabel—Annabel + with all her wildness—sobbed aloud. + </p> + <p> + He was standing up now, supported by Hamish, his left hand leaning + heavily, also for support, on the shoulder of Tom. Oh! Arthur felt it + keenly! felt it as if his heart would break. It was Tom whom his father + had especially called to his aid; <i>he</i> was passed over. It was hard + to bear. + </p> + <p> + He was giving a word of advice, of charge to all. “Constance, my pretty + one, the household is in your charge; you must take care of your brothers’ + comforts. And, Hamish, my son, I leave Constance to <i>your</i> 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 my return—if I shall be + spared to return—” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” exclaimed Arthur, in a burst of irrepressible feeling, “have you + no word for <i>me</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing laid his hand upon the head of Arthur. “Bless, oh bless this + my son!” he softly murmured. “And may God forgive him, if he be indeed the + erring one we fear!” + </p> + <p> + But a few minutes had elapsed since Mr. Channing had repeated aloud the + petition in the prayer taught us by our Saviour—“Lead us not into + temptation!” It had come quickly to one of his hearers. If ever temptation + 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, whom you are + caressing, was the true culprit; I, whom you despise, am innocent.” Words + such as these might have hovered on Arthur’s lips; he had nearly spoken + them, but for the strangely imploring look cast to him from the tearful + eyes of Constance, who read his struggle. Arthur remembered One who had + endured temptation far greater than this; Who is ever ready to grant the + same strength to those who need it. A few moments, and the struggle and + temptation passed, and he had not yielded to it. + </p> + <p> + “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, my dear + ones, do you all strive on to attain to that blessed life! Think what + would be our woeful grief—if such can assail us there; if memory of + the past may be allowed us—should we find any one of our dear ones + absent—of you who now stand around me! I speak to you all—not + more to one than to another—absent through his own fault, his own + sin, his own carelessness! Oh, children! you cannot tell my love for you—my + anxious care!—lest any of you should lose this inconceivable + blessing. Work on; strive on; and if we never meet again here—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, papa, papa,” wildly sobbed Annabel, “we shall meet again! You will + come back well.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust we shall! I do trust I may! God is ever merciful and good. All I + would say is, that my life is uncertain; that, if it be His will not to + spare me, I shall have but preceded you to that better land. My blessing + be upon you, my children! God’s blessing be upon you! Fare you well.” + </p> + <p> + In the bustle of getting Mr. Channing to the fly, Arthur was left alone + with his mother. She clung to him, sobbing much. Even her faith in him was + shaken. When the rupture occurred between Mr. Yorke and Constance, Arthur + never spoke up to say: “There is no cause for parting; I am not guilty.” + Mrs. Channing was not the only one who had expected him to say this, or + something equivalent to it; and she found her expectation vain. Arthur had + maintained a studied silence; of course it could only tell against him. + </p> + <p> + “Mother! my darling mother! I would ask you to trust me still, but that I + see how difficult it is for you!” he said, as hot tears were wrung from + his aching heart. + </p> + <p> + Hamish came in. Arthur, not caring to exhibit his emotion for every one’s + benefit, retired to a distant window. “My father is in, all comfortable,” + said Hamish. “Mother, are you sure you have everything?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—put this into your private purse, mother mine. You’ll find + some use for it.” + </p> + <p> + It was a ten-pound note. Mrs. Channing began protesting that she should + have enough without it. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Channing, I know your ‘enoughs,’” laughed Hamish, in his very gayest + and lightest tone. “You’ll be for going without dinner every other day, + fearing that funds won’t last. If you don’t take it, I shall send it after + you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my dear, considerate boy!” she gratefully said, as she put up + the money, which would, in truth, prove useful. “But how have you been + able to get it for me?” + </p> + <p> + “As if a man could not save up his odd sixpences for a rainy day!” quoth + Hamish. + </p> + <p> + She implicitly believed him. She had absolute faith in her darling Hamish; + and the story of his embarrassments had not reached her ear. Arthur heard + all from his distant window. “For that very money, given to my mother as a + gift from <i>him</i>, I must suffer,” was the rebellious thought that ran + through his mind. + </p> + <p> + The fly started. Mr. and Mrs. Channing and Charley inside, Hamish on the + box with the driver. Tom galloped to the station on foot. Of course the + boys were eager to see them off. But Arthur, in his refined sensitiveness, + would not put himself forward to make one of them; and no one asked him to + do so. + </p> + <p> + The train was on the point of starting. Mr. and Mrs. Channing were in + their places, certain arrangements having been made for the convenience of + Mr. Channing, who was partially lying across from one seat to the other; + Hamish and the others were standing round for a last word; when there came + one, fighting his way through the platform bustle, pushing porters and any + one else who impeded his progress to the rightabout. It was Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “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 a God-speed. I hope + you’ll have a pleasant time, and come back cured, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Roland. These heartfelt wishes from you all are very welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Mr. Channing,” continued Roland, leaning over the carriage window, + in utter disregard of danger: “If you should hear of any good place + abroad, that you think I might do for, I wish you’d speak a word for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Place abroad?” repeated Mr. Channing, while Hamish burst into a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Roland. “My brother George knew a fellow who went over to + Austria or Prussia, or some of those places, and dropped into a very good + thing there, quite by accident. It was connected with one of the + embassies, I think; five or six hundred a year, and little to do.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing smiled. “Such windfalls are rare. I fear I am not likely to + hear of anything of the sort. But what has Mr. Galloway done to you, + Roland? You are a fixture with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I am tired of Galloway’s,” frankly confessed Roland. “I didn’t enjoy + myself 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 will take on + Arthur again, and do him honour, I’ll stop and make the best of it; but, + if he won’t—” + </p> + <p> + “Back! back! hands off there! Are you mad?” And amidst much shouting, and + running, and dragging careless Roland out of danger, the train steamed out + of the station. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. — ABROAD. + </h2> + <p> + A powerful steamer was cutting smoothly through the waters. A large + expanse of sea lay around, dotted with its fishing-boats, which had come + out with the night’s tide. A magnificent vessel, her spars glittering in + the rising sun, might be observed in the distance, and the grey, misty + sky, overhead, gave promise of a hot and lovely day. + </p> + <p> + Some of the passengers lay on deck, where they had stationed themselves + the previous night, preferring its open air to the closeness of the + cabins, in the event of rough weather. Rough weather they need not have + feared. 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 had to do + its full work. But for this dead calm, the fishing-craft would not be + close in-shore, looking very much like a flock of sea-gulls. Had a breeze, + ever so gentle, sprung up, they would have put out to more prolific + waters. + </p> + <p> + A noise, a shout, a greeting! and some of the passengers, already awake, + but lying lazily, sprang up to see what caused it. It was a passing + steamer, bound for the great metropolis which they had left not seventeen + hours ago. The respective captains exchanged salutes from their places + aloft, and the fine vessels flew past each other. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon voyage! bon voyage!</i>” shouted out a little French boy to the + retreating steamer. + </p> + <p> + “We have had a fine passage, captain,” observed a gentleman who was + stretching himself and stamping about the deck, after his night’s repose + on the hard bench. + </p> + <p> + “Middling,” responded the captain, to whom a dead calm was not quite so + agreeable as it was to his passengers. “Should ha’ been in all the sooner + for a breeze.” + </p> + <p> + “How long will it be, now?” + </p> + <p> + “A good time yet. Can’t go along as if we had wind at our back.” + </p> + <p> + The steamer made good progress, however, in spite of the faithless wind. + It glided up the Scheldt, and, by-and-by, the spire of Antwerp Cathedral + was discerned, rising against the clear sky. Mrs. Channing, who had been + one of those early astir, went back to her husband. He was lying where he + had been placed when the vessel left St. Katherine’s Docks. + </p> + <p> + “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. Hamish told + me to keep a look-out for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he?” replied Mr. Channing. “How did Hamish know it might be seen?” + </p> + <p> + “From the guide-books, I suppose; or from hearsay. Hamish seems to know + everything. What a good passage we have had!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Mr. Channing. “What I should have done in a rough sea, I cannot + tell. The dread of it has been pressing on me as a nightmare since our + voyage was decided upon.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing smiled. “Troubles seldom come from the quarter we anticipate + them.” + </p> + <p> + Later, when Mrs. Channing was once more leaning over the side of the + vessel, a man came up and put a card into her hand, jabbering away in + German at the same time. The Custom House officers had come on board then. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, if Constance were only here! It is for interpreting that we + shall miss her,” thought Mrs. Channing. “I am sorry that I do not + understand you,” she said, turning to the man. + </p> + <p> + “Madame want an hot-el? That hot-el a good one,” tapping the card with his + finger, and dexterously turning the reverse side upward, where was set + forth in English the advantages of a certain Antwerp inn. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, but we make no stay at Antwerp; we go straight on at once.” + And she would have handed back the card. + </p> + <p> + No, he would not receive it. “Madame might be wanting an hot-el at another + time; on her return, it might be. If so, would she patronize it? it was a + good hot-el; perfect!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing slipped the card into her reticule, and searched her + directions to see what hotel Hamish had indicated, should they require one + at Antwerp. She found it to be the Hôtel du Parc. Hamish certainly had + contrived to acquire for them a great fund of information; and, as it + turned out, information to be relied on. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast was to be obtained on board the steamer, and they availed + themselves of it, as did a few of the other passengers. Some delay + occurred in bringing the steamer to the side, after they arrived. Whether + from that cause, or the captain’s grievance—want of wind—or + from both, they were in later than they ought to have been. When the first + passenger put his foot on land, they had been out twenty hours. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing was the last to be removed, as, with him, aid was required. + Mrs. Channing stood on the shore at the head of the ladder, looking down + anxiously, lest in any way harm should come to him, when she found a hand + laid upon her shoulder, and a familiar voice saluted her. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Channing! Who would have thought of seeing you here! Have you + dropped from the moon?” + </p> + <p> + Not only was the voice familiar, but the face also. In the surprise of + being so addressed, in the confusion around her, Mrs. Channing positively + did not for a moment recognize it; all she saw was, that it was a <i>home</i> + face. “Mr. Huntley!” she exclaimed, when she had gathered her senses; and, + in the rush of pleasure of meeting him, of not feeling utterly alone in + that strange land, she put both her hands into his. “I may return your + question by asking where you have dropped from. I thought you were in the + south of France.” + </p> + <p> + “So I was,” he answered, “until a few days ago, when business brought me + to Antwerp. A gentleman is living here whom I wished to see. Take care, my + men!” he continued to the English sailors, who were carrying up Mr. + Channing. “Mind your footing.” But the ascent was accomplished in safety, + and Mr. Channing was placed in a carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand their lingo?” Mr. Huntley asked, as the porters talked + and chattered around. + </p> + <p> + “Not a syllable,” she answered. “I can manage a little French, but this is + as a sealed book to me. Is it German or Flemish?” + </p> + <p> + “Flemish, I conclude,” he said laughingly; “but my ears will not tell me, + any more than yours tell you. I should have done well to bring Ellen with + me. She said, in her saucy way, ‘Papa, when you are among the French and + Germans, you will be wishing for me to interpret for you.’” + </p> + <p> + “As I have been wishing for Constance,” replied Mrs. Channing. “In our + young days, it was not thought more essential to learn German than it was + to learn Hindustanee. French was only partially taught.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true,” said Mr. Huntley. “I managed to rub through France after a + fashion, but I don’t know what the natives thought of my French. What I + did know, I have half forgotten. But, now for explanations. Of course, Mr. + Channing has come to try the effect of the German springs?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and we have such hopes!” she answered. “There does appear to be a + probability that not only relief, but a cure, may be effected; otherwise, + you may be sure we should not have ventured on so much expense.” + </p> + <p> + “I always said Mr. Channing ought to try them.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true; you did so. We were only waiting, you know, for the + termination of the chancery suit. It is terminated, Mr. Huntley; and + against us.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley had been abroad since June, travelling in different parts of + the Continent; but he had heard from home regularly, chiefly from his + daughter, and this loss of the suit was duly communicated with other news. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said he to Mrs. Channing. “Better luck next time.” + </p> + <p> + He was of a remarkably pleasant disposition, in temperament not unlike + Hamish Channing. A man of keen intellect was Mr. Huntley; his fine face + expressing it. The luggage collected, they rejoined Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I have scarcely said a word to you,” cried Mr. Huntley, taking his hand. + “But I am better pleased to see you here, than I should be to see any one + else living. It is the first step towards a cure. Where are you bound + for?” + </p> + <p> + “For Borcette. It is—” + </p> + <p> + “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 week there. + I have a great mind to accompany you thither, now, and settle you there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do!” exclaimed Mr. Channing, his face lighting up, as the faces of + invalids will light up at the anticipated companionship of a friend. “If + you can spare time, do come with us!” + </p> + <p> + “My time is my own; the business that brought me here is concluded, and I + was thinking of leaving to-day. Having nothing to do after my early + breakfast, I strolled down to watch in the London steamer, little thinking + I should see you arrive by it. That’s settled, then. I will accompany you + as far as Borcette, and see you installed.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you return home?” + </p> + <p> + “Now; and glad enough I shall be to get there. Travelling is delightful + for a change, but when you have had enough of it, home peeps out in the + distance with all its charms.” + </p> + <p> + The train which Mr. and Mrs. Channing had intended to take was already + gone, through delay in the steamer’s reaching Antwerp, and they had to + wait 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 is worth going + the whole distance from England to see them. + </p> + <p> + “What is this disturbance about the seniorship, and Lady Augusta Yorke?” + asked Mr. Huntley, as it suddenly occurred to his recollection, in the + earlier part of their journey. “Master Harry has written me a letter full + of notes of exclamation and indignation, saying I ‘ought to come home and + see about it.’ What is it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing explained; at least, as far as he was able to do so. “It has + given rise to a good deal of dissatisfaction in the school,” he added, + “but I cannot think, for my own part, that it can have any foundation. 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.” + </p> + <p> + “If he attempted to give one to me, I should throw it back to him with a + word of a sort,” hastily rejoined Mr. Huntley, in a warm tone. “Nothing + can possibly be more unjust, than to elevate one boy over another + undeservedly; nothing, in my opinion, can be more pernicious. It is enough + to render the boy himself unjust through life; to give him loose ideas of + right and wrong. Have you not inquired into it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “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 than you can,” + Mr. Huntley added: “my son being pretty sure not to succeed to the + seniorship, so long as yours is above him to take it. Tom Channing will + make a good senior; a better than Harry would. Harry, in his easy + indifference, would suffer the school to lapse into insubordination; Tom + will keep a tight hand over it.” + </p> + <p> + A sensation of pain darted across the heart of Mr. Channing. Only the day + before his leaving home, he had accidentally heard a few words spoken + between Tom and Charley, which had told him that Tom’s chance of the + seniorship was emperilled through the business connected with Arthur. Mr. + Channing had then questioned Tom, and found that it was so. He must speak + of this now to Mr. Huntley, however painful it might be to himself to do + so. It were more manly to meet it openly than to bury it in silence, and + let Mr. Huntley hear of it (if he had not heard of it already) as soon as + he reached Helstonleigh. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard anything in particular about Arthur lately?” inquired Mr. + Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have,” was the answer. “Ellen did not fail to give me a full + account of it. I congratulate you on possessing such sons.” + </p> + <p> + “Congratulate! To what do you allude?” asked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “To Arthur’s applying after Jupp’s post, as soon as he knew that the suit + had failed. He’s a true Channing. I am glad he got it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to that—I did not allude to that,” hastily rejoined Mr. + Channing. And then, with downcast eyes, and a downcast heart, he related + sufficient to put Mr. Huntley in possession of the facts. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley heard the tale with incredulity, a smile of ridicule parting + his lips. “Suspect Arthur of theft!” he exclaimed. “What next? Had I been + in my place on the magistrates’ bench that day, I should have dismissed + the charge at once, upon such defective evidence. Channing, what is the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing laid his hand upon his aching brow, and Mr. Huntley had to + bend over him to catch the whispered answer. “I do fear that he may be + guilty. If he is not guilty, some strange mystery altogether is attached + to it.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you fear that he is guilty?” asked Mr. Huntley, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Because his own conduct, relating to the charge, is so strange. He will + not assert his innocence; or, if he does attempt to assert it, it is with + a faint, hesitating manner and tone, that can only give one the impression + of falsehood, instead of truth.” + </p> + <p> + “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 Arthur Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “I would have suspected myself before I had suspected him,” impulsively + spoke Mr. Channing. “But there are the facts, coupled with his not denying + the charge. He could not deny it, even to the satisfaction of Mr. + Galloway: did not attempt it; had he done so, Galloway would not have + turned him from the office.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley fell into thought, revolving over the details, as they had + been related to him. That Arthur was the culprit, his judgment utterly + repudiated; and he came to the conclusion that he must be screening + another. He glanced at Mrs. Channing, who sat in troubled silence. + </p> + <p> + “You do not believe Arthur guilty?” he said, in a low tone, suddenly + bending over to her. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what to believe; I am racked with doubt and pain,” she + answered. “Arthur’s words to me in private are only compatible with entire + innocence; but then, what becomes of the broad facts?—of his strange + appearance of guilt before the world? God can bring his innocence to + light, he says; and he is content to wait His time.” + </p> + <p> + “If there is a mystery, I’ll try to come to the bottom of it, when I reach + Helstonleigh,” thought Mr. Huntley. “Arthur’s not guilty, whoever else may + be.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to shake his firm faith in Arthur Channing. Mr. Huntley + was one of the few who read character strongly and surely, and he <i>knew</i> + Arthur was incapable of doing wrong. Had his eyes witnessed Arthur + positively stealing the bank-note, his mind, his judgment would have + refused credence to his eyes. You may, therefore, judge that neither then, + nor afterwards, was he likely to admit the possibility of Arthur’s guilt. + </p> + <p> + “And the college school is saying that Tom shall not stand for the + seniorship!” he resumed aloud. “Does my son say it?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them are saying it; I believe the majority of the school. I do + not know whether your son is amongst the number.” + </p> + <p> + “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 to Mr. + Channing. “If Arthur’s guilty, I’ll eat him; and I shall make it my + business to look into it closely when I reach home. You are incapacitated, + my old friend, and I shall act for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Ellen not mention this, in writing to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; the sly puss! Catch Miss Ellen writing to me anything that might tell + against the Channings.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. The subject, which the words seemed to hint at, was + one upon which there could be no openness between them. A warm attachment + had sprung up between Hamish Channing and Ellen Huntley; but whether Mr. + Huntley would sanction it, now that the suit had failed, was doubtful. He + had never absolutely sanctioned it before: tacitly, in so far as that he + had not interfered to prevent Ellen from meeting Hamish in society—in + friendly intercourse. Probably, he had never looked upon it from a serious + point of view; possibly, he had never noticed it. Hamish had not spoken, + even to Ellen; but, that they did care for each other very much, was + evident to those who chose to open their eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No two people in all Helstonleigh were so happy in their children as + you!” exclaimed Mr. Huntley. “Or had such cause to be so.” + </p> + <p> + “None happier,” assented Mrs. Channing, tears rising to her eyes. “They + were, and are good, dutiful, and loving. Would you believe that Hamish, + little as he can have to spare, has been one of the chief contributors to + help us here?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Hamish has! How did he + accomplish it?” + </p> + <p> + “He has, indeed. I fancy he has been saving up with this in view. Dear, + self-denying Hamish!” + </p> + <p> + Now, it just happened that Mr. Huntley was cognizant of Mr. Hamish’s + embarrassments; so, how the “saving up” could have been effected, he was + at a loss to know. “Careless Hamish may have borrowed it,” thought he to + himself, “but saved it up he has not.” + </p> + <p> + “What are we approaching now?” interrupted Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + They were approaching the Prussian frontier; and there they had to change + trains: more embarrassment for Mr. Channing. After that, they went on + without interruption, and arrived safely at the terminus, almost close to + Borcette, having been about four hours on the road. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” was the earnestly murmured answer. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing was delighted with Borcette. Poor Mr. Channing could as yet + see little of it. It was a small, unpretending place, scarcely ten + minutes’ distance from Aix-la-Chapelle, to which she could walk through an + avenue of trees. She had never before seen a bubbling fountain of boiling + water, and regarded those of Borcette with much interest. The hottest, + close to the Hotel Rosenbad, where they sojourned, boasted a temperature + of more than 150° Fahrenheit; it was curious to see it rising in the very + middle of the street. Other things amused her, too; in fact, all she saw + was strange, and bore its peculiar interest. She watched the factory + people flocking to and fro at stated hours in the day—for Borcette + has its factories for woollen fabrics and looking-glasses—some + thousands of souls, their walk as regular and steady as that of + school-girls on their daily march under the governess’s eye. The men wore + blue blouses; the women, neat and clean, wore neither bonnets nor caps; + but their hair was twisted round their heads, as artistically as if done + by a hairdresser. Not one, women or girls, but wore enormous gold + earrings, and the girls plaited their hair, and let it hang behind. + </p> + <p> + What a contrast they presented to their class in England! Mrs. Channing + had, not long before, spent a few weeks in one of our large factory towns + in the north. She remembered still the miserable, unwholesome, dirty, + poverty-stricken appearance of the factory workers there—their + almost <i>disgraceful</i> appearance; she remembered still the boisterous + or the slouching manner with which they proceeded to their work; their + language anything but what it ought to be. But these Prussians looked a + respectable, well-conducted, well-to-do body of people. + </p> + <p> + Where could the great difference lie? Not in wages; for the English were + better paid than the Germans. We might go abroad to learn economy, and + many other desirable accompaniments of daily life. Nothing amused her more + than to see the laundresses and housewives generally, washing the linen at + these boiling springs; wash, wash, wash! chatter, chatter, chatter! She + thought they must have no water in their own homes, for they would flock + in numbers to the springs with their kettles and jugs to fill them. + </p> + <p> + It was Doctor Lamb who had recommended them to the Hotel Rosenbad; and + they found the recommendation a good one. Removed from the narrow, dirty, + offensive streets of the little town, it was pleasantly situated. The + promenade, with its broad walks, its gay company (many of them invalids + almost as helpless as Mr. Channing), and its musical bands, was in front + of the hotel windows; a pleasant sight for Mr. Channing until he could get + about himself. On the heights behind the hotel were two churches; and the + sound of their services would be wafted down in soft, sweet strains of + melody. In the neighbourhood there was a shrine, to which pilgrims + flocked. Mrs. Channing regarded them with interest, some with their + alpen-stocks, some in fantastic dresses, some with strings of beads, which + they knelt and told; and her thoughts went back to the old times of the + Crusaders. All she saw pleased her. But for her anxiety as to what would + be the effect of the new treatment upon her husband, and the ever-lively + trouble about Arthur, it would have been a time of real delight to Mrs. + Channing. + </p> + <p> + They could not have been better off than in the Hotel Rosenbad. Their + rooms were on the second floor—a small, exquisitely pretty + sitting-room, bearing a great resemblance to most continental + sitting-rooms, its carpet red, its muslin curtains snowy white; from this + opened a bed-room containing two beds, all as conveniently arranged as it + could be. Their meals were excellent; the dinner-table especially being + abundantly supplied. For all this they paid five francs a day each, and + the additional accommodation of having the meals served in their room, on + account of Mr. Channing, was not noted as an additional expense. Their + wax-lights were charged extra, and that was all. I think English + hotel-keepers might take a lesson from Borcette! + </p> + <p> + The doctor gave great hopes of Mr. Channing. His opinion was, that, had + Mr. Channing come to these baths when he was first taken ill, his + confinement would have been very trifling. “You will find the greatest + benefit in a month,” said the doctor, in answer to the anxious question, + How long the restoration might be in coming. “In two months you will walk + charmingly; in three, you will be well.” Cheering news, if it could only + be borne out. + </p> + <p> + “I will not have you say ‘If,’” cried Mr. Huntley, who had made one in + consultation with the doctor. “You are told that it will be so, under + God’s blessing, and all you have to do is to anticipate it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing smiled. They were stationed round the open window of the + sitting-room, he on the most comfortable of sofas, Mrs. Channing watching + the gay prospect below, and thinking she should never tire of it. “There + can be no hope without fear,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “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, look + forward with confidence, and be as happy as the day’s long.” + </p> + <p> + “I will if I can,” said Mr. Channing, with some approach to gaiety. “I + should not have gone to the expense of coming here, but that I had great + hopes of the result.” + </p> + <p> + “Expense, you call it! I call it a marvel of cheapness.” + </p> + <p> + “For your pocket. Cheap as it is, it will tell upon mine: but, if it does + effect my restoration, I shall soon repay it tenfold.” + </p> + <p> + “‘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?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me resume it first, Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + “There you go! Now, if you were only as sanguine and sure as you ought to + be, I could recommend Hamish to something good to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “But, if you persist in saying you shall not get well, or that there’s a + doubt whether you will get well, where’s the use of my doing it? So long + as you are incapacitated, Hamish must be a fixture in Guild Street.” + </p> + <p> + “True.” + </p> + <p> + “So I shall say no more about it at present. But remember, my old friend, + that when you are upon your legs, and have no further need of Hamish—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 do not let + anticipations on his score worry you. I suppose you will be losing + Constance soon?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing gave vent to a groan: a sharp attack of his malady pierced + his frame just then. Certain reminiscences, caused by the question, may + have helped its acuteness; but of that Mr. Huntley had no suspicion. + </p> + <p> + In the evening, when Mrs. Channing was sitting under the acacia trees, Mr. + Huntley joined her, and she took the opportunity of alluding to the + subject. “Do not mention it again in the presence of my husband,” she + said: “talking of it can only bring it before his mind with more vivid + force. Constance and Mr. Yorke have parted.” + </p> + <p> + Had Mrs. Channing told him the cathedral had parted, Mr. Huntley could not + have felt more surprise. “Parted!” he ejaculated. “From what cause?” + </p> + <p> + “It occurred through this dreadful affair of Arthur’s. I fancy the fault + was as much Constance’s as Mr. Yorke’s, but I do not know the exact + particulars. He did not like it; he thought, I believe, that to marry a + sister of Arthur’s would affect his own honour—or she thought it. + Anyway, they parted.” + </p> + <p> + “Had William Yorke been engaged to my daughter, and given her up upon so + shallow a plea, I should have been disposed to chastise him,” + intemperately spoke Mr. Huntley, carried away by his strong feeling. + </p> + <p> + “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 knows the pride of + the Yorkes.” + </p> + <p> + “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 indeed been + productive of serious effects. Why did not Arthur go to William Yorke and + avow his innocence, and tell him there was no cause for their parting? Did + he not do so?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing shook her head only, by way of answer; and, as Mr. Huntley + scrutinized her pale, sad countenance, he began to think there must be + greater mystery about the affair than he had supposed. He said no more. + </p> + <p> + On the third day he quitted Borcette, having seen them, as he expressed + it, 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. — AN OMINOUS COUGH. + </h2> + <p> + “I say, Jenkins, how you cough!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I do. It’s a sign that autumn’s coming on. I have been pretty + free from it all the summer. I think the few days I lay in bed through + that fall, must have done good to my chest; for, since then, I have hardly + coughed at all. This last day or two it has been bad again.” + </p> + <p> + “What cough do you call it?” went on Roland Yorke—you may have + guessed he was the speaker. “A churchyard cough?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know, sir,” said Jenkins. “It <i>has</i> been called that, + before now. I dare say it will be the end of me at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Cool!” remarked Roland. “Cooler than I should be, if I had a cough, or + any plague of the sort, that was likely to be <i>my</i> end. Does it + trouble your mind, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, not exactly. It gives me rather down-hearted thoughts now and + then, till I remember that everything is sure to be ordered for the best.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say, sir, if that were to happen, I should be enabled to see that + it was for the best. There’s no doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + “According to that theory, everything that happens must be for the best. + You may as well say that pitching on to your head and half killing + yourself, was for the best. Moonshine, Jenkins!” + </p> + <p> + “I think even that accident was sent for some wise purpose, sir. I know, + in some respects, it was very palpably for the best. It afforded me some + days of quiet, serious reflection, and it served to show how considerate + everybody was for me.” + </p> + <p> + “And the pain?” + </p> + <p> + “That was soon over, sir. It made me think of that better place where + there will be no pain. If I am to be called there early, Mr. Roland, it is + well that my thoughts should be led to it.” + </p> + <p> + Roland stared with all his eyes. “I say, Jenkins, what do you mean? You + have nothing serious the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; nothing but the cough, and a weakness that I feel. My mother and + brother both died of the same thing, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense!” returned Roland. “Because one’s mother dies, is that any + reason why we should fall into low spirits and take up the notion that we + are going to die, and look out for it? I am surprised at you, Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “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 I been + that way inclined, for I have had the cough at those periods, as you know, + sir. There’s a difference, Mr. Roland, between looking out for a thing, + and not shutting one’s eyes to what may come.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, old fellow, you just put all such notions away from you”—and + Roland really meant to speak in a kindly, cheering spirit. “My father died + of dropsy; and I may just as well set on, and poke and pat at myself every + other morning, to see if it’s not attacking me. Only think what would + become of this office without you! Galloway would fret and fume himself + into his tomb at having nobody but me in it.” + </p> + <p> + A smile crossed Jenkins’s face at the idea of the office, confided to the + management of Roland Yorke. Poor Jenkins was one of the doubtful ones, + from a sanitary point of view. Always shadowy, as if a wind would blow him + away, and, for some years, suffering much from a cough, which only + disappeared in summer, he could not, and did not, count upon a long life. + He had quite recovered from his accident, but the cough had now come on + with much force, and he was feeling unusually weak. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t look ill, Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I, sir? The Reverend Mr. Yorke met me, to-day—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t bring up his name before me!” interrupted Roland, raising his voice + to anger. “I may begin to swear, perhaps, if you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what has he done?” wondered Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what he has done,” nodded Roland. “He is a disgrace to the + name of Yorke. I enjoyed the pleasure of telling him so, the other night, + 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 pitched into me.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roland, sir, you know the parties are waiting for that lease,” + Jenkins ventured to remind him. + </p> + <p> + “Let the parties wait,” rejoined Roland. “Do they think this office is + going to be hurried as if it were a common lawyer’s? I say, Jenkins, where + has old Galloway taken flight to, this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “He has an appointment with the surrogate,” answered Jenkins. “Oh!—I + quite forgot to mention something to you, Mr. Roland.” + </p> + <p> + “Mention it now,” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + “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 repeat the + news. “He thought you were in, Mr. Roland, and that I was only denying + you, and he grew insolent. Mr. Galloway happened to be in his room, + unfortunately, and heard it, and he came out himself, and sent the person + away. Mr. Galloway was very angry, and he desired me to tell you, sir, + that he would not have that sort of people coming here.” + </p> + <p> + Roland took up the ruler, and essayed to balance it on the edge of his + nose. “Who was it?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more likely,” rejoined Roland, with characteristic indifference. + “I hope his head won’t ache till he gets it! I am cleared out 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 come here?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked him to leave his name, sir, and he said Mr. Roland Yorke knew his + name quite well enough, without having it left for him.” + </p> + <p> + “As brassy as that, was he! I wish to goodness it was the fashion to have + a cistern in your house-roofs!” emphatically added Roland. + </p> + <p> + “A what, sir?” cried Jenkins, lifting his eyes from his writing. + </p> + <p> + “A water-cistern, with a tap, worked by a string, at pleasure. You could + give it a pull, you know, when such customers as those came, and they’d + find themselves deluged. That would cool their insolence, if anything + would. I’d get up a company for it, and take out a patent, if I only had + the ready money.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins made no reply. He was applying himself diligently to his work, + perhaps hoping that Mr. Roland Yorke might take the hint, and do the same. + Roland actually did take it; at any rate, he dipped his pen in the ink, + and wrote, at the very least, five or six words; then he looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins,” began he again, “do you know much about Port Natal?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything about it, sir; except that there is such a place.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know nothing!” cried Roland. “I never saw such a muff. I wonder + what you reckon yourself good for, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins shook his head. No matter what reproach was brought against him, + he received it meekly, as if it were his due. “I am not good for much, + sir, beyond just my daily duty here. To know about Port Natal and those + foreign places is not in my work, sir, and so I’m afraid I neglect them. + Did you want any information about Port Natal, Mr. Roland?” + </p> + <p> + “I have got it,” said Roland; “loads of it. I am not sure that I shan’t + make a start for it, Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “For Port Natal, sir? Why! it’s all the way to Africa!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose I thought it was in Wales?” retorted Roland. “It’s the + jolliest opening for an enterprising man, is Port Natal. You may land + there to-day with half-a-crown in your pocket, and come away in a year or + two with your fortune made.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” ejaculated Jenkins. “How is it made, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you learn all that when you get there. I shall <i>go</i>, Jenkins, if + things don’t look up a bit in these quarters.” + </p> + <p> + “What things, sir?” Jenkins ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Tin, for one thing; work for another,” answered Roland. “If I don’t get + more of the one, and less of the other, I shall try Port Natal. I had a + row with my lady at dinner-time. She thinks a paltry sovereign or two + ought to last a fellow for a month. My service to her! I just dropped a + hint of Port Natal, and left her weeping. She’ll have come to, by this + evening, and behave liberally.” + </p> + <p> + “But about the work, sir?” said Jenkins. “I’m sure I make it as light for + you as I possibly can. You have only had that lease, sir, all day + yesterday and to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s not just the <i>amount</i> of work, Jenkins,” acknowledged + Roland; “it’s the being tied by the leg to this horrid old office. As good + work as play, if one has to be in it. I have been fit to cut it altogether + every hour, since Arthur Channing left: for you know you are no company, + Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could only get Arthur Channing to go with me, I’d be off to-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 in my pocket! + Wouldn’t I give you a treat, old chap! I’d pay a couple of clerks to do + your work here, and carry you off somewhere, in spite of old Galloway, for + a six-months’ holiday, where you’d get rid of that precious cough. I <i>would</i>, + Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, sir—” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins was stopped by the “precious cough.” It seemed completely to rack + his frame. Roland looked at him with sympathy, and just then steps were + heard to enter the passage, and a knock came to the office door. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s come bothering now?” cried Roland. “Come in!” + </p> + <p> + Possibly the mandate was not heard, for poor Jenkins was coughing still. + “Don’t I tell you to come in?” roared out Roland. “Are you deaf?” + </p> + <p> + “Open the door. I don’t care to soil my gloves,” came the answer from the + other side. And Mr. Roland slid off his stool to obey, rather less lazily + than usual, for the voice was that of his mother, the Lady Augusta Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “A very dutiful son, you are, Mr. Roland!” was the salutation of Lady + Augusta. “Forcing me up from dinner before I had finished!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t do anything of the sort,” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you did. With your threats about Port Natal! What do you know about + Port Natal? Why should you go to Port Natal? You will break my heart with + grief, that’s what you will do.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not going to start this afternoon,” returned Roland. “But the fact + is, mother, I shall have to go to Port Natal, or to some other port, + unless I can get a little money to go on with here. A fellow can’t walk + about with empty pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “You undutiful, extravagant boy!” exclaimed Lady Augusta. “I am worried + out of my life for money, between you all. Gerald got two sovereigns from + me yesterday. What money do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “As much as you can let me have,” replied Mr. Roland. + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta threw a five-pound note by his side upon the desk. “When you + boys have driven me into the workhouse, you’ll be satisfied, perhaps. And + now hold your foolish tongue about Port Natal.” + </p> + <p> + Roland gathered it up with alacrity and a word of thanks. Lady Augusta had + turned to Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “You are the best off, Jenkins; you have no children to disturb your + peace. You don’t look well, Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly, my lady, I feel but poorly. My cough has become + troublesome again.” + </p> + <p> + “He has just been saying that he thought the cough was going to take him + off,” interposed Roland. + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta laughed; she supposed it was spoken in jest; and desired her + son to open the door for her. Her gloves were new and delicate. + </p> + <p> + “Had you chosen to remain at the dinner-table, as a gentleman ought, I + should have told you some news, Mr. Roland,” said Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + Roland was always ready for news. He opened his eyes and ears. “Tell it me + now, good mother. Don’t bear malice.” + </p> + <p> + “Your uncle Carrick is coming here on a visit.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that; that’s good!” cried Roland. “When does he come? I say, + mother, don’t be in a hurry! When does he come?” + </p> + <p> + But Lady Augusta apparently was in a hurry, for she did not wait to reply. + Roland looked after her, and saw her shaking hands with a gentleman, who + was about to enter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s back, is he!” cried unceremonious Roland. “I thought he was dead + and buried, and gone to heaven.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. — NO SENIORSHIP FOR TOM CHANNING. + </h2> + <p> + Shaking hands with Lady Augusta Yorke as she turned out of Mr. Galloway’s + office, was Mr. Huntley. He had only just arrived at Helstonleigh; had not + yet been home; but he explained that he wished to give at once a word of + pleasant news to Constance Channing of her father and mother, and, on his + way to the Boundaries, was calling on Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “You will find Miss Channing at my house,” said Lady Augusta, after some + warm inquiries touching Mr. and Mrs. Channing. “I would offer to go back + there with you, but I am on my way to make some calls.” She turned towards + the town as she spoke, and Mr. Huntley entered the office. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were never coming home again!” cried free Roland. “Why, you + have been away three months, Mr. Huntley!” + </p> + <p> + “Very nearly. Where is Mr. Galloway?” + </p> + <p> + “In his skin,” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + Jenkins looked up deprecatingly, as if he would apologize for the rudeness + of Roland Yorke. “Mr. Galloway is out, sir. I dare say he will not be away + more than half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot wait now,” said Mr. Huntley. “So you are one less in this office + than you were when I left?” + </p> + <p> + “The awfullest shame!” struck in Roland. “Have you heard that Galloway + lost a bank-note out of a letter, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have heard of it from Mr. Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “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, like any felon. + You may be slow to believe it, Mr. Huntley, but it’s true.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Butterby, sir,” interposed Jenkins. “He was rather too officious + over it, and acted without Mr. Galloway’s orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk rubbish, Jenkins,” rebuked Roland. “You have defended Galloway + all through the piece, but he is as much to blame as Butterby. Why did he + turn off Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “You do not think him guilty, Roland, I see,” said Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “I should hope I don’t,” answered Roland. “Butterby pitched upon Arthur, + 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 be in the + office that afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arthur Channing was not guilty, I am sure, sir; pray do not think him + so,” resumed Jenkins, his eye lighting as he turned to Mr. Huntley. And + Mr. Huntley smiled in response to the earnestness. <i>He</i> believe + Arthur Channing guilty! + </p> + <p> + He left a message for Mr. Galloway, and quitted the office. Roland, who + was very difficult to settle to work again, if once disturbed from it, + strided himself across his stool, and tilted it backwards. + </p> + <p> + “I’m uncommonly glad Carrick’s coming!” cried he. “Do you remember him, + Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “Who, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “That uncle of mine. He was at Helstonleigh three years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure that I do, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What a sieve of a memory you must have! He is as tall as a house. We are + not bad fellows for height, but Carrick beats us. He is not married, you + know, and we look to him to square up many a corner. To do him justice, he + never says No, when he has the cash, but he’s often out at elbows himself. + It was he who bought George his commission and fitted him out; and I know + my lady looks to him to find the funds Gerald will want to make him into a + parson. I wonder what he’ll do for me?” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins was about to answer, but was stopped by his cough. For some + minutes it completely exhausted him; and Roland, for want of a hearer, was + fain to bring the legs of his stool down again, and apply himself lazily + to his work. + </p> + <p> + At this very moment, which was not much past two o’clock in the day, + Bywater had Charley Channing pinned against the palings underneath the elm + trees. He had him all to himself. No other boys were within hearing; + though many were within sight; for they were assembling in and round the + cloisters after their dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Miss Charley, it’s the last time I’ll ask you, as true as that we + are living here! You are as obstinate as a young mule. I’ll give you this + one chance, and I’ll not give you another. I’d advise you to take it, if + you have any regard for your skin.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything, Bywater.” + </p> + <p> + “You shuffling little turncoat! I don’t <i>know</i> that there’s any fire + in that kitchen chimney of the old dean’s, but I am morally certain that + there is, because clouds of black smoke are coming out of it. And you know + just as well who it was that played the trick to my surplice. I don’t ask + you to blurt it out to the school, and I won’t bring your name up in it at + all; I won’t act upon what you tell me. There!” + </p> + <p> + “Bywater, I don’t know; and suspicion goes for nothing. Gaunt said it did + not.” + </p> + <p> + 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, when Roland 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 only defied me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t defy you, Bywater. I say that I will not tell. I would not if I + knew. It is no business of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “You little ninny! Don’t you see that your obstinacy is injuring Tom + Channing? Yorke is going in for the seniorship; is sure to get it—if + it’s true that Pye has given the promise to Lady Augusta. But, let it come + out that he was the Jack-in-the-box, and his chance falls to the ground. + And you won’t say a word to do good to your brother!” + </p> + <p> + Charley shook his head. He did not take the bait. “And Tom himself would + be the first to punish me for doing wrong! He never forgives a sneak. It’s + of no use your keeping me, Bywater.” + </p> + <p> + “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 my + suspicions and my clue point to the wrong party; and I don’t care to stir + in it till I am sure. One—two—three! for the last time. Will + you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, look you, Miss Charley Channing. If I do go and denounce the wrong + party, and find out afterwards that it is the wrong one, I’ll give you as + sweet a drubbing as you ever had, and your girl’s face shan’t save you. + Now go.” + </p> + <p> + He propelled Charley from him with a jerk, and propelled him against Mr. + Huntley, who was at that moment turning the corner close to them, on his + way from Mr. Galloway’s office. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t go through me, Charley,” said Mr. Huntley. “Did you think I was + made of glass, Bywater?” + </p> + <p> + “My patience!” exclaimed Bywater. “Why, Harry was grumbling, not five + minutes ago, that you were never coming home at all, Mr. Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + “He was, was he? Is he here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s somewhere amongst the ruck of them,” cried Bywater, looking + towards the distant boys. “He wants you to see about this bother of the + seniorship. 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 arrival + from foreign parts!” + </p> + <p> + Some of the nearer boys looked round, and the word was passed to Huntley. + Harry Huntley and the rest soon surrounded him, and Mr. Huntley had no + reason to complain of the warmth of his reception. When news had recently + arrived that Mr. Huntley was coming home, the boys had taken up the hope + of his interference. Of course, schoolboy-like, they all entered upon it + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, stop, stop!” said Mr. Huntley. “One at a time. How can I hear, if + you all talk together? Now, what’s the grievance?” + </p> + <p> + They detailed it as rationally and with as little noise as it was in their + nature to do. Huntley was the only senior present, but Gaunt came up + during the conference. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all a cram, Mr. Huntley,” cried Tod Yorke. “My brother Gerald says + that Jenkins dreamt it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll ‘dream’ you, if you don’t keep your tongue silent, Tod Yorke,” + reprimanded Gaunt. “Take yourself off to a distance, Mr. Huntley,” he + added, turning to that gentleman, “it is certain that Lady Augusta said + it; and we can’t think she’d say it, unless Pye promised it. It is unfair + upon Channing and Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + 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 his + way 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 some moments + spent in greeting. + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon my speaking of it to you personally,” he said, when he + had introduced the subject, “In most cases I consider it perfectly + unjustifiable for the friends of boys in a public school to interfere with + 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 Yorke to the + seniorship?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Huntley, you must be aware that in <i>no case</i> can the head-master + of a public school allow himself to be interfered with, or questioned,” + was the reply of the master. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will meet this amicably,” returned Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “I have no other wish than to be friendly; quite so. We all deem ourselves + under obligations to you, Mr. Pye, and esteem you highly; we could not + have, or wish, a better preceptor for our sons. But in this instance, my + duty is plain. The injustice—if any such injustice is contemplated—tells + particularly upon Tom Channing and my son. Mr. Channing does not give ear + to it; I would rather not; nevertheless, you must pardon me for acting, in + the uncertainty, as though it had foundation. I presume you cannot be + ignorant of the dissatisfied feeling that reigns in the school?” + </p> + <p> + “I have intimated that I will not be questioned,” said Mr. Pye. + </p> + <p> + “Quite right. I merely wished to express a hope that there may be no + foundation for the rumour. If Tom Channing and Harry forfeit their rights + legally, through want of merit, or ill conduct, it is not I that would + urge a word in their favour. Fair play’s a jewel: and the highest boy in + the school should have no better chance given him than the lowest. But if + the two senior boys do not so forfeit their rights, Yorke must not be + exalted above them.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is to dictate to me?” demanded Mr. Pye. “Certainly not I,” replied + Mr. Huntley, in a courteous but firm tone. “Were the thing to take place, + I should simply demand, through the Dean and Chapter, that the charter of + the school might be consulted, as to whether its tenets had teen strictly + followed.” + </p> + <p> + The head-master made no reply. Neither did he appear angry; only + impassible. Mr. Huntley had certainly hit the right nail on the head; for + the master of Helstonleigh College school was entirely under the control, + of the Dean and Chapter. + </p> + <p> + “I can speak to you upon this all the more freely and with better + understanding, since it is not my boy who stands any chance,” said Mr. + Huntley, with a cordial smile. “Tom Channing heads him on the rolls.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom Channing will not be senior; I have no objection to affirm so much to + you,” observed the master, falling in with Mr. Huntley’s manner, “This sad + affair of his brother Arthur’s debars him.” + </p> + <p> + “It ought not to debar him, even were Arthur guilty,” warmly returned Mr. + Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “In justice to Tom Channing himself, no. But,” and the master dropped his + voice to a confidential tone, “it is necessary sometimes to study the + prejudices taken up by a school; to see them, and not to appear to see + them—if you understand me. Were Tom Channing made head of the + school, part of the school would rise up in rebellion; some of the boys + would, 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, and there + would be perpetual warfare, resulting we know not in what.” + </p> + <p> + “Arthur Channing was not guilty. I feel as sure of it as I do of my own + life.” + </p> + <p> + “He is looked upon as guilty by those who must know best, from their + familiarity with the details,” rejoined Mr. Pye, “For my own part, I have + no resource but to believe him so, I regard it as one of those anomalies + which you cannot understand, or would believe in, but that it happens + under your own eye; where the moment’s yielding to temptation is at + variance with the general character, with the whole past life. Of course, + in these cases, the disgrace is reflected upon relatives and connections, + and they have to suffer for it. I cannot help the school’s resenting it + upon Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be cruel to deprive Tom of the seniorship upon these grounds,” + remonstrated Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “To himself individually,” assented the master. “But it is well that one, + promoted to a foundation-school’s seniorship, should be free from moral + taint. Were there no feeling whatever against Tom Channing in the school, + I do not think I could, consistently with my duty and with a due regard to + the fitness of things, place him as senior. I am sorry for the boy; I + always liked him; and he has been of good report, both as to scholarship + and conduct.” + </p> + <p> + “I know one thing,” said Mr. Huntley: “that you may search the school + through, and not find so good a senior as Tom Channing would make.” + </p> + <p> + “He would have made a very good one, there’s no doubt. Would have ruled + the boys well and firmly, though without oppression. Yes, we lose a good + senior in Tom Channing.” + </p> + <p> + There was no more to be said. Mr. Huntley felt that the master was + thoroughly decided; and for the other matter, touching Yorke, he had done + with it until the time of appointment. As he went musing on, he began to + think that Mr. Pye might be right with regard to depriving Tom of the + seniorship, however unjust it might appear to Tom himself. Mr. Huntley + remembered that not one of the boys, except Gaunt, had mentioned Tom + Channing’s name in his recent encounter with them; they had spoken of the + injustice of exalting Yorke over <i>Harry Huntley</i>. He had not noticed + it at the time. + </p> + <p> + He proceeded to Lady Augusta’s, and Constance was informed of his visit. + She had three pupils at Lady Augusta’s now, for that lady had kindly + insisted that Constance should bring Annabel to study with her daughters, + during the absence of Mrs. Channing. Constance left them to themselves and + entered the drawing-room. Pretty Constance! so fresh, so lovely, in her + simple muslin dress, and her braided hair. Mr. Huntley caught her hands, + and imprinted a very fatherly kiss upon her fair forehead. + </p> + <p> + “That is from the absentees, Constance. I told them I should give it to + you. And I bring you the bravest news, my dear. Mr. Channing was already + finding benefit from his change; he was indeed. There is every hope that + he will be restored.” + </p> + <p> + Constance was radiant with delight. To see one who had met and stayed with + her father and mother at their distant sojourn, was almost like seeing her + parents themselves. + </p> + <p> + “And now, my dear, I want a word with you about all those untoward trials + and troubles, which appear to have come thickly during my absence,” + continued Mr. Huntley. “First of all, as to yourself. What mischief-making + wind has been arising between you and William Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + The expression of Constance’s face changed to sadness, and her cheeks grew + crimson. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you will not misunderstand me,” he resumed. “I heard of these + things at Borcette, and I said that I should undertake to inquire into + them in the place of your father: just as he, health permitting him, would + have undertaken for me in my absence, did any trouble arise to Ellen. Is + it true that you and Mr. Yorke have parted?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” faltered Constance. + </p> + <p> + “And the cause?” + </p> + <p> + Constance strove to suppress her tears. “You can do nothing, Mr. Huntley; + nothing whatever. Thank you all the same.” + </p> + <p> + “He has made this accusation upon Arthur the plea for breaking off his + engagement?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not marry him with this cloud upon me,” she murmured. “It would + not be right.” + </p> + <p> + “Cloud upon <i>you!</i>” hastily ejaculated Mr. Huntley. “The accusation + against Arthur was the sole cause, then, of your parting?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the sole cause which led to it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley paused, apparently in thought. “He is presented to Hazeldon + Chapel, I hear. Did his rupture with you take place <i>after</i> that + occurrence?” + </p> + <p> + “I see what you are thinking,” she impulsively cried, caring too much for + Mr. Yorke not to defend him. “The chief fault of the parting was mine. 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Knowing what I do of William Yorke, I am sure that the pain of separation + must be keen, whatever may be his pride. Constance, unless I am mistaken, + it is equally keen to you.” + </p> + <p> + Again rose the soft damask blush to the face of Constance. But she + answered decisively. “Mr. Huntley, I pray you to allow the subject to + cease. Nothing can bring about the renewal of the engagement between + myself and Mr. Yorke. It is irrevocably at an end.” + </p> + <p> + “Until Arthur shall be cleared, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered—a vision of Hamish and <i>his</i> guilt flashing + across her—“I mean for good.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does not Arthur assert his innocence to Mr. Yorke? Constance, I am + sure you know, as well as I do, that he is not guilty. <i>Has</i> he + asserted it?” + </p> + <p> + She made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “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 make it + my business to investigate the charge against him; I shall leave not a + stone unturned to bring his innocence to light.” + </p> + <p> + The avowal terrified Constance, and she lost her self-possession. “Oh + don’t! don’t!” she uttered. “You must not, indeed! you do not know the + mischief it might do.” + </p> + <p> + “Mischief to what?—to whom?” exclaimed Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + Constance buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears. The next + moment 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 not so?” + she beseechingly said. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” he exclaimed, quite confounded by her words—her + distress: “you know that I would not harm any of you for the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Then <i>pray</i> do not seek to dive into that unhappy story,” she + whispered. “It must not be too closely looked into.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Huntley quitted Constance, as a man who walks in a dream, so + utterly amazed was he. What did it all mean? + </p> + <p> + As he was going through the cloisters—his nearest way to the town—Roland + Yorke came flying up. With his usual want of ceremony, he passed his arm + within Mr. Huntley’s. “Galloway’s come in now,” he exclaimed, “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!” + </p> + <p> + The clatter, alluded to by Mr. Roland, was occasioned by the tramp of the + choristers on the cloister flags. They were coming up behind, full speed, + on their way from the schoolroom to enter the cathedral, for the bell had + begun for service. + </p> + <p> + “And here comes that beautiful relative of mine,” continued Roland, as he + and Mr. Huntley passed the cathedral entrance, and turned into the west + quadrangle of the cloisters. “Would you credit it, Mr. Huntley, that he + has turned out a sneak? He has. He was to have married Constance Channing, + you know, and, for fear Arthur should have touched the note, he has + declared off it. If I were Constance, I would never allow the fellow to + speak to me again.” + </p> + <p> + Apparently it was the course Mr. Roland himself intended to observe. As + the Rev. Mr. Yorke, who was coming in to service, drew near, Roland strode + on, his step haughty, his head in the air, which was all the notice he + vouchsafed to take. Probably the minor canon did not care very much for + Mr. Roland’s notice, one way or the other; but his eye lighted with + pleasure at the sight of Mr. Huntley, and he advanced to him, his hand + outstretched. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Huntley—a man given to show in his manner his likes and + dislikes—would not see the hand, would not stop at all, but passed + Mr. Yorke with a distant bow. That gentleman had fallen pretty deeply in + his estimation, since he had heard of the rupture with Constance Channing. + Mr. Yorke stood for a moment as if petrified, and then strode on his way + with a step as haughty as Roland’s. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. — GERALD YORKE MADE INTO A “BLOCK.” + </h2> + <p> + The Rev. Mr. Yorke, in his surplice and hood, stood in his stall in the + cathedral. His countenance was stern, absorbed; as that of a man who is + not altogether at peace with himself. Let us hope that he was absorbed in + 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 worldly thoughts + obtrude themselves. The greatest divine that the Church can boast, is not + always free from them. + </p> + <p> + Not an official part in the service was Mr. Yorke taking, that afternoon; + the duty was being performed by the head-master, whose week it was to take + it. Very few people were at service, and still less of the clergy; the + dean was present, but not one of the chapter. + </p> + <p> + 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 + be better than they are—wandering to things especially mundane. + Arthur had not ceased to look out for something to do, to replace the + weekly funds lost when he left Mr. Galloway’s. He had not yet been + successful: employment is more easily sought than found, especially by one + lying under doubt, as he was. But he had now heard of something which he + hoped he might gain. + </p> + <p> + Jenkins, saying nothing to Roland Yorke, or to any one else, had hurried + to Mr. Channing’s house that day between one and two o’clock; and hurrying + there and back had probably caused that temporary increase of cough, which + you heard of a chapter or two back. Jenkins’s errand was to inform Arthur + that Dove and Dove (solicitors in the town, who were by no means so + dove-like as their name) required a temporary clerk, and he thought Arthur + might suit them. Arthur had asked Jenkins to keep a look-out for him. + </p> + <p> + “Is one of their clerks leaving?” Arthur inquired. + </p> + <p> + “One of them met with an accident last night up at the railway-station,” + replied Jenkins. “Did you not hear of it, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard of that. I did not know who was hurt. He was trying to cross the + line, was he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. It was Marston. He had been out with some friends, and had + taken, it is thought, more than was good for him. A porter pulled him + back, but Marston fell, and the engine crushed his foot. He will be laid + up two months, the doctor says, and Dove and Dove are looking out for some + one to fill his place for the time. If you would like to take it, sir, you + could be looking out for something else while you are there. You would + more readily get the two hours’ daily leave of absence from a place like + that, where they keep three or four clerks, than you would from where they + keep only one.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He was not able to do so immediately after Jenkins left; for Dove and + Dove’s offices were situated at the other end of the town, and he might + not be back in time for service. So he waited and went first to college, + and sat, I say, in his place at the organ, his thoughts filled, in spite + of himself, with the new project. + </p> + <p> + The service came to an end: it had seemed long to Arthur—so prone + are we to estimate time by our own feelings—and his voluntary, + afterwards, was played a shade faster than usual. Then he left the + cathedral by the front entrance, and hastened to the office of Dove and + Dove. + </p> + <p> + Arthur had had many a rebuff of late, when bent on a similar application, + and his experience taught him that it was best, if possible, to see the + principals: not to subject himself to the careless indifference or to the + insolence of a clerk. Two young men were writing at a desk when he + entered. “Can I see Mr. Dove?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + The elder of the writers scrutinized him through the railings of the desk. + “Which of them?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “Either,” replied Arthur. “Mr. Dove, or Mr. Alfred Dove. It does not + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dove’s out, and Mr. Alfred Dove’s not at home,” was the response. + “You’ll have to wait, or to call again.” + </p> + <p> + 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 seemed difficult to + turn in it, and there he stated his business. + </p> + <p> + “You are a son of Mr. Channing’s, I believe,” said Mr. Dove. He spoke + morosely, coarsely; and he had a morose, coarse countenance—a sure + index of the mind, in him, as in others. “Was it you who figured in the + proceedings at the Guildhall some few weeks ago?” + </p> + <p> + You may judge whether the remark called up the blood to Arthur’s face. He + suppressed his mortification, and spoke bravely. + </p> + <p> + “It was myself, sir. I was not guilty. My employment in your office would + be the copying of deeds solely, I presume; that would afford me little + temptation to be dishonest, even were I inclined to be so.” + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>were</i> + uttered in sarcasm, and scowled fitfully. + </p> + <p> + “Marston was worth twenty-five shillings a week to us: and gained it. You + would not be worth half as much.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know what I should be worth, sir, unless you tried me. I am a + quick and correct copyist; but I should not expect to receive as much as + an ordinary clerk, on account of having to attend the cathedral for + morning and afternoon service. Wherever I go, I must have that privilege + allowed me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don’t think you’ll get it with us. But look here, young Channing, + it is my brother who undertakes the engaging and management of the clerks—you + can speak to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I see him this afternoon, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be in presently. Of course, we could not admit you into our office + unless some one became security. You must be aware of that.” + </p> + <p> + The words seemed like a checkmate to Arthur. He stopped in hesitation. “Is + it usual, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Usual—no! But it is necessary in <i>your</i> case” + </p> + <p> + 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 he could + not and would not go; every feeling within him rebelled against it. + Presently the rebellion calmed down, and he began to think about the + security. + </p> + <p> + It would be of little use, he was sure, to apply to Mr. Alfred Dove—who + was a shade coarser than Mr. Dove, if anything—unless prepared to + say that security could be given. His father’s he thought he might + command: but he was not sure of that, under present circumstances, without + first speaking to Hamish. He turned his steps to Guild Street, his unhappy + position pressing with unusual weight upon his feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Can I see my brother?” he inquired of the clerks in the office. + </p> + <p> + “He has some gentlemen with him just now, sir. I dare say you can go in.” + </p> + <p> + 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 Arthur had + been there since the suspicion had fallen on him, and they seemed to stare + at him as if he had been a hyena; not a respectable hyena either. + </p> + <p> + He entered Hamish’s room. Hamish was talking with two gentlemen, strangers + to Arthur, but they were on the point of leaving. Arthur stood away + against the wainscoting by the corner table, waiting until they were gone, + his attitude, his countenance, his whole appearance indicative of + depression and sadness. + </p> + <p> + Hamish closed the door and turned to him. He laid his hand kindly upon his + shoulder; his voice was expressive of the kindest sympathy. “So you have + found your way here once more, Arthur! I thought you were never coming + again. What can I do for you, lad?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been to Dove and Dove’s. They are in want of a clerk. I think + perhaps they would take me; but, Hamish, they want security.” + </p> + <p> + “Dove and Dove’s,” repeated Hamish. “Nice gentlemen, both of them!” he + added, in his half-pleasant, half-sarcastic manner. “Arthur, boy, I’d not + be under Dove and Dove if they offered me a gold nugget a day, as weighty + as the Queen’s crown. You must not go there.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not agreeable men; I know that; they are not men who are liked + in Helstonleigh, but what difference will that make to me? So long as I + turn out their parchments properly engrossed, that is all I need care + for.” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened? Why are you looking so sad?” reiterated Hamish, who + could not fail to perceive that there was some strange grief at work. + </p> + <p> + “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 upon + his wearied spirit. “I shall go to Dove and Dove’s if they will take me,” + he added, resolutely. “Will you answer for me, Hamish, in my father’s + name?” + </p> + <p> + “What amount of security do they require?” asked Hamish. And it was a very + proper, a very natural question; but even that grated on Arthur’s nerves. + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid of me?” he rejoined. “Or do you fear my father would be?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say they would take my security,” was Hamish’s reply. “I will + answer for you to any amount. That is,” and again came his smile, “to any + amount they may deem me good for. If they don’t like mine, I can offer my + father’s. Will that do, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; that is all I want.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go to Dove and Dove’s, old boy,” Hamish said again, as Arthur was + 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 come here!” + </p> + <p> + “It is only a temporary thing; it is not for long,” replied Arthur; and he + went out. + </p> + <p> + On going back to Dove and Dove’s, the first person he saw, upon opening + the door of the clerks’ room, was Mr. Alfred Dove. He appeared to be in a + passion over something that had gone wrong, and was talking fast and + furiously. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” he asked, wheeling round upon Arthur. Arthur replied + by intimating that he would be glad to speak with him. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you speak, then?” returned Mr. Alfred Dove. “I am not deaf.” + </p> + <p> + Thus met, Arthur did not repeat his wish for privacy. He intimated his + business, uncertain whether Mr. Alfred Dove had heard of it or not; and + stated that the security could be given. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you mean about ‘security,’” was Mr. Alfred Dove’s + rejoinder. “What security?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dove said that if I came into your office security would be + required,” answered Arthur. “My friends are ready to give it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dove told you that, did he? Just like him. He has nothing to do with + the details of the office. Did he know who you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he did, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought not,” offensively returned Mr. Alfred Dove. “You + must possess some assurance, young man, to come after a place in a + respectable office. Security, or no security, we can’t admit one into + ours, who lies under the accusation of being light-fingered.” + </p> + <p> + It was the man all over. Hamish had said, “Don’t go to Dove and Dove’s.” + Mr. Alfred Dove stood with his finger pointing to the door, and the two + clerks stared in an insolent manner at Arthur. With a burning brow and + rising spirit, Arthur left the room, and halted for a moment in the + passage outside. “Patience, patience,” he murmured to himself; “patience, + and trust in God!” He turned into the street quickly, and ran against Mr. + Huntley. + </p> + <p> + For a minute he could not speak. That gentleman detected his emotion, and + waited till it was over. “Have you been insulted, Arthur?” he breathed. + </p> + <p> + “Not much more so than I am now getting accustomed to,” was the answer + that came from his quivering lips. “I heard they wanted a clerk, and went + to offer myself. I am looked upon as a felon now, Mr. Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + “Being innocent as the day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am innocent, before God,” spoke Arthur, in the impulse of his emotion, + in the fervency of his heart. That he spoke but the solemn truth, it was + impossible to doubt, even had Mr. Huntley been inclined to doubt; and + Arthur may be excused for forgetting his usual caution in the moment’s + bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur,” said Mr. Huntley, “I promised your father and mother that I + should do all in my power to establish your innocence. Can you tell me how + I am to set about it?” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot do it at all, Mr. Huntley. Things must remain as they are.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot explain why. I can only repeat it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is some strange mystery attaching to this.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur did not gainsay it. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur, if I am to allow the affair to rest as I find it, you must at + least give me a reason why I may not act. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the investigation could only cause tenfold deeper trouble. You + are very good to think of helping me, Mr. Huntley, but I must fight my own + battle. Others must be quiet in this matter—for all our sakes.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley gazed after Arthur as he moved away. Constance first! Arthur + next! What could be the meaning of it all? Where did the mystery lie? A + resolution grew up in Mr. Huntley’s heart that he would fathom it, for + private reasons of his own; and, in the impulse of the moment, he bent his + steps there and then, towards the police-station, and demanded an + interview with Roland Yorke’s <i>bête noire</i>, Mr. Butterby. + </p> + <p> + But the cathedral is not quite done with for the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Upon the conclusion of service, the dean lingered a few minutes in the + nave, speaking to one of the vergers. When he turned to continue his way, + he encountered the Rev. Mr. Pye, who had been taking off his surplice in + the vestry. The choristers had been taking off their surplices also, and + were now trooping through the cloisters back to the schoolroom, not more + gently than usual. The dean saluted Mr. Pye, and they walked out together. + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible to keep them quiet unless one’s eye is continually upon + them!” exclaimed the head-master, half apologetically, as they came in + view of the rebels. He had a great mind to add, “And one’s cane.” + </p> + <p> + “Boys will be boys,” said the dean. “How has this foolish opinion arisen + among them, that the names, standing first on the roll for the seniorship, + will not be allowed to compete for it?” continued he, with much suavity. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Pye looked rather flushed. “Really I am unable to say, Mr. Dean. It is + difficult to account for all the notions taken up by schoolboys.” + </p> + <p> + “Boys do take up strange notions,” blandly assented the dean. “But, I + think, were I you, Mr. Pye, I would set their minds at rest in this + respect. You have not yet deemed it worth while, I dare say: but it may + perhaps be as well to do so. When the elders of a school once take up the + idea that their studies may not meet with due reward, it tends to render + them indifferent. I remember once—it was just after I came here as + dean, many years ago—the head-master of the school exalted a boy to + be senior who stood sixth or seventh on the rolls, and was positively half + an idiot. But those times are past.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly they are,” remarked the master. + </p> + <p> + “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 would intimate to the + king’s scholars that they have nothing to fear.” + </p> + <p> + “It shall be done, Mr. Dean,” was the response of the master; and they + exchanged bows as the dean turned into the deanery. “She’s three parts a + fool, is that Lady Augusta,” muttered the master to the cloister-flags as + he strode over them. “Chattering magpie!” + </p> + <p> + As circumstances had it, the way was paved for the master to speak at + once. Upon entering the college schoolroom, in passing the senior desk, he + overheard whispered words of dispute between Gerald Yorke and Pierce + senior, touching this very question, the seniorship. The master reached + his 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. + </p> + <p> + “What <i>are</i> these disputes that appear to have been latterly + disturbing the peace of the school? What is that you are saying, Gerald + Yorke?—that the seniorship is to be yours?” + </p> + <p> + Gerald Yorke looked red in his turn, and somewhat foolish. “I beg your + pardon, sir; I was not saying precisely that,” he answered with + hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “I think you were saying precisely that,” was the response of the master. + “My ears are quicker than you may fancy, Mr. Yorke. If you really have + been hugging yourself with the notion that the promotion will be yours, + the sooner you disabuse your mind of it, the better. Whoever gains the + seniorship will gain it by priority of right, by scholarship, or by + conduct—as the matter may be. Certainly not by anything else. Allow + me to recommend you, one and all”—and the master threw his eyes + round the desks generally, and gave another emphatic stroke with the cane—“that + you concern yourselves with your legitimate business; not with mine.” + </p> + <p> + Gerald did not like the reproof, or the news. He remained silent and + sullen until the conclusion of school, and then went tearing home. + </p> + <p> + “A pretty block you have made of me!” he uttered, bursting into the + presence of Lady Augusta, who had just returned home, and sat fanning + herself on a sofa before an open window. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what has taken you?” returned her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a shame, mother! Filling me up with the news that I was to be + senior? And now Pye goes and announces that I’m a fool for supposing so, + and that it’s to go in regular rotation.” + </p> + <p> + “Pye does not mean it,” said my lady. “There, hold your tongue, Gerald. I + am too hot to talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that every fellow in the school will have the laugh at me, if I am + to be made a block of, like this!” grumbled Gerald. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. — THE EARL OF CARRICK. + </h2> + <p> + On a fine afternoon in August—and the month was now drawing towards + its close—the 2.25 train from London steamed into the station at + Helstonleigh, eight minutes behind time, and came to a standstill. Amongst + the passengers who alighted, was a gentleman of middle age, as it is + called—in point of fact, he had entered his fiftieth year, as the + peerage would have told any curious inquirer. As he stepped out of a + first-class carriage, several eyes were drawn towards him, for he was of + notable height, towering above every one; even above Roland Yorke, who was + of good height himself, and stood on the platform waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + It was the Earl of Carrick, brother to Lady Augusta Yorke, and much + resembling her—a pleasant, high cheek-boned, easy face, betraying + more of 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 earl spoke + with a slight brogue, and shook both Roland’s hands heartily, as soon as + he found that it was to Roland they belonged. + </p> + <p> + “Sure then! but I didn’t know ye, Roland! If ye had twenty years more on + to ye’re head, I should have thought it was ye’re father.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I grown like him, Uncle Carrick?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ve grown out of knowledge, me boy. And how’s ye’re mother, and how are + the rest of ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Stunning,” responded Roland. “They are all outside. She would bring up + the whole caravan. The last time the lot came to the station, the two + young ones got upon the line to dance a hornpipe on the rails; so she has + kept them by her, and is making Gerald and Tod look after them. Where’s + your luggage, Uncle Carrick? Have you brought a servant?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” replied the earl. “Servants are only troubles in other folk’s + houses, and me bit of luggage isn’t so much but I can look after it + meself. I hope they put it in,” he continued, looking about amid the boxes + and portmanteaus, and unable to see his own. + </p> + <p> + The luggage was found at last, and given in charge of a porter; and Lord + Carrick went out to meet his relatives. There were enough of them to meet—the + whole caravan, as Roland had expressed it. Lady Augusta sat in her + barouche—her two daughters and Constance and Annabel Channing with + her. Little Percy and Frank, two most troublesome children, were darting + in and out amidst the carriages, flys, and omnibuses; and Gerald and Tod + had enough to do to keep them out of danger. It was so like Lady Augusta—bringing + them all to the station to welcome their uncle! Warm-hearted and + impulsive, she had little more judgment than a child. Constance had in + vain protested against herself and Annabel being pressed into the company; + but her ladyship looked upon it as a sort of triumphal expedition, and + was deaf to remonstrances. + </p> + <p> + The earl, warm-hearted and impulsive also, kissed them all, Constance + included. She could not help herself; before she was aware of the honour + intended her, the kiss was given—a hearty smack, as all the rest + had. The well-meaning, simple-minded Irishman could not have been made to + understand why he should not give a kiss of greeting to Constance as + readily as he gave it to his sister, or his sister’s daughters. He + protested that he remembered Constance and Annabel well. It may be + questioned whether there was not more of Irish politeness than of truth in + the assertion, though he had seen them occasionally, during his visit of + three years ago. + </p> + <p> + How were they all to get home? In and on the barouche, as all, except + Roland, had come, to the gratification of the curious town? Lord Carrick + wished to walk; his long legs were cramped: but Lady Augusta would not + hear of it, and pulled him into the carriage, Gerald, Percy, and Frank + were fighting for places on the box beside the driver, Tod intending to + hang on behind, as he had done in coming, when the deep-toned college bell + struck out a quarter to three, and the sound came distinctly to their + ears, borne from the distance. It put a stop to the competition, so far as + Gerald was concerned. He and Tod, startled half out of their senses, for + they had not observed the lapse of time, set off on foot as hard as they + could go. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Roland, putting aside the two young ones with his strong hand, + chose to mount the box himself; at which they both began to shriek and + roar. Matters were compromised after a while; Percy was taken up by + Roland, and Frank was, by some process of packing, stowed away inside. + Then the cargo started! Lady Augusta happy as a princess, with her + newly-met brother and her unruly children, and not caring in the least for + the gaze of the people who stood in the street, or came rushing to their + windows and doors to criticise the load. + </p> + <p> + Crowded as the carriage was, it was pleasanter to be in it, on that genial + day, than to be at work in close rooms, dark shops, or dull offices. + Amongst others, who were so confined and hard at work, was Jenkins at Mr. + Galloway’s. Poor Jenkins had not improved in health during the week or two + that had elapsed since you last saw him. His cough was more troublesome + still, and he was thinner and weaker. But Jenkins, humble and + conscientious, thinking himself one who was not worth thinking of at all + in comparison with others, would have died at his post rather than give + in. Certainly, Arthur Channing had been discharged at a most inopportune + moment, for Mr. Galloway, as steward to the Dean and Chapter, had more to + do about Michaelmas, than at any other time of the year. From that epoch + until November, when the yearly audit took place, there was a good deal of + business to be gone through. + </p> + <p> + On this afternoon, Jenkins was particularly busy. Mr. Galloway was away + from home for a day or two—on business connected with that + scapegrace cousin of his, Roland Yorke proclaimed; though whether Mr. + Roland had any foundation for the assertion, except his own fancy, may be + doubted—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 be + competent to manage, and another thing to be able to do two persons’ work + in one person’s time; and, that, Jenkins was finding this afternoon. He + had letters to write; he had callers to answer; he had the general + business of the office to attend to; he had the regular deeds to prepare + and copy. The copying of those deeds was the work belonging to Roland + Yorke. Roland did not seem to be in a hurry to come to them. Jenkins cast + towards them an anxious eye, but Jenkins could do no more, for his own + work could not be neglected. He felt very unwell that afternoon—oppressed, + hot, unable to breathe. He wiped the moisture from his brow three or four + times, and then thought he might be 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. + </p> + <p> + Of course, no one, knowing Mr. Roland Yorke, could be surprised at his + starting to the station to meet Lord Carrick, instead of to the office to + do his work. He had gone home at one o’clock that day, as usual. Not that + there was any necessity for his doing so, for the dinner hour was + postponed until later, and it would have furthered the business of the + office had he remained for once at his post. Had any one suggested to + Roland to do so, he would have thought he was going to be worked to death. + About twenty minutes past three he came clattering in. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Jenkins, I want a holiday this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins, albeit the most accommodating spirit in the world, looked + dubious, and cast a glance at the papers on Roland’s desk. “Yes, sir. But + what is to be done about the Uphill farm leases?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Jenkins, it’s not a bit of good for you to begin to croak! If I gave + in to you, you’d get as bad as Galloway. When I have my mind off work, I + can’t settle to it again, and it’s of no use trying. Those Uphill deeds + are not wanted before to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “But they are wanted by eleven o’clock, sir, so that they must be + finished, or nearly finished, to-night. You know, sir, there has been a + fuss about them, and early to-morrow, is the very latest time they must be + sent in.” + </p> + <p> + “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 not seen + for seventeen ages, whether you’d like to leave him the minute he puts his + foot over the door-sill.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say I should not, sir,” said good-natured Jenkins, turning about + in his mind how he could make time to do Roland’s work. “His lordship is + come, then, Mr. Roland?” + </p> + <p> + “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 the best-natured + fellow alive, and would do anything in the world for us, if he only had + the tin.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he not rich, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course he’s not,” confidentially returned Roland. “Every one + knows the embarrassments of Lord Carrick. When he came into the estates, + they had been mortgaged three deep by the last peer, my grandfather—an + old guy in a velvet skull-cap, I remember, who took snuff incessantly—and + my uncle, on his part, had mortgaged them three deep again, which made + six. How Carrick manages to live nobody knows. Sometimes he’s in Ireland, + in the tumble-down old homestead, with just a couple of servants to wait + upon him; and sometimes he’s on the Continent, <i>en garçon</i>—if + you know what that means. Now and then he gets a windfall when any of his + tenants can be brought to pay up; but he is the easiest-going coach in + life, and won’t press them. Wouldn’t I!” + </p> + <p> + “Some of those Irish tenants are very poor, sir, I have heard.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor be hanged! What is a man’s own, ought to be his own. Carrick says + there are some years that he does not draw two thousand pounds, all told.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, sir! That is not much for a peer.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not much for a commoner, let alone a peer,” said Roland, growing + fierce. “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 you suppose we + should be in the position we are? One a soldier; one (and that’s me) + lowered to be a common old proctor; one a parson; and all the rest of it! + If Carrick could be as other earls are, and have interest with the + Government, and that, we should stand a chance of getting properly + provided for. Of course he can make interest with nobody while his estates + bring him in next door to nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there no means of improving his estates, Mr. Roland?” asked Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “If there were, he’s not the one to do it. And I don’t know that it would + do him any material good, after all,” acknowledged Roland. “If he gets 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 as he goes: <i>we</i> + 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; if this were not the + most unjust world going, everybody would have fortunes of their own.” + </p> + <p> + After this friendly little bit of confidence touching his uncle’s affairs, + Roland prepared to depart. “I’ll be sure to come in good time nn the + morning, Jenkins, and set to it like a brick,” was his parting salutation. + </p> + <p> + 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. There then + remained the copying, which Mr. Roland Yorke ought to have done. Knowing + the value of Roland’s promises, and knowing also that if he kept this + promise ever so strictly, the amount of copying was more than could be + completed in time, if left to the morning, Jenkins did as he had been + aware he must do, when talking with Roland—took it home with him. + </p> + <p> + The parchments under his arm, he set out on his walk. What could be the + matter with him, that he felt so weak, he asked himself as he went along. + It must be, he believed, having gone without his dinner. Jenkins generally + went home to dinner at twelve, and returned at one; occasionally, however, + he did not go until two, according to the exigencies of the office; this + day, he had not gone at all, but had cut a sandwich at breakfast-time and + brought it with him in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + He had proceeded as far as the elm trees in the Boundaries—for + Jenkins generally chose the quiet cloister way for his road home—when + he saw Arthur Channing advancing towards him. With the ever-ready, + respectful, cordial smile with which he was wont to greet Arthur whenever + he saw him, Jenkins quickened his steps. But suddenly the smile seemed to + fix itself upon his lips; and the parchments fell from his arm, and he + staggered against the palings. But that Arthur was at hand to support him, + he might have fallen to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what is it, Jenkins?” asked Arthur, kindly, when Jenkins was + beginning to recover himself. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir; I don’t know what it could have been. Just as I was + looking 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 been thinking + that I felt weary. Thank you very much, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Take my arm, Jenkins,” said Arthur, as he picked up the parchments, and + took possession of them. “I’ll see you home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, sir, indeed,” protested simple-hearted Jenkins; “I’d not think of + such a thing. I should feel quite ashamed, sir, at the thought of your + being seen arm-in-arm with me in the street. I can go quite well alone; I + can, indeed, sir.” + </p> + <p> + 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 you + go home by yourself? Come along.” + </p> + <p> + Drawing Jenkins’s arm within his own, Arthur turned with him. Jenkins + really did not like it. Sensitive to a degree was he: and, to his humble + mind, it seemed that Arthur was out of place, walking familiarly with him. + </p> + <p> + “You must have been doing something to tire yourself,” said Arthur as they + went along. + </p> + <p> + “It has been a pretty busy day, sir, now Mr. Galloway’s away. I did not go + home to dinner, for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Roland Yorke absent for another, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Only this afternoon, sir. His uncle, Lord Carrick, has arrived. Oh, sir!” + broke off Jenkins, stopping in a panic, “here’s his lordship the bishop + coming along! Whatever shall you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do!” returned Arthur, scarcely understanding him. “What should I do?” + </p> + <p> + “To think that he should see you thus with the like of me!” + </p> + <p> + It amused Arthur exceedingly. Poor, lowly-minded Jenkins! The bishop + appeared to divine the state of the case, for he stopped when he came up. + Possibly he was struck by the wan hue which overspread Jenkins’s face. + </p> + <p> + “You look ill, Jenkins,” he said, nodding to Arthur Channing. “Keep your + hat on, Jenkins—keep your hat on.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my lord,” replied Jenkins, disregarding the injunction + touching his hat. “A sort of faintness came over me just now under the elm + trees, and this gentleman insisted upon walking home with me, in spite of + my protestations to—” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins was stopped by a fit of coughing—a long, violent fit, + sounding hollow as the grave. The bishop watched him till it was over. + Arthur watched him. + </p> + <p> + “I think you should take better care of yourself, Jenkins,” remarked his + lordship. “Is any physician attending you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my lord, I am not ill enough yet for that. My wife made me go to Mr. + Hurst the other day, my lord, and he gave me a bottle of something. But he + said it was not medicine that I wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “I should advise you to go to a physician, Jenkins. A stitch in time saves + nine, you know,” the bishop added, in his free good humour. + </p> + <p> + “So it does, my lord. Thank your lordship for thinking of me,” added + Jenkins, as the bishop said good afternoon, and pursued his way. And then, + and not till then, did Jenkins put on his hat again. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arthur, would you be so kind as not to say anything to my wife about + 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 I am ill. The + broth and arrowroot, and other messes, sir, that she makes me swallow, are + untellable.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + But the intention was frustrated. Who should be standing at the shop-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 by Arthur. Of + course, she drew her own conclusions; and Mrs. Jenkins was one who did not + allow her conclusions to be set aside. When Jenkins found that he was seen + and suspected, he held out no longer, but honestly confessed the worst—that + he had been taken with a giddiness. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Mrs. Jenkins, as she pushed a chair here and another + there, partly in temper, partly to free the narrow passage through the + shop to the parlour. “I have been expecting nothing less all day. Every + group of footsteps slower than usual, I have thought it was a shutter + arriving and you on it, dropped dead from exhaustion. Would you believe”—turning + short round on Arthur Channing—“that he has been such a donkey as to + fast from breakfast time? And with that cough upon him!” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite so fast, my dear,” deprecated Jenkins. “I ate the paper of + sandwiches.” + </p> + <p> + “Paper of rubbish!” retorted Mrs. Jenkins. “What good do sandwiches do a + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Jenkins might have deferentially intimated that he never did have it. + Mrs. Jenkins resumed: + </p> + <p> + “He said he’d carry a sandwich with him this morning, instead of coming + home to dinner. I said, ‘No.’ And afterwards I was such a simpleton as to + yield! And here’s the effects of it! Sit yourself down in the easy-chair,” + she added, taking Jenkins by the arms and pushing him into it. “And I’ll + make the tea now,” concluded she, turning to the table where the + tea-things were set out. “There’s some broiled fowl coming up for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t feel as if I could eat this evening,” Jenkins ventured to say. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Not eat</i>!” she repeated with emphasis. “You had better eat—that’s + all. I don’t want to have you falling down exhausted here, as you did in + the Boundaries.” + </p> + <p> + “And as soon as you have had your tea, you should go to bed,” put in + Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t, sir. I have three or four hours’ work at that deed. It must be + done.” + </p> + <p> + “At this?” returned Arthur, opening the papers he had carried 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 to bed.” + </p> + <p> + And in spite of their calls, Jenkins’s protestations against taking up his + time and trouble, and Mrs. Jenkins’s proffered invitation to partake of + tea and broiled fowl, Arthur departed carrying off the work. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. — ELLEN HUNTLEY. + </h2> + <p> + “A pretty time o’ day this is to deliver the letters. It’s eleven + o’clock!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help it. The train broke down, and was three hours behind its + time.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say! You letter-men want looking up: that’s what it is. Coming to + folks’s houses at eleven o’clock, when they have been waiting and looking + ever since breakfast-time!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not my fault, I say. Take the letter.” + </p> + <p> + Judith received it with a grunt, for it was between her and the postman + that the colloquy had taken place. A delay had occurred that morning in + the delivery, and Judith was resenting it, feeling half inclined to reject + the letter, now that it had come. The letters from Germany arrived + irregularly; sometimes by the afternoon post at four, sometimes by the + morning; the only two deliveries in Helstonleigh. A letter had been fully + expected this morning, and when the time passed over, they supposed there + was none. + </p> + <p> + It was directed to Miss Channing. Judith, who was quite as anxious about + her master’s health as the children were, went off at once with it to Lady + Augusta Yorke’s, just as she was, without the ceremony of putting 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, letter in hand. + Martha, Lady Augusta’s housemaid, answered the door, presenting a contrast + to Judith. Martha wore a crinoline as big as her lady’s, and a + starched-out muslin gown over it, with flounces and frillings, for Martha + was “dressed” for the day. Her arms, red and large, were displayed beneath + her open sleeves, and something that looked 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 a fashionable one; but I know which looked + the better of the two. + </p> + <p> + 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, Miss Constance, + and tell me how he is,” said she anxiously; and Constance broke the seal + of the letter. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “<i>Borcette. Hotel Rosenbad, September, 18—</i>.” + </pre> + <p> + “My Dear Child,—Still better and better! The improvement, which I + told you in my last week’s letter had begun to take place so rapidly as to + make 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 <i>walk</i>! With + the 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 of stairs. 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 yet quite that), what + may we not expect in the next—and the next? Your papa is writing to + Hamish, and will confirm what I say.” + </p> + <p> + This much Constance read aloud. Judith gave a glad laugh. “It’s just as + everybody 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 he was + hardly middle-aged. These doctors here be just so many muffs. When I get + too old for work, I’ll go to Germany myself, Miss Constance, and ask ‘em + to make me young again.” + </p> + <p> + 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 were some + loving, gentle messages to him, and then these words: “Hamish says Arthur + applied at Dove and Dove’s for a clerk’s place, but did not come to terms + with them. We are glad that he did not. Papa says he should not like to + have one of his boys at Dove and Dove’s.” + </p> + <p> + “And here’s a little bit for you, Judith,” Constance said aloud. “Tell + Judith not to be over-anxious in her place of trust; and not to over-work + herself, but to let Sarah take her full share. There is no hurry about the + bed-furniture; Sarah can do it in an evening at her leisure.” + </p> + <p> + Judith received the latter portion of the message with scorn. “‘Tisn’t me + that’s going to let <i>her</i> do it! A fine do it would be, Miss + Constance! The first thing I shall see, when I go back now, will be her + head stretched out at one of the windows, and the kidney beans left to + string and cut themselves in the kitchen!” + </p> + <p> + Judith turned to depart. She never would allow any virtues to her helpmate + Sarah, who gave about the same trouble to her that young servants of + twenty generally give to old ones. Constance followed her to the door, + saying something which had suddenly occurred to her mind about domestic + affairs, when who should she meet, coming in, but the Rev. William Yorke! + He had just left the Cathedral after morning prayers, and was calling at + Lady Augusta’s. + </p> + <p> + Both were confused; both stopped, face to face, in hesitation. Constance + grew crimson; Mr. Yorke pale. It was the first time they had met since the + parting. There was an angry feeling against Constance in the mind of Mr. + Yorke; he considered that she had not treated him with proper confidence; + and in his proud nature—the Yorke blood was his—he was content + to resent it. He did not expect to <i>lose</i> Constance eventually; he + thought that the present storm would blow over some time, and that things + would come right again. We are all too much given to trust to that vague + “some time.” In Constance’s mind there existed a soreness against Mr. + Yorke. He had doubted her; he had accepted (if he had not provoked) too + readily her resignation of him. Unlike him, she saw no prospect of the + future setting matters right. Marry him, whilst the cloud lay upon Arthur, + she would not, after he had intimated his opinion and sentiments: and that + cloud could only be lifted at the expense of another. + </p> + <p> + They exchanged a confused greeting; neither of them conscious how it + passed. Mr. Yorke’s attention was then caught by the open letter in her + hand—by the envelope bearing the foreign post-marks. “How is Mr. + Channing?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “So much better that it seems little short of a miracle,” replied + Constance. “Mamma says,” glancing at the letter, “that he can walk, + leaning on her arm.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad to hear it! Hamish told me last week that he was improving. + I trust it may go on to a cure.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” replied Constance. And she made him a pretty little state + curtsey as she turned away, not choosing to see the hand he would fain + have offered her. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke’s voice brought a head and shoulders out at the breakfast-room + door. They belonged to Lord Carrick. He and Lady Augusta were positively + at breakfast at that hour of the day. His lordship’s eyes followed the + pretty form of Constance as she disappeared up the staircase on her return + to the schoolroom. William Yorke’s were cast in the same direction. Then + their eyes—the peer’s and the clergyman’s—met. + </p> + <p> + “Ye have given her up, I understand, Master William?” + </p> + <p> + “Master William” vouchsafed no reply. He deemed it a little piece of + needless impertinence. + </p> + <p> + “Bad taste!” continued Lord Carrick. “If I were only twenty years younger, + and she’d not turn up her nose at me for a big daft of an Irishman, <i>you’d</i> + not get her, me lad. She’s the sweetest little thing I have come across + this many a day.” + </p> + <p> + To which the Rev. William Yorke condescended no answer, unless a haughty + gesture expressive of indignation might be called one, as he brushed past + Lord Carrick into the breakfast-room. + </p> + <p> + At that very hour, and in a breakfast-room also—though all signs of + the meal had long been removed—were Mr. Huntley and his daughter. + The same praise, just bestowed by Lord Carrick upon Constance Channing, + might with equal justice be given to Ellen Huntley. She was a lovely girl, + three or four years older than Harry, with pretty features and soft dark + eyes. What is more, she was a good girl—a noble, generous-hearted + girl, although (you know no one is perfection) with a spice of self-will. + For the latter quality I think Ellen was more indebted to circumstances + than to Nature. Mrs. Huntley was dead, and a maiden sister of Mr. + Huntley’s, older than himself, resided with them and ruled Ellen; ruled + her with a tight hand; not a kind one, or a judicious one; and that had + brought out Miss Ellen’s self-will. Miss Huntley was very starched, prim, + and stiff—very unnatural, in short—and she wished to make + Ellen the same. Ellen rebelled, for she much disliked everything + artificial. She was truthful, honest, straightforward; not unlike the + character of Tom Channing. Miss Huntley complained that she was too + straightforward to be ladylike; Ellen said she was sure she should never + be otherwise than straightforward, so it was of no use trying. Then Miss + Huntley would take offence, and threaten Ellen with “altering her will,” + and that would vex Ellen more than anything. Young ladies rarely care for + money, especially when they have 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 not leave it to me.” And she was sincere in the wish. + Their controversies frequently amused Mr. Huntley. Agreeing in heart and + mind with his daughter, 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 grow as angry with him as she was with Ellen. + </p> + <p> + 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 slowly paced + the room, as was his custom when anything disturbed him, stopping at + moments to reflect, buried in thought. Ellen sat at a table by the window, + drawing. The house was Mr. Huntley’s own—a white villa with a + sloping lawn in front. It was situated outside the town, on a gentle + eminence, and commanded a view of the charming scenery for which the + county was famous. + </p> + <p> + Ellen, who had glanced up two or three times, concerned to see the very + stern, perplexed look on her father’s face, at length spoke, “Is anything + the matter, papa?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley did not answer. He was standing close to the table then, + apparently looking at Ellen, at her white morning dress and its blue + ribbons: it, and she altogether, a fair picture. Probably he saw neither + her nor her dress—he was too deeply absorbed. + </p> + <p> + “You are not ill, are you, papa?” + </p> + <p> + “Ill!” he answered, rousing himself. “No, Ellen, I am not ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have had something to vex you, papa?” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” emphatically replied Mr. Huntley. “And the worst is, that my + vexation will not be confined to myself, I believe. It may extend to you, + Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley’s manner was so serious, his look so peculiar as he gazed at + her, that Ellen felt a rush of discomfort, and the colour spread itself + over her fair face. She jumped to the conclusion that she had been giving + offence in some way—that Miss Huntley must have been complaining of + her. + </p> + <p> + “Has my aunt been telling you about last night, papa? Harry had two of the + college boys here, and I unfortunately laughed and talked with them, and + she said afterwards I had done it on purpose to annoy her. But I assure + you, papa—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind assuring me, child,” interrupted Mr. Huntley. “Your aunt has + said nothing to me; and if she had, it would go in at one ear and out at + the other. It is worse business than any complaint that she could bring.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen laid down her pencil, and gazed at her father, awe-struck at his + strange tone. “What is it?” she breathed. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Huntley did not answer. He remained perfectly still for a few + moments, absorbed in thought: and then, without a word of any sort to + Ellen, turned round to leave the room, took his hat as he passed through + the hall, and left the house. + </p> + <p> + Can you guess what it was that was troubling Mr. Huntley? Very probably, + if you can put, as the saying runs, this and that together. + </p> + <p> + Convinced, as he was, that Arthur Channing was not, could not be guilty of + taking the bank-note, yet puzzled by the strangely tame manner in which he + met the charge—confounded by the behaviour both of Arthur and + Constance relating to it—Mr. Huntley had resolved, if possible, to + dive into the mystery. He had his reasons for it. A very disagreeable, a + very improbable suspicion, called forth by the facts, had darted across + his mind; <i>therefore</i> he resolved to penetrate to it. And he set to + work. He questioned Mr. Galloway, he questioned Butterby, he questioned + Jenkins, and he questioned Roland Yorke. He thus became as thoroughly + conversant with the details of the transaction as it was possible for any + one, except the actual thief, to be; and he drew his own deductions. Very + reluctantly, very slowly, very cautiously, were they drawn, but very + surely. The behaviour of Arthur and Constance could only have one meaning: + they were screening the real culprit. And that culprit must be Hamish + Channing. + </p> + <p> + Unwilling as Mr. Huntley was to admit it, he had no resource but to do so. + He grew as certain of it as he was of his own life. He had loved and + respected Hamish in no measured degree. He had observed the attachment + springing up between him and his daughter, and he had been content to + observe it. None were so worthy of her, in Mr. Huntley’s eyes, as Hamish + Channing, in all respects save one—wealth; and, of that, Ellen would + have plenty. Mr. Huntley had known of the trifling debts 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 been taken for that purpose, he + could not doubt. + </p> + <p> + Hamish! It nearly made Mr. Huntley’s hair stand on end. That he must be + silent over it, as were Hamish’s own family, he knew—silent for Mr. + Channing’s sake. And what about Ellen? + </p> + <p> + <i>There</i> was the sad, very sad grievance. Whether Hamish went wrong, + or whether 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. + He had risen that morning resolved to hint to Ellen that any particular + intimacy with Hamish must cease. But he was strangely undecided about it. + Now that the moment was come, he almost doubted, himself, Hamish’s guilt. + All the improbabilities of the case rose up before him in marked colours; + he lost sight of the condemning facts; and it suddenly occurred to him + that it was scarcely fair to judge Hamish so completely without speaking + to him. “Perhaps he can account to me for the possession of the money + which he applied to those debts,” thought Mr. Huntley. “If so, in spite of + appearances, I will not deem him guilty.” + </p> + <p> + He went out, on the spur of the moment, straight down to the office in + Guild Street. Hamish was alone, not at all busy, apparently. He was + standing up by the fireplace, his elbow on the mantelpiece, a letter from + Mr. Channing (no doubt the one alluded to in Mrs. Channing’s letter to + Constance) in his hand. He received Mr. Huntley with his cordial, sunny + smile; spoke of the good news the letter brought, spoke of the accident + which had caused the delay of the mail, and finally read out part of the + letter, as Constance had to Judith. + </p> + <p> + It was all very well; but this only tended to embarrass Mr. Huntley. He + did 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. As chance + had it, Hamish himself paved the way. He began telling of an incident + which had taken place that morning, to the scandal of the town. A young + man, wealthy but improvident, had been arrested for debt. Mr. Huntley had + not yet heard of it. + </p> + <p> + “It stopped his day’s pleasure,” laughed Hamish. “He was going along with + his gun and dogs, intending to pop at the partridges, when he got popped + upon himself, instead. Poor fellow! it was too bad to spoil his sport. Had + I been a rich man, I should have felt inclined to bail him out.” + </p> + <p> + “The effect of running in debt,” remarked Mr. Huntley. “By the way, Master + Hamish, is there no fear of a similar catastrophe for you?” he added, in a + tone which Hamish might, if he liked, take for a jesting one. + </p> + <p> + “For me, sir?” returned Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “When I left Helstonleigh in June, a certain young friend of mine was not + quite free from a suspicion of such liabilities,” rejoined Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + Hamish flushed rosy red. Of all people in the world, Mr. Huntley was the + one from whom he would, if possible, have kept that knowledge, but he + spoke up readily. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose they serve you as they have served Jenner this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “They will not do that,” laughed Hamish, seeming very much inclined to + make a joke of the matter. “I have squared up some sufficiently to be on + the safe side of danger, and I shall square up the rest.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley fixed his eyes upon him. “How did you get the money to do it, + Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was the plain, unvarnished manner in which the question was + put; perhaps it was the intent gaze with which Mr. Huntley regarded him; + but, certain it is, that the flush on Hamish’s face deepened to crimson, + and he turned it from Mr. Huntley, saying nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, I have a reason for wishing to know.” + </p> + <p> + “To know what, sir?” asked Hamish, as if he would temporize, or avoid the + question. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you obtain the money that you applied to liquidate, or + partially to liquidate, your debts?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot satisfy you, sir. The affair concerns no one but myself. I did + get it, and that is sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish had come out of his laughing tone, and spoke as firmly as Mr. + Huntley; but, that the question had embarrassed him, was palpably evident. + Mr. Huntley said good morning, and left the office without shaking hands. + All his doubts were confirmed. + </p> + <p> + He went straight home. Ellen was where he had left her, still alone. Mr. + Huntley approached her and spoke abruptly. “Are you willing to give up all + intimacy with Hamish Channing?” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him in surprise, her complexion changing, her voice + faltering. “Oh, papa! what have they done?” + </p> + <p> + “Ellen, did I say ‘they!’ The Channings are my dear friends, and I hope + ever to call them such. They have done nothing unworthy of my friendship + or of yours. I said Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen rose from her seat, unable to subdue her emotion, and stood with her + hands clasped before Mr. Huntley. Hamish was far dearer to her than the + world knew. + </p> + <p> + “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. “I have + liked Hamish very much, or you may be sure he would not have been allowed + to come here so frequently. But he has forfeited my regard now, as he must + forfeit that of all good men.” + </p> + <p> + She trembled excessively, almost to impede her utterance, when she would + have asked what it was that he had done. + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely dare breathe it to you,” said Mr. Huntley, “for it is a thing + that we must hush up, as the family are hushing it up. When that bank-note + was lost, suspicion fell on Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, papa?” wonderingly resumed Ellen. + </p> + <p> + “It was not Arthur who took it. It was Hamish. And Arthur is bearing the + stigma of it for his father’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen grew pale. “Papa, who says it?” + </p> + <p> + “No one <i>says</i> 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 is indisputably guilty.” + </p> + <p> + Then Ellen’s anger, her <i>straightforwardness</i>, broke forth. She + clasped her hands in pain, and her face grew crimson. “He is <i>not</i> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Ellen! <i>Ellen</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Ellen burst into a passionate flood of tears. “Forgive me, papa. If he has + no one else to take his part, I will do it. I do not wish to be undutiful; + and if you bid me never to see or speak to Hamish Channing again, I will + implicitly obey you; but, hear him spoken of as guilty, I will not. I wish + I could stand up for him against the world.” + </p> + <p> + “After that, Miss Ellen Huntley, I think you had better sit down.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen sat down, and cried until she was calm. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. — THE CONSPIRATORS. + </h2> + <p> + Nothing of sufficient consequence to record here, occurred for some weeks + to the Channings, or to those connected with them. October came in; and in + a few days would be decided the uncertain question of the seniorship. + Gaunt would leave the college on the fifth; and on the sixth the new + senior would be appointed. The head-master had given no intimation + whatever to the school as to which of the three seniors would obtain the + promotion, and discussion ran high upon the probabilities. Some were of + opinion that it would be Huntley; some, Gerald Yorke; a very few, Tom + Channing. Countenanced by Gaunt and Huntley, as he had been throughout, + Tom bore on his way, amid much cabal; but for the circumstance of the + senior boy espousing (though not very markedly) his cause, his place would + have been unbearable. Hamish attended to his customary duties in Guild + Street, and sat up at night as usual in his bedroom, as his candle + testified to Judith. Arthur tried bravely for a situation, and tried in + vain; he could get nothing given to him—no one seemed willing to + take him on. There was nothing for it but to wait in patience. He took the + organ daily, and copied, at home, the cathedral music. Constance was + finding great favour with the Earl of Carrick—but you will hear more + about that presently. Jenkins grew more like a shadow day by day. Roland + Yorke went on in his impulsive, 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. + </p> + <p> + Thus uneventfully had passed the month of September. October was now in, + and the sixth rapidly approaching. What with the uncertainty prevailing, + the preparation for the examination, which on that day would take place, + and a little private matter, upon which some few were entering, the + college school had just then a busy and exciting time of it. + </p> + <p> + Stephen Bywater sat in one of the niches of the cloisters, a pile of books + by his side. Around him, in various attitudes, were gathered seven of the + most troublesome of the tribe—Pierce senior, George Brittle, Tod + Yorke, Fred Berkeley, Bill Simms, Mark Galloway, and Hurst, who had now + left the choir, but not the school. They were hatching mischief. Twilight + overhung the cloisters; the autumn evenings were growing long, and this + was a gloomy one. Half an hour, at the very least, had the boys been + gathered there since afternoon school, holding a council of war in covert + tones. + </p> + <p> + “Paid out he shall be, by hook or by crook,” continued Stephen Bywater, + who appeared to be president—if talking more than his <i>confrères</i> + constitutes one. “The worst is, how is it to be done? One can’t wallop + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Not wallop him!” repeated Pierce senior, who was a badly disposed boy, as + well as a mischievous one. “Why not, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to any good,” said Bywater. “<i>I</i> can’t, with that delicate face + of his. It’s like beating a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “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 of + those delicate ones putting themselves into a school of this sort. A + parson’s is the place for them; eight gentlemanly pupils, treated as a + private family, with a mild usher, and a lady to teach the piano.” + </p> + <p> + The council burst into a laugh at Hurst’s mocking tones, and Pierce senior + interrupted it. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why he shouldn’t—” + </p> + <p> + “Say she, Pierce,” corrected Mark Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “She, then. I don’t see why she shouldn’t get a beating if she deserves + it; it will teach her not to try her tricks on again. Let her be delicate; + she’ll feel it the more.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all bosh about his being delicate. She’s not,” vehemently + interrupted Tod Yorke, somewhat perplexed, in his hurry, with the genders. + “Charley Channing’s no more delicate than we are. It’s all in the look. As + good say that detestable little villain, Boulter, is delicate, because he + has yellow curls. I vote for the beating.” + </p> + <p> + “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 it shan’t be + by beating him.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t we lock him up in the cloisters, as we locked up Ketch, and that + lot; and leave him there all night?” proposed Berkeley. + </p> + <p> + “But there’d be getting the keys?” debated Mark Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “As if we couldn’t get the keys if we wanted them!” scoffingly retorted + Bywater. “We did old Ketch the other time, and we could do him again. <i>That</i> + would not serve the young one out, locking him up in the cloisters.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t it, though!” said Tod Yorke. “He’d be dead of fright before + morning, he’s so mortally afraid of ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of what?” cried Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “Of ghosts. He’s a regular coward about them. He dare not go to bed in the + dark for fear of their coming to him. He’d rather have five and twenty + pages of Virgil to do, than he’d be left alone after nightfall.” + </p> + <p> + The notion so tickled Bywater, that he laughed till he was hoarse. Bywater + could not understand being afraid of “ghosts.” Had Bywater met a whole + army of ghosts, the encounter would only have afforded him pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “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 in Gulliver’s + travels, than I’d believe in ghosts. What a donkey you are, Tod Yorke!” + </p> + <p> + “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 him dead in + the morning, when we came to let him out. Let’s do it.” + </p> + <p> + “What, to find him dead in the morning!” exclaimed Hurst. “You are a nice + one, Tod!” + </p> + <p> + “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 gummed together from + fright, I’ll lay.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it would do,” deliberated Bywater. “A whole night—twelve + hours, that would be—and in a fright all the time, if he <i>is</i> + frightened. Look here! I have heard of folks losing their wits through a + thing of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t go in for anything of the kind,” said Hurst. “Charley’s not a bad + lot, and he shan’t be harmed. A bit of a fright, or a bit of a whacking, + not too much of either; that’ll be the thing for Miss Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “Tod Yorke, who told you he was afraid of ghosts?” demanded Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know it,” said Tod. “Annabel Channing was telling my sisters about + it, for one thing: but I knew it before. We had a servant once who told us + so, she had lived at the Channings’. Some nurse frightened him when he was + a youngster, and they have never been able to get the fear out of him + since.” + </p> + <p> + “What a precious soft youngster he must have been!” said Mr. Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “She used to get a ghost and dress it up and show it off to Miss Charley—” + </p> + <p> + “Get a ghost, Tod?” + </p> + <p> + “Bother! you know what I mean,” said Tod, testily. “Get a broom or + something of that sort, and dress it up with a mask and wings: and he is + as scared over it now as he ever was. I don’t care what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” exclaimed Bywater, starting from his niche, as a bright idea + occurred to him. “Let one of us personate a ghost, and appear to him! That + would be glorious! It would give him a precious good fright for the time, + and no harm done.” + </p> + <p> + If the boys had suddenly found the philosopher’s stone, it could scarcely + have afforded them so much pleasure as did this idea. It was received with + subdued shouts of approbation: the only murmur of dissent to be heard was + from Pierce senior. Pierce grumbled that it would not be “half serving him + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will,” said Bywater. “Pierce senior shall be the ghost: he tops + us all by a head.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurst is as tall as Pierce senior.” + </p> + <p> + “That he is not,” interrupted Pierce senior, who was considerably + mollified at the honour being awarded to him. “Hurst is not much above the + tips of my ears. Besides, Hurst is fat; and you never saw a fat ghost + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen many ghosts, Pierce?” mocked Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “A few; in pictures. Wretched old scarecrows they always are, with a + cadaverous face and lantern jaws.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the reason you’ll do so well, Pierce,” said Bywater. “You are as + thin as a French herring, you know, with a yard and a half of throat.” + </p> + <p> + Pierce received the doubtful compliment flatteringly, absorbed in the fine + vista of mischief opening before him. “How shall I get myself up, + Bywater?” asked he, complaisantly. “With horns and a tail?” + </p> + <p> + “Horns and a tail be bothered!” returned Hurst. “It must be like a real + ghost, all white and ghastly.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it must,” acquiesced Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “I know a boy in our village that they served out like that,” interposed + Bill Simms, who was a country lad, and boarded in Helstonleigh. “They got + a great big turnip, and scooped it out and made it into a man’s face, and + put a light inside, and stuck it on a post where he had to pass at night. + He was so frightened that he died.” + </p> + <p> + “Cram!” ejaculated Tod Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “He did, though,” repeated Simms. “They knew him before for an awful + little coward, and they did it to have some fun out of him. He didn’t say + anything at the time; didn’t scream, or anything of that sort; but after + he got home he was taken ill, and the next day he died. My father was one + of the jury on the inquest. He was a little chap with no father or mother—a + plough-boy.” + </p> + <p> + “The best thing, if you want to make a ghost,” said Tod Yorke, “is to get + a tin plate full of salt and gin, and set it alight, and wrap yourself + round with a sheet, and hold the plate so that the flame lights up your + face. You never saw anything so ghastly. Scooped-out turnips are all + bosh!” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + A wheezing and coughing and clanking of keys interrupted the proceedings. + It was Mr. Ketch, coming to lock up the cloisters. As the boys had no wish + to be fastened in, themselves, they gathered up their books, and waited in + silence till the porter was close upon them. Then, with a sudden + war-whoop, they sprang past him, very nearly startling the old man out of + his senses, and calling forth from him a shower of hard words. + </p> + <p> + The above conversation, puerile and school-boyish as it may seem, was + destined to lead to results all too important; otherwise it would not have + been related here. You very likely may have discovered, ere this, that + this story of the Helstonleigh College boys is not merely a work of + imagination, but taken from facts of real life. Had you been in the + cloisters that night with the boys—and you might have been—and + heard Master William Simms, who was the son of a wealthy farmer, tell the + tale of a boy’s being frightened to death, you would have known it to be a + true one, if you possessed any knowledge of the annals of the + neighbourhood. In like manner, the project they were getting up to + frighten Charles Channing, and Charles’s unfortunate propensity <i>to be</i> + frightened, are strictly true. + </p> + <p> + Master Tod Yorke’s account of what had imbued his mind with this fear, was + a tolerably correct one. Charley was somewhat troublesome and fractious as + a young child, and the wicked nurse girl who attended upon him would dress + up frightful figures to terrify him into quietness. She might not have + been able to accomplish this without detection, but that Mrs. Channing was + at that time debarred from the active superintendence of her household. + When Charley was about two years old she fell into ill health, and for + eighteen months was almost entirely confined to her room. Judith was much + engaged with her mistress and with household matters, and the baby, as + Charley was still called, was chiefly left to the mercies of the nurse. + Not content with frightening him practically, she instilled into his young + imagination the most pernicious stories of ghosts, dreams, and similar + absurdities. But, foolish as <i>we</i> know them to 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 to impressions; and things, solemnly + related by a mother or a nurse, become impressed upon it almost as with + gospel truth. Let the fears once be excited in this terrible way, and not + a whole lifetime can finally eradicate the evil. I would rather a nurse + broke one of my children’s limbs, than thus poison its fair young mind. + </p> + <p> + In process of time the girl’s work was discovered—discovered by + Judith. But the mischief was done. You may wonder that Mrs. Channing + should not have been the first to discover it; or that it could have + escaped her notice at all, for she had the child with her often for his + early religious instruction; but, one of the worst phases of this state of + things is, the shrinking tenacity with which the victim buries the fears + within his own breast. He dare not tell his parents; he is taught not; and + taught by fear. It may not have been your misfortune to meet with a case + of this sort; I hope you never will. Mrs. Channing would observe that the + child would often shudder, as with terror, and cling to her in an + unaccountable manner; but, having no suspicion of the evil, she attributed + it to a sensitive, timid temperament. “What is it, my little Charley?” she + would say. But Charley would only bury his face the 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. On the contrary, he + was attached to her; she had taught him to be so; and he looked upon her + as a protector from those awful ghosts and goblins. + </p> + <p> + Well, the thing was in time discovered, but the mischief, I say, was done. + It could not be eradicated. Charles Channing’s judgment and good sense + told him that all those bygone terrors were only tricks of that wretched + Martha’s: but, overcome the fear, he could not. All consideration was + shown to him; he was never scolded for it, never ridiculed; his brothers + and sisters observed to him entire silence upon the subject—even + Annabel; and Mr. and Mrs. Channing had done reasoning lovingly with him + now. It is not argument that will avail in a case like 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 old terror rose up again, and his + frame would shake, and he would throw himself on the bed or on the floor, + and hide his face; afraid of the darkness, and of what he might see in it. + He was as utterly unable to prevent or subdue this fear, as he was to + prevent his breathing. He knew it, in the sunny morning light, to be a + foolish fear, utterly without reason: but, in the lonely night, there it + came again, and he could not combat it. + </p> + <p> + Thus, it is easy to understand that the very worst subject for a ghost + trick to be played upon, was Charley Channing. It was, however, going to + be done. The defect—for it really is a defect—had never + transpired to the College school, who would not have spared their + ridicule, or spared Charley. Reared, in that point, under happier + auspices, they could have given nothing but utter ridicule to the fear. + Chattering Annabel, in her thoughtless communications to Caroline and + Fanny Yorke, had not bargained for their reaching the ears of Tod; and + Tod, when the report did reach his ears, remembered to have heard the tale + before; until then it had escaped his memory. + </p> + <p> + Charley had got into hot water with some of the boys. Bywater had been + owing him a grudge for weeks, on account of Charley’s persistent silence + touching what he had seen the day the surplice was inked; and now there + arose another grudge on Bywater’s score, and also on that of others. There + is not space to enter into the particulars of the affair; it is sufficient + to say that some underhand work, touching cribs, came to the knowledge of + one of the under-masters—and came to him through Charley Channing. + </p> + <p> + Not that Charley went, open-mouthed, and told; there was nothing of that + disreputable character—which the school held in especial dislike—the + sneak, about Charles Channing. Charley would have bitten his tongue out + first. By an unfortunate accident Charles was pinned by the master, and + questioned; and he had no resource but to speak out. In honour, in truth, + he could not do otherwise; but, the consequence was—punishment to + the boys; and they turned against him. Schoolboys are not famous for being + swayed by the rules of strict justice; and they forgot to remember that in + Charles Channing’s place they would (at any rate, most of them) have felt + bound to do the same. They visited the accident upon him, and were + determined—as you have heard them express it in their own phrase—to + “serve him out.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving this decision to fructify, let us turn to Constance. Lady Augusta + Yorke—good-hearted in the main, liberal natured, swayed by every + impulse as the wind—had been particularly kind to Constance and + Annabel Channing during the absence of their mother. Evening after evening + she would insist upon their spending at her house, Hamish—one of + Lady Augusta’s lasting favourites, probably from his good looks—being + pressed into the visit with them by my lady. Hamish was nothing 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 a pretty constant visitor before; + and he found his evenings hang somewhat heavily on his hands. Thus + Constance saw a good deal of the Earl of Carrick; or, it may be more to + the purpose to say, the earl saw a good deal of her. + </p> + <p> + For the earl grew to like her very much indeed. He grew to think that if + she would only consent to become his wife, he should be the happiest man + in ould Ireland; and one day, impulsive in his actions as was ever Lady + Augusta, he told Constance so, in that lady’s presence. + </p> + <p> + Constance—much as we may regret to hear it of her—behaved in + by no means a dignified manner. She laughed over it. When brought to + understand, which took some little time, that she was actually paid that + high compliment, she laughed in the earl’s face. He was as old as her + father; and Constance had certainly regarded him much more in the light of + a father than a husband. + </p> + <p> + “I do beg your pardon, Lord Carrick,” she said, apologetically “but I + think you must be laughing at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Laughing at ye!” said the earl. “It’s not I that would do that. I’d like + ye to be Countess of Carrick to-morrow, me dear, if you can only get over + me fifty years and me grey hair. Here’s me sister—she knows that I’d + like to have ye. It’s you that are laughing at me, Miss Constance; at me + ould locks.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, indeed it is not that,” said Constance, while Lady Augusta + sat with an impassive countenance. “I don’t know why I laughed. It so took + me by surprise; that was why, I think. Please do not say any more about + it, Lord Carrick.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye could not like me as well as ye like William Yorke? Is that it, + child?” + </p> + <p> + Constance grew crimson. Like him as she liked William Yorke! + </p> + <p> + “Ye’re the nicest girl I have seen since Kathleen Blake,” resumed the + straightforward, simple earl. “She promised to have me; she said she liked + me grey hair better than brown, and me fifty years better than thirty, + but, while I was putting the place a bit in order for her, she went and + married a young Englishman. Did ye ever see him, Augusta?”—turning + to his sister. “He is a baronet. He came somewhere from these parts.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta intimated stiffly that she had not the honour of the + baronet’s acquaintance. She thought her brother was making a simpleton of + himself, and had a great mind to tell him so. + </p> + <p> + “And since Kathleen Blake went over to the enemy, I have not seen anybody + 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 overlook the + natural impediments on me side, and not mind me being poor, I’d be + delighted, me dear, if ye’d say the word.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, very generous, Lord Carrick,” said Constance, with an + impulse of feeling; “but I can only beg you never to ask me such a thing + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! well, child, I see ye’re in earnest,” good-naturedly responded the + earl, as he gave it up. “I was afraid ye’d only laugh at me. I knew I was + too old.” + </p> + <p> + And that was the beginning and the ending of Lord Carrick’s wooing. + Scarcely worth recording, you will think. But there was a reason for doing + so. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. — THE DECISION. + </h2> + <p> + The important sixth of October—important to the Helstonleigh College + boys—did not rise very genially. On the contrary, it rose rather + sloppily. A soaking rain was steadily descending, and the streets + presented a continuous scene of puddles. The boys dashed through it + without umbrellas (I never saw one of them carry an umbrella in my life, + and don’t believe the phenomenon ever was seen), their clean surplices on + their arms; on their way to attend ten-o’clock morning prayers in the + cathedral. The day was a holiday from school, but not from morning + service. + </p> + <p> + The college bell was beginning to ring out as they entered the schoolroom. + Standing in the senior’s place, and calling over the roll, was Tom + Channing, the acting senior for a few brief hours. Since Gaunt’s + departure, the previous day, Tom Channing had been head of the school; it + lay in the custom of the school for him so to be. Would his place be + confirmed? or would he lose it? Tom looked flurried with suspense. It was + not so much being appointed senior that he thought of, as the disgrace, + the humiliation that would be his portion, were he deposed from it. He + knew that he deserved the position; that it was his by right; he stood + first on the rolls, and he had done nothing whatever to forfeit it. He was + the school’s best scholar; and—if he was not always a perfect model + for conduct—there was this much to be said in his favour, that none + of them could boast of being better. + </p> + <p> + The opinion of the school had been veering round for the last few days in + favour of Tom. I do not mean that he, personally, was in better odour with + it—not at all, the snow-ball, touching Arthur, had gathered strength + in rolling—but in favour of his chances of the seniorship. Not a + breath of intimation had the head-master given; except that, one day, in + complaining to Gaunt of the neglect of a point of discipline in the + school, which point was entirely under the control of the senior boy, he + had turned to Tom, and said, “Remember, Channing, it must be observed for + the future.” + </p> + <p> + Tom’s heart leaped within him as he heard it, and the boys looked + inquiringly at the master. But the master’s head was then buried in the + deep drawer of his desk, hunting for a lost paper. Unless he had spoken it + in forgetfulness—which was not improbable—there could be no doubt + that he looked upon Tom as Gaunt’s successor. The school so interpreted + it, and chose to become, amongst themselves, sullenly rebellious. As to + Tom, who was nearly as sanguine in temperament as Hamish, his hopes and + his spirits went up to fever heat.— + </p> + <p> + One of the last to tear through the street, splashing his jacket, and + splashing his surplice, was Harry Huntley. He, like all the rest, took + care to be in time that morning. There would have been no necessity for + his racing, however, had he not lingered at home, talking. He was running + 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 of those college + gentlemen were dandies), when Mr. Huntley’s voice was heard, calling him + into the breakfast-room. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” said he, “I don’t think that I need enjoin you not to suffer your + manner to show triumph towards Tom Channing, should you be promoted over + him to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t be, papa. Channing will have the seniorship.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, from something Pye let drop. We look upon it that Channing is as good + as senior.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley remembered the tenor of the private conversation the master + had held with him, and believed his son would find himself mistaken, and + that he, Harry, would be made senior. That it would be Gerald Yorke, Mr. + Huntley did not believe. “At any rate, Harry, take heed to what I say,” he + resumed. “Be very considerate and courteous towards your friend Channing, + if you should obtain it. Do not let me have to blush for my son’s ill + feeling.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tone in Mr. Huntley’s voice which, to Harry’s ears, seemed to + intimate that he did not speak without reason. “Papa, it would not be fair + for me to go up over Channing,” he impulsively said. + </p> + <p> + “No. Comparing your merits together, Channing is the better man of the + two.” + </p> + <p> + Harry laughed. “He is not worse, at all events. Why are you saying this, + papa?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I fancy that you are more likely to be successful than Tom + Channing. I wish I may be mistaken. I would rather he had it; for, + personally, he had done nothing to forfeit it.” + </p> + <p> + “If Harry could accept the seniorship and displace Tom Channing, I would + not care to call him my brother again,” interrupted Ellen Huntley, with a + flashing eye. + </p> + <p> + “It is not that, Ellen; you girls don’t understand things,” retorted + Harry. “If Pye displaces Tom from the scholarship, he does not do it to + exalt me; he does it because he won’t have him at any price. Were I to + turn 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 would get + hoisted over me, and I should be laughed at for a duffer. But I’ll do as + you like, papa,” he added, turning to Mr. Huntley. “If you wish me not to + take the honour, I’ll resign it in favour of Yorke. I never expected it to + be mine, so it will be no disappointment; I always thought we should have + Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “Your refusing it would do no good to Channing,” said Mr. Huntley. “And I + should have grumbled at you, Harry, had you suffered Yorke to slip over + your head. Every one in his own right. All I repeat to you, my boy, is, + behave as you ought to Tom Channing. Possibly I may pay the college school + a visit this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Harry opened his eyes to their utmost width. + </p> + <p> + “You, papa! Whatever for?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my business,” laughed Mr. Huntley. “It wants only twenty minutes + to ten, Harry.” + </p> + <p> + Harry, at the hint, bounded into the hall. He caught up his clean + surplice, placed there ready for him, and stuck his trencher on his head, + when he was detained by Ellen. + </p> + <p> + “Harry, boy, it’s a crying wrong against Tom Channing. Hamish never did it—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hamish</i>” interrupted Harry, with a broad grin. “A sign who you are + thinking of, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle turned scarlet. “You know I meant to say Arthur, stupid boy! + It’s a crying wrong, Harry, upon Tom Channing. Looking at it in the worst + light, <i>he</i> has been guilty of nothing to forfeit his right. If you + can help him to the seniorship instead of supplanting him, be a brave boy, + and do it. God sees all things.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be late, as sure as a gun!” impatiently returned Harry. And away + he sped through the rain and mud, never slackening speed till he was in + the college schoolroom. + </p> + <p> + He hung up his trencher, flung his surplice on to a bench, and went + straight up, with outstretched hand, to Tom Channing, who stood as senior, + unfolding the roll. “Good luck to you, old fellow!” cried he, in a clear + voice, that rang through the spacious room. “I hope, with all my heart, + that you’ll be in this post for many a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Huntley,” responded Tom. And he proceeded to call over the + roll, though his cheek burnt at sundry hisses that came, in subdued tones, + from various parts of the room. + </p> + <p> + 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 Sundays and + saints’ day—that is, whenever the king’s scholars had to attend + service—the senior boy should sign the roll. + </p> + <p> + They then put on their surplices; and rather damp surplices some of them + were. The boys most of them disdained bags; let the weather be what it + might, the surplices, like themselves, went openly through it. Ready in + their surplices and trenchers, Tom Channing gave the word of command, and + they were on the point of filing out, when a freak took Pierce senior to + leave his proper place in the ranks, and walk by the side of Brittle. + </p> + <p> + “Halt!” said Channing. “Pierce senior, take your place.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t,” returned Pierce. “Who is to compel me?” he added with a + mocking laugh. “We are without a senior for once.” + </p> + <p> + “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 proper place.” + </p> + <p> + 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 no mistaking + that Channing would make a firm senior. The boys proceeded, two and two, + decorously through the cloisters, snatching off their trenchers as they + entered the college gates. Tom and Huntley walked last, Tom bearing the + keys. The choir gained, the two branched off right and left, Huntley + placing himself at the head of the boys on the left, or <i>cantori</i> + side; Tom, assuming his place as acting senior, on the <i>decani</i>. When + they should sit next in that cathedral would their posts be reversed? + </p> + <p> + The dean was present: also three canons—Dr. Burrows, who was + subdean, Dr. Gardner, and Mr. Mence. The head-master chanted, and in the + stall next to him sat Gaunt. Gaunt had discarded his surplice with his + schoolboy life; but curiosity with regard to the seniorship brought him + amongst 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. Arthur + Channing was at his place at the organ. + </p> + <p> + Ere eleven o’clock struck, service was over, and the boys marched back + again. Not to the schoolroom—into the chapter-house. The + examination, which took place once in three years, was there held. It was + conducted quite in a formal manner; Mr. Galloway, as chapter clerk, being + present, to call over the roll. The dean, the three prebendaries who had + been at service, the head and other masters of the school, all stood + together in the chapter-house; and the king’s scholars wearing their + surplices still, were ranged in a circle before them. + </p> + <p> + The dean took the examination. Dr. Burrows asked a question now and then, + but the dean chiefly took it. There is neither space nor time to follow it + in detail here: and no one would care to read it, if it were given. As a + whole, the school acquitted itself well, doing credit to its masters. One + of the chapter—it was Dr. Gardner, and the only word he spoke + throughout—remarked that the head boy was a sound scholar, meaning + Tom Channing. + </p> + <p> + The business over, the dean’s words of commendation spoken, then the + head-master took a step forward and cleared his throat. He addressed + himself to the boys exclusively; for, what he had to say, had reference to + them and himself alone: it was supposed not to concern the clergy. As to + the boys, those who were of an excitable temperament, looked quite pale + with suspense, now the long-expected moment was come. Channing? Huntley? + Yorke?—which of the three would it be? + </p> + <p> + “The praise bestowed upon you, gentlemen, by the Dean and Chapter has + been, if possible, more gratifying to myself than to you. It would be + superfluous in me to add a word to the admonition given you by the Very + Reverend the Dean, as to your future conduct and scholarly improvement. I + can only hope, with him, that they may continue to be such as to afford + satisfaction to myself, and to those gentlemen who are associated with me + as masters in the collegiate school.” + </p> + <p> + A pause and a dead silence. The head-master cleared his throat again, and + went on. + </p> + <p> + “The retirement of William Gaunt from the school, renders the seniorship + vacant. I am sorry that circumstances, to which I will not more + particularly allude, prevent my bestowing it upon the boy whose name + stands first upon the rolls, Thomas Ingram Channing. I regret this the + more, that it is not from any personal fault of Channing’s that he is + 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 I award the + seniorship. Henry Huntley, you are appointed senior of Helstonleigh + Collegiate School. Take your place.” + </p> + <p> + The dead silence was succeeded by a buzz, a murmur, suppressed almost as + soon as heard. Tom Channing’s face turned scarlet, then became deadly + white. It was a cruel blow. Huntley, with an impetuous step, advanced a + few paces, and spoke up bravely, addressing the master. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, sir, for the honour you have conferred upon me, but I have + no right to it, either by claim or merit. I feel that it is but usurping + the place of Channing. Can’t you give it to him, please sir, instead of to + me?” + </p> + <p> + The speech, begun formally and grandly enough for a royal president at a + public dinner, and ending in its schoolboy fashion, drew a smile from more + than one present. “No,” was all the answer vouchsafed by Mr. Pye, but it + was spoken with unmistakable emphasis, and he pointed his finger + authoritatively to the place already vacated by Tom Channing. Huntley + bowed, and took it; and the next thing seen by the boys was Mr. Galloway + altering the roll. He transposed the names of Channing and Huntley. + </p> + <p> + The boys, bowing to the clergy, filed out, and proceeded to the + schoolroom, the masters following them. Tom Channing was very silent. + Huntley was silent. Yorke, feeling mad with everyone, was silent. In + short, the whole school was silent. Channing delivered the keys of the + school to Huntley; and Mr. Pye, with his own hands, took out the roll and + made the alteration in the names. For, the roll belonging to the + chapter-house was not, as you may have thought, the every-day roll of the + schoolroom. “Take care what you are about, Huntley,” said the master. “A + careless senior never finds favour with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir,” replied Huntley. But he was perfectly conscious, as he + spoke, that his chief fault, as senior, would be that of carelessness. And + Gaunt, who was standing by, and knew it also, telegraphed a significant + look to Huntley. The other masters went up to Huntley, shook hands, and + congratulated him, for that was the custom of the school; indeed, it was + for that purpose only that the masters had gone into the schoolroom, where + they had, that day, no business. Gaunt followed suit next, in shaking + hands and congratulating, and the school afterwards; Gerald Yorke doing + his part with a bad grace. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you all,” said Harry Huntley. “But it ought to have been Tom + Channing.” Poor Tom’s feelings, during all this, may be imagined. + </p> + <p> + The king’s scholars were slinging their surplices on their arms to depart, + for they had full holiday for the remainder of the day, when they were + surprised by the entrance of Mr. Huntley. He went straight up to the + head-master, nodding pleasantly to the boys, right and left. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and who is your important senior?” he gaily demanded of the master. + </p> + <p> + “Henry Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley drew in his lips. “For another’s sake I am sorry to hear it. + But I can only express my hope that he will do his duty.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just been telling him so,” observed the master. + </p> + <p> + “What brings me here, is this, sir,” continued Mr. Huntley to the master. + “Knowing there was a doubt, as to which of the three senior boys would be + chosen, I wished, should it prove to be my son, to speak a word about the + Oxford exhibition, which, I believe, generally accompanies the seniorship. + It falls due next Easter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Pye. + </p> + <p> + “Then allow me to decline it for my son,” replied Mr. Huntley. “He will + not need it; and therefore should not stand in the light of any other boy. + I deemed it well, sir, to state this at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” warmly responded the head-master. He knew that it was an + unselfish, not to say generous, act. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley approached Tom Channing. He took his hand; he shook it + heartily, with every mark of affection and respect. “You must not allow + this exaltation of Harry to lessen the friendship you and he entertain for + each other,” he said, in tones that reached every pair of ears present—and + not one but was turned up to listen. “You are more deserving of the place + than he, and I am deeply sorry for the circumstances which have caused him + to supplant you. Never mind, Tom; bear on bravely, lad, and you’ll outlive + vexation. Continue to be worthy of your noble father; continue to be my + son’s friend; there is no boy living whom I would so soon he took pattern + by, as by you.” + </p> + <p> + The hot tears rushed into Tom’s eyes, and his lip quivered. But that he + remembered where he was, he might have lost his self-control. “Thank you, + sir,” he answered, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” whistled Tod Yorke, as they were going out. “A fine friend he is! + A thief’s brother.” + </p> + <p> + “A thief’s brother! A thief’s brother!” was the echo. + </p> + <p> + “But he’s not our senior. Ha! ha! that would have been a good joke! He’s + not our senior!” + </p> + <p> + And down the steps they clattered, and went splashing home, as they had + come, they and their surplices, through the wet streets and the rain. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. — THE GHOST. + </h2> + <p> + The moon was high in the heavens. Lighting up the tower of the cathedral, + illuminating its pinnacles, glittering through the elm trees, bringing + forth into view even the dark old ivy on the prebendal houses. A fair + night—all too fair for the game that was going to be played in it. + </p> + <p> + When the Helstonleigh College boys resolved upon what they were pleased to + term a “lark”—and, to do them justice, they regarded this, their + prospective night’s work, in no graver light—they carried it out + artistically, with a completeness, a skill, worthy of a better cause. + Several days had they been hatching this, laying their plans, arranging + the details; it would be their own bungling fault if it miscarried. But + the college boys were not bunglers. + </p> + <p> + Stripped of its details, the bare plot was to exhibit a “ghost” in the + cloisters, and to get Charley Channing to pass through them. The seniors + knew nothing of the project. Huntley—it was the day following his + promotion—would have stopped it at once, careless as he was. Tom + Channing would have stopped it. Gerald Yorke might or might not; but Tod + had taken care not to tell Gerald. And Griffin, who was burning to + exercise in any way his newly acquired power, would certainly have stopped + it. They had been too wise to allow it to come to the knowledge of the + seniors. The most difficult part of the business had been old Ketch; but + that was managed. + </p> + <p> + The moonlight shone peacefully on the Boundaries, and the conspirators + were stealing up, by ones and twos, to their place of meeting, round the + dark trunks of the elm trees. Fine as it was overhead, it was less so + 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 than the original + conspirators had been taken into the plot. They were winding up now, in + the weird moonlight, for the hour was approaching. + </p> + <p> + Once more we must pay a visit to Mr. Ketch in his lodge, at his supper + hour. Mr. Ketch had changed his hour for that important meal. Growing old + with age or with lumbago, he found early rest congenial to his bones, as + he informed his friends: so he supped at seven, and retired betimes. Since + the trick played him in the summer, he had taken to have his pint of ale + brought to him; deeming it more prudent not to leave his lodge and the + keys, to fetch it. This was known to the boys, and it rendered their plans + a little more difficult. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch, I say, sat in his lodge, having locked up the cloisters about + an hour before, sneezing and wheezing, for he was suffering from a cold, + caught the previous day in the wet. He was spelling over a weekly twopenny + newspaper, borrowed from the public-house, by the help of a flaring tallow + candle, and a pair of spectacles, of which one glass was out. Cynically + severe was he over everything he read, as you know it was in the nature of + Mr. Ketch to be. As the three-quarters past six chimed out from the + cathedral clock, his door was suddenly opened, and a voice called out, + “Beer!” Mr. Ketch’s ale had arrived. + </p> + <p> + But the arrival did not give that gentleman pleasure, and he started up in + what, but for the respect we bear him, we might call a fury. Dashing his + one-eyed glasses on the table, he attacked the man. + </p> + <p> + “What d’ye mean with your ‘beer’ at this time o’ night? It wants a quarter + to seven! Haven’t you no ears? haven’t you no clock at your place? D’ye + think I shall take it in now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it just comes to this,” said the man, who was the brewer at the + public-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 my + bringing. I’m going up to t’other end of the town, and shan’t be back this + side of ten.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch, with much groaning and grumbling, took the ale and poured it + into a jug of his own—a handsome jug, that had been in the wars and + lost its spout and handle—giving back the other jug to the man. “You + serve me such a imperant trick again, as to bring my ale a quarter of a + hour aforehand, that’s all!” snarled he. + </p> + <p> + The man received the jug, and went off whistling; he had the pleasure of + knowing Mr. Ketch and his temper well. That gentleman closed his door with + a bang, and proceeded to take out his customary bread and cheese. Not that + he had any great love for a bread-and-cheese supper as a matter of fancy: + he would very much have preferred something more dainty; only, dainties + and Mr. Ketch’s pocket did not agree. + </p> + <p> + “They want to be took down a notch, that public—sending out a man’s + beer a quarter afore seven, when it ain’t ordered to come till seven + strikes. Much they care if it stops a waiting and flattening! Be I a + slave, 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 it is.” + </p> + <p> + He took a slight draught of the offending ale, and was critically + surveying the loaf, before applying to it that green-handled knife of his, + whose elegance you have heard of, when a second summons was heard at the + door—a very timid one this time. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch flung down the bread and the knife. “What’s the reason I can’t + get a meal in quiet? Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + There was no response to this, beyond a second faint tapping. “Come in!” + roared out he. “Pull the string o’ the latch.” + </p> + <p> + But nobody came in, in spite of this lucid direction; and the timid + tapping, which seemed to proceed from very small knuckles, was repeated + again. Mr. Ketch was fain to go and open it. + </p> + <p> + A young damsel of eight or so, in a tattered tippet, and a large bonnet—probably + her mother’s—stood there, curtseying. “Please, sir, Mr. Ketch is + wanted.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch was rather taken to at this strange address, and surveyed the + messenger in astonishment. “Who be you? and who wants him?” growled he. + </p> + <p> + “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 to come and + say so, and if you didn’t make haste he should be gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you speak plain?” snarled Ketch. “Who is the gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I think it’s the bishop.” + </p> + <p> + This put Ketch in a flutter. The “big green gates” could only have + reference to the private entrance to the bishop’s garden, which entrance + his lordship used when attending the cathedral. That the bishop was in + Helstonleigh, Ketch knew: he had arrived that day, after a short absence: + what on earth could he want with <i>him</i>? Never doubting, in his hurry, + the genuineness of the message, Ketch pulled his door to, and stepped off, + the young messenger having already decamped. The green gates were not one + minute’s walk from the lodge—though a projecting buttress of the + cathedral prevented the one from being in sight of the other—and old + Ketch gained them, and looked around. + </p> + <p> + Where was the bishop? The iron gates, the garden, the white stones at his + feet, the towering cathedral, all lay cold and calm in the moonlight, but + of human sight or sound there was none. The gates were locked when he came + to try them, and he could not see the bishop anywhere. + </p> + <p> + He was not likely to see him. Stephen Bywater, who took upon himself much + of the plot’s performance—of which, to give him his due, he was + boldly capable—had been on the watch in the street, near the + cathedral, for a messenger that would suit his purpose. Seeing this young + damsel hurrying along with a jug in her hand, possibly to buy beer for <i>her</i> + home supper, he waylaid her. + </p> + <p> + “Little ninepins, would you like to get threepence?” asked he. “You shall + have it, if you’ll carry a message for me close by.” + </p> + <p> + “Little ninepins” had probably never had a whole threepence to herself in + her young life. She caught at the tempting suggestion, and Bywater drilled + into her his instructions, finding her excessively stupid in the process. + Perhaps that was all the better. “Now you mind, you are <i>not</i> to say + who wants Mr. Ketch, unless he asks,” repeated he for about the fifth + time, as she was departing to do the errand. “If he asks, say you think + it’s the bishop.” + </p> + <p> + So she went, and delivered it. But had old Ketch’s temper allowed him to + go into a little more questioning, he might have discovered the trick. + Bywater stealthily followed the child near to the lodge, screening himself + from observation; and, as soon as old Ketch hobbled out 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. + </p> + <p> + Back came Ketch, after a while. He did not know quite what to make of it, + but rather inclined to the opinion that the bishop had not waited for him. + “He might have wanted me to take a errand round to the deanery,” + soliloquized he. And this thought had caused him to tarry about the gates, + so that he was absent from his lodge quite ten minutes. The first thing he + saw, on entering, was the bit of paper on his table. He seized and opened + it, grumbling aloud that folks used his house just as they pleased, going + in and out without reference to his presence or his absence. The note, + written in pencil, purported to be from Joseph Jenkins. It ran as follows:— + </p> + <p> + My old father is coming up to our place to-night, to eat a bit of supper, + 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, + </p> + <h3> + “J. JENKINS.” + </h3> + <p> + Now, if there was one delicacy, known to this world, more delicious to old + 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 the phraseology + of Helstonleigh—“tripe night.” On two nights in the week, tripe was + sold in the town ready dressed. This was one of them, and Ketch + anticipated a glorious treat. In too great a hurry to cast so much as a + glance round his lodge (crafty Bywater had been deep), not stopping even + to put up the bread and cheese, away hobbled Ketch as fast as his lumbago + would allow him, locking safely his door, and not having observed the + absence of the keys. + </p> + <p> + “He ain’t a bad sort, that Joe Jenkins,” allowed he, conciliated beyond + everything at the prospect the invitation held out, and talking to himself + as he limped away towards the street. “He don’t write a bad hand, neither! + It’s a plain un; not one o’ them new-fangled scrawls that you can’t read. + Him and his wife have held up their heads a cut above me—oh yes, + they have, though, for all Joe’s humbleness—but the grand folks be a + coming to. Old Jenkins has always said we’d have a supper together some + night, him and me; I suppose this is it. I wonder what made him take and + have it at Joe’s? If Joe don’t soon get better than he have looked lately—” + </p> + <p> + 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 more quickly. + Seven o’clock! What if, through being late, his share of supper should be + eaten! + </p> + <p> + Peering out every now and then from the deep shade, cast by one of the + angles of the cathedral, and as swiftly and cautiously drawn back again, + was a trencher apparently watching Ketch. As soon as that functionary was + fairly launched on his way, the trencher came out completely, and went + flying at a swift pace round the college to the Boundaries. + </p> + <p> + It was not worn by Bywater. Bywater, by the help of the stolen keys, was + safe in the cloisters, absorbed with his companions in preparations for + the grand event of the night. In point of fact, they were getting up + Pierce senior. Their precise mode of doing that need not be given. They + had requisites in abundance, having disputed among themselves which should + be at the honour of the contribution, and the result was an undue + prodigality of material. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be ready and waiting, if you don’t bother,” was the response of + Pierce. “I wonder if old Ketch is safely off?” + </p> + <p> + “What a stunning fright Ketch would be in, if he came in here and met the + ghost!” exclaimed Hurst. “He’d never think it was anything less than the + Old Gentleman come for him.” + </p> + <p> + A chorus of laughter, which Hurst himself hushed. It would not do for + noise to be heard in the cloisters at that hour. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to which poor Charley Channing was more sensitive, than + to ridicule on the subject of his unhappy failing—his propensity to + fear; and there is no failing to which schoolboys are more intolerant. Of + moral courage—that is, of courage in the cause of right—Charles + had plenty; of physical courage, little. Apart from the misfortune of + having had supernatural terror implanted in him in childhood, he would + never have been physically brave. Schoolboys cannot understand that this + shrinking from danger (I speak of palpable danger), which they call + cowardice, nearly always emanates from a superior intellect. Where the + mental powers are of a high order, the imagination unusually awakened, + danger is sure to be keenly perceived, and sensitively shrunk from. In + proportion will be the shrinking dread of ridicule. Charles Channing + possessed this dread in a remarkable degree; you may therefore judge how + he felt, when he found it mockingly alluded to by Bywater. + </p> + <p> + On this very day that we are writing of, Bywater caught Charles, and + imparted to him in profound confidence an important secret; a choice few + 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, he said, + had been assigned to Charles. Charles hesitated. Not because it might be + wrong so to cheat Ketch—Ketch was the common enemy of the boys, of + Charley as of the rest—but because he had plenty of lessons to do. + This was Bywater’s opportunity; he chose to interpret the hesitation + differently. + </p> + <p> + “So you are afraid, Miss Charley! Ho! ho! Do you think the cloisters will + be dark? that the moon won’t keep the ghosts away? I say, it <i>can’t</i> + be true, what I heard the other day—that you dare not be in the + dark, lest ghosts should come and run away with you!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Bywater!” returned Charley, changing colour like a conscious + girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you are not afraid, you’ll come and join us,” sarcastically + returned Bywater. “We shall have stunning good sport. There’ll be about a + dozen of us. Rubbish to your lessons! you need not be away from them more + than an hour. It won’t be <i>dark</i>, Miss Channing.” + </p> + <p> + After this, fearing their ridicule, nothing would have kept Charley away. + He promised faithfully to be in the cloisters at a quarter past seven. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, the instant tea was over, he got to his lessons; Tom at one + side of the table—who had more, in proportion, to do than Charles—he + at the other. Thus were they engaged when Hamish entered. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a night is it, Hamish?” asked Charles, thinking of the + projected play. + </p> + <p> + “Fine,” replied Hamish. “Where are they all?” + </p> + <p> + “Constance is in the drawing-room, giving Annabel her music lesson. + Arthur’s there too, I think, copying music.” + </p> + <p> + Silence was resumed. Hamish stood over the fire in thought. Tom and + Charles went on with their studies. “Oh dear!” presently exclaimed the + latter, in a tone of subdued impatience. + </p> + <p> + Hamish turned his eyes upon him. He thought the bright young face looked + unusually weary. “What is it, Charley, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s this Latin, Hamish. I can’t make it come right. And Tom has no time + to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring the Latin here.” + </p> + <p> + Charles carried his difficulties to Hamish. “It won’t come right,” + repeated he. + </p> + <p> + “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, young + gentleman! what’s this! You have been cribbing.” He had seen in the past + leaves certain exercises so excellently well done as to leave no doubt + upon the point. + </p> + <p> + Charles turned crimson. Cribs were particularly objectionable to Mr. + Channing, who had forbidden their use, so far as his sons were concerned. + “I could not help it, Hamish. I used the cribs for about a week. The desk + made me.” + </p> + <p> + “Made you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” confessed Charley, “there has been a row about the cribbing. The + rest had cribbed, and I had not, and somehow, through that, it came out to + the second master. He asked me a lot of questions, and I was obliged to + tell. It made the desk savage, and they said I must do as they did.” + </p> + <p> + “Which you complied with! Nice young gentlemen, all of you!” + </p> + <p> + “Only for five or six days, Hamish. You may see that, if you look. I am + doing my lessons on the square, now, as I did before.” + </p> + <p> + “And don’t go off the square again, if you please, sir,” repeated Hamish, + “or you and I may quarrel. If Mr. Channing is not here, I am.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know how tyrannical the college boys are.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I!” said Hamish. “I was a college boy rather longer than you have + yet been, Master Charley.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down to the table and so cleared Charley’s difficulties that the + boy soon went on swimmingly, and Hamish left him. “How do you get on, + Tom?” Hamish asked. + </p> + <p> + “Better than I need,” was Tom’s answer, delivered somewhat roughly. “After + the injustice done me yesterday, it does not much matter how I get on.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish turned himself round to the fire, and said no more, neither + attempting to console nor remonstrate. Charles’s ears were listening for + the quarter past seven, and, the moment it chimed out, he left his work, + took his trencher from the hall, and departed, saying nothing to any one. + </p> + <p> + He went along whistling, past Dr. Gardner’s house, past the deanery; they + and the cathedral tower, rising above them, looked grey in the moonlight. + He picked up a stone and sent it right into one of the elm trees; some of + the birds, disturbed from their roost, flew out, croaking, over his head. + In the old days of superstition it might have been 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 is about to overtake her boy! + </p> + <p> + Poor Charley suspected nothing. He was whistling a merry tune, laughing, + boy-like, at the discomfiture of the rooks, and anticipating the stolen + game he and his friends were about to enjoy on forbidden ground. Not a boy + in the school loved play better than did Master Charles Channing. + </p> + <p> + A door on the opposite side of the Boundaries was suddenly opened, to give + admittance to one who sprung out with a bound. It was Gerald Yorke: and + Charley congratulated himself that they were on opposite sides; for he had + been warned that this escapade was to be kept from the seniors. + </p> + <p> + At that moment he saw a boy come forth from the cloisters, and softly + whistle to him, as if in token that he was being waited for. Charley + answered the whistle, and set off at a run. Which of the boys it was he + could not tell; the outline of the form and the college cap were visible + enough in the moonlight; but not the face. When he gained the cloister + entrance he could no longer see him, but supposed the boy had preceded him + into the cloisters. On went Charley, groping his way down the narrow + passage. “Where are you?” he called out. + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. Once in the cloisters, a faint light came in from the + open windows overlooking the graveyard. A very faint light, indeed, for + the buildings all round it were so high, as almost to shut out any view of + the sky: you must go quite to the window-frame before you could see it. + </p> + <p> + “I—s-a-a-y!” roared Charley again, at the top of his voice, “where + are you all? Is nobody here?” + </p> + <p> + There came neither response nor sign of it. One faint sound certainly did + seem to strike upon his ear from behind; it was like the click of a lock + being turned. Charley looked sharply round, but all seemed still again. + The low, dark, narrow passage was behind him; the dim cloisters were + before him; he was standing at the corner formed by the east and south + quadrangles, and the pale burial-ground in their midst, with its damp + grass and its gravestones, looked cold and lonely in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + The strange silence—it was not the silence of daylight—struck + upon Charles with dismay. “You fellows there!” he called out again, in + desperation. “What’s the good of playing up this nonsense?” + </p> + <p> + The tones of his voice died away in the echoes of the cloisters, but of + other answer there was none. At that instant a rook, no doubt one of the + birds he had disturbed, came diving down, and flapped its wings across the + burial-ground. The sight of something, moving there, almost startled + Charles out of his senses, and the matter was not much mended when he + discovered it was only a bird. He turned, and flew down the passage to the + entrance quicker than he had come up it; but, instead of passing 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, it could scarcely have + moved that little low gate, for it opened inwards. + </p> + <p> + Charles seized it to pull it open. It resisted his efforts. He tried to + shake 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. + </p> + <p> + Then terror seized him. He was locked in the ghostly cloisters, close to + 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 his feet, + and showed themselves at midnight. Not a step could he take, round the + cloisters, but his foot must press those stones. To be locked in the + cloisters had been nothing (from this point of view) for brave, grown, + sensible men, such as the bishop, Jenkins, and Ketch—and they had + been three in company, besides—but for many a boy it would have been + a great deal; and for Charles Channing it was awful. + </p> + <p> + That he was alone, he never doubted. He believed—as fully as belief, + or any other feeling could flash into his horrified mind—that + Bywater had decoyed him into the cloisters and left him there, in return + for his refusal to disclose what he knew of the suspicions bearing upon + the damaged surplice. All the dread terrors of his childhood rose up + before him. 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 human + being, he turned and fled through the cloisters, in the vague hope of + finding the other gate open. + </p> + <p> + It may be difficult for some of you to understand this excessive terror, + albeit the situation was not a particularly desirable one. A college boy, + in these enlightened days, laughs at supernatural tales as the delusions + of ignorance in past ages; but for those who have had the misfortune to be + imbued in infancy with superstition, as was Charles Channing, the terror + still exists, college boys though they may be. He could not have told (had + he been collected enough to tell anything) what his precise dread was, as + he flew through the cloisters. None can do so, at these moments. A sort of + vampire rises in the mind, and they shrink from it, though they see not + what its exact nature may be; but it is a vampire that can neither be + faced nor borne. + </p> + <p> + 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 east + quadrangle, and turned into the north. At the extremity of the north side, + forming the angle between it and the west, commenced the narrow passage + similar to the one he had just traversed, which led to the west gate of + entrance. A faint glimmering of the white flagged stones beyond this gate, + gave promise that it was open. A half-uttered sound of thankfulness + escaped him, and he sped on. + </p> + <p> + Ah! but what was that? What was it that he came upon in the middle of the + north quadrangle, standing within the niches? A towering white form, with + a ghastly face, telling of the dead; a mysterious, supernatural-looking + blue flame lighting it up round about. It came out of the niche, and + advanced slowly upon him. An awful cry escaped from his heart, and went + ringing up to the roof of the cloisters. Oh! that the good dean, sitting + in his deanery close to the chapter-house, could have heard that helpless + cry of anguish!—that Dr. Burrows, still nearer, could have heard it, + and gone forth into the cloisters with the succour of his presence! No, + no; there could be no succour for a spot supposed to be empty and closed. + </p> + <p> + Back to the locked gate—with perhaps the apparition following him? + or forward <i>past</i> IT to the open door? Which was it to be? In these + moments there can be no reason to guide the course; but there is instinct; + and instinct took that ill-fated child to the open door. + </p> + <p> + How he flew past the sight, it is impossible to tell. Had it been right in + front of his path, he never would have passed it. But it had halted just + beyond the niche, not coming out very far. With his poor hands stretched + out, and his breath leaving him, Charles did get by, and made for the + door, the ghost bringing up the rear with a yell, while those old + cloister-niches, when he was fairly gone, grew living with moving figures, + which came out of their dark corners, and shrieked aloud with laughter. + </p> + <p> + Away, he knew not whither—away, as one who is being pursued by an + unearthly phantom—deep catchings of the breath, as will follow undue + bodily exertion, telling of something not right within; wild, low, abrupt + sounds breaking from him at intervals—thus he flew, turning to the + left, which led him towards the river. Anywhere from the dreaded + cloisters; anywhere from the old, grey, ghostly edifice; anywhere in his + dread and agony. He dashed past the boat-house, down the steps, turning on + to the river pathway, and— + </p> + <p> + Whether the light, hung at the boat-house, deceived his sight—whether + the slippery mud caused him to lose his footing—whether he was + running too quickly and could not stop himself in time—or whether, + in his irrepressible fear, he threw himself unconsciously in, to escape + what might be behind him, will never be known. Certain it is, that the + unhappy boy went plunge into the river, another and a last wild cry + escaping him as the waters closed over his head. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. — MR. KETCH’S EVENING VISIT. + </h2> + <p> + 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 top of his + speed, his mouth watering, while the delicious odour of tripe and onions + appeared to be borne on the air to his olfactory nerves: so strong is the + force of fancy. Arrived at his destination, he found the shop closed. It + was Mrs. Jenkins’s custom to close at seven from October to April; and the + shutters had now just been put up. Mr. Ketch seized the knocker on the + shop-door—there was no other entrance to the house—and brought + it down with a force that shook the first-floor sitting-room, and startled + Mr. Harper, the lay clerk, almost out of his armchair, as he sat before + the fire. Mrs. Jenkins’s maid, a young person of seventeen, very much + given to blacking her face, opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Be I in time?” demanded Ketch, his voice shaking. + </p> + <p> + “In time for what?” responded the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Why, for supper,” said Ketch, penetrating into the shop, which was + lighted by a candle that stood on the counter, the one the girl had + brought in her hand. “Is old Jenkins the bedesman come yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Old Jenkins ain’t here,” said she. “You had better go into the parlour, + if you’re come to supper.” + </p> + <p> + Ketch went down the shop, sniffing curiously. Sharp as fancy is, he could + not say that he was regaled with the scent of onions, but he supposed the + saucepan lid might be on. For, as was known to Mr. Ketch, and to other of + the initiated in tripe mysteries, it was generally thought advisable, by + good housewives, to give the tripe a boil up at home, 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 he might sit down if he liked; she did + not overburden the gentleman with civility. “Missis’ll be here soon,” said + she. + </p> + <p> + 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, any + preparations yet for the entertainment. “They’re going to have it + downstairs in the kitchen,” soliloquized he. “And that’s a sight more + comfortabler. She’s gone out to fetch it, I shouldn’t wonder!” he + continued, alluding to Mrs. Jenkins, and sniffing again strongly, but + without result. “That’s right! she won’t let ‘em serve her with short + onions, she won’t; she has a tongue of her own. I wonder how much beer + there’ll be!” + </p> + <p> + He sat on pretty patiently, for him, about half an hour, and then took the + liberty of replenishing the fire from a coal-box that stood there. Another + quarter of an hour was passed much more impatiently, when Ketch began to + grow uneasy and lose himself in all sorts of grave conjectures. Could she + have arrived too late, and found the tripe all sold, and so had stopped + out to supper herself somewhere? Such a thing as a run on the delicacy had + occurred more than once, to Ketch’s certain knowledge, and tardy customers + had been sent away disappointed, to wait in longing anticipations for the + next tripe night. He went into a cold perspiration at the bare idea. And + where was old Jenkins, all this time, that he had not come in? And where + was Joe? A pretty thing to invite a gentleman out to an impromptu supper, + and serve him in this way! What could they mean by it? + </p> + <p> + He groped his way round the corner of the shop to where lay the kitchen + stairs, whose position he pretty well knew, and called. “Here, Sally, + Betty—whatever your name is—ain’t there nobody at home?” + </p> + <p> + The girl heard, and came forth, the same candle in hand. “Who be you + calling to, I’d like to know? My name’s Lidyar, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s your missis?” responded Ketch, suffering the name to drop into + abeyance. “Is she gone out for the tripe?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone out for what tripe?” asked the girl. “What be you talking of?” + </p> + <p> + “The tripe for supper,” said Ketch. + </p> + <p> + “There ain’t no tripe for supper,” replied she. + </p> + <p> + “There is tripe for supper,” persisted Ketch. “And me and old Jenkins are + going to have some of it. There’s tripe and onions.” + </p> + <p> + The girl shook her head. “I dun know nothing about it. Missis is upstairs, + fixing the mustard.” + </p> + <p> + Oh come! this gave a promise of something. Old Ketch thought mustard the + greatest condiment that tripe could be accompanied by, in conjunction with + onions. But she must have been a long time “fixing” the mustard; whatever + that might mean. His spirits dropped again, and he grew rather + exasperated. “Go up and ask your missis how long I be to wait?” he + growled. “I was told to come here at seven for supper, and now it’s a’most + eight.” + </p> + <p> + The girl, possibly feeling a little curiosity herself, came up with her + candle. “Master ain’t so well to-night,” remarked she. “He’s gone to bed, + and missis is putting him a plaster on his chest.” + </p> + <p> + The words fell as ice on old Ketch. “A mustard-plaster?” shrieked he. + </p> + <p> + “What else but a mustard-plaster!” she retorted. “Did you think it was a + pitch? There’s a fire lighted in his room, and she’s making it there.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing more certain. Poor Jenkins, who had coughed more than usual the + last two days, perhaps from the wet weather, and whose chest in + consequence was very painful, had been ordered to bed this night by his + wife when tea was over. She had gone up herself, as soon as her shop was + shut, to administer a mustard-plaster. Ketch was quite stunned with + uncertainty. A man in bed, with a plaster on his chest, was not likely to + invite company to supper. + </p> + <p> + Before he had seen his way out of the shock, or the girl had done staring + at him, Mrs. Jenkins descended the stairs and joined them, having been + attracted by the conversation. She had slipped an old buff dressing-gown + over her clothes, in her capacity of nurse, and looked rather en + deshabille; certainly not like a lady who is about to give an + entertainment. + </p> + <p> + “He says he’s come to supper: tripe and onions,” said the girl, + unceremoniously introducing Mr. Ketch and the subject to her wondering + mistress. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins, not much more famous for meekness in expressing her opinions + than was Ketch, turned her gaze upon that gentleman. “<i>What</i> do you + say you have come for?” asked she. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I have come for supper, that’s what I have come for,” shrieked + Ketch, trembling. “Jenkins invited me to supper; tripe and onions; and I’d + like to know what it all means, and where the supper is.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going into your dotage,” said Mrs. Jenkins, with an amount of + scorn so great that it exasperated Ketch as much as the words themselves. + “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 coming inside my house, I’d + tripe him. There’s nothing I have such a hatred to as tripe; and he knows + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this the way to treat a man?” foamed Ketch, disappointment and hunger + 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 supper with his old + father, and it was to be tripe and onions! It <i>is</i> tripe night!” he + continued, rather wandering from the point of argument, as tears filled + his eyes. “You can’t deny as it’s tripe night.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, Lydia, open the door and let him out,” cried Mrs. Jenkins, waving + her hand imperatively towards it. “And what have you been at with your + face again?” continued she, as the candle held by that damsel reflected + its light. “One can’t see it for colly. If I do put you into that 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! What else? He has wrote no + note; he has been too suffering the last few hours to think of notes, or + of you either. You <i>are</i> a lunatic, it’s my belief.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be drove one,” sobbed Ketch. “I was promised a treat of—” + </p> + <p> + “Is that door open, Lydia? There! Take yourself off. My goodness, me! + disturbing my house with such a crazy errand!” And, taking old Ketch by + the shoulders, who was rather feeble and tottering, from lumbago and age, + Mrs. Jenkins politely marshalled him outside, and closed the door upon + him. + </p> + <p> + “Insolent old fellow!” she exclaimed to her husband, to whom she went at + once and related the occurrence. “I wonder what he’ll pretend he has next + from you? A note of invitation, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Jenkins, revolving the news, and speaking as well as his + chest would allow him, “it must have been a trick played him by the young + college gentlemen. We should not be too hard upon the poor old man. He’s + not very agreeable or good-tempered, I’m afraid it must be allowed; but—I’d + not have sent him away without a bit of supper, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you’d not,” retorted Mrs. Jenkins. “All the world knows you + are soft enough for anything. I have sent him away with a flea in his ear; + that’s what I have done.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ketch had at length come to the same conclusion: the invitation must + 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, he leaned against the + shutters, and gave vent to a prolonged and piteous howl. It might have + drawn tears from a stone. + </p> + <p> + 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 intense + vengeance upon the college boys. The occurrence naturally caused him to + cast back his thoughts to that other trick—the locking him into the + cloisters, in which Jenkins had been a fellow-victim—and he doubled + his fists in impotent anger. “This comes of their not having been flogged + for that!” he groaned. + </p> + <p> + Engaged in these reflections of gall and bitterness, old Ketch gained his + lodge, unlocked it, and entered. No wonder that he turned his eyes upon + the cloister keys, the reminiscence being so strong within him. + </p> + <p> + But, to say he turned his eyes upon the cloister keys, is a mere figure of + speech. No keys were there. Ketch stood a statue transfixed, and stared as + hard as the flickering blaze from his dying fire would allow him. Seizing + a match-box, he struck a light and held it to the hook. The keys were <i>not</i> + there. + </p> + <p> + Ketch was no conjuror, and it never occurred to him to suspect that the + keys had been removed before his own departure. “How had them wicked ones + got in?” he foamed. “Had they forced his winder?—had they took a + skeleton key to his door?—had they come down the chimbley? They were + capable 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’d mind a + little fire. It was that insolent Bywater!—or that young villain, + Tod Yorke!—or that undaunted Tom Channing!—or perhaps all + three leagued together! Nothing wouldn’t tame <i>them</i>.” + </p> + <p> + He examined the window; he examined the door; he cast a glance up the + chimney. Nothing, however, appeared to have been touched or disturbed, and + there was no soot on the floor. Cutting himself a piece of bread and + cheese, lamenting at its dryness, and eating it as he went along, he + proceeded out again, locking up his lodge as before. + </p> + <p> + 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 gate locked, + just as he might have left it himself that very evening, and the keys + hanging ingeniously, by means of the string, from one of the studded + nails, right over the keyhole. + </p> + <p> + “There ain’t a boy in the school but what’ll come to be hung!” danced old + Ketch in his rage. + </p> + <p> + He would have preferred not to find the keys; but to go to the head-master + with a story of their theft. It was possible, it was just possible that, + going, keys in hand, the master might refuse to believe his tale. + </p> + <p> + Away he hobbled, and arrived at the house of the head-master. Check the + first!—The master was not at home. He had gone to a dinner-party. + The other 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 determined upon. + The new senior, Huntley, lived too far off for his lumbago; so he turned + his steps to the next senior’s, Tom Channing, and demanded to see him. + </p> + <p> + Tom heard the story, which was given him in detail. He told Ketch—and + with truth—that he knew nothing about it, but would make inquiries + in the morning. Ketch was fain to depart, and Tom returned to the + sitting-room, and threw himself into a chair in a burst of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” they asked. + </p> + <p> + “The primest lark,” returned Tom. “Some of the fellows have been sending + 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. Jenkins turned him out + again. That’s what Master Charley must have gone after.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish turned round. “Where <i>is</i> Charley, by the way?” + </p> + <p> + “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’s where he + has gone!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. — THE SEARCH. + </h2> + <p> + “Tom, where is Charles?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not in my pocket,” responded Tom Channing, who was buried in his + studies, as he had been for some hours. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas, that is not the proper way to answer me,” resumed Constance, in a + tone of seriousness, for it was from her the question had proceeded. “It + is strange he should run out in the abrupt way you describe, and remain + out so long as this. It is half-past nine! I am waiting to read.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Constance remained silent; not satisfied. A nameless, undefined sort of + dread was creeping over her. Engaged with Annabel until eight o’clock, + when she returned to the general sitting-room, she found Charles absent, + much to her surprise. Expecting him to make his appearance every moment, + the time may have seemed to her long, and his absence all the more + unaccountable. It had now gone on to half-past nine, and still he was not + come in, and his lessons were not done. It was his hour for bed time. + </p> + <p> + Tom had more than usual to do that night, and it was nearly ten when he + rose from his books. Constance watched him put them aside, and stretch + himself. Then she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Tom, you must go and find Charles. I begin to feel uneasy. Something must + have happened, to keep him out like this.” + </p> + <p> + The feeling “uneasy” rather amused Tom. Previsions of evil are not apt to + torment schoolboys. “I expect the worst that has happened may be a battle + royal with old Ketch,” said he. “However, the young monkey had no business + to cut short his lessons in the middle, and go off in this way, so I’ll + just run after him and march him home.” + </p> + <p> + Tom took his trencher and flew towards the cathedral. He fully expected + the boys would be gathered somewhere round it, not a hundred miles from + old Ketch’s lodge. But he could not come upon them anywhere. The lodge was + closed, was dark and silent, showing every probability that its master had + retired for the night to sleep away his discomfiture. The cloisters were + closed, and the Boundaries lay calm in the moonlight, undisturbed by a + single footstep. There was no sign of Charles, or of any other college + boy. + </p> + <p> + Tom halted in indecision. “Where can he have gone to, I wonder? I’m sure I + don’t know where to look for him! I’ll ask at Yorke’s! If there’s any + mischief up, Tod’s sure to know of it.” + </p> + <p> + He crossed the Boundaries, and rang at Lady Augusta’s door. Tod himself + opened it. Probably he thought it might be one of his friends, the + conspirators; certainly he had not expected to find Tom Channing there, + and he looked inclined to run away again. + </p> + <p> + “Tod Yorke, do you know anything of Charles?” + </p> + <p> + “Law! how should I know anything of him?” returned Tod, taking courage, + and putting a bold face upon it. “Is he lost?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not lost, I suppose; but he has disappeared somewhere. Were you in + the game with old Ketch, to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “What game?” inquired Tod, innocently. + </p> + <p> + But at this moment Gerald, hearing Tom’s voice, came out of the + sitting-room. Gerald Yorke had a little cooled down from his resentment + against Tom. Since the decision of the previous day, nearly all Gerald’s + wrath had been turned upon Mr. Pye, because that gentleman had not exalted + him to the seniorship. So great was it, that he had no room to think of + Tom. Besides, Tom was a fellow-sufferer, and had been passed over equally + with himself. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the row?” asked Gerald. + </p> + <p> + Tom explained, stating what he had heard from Ketch of the trick the boys + had played him; and Charley’s absence. Gerald, who really was not + cognizant of it in any way, listened eagerly, making his own comments, and + enjoying beyond everything the account of Ketch’s fast in the supper + department. Both he and Tom exploded with mirth; and Tod, who said + nothing, but listened with his hands in his pockets, dancing first on one + leg, then on the other, nearly laughed himself into fits. + </p> + <p> + “What did they take out the cloister keys for?” demanded Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s to know?” said Tom. “I thought Tod was sure to be in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I wish I had been!” responded that gentleman, turning up the whites + of his eyes to give earnestness to the wish. + </p> + <p> + Gerald looked round at Tod, a faint suspicion stealing over him that the + denial was less genuine than it appeared. In point of fact, Mr. Tod’s had + been the identical trencher, spoken of as having watched the effect of the + message upon old Ketch. “I say, Tod, you were off somewhere to-night for + about two hours,” said Gerald. “I’ll declare you were.” + </p> + <p> + “I know I was,” said Tod readily. “I had an appointment with Mark + Galloway, and I went to keep it. If you skinned me alive, Channing, I + couldn’t tell you where Miss Charley is, or where he’s likely to be.” + </p> + <p> + True enough in the abstract. Tom Channing stopped talking a short time + longer, and then ran home. “Is Charley in yet?” was his first question. + </p> + <p> + No, Charley was not in; and the household now became seriously concerned. + It was past ten. By leaving his lessons half done, and his pen inside his + exercise-book—of which exercise he had not left many words to + complete; but he had other studies to do—it was evident to them that + he had not gone out intending to remain away. Indeed, if he wanted to go + out in an evening, he always asked leave, and mentioned where he was + going. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you found him?” exclaimed Judith, coming forward as Tom entered. + “Where in the world can the child be?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s safe somewhere,” said Tom. “Don’t worry your old head, Judy.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s fit that somebody should worry their heads,” retorted Judith sharply + to Tom. “He never stopped out like this before—never! Pray Heaven + there’s no harm come nigh him!” + </p> + <p> + “Well done, Judy!” was Tom’s answer. “Harm! What harm is likely to have + come to him? Helstonleigh has not been shaken by an earthquake to-night, + to swallow him up; and I don’t suppose any greedy kite has descended from + the skies and carried him off in her talons. You’ll make a simpleton of + that boy till he’s twenty!” + </p> + <p> + Judith—who, truth to say, did look very much after Charley, loved + him and indulged him—wasted no more words on infidel Tom, but went + straight up to Hamish’s room, and knocked at the door. Hamish was in it, + at his writing-table as usual, and Judith heard a drawer opened and shut + before he came to her. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hamish, it’s very queer about the child!” said Judith. “I don’t half + like it.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Has he not come in?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he’s not. And, just to look how he has left his books and his lessons + about, is enough to prove that something or other must have kept 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 he troubled + himself to look much. Boys are as careless one of another as so many young + animals.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come down directly, Judith.” + </p> + <p> + He shut the door, right in front of Judith’s inquisitive nose, which was + peering in to ascertain what there might be to see. Judith’s curiosity, in + reference to her young master’s night employment, had increased rather + than abated. Every night, night after night, as Hamish came home with the + account-books of the office under his arm, and carried them straight to + his bedroom, Judith watched him go up with jealous eyes. Constance also + watched him: watched him in a far more uneasy frame of mind than could be + Judith’s. Bringing home those books now, in Mr. Channing’s absence, was + only too plain a proof to Constance that his night work must be connected + with them: and a perfectly sick feeling would rush over her. Surely there + could be nothing wrong with the accounts? + </p> + <p> + Hamish closed the door, shutting out Judy. She heard him putting things + away: heard a lock turned, and the keys removed. Then he came forth, and + went down with Judith. + </p> + <p> + The difficulty was, where to look for Charles. It was possible that he + might have gone to the houses of any one of the schoolboys, and be staying + 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’s scholars + boarding in his house; and thence to other houses in the neighbourhood. + All with the same result; all denied knowledge of Charles. The college + bell struck eleven, the sound booming out in the silence of the night on + their listening ears; and with that sound, Hamish grew alarmed. + </p> + <p> + They went out different ways: Hamish, Arthur, Tom, and Judith. Sarah was + excessively anxious to make one of the searching party, but Judith + imperatively ordered her to stop at home and mind her own business. Judy + ran round and about the college, like any one wild; nothing extra on her + shoulders, and the border of her mob-cap flying. But the old red walls + were high, silent, and impenetrable; revealing nothing of Charles + Channing. She stopped at the low wall, extending from the side of the + boat-house to some of the prebendal residences, and glanced over at the + river. The water was flowing tranquilly between its banks, giving no sign + that a young child was drowning, or had been drowned there not many hours + before. “No,” said Judy to herself, rejecting the doubt, which had come + over her as improbable, “he can’t have got in there. We should have heard + of it.” + </p> + <p> + She turned, and took a survey around. She did not know what to do, or + where to look. Still, cold, shadowy it all lay; the cathedral, the old + houses, the elm trees with their birds, at rest now. “Where <i>can</i> he + have got to?” exclaimed Judith, with a touch of temper. + </p> + <p> + One thing was certain: it was of no use to wait where she was, and Judith + went herself home again. Just beyond the house of Lady Augusta Yorke she + encountered the head-master, who was walking towards his home. He said + “Good night” to Judith, as he passed her; but she arrested him. + </p> + <p> + “We are in a fine way, sir! We can’t find Master Charles.” + </p> + <p> + “Not find Master Charles?” repeated Mr. Pye. “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it happened in this way, sir,” said Judith. “He was at his lessons, + as usual, with Master Tom, and he suddenly gets up and leaves them, and + goes out, without saying a word to nobody. That was at seven, or a bit + later; and he has never come in again.” + </p> + <p> + “He must be staying somewhere,” remarked Mr. Pye. + </p> + <p> + “So we all thought, sir, till it got late. He’s not likely to be staying + anywhere now. Who’d keep him till this hour, terrifying of us all into + fits? Ketch—” + </p> + <p> + “Holloa, Judy! Any luck?” + </p> + <p> + The interruption came from Tom Channing. He had discerned Judy’s cap from + the other side of the Boundaries, and now came running across, unconscious + that her companion was the head-master. Judy went on with her + communication. + </p> + <p> + “Ketch, the porter, came to Master Tom an hour or two ago, complaining + that the college boys had been serving him a trick to-night. They had + pretended to invite him out somewhere to supper, and stole his cloister + keys while he was gone. Now, sir, I’d not like to say too much against + that surly-tempered brown bear,” went on Judy, “but if he has had anything + to do with keeping the child out, he ought to be punished.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was up now, saw it was the master, and touched his trencher. + </p> + <p> + “Have you found your brother?” asked the master. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. It is very strange where he can have got to.” + </p> + <p> + “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 complain of them.” + </p> + <p> + Tom went into a white heat. Judy ought to have kept her mouth shut. It was + not his place to inform against the school, privately, to the master. “Y—es,” + he hesitatingly said, for an untruth he would not tell. + </p> + <p> + “What was the complaint?” continued Mr. Pye. “Could this disappearance of + your brother’s be connected with it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I don’t see that it could,” replied Tom. + </p> + <p> + “You ‘don’t see!’ Perhaps you’ll allow me to see, and judge. What had the + boys been doing, Channing?” firmly spoke the master, perceiving his + hesitation. “I <i>insist</i> upon knowing.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was at his wits’ ends. He might not defy the master, on the one hand; + on the other, he knew the school would send him to Coventry for ever and a + day, if he spoke; as he himself would have sent any other boy, in it, + doing the same thing. He heartily wished Judy had been in Asia before she + had spoken of it, and her tongue with her. + </p> + <p> + “Were you in the affair yourself, pray?” asked the master. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, indeed I was not; and I do not know a single boy who was. I have + heard nothing of it, except from Ketch.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what is your objection to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you know the rules we hold amongst ourselves,” said Tom, + blurting out the truth, in his desperation. “I scarcely dare tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you dare, Channing, when I command you to do so,” was the + significant answer. + </p> + <p> + Tom had no resource left; and, very unwillingly, Ketch’s details were + drawn from him, bit by bit. The sham invitation, the disappointment + touching the tripe and onions, the missing the cloister keys when he + reached home, and the finding them outside the west door. + </p> + <p> + “Did he enter the cloisters and examine them?” said the master, speaking + hastily. A possibility had struck him, which had not struck any of the + Channings; and it was curious that it had not done so. + </p> + <p> + “I think not, sir,” replied Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Then, that’s where Charles is, locked up in the cloisters!” said the + master, the recollection of the former locking-up no doubt helping him to + the conclusion. “The fact of the keys having been left hanging outside the + cloister door might have been sufficient to direct your suspicions.” + </p> + <p> + Tom felt the force of the words, and was wondering how it was he had not + thought of it, when a cry burst from Judith. + </p> + <p> + “If he is there, he will never come out alive! Oh, sir, what will become + of us?” + </p> + <p> + The master was surprised. He knew it was not a desirable situation for any + young boy; but “never come out alive” were strong terms. Judy explained + them. She poured into the master’s ears the unhappy story of Charles + having been frightened in childhood; of his propensity still to + supernatural fears. + </p> + <p> + “Make haste round! we must have the cloisters opened immediately!” + exclaimed the master, as all the full truth of the dread imparted by + Judith became clear to him. “Channing, you have light heels; run on, and + knock up Ketch.” + </p> + <p> + Tom tore off; never a lighter pair of heels than his, to-night; and the + master and the old servant followed. The master’s sympathies, nay, his + lively fears, were strongly awakened, and he could not leave the affair in + this stage, late though the hour was. + </p> + <p> + They arrived, to find Tom pummelling at Ketch’s door. But to pummel was + one thing, and to arouse Mr. Ketch was another. Mr. Ketch chose to remain + deaf. “I’ll try the window,” said Tom, “He must hear; his bed is close at + hand.” + </p> + <p> + He knocked sharply; and it at length elicited an answer from the drowsy + gentleman, composed of growls and abuse. + </p> + <p> + “Get up!” called out Tom. “The keys of the cloisters are wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they may be wanted!” responded old Ketch in a muffled tone, as if he + were speaking from under the bed-clothes. “I’ll see you all furder before + you get the keys from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ketch, produce the keys this instant!” interposed the master. “You know + my voice; Mr. Pye’s. How dare you?” + </p> + <p> + “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 me this evening, is + it? I’ll go to the dean with the first glimmer o’ daylight—” + </p> + <p> + “Ketch, I am the head-master. I have come for the cloister keys. There’s a + boy locked in the cloisters!” + </p> + <p> + “Is there? Praise be given up for that! I wouldn’t unlock him for a mint + o’ diaments. If you don’t be off, I’ll call the police.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire! fire!” shouted Judy, in a shrill tone, putting her mouth to the + keyhole; for she despaired of gaining Ketch by any other means. “What an + idiot you are, old Ketch! Do you want to be burnt up alive?” + </p> + <p> + “Fire!” shouted Tom, in stentorian tones. “Fire! fire!” And Ketch, whether + he was really alarmed, or whether he recognized the head-master’s voice, + and thought it imprudent to hold out any longer, tumbled out of bed, + opened the door, and appeared before them in attire more airy than + elegant. Another minute, and impetuous Tom would have burst the window in. + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon,” said Ketch, ungraciously, to the master. “Them boys play me + up such tricks, that I’m always thinking of ‘em. Where’s the fire?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s anywhere,” said the master. “The cloister keys, Ketch: + and make haste. Which of the boys played you that trick to-night?” + </p> + <p> + Ketch gave a yell, for the point was a sore one. “I never set eyes on one + of ‘em! They’re too cunning for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Was my brother Charles one?” asked Tom, while Mr. Pye hastened away with + the cloister keys. + </p> + <p> + “I tell ye I never see’d one! Can’t you believe?” Tom did believe, and + went after the master and Judy. + </p> + <p> + They entered the cloisters, and shouted for Charles. Nothing answered them + but the echoes. To <i>see</i> whether he was there, was impossible. Judy + thought he might be lying somewhere, insensible from fright, and she ran + up and down feeling into niches, as one demented. Mr. Pye sent Tom back to + old Ketch’s for a light, which was not supplied without difficulty. + </p> + <p> + He was turning away with it, when Hamish came up. Hamish had been with all + 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 boys were + in it. Harry, however, who was in bed, assured Hamish of his complete + ignorance. But for Mr. Huntley’s veto, he would have got up and gone out + to join in the search, and enjoyed it amazingly. + </p> + <p> + They carried the candle to every nook and corner of the cloisters, no + result arising from it. Hamish and Tom climbed over and searched the + burial-ground. He was not there. No signs, for their keen eyes, or for any + others, remained of the night’s work: the college boys were cautious. A + couple of matches, half-burnt, lay on the ground in the north quadrangle, + but they told nothing. The boys were often lighting matches, as the master + knew. + </p> + <p> + “I really think you must be mistaken in supposing Charles’s absence has to + do with this trick played upon old Ketch—whatever it may have been,” + he observed. “It does not appear that the boys have been in the cloisters. + Had any of them been locked in here, here they would be still.” + </p> + <p> + 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 to receive + them, which he did with a great amount of wrath. Mr. Pye thought it would + be proved that Charles must be at the house of one of the boys, + carelessness or accident having detained him. And then he wished them good + night and went home. + </p> + <p> + Completely at a loss were they. Hamish, ever hopeful, thought Charles had + perhaps returned home: and they bent their steps thither. No, no; + Constance, Arthur, and curious Sarah, were all outside, looking every way. + Constance was too agitated to remain indoors. Arthur had just returned + home. He had been to the houses of some of the college boys, those with + whom Charles was most intimate, but could obtain no tidings of him. + </p> + <p> + Constance burst into tears. She grew excessively alarmed, when Judy + mentioned the doubt lest he had been shut in the cloisters. “But that fear + is done away with,” said Hamish. “We have searched them thoroughly. Do not + distress yourself, Constance.” + </p> + <p> + “There goes midnight!” exclaimed Judy. + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” shivered Sarah. “I feel just as if somebody was walking over my + grave, Judith.” + </p> + <p> + “If they were walking over you, it mightn’t be amiss,” reprimanded Judith. + “Don’t talk such stuff as that, girl, in the young mistress’s ears.” + </p> + <p> + The words died away into silence, and they stood listening to the strokes + of the deep-toned cathedral bell. With the last, twelve, another day had + dawned upon the world. What would it bring forth for them? + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to the police-station,” said Hamish. “Constance, my dear, you + had better not remain outside. Go indoors.” + </p> + <p> + It was well to say “Go indoors,” but in the agitation and suspense at that + 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. + </p> + <p> + And so they waited and watched through the livelong night. Hamish was at + work; the police were at work; Tom was at work: but neither sign nor trace + could be found of Charles Channing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. — AN OFFICIAL CEREMONY INTERRUPTED. + </h2> + <p> + A grey dusky morning, enveloped in fog, succeeded to the fine night. + Before seven o’clock—so watchful and alert are boys when mischief is + afloat—most of those who had been in the conspiracy were assembled, + and waiting round the schoolroom doors. Generally, they could tear up at + the twelfth moment. They would not have missed the sight of Charles + Channing’s arrival for half-a-crown apiece, so curious were they to see + how he looked, after his fright. As it happened, it was not at any of + their homes that inquiries had been made the previous night; not one of + them was, to say, intimate with Charley: they were most of them older than + he. Consequently, they knew nothing of the search. Tod Yorke, who did know + of it, had not yet arrived. Of all the king’s scholars, none were marked + late more frequently than Master Tod. + </p> + <p> + The senior boy had gone to the head-master’s for the keys as usual, and + now came down the cloisters, clanking them in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Has Charles Channing turned up?” he called out, before he was well + abreast of them. + </p> + <p> + Pierce senior choked away his inclination to laughter, which the sound of + the name excited, and saucy Bywater answered. “Where should he turn up + from, Huntley? Has he been swallowed?” + </p> + <p> + “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 wind + last night with old Calcraft?” + </p> + <p> + The boys looked at him demurely; and Huntley, receiving no reply, unlocked + the schoolroom and entered it. They remained behind, winking at each + other, and waiting still for Charles. It wanted yet a few minutes to + seven. + </p> + <p> + “I say, what d’ye think?” whispered Bywater. “After I had got our sheet + smuggled in, all right, and was putting it on the bed, I found two big + holes burnt in it. Won’t there be a commotion when my old aunt finds it + out! She’ll vow I have been reading in bed. That was you, Pierce senior!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I never burnt it,” retorted Pierce. “It was the flame did it, if + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Here comes Bill Simms!” exclaimed Bywater, when their smothered laugh was + over. “What has he been doing to himself? He’s as white as the ghost!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bill Simms assuredly did look white. He had a pale face at the best of + times, and it was embellished with straw-coloured hair. But at the present + moment it had turned ghastly, and his frame seemed shaking as he came + along. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth has taken you, Simms?” demanded Hurst. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, goodness!” uttered Simms. “I wish I was well out of this! They are + saying there’s a college boy drowned!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried the boys, gathering round him. + </p> + <p> + “There was a crowd down by the boat-house as I came along,” responded + Simms, as well as he could speak for his chattering teeth. “I asked a + fellow what it was, and he said he didn’t rightly know, but he thought one + of the college boys had been found drowned in the water.” + </p> + <p> + Some of the gentlemen-listeners’ faces turned as pale as Mr. Bill Simms’s; + as pale as each conscience. Bywater was the first to gather courage. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not obliged to be Charley Channing, if there is any one drowned.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s sure to be him,” chattered Simms, his teeth as crazy as his + grammar. “Griffin junior says Arthur Channing went to their house last + night at twelve, and said they couldn’t find Charley.” + </p> + <p> + The consternation into which this news plunged the guilty ones is not + easily described. A conviction that it <i>was</i> Charles Channing who was + drowned, overtook them all. Schoolboys are not quite without hearts, and + they would have given all they possessed, in that moment, to see Charles + come flying amongst them, as usual. Some of them began to wish they were + without necks; for if Charles had come to an untimely end through their + work, they might stand a chance of furnishing employment to the veritable + Mr. Calcraft, on their own score. Tod Yorke came leaping up in delight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wasn’t it good! The young one—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your noise, Tod! They are saying he’s dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s dead?” wondered Tod. + </p> + <p> + “Charley Channing. A college boy was found in the river, drowned.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that be hanged!” exclaimed Tod, half in mocking disbelief, half in + awful fear. “It can’t be, you know. Who says it?” + </p> + <p> + “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 each other’s + counsel, and be in one tale—that we know nothing at all about it.” + </p> + <p> + They slunk into school. But that the senior boy was occupied with his new + duty—the calling over of the roll—he might have observed that + something was wrong. To play up a bit of mischief is the legitimate + privilege of college boys; but to have led to a companion’s death is a + terror-striking affair; and their countenances betrayed that it was so. + </p> + <p> + Before the roll was finished, the head-master was in school. Tom Channing—it + was late for him—entered afterwards. The master beckoned to him. + </p> + <p> + “Is Charles found?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. We cannot learn any tidings of him at all. We have not been to + bed, any of us; and the police are searching also.” + </p> + <p> + Had Tom Channing come from the other side of the Boundaries, near the + boat-house, perhaps he might have been able to give a different account. + </p> + <p> + The master made no comment then. He motioned Tom to his desk, and gave the + word for prayers. As the boys were rising from their knees, Hamish + Channing entered the school, attended by Mr. Ketch. + </p> + <p> + Hamish approached the master, who shook hands with him. Ketch remained + snarling and grinning defiance at the door, shaking his fist and his old + teeth covertly at the boys. If looks could have blown up a room, the + college school had certainly gone aloft then. + </p> + <p> + “I hear you have not found the boy?” said the master to Hamish. “It is + very singular.” + </p> + <p> + “We have not found him. Mr. Pye,” continued Hamish, gravely, “I come to + demand of your courtesy an immediate investigation into the doings of the + college boys last night. That the disappearance of Charles is in some + measure connected with it, we cannot do otherwise than believe. I have + brought Ketch with me that he may tell his own tale.” + </p> + <p> + Ketch was marshalled forward and ordered to tell his tale, and the + business of the school was suspended. Ketch told it distinctly enough; but + he could not forbear enlarging upon his cruel disappointment over the + tripe and onions, and it sent the school into convulsions. In the midst of + it, Tom Channing breathed freely; Ketch’s preferring the complaint, did + away with the unpleasantness he had feared might arise, through having + been forced to disclose it to the master. + </p> + <p> + “I should be sorry to have displeasure visited upon the boys,” resumed + Hamish. “Indeed, I should esteem it a favour, sir, if you will not punish + them for any disclosure that may arise through this step which I have + taken. I dare say,” he added, turning his laughing gaze upon them, “that I + should have been one of the ringleaders myself, in my school days, + therefore it would not be fair for me to bring punishment upon them. I + only wish to know which of the school were in it, that I may make + inquiries of them whether Charles was one of them or not; and, if he was, + what they know of his movements afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + The address was fair and candid; so was Hamish’s face; and some of the + conspirators, in their good feeling, might have freely confessed, but for + the something just whispered to them by Simms. That closed their lips. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear?” said the master, speaking sharply, for he had rather, ten + times over, that the school frankly avowed mischief, when brought to book: + he was never half so severe if they were so. “Why are you silent?” + </p> + <p> + 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 Mark + Galloway, next to whom he sat: “let’s tell, and have done with it.” + </p> + <p> + 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 be tried for + our lives?” A suggestion which made matters worse; and Bill Simms’s hair + began to stand on end. + </p> + <p> + “Huntley, have you any cognizance of this?” demanded Mr. Pye. + </p> + <p> + “None, sir.” And so said the three seniors under him. + </p> + <p> + “Boys!” said the master, bringing his cane down upon the desk in a manner + he was accustomed to do when provoked: “I <i>will</i> come to the bottom + of this business. That several of you were in it, I feel sure. Is there + not <i>one</i> of you sufficiently honest to speak, when required so to + do?” + </p> + <p> + Certain of the boys drooped their conscious faces and their eyelids. As to + Bill Simms, he felt ready to faint. + </p> + <p> + “What have you done with Charles Channing?” thundered the master. “Where + have you put him? Where is he gone? I command you to speak! Let the senior + of those who were in it speak! or the consequences be upon your own + heads.” + </p> + <p> + The threat sounded ominous in the ears of Bill Simms: he saw himself, in + prospective, exposed to all the horrors of a dungeon, and to something + worse. With a curious noise, something between a bark and a groan, he + flung himself with his face on the floor, and lay there howling. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Simms,” said the master, “what has taken you? Were you the chief + actor in this matter?” + </p> + <p> + All considerations had disappeared from Mr. Simms’s mind except the + moment’s terror. He forgot what would be his own position in the school, + if he told, or—as they would have expressed it—turned sneak. + Impelled by fear, he was hardly conscious of his words; hardly responsible + for them. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t me,” he howled. “They all know I didn’t want the trick played + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The master paused. “Walk here, Simms.” + </p> + <p> + Simms picked himself up from the ground and walked there. A miserable + object he looked; his eyes red, his teeth chattering, his face white, and + his straw-coloured hair standing on end. + </p> + <p> + The master leaned his arms upon his desk, and brought his face almost into + contact with the frightened one. “What trick did you play upon Charles + Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Twasn’t me, sir,” sobbed Simms. “I didn’t want it done, I say, + O-o-o-o-o-o-h! I didn’t!” + </p> + <p> + “What trick was played upon him?” + </p> + <p> + “It was a ghost dressed up to frighten him, and he passed through the + cloisters and saw it. It wasn’t me! I’ll never speak another word, if it + was me!” + </p> + <p> + “A ghost!” repeated the master in astonishment, while Ketch stretched his + old neck forward, and the most intense interest was displayed by the + school. + </p> + <p> + “They did it with a sheet and a blue flame,” went on Simms; who, now that + the ice was broken, tried to make a clean breast of it, and grew more + alarmed every moment. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t want it done, and I never + lent a hand to the dressing up. If little Channing is dead, it won’t be + fair to hang me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was in the plot?” was the next question of the master. And Simms + enumerated them. The master, stern and grim, beckoned to the several + gentlemen to walk up, and to range themselves before him. “The lad has run + some distance in his terror,” observed the master aside to Hamish, as he + remembered what Judith had told him the previous night. “You will see him + home in the course of the day.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust we may!” replied Hamish, with marked emphasis. + </p> + <p> + Bit by bit, word by word, the master drew the whole truth from the + downcast lads. Pierce senior looked dogged and obstinate: he was inwardly + vowing unheard-of revenge against Mr. Simms. Probably most of them were + doing the same. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed it was them! I knowed it couldn’t be nobody but them!” broke + forth old Ketch, summarily interrupting the proceedings. “You sees now, + sir, what incorrigible—” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” said the master, raising his hand. “I can deal with this + without your assistance, Ketch. Hurst, who concocted this infamous plot?” + </p> + <p> + Hurst—who was the senior of the conspirators, with regard to his + position in the school, though not so old as Pierce senior—could not + answer it definitively. It was concocted between them, he said; not by one + more than by another. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not know that a trick, such as this, has deprived <i>men</i> of + reason?” continued the master. “And you play it upon a young and + defenceless boy! I am at a loss how to express my sense of your conduct. + If any ill shall have happened to him through it, you will carry it on + your consciences for ever.” + </p> + <p> + Remembering what they had just heard, the boys’ consciences had begun to + suffer already. + </p> + <p> + “Who personated the ghost?” continued the master. + </p> + <p> + “Pierce senior.” The answer came from Simms. The others would not have + given it. + </p> + <p> + “I might have guessed that,” was the remark of the master, who had no + great love for the gentleman named. “I might have known that if there was + a boy in the college school who would delight to put himself forward to + trample on one younger and more sensitive than himself, it would be Pierce + senior. I’ll give you something to remember this work by, Mr. Pierce. + Yorke!” + </p> + <p> + Gerald Yorke knew what he was called for. He was the tallest and strongest + of all. The school knew also; and a murmur of excitement went round. + Pierce senior was going to be hoisted. + </p> + <p> + Only in very flagrant cases was the extreme punishment of flogging + resorted to by the present master. It had been more common with his + predecessor. Of course its rarity made it all the more impressive when it + did come. + </p> + <p> + “Make ready,” said the master to Pierce senior, unlocking his desk, and + taking out a birch as big as a besom. + </p> + <p> + Pierce turned green and white, without help from any blue flame, and + slowly began to obey. There might be no resistance. The school hushed + itself into suspense, and Mr. Ketch’s legs were on the point of taking a + dance of ecstasy. A minute or two, and the group formed the centre of the + upper part of the room. Yorke supported the great boy whose back was + bared, while the daunted faces and eager eyes were strained eagerly from + around. The head-master took his place, and his birch was raised in the + air to come down with a heavy stroke, when a commotion was heard at one of + the desks, and Stephen Bywater rushed forward. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, sir!” he said to the master. “If you will let Pierce go, I will + take the punishment.” + </p> + <p> + The master’s arm with its weapon dropped by his side, and he turned his + astonished gaze upon Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “I had more to do with planning the trick than Pierce had, sir, so it’s + only just that I should be the scapegoat. We fixed upon Pierce to + personate the ghost because he was tall and lanky. And a flogging is not + much to my skin,” added honest, impudent Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “So <i>you</i> were the planner of it, were you, Mr. Bywater?” demanded + the angry master. + </p> + <p> + “In a great measure I was, sir. If I do go in for mischief, it shall not + be said that I let others suffer for it. Little Channing had offended me, + and I wished to serve him out. But I never thought to do him harm.” + </p> + <p> + In the perplexity of deciding what he ought to do, when official + proceedings were interrupted in this unprecedented way, the master + hesitated. What he would have done is uncertain—flogged Pierce first + and Bywater afterwards, perhaps—but at that moment there occurred + another interruption, and a more serious one. + </p> + <p> + Diggs, the man who lived at the boat-house, had entered the school, and + was asking to speak to the head-master. Catching sight of the signs of the + ceremony about to be performed, he waited for no permission, but went + forward at once, a college cap in his hand, and his voice trembling with + excitement. Its excitement was not lessened when he recognized Hamish + Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I am the bearer of bad news, gentlemen,” he said, addressing them both. + “I fear one of the young college lads was drowned last night by my + boat-house. We have picked up his cap this morning. It was poor little + Master Channing.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish controlled his emotion better than did the Rev. Mr. Pye. The latter + turned his eyes on the horrified school, himself equally horrified, and + then signified to Pierce senior to dress himself—to Bywater to + retire to his place. “The affair has become serious,” he observed, “and + must be dealt with differently. Poor child! Poor little Channing!” + </p> + <p> + And the boys, in their emotion, broke into an echoing wail. “Poor little + Channing! poor little Channing!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. — DRAGGING THE RIVER. + </h2> + <p> + The echoes of lamentation were dying away in the high roof of the college + school. Hamish Channing, pale, but calm and self-controlled, stood + perfectly ready to investigate the account brought by the boat-house + keeper of the drowning of Charles. The feelings of those who had had a + hand in the work may be imagined, perhaps, but certainly cannot be + described. Bill Simms choked and sobbed, and pulled his lanky + straw-coloured hair, and kicked his legs about, and was altogether beside + himself. The under-masters looked on with stern countenances and lowering + brows; while old Ketch never had had such a disappointment in all his life + (the one grand disappointment of last night excepted) as he was feeling + now, at the deferred flogging. + </p> + <p> + Diggs, the boat-house keeper, was a widower, with one child, a girl of ten + years old. His mother lived with him—an aged woman, confined to her + bed, of late, with rheumatic fever, from which she was slowly recovering. + On the previous night Diggs was out, and the girl had been sent on an + errand, Mrs. Diggs being left in the house alone. She was lying quietly, + still as was the air outside, when sudden sounds broke that stillness, and + smote upon her ear. Footsteps—young steps, they seemed—were + heard to come tearing down on the outside gravel, from the direction of + the cathedral, and descend the steps. Then there was a startling cry and a + plunge into the river. + </p> + <p> + The old woman echoed the cry; but there were none to hear it, and she was + powerless to aid. That a human soul was struggling in the water was + certain; and she called and called, but called in vain. She was shut up in + 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 her ears, + that she might hear no more (if more was to be heard) of the death agony. + </p> + <p> + Twenty minutes or so, and then the girl came in. The old woman brought her + head from under the clothes, and stated what had occurred, and the girl + went and looked at the river. But it was flowing along peacefully, showing + no signs that anything of the sort had happened. Not a creature was on the + path on either side, so far as her eyes could see in the moonlight; and + she came to the conclusion that her grandmother must have been mistaken. + “She has odd fancies,” said the child to herself, “and thinks she hears + things that nobody else never hears.” + </p> + <p> + At ten o’clock Diggs came home. Now, this man had a propensity for + yielding to an infirmity to which many others also yield—that of + drinking too freely. It is true that this did not often occur; but when it + did happen, it was usually at a time when his services were especially + required. It is very much the case in this world: we often do 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 impression upon him. As his young + daughter had done, he took a survey of the river, but only from the + windows of his house—the girl had gone on to the bank—and then + he tumbled into bed, and slept heavily until the morning. + </p> + <p> + Up betimes, he remembered what had been told to him, and went out of + doors, half expecting possibly to see something floating on the surface. + “I was detained out last night on an errand,” explained he to some three + or four stragglers who had gathered round him, “and when I got in, my old + mother told me a cock-and-bull story of a cry and a splash, as if somebody + had fallen into the river. It don’t look much like it, though.” + </p> + <p> + “A dead dog, maybe,” suggested one of the idlers. “They’re always throwing + rubbish into this river on the sly.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is?” sharply asked Diggs. “They had better let me catch ‘em at it!” + </p> + <p> + “Lots of folks,” was the response. “But if it was a dead dog, it couldn’t + well have cried out.” + </p> + <p> + Diggs went indoors to his mother’s chamber. “What time was it, this tale + of yours?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “It was about half-past seven,” she answered. “The half-hour chimed out + from the college, just before or just after, I forget which.” And then she + related again what she knew he could not clearly comprehend over night: + the fact of the fleet-sounding footsteps, and that they appeared to be + young footsteps. “If I didn’t know the cloisters were shut at that hour, I + should have thought they come direct from the west door—” + </p> + <p> + The words were interrupted by a call from below; and the man hastened + down. A boy’s cap—known, from its form, to belong to one of the + collegiate scholars—had just been found under the lower bank, lodged + in the mud. Then some one had been drowned! and it was a college boy. + </p> + <p> + Where does a crowd collect from? I don’t believe any one can tell. Not + three minutes after that trencher was picked up, people were gathering + thick and threefold, retired though the spot was; and it was at this time + that Mr. Bill Simms had passed, and heard the tale which turned his heart + sick and his face white. + </p> + <p> + Some time given to supposition, to comments, and to other gossip, + indigenous to an event of the sort, and then Mr. Diggs started for the + college school with the cap. Another messenger ran to the Channings’ + house, the name in the cap proving to whom it had belonged. Diggs related + the substance of this to the master, suppressing certain little points + bearing upon himself. + </p> + <p> + 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 hand of + one of the schoolboys—it looked like Bywater’s—“Miss” had been + added. Charley had scratched the addition over with strokes from a pen, + but the word might still be read. + </p> + <p> + “The river must be dragged, Diggs,” said Hamish Channing. + </p> + <p> + “The drags are being got ready now, sir. They’ll be in, by the time I get + back.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish strode to the door. Tom came up from his desk, showing some + agitation, and looked at the master. “You will allow me to go, sir? I can + do no good at my lessons in this suspense.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the master. He was going himself. + </p> + <p> + The school rose with one accord. The under-masters rose. To think of + study, in this excitement, was futile; and, in defiance of all precedent, + the boys were allowed to leave the room, and troop down to the river. It + was a race which should get there first; masters and boys ran together. + The only one who walked pretty soberly was the head-master, who had to + uphold his dignity. + </p> + <p> + The drags were already in the river, and the banks were lined; police, + friends, spectators, gentlemen, mob, and college boys, jostled each other. + 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 his orders with + quiet authority, was inwardly troubled as he had never been. The boy had + been left to his charge, and how should he answer for this to his father + and mother? + </p> + <p> + He went in and saw the old woman; as did the renowned Mr. Butterby, who + had appeared with the rest. She related to them she had heard the previous + night. “I could have told, without having heard it now, that it was the + steps of a college boy,” she said. “I don’t listen so often to ‘em that I + need mistake. He seemed to be coming from the west door o’ the cloisters—only + that the cloisters are shut at night; so he may have 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 a splash, and the footsteps were + heard no more. One might fancy that in turning the corner to run along the + towing-path he had turned too quick, and so fell over the bank.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear no noise afterwards?” questioned Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t. I called out, but nobody came nigh to answer it: and then I hid + my ears. I was afraid, ye see.” + </p> + <p> + They left the old woman’s bedside, and returned to the crowd on the bank. + The dean quietly questioned Hamish about the facts, and shook his head + when put in possession of them. “I fear there is little hope,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Very little. My father and mother’s absence makes it the more + distressing. I know not, Mr. Dean, how—” + </p> + <p> + Who was this, pushing vehemently up, to the discomfiture of every one, + elbowing the dean with as little ceremony as he might have elbowed Ketch, + thrusting Hamish aside, and looking down on the river with flashing eyes? + Who should it be, but Roland Yorke? For that was his usual way of pushing + through a crowd; as you have heard before. + </p> + <p> + “Is it true?” he gasped. “Is Charles Channing in the water!—sent + there through the tricks of the college boys—of Tod?” + </p> + <p> + “There is little doubt of its truth, Roland,” was the answer of Hamish. + </p> + <p> + Roland said no more. Off went his coat, off went his waistcoat, off went + other garments, leaving him nothing but his drawers and his shirt; and in + he leaped impetuously, before any one could stop him, and dived below, + searching after Charles, paying no heed to the shouts that the drags would + get hold of him. + </p> + <p> + But neither drags nor Roland could find Charles. The drags were continued, + but without result. Very few had expected that there would be any result, + the probability being that the current had carried the body down the + stream. Hamish had been home to soothe the grief of his sisters—or + rather to attempt to soothe it—and then he came back again. + </p> + <p> + Roland, his ardour cooled, had likewise been home to exchange his wet + things for dry ones. This done, he was flying out again, when he came upon + the Reverend William Yorke, who was hastening down to the scene, in some + agitation. + </p> + <p> + “Is the boy found, Roland, do you know? How did it happen? Did he fall + in?” + </p> + <p> + “Considering the light in which you regard the family, William Yorke, I + wonder you should waste your breath to ask about it,” was Roland’s touchy + answer, delivered with as much scorn as he could call up. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke said no more, but quickened his pace towards the river. Roland + kept up with him and continued talking. + </p> + <p> + “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 her she + might go along, for you. It has turned out just the best luck that could + have happened to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, sir,” said Mr. Yorke, his pale cheek flushing. “I have already + told you that I will not permit you to mention Miss Channing’s name to me. + You have nothing to do with her or with me.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> have nothing to do with her, at any rate,” cried aggravating + Roland. “She’ll soon belong to your betters, William Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke turned his flashing eye upon him, plainly asking the explanation + that he would not condescend to ask in words. It gave Roland an advantage, + and he went on swimmingly with his mischief. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Carrick has seen the merits of Constance, if you have not; and—I + don’t mind telling it you in confidence—has resolved to make her his + wife. He says she’s the prettiest girl he has seen for ages.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not true,” said Mr. Yorke, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “Not true!” returned Roland. “You’ll see whether it’s true or not, when + she’s Countess of Carrick. Lady Augusta was present when he made her the + offer. He was half afraid to make it for some time, he told us, as he was + getting on in years, and had grey hair. Halloa! you are turning pale, + William Yorke. She can’t be anything to you! You threw her away, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + William Yorke, vouchsafing no reply, broke away from his tormentor. He + probably did look pale; certainly he felt so. Roland indulged in a quiet + laugh. He had been waiting for this opportunity, ever since he became + cognizant of what had taken place between the earl and Constance. 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’s thought. + </p> + <p> + A sudden noise! Cries and shouts on the banks of the river, and the dense + crowd swayed about with excitement. Mr. Yorke and Roland set off at a run, + each from his own point, and the cries took a distinct sound as they + neared them. + </p> + <p> + “They have found the body!” + </p> + <p> + It was being laid upon the bank. Those who could get near tried to obtain + a glimpse of it. The college boys, with white faces and terror-stricken + consciences, fought for a place; Roland Yorke fought for it; the + head-master fought for it: I am not sure that the bishop—who had + seen the commotion from his palace windows, and came up to know what it + meant—did not fight for it. + </p> + <p> + A false alarm, so far as the present object was concerned. A little lad, + who had been drowned more than a week before, had turned up now. He had + incautiously climbed the parapet of the bridge, whence he fell into 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 the relief to certain of + the college boys, when they found it was not Charles, was immeasurable. + Bywater’s spirits went up to some of their old impudence. “In looking for + one thing you find another,” quoth he. + </p> + <p> + Very true, Mr. Bywater! Sometimes we find more than we bargain for. The + drags were thrown in again, and the excited crowd jostled each other as + before, their faces hanging over the brink. Hush! Hark! Another prize! + What is it, coming up now? + </p> + <p> + A rare prize, this time! The drags pulled and tugged, and the men cried, + “Heave-ho!” and a hundred and one voices echoed it: “Heave-ho! heave-ho!” + Hush! Hush—sh—sh! A breathless moment of suspense, and up it + comes. Amidst straw and tangled weeds and mud, and the odds and ends that + a river will collect, something hard and clanking was thrown upon the + bank, and wondering eyes and faces peered over it. + </p> + <p> + Nothing but two keys. A pair of large rusty keys, tied together with + string. Bywater, and Hurst, and young Galloway, and one or two more, cast + significant glances together, and were nearly choking with fright and + suppressed laughter. One, standing there, conspicuous for his dress, which + amongst other items comprised an apron, turned a significant glance on <i>them</i>. + Bold Bywater met it, and looked a little less bold than usual. But the + prelate had kept counsel, and meant to keep it; and he looked away again. + </p> + <p> + Once more were the drags thrown into the water. Once more the mob, gentle + and simple, crowded its brink. When the college bell tolled out for + 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 be fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day, when the search was over—for it was thought + useless to continue it—and when hope was over, a council was held at + Mr. Channing’s house. Mr. and Mrs. Channing must be acquainted with this + sad business; but how was it to be done? By letter? by telegraph? or by a + special messenger? Constance had suggested writing, and silently hoped + that Hamish would take the task upon himself, for she felt unequal to it, + in her dire distress. Mr. Galloway, who had been in and out all the + morning, suggested the telegraph. Hamish approved of neither, but proposed + to despatch Arthur, to make the communication in person. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot leave Helstonleigh myself,” he said; “therefore it must devolve + upon Arthur. Of course his journey will be an expense; but there are times + when expense must not be regarded. I consider this one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “A letter would go more quickly,” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Scarcely, in these days of travelling,” was Hamish’s reply. “But that is + not the question. A letter, let it be ever so explanatory, will only leave + them in suspense. As soon as they have read it, five hundred questions + will suggest themselves that they will wish to ask; and, to wait to have + them satisfied, will be intolerable, especially to my mother. Arthur’s + going will obviate this. He knows as much as we know, and can impart his + knowledge to them.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a great deal in what you say,” mused Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure there is,” spoke Constance through her tears, “though it did + not strike me before. In mamma’s anxiety and suspense, she might start for + home, to learn further details.” + </p> + <p> + “And I think it is what she would do,” said Hamish: “if not my father + also. It will be better that Arthur should go. He can tell them all they + would learn if they returned; and so far as it is possible, that would be + satisfactory.” + </p> + <p> + They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Huntley and his daughter. + Ellen had begged her father, when she found he was going to the + Channings’, to allow her to accompany him, and see Constance in her + distress. Mr. Huntley readily acquiesced. The drowning of poor Charley was + a serious affliction, in contemplation of which he forgot the inexpediency + of her meeting Hamish. + </p> + <p> + Hamish did not appear to perceive any inexpediency in the matter. He was + the first to take Ellen’s hand in his, and bend upon her his sweet smile + of welcome. Knowing what Ellen knew of Mr. Huntley’s sentiments, and that + he was looking on, it rendered her manner confused and her cheeks crimson. + She was glad to turn to Constance, and strive to say a few words of + sympathy. “Had Harry been one of those wicked, thoughtless boys to join in + this ghost trick, I could never have forgiven him!” she impulsively + exclaimed, hot tears running down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + The subject under consideration was referred to Mr. Huntley, and his + opinion requested: more as a form of courtesy than anything else, for + Hamish had made up his mind upon the point. A thoroughly affectionate and + dutiful son was Hamish Channing; and he believed that the tidings could be + rendered more bearable to his father and mother by a messenger, than by + any other mode of communication. The excuse that Constance and Arthur had, + throughout, found for Hamish in their hearts was, that he had taken the + bank-note out of latent affection to Mr. and Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, every one of you,” said Mr. Huntley, when he had listened + to what they had to say. “You must send neither letter nor messenger. It + will not do.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish looked at him. “Then what can we send, sir? + </p> + <p> + “Don’t send at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Not send at all!” repeated Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” said Mr. Huntley. “You have no positive proof as yet that + the child is dead. It will be alarming them unnecessarily.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Huntley!” said Constance. “Is it possible that you see any ground for + hope?” + </p> + <p> + “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. So long as + these grounds are not furnished, I say keep it from Mr. and Mrs. Channing. + Answer me one thing: What good end would it serve to tell them?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not a duty?” + </p> + <p> + “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 to them, + what would come of it? The very suspense, the doubt, would have a bad + effect upon Mr. Channing. It might bring him home; and the good already + effected might be destroyed—his time, purse, hopes, all that he has + given to the journey, wasted. On the other hand, allowing that he still + remained, the news might delay his cure. No: my strong advice to you is: + Suffer them for the present to remain in ignorance of what has happened.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish began to think Mr. Huntley might be right. + </p> + <p> + “I know I am right,” said Mr. Huntley. “If putting them in possession of + the facts could produce any benefit to themselves, to you, or to Charles, + I would go off myself with Arthur this hour. But it could effect nothing; + and, to them, it might result in great evil. Until we know something more + certain ourselves, let us keep it from them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see it,” said Hamish, warmly. “It will be best so.” + </p> + <p> + Constance felt her arm touched, and coloured with emotion when she found + it was Mr. William Yorke. In this day of distress, people seemed to come + in and go out without ceremony. Mr. Yorke had entered with Tom Channing. + He completely accepted the new view of the matter, and strongly advised + that it should not be allowed to reach the ears of Mr. and Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + 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 to + be overwhelmed, but to cling to hope. She thanked him, but it was with an + aching heart, for Constance could not feel this hope. + </p> + <p> + “Will you grant me the favour of a minute’s private interview?” asked Mr. + Yorke stiffly, meeting her in the hall. + </p> + <p> + Constance hesitated a moment. He was asking what she felt he had no right + to ask. She coloured, bowed, and stepped towards the drawing-room. Mr. + Yorke threw open the door for her, and followed her in. + </p> + <p> + Then he became agitated. Whatever his pride or his temper may have been, + whether the parting between them was his fault or Constance’s, it was + certain that he loved her with an enduring love. Until that morning he had + never contemplated losing Constance; he had surely looked forward to some + indefinite future when she should be his; and the words spoken by Roland + had almost driven him mad. Which was precisely what Mr. Roland hoped they + would do. + </p> + <p> + “I would not speak to you to-day, when you are in distress, when you may + deem it an unfitting time for me to speak,” he began, “but I <i>cannot</i> + live in this suspense. Let me confess that what brought me here was to + obtain this interview with you, quite as much as this other unhappy + business. You will forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Yorke, I do not know what you can have to speak about,” she answered, + with dignity. “My distress is great, but I can hear what you wish to say.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard—I heard”—he spoke with emotion, and went plunging + abruptly into his subject—“I heard this morning that Lord Carrick + was soliciting you to become his wife.” + </p> + <p> + Constance could have laughed, but for her own distress, agitated though he + was. “Well, sir?” she coldly said, in a little spirit of mischief. + </p> + <p> + “Constance, you cannot do it,” he passionately retorted. “You cannot so + perjure yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Yorke! Have you the right to tell me I shall or shall not marry Lord + Carrick?” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t do it, Constance!” he repeated, laying his hand upon her + shoulder, and speaking hoarsely. “You know that your whole affection was + given to me! It is mine still; I feel that it is. You have not transferred + it to another in this short time. You do not love and forget so lightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this all you have to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not all,” he answered, with emotion. “I want you to be <i>my</i> + wife, Constance, not his. I want you to forget this miserable estrangement + that has come between us, and come home to me at Hazledon.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Mr. Yorke,” she said; but it was with the utmost difficulty she + retained her indifferent manner, and kept back her tears: she would have + liked to be taken then to his sheltering arms, never to have left them. + “The cause which led to our parting, was the suspicion that fell upon + Arthur, coupled with something that you were not pleased with in my own + manner relating to it. That suspicion is upon him still; and my course of + conduct would be precisely the same, were it to come over again. I am + sorry you should have reaped up this matter, for it can only end as it did + before.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you not marry me?” he resumed. + </p> + <p> + “No. So long as circumstances look darkly on my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Constance! that may be for ever!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she sadly answered, knowing what she did know; “they may never be + brighter than they are now. Were I tempted to become your wife, you might + reproach me afterwards for allying you to disgrace; and that, I think, + would kill me. I <i>beg</i> you not to speak of this again.” + </p> + <p> + “And you refuse me for Lord Carrick! You will go and marry him!” exclaimed + Mr. Yorke, struggling between reproach, affection, and temper. + </p> + <p> + “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, that right + was forfeited with it.” + </p> + <p> + She opened the door to leave the room. Mr. Yorke might have wished further + to detain her, but Judy came bustling up. “Lady Augusta’s here, Miss + Constance.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta Yorke met Constance in the hall, and seized both her hands. + “I had a bad headache, and lay in bed, and never heard of it until an hour + ago!” she uttered with the same impulsive kindness that sometimes actuated + Roland. “Is it true that he is drowned? Is it true that Tod was in it?—Gerald + says he was. William, are <i>you</i> here?” + </p> + <p> + Constance took Lady Augusta into the general sitting-room, into the + presence of the other guests. Lady Augusta asked a hundred questions, at + the least; and they acquainted her with the different points, so far as + they were cognizant of them. She declared that Tod should be kept upon + bread and water for a week, and she would go to the school and request Mr. + Pye to flog him. She overwhelmed Constance with kindness, wishing she and + Annabel would come to her house and remain there for a few days. Constance + thanked her, and found some difficulty in being allowed to refuse. + </p> + <p> + “Here is his exercise-book,” observed Constance, tears filling her eyes; + “here is the very place in which he laid his pen. Every other moment I + think it cannot be true that he is gone—that it must be all a + dream.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta took up the pen and kissed it: it was her impulsive way of + showing sympathy. Mr. Huntley smiled. “Where’s William gone to?” asked + Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend William Yorke had quitted the house, shaking the dust from + his shoes in anger, as he crossed the threshold. Anger as much at himself, + for having ever given her up, as at Constance Channing; and still most at + the Right Honourable the Earl of Carrick. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV. — MR. JENKINS IN A DILEMMA. + </h2> + <p> + I don’t know what you will say to me for introducing you into the privacy + of Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins’s bed-chamber, but it is really necessary to do + so. We cannot very well get on without it. + </p> + <p> + 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; but since his + illness, he had barely contrived to come down in time for breakfast. On + this morning—which was not the one following the application of + mustard to his chest, but one about a week after that medicinal operation—Mrs. + Jenkins, on preparing to descend, peremptorily ordered him to remain in + bed. Nothing need be recorded of the past week, except two facts: Charles + Channing had not been discovered, either in life or in death; and the Earl + of Carrick had terminated his visit, and left Helstonleigh. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll bring up your breakfast,” said Mrs. Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “It is of no use to say that,” Jenkins ventured meekly to remonstrate. + “You know I must get up.” + </p> + <p> + “I say you shall not get up. Here you are, growing weaker and worse every + day, and yet you won’t take care of yourself! Where’s the use of your + taking a bottle a-day of cough-mixture—where’s the use of your + making the market scarce of cod-liver oil—where’s the use of wasting + mustard, if it’s all to do you no good? <i>Does</i> it do you any good?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid it has not, as yet,” confessed Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “And never will, so long as you give your body and brains no rest. Out you + go by nine o’clock, in all weathers, ill or well, and there you are at + your business till evening; stooping yourself double over the writing, + dancing abroad on errands, wearing out your lungs with answers to callers! + There’s no sense in it.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear, the office must be attended to,” said Jenkins, with much + deference. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no ‘must’ in the case, as far as you are concerned. If I say you + shan’t go to it, why, you shan’t. What’s the office, pray, in comparison + with a man’s life?” + </p> + <p> + “But I am not so ill as to remain away. I can still go and do my work.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d be for going, if you were in your coffin!” was Mrs. Jenkins’s + wrathful answer. “Could you do any good then, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “But I am not in my coffin,” mildly suggested Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I say you’d go, if you were?” reiterated Mrs. Jenkins, who + sometimes, in her heat, lost sight of the precise point under dispute. + “You know you would! you know there’s nothing in the whole world that you + think of, but that office! Office—office—office, it is with + you from morning till night. When you <i>are</i> in your coffin, through + it, you’ll be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is my duty to go as long as I can, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s my duty to do a great many things that I don’t do!” was the answer; + “and one of my duties which I haven’t done yet, is to keep you indoors for + a bit, and nurse you up. I shall begin from to-day, and see if I can’t get + you well, that way.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, Jenkins. I never say a thing but you are sure to put in + a ‘but.’ You lie in bed this morning,—do you hear?—and I’ll + bring up your breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins left the room with the last order, and that ended the + discussion. Had Jenkins been a free agent—free from work—he + had been only too glad to obey her. In his present state of health, the + duties of the office had become almost too much for him; it was with + difficulty that he went to it and performed them. Even the walk, short as + it was, in the early morning, was almost beyond his strength; even the + early rising was beginning to tell upon him. And though he had little hope + that nursing himself up indoors would prove of essential service, he felt + that the <i>rest</i> it brought would be to him an inestimable boon. + </p> + <p> + But Jenkins was one who thought of duty before he thought of himself; and, + therefore, to remain away from the office, if he <i>could</i> 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 not so much from this point of + view that Jenkins regarded the necessity of going—conscientious + though he was—as at the thought of what the office would do without + him; for there was no one to replace him but Roland Yorke. Jenkins knew + what he was; and so do we. + </p> + <p> + To lie in bed, or remain indoors, under these circumstances, Jenkins felt + to be impossible; and when his watch gave him warning that the breakfast + hour was approaching, up he got. Behold him sitting on the side of the + bed, trying to dress himself—<i>trying</i> to do it. Never had + Jenkins felt weaker, or less able to battle with his increasing illness, + than on this morning; and when Mrs. Jenkins dashed in—for her quick + ears had caught the sounds of his stirring—he sat there still, + stockings in hand, unable to help himself. + </p> + <p> + “So you were going to trick me, were you! Are you not ashamed of yourself, + Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins gasped twice before he could reply. A giddiness seemed to be + stealing over him, as it had done that other evening, under the elm trees. + “My dear, it is of no use your talking; I must go to the office,” he + panted. + </p> + <p> + “You shan’t go—if I lock you up! There!” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins was spared the trouble of a reply. The giddiness had increased to + faintness, his sight left him, and he fell back on to the bed in a state + of unconsciousness. Mrs. Jenkins rather looked upon it as a triumph. She + put him into bed, and tucked him up. + </p> + <p> + “This comes of your attempting to disobey me!” said she, when he had come + round again. “I wonder what would become of you poor, soft mortals of men, + if you were let have your own way! There’s no office for you to day, + Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + Very peremptorily spoke she. But, lest he should attempt the same again, + she determined to put it out of his power. Opening a closet, she thrust + every article of his clothing into it, not leaving him so much as a + waistcoat, turned the key, and put it into her pocket. Poor Jenkins + watched her with despairing eyes, not venturing to remonstrate. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said she, speaking amiably in her glow of satisfaction: “you can + go to the office now—if you like. I’ll not stop you; but you’ll have + to march through the streets leaving your clothes in that closet.” + </p> + <p> + Under these difficulties Jenkins did not quite see his way to get there. + Mrs. Jenkins went instead, catching Mr. Roland Yorke just upon his + arrival. + </p> + <p> + “What’s up, that Jenkins is not here?” began Roland, before she could + speak. + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins is not in a fit state to get out of his bed, and I have come to + tell Mr. Galloway so,” replied she. + </p> + <p> + 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 this + office?” + </p> + <p> + “The office must do the best it can without him. <i>He’s</i> not coming to + it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> can’t manage it,” said Roland, in consternation. “I should go + dead, if I had to do Jenkins’s work, and my own as well.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll go dead, unless he takes some rest in time, and gets a little good + nursing. I should like to know how I am to nurse him, if he is down here + all day?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not the question,” returned Roland, feeling excessively blank. + “The question is, how the office, and I, and Galloway are to get on + without him? Couldn’t he come in a sedan?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he can; if he likes to come without his clothes,” retorted Mrs. + Jenkins. “I have taken care to lock <i>them</i> up.” + </p> + <p> + “Locked his clothes up!” repeated Roland, in wonder. “What’s that for?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, as long as he has a bit of life in him, he’ll use it to drag + himself down here,” answered Mrs. Jenkins, tartly. “That’s why. He was + getting up to come this morning, defying me and every word I said against + it, when he fell down on the bed in a fainting fit. I thought it time to + lock his things up then.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, I don’t know what’s to be done,” resumed Roland, growing + quite hot with dismay and perplexity, at the prospect of some extra work + for himself. “Look here!” exhibiting the parchments on Jenkins’s desk, all + so neatly left—“here’s an array! Jenkins did not intend to stay + away, when he left those last night, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> 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 him from his coffin, he’d not take it, unless I was at his back to + make him. It’s well he has somebody to look after him that’s not quite + deficient of common sense!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is a plague!” grumbled Roland. + </p> + <p> + “So it is—for me, I know, if for nobody else,” was Mrs. Jenkins’s + reply. “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 of them. + You’ll tell Mr. Galloway, please; it will save me waiting.” + </p> + <p> + However, as Mrs. Jenkins was departing, she encountered Mr. Galloway, and + told him herself. He was both vexed and grieved to hear it; grieved on + Jenkins’s score, vexed on his own. That Jenkins was growing very ill, he + believed from his own observation, and it could not have happened at a + more untoward time. Involuntarily, Mr. Galloway’s thoughts turned to + Arthur Channing, and he wished he had him in the office still. + </p> + <p> + “You must turn over a new leaf from this very hour, Roland Yorke,” he + observed to that gentleman, when he entered. “We must both of us + buckle-to, if we are to get through the work.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not possible, sir, that I can do Jenkins’s share and mine,” said + Roland. + </p> + <p> + “If you only do Jenkins’s, I’ll do yours,” replied Mr. Galloway, + significantly. “Understand me, Roland: I shall expect you to show yourself + equal to this emergency. Put aside frivolity and idleness, and apply + yourself in earnest. Jenkins has been in the habit of taking part of your + work upon himself, as I believe no clerk living would have done; and, in + return, you must now take his. I hope in a few days he may be with us + again. Poor fellow, we shall feel his loss!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway had to go out in the course of the morning, and Roland was + left alone to the cares and work of the office. It occurred to him that, + as a preliminary step, he could not do better than open the window, that + the sight of people passing (especially any of his acquaintances, with + whom he might exchange greetings) should cheer him on 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 on his industry, when he saw + Arthur Channing pass. + </p> + <p> + “Hist—st—st!” called out Roland, by way of attracting his + attention. “Come in, old fellow, will you? Here’s such a game!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV. — A NEW SUSPICION. + </h2> + <p> + Arthur Channing had been walking leisurely down Close Street. Time hung + heavily 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—partly + because out of doors appeared more desirable than home. In the uncertain + state of suspense they were kept in, respecting Charles, the minds of all, + from Hamish down to Annabel, were in a constant state of unrest. When they + rose in the morning the first thought was, “Shall we hear of Charles + to-day?” When they retired at bedtime, “What may not the river give up + this night?” It appeared to them that they were continually expecting + tidings of some sort or other; and, with this expectation, hope would + sometimes mingle itself. + </p> + <p> + Hope; where could it spring from? The only faint suspicion of it, indulged + at first, that Charley had been rescued in some providential manner, and + conveyed to a house of shelter, had had time to die out. A few houses + there were, half-concealed near the river, as there are near to most other + rivers of traffic, which the police trusted just as far as they could see, + and whose inmates did not boast of shining reputations; but the police had + overhauled these thoroughly, and found no trace of Charley. Nor was it + likely that they would conceal a child. So long as Charles’s positive fate + remained a mystery, suspense could not cease; and with this suspense there + did mingle some faint glimmer of 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 be gathered, and looking after it was better than staying + at home to wait for it. No wonder, then, that Arthur Channing’s steps + would bend unconsciously towards the town, when he left the cathedral, + morning and afternoon. + </p> + <p> + It was in passing Mr. Galloway’s office, the window of which stood wide + open, that Arthur had found himself called to by Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked, halting at the window. + </p> + <p> + “You are the very chap I wanted to see,” cried Roland. “Come in! Don’t be + afraid of meeting Galloway: he’s off somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The prospect of meeting Mr. Galloway would not have prevented Arthur from + entering. He was conscious of no wrong, and he did not shrink as though he + had committed one. He went in, and Mr. Harper proceeded on his way. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a go!” was Roland’s salutation. “Jenkins is laid up.” It was + nothing but what Arthur had expected. He, like Mr. Galloway, had observed + Jenkins growing ill and more ill. “How shall you manage without him?” + asked Arthur; Mr. Galloway’s dilemma being the first thing that occurred + to his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s to know?” answered Roland, who was in an explosive temper. “<i>I</i> + don’t. If Galloway thinks to put it all on my back, it’s a scandalous + shame! I never could do it, or the half of it. Jenkins worked like a horse + when we were busy. He’d hang his head down over his desk, and never lift + it for two hours at a stretch!—you know he would not. Fancy my doing + that! I should get brain fever before a week was out.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur smiled at this. “Is Jenkins much worse?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe he’s worse at all,” returned Roland, tartly. “He’d have + come this morning, as usual, fast enough, only she locked up his clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” said Arthur, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “She. That agreeable lady who has the felicity of owning Jenkins. She was + here this morning as large as life, giving an account of her doings, + without a blush. She locked up his things, she says, to keep him in bed. + I’d be even with her, I know, were I Jenkins. I’d put on her flounces, but + what I’d come out, if I wanted to. Rather short they’d be for him, + though.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go, Roland. My being here only hinders you.” + </p> + <p> + “As if that made any difference worth counting! Look here!—piles and + piles of parchments! I and Galloway could never get through them, hindered + or not hindered. <i>I</i> am not going to work over hours! <i>I</i> won’t + kill myself with hard labour. There’s Port Natal, thank goodness, if the + screw does get put upon me too much!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur did not reply. It made little difference to Roland: whether + encouraged or not, talk he would. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>have</i> heard of folks being worked beyond their strength; and that + will be my case, if one may judge by present appearances. It’s too bad of + Jenkins!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “It is his fault. What does he have such a wife for? She keeps Jenkins + under 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: my belief is, + she’ll be sending him so, some day. Jenkins ought to put her down. He’s + big enough.” + </p> + <p> + “He would be sure to come here, if he were equal to it,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “He! Of course he would!” angrily retorted Roland. “He’d crawl here on all + fours, but what he’d come; only she won’t let him. She knows it too. She + said this morning that he’d come when he was in his coffin! I should like + to see it arrive!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur had been casting a glance at the papers. They were unusually + numerous, and he began to think with Roland that he and Mr. Galloway would + not be able to get through them unaided. Most certainly they would not, at + Roland’s present rate of work. “It is a pity you are not a quick copyist,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say it is!” sarcastically rejoined Roland, beginning to play at + ball with the wafer-box. “I never was made for work; and if—” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to do it, though, sir,” thundered Mr. Galloway, who had + come up, and was enjoying a survey of affairs through the open window. Mr. + Roland, somewhat taken to, dropped his head and the wafer-box together, + and went on with his writing as meekly as poor Jenkins would have done; + and Mr. Galloway entered. + </p> + <p> + “Good day,” said he to Arthur, shortly enough. + </p> + <p> + “Good day, sir,” was the response. Mr. Galloway turned to his idle clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Roland Yorke, you must either work or say you will not. There is no time + for playing and fooling; no time, sir! do you hear? Who put that window + stark staring open?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, sir,” said incorrigible Roland. “I thought the office might be the + better for a little air, when there was so much to do in it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway shut it with a bang. Arthur, who would not leave without some + attempt at a passing courtesy, let it be ever so slight, made a remark to + Mr. Galloway, that he was sorry to hear Jenkins was worse. + </p> + <p> + “He is so much worse,” was the response of Mr. Galloway, spoken sharply, + for the edification of Roland Yorke, “that I doubt whether he will ever + enter this room again. Yes, sir, you may look; but it is the truth!” + </p> + <p> + Roland did look, looked with considerable consternation. “How on earth + will the work get done, then?” he muttered. With all his grumbling, he had + not contemplated Jenkins being away more than a day or two. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how it will get done, considering that the clerk upon whom + I have to depend is Roland Yorke,” answered Mr. Galloway, with severity. + “One thing appears pretty evident, that Jenkins will not be able to help + to do it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway, more perplexed at the news brought by Mrs. Jenkins than he + had allowed to appear (for, although he chose to make a show of depending + upon Roland, he knew how much dependence there was in reality to be placed + upon him—none knew better), had deemed it advisable to see Jenkins + personally, and judge for himself of his state of health. Accordingly, he + proceeded thither, and arrived at an inopportune moment for his hopes. + Jenkins was just recovering from a second fainting fit, and appeared + altogether so ill, so debilitated, that Mr. Galloway was struck with + dismay. There would be no more work from Jenkins—as he believed—for + him. He mentioned this now in his own office, and Roland received it with + blank consternation. + </p> + <p> + An impulse came to Arthur, and he spoke upon it. “If I can be of any use + to you, sir, in this emergency, you have only to command me.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of use?” asked Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + Arthur pointed to the parchments. “I could draw out these deeds, and any + others that may follow them. My time is my own, sir, except the two hours + devoted to the cathedral, and I am at a loss how to occupy it. I have been + idle ever since I left you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you get into an office?” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s colour deepened. “Because, sir, no one will take me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Galloway, drily, “a good name is easier lost than won.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” freely replied Arthur. “However, sir, to return to the + question. I shall be glad to help you, if you have no one better at hand. + I could devote several hours a day to it, and you know that I am + thoroughly to be trusted with the work. I might take some home now.” + </p> + <p> + “Home!” returned Mr. Galloway. “Did you mean that you could do it at + home?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir; I did not think of doing it here,” was the pointed reply + 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 be nothing to + interrupt me, or to draw off my attention.” + </p> + <p> + 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 brought in on the + spur of the moment—one who might answer well or answer badly, + according to chance. Yet that such must have been his resource, Mr. + Galloway knew. + </p> + <p> + “It will be an accommodation to me, your taking part of the work,” he + frankly said. “But you had better come to the office and do it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I would rather—” + </p> + <p> + “Do, Channing!” cried out Roland Yorke, springing up as if he were + electrified. “The office will be bearable if you come back again.” + </p> + <p> + “I would prefer to do it at home, sir,” continued Arthur to Mr. Galloway, + while that gentleman pointed imperiously to Yorke, as a hint to him to + hold his tongue and mind his own business. + </p> + <p> + “You <i>may</i> come back here and do it,” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I cannot come back,” was the reply of Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can’t!” said angry Roland, who cared less for Mr. + Galloway’s displeasure than he did for displaying his own feelings when + they were aroused. “You won’t, you mean! I’d not show myself such a duffer + as you, Channing, if I were paid for it in gold!” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get paid in something, presently, Roland Yorke, but it won’t be in + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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’s + little 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 who + invented writing? I wish I had the fingering of him just now!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur turned to the parchments. He was almost as much at home with them + as Jenkins. Mr. Galloway selected two that were most pressing, and gave + them to him, with the requisite materials for copying. “You will keep them + secure, you know,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly so, sir; I shall sit quite alone.” + </p> + <p> + He carried them off with alacrity. Mr. Galloway’s face cleared as he + looked after him, and he made a remark aloud, expressive of his + satisfaction. “There’s some pleasure in giving out work when you know it + will be done. No play—no dilatoriness—finished to the minute + that it’s looked for! You should take a leaf out of his book, Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” freely answered Roland. “When you drove Arthur Channing out of + this office, you parted with the best clerk you ever had. Jenkins is all + 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 himself says so. He is + honourable, he is honest, he—” + </p> + <p> + “I know enough of your sentiments with respect to his honesty,” + interrupted Mr. Galloway. “We need not go over that tale again.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope every one knows them,” rejoined Roland. “I have never concealed my + opinion that the accusation was infamous; that, of all of us in this + office, from its head down to Jenkins, none was less likely to finger the + note than Arthur Channing. But of course my opinion goes for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are bold, young man.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear it is my nature to be so,” cried Roland. “If it should ever turn + up how the note went, you’ll be sorry, no doubt, for having visited it + upon Arthur. Mr. Channing will be sorry; the precious magistrates will be + sorry; that blessed dean, who wanted to turn him from the college, will be + sorry. Not a soul of them but believes him guilty; and I hope they’ll be + brought to repentance for it, in sackcloth and ashes.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on with your work,” said Mr. Galloway, angrily. + </p> + <p> + 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 looked up + again. + </p> + <p> + “I am not uncharitable: at least, to individuals. I always said the + post-office helped itself to the note, and I’d lay my last half-crown upon + it. But there <i>are</i> people in the town who think it could only have + gone in another way. You’d go into a passion with me, sir, perhaps, if I + mentioned it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway—it has been before mentioned that he possessed an + unbounded amount of curiosity, and also a propensity to gossip—so + far forgot the force of good example as to ask Roland what he meant. + Roland wanted no further encouragement. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, there are people who, weighing well all the probabilities of + the case, have come to the conclusion that the note could only have been + abstracted from the letter by the person to whom it was addressed. None + but he broke the seal of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you allude to my cousin, Mr. Robert Galloway?” ejaculated Mr. + Galloway, as soon as indignation and breath allowed him to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Others do,” said Roland. “I say it was the post-office.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you repeat so insolent a suspicion to my face, Roland Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + “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’s not my + fault, sir, if I have heard it whispered in the town.” + </p> + <p> + “Apply yourself to your work, sir, and hold your tongue. If you say + another word, Roland Yorke, I shall feel inclined also to turn you away, + as one idle and incorrigible, of whom nothing can be made.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t it be a jolly excuse for Port Natal!” exclaimed Roland, but not + in the hearing of his master, who had gone into his own room in much + wrath. Roland laughed aloud; there was nothing he enjoyed so much as to be + in opposition to Mr. Galloway; it had been better for the advancement of + that gentleman’s work, had he habitually kept a tighter rein over his + pupil. It was perfectly true, however, that the new phase of suspicion, + regarding the loss of the note, had been spoken of in the town, and Roland + only repeated what he had heard. + </p> + <p> + Apparently, Mr. Galloway did not like this gratuitous suggestion. He + presently came back again. A paper was in his hand, and he began comparing + it with one on Roland’s desk. “Where did you hear that unjustifiable piece + of scandal?” he inquired, as he was doing it. + </p> + <p> + “The first person I heard speak of it was my mother, sir. She came home + one 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.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, which did you favour?” sarcastically asked Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I? I said then, as I have said all along, that there was no one to thank + for it but the post-office. If you ask me, sir, who first set the notion + afloat in the town, I cannot satisfy you. All I know is, the rumour is + circulating.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could discover the primary author of it, I would take legal + proceedings against him,” warmly concluded Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I’d help,” said undaunted Roland. “Some fun might arise out of that.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway carried the probate of a will to his room, and sat down to + examine it. But his thoughts were elsewhere. This suspicion, mentioned by + Roland Yorke, had laid hold of his mind most unpleasantly, in spite of his + show of indignation before Roland. He had no reason to think his cousin + otherwise than honest; it was next to impossible to suppose he could be + guilty of playing him such a trick; but somehow Mr. Galloway could not + feel so sure upon the point as he would have wished. His cousin was a + needy man—one who had made ducks and drakes of his own property, and + was for ever appealing to Mr. Galloway for assistance. Mr. Galloway did + not shut his eyes to the fact that if this <i>should</i> have been the + case, Robert Galloway had had forty pounds from him instead of twenty—a + great help to a man at his wits’ ends for money. He had forwarded a second + twenty-pound note, upon receiving information of the loss of the first. + What he most disliked, looking at it from this point of view, was, not the + feeling that he had been cleverly deceived and laughed at, but that Arthur + Channing should have suffered unjustly. If the lad <i>was</i> innocent, + why, how cruel had been his own conduct towards him! But with these doubts + came back the remembrance of Arthur’s unsatisfactory behaviour with + respect to the loss; his non-denial; his apparent guilt; his strange + shrinking from investigation. Busy as Mr. Galloway was, that day, he could + not confine his thoughts to his business. He would willingly have given + another twenty-pound note out of his pocket to know, beyond doubt, whether + or not Arthur was guilty. + </p> + <p> + Arthur, meanwhile, had commenced his task. He took possession of the + study, where he was secure from interruption, and applied himself + diligently to it. How still the house seemed! How still it had seemed + since the loss of Charles! Even Annabel and Tom were wont to hush their + voices; 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 in + school; and Charles was not. Judith’s voice would be heard now and then, + wafted from the kitchen regions, directing or reproving Sarah; but there + was no other sound. Arthur thought of the old days when the sun had shone; + when he was free and upright in the sight of men; when Constance was happy + in her future prospects of wedded life; when Tom looked forth certainly to + the seniorship; when Charley’s sweet voice and sweeter face might be seen + and heard; when Hamish—oh, bitter thought, of all!—when Hamish + had not fallen from his pedestal. It had all changed—changed to + darkness and to gloom; and Arthur may be pardoned for feeling gloomy with + it. But in the very midst of this gloom, there arose suddenly, without + effort of his, certain words spoken by the sweet singer of Israel; and + Arthur <i>knew</i> that he had but to trust to them:— + </p> + <p> + “For his wrath endureth but the twinkling of an eye, and in his pleasure + is life; heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVI. — A LETTER FOR MR. GALLOWAY. + </h2> + <p> + Morning passed into afternoon, and afternoon was drawing towards its + close. Roland Yorke had contrived to struggle through it, and be still + living, in spite of the amount of work which was pressed upon him. Mr. + Galloway had put on his spectacles and copied out several pages himself—a + thing he rarely attempted. But he had gone out now, and had carried with + him some letters to post. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” grumbled Roland. “He can stretch <i>his</i> legs, but he takes good + care I shall not stretch mine! Why couldn’t he send me with those letters? + 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 them than the + stool has! Why, I wouldn’t stop by myself in this horrid, musty, + parchmented old place—Oh, it’s you, is it?” + </p> + <p> + This was addressed to the postman, who came in with the afternoon delivery + of letters. Two. He handed them to Roland, and departed. + </p> + <p> + Of course Roland immediately began to scrutinize them: turning them over; + critically guessing at the senders; playing with them at pitch and toss—anything + to while away the time, and afford him some cessation from his own work. + By these means he contrived to pass five minutes rather agreeably + (estimating things by comparison), when Mr. Galloway’s servant entered. + </p> + <p> + “Is my master in, Mr. Roland?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you please to give him this letter, then?” said the man. “The post + has just left it at our house, so I brought it round.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s it brought round here for?” asked Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Because he ordered it to be done. He said he expected a letter would be + delivered at the house by the afternoon post, and if it came I was to + bring it to him at once. Good afternoon, sir.” + </p> + <p> + This little bit of information was quite enough for Roland. He seized the + letter, as he had done the others, and subjected it to the same scrutiny. + The address was written in a singular hand; in large, print-looking + letters. Roland satisfied his curiosity, so far as the outside of the + letter could do it, and then rose from his stool and laid the three + letters upon Mr. Galloway’s desk in his private room. + </p> + <p> + A short time, and that gentleman entered. “Anything by the post?” was his + first question. + </p> + <p> + “Two letters, sir,” replied Roland. “And John brought round one, which was + addressed to the house. He said you expected it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway went into his private room. He glanced casually at the + addresses on the letters, and then called Roland Yorke. “Where is the + letter John brought round?” he inquired, somewhat testily. + </p> + <p> + Roland pointed it out. “That was it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “That!” Mr. Galloway bent on it a keener glance, which probably satisfied + him that it bore his private address. “Was this the only one he brought?” + added he; and from his manner and words Roland inferred that it was not + the letter he had expected. + </p> + <p> + “That was all, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Roland returned to his own room, and Mr. Galloway sat down and opened his + letters. The first two were short communications relative to business; the + last was the one brought by John. + </p> + <p> + What did it contain? For one thing, It contained a bank-note for twenty + pounds. 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 looked at + the bank-note, and he read and re-read the letter; for it completely upset + the theory and set at nought the data he had been going upon; especially + the data of the last few hours. + </p> + <p> + “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 be cleared. He + who was publicly accused of the offence was innocent, as were all others + upon whom suspicion (though not acted upon) may have fallen. The writer of + this alone took the note, and now restores it.” + </p> + <p> + Abrupt and signatureless, such was the letter. When Mr. Galloway had + sufficiently overcome his surprise to reason rationally, it struck him as + being a singular coincidence that this should come to him on the day when + the old affair had been renewed again. Since its bustle had died out at + the time of the occurrence, Mr. Galloway did not remember to have + voluntarily spoken of it, until that morning with Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + He took up the bank-note. Was it the one actually taken—the same + note—kept possibly, in fear, and now returned? He had no means of + knowing. He thought it was not the same. His recollection of the lost note + had seemed to be that it was a dirty note, which must have passed through + many hands; but he had never been quite clear upon that point. This note + was clean and crisp. Who <i>had</i> taken it? Who had sent it back? It + quite disposed of that disagreeable suspicion touching his cousin. Had his + cousin so far forgotten himself as to take the note, he would not have + been likely to return it: <i>he</i> knew nothing of the proceedings which + had taken place in Helstonleigh, for Mr. Galloway had never mentioned them + to him. The writer of this letter was cognizant of them, and had sent it + that they might be removed. + </p> + <p> + At the first glance, it of course appeared to be proof positive that + Arthur Channing was not guilty. But Mr. Galloway was not accustomed to + take only the superficial view of things: and it struck him, as it would + strike others, that this might be, after all, a refined bit of finessing + on Arthur’s own part to remove suspicion from himself. True, the cost of + doing so was twenty pounds: but what was that compared with the + restoration of his good name? + </p> + <p> + The letter bore the London post-mark. There was not a doubt that it had + been there posted. That betrayed nothing. Arthur, or any one else, could + have a letter posted there, if wishing to do it. “Where there’s a will, + there’s a way,” thought Mr. Galloway. But again, where was Arthur Channing + to procure twenty pounds from? Mr. Galloway did not think that he could + procure this sum from anywhere, or that he possessed, himself, a twentieth + part of it. So far the probability was against Arthur’s being the author. + Mr. Galloway quite lost himself in conjectures. Why should it have been + addressed to his residence, and not to the office? He had been expecting a + letter from one, that afternoon, who always did address to his residence: + and that letter, it appeared, had not arrived. However, that had nothing + to do with this. Neither paper nor writing afforded any clue to the + sender, and the latter was palpably disguised. + </p> + <p> + He called in Roland Yorke, for the purpose of putting to him a few useless + questions—as a great many of us do when we are puzzled—questions, + at any rate, that could throw no light upon the main subject. + </p> + <p> + “What did John say when he brought this letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Only what I told you, sir. That you expected a letter addressed to the + house, and ordered him to bring it round.” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>this</i> is not the letter I expected,” tapping it with his + finger, and looking altogether so puzzled and astonished that Roland + stared in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not my fault,” returned he. “Shall I run round, sir, and ask John + about it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” testily answered Mr. Galloway. “Don’t be so fond of running round. + This letter—There’s some one come into the office,” he broke off. + Roland turned with alacrity, but very speedily appeared again, on his best + behaviour, bowing as he showed in the Dean of Helstonleigh. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway rose, and remained standing. The dean entered upon the + business which had brought him there, a trifling matter connected with the + affairs of the chapter. This over, Mr. Galloway took up the letter and + showed it to him. The dean read it, and looked at the bank-note. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot quite decide in what light I ought to take it, sir,” remarked + Mr. Galloway. “It either refutes the suspicion of Arthur Channing’s guilt, + or else it confirms it.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way confirms it? I do not understand you,” said the dean. + </p> + <p> + “It may have come from himself, Mr. Dean. A wheel within a wheel.” + </p> + <p> + The dean paused to revolve the proposition, and then shook his head + negatively. “It appears to me to go a very great way towards proving his + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, if he is innocent, who is guilty?” continued Mr. Galloway, in a + tone of remonstrance. + </p> + <p> + “That is more than I can say,” replied the dean. “But for the + circumstances appearing to point so strongly to Arthur Channing, I never + could have suspected him at all. A son of Mr. Channing’s would have been + altogether above suspicion, in my mind: and, as I tell you, for some time + I have not believed him to be guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “If he is not guilty—” Mr. Galloway paused; the full force of what + he was about to say, pressing strongly upon his mind. “If he is not + guilty, Mr. Dean, there has been a great deal of injustice done—not only + to himself—” + </p> + <p> + “A great deal of injustice is committed every day, I fear,” quietly + remarked the dean. + </p> + <p> + “Tom Channing will have lost the seniorship for nothing!” went on Mr. + Galloway, in a perturbed voice, not so much addressing the dean, as giving + vent to his thoughts aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the answer, spoken calmly, and imparting no token of what might + be the dean’s private sentiments upon the point. “You will see to that + matter,” the dean continued, referring to his own business there, as he + rose from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I will not forget it, Mr. Dean,” said Mr. Galloway. And he escorted the + dean to the outer door, as was his custom when honoured by that dignitary + with a visit, and bowed him out. + </p> + <p> + Roland just then looked a pattern of industry. He had resumed his seat, + after rising in salutation as the dean passed through the office, and was + writing away like a steam-engine. Mr. Galloway returned to his own room, + and set himself calmly to consider all the bearings of this curious + business. The great bar against his thinking Arthur innocent, was the + difficulty of fixing upon any one else as likely to have been guilty. + Likely! he might almost have said as <i>possible</i> to have been guilty. + “I have a very great mind,” he growled to himself, “to send for Butterby, + 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 I show Arthur + Channing the letter first, and study his countenance as he looks at it? I + may gather something from that. I don’t fancy he’d be an over good actor, + as some might be. If he has sent this money, I shall see it in his face.” + </p> + <p> + Acting upon the moment’s impulse, he suddenly opened the door of the outer + office, and there found that Mr. Roland’s industry had, for the present, + come to an end. He was standing before the window, making pantomimic signs + through the glass to a friend of his, Knivett. His right thumb was pointed + over his shoulder towards the door of Mr. Galloway’s private room; no + doubt, to indicate a warning that that gentleman was within, and that the + office, consequently, was not free for promiscuous intruders. A few sharp + words of reprimand to Mr. Roland ensued, and then he was sent off with a + message to Arthur Channing. + </p> + <p> + It brought Arthur back with Roland. Mr. Galloway called Arthur into his + own room, closed the door, and put the letter into his hand in silence. + </p> + <p> + He read it twice over before he could understand it; indeed, he did not do + so fully then. His surprise appeared to be perfectly genuine, and so Mr. + Galloway thought it. “Has this letter been sent to you, sir? Has any money + been sent to you?” + </p> + <p> + “This has been sent to me,” replied Mr. Galloway, tossing the twenty-pound + note to him. “Is it the one that was taken, Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell, sir?” said Arthur, in much simplicity. And Mr. Galloway’s + long doubts of him began to melt away. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> did not send the money—to clear yourself?” + </p> + <p> + 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, or anything like + that amount.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway nodded. It was the thought which had struck himself. Another + thought, however, was now striking Arthur; a thought which caused 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 this time; that of his + brother Hamish. Had Hamish been making this use of it—to remove the + stigma from him? The idea received additional force from Mr. Galloway’s + next words: for they bore upon the point. + </p> + <p> + “This letter is what it purports to be: a missive from the actual thief; + or else it comes from some well-wisher of yours, who sacrifices twenty + pounds to do you a service. Which is it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway fixed his eyes on Arthur’s face and could not help noting the + change which had come over it, over his bearing altogether. The open + candour was gone: and in its place reigned the covert look, the hesitating + manner, the confusion which had characterized him at the period of the + loss. “All I can say, sir, is, that I know nothing of this,” he presently + said. “It has surprised me as much as it can surprise any one.” + </p> + <p> + “Channing!” impulsively exclaimed Mr. Galloway, “your manner and your + words are opposed to each other, as they were at the time. The one gives + the lie to the other. But I begin to believe you did not take it.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not,” returned Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “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 + Butterby for a fresh investigation.” + </p> + <p> + It startled Arthur. Mr. Galloway’s curiously significant tone, his + piercing gaze upon his face, also startled him. “It would bring no + satisfaction, sir,” he said. “Pray do not. I would far rather continue to + bear the blame.” + </p> + <p> + A pause. A new idea came glimmering into the mind of Mr. Galloway. “Whom + are you screening?” he asked. But he received no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Roland Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + “Roland Yorke!” repeated Arthur, half reproachfully. “No, indeed. I wish + every one had been as innocent of it as was Roland Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + In good truth, Mr. Galloway had only mentioned Roland’s name as coming + uppermost in his mind. He knew that no suspicion attached to Roland. + Arthur resumed, in agitation: + </p> + <p> + “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 to + take the blame, as I have done.” + </p> + <p> + “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 has + occasioned, the worry, the uncertainty: who is to repay me all that?” + </p> + <p> + “My portion in it has been worse than yours, sir,” said Arthur, in a low, + deep tone. “Think of <i>my</i> loss of time; my worry and uncertainty; my + waste of character; my anxiety of mind: they can never be repaid to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And whose the fault? If you were truly innocent, you might have cleared + yourself with a word.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur knew he might. But that word he had not dared to speak. At this + juncture, Roland Yorke appeared. “Here’s Jenner’s old clerk come in, sir,” + said he to his master. “He wants to see you, he says.” + </p> + <p> + “He can come in,” replied Mr. Galloway. “Are you getting on with that + copying?” he added to Arthur, as the latter was going out. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman, whom Roland Yorke designated as “Jenner’s old clerk,” was + shut in with Mr. Galloway; and Roland, who appeared to be on the thorns of + curiosity, arrested Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I say, what is it that’s agate? He has been going into fits, pretty near, + over some letter that came, asking me five hundred questions about it. + What have you to do with it? What does he want with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Some one has been sending him back the money, Roland. It came in a + letter.” + </p> + <p> + Roland opened his eyes. “What money?” + </p> + <p> + “The money that was lost. A twenty-pound note has come. He asked me + whether it was the veritable note that was taken.” + </p> + <p> + “A twenty-pound note come!” repeated puzzled Roland. + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite true, Roland. It purports to be sent by the stealer of the + money for the purpose of clearing me.” + </p> + <p> + Roland stood for a few moments, profound surprise on his face, and then + began to execute a triumphant hornpipe amidst the desks and stools of the + office. “I said it would come right some time; over and over again I said + it! Give us your hand, old fellow! He’s not such a bad trump after all, + that thief!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Roland! you’ll be heard. It may not do me much good. Galloway seems + to doubt me still.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubt you still!” cried Roland, stopping short in his dance, and speaking + in a very explosive tone. “Doubt you <i>still</i>! Why, what would he + have?” + </p> + <p> + “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 calling in + Butterby again.” + </p> + <p> + “My opinion then, is, that he wants to be transported, if he is to turn up + such a heathen as that!” stamped Roland. “What would he have, I ask? + Another twenty, given him for interest? Arthur, dear old fellow, let’s go + off together to Port Natal, and leave him and his office to it! I’ll find + the means, if I rob his cash-box to get them!” + </p> + <p> + But Arthur was already beyond hearing, having waved his adieu to Roland + Yorke and his impetuous but warm-hearted championship. Anxious to get on + with the task he had undertaken, he hastened home. Constance was in the + hall when he entered, having just returned from Lady Augusta Yorke’s. + </p> + <p> + His confidant throughout, his gentle soother and supporter, his ever ready + adviser, Arthur drew her into one of the rooms, and acquainted her with + what had occurred. A look of terror rose to her face, as she listened. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish has done it!” she uttered, in a whisper. “This puts all doubt at + an end. There are times—there have been times”—she burst into + tears as she spoke—“when I have fondly tried to cheat myself that we + were suspecting him wrongfully. Arthur! others suspect him.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s face reflected the look that was upon hers. “I trust not!” + </p> + <p> + “But they do. Ellen Huntley dropped a word inadvertently, which convinces + me that he is in some way doubted there. She caught it up again in evident + alarm, ere it was well spoken; and I dared not pursue the subject. It is + Hamish who has sent this money.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak confidently, Constance.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen. I know that he has drawn money—papa’s salary and his own: + he mentioned it incidentally. A few days ago I asked him for money for + housekeeping purposes, and he handed me a twenty-pound note, in mistake + for a five-pound. He discovered the mistake before I did, and snatched it + back again in some confusion.” + </p> + <p> + “‘I can’t give you that,’ he said in a laughing manner, when he recovered + himself. ‘That has a different destination.’ Arthur! that note, rely upon + it, was going to Mr. Galloway.” + </p> + <p> + “When was this?” asked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Last week. Three or four days ago.” + </p> + <p> + Trifling as the incident was, it seemed to bear out their suspicions, and + Arthur could only come to the same conclusion as his sister: the thought + had already crossed him, you remember. + </p> + <p> + “Do not let it pain you thus, Constance,” he said, for her tears were + falling fast. “He may not call in Butterby. Your grieving will do no + good.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot help it,” she exclaimed, with a burst of anguish. “How God is + trying us!” + </p> + <p> + Ay! even as silver, which must be seven times purified, ere it be + sufficiently refined. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVII. — DARK CLOUDS. + </h2> + <p> + Constance Channing sat, her forehead buried in her hands. <i>How God was + trying them!</i> The sentence, wrung from her in the bitterness of her + heart, but expressed the echo of surrounding things. Her own future + blighted; Arthur’s character gone; Tom lost the seniorship; Charley not + heard 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 terror + ever 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 whether Miss + Charley turned up or not, so far as their backs were concerned: <i>they</i> + would be made to tingle, either way. + </p> + <p> + Arthur, after communicating to Constance the strange fact of the return of + the money to Mr. Galloway, shut himself up in the study to pursue his + copying. Tea-time arrived, and Sarah brought in the tea-things. But + neither Hamish nor Tom had come in, and Constance sat alone, deep in + unpleasant thoughts. + </p> + <p> + That it was Hamish who had now returned the money to Mr. Galloway, + Constance could not entertain the slightest doubt. It had a very + depressing effect upon her. It could not render worse what had previously + happened, indeed, it rather mended it, insomuch as that it served to show + some repentance, some good feeling; but it made the suspicion against + Hamish a certainty; and there had been times when Constance had been + beguiled into thinking it only a suspicion. And now came this new fear of + Mr. Butterby again! + </p> + <p> + Hamish’s own footstep in the hall. Constance roused herself. He came in, + books under his arm, as usual, and his ever-gay face smiling. There were + times when Constance almost despised him for his perpetual sunshine. The + seriousness which had overspread Hamish at the time of Charley’s + disappearance had nearly worn away. In his sanguine temperament, he argued + that not finding the body was a proof that Charley was yet alive, and + would come forth in a mysterious manner one of these days. + </p> + <p> + “Have I kept you waiting tea, Constance?” began he. “I came home by way of + Close Street, and was called into Galloway’s by Roland Yorke, and then got + detained further by Mr. Galloway. Where’s Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “He has undertaken some copying for Mr. Galloway, and is busy with it,” + replied Constance in a low tone. “Hamish!” raising her eyes to his face, + as she gathered resolution to speak of the affair: “have you heard what + has happened?” + </p> + <p> + “That some good fairy has forwarded a bank-note to Galloway on the wings + of the telegraph? Roland Yorke would not allow me to remain in ignorance + of that. Mr. Galloway did me the honour to ask whether I had sent it.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” uttered Constance, regarding the avowal only from her own point of + view. “He asked whether <i>you</i> had sent it?” + </p> + <p> + “He did.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at Hamish as if she would read his very soul. “And what did—what + did you answer?” + </p> + <p> + “Told him I wished a few others would suspect me of the same, and count + imaginary payments for real ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish!” she exclaimed, the complaint wrung from her: “how can you be so + light, so cruel, when our hearts are breaking?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish, in turn, was surprised at this. “I, cruel! In what manner, + Constance? My dear, I repeat to you that we shall have Charley back again. + I feel sure of it; and it has done away with my fear. Some inward + conviction, or presentiment—call it which you like—tells me + that we shall; and I implicitly trust to it. We need not mourn for him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not for Charley: I do not speak of Charley now,” she sadly + reiterated. “You are straying from the point. Hamish, have you <i>no</i> + love left for Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “I have plenty of love for every one,” said Mr. Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Then <i>how</i> can you behave like this? Arthur is not guilty; you know + he is not. And look what he has to bear! I believe you would laugh at the + greatest calamity! Sending back this money to Mr. Galloway has—has—sadly + distressed me.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish turned his smiling eyes upon her, but his tone was grave. “Wait + until some great calamity occurs, Constance, and then see whether I laugh. + Did I laugh that dreadful night and day that succeeded to Charley’s loss? + Sending back the money to Mr. Galloway is not a cause for sadness. It most + certainly exonerates Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are gay over it!” She would have given anything to speak more + plainly. + </p> + <p> + “I am particularly gay this afternoon,” acknowledged Hamish, who could not + be put out of temper by any amount of reproach whatever. “I have had great + news by the post, Constance.” + </p> + <p> + “From Germany?” she quickly cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, from Germany,” he answered, taking a letter from his pocket, and + spreading it open before Constance. + </p> + <p> + It contained the bravest news: great news, as Hamish expressed it. It was + from Mr. Channing himself, and it told them of his being so far restored + that there was no doubt now of his ability to resume his own place at his + office. They intended to be home the first week in November. The weather + at Borcette continued warm and charming, and they would prolong their stay + there to the full time contemplated. It had been a fine autumn everywhere. + There was a postscript added to the letter, as if an afterthought had + occurred to Mr. Channing. “When you see Mr. Huntley, tell him how well I + am progressing. I remember, by the way, that he hinted at being able to + introduce you to something, should I no longer require you in Guild + Street.” + </p> + <p> + In the delight that the news brought, Constance partially lost sight of + her sadness. “It is not all gloom,” she whispered to herself. “If we could + only dwell on God’s mercies as we do on His chastisement; if we could only + feel more trust, we should see the bright side of the cloud oftener than + we do.” + </p> + <p> + But it <i>was</i> dark; dark in many ways, and Constance was soon to be + reminded 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 more force + than was necessary; and himself into a chair, ditto. + </p> + <p> + “Constance, I shall leave the school!” + </p> + <p> + Constance, in her dismay, dropped the sugar-tongs into the sugar. “What, + Tom?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Tom, Tom! Is this your endurance?” + </p> + <p> + “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? I thought I’d + go on and endure it, as you say; at any rate, until papa came home. But I + can’t—I can’t!” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened more than usual?” inquired Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “It gets worse and worse,” said Tom, turning his blazing face upon his + brother. “I wouldn’t wish a dog to live the life that I live in the + college school. They call me a felon, and treat me as one; they send me to + Coventry; they won’t acknowledge me as one of their seniors. My position + is unbearable.” + </p> + <p> + “Live it down, Tom,” said Hamish quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t I been trying to live it down?” returned the boy, suppressing his + emotion. “It has lasted now these two months, and I have borne it daily. + At the time of Charley’s loss I was treated better for a day or two, but + that has worn away. It is of no use your looking at me reproachfully, + Constance; I must complain. What other boy in the world has 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 taken from me in shame; + Huntley exalted to my place; my chance of the exhibition gone—” + </p> + <p> + “Huntley does not take the exhibition,” interrupted Constance. + </p> + <p> + “But Yorke will. <i>I</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’s + kept down: every dog has a fling at him. The seniorship’s gone, the + exhibition is going. I might bear that tamely, you may say; and of course + I might, for they are negative evils; but what I can’t and won’t bear, are + the insults of every-day life. Only this afternoon they—” + </p> + <p> + Tom stopped, for his feelings were choking him; and the complaint he was + about to narrate was never spoken. Before he had recovered breath and + calmness, Arthur entered and took his seat at the tea-table. Poor Tom, + allowing one of his unfortunate explosions of temper to get the better of + him, sprang from his chair and burst forth with a passionate reproach to + Arthur, whom he regarded as the author of all the ill. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do it? Why did you bring this disgrace upon us? But for you, + I should not have lost caste in the school.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom!” interposed Hamish, in a severe tone. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Tom, brave college boy that he was—manly as he coveted to be + thought—actually burst into tears. Tears called forth, not by + contrition, I fear; but by remembered humiliation, by vexation, by the + moment’s passion. Never had Tom cast a reproach openly to Arthur; whatever + he may have felt he buried it within himself; but that his opinion + vacillated upon the point of Arthur’s guilt, was certain. Constance went + up to him and laid her hand gently and soothingly upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Tom, dear boy, your troubles are making you forget yourself. Do not be + unjust to Arthur. He is innocent as you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if he is innocent, why does he not speak out like a man, and + proclaim his innocence?” retorted Tom, sensibly enough, but with rather + too much heat. “That’s what the school cast in my teeth, more than + anything again. ‘Don’t preach up your brother’s innocence to us!’ they + cry; ‘if he did not take it, wouldn’t he say so?’ Look at Arthur now”—and + Tom pointed his finger at him—“he does not, even here, to me, assert + that he is innocent!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s face burnt under the reproach. He turned it upon Hamish, with a + gesture almost as fiery, quite as hasty, as any that had been vouchsafed + them by Tom. Plainly as look could speak, it said, “Will <i>you</i> suffer + this injustice to be heaped upon me?” Constance saw the look, and she left + Tom with a faint cry, and bent over Arthur, afraid of what truth he might + give utterance to. + </p> + <p> + “Patience yet, Arthur!” she whispered. “Do not let a moment’s anger undo + the work of weeks. Remember how bravely you have borne.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay! Heaven forgive my pride, Tom!” Arthur added, turning to him calmly. + “I would clear you—or rather clear myself—in the eyes of the + school, if I could: but it is impossible. However, you have less to blame + me for than you may think.” + </p> + <p> + 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 if it + can be in any way lightened for you.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish’s tone was kindly, his manner frank and persuasive, and Tom was won + over to speak of his troubles. Hamish listened with an attentive ear. + “Will you abide by my advice?” he asked him, when the catalogue of + grievances had come to an end. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I will,” replied Tom, who was growing cool after his heat. + </p> + <p> + “Then, as I said to you before, so I say now—<i>Live it down</i>. It + is the best advice I can give you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, you don’t know what it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. I can enter into your trials and annoyances as keenly as if I + had to encounter them. I do not affect to disparage them to you: I know + that they are real trials, real insults; but if you will only make up your + mind to bear them, they will lose half their sharpness. Your interest lies + in remaining in the college school; more than that, your duty lies in it. + Tom, don’t let it be said that a Channing shrunk from his duty because it + brought him difficulties to battle with.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I <i>can</i> stop in it, Hamish. I’d rather stand in a + pillory, and have rotten eggs shied at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can. In fact, my boy, for the present you <i>must</i>. + Disobedience has never been a fault amongst us, and I am sure you will not + be the one to inaugurate it. Your father left me in charge, in his place, + with full control; and I cannot sanction any such measure as that of your + leaving the school. In less than a month’s time he will be home, and you + can then submit the case to him, and abide by his advice.” + </p> + <p> + With all Tom’s faults, he was not rebellious, neither was he unreasonable; + and he made up his mind, not without some grumbling, to do as Hamish + desired him. He drew his chair with a jerk to the tea-table, which of + course was unnecessary. I told you that the young Channings, admirably as + they had been brought up, had their faults; as you have yours, and I have + mine. + </p> + <p> + It was a silent meal. Annabel, who was wont to keep them alive, whatever + might be their troubles, had remained to take tea at Lady Augusta Yorke’s, + with Caroline and Fanny. Had Constance known that she was in the habit of + thoughtlessly chattering upon any subject that came uppermost, including + poor Charles’s propensity to be afraid of ghosts, she had allowed her to + remain with them more charily. Hamish took a book and read. Arthur only + made a show of taking anything, and soon left them, to resume his work; + Tom did not even make a show of it, but unequivocally rejected all good + things. “How could he be hungry?” he asked, when Constance pressed him. An + unsociable meal it was—almost as unpleasant as were their inward + thoughts. They felt for Tom, in the midst of their graver griefs; but they + were all at cross purposes together, and they knew it; therefore they + could only retain an uncomfortable reticence one with another. Tom laid + the blame to the share of Arthur; Arthur and Constance to the share of + Hamish. To whom Hamish laid it, was only known to himself. + </p> + <p> + He, Hamish, rose as the tea-things were carried away. He was preparing for + a visit to Mr. Huntley’s. His visits there, as already remarked, had not + been frequent of late. He had discovered that he was not welcome to Mr. + Huntley. And Hamish Channing was not one to thrust his company upon any + one: even the attraction of Ellen could not induce that. But it is very + probable that he was glad of the excuse Mr. Channing’s letter afforded him + to go there now. + </p> + <p> + He found Miss Huntley alone; a tall, stiff lady, who always looked as if + she were cased in whalebone. She generally regarded Hamish with some + favour, which was saying a great deal for Miss Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “You are quite a stranger here,” she remarked to him as he entered. + </p> + <p> + “I think I am,” replied Hamish. “Mr. Huntley is still in the dining-room, + I hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Huntley is,” said the lady, speaking as if the fact did not give her + pleasure, though Hamish could not conceive why. “My niece has chosen to + remain with him,” she added, in a tone which denoted dissatisfaction. “I + am quite <i>tired</i> of talking to her! I tell her this is proper, and + the other is improper, and she goes and mixes up my advice in the most + extraordinary way; leaving undone what she ought to do, and doing what I + tell her she ought not! Only this very morning I read her a sermon upon + ‘Propriety, and the fitness of things.’ It took me just an hour—an + hour by my watch, I assure you, Mr. Hamish Channing!—and what is the + result? I retired from the dinner-table precisely ten minutes after the + removal of the cloth, according to my invariable custom; and Ellen, in + defiance of my warning her that it is not 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 her father. And he encourages her! What will + become of Ellen, I cannot imagine; she will never be a lady!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very sad!” replied Hamish, coughing down a laugh, and putting on the + gravest face he could call up. + </p> + <p> + “Sad!” repeated Miss Huntley, who sat perfectly upright, her hands, cased + in mittens, crossed upon her lap. “It is <i>grievous</i>, Mr. Hamish + Channing! She—what do you think she did only yesterday? One of our + maids was going to be married, and a dispute, or some unpleasantness + occurred between her and the intended husband. Would you believe that + Ellen actually wrote a letter for the girl (a poor ignorant thing, who + never learnt to read, let alone to write, but an excellent servant) to + this man, that things might be smoothed down between them? My niece, Miss + Ellen Huntley, lowering herself to write a—a—I can scarcely + allow my tongue to utter the word, Mr. Hamish—a love-letter!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Huntley lifted her eyes, and her mittens. Hamish expressed himself + inexpressibly shocked, inwardly wishing he could persuade Miss Ellen + Huntley to write a few to him. + </p> + <p> + “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 anything wrong + in writing: or pretended that he could not. Oh dear! how things have + altered from what they were when I was a young girl! Then—” + </p> + <p> + “My master says, will you please to walk into the dining-room, sir?” + interrupted a servant at this juncture. And Hamish rose and followed him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley was alone. Hamish threw his glance to the four corners of the + room, but Ellen was not in it. The meeting was not very cordial on Mr. + Huntley’s side. “What can I do for you?” he inquired, as he shook hands. + Which was sufficient to imply coldly, “You must have come to my house for + some particular purpose. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + But Hamish could not lose his sunny temperament, his winning manner. “I + bring you great news, Mr. Huntley. We have heard from Borcette: and the + improvement in my father’s health is so great, that all doubts as to the + result are over.” + </p> + <p> + “I said it would be so,” replied Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + They continued talking some little time, and then Hamish mentioned the + matter alluded to in the postscript of the letter. “Is it correct that you + will be able to help me to something,” he inquired, “when my father shall + resume his own place in Guild Street?” + </p> + <p> + “It is correct that I told your father so,” answered Mr. Huntley. “I + thought then that I could.” + </p> + <p> + “And is the post gone? I assume that it was a situation of some sort?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not gone. The post will not be vacant until the beginning of the + year. Have you heard that there is to be a change in the joint-stock + bank?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Hamish, looking up with much interest. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bartlett leaves. He is getting in years, his health is failing, and + he wishes to retire. As one of the largest shareholders in the bank, I + shall possess the largest voice in the appointment of a. successor, and I + had thought of you. Indeed, I have no objection to say that there is not + the slightest doubt you would have been appointed; otherwise, I should not + have spoken confidently to Mr. Channing.” + </p> + <p> + It was an excellent post; there was no doubt of that. The bank was not an + extensive one; it was not the principal bank of Helstonleigh; but it was a + firmly established, thoroughly respectable concern; and Mr. Bartlett, who + had been its manager for many years, enjoyed many privileges, and a + handsome salary. A far larger salary than was Mr. Channing’s. The house, a + good one, attached to the bank, was used as his residence, and would be, + when he left, the residence of his successor. + </p> + <p> + “I should like it of all things!” cried Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I not, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish did not expect the answer. He looked inquiringly at Mr. Huntley. + “Why can I not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I cannot now recommend you to it,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “But why not?” exclaimed Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “When I spoke of you as becoming Mr. Bartlett’s successor, I believed you + would be found worthy to fulfil his duties.” + </p> + <p> + “I can fulfil them,” said Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “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 not sanction + your appointment.” + </p> + <p> + “What have I done?” inquired Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Ask your conscience. If that does not tell you plainly enough, I shall + not.” + </p> + <p> + “My conscience accuses me of nothing that need render me unfit to fill the + post, and to perform my duties in it, Mr. Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + “I think otherwise. But, to pursue the subject will be productive of no + benefit, so we will let it drop. I would have secured you the appointment, + could I have done so conscientiously, but I cannot; and the matter is at + an end.” + </p> + <p> + “At least you can tell me why you will not?” said Hamish, speaking with + some sarcasm, in the midst of his respect. + </p> + <p> + “I have already declined to do so. Ask your own conscience, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “The worst criminal has a right to know his accusation, Mr. Huntley. + Otherwise he cannot defend himself.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be time enough for you to defend yourself when you are publicly + accused. I shall say no more upon the point. I am sorry your father + mentioned the thing to you, necessitating this explanation, so far; I have + also been sorry for having ever mentioned it to him. My worst explanation + will be with your father, for I cannot enter into cause and effect, any + more than I can to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have for some little time been conscious of a change in your manner + towards me, Mr. Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay—no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you <i>ought</i> to tell me what has caused it. I might explain away + any prejudice or wrong impression—” + </p> + <p> + “There, that will do,” interrupted Mr. Huntley. “It is neither prejudice + nor wrong impression that I have taken up. And now I have said the last + word upon the matter that I shall say.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “No more, I say!” peremptorily interrupted Mr. Huntley. “The subject is + over. Let us talk of other things. I need not ask whether you have news of + poor Charley; you would have informed me of that at once. You see, I was + right in advising silence to be kept towards them. All this time of + suspense would have told badly on Mr. Channing.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish rose to leave. He had done little good, it appeared, by his visit; + certainly, he could not wish to prolong it. “There was an unsealed scrap + of paper slipped inside my father’s letter,” he said. “It was from my + mother to Charley. This is it.” + </p> + <p> + It appeared to have been written hastily—perhaps from a sudden + thought at the moment of Mr. Channing’s closing his letter. Mr. Huntley + took it in his hand. + </p> + <h3> + “MY DEAR LITTLE CHARLEY,” + </h3> + <p> + “How is it you do not write to mamma? Not a message from you now: not a + letter! I am sure you are not forgetting me.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy!” exclaimed Mr. Huntley, handing it back to Hamish. “Poor + mother!” + </p> + <p> + “I did not show it to Constance,” observed Hamish. “It would only distress + her. Good night, sir. By the way,” added Hamish, turning as he reached the + door: “Mr. Galloway has received that money back again.” + </p> + <p> + “What money?” cried Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “That which was lost. A twenty-pound note came to him in a letter by this + afternoon’s post. The letter states that Arthur, and all others who may + have been accused, are innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed!” cried Mr. Huntley, with cutting sarcasm, as the conviction + flashed over him that Hamish, and no other, had been the sender. “The + thief has come to his senses at last, has he? So far as to render lame + justice to Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish left the room. The hall had not yet been lighted, and Hamish could + hardly see the outline of a form, crossing it from the staircase to the + drawing-room. <i>He</i> knew whose it was, and he caught it to him. + </p> + <p> + “Ellen,” he whispered, “what has turned your father against me?” + </p> + <p> + Of course she could not enlighten him; she could not say to Hamish + Channing, “He suspects you of being a thief.” Her whole spirit would have + revolted from that, as much as it did from the accusation. The subject was + a painful one; she was flurried at the sudden meeting—the stealthy + meeting, it may be said; and—she burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + 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 certain + sweet words were ringing changes in her ears. + </p> + <p> + “Ellen! they shall never take you from me!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVIII. — MUFFINS FOR TEA. + </h2> + <p> + A week or two passed by, and November was rapidly approaching. Things + remained precisely as they were at the close of the last chapter: nothing + fresh had occurred; no change had taken place. Tom Channing’s remark, + though much cannot be said for its elegance, was indisputable in point of + truth—that when a fellow was down, he was kept down, and every dog + had a fling at him It was being exemplified in the case of Arthur. The + money, so mysteriously conveyed to Mr. Galloway, had proved of little + service towards clearing him; in fact, it had the contrary effect; and + people openly expressed their opinion that it had come from himself or his + friends. He was <i>down</i>; and it would take more than that to lift him + up again. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway kept his thoughts to himself, or had put them into his + cash-box with the note, for he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + Roland Yorke did not imitate his example; he was almost as explosive over + the present matter as he had been over the loss. It would have pleased him + that Arthur should be declared innocent by public proclamation. Roland was + in a most explosive frame of mind on another score, and that was the + confinement to the office. In reality, he was not overworked; for Arthur + managed to get through a great amount of it at home, which he took in + regularly, morning after morning, to Mr. Galloway. Roland, however, + thought he was, and his dissatisfaction was becoming unbearable. I do not + think that Roland <i>could</i> have done a hard day’s work. To sit + steadily to it for only a couple of hours appeared 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, or at other similar recreative and + intellectual amusements; but, apply himself in earnest, he could not. + Therefore there was little fear of Mr. Roland’s being overcome with the + amount of work on hand. + </p> + <p> + But what told upon Roland was the confinement—I don’t mean upon his + health, you know, but his temper. It had happened many a day since + Jenkins’s absence, that Roland had never stirred from the office, except + for his dinner. He must be there in good time in the morning—at the + frightfully early hour of nine—and he often was not released until + six. When he went to dinner at one, Mr. Galloway would say, “You must be + back in half an hour, Yorke; I may have to go out.” Once or twice he had + not gone to dinner until two or three o’clock, and then he was half dead + with hunger. All this chafed poor Roland nearly beyond endurance. + </p> + <p> + Another cause was rendering Roland’s life not the most peaceful one. He + was beginning to be seriously dunned for money. Careless in that, as he + was in other things, improvident as was ever Lady Augusta, Roland rarely + paid until he was compelled to do so. A very good hand was he at + contracting debts, but a bad one at liquidating them. Roland did not + intend to be dishonest. Were all his creditors standing around him, and a + roll of bank-notes before him he would freely have paid them all; very + probably, in his openheartedness, have made each creditor a present, over + and above, for “his trouble.” But, failing the roll of notes, he only + staved off the difficulties in the best way he could, and grew cross and + ill-tempered on being applied to. His chief failing was his impulsive + thoughtlessness. Often, when he had teased or worried Lady Augusta out of + money, to satisfy a debt for which he was being pressed, that very money + would be spent in some passing folly, arising with the impulse of the + moment, before it had had time to reach the creditor. There are too many + in the world like Roland Yorke. + </p> + <p> + Roland was late in the office one Monday evening, he and a lamp sharing it + between them. He was in a terrible temper, and sat kicking his feet on 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 had been about was + positively finished; but he had to remain in, waiting for Mr. Galloway, + who was absent, but had not left the office for the evening. He would have + given the whole world to take his pipe out of his pocket and begin to + smoke; but that pastime was so firmly forbidden in the office, that even + Roland dared not disobey. + </p> + <p> + “There goes six of ‘em!” he uttered, as the cathedral clock rang out the + hour, and his boots threatened to stave in the floor. “If I stand this + life much longer, I’ll be shot! It’s enough to take the spirit out of a + fellow; to wear the flesh off his bones; to afflict him with nervous + 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 for a 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, if he pressed it! Talk + of solitary confinement driving prisoners mad, at their precious model + prisons, what else is this? I wish I could go mad for a week, if old + Galloway might be punished for it! It’s worse than any 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. Why doesn’t he—” + </p> + <p> + The complaint was cut short by the entrance of Mr. Galloway. Unconscious + of the rebellious feelings of his clerk, he passed through the office to + his own room, Roland’s rat-tat-to having ceased at his appearance. To find + Roland drumming the floor with his feet was nothing unusual—rather + moderate for him; Mr. Galloway <i>had</i> found him doing it with his + head. Two or three minutes elapsed, and Mr. Galloway came out again. + </p> + <p> + “You can shut up, Roland. And then, take these letters to the post. Put + the desks straight first; what a mess you get them into. Is that will + engrossed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well! Be here in time in the morning. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, sir,” responded Roland. “Yes! it’s all very fine,” he went + on, as he opened the desks, and shoved everything in with his hands, + indiscriminately, <i>en masse</i>, which was <i>his</i> way of putting + things straight. “‘Be here in time!’ Of course! No matter what time I am + let off the previous evening. If I stand this long—” + </p> + <p> + Roland finished his sentence by an emphatic turn of the key of the + office-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 the letters in + his hand. Calling out lustily for the housekeeper, he flung the key to + her, and bounded off in the direction of the post-office. + </p> + <p> + 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 of Roland’s + own book—standing outside the door, and gazing all ways. It suddenly + struck Roland that he could not do better than pay Jenkins a visit, just + to ascertain how long he meant to absent himself. In he darted, with his + usual absence of hesitation, and went on to the parlour. There was no + hurry for the letters; the post did not close until nine. + </p> + <p> + The little parlour, dark by day, looked very comfortable now. A bright + fire, a bright lamp, and a well-spread tea-table, at which Mrs. Jenkins + sat. More comfortable than Jenkins himself did, who lay back in his + easy-chair, white and wan, meekly enjoying a lecture from his wife. He + started from it at the appearance of Roland, bowing in his usual humble + fashion, and smiling a glad welcome. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Jenkins, I have come to know how long you mean to leave us to + ourselves?” was Roland’s greeting. “It’s too bad, you know. How d’ye do, + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Free and easy Roland drew a chair forward on the opposite side of the + hearth to Jenkins, Mrs. Jenkins and her good things being in the middle, + and warmed his hands over the blaze. “Ugh!” he shivered, “I can’t bear + these keen, easterly winds. It’s fine to be you, Jenkins! basking by a + blazing fire, and junketing upon plates of buttered muffins!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you please to condescend to take a cup of tea with us, sir?” was + Jenkins’s answer. “It is just ready.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care if I do,” said Roland. “There’s nothing I like better than + buttered muffins. We get them sometimes at home; but there’s so many to + eat at our house, that before a plate is well in, a dozen hands are + snatching at it, and it’s emptied. Lady Augusta knows no more about + comfort than a cow does, and she <i>will</i> have the whole tribe of young + ones in to meals.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll find these muffins different from what you get at home,” said Mrs. + Jenkins, in her curt, snappish, but really not inhospitable way, as she + handed the muffins to Roland. “I know what it is when things are left to + servants, as they are at your place; they turn out uneatable—soddened + things, with rancid butter, nine times out of ten, instead of good, + wholesome fresh. Servants’ cooking won’t do for Jenkins now, and it never + did for me.” + </p> + <p> + “These are good, though!” exclaimed Roland, eating away with intense + satisfaction. “Have you got any more downstairs? Mrs. Jenkins, don’t I + wish you could always toast muffins for me! Is that some ham?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes had caught a small dish of ham, in delicate slices, put there to + tempt poor Jenkins. But he was growing beyond such tempting now, for his + appetite wholly failed him. It was upon this point he had been undergoing + Mrs. Jenkins’s displeasure when Roland interrupted them. The question led + to an excellent opportunity for renewing the grievance, and she was too + persistent a diplomatist to let it slip. Catching up the dish, and leaving + her chair, she held it out before Roland’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Young Mr. Yorke, do you see anything the matter with that ham? Please to + tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that it looks uncommonly good,” replied Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear?” sharply ejaculated Mrs. Jenkins, turning short round upon + her husband. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I never said a word but what it was good; I never had any other + thought,” returned he, with deprecation. “I only said that I could not eat + it. I can’t—indeed, I can’t! My appetite is gone.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins put the dish down upon the table with a jerk. “That’s how he + goes on,” said she to Roland. “It’s enough to wear a woman’s patience out! + I get him muffins, I get him ham, I get him fowls, I get him fish, I get + him puddings, I get him every conceivable nicety that I can think of, and + not a thing will he touch. All the satisfaction I can get from him is, + that ‘his stomach turns against food!’” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could eat,” interposed Jenkins, mildly. “I have tried to do it + till I can try no longer. I wish I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take some of this ham, young Mr. Yorke?” she asked. “<i>He</i> + won’t. He wants to know what scarcity of food is!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll take it all, if you like,” said Roland. “If it’s going begging.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins accommodated him with a plate and knife and fork, and with + some more muffins. Roland did ample justice to the whole, despatching it + down with about six cups of good tea, well sugared and creamed. Jenkins + looked on with satisfaction, and Mrs. Jenkins appeared to regard it in the + light of a personal compliment, as chief of the commissariat department. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Roland, turning back to the fire, “when are you coming out + again, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Holloa! I say, Jenkins, don’t go and talk that rubbish!” was Roland’s + reply. “You know what I told you once, about that dropsy. I heard of a man + that took it into his head to fancy himself dead. And he ordered a coffin, + and lay down in it, and stopped in it for six days, only getting up at + night to steal the bread and cheese! His folks couldn’t think, at first, + where the loaves went to. You’ll be fancying the same, if you don’t mind!” + </p> + <p> + “If I could only get a little stronger, sir, instead of weaker, I should + soon be at my duty again. I am anxious enough sir, as you may imagine, for + there’s my salary, sir, coming to me as usual, and I doing nothing for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s just this, Jenkins, that if you don’t come back speedily, I shall + take French leave, and be off some fine morning. I can’t stand it much + longer. I can’t tell you how many blessed hours at a stretch am I in that + office with no one to speak to. I <i>wish</i> I was at Port Natal!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Jenkins, thinking he would say a word of warning, in his + kindly spirit: “I have heard that there’s nothing more deceptive than + those foreign parts that people flock to when the rage arises for them. + Many a man only goes out to starve and die.” + </p> + <p> + “Many a muff, you mean!” returned self-complaisant Roland. “I say, + Jenkins, isn’t it a shame about Arthur Channing? Galloway has his money + back from the very thief himself, as the letter said, and yet the old + grumbler won’t speak out like a man, and say, ‘Shake hands, old fellow,’ + and ‘I know you are innocent, and come back to the office again.’ Arthur + would return, if he said that. See if I don’t start for Port Natal!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Mr. Arthur was back again, sir. It would make me easier.” + </p> + <p> + “He sits, and stews, and frets, and worries his brains about that office, + and how it gets on without him!” tartly interposed Mrs. Jenkins. “A sick + man can’t expect to grow better, if he is to fret himself into + fiddlestrings!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” repeated poor Jenkins in a dreamy sort of mood, his eyes fixed + on the fire, and his thin hands clasped upon his knees: “I do wish Mr. + Arthur was back. In a little while he’d quite replace me, and I should not + be missed.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear him!” uttered Mrs. Jenkins. “That’s how he goes on!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” concluded Roland, rising, and gathering up his letters, which he + had deposited upon a side table, “if this is not a nice part of the world + to live in, I don’t know what is! Arthur Channing kept down under + Galloway’s shameful injustice; Jenkins making out that things are all over + with him; and I driven off my head doing everybody’s work! Good night, + Jenkins. Good night, Mrs. J. That was a stunning tea! I’ll come in again + some night, when you have toasted muffins!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIX. — A CHÂTEAU EN ESPAGNE. + </h2> + <p> + A keen wind, blowing from the east, was booming through the streets of + Helstonleigh, striking pitilessly the eyes and cheeks of the wayfarers, + cutting thin forms nearly in two, and taking stout ones off their legs. + </p> + <p> + 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 his progress. + He flung the letters into the box at the post-office, when he reached that + establishment, and then set off at the same pace back again. + </p> + <p> + Roland was in a state of inward commotion. He thought himself the most + injured, the most hard-worked, the most-to-be-pitied fellow under the sun. + The confinement in the office, with the additional work he had to get + through there, was his chief grievance; and a grievance it really was to + one of Roland’s temperament. When he had Arthur Channing and Jenkins 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 had been tolerably + bearable; but that state of things was changed, and Roland was feeling + that he could bear it no longer. + </p> + <p> + Another thing that Roland would perhaps be allowed to bear no longer was—immunity + from his debts. <i>They</i> had grown on him latterly, as much as the work + had. Careless Roland saw no way out of that difficulty, any more than he + did out of the other, except by an emigration to that desired haven which + had stereotyped itself on the retina of his imagination in colours of the + brightest phantasy—Port Natal. For its own sake, Roland was hurrying + to get to it, as well as that it might be convenient to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said he to himself, as he tore along, “even if Carrick were + to set me all clear and straight—and I dare say he might, if I told + him the bother I am in—where would be the good? It would not forward + me. I wouldn’t stop at Galloway’s another month to be made into a royal + duke. If he’d take back Arthur with honours, and Jenkins came out of his + cough and his thinness and returned, I don’t know but I might do violence + to my inclination and remain. I can’t, as it is. I should go dead with the + worry and the work.” + </p> + <p> + Roland paused, fighting for an instant with a puff of wind and dust. Then + he resumed: + </p> + <p> + “I’d pay my debts if I could; but, if I can’t, what am I to do but leave + them unpaid? Much better get the money from Carrick to start me off to + Port Natal, and set me going there. Then, when I have made enough, 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 rather pay ‘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 their own. In three months’ time + after landing, I shall be able to do the thing liberally. I’ll make up my + mind from to-night, and go: I know it will be all for the best. Besides, + there’s the other thing.” + </p> + <p> + What the “other thing” might mean, Mr. Roland did not state more + explicitly. He came to another pause, and then went on again. + </p> + <p> + “That’s settled. I’ll tell my lady to-night, and I’ll tell Galloway in the + morning; and I’ll fix on the time for starting, and be off to London, and + see what I can do with Carrick. Let’s see! I shall want to take 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: I must look. Rum + odds and ends they were: I know frying-pans were amongst them, Carrick + will go with me to buy them, if I ask him; and then he’ll pay, if it’s + only out of politeness. Nobody sticks out for politeness more than + Carrick. He—” + </p> + <p> + Roland’s castles in the air were suddenly cut short. He was passing a dark + part near the cathedral, when a rough hand—rough in texture, not in + motion—was laid upon his shoulder, and a peculiar piece of paper + thrust upon him. The assailant was Hopper, the sheriff’s officer. + </p> + <p> + Roland flew into one of his passions. He divined what it was, perfectly + well: nothing less than one of those little mandates from our Sovereign + Lady the Queen, which, a short time back, had imperilled Hamish Channing. + He repaid Hopper with a specimen of his tongue, and flung the writ back at + him. + </p> + <p> + “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 my pocket + this three weeks, Mr. Yorke, and not a day but I could have served 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 into displeasure with our folk + about the delay in this very paper, and—in short, sir, I have not + done it, till I was obliged.” + </p> + <p> + “You old preacher!” foamed Roland. “I have not tipped you with + half-a-crown lately, and therefore you can see me!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Yorke,” said the man, earnestly, “if you had filled my hands with + half-crowns yesterday, I must have done this to-day. I tell you, sir, I + have got into a row with our people over it; and it’s the truth. Why don’t + you, sir—if I may presume to give advice—tell your little + embarrassments to your mother, the Lady Augusta? She’d be sure to see you + through them.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you mention the Lady Augusta to me?” thundered haughty Roland. + “Is it fitting that the Lady Augusta’s name should be bandied in such + transactions as these? Do you think I don’t know what’s due to her better + than that? If I have got into embarrassment, I shall not drag my mother + into it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you know best. I did not mean to offend you, but the contrary. + Mind, Mr. Roland Yorke!” added Hopper, pointing to the writ, which still + lay where it had been flung: “you can leave it there if you choose, sir, + but I have served it upon you.” + </p> + <p> + Hopper went his way. Roland caught up the paper, tore it to pieces with + his strong hands, and tossed them after the man. The wind took up the + quarrel, and scattered the pieces indiscriminately, right and left. Roland + strode on. + </p> + <p> + “What a mercy that there’s a Port Natal to be off to!” was his comment. + </p> + <p> + Things were not particularly promising at home, when Roland entered, + looking at them from a quiet, sociable point of view. Lady Augusta was + spending the evening at the deanery, and the children, from Gerald + downwards, were turning the general parlour into a bear-garden. Romping, + quarrelling, shouting and screaming, they were really as unrestrained as + so many young bears. It would often be no better when Lady Augusta was at + home. How Gerald and Tod contrived to do their lessons amidst it was a + marvel to every one. Roland administered a few cuffs, to enjoin silence, + and then went out again, he did not much care where. His feet took him to + the house of his friend, Knivett, with whom he spent a pleasant evening, + the topics of conversation turning chiefly upon the glories of Port Natal, + and Roland’s recent adventure with Hopper. Had anything been wanted to put + the finishing touch to Roland’s resolution, that little adventure would + have supplied it. + </p> + <p> + It was past ten when he returned home. The noisy throng had dispersed + then, all except Gerald. Gerald had just accomplished his tasks, and was + now gracefully enjoying a little repose before the fire; his head on the + back of my lady’s low embroidered chair, and his feet extended on either + hob. + </p> + <p> + “What’s for supper?” asked Roland, turning his eyes on the cloth, which + bore traces that a party, and not a scrupulously tidy one, had already + partaken of that meal. + </p> + <p> + “Bones,” said Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “Bones?” echoed Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Bones,” rejoined Gerald. “They made a show of broiling some downstairs, + but they took good care to cut off the meat first. Where all the meat goes + to in this house, I can’t think. If a good half of the leg of mutton + didn’t go down from dinner to-day, I possessed no eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not going to put me off with bones,” said Roland, ringing the + bell. “When a man’s worked within an ace of his life, he must eat. + Martha,”—when the maid appeared—“I want some supper.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no meat in the house, sir. There were some broiled bo—” + </p> + <p> + “You may eat the bones yourself,” interrupted Roland. “I never saw such a + house as this! Loads of provisions come into it, and yet there’s rarely + anything to be had when it’s wanted. You must go and order me some + oysters. Get four dozen. I am famished. If I hadn’t had a substantial tea, + supplied me out of charity, I should be fainting before this! It’s a + shame! I wonder my lady puts up with you two incapable servants.” + </p> + <p> + “There are no oysters to be had at this time, Mr. Roland,” returned + Martha, who was accustomed to these interludes touching the housekeeping. + “The shop shuts up at ten.” + </p> + <p> + Roland beat on the floor with the heel of his boot. Then he turned round + fiercely to Martha. “Is there <i>nothing</i> in the house that’s eatable?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s an apple pie, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring that, then. And while I am going into it, the cook can do me some + eggs and ham.” + </p> + <p> + Gerald had turned round at this, angry in his turn, “If there’s an apple + pie, Martha, why could you not have produced it for our supper? You know + we were obliged to put up with cheese and butter!” + </p> + <p> + “Cook told me not to bring it up, Master Gerald. My lady gave no orders. + Cook says if she made ten pies a day they’d get eaten, once you young + gentlemen knew of their being in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Gerald. “She doesn’t provide them out of her own pocket.” + </p> + <p> + Roland paid his court to the apple pie, Gerald joining him. After it was + finished, they kept the cook employed some time with the eggs and ham. + Then Gerald, who had to be up betimes for morning school, went to bed; and + I only hope he did not suffer from nightmare. + </p> + <p> + Roland took up his place before the fire, in the same chair and position + vacated by Gerald. Thus he waited for Lady Augusta. It was not long before + she came in. + </p> + <p> + “Come and sit down a bit, good mother,” said Roland. “I want to talk to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She was walking to the side table to light her bed-candle, but Roland + interposed. He drew the couch close to the fire, settled his mother in it, + and took his seat with her. She asked him what he had to say so + particularly that night. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell you what it is. But don’t you fly out at me, mother + dear,” he coaxingly added. “I find I can’t get along here at all, mother, + and I shall be off to Port Natal.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta did fly out—with a scream, and a start from her seat. + Roland pulled her into it again. + </p> + <p> + “Now, mother, just listen to me quietly. I can’t bear my life at + Galloway’s. I can’t do the work. If I stopped at it, I’m not sure but I + should do something desperate. You wouldn’t like to see your son turn + jockey, and ride in a pink silk jacket and yellow breeches on the + race-course; and you wouldn’t like to see him enlist for a soldier, or run + away for a sailor! Well, worse than that might come, if I stopped at + Galloway’s. Taking it at the very best, I should only be worked into my + grave.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not hear another word, Roland,” interrupted Lady Augusta. “How can + you be so wicked and ungrateful?” + </p> + <p> + “What is there wicked in it?” asked Roland. “Besides, you don’t know all. + I can’t tell you what I don’t owe in Helstonleigh, and I’ve not a sixpence + to pay it with. You wouldn’t like to see me marched off to prison, + mother.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta gave another shriek. + </p> + <p> + “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 concerns myself + alone.” + </p> + <p> + Of course the announcement that it concerned himself alone, only made my + lady the more inquisitive to hear it. She peremptorily ordered Roland to + disclose it to her. + </p> + <p> + But Roland could be as peremptory as she, and he declined, in positive + terms, to explain further. + </p> + <p> + “It would not afford you any pleasure, mother,” he said, “and I should not + have mentioned it but as an additional reason why I must be off.” + </p> + <p> + “You unhappy boy! You have been doing something dreadful!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not over-good,” acknowledged Roland. “Perhaps I’ll write you word + all about it from London. I’ve not smothered William Yorke, or set old + Galloway’s office on fire, and those respected gentlemen are my two <i>bêtes + noires</i>. So don’t look so scared, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Roland!” uttered Lady Augusta, as the fact struck her, “if you go off in + this manner, all the money that was paid with you to Mr. Galloway will be + lost! I might as well have sent it down the gutter.” + </p> + <p> + “So I said at the time,” answered cool Roland. “Never mind that, mother. + What’s that paltry hundred or two, compared with the millions I shall + make? And as to these folks that I owe money to—” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll be coming upon me,” interposed Lady Augusta. “Heaven knows, <i>I</i> + have enough to pay.” + </p> + <p> + “They will do nothing of the sort,” said Roland. “You have no legal right + to pay my debts. Not one of them but has been contracted since I was of + age. If they come to you, tell them so.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Money melts,” responded Roland. “Upon my word of honour, I do believe it + must melt at times; it vanishes so quickly.” + </p> + <p> + My lady could not cavil at the assertion. She was only too much given to + the same belief herself. Roland continued: + </p> + <p> + “In a little while—about three months, as I calculate—after my + arrival at Port Natal, I shall be in a position to send funds home to pay + what I owe; and be assured, I will faithfully send them. There is the + finest opening, mother, at Port Natal! Fortunes are being made there + daily. In a few years’ time I shall come home with my pockets lined, and + shall settle down by you for life.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could only think the prospect was so good a one!” exclaimed Lady + Augusta. + </p> + <p> + “It is good,” said Roland emphatically. “Why, mother, Port Natal is all + the rage: hundreds are going out. Were there no reasons to urge me away, + you would be doing the most unwise thing possible to stand in the light of + my going. If I were at something that I liked, that I was not worked 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 should do well to + throw it all up for Port Natal.” + </p> + <p> + “But in what manner are these great fortunes made?” wondered Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I shall acquire all that information. Stuck in this + know-nothing Helstonleigh, I can only state the fact that they <i>are</i> + made. I dare say I can find an opening for one or two of the boys out + there.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta—persuadable as ever was a child—began to look + upon the plan with less prejudiced eyes—as Roland would have styled + it. As to Roland, so fully had he become imbued with the golden harvest to + be gathered at Port Natal, that had an angel descended to undeceive him, + he would have refused to listen. + </p> + <p> + “There will be the losing you, Roland,” said Lady Augusta, hesitating + whether she should scold or cry. + </p> + <p> + “Law, what’s that?” returned Roland, slightingly. “You’ll get over that in + 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 me in some + crack Indian regiment, would you not say, ‘Oh be joyful,’ and start me off + at once? What are you the worse for George’s being away? Mother!” he added + somewhat passionately, “<i>would</i> you like to see me tied down for life + to an old proctor’s office?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Roland, you cannot go out without money. There’ll be your outfit and + your passage; and you can’t land with empty pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “As to an outfit,” said Roland, “you must not run your head upon such a + one as George had. A few new shirts, and a pair or two of waterproof boots—that + will be about all I shall want. I remember shirts and waterproof boots + were mentioned by Bagshaw. What I shall chiefly want to buy will be tools, + and household utensils: frying-pans, and items of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Frying-pans!” ejaculated Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure frying-pans were mentioned,” answered Roland. “Perhaps it was + only one, though, for private use. I’ll hunt up Bagshaw’s list, and look + it over.” + </p> + <p> + “And where’s the money to come from?” repeated my lady. + </p> + <p> + “I shall get it of Lord Carrick. I know he’ll give me what I want. I often + talked to him about Port Natal when he was here.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a letter from him to-day,” said Lady Augusta. “He will be returning + to Ireland next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he, though?” uttered Roland, aroused by the information. “I have no + time to lose, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Roland I must hear more about this to-morrow, and consider it + over,” said my lady, rising to retire. “I have not said yet you are to go, + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go, whether you say it or not,” replied frank Roland. “And when I + come home with my pockets lined, a rich man for life, the first thing I’ll + buy shall be a case of diamonds for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Stupid boy!” said she laughing. “I shall be too old to wear diamonds + then.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, you won’t.” + </p> + <p> + My lady gave him a hearty kiss, and went to bed and to sleep. Roland’s + visions were not without their effect upon her, and she had a most + delightful dream of driving about in a charming city, whose streets were + paved with malachite marble, brilliant to look upon. How many times Roland + had dreamt that Port Natal was paved with <i>gold</i>, he alone knew. + </p> + <p> + Had Roland been troubled with over-sensitiveness in regard to other + people’s feelings, and felt himself at a loss how to broach the matter to + 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 at the + office considerably before his usual hour; consequently, before Roland + Yorke. Upon looking over Roland’s work of the previous day, he found that + a deed—a deed that was in a hurry, too—had been imperfectly + drawn out, and would have to be done over again. The cause must have been + sheer carelessness, and Mr. Galloway naturally felt angered. When the + gentleman arrived, he told him what he thought of his conduct, winding up + the reproaches with a declaration that Roland did him no service at all, + and would be as well out of the office as in it. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that, sir,” was Roland’s answer. “What I was about to tell + you will make no difference, then. I wish to leave, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” retorted Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to leave, sir,” added Roland, rather improving upon the + assertion. “I am going to Port Natal.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway was a little taken aback. “Going to where?” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “To Port Natal.” + </p> + <p> + “To Port Natal!” echoed Mr. Galloway in the most unbounded astonishment, + for not an inkling of Roland’s long-thought-of project had ever reached + him. “What on earth should you want there?” + </p> + <p> + “To make my fortune,” replied Roland. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Mr. Galloway. “When do you start?” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite true, sir,” continued Roland. “Of course I could not go + without informing you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you start to-day?” repeated Mr. Galloway, in the same mocking tone. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t,” said Roland. “But I <i>shall</i> start, sir, before long, + and I 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 on here + 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 Port Natal, my + fortune’s made. Hundreds and thousands of enterprising spirits are + emigrating there, and they are all going to make their fortunes.” + </p> + <p> + Had Mr. Galloway not been angry, he would have laughed out-right. “Yorke,” + said he, “did you ever hear of a sickness that fell suddenly upon this + kingdom, some years ago? It was called the gold fever. Hundreds and + thousands, as you phrase it, caught the mania, and flocked out to the + Australian gold-diggings, to ‘make their fortunes’ by picking up gold. + Boy!”—laying his hand on Roland’s shoulder—“how many of those, + think you, instead of making their fortunes, only went out TO DIE?” + </p> + <p> + “That was not Port Natal, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It was not. But, unless some of you wild young men come to your senses, + we shall have a second edition of the Australian madness at Port Natal. + Nothing can be more futile than these visionary schemes, Roland Yorke; + they are like the apples of Sodom—fair and promising to the eye, + ashes to the taste. Do not you be deceived by them.” + </p> + <p> + “One <i>must</i> get on at Port Natal, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “If one does not get ‘off,’” returned Mr. Galloway, in a cynical tone that + chafed Roland’s ear. “The stream that flocked out to the gold-diggings all + thought they should get on—each individual was fully persuaded that + he should come home in a year or two with a plum in each of his breeches + pockets. Where one made his way, Roland—made wealth—many + starved; died; vanished, it was not known how; were never heard of by + their friends, or saw old England again. What good do you suppose <i>you</i> + could do at Port Natal?” + </p> + <p> + “I intend to do a great deal,” said Roland. + </p> + <p> + “But suppose you found you could do none—suppose it, I say—what + would become of you out in a strange place, without money, and without + friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” returned Roland, who was never at a loss for an answer: “if such + an impossible thing as a failure were to turn up, I should come back to my + Uncle Carrick, and make him start me in something else.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” mockingly observed Mr. Galloway, “a rolling stone gathers no moss. + Meanwhile, Mr. Roland Yorke, suppose you come down from the clouds to your + proper business. Draw out this deed again, and see if you can accomplish + it to a little better purpose than you did yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Roland, liking the tone less and less, sat down and grew sullen. “Don’t + say I did not give you notice, sir,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Galloway vouchsafed no reply. Indeed, it may be questioned if he + heard the remark, for he went into his own room at the moment Roland + spoke, and shut the door after him. + </p> + <p> + “Mocking old caterpillar!” grumbled angry Roland. “No fortunes at Port + Natal! I’d go off, if it was only to tantalize <i>him!</i>” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER L. — REALLY GONE! + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins had many virtues. Besides the cardinal one which has been + particularly brought under the reader’s notice—that of keeping her + husband in due subjection—she also possessed, in an eminent degree, + the excellent quality of being a most active housewife. In fact, she had + the bump of rule and order, and personally superintended everything—with + hands and tongue. + </p> + <p> + Amongst other careful habits, was that of never letting any one put a + finger on her best sitting-room, for the purpose of cleaning it, except + herself. She called it her drawing-room—a small, pretty room over + the shop, very well furnished. It was let to Mr. Harper, with the bedroom + behind it. Had Lydia dared even to wipe the dust off a table, it might + have cost her her place. Mrs. Jenkins was wont to slip her old buff + dressing-gown over her clothes, after she was dressed in a morning, and + take herself to this drawing-room. Twice a week it was carefully swept, + and on those occasions a large green handkerchief, tied cornerwise upon + Mrs. Jenkins’s head, to save her cap from dust, was added to her costume. + </p> + <p> + On the morning following Roland’s communication to Mr. Galloway, Mrs. + Jenkins was thus occupied—a dust-pan in one hand, a short hand-broom + in the other—for you may be sure she did not sweep her carpets with + those long, slashing, tear-away brooms that wear out a carpet in six + months—and the green kerchief adjusted gracefully over her ears—when + she heard a man’s footsteps clattering up the stairs. In much astonishment + as to who could have invaded the house at that hour, Mrs. Jenkins rose + from her knees and flung open the door. + </p> + <p> + It was Roland Yorke, coming up at full speed, with a carpet-bag in his + hand. “Whatever do you want?” exclaimed she. “Is anything the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “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 and came + up.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure you are very polite!” exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins. “For all you knew, + I might have been in the room.” + </p> + <p> + “So you might!” cried easy Roland. “I never thought of that. I should not + have swallowed you, Mrs. Jenkins. Take care! I have hardly a minute to + spare. I shall lose the train.” + </p> + <p> + On he went, up the second flight of stairs, without the slightest + hesitation, and into Jenkins’s room, ignoring the ceremony of knocking. + Poor Jenkins, who had heard the colloquy, and recognized Roland’s voice, + was waiting for him with wondering eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am off, Jenkins,” said Roland, advancing and bending over the bed. “I + wouldn’t go without just saying a word to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Off where, sir?” returned Jenkins, who could not have looked more + bewildered had he been suddenly aroused from sleep. + </p> + <p> + “To Port Natal. I am sick and tired of everything here, so I’m off at + last.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins was struck dumb. Of course, the first thought that passed through + his mind was Mr. Galloway’s discomfiture, unless he was prepared for it. + “This is very sudden, sir!” he cried, when speech came to him. “Who is + replacing you at the office?” + </p> + <p> + “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 that I + 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, when he left + the office last night; errands to go upon, and writings to do, and answers + to give, and the office to mind! A glorious commotion there’ll be, when he + finds it’s all thrown upon his own hands. He’ll see how <i>he</i> likes + work!” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins could do nothing but stare. Roland went on: + </p> + <p> + “I have just slipped round there now, to leave a message, with my + compliments. It will turn his hair green when he hears it, and finds I am + really gone. Do you feel any better, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + The question was put in a different tone; a soft, gentle tone—one in + which Roland rarely spoke. He had never seen Jenkins look so ill as he was + looking now. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never feel any better in this world, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “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 luck to + you, old chap, whether you go into the next world, or whether you stop in + this!” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Mr. Roland! God bless you everywhere!” + </p> + <p> + Roland leapt down the stairs. Mrs. Jenkins stood at the drawing-room door. + “Good-bye,” said he to her. “You see I should not have had time to 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 the fashion.” + </p> + <p> + Away he tore to the station. The first person he saw there, officials + excepted, was Hamish Channing, who had gone to it for the purpose of + seeing a friend off by the train. The second, was Lady Augusta Yorke. + </p> + <p> + 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 him + for a last word; I shall write it from London.” + </p> + <p> + “Roland”—and Hamish spoke more gravely than was his wont—“you + are starting upon a wild-goose scheme.” + </p> + <p> + “It is <i>not</i>,” said Roland; “why do you preach up nonsense? If the + worst came to the worst, I should come back to Carrick, and he’d set me on + my legs again. I tell you, Hamish, I have a hundred reasons to urge me + away from Helstonleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this carpet-bag all your luggage?” + </p> + <p> + “All I am taking with me. The rest will be sent afterwards. Had I + despatched the bellman about the town to announce my departure, I might + have been stopped; so I have told no one, except poor harmless Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + Of course it never occurred to proud and improvident Roland that it was + possible to travel in any carriage but a first-class one. A first-class + ticket he took, and a first-class compartment he entered. Fortunately it + 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 upon his ear, and + he found himself vehemently pushed aside, just as Roland himself might + have pushed him. He turned with surprise. Panting, breathless, in tears, + wailing out that she should never see her darling son again, stood the + Lady Augusta Yorke. + </p> + <p> + What could be the cause of her appearing there in that state? The cause + was Roland. On the previous day, he had held a second conversation with + his 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 + <i>her</i> fortune? She then inquired when he meant to start. “Oh,” + answered Roland, carelessly, “between now and a week’s time.” The real + fact was, that he contemplated being away on the following morning, before + my lady was up. Roland’s motive was not an unfilial one. He knew how she + excited herself over these partings; the violent, if short, grief to which + she gave the reins; he remembered what it had been on the departure of his + brother George. One other motive also held weight with him, and induced + reticence. It was very desirable, remembering that he was not perfectly + free from claims upon his purse, that he should depart, if not absolutely + <i>sub rosâ</i>, still without its being extensively known, and that, he + knew, would be next door to an impossibility, were the exact period + confided to my lady. Lady Augusta Yorke could not have kept a secret for a + single hour, had it been to save her life. Accordingly, she retired to + rest in blissful ignorance: and in ignorance she might have remained until + he was fairly off, but for Roland’s own want of caution. Up with daylight—and + daylight, you know, does not surprise us too early when the dark days of + November are at hand—Roland began turning over his drawers and + closets, to pick out the few articles he meant to carry with him: the rest + would be packed afterwards. This aroused his mother, whose room was + underneath his, and she angrily wondered what he could be doing. Not for + some time until after the noise had ceased did the faintest suspicion of + the truth break upon her; and it might not then have done so, but for the + sudden remembrance which rose in her mind of Roland’s particularly + affectionate farewell the night before. Lady Augusta rang her bell. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what Mr. Roland is about in his room?” she inquired, when + Martha answered it. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roland is gone out, my lady,” was Martha’s reply. “He came down to + the kitchen and drank a cup of coffee; and then went out with a + carpet-bag.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta became excited. “Where’s he gone?” she wildly asked. + </p> + <p> + “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 me + couldn’t think what he meant, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + My lady divined only too well. She gave a prolonged series of shrieks, + jumped out of bed, flung on any clothes that came uppermost, and started + in pursuit of him, to the intense wonder of Martha, and to the + astonishment of Helstonleigh, as she flew wildly through the streets to + the station. The sight of Hamish at a carriage-door guided her to her + runagate son. + </p> + <p> + She sprang into the carriage—it was well, I say, that it was empty!—and + overwhelmed him with a torrent of reproaches, all the while kissing and + hugging him. Not two minutes could be given to their farewell, for the + time was up, and Lady Augusta had to descend again, weeping bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “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 me come + home, one of these fine days, with a covered waggon after me, bringing the + bags of gold.” Poor Roland! + </p> + <p> + The train steamed off, and Lady Augusta, to the discomfiture of Hamish, + and the admiration of the porters and station boys, set off at full speed + after it, wringing her hands, and tearing her hair, and sobbing and + shrieking out that “She’d go—she’d go with it! that she should never + see her darling boy again!” With some difficulty Hamish soothed her down + to tolerable calmness, and put her into a fly. + </p> + <p> + They were scarcely beyond the station when she suddenly bent forward to + Hamish, who sat on the seat opposite to her, and seized his hands. “Is it + true that every one gets rich who goes to Port Natal?” + </p> + <p> + The question was a poser for sunny Hamish. He liked to scatter flowers in + his path, rather than thorns. How could he tell that grieving woman, that + Roland—careless, lazy, improvident Roland—would be almost sure + to return in a worse plight than he had gone? “I have heard of people + doing well at Port Natal,” he answered; “and Roland is young and strong, + and has years before him.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think how so much money can be made,” continued my lady, + beginning to dry her tears. “There are no gold fields there, are there?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” said Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “They must trade, then, I suppose. And, goodness me! what does Roland know + about trading? Nothing. He talks of taking out tools and frying-pans.” + </p> + <p> + “Frying-pans!” repeated Hamish, struck with the item. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure he said frying-pans. Oh dear!” sobbed Lady Augusta, “what a + relief it would be if folks never had any children; or if boys did not + possess wills of their own! Hamish, you have never given sorrow to <i>your</i> + mother! I feel that you have not!” + </p> + <p> + Hamish smiled at her. “Now you know, Lady Augusta, that your children are + your dearest treasures,” cried he, soothingly. “You would be the most + unhappy woman living if you had none.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you can’t judge, Mr. Hamish Channing. You have no children of your + own.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hamish, laughing, “but my turn may come some day. Dear Lady + Augusta, if Roland has his faults, he has his good qualities. Look on the + bright side of things. Look forward with hope to the time that you shall + see him home safe and well again. It will be sure to come.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak as if you believed it would.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do,” said Hamish. “And every one finds me a true prophet.” + </p> + <p> + They were then passing the Hazledon Charity. At the iron gates of the + inclosure, talking to an old man, stood the Rev. William Yorke. “Roland + left a message for him!” exclaimed Hamish, half mockingly, as his eyes + fell upon the clergyman. + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta, impulse all over, suddenly put her head out at the window + and stopped the fly. William Yorke, looking surprised to see who were its + inmates, advanced to the door. The lady’s tears flowed afresh. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is gone?” returned Mr. Yorke. + </p> + <p> + “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 Port + Natals! He went off without saying a word to me, and he is GONE!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke, bewildered, turned his eyes on Hamish for explanation. He had + never heard of the Port Natal project. Hamish nodded in confirmation. + </p> + <p> + “The best place for him,” said Mr. Yorke. “He must work for his bread, + there, before he eats it.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta shrieked. “How cruelly hard you are, William!” + </p> + <p> + “Not hard, Lady Augusta—kind,” he gently said. “If your boys were + brought up to depend upon their own exertions, they would make better + men.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you had a message for him from Roland,” resumed Lady Augusta, + looking at Hamish. + </p> + <p> + Hamish smiled significantly. “Not much of one,” he said, and his lips, as + he bent towards William Yorke, assumed an expression of sarcastic + severity. “He merely requested me, after he was in the train, to give his + love to the Rev. William Yorke, as a parting legacy.” + </p> + <p> + Either the words or the tone, probably the latter, struck on the Rev. + William Yorke’s self-esteem, and flushed his cheek crimson. Since the + rupture with Constance, Hamish, though not interfering in the remotest + degree, had maintained a tone of quiet sarcasm to Mr. Yorke. And though + Mr. Yorke did not like it, he could not prevent it. + </p> + <p> + “When does Mr. Channing return?” he abruptly asked of Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “We shall be expecting him shortly now.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta gave the signal for the fly to drive on. William Yorke put + his hand over the door, and took hers as the man began to whip up his + horse. + </p> + <p> + “Do not grieve too much after him, Lady Augusta. It may prove to be the + best 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 their value out + there, let his lines be ever so hard, he may come home a wise and a good + man. One of my poor pensioners here said to me, not ten minutes ago, I was + brought to know my Saviour, sir, through ‘hard lines.’ Lady Augusta, those + ‘hard lines’ are never sent in vain.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LI. — AN ARRIVAL IN A FLY. + </h2> + <p> + Was any one ever so ill-used as that unfortunate Mr. Galloway? On the + morning which witnessed his troublesome clerk’s departure, he set rather + longer than usual over his breakfast, never dreaming of the calamity 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 his office, and the ways + and means by which those difficulties might be best remedied. + </p> + <p> + That it would be impossible to get on with Roland Yorke alone, he had said + to himself twenty times; and now he was saying it again, little supposing, + poor unconscious man, that even Roland, bad as he was, had taken flight. + He had never intended to get along with only Roland, but circumstances had + induced him to attempt doing so for a time. In the first place, he had + entertained hopes, until very recently, that Jenkins would recover; in the + second place, failing Jenkins, there was no one in the wide world he would + so soon have in his office as Arthur Channing—provided that Arthur + could prove his innocence. With Arthur and Roland, he could go on very + well, or with Jenkins and Roland; but poor Jenkins appeared to be passing + beyond hope; and Arthur’s innocence was no nearer the light than it had + been, in spite of that strange restitution of the money. Moreover, Arthur + had declined to return to the office, even to help with the copying, + preferring to take it home. All these reflections were pressing upon Mr. + Galloway’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “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 might suit, with + some drilling. If he turns out a second Yorke, I shall have a nice pair + upon my hands. But he can’t well turn out as bad as Roland: he comes of a + more business-like stock.” + </p> + <p> + This point settled, Mr. Galloway took up the <i>Times</i>. Something in + its pages awoke his interest, and he sat longer over it than had been his + wont since the departure of Jenkins. It was twenty minutes past nine by + his watch when he started for his office. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I wonder how I shall find that gentleman?” soliloquized he, when he + drew near. “Amusing himself, as usual, of course. He’ll have made a show + 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 with the stools, + or stretched three parts out of the window, saluting the passengers. I + never thought he’d do me much good, and should not have taken him, but for + the respect I owed the late Dr. Yorke. Now for it!” + </p> + <p> + It was all very well for Mr. Galloway to say, “Now for it,” and to put his + hand stealthily upon the door-handle, with the intention of pouncing + suddenly upon his itinerant pupil. But the door would not open. Mr. + Galloway turned, and turned, and shook the handle, as our respected friend + Mr. Ketch did when he was locked up in the cloisters, but he turned it to + no purpose. + </p> + <p> + “He has not come yet!” wrathfully exclaimed Mr. Galloway. “All the work of + the office on his shoulders and mine, the most busy time of the whole + year, and here’s half-past nine, and no appearance of him! If I live this + day out, I’ll complain to Lady Augusta!” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the housekeeper’s little maid came running forward. + “Where’s Mr. Yorke?” thundered the proctor, in his anger, as if the child + had the keeping of him. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, he’s gone to Port Natal.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone to—what?” uttered Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + She was unlocking the door, and then stood back to curtsey while Mr. + Galloway entered, following in after him—an intelligent child for + her years. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, Mr. Yorke came round this morning, while me and missis was 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 his compliments.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not true!” cried Mr. Galloway. “How dare he play these tricks?” he + added, to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, missis said she thought it was true, ‘cause he had a + carpet-bag,” returned the young servant. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway stared at the child. “You go round at once to Lady + Augusta’s,” said he, “and ask what Mr. Yorke means by being so late. I + desire that he will come immediately.” + </p> + <p> + The child flew off, and Mr. Galloway, hardly knowing what to make of + matters, proceeded to do what he ought to have found done. He and Jenkins + had duplicate keys to the desks, letter-box, etc. Since Jenkins’s illness, + his keys had been in the possession of Roland. + </p> + <p> + Presently the child came back again. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, her ladyship’s compliments, and Mr. Roland have gone to Port + Natal.” + </p> + <p> + The consternation that this would have caused Mr. Galloway, had he + believed 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 a morning call + at the next door, is not very credible. Neither did Mr. Galloway give + credence to it. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see her ladyship?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I saw one of the servants, and she went to her ladyship, and + brought out the message.” + </p> + <p> + The young messenger retired, leaving Mr. Galloway to his fate. He + persisted in assuming that the news was too absurd to be correct; but a + dreadful inward misgiving began to steal over him. + </p> + <p> + The question was set at rest by the Lady Augusta. Feeling excessively + vexed with Roland for not having informed Mr. Galloway of his intended + departure—as from the message, it would appear he had not done—she + determined to go round; and did so, following closely on the heels of the + maid. Her ladyship had already wonderfully recovered her spirits. They + were of a mercurial nature, liable to go up and down at touch; and Hamish + had contrived to cheer her greatly. + </p> + <p> + “What does all this mean? Where’s Roland?” began Mr. Galloway, showing + little more deference to her ladyship, in his flurry, than he might have + shown to Roland himself. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not know he was going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing. Where is he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “He has started for Port Natal; that is, he has started for London, on his + way to it. He went by the eight o’clock train.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway sat down in consternation. “My lady, allow me to inquire what + sort of behaviour you call this?” + </p> + <p> + “Whether it is good or bad, right or wrong, I can’t help it,” was the + reply of Lady Augusta. “I’m sure <i>I</i> have enough to bear!” she added, + melting into tears. “Of course he ought to have informed you of his + intention, Mr. Galloway. I thought he did. He told me he had done so.” + </p> + <p> + 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 paid no heed + to it at the time. + </p> + <p> + “He is just another of my headstrong boys,” grumbled Lady Augusta. “They + are all specimens of wilfulness. I never knew that it was this morning he + intended to be off, until he was gone, and I had to run after him to the + station. Ask Hamish Channing.” + </p> + <p> + “He must be mad!” exclaimed Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “He says great fortunes are made, out at Port Natal. I don’t know whether + it is so.” + </p> + <p> + “Great fortunes made!” irascibly responded Mr. Galloway. “Pittances, that + folks go out with, are lost, when they are such as he. That’s what it is. + Harem-scarem chaps, who won’t work, can do no good at Port Natal. Great + fortunes made, indeed! I wonder that you can be led away by notions so + wild and extravagant, Lady Augusta!” + </p> + <p> + “I am not led away by them,” peevishly returned Lady Augusta, a + recollection of her own elation on the point darting unpleasantly to her + 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 spite of me. Do + you <i>not</i> think fortunes are made there, Mr. Galloway?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure they are not, by such as Roland,” was the reply. “A man who + works one hour in the day, and plays eleven, would do less good at Port + Natal than he would in his own country. A business man, thoroughly + industrious, and possessing some capital, may make something at Port + Natal, as he would at any other port. In the course of years he might + realize a fortune—in the course of <i>years</i>, I say, Lady + Augusta.” + </p> + <p> + This was not precisely the prospect Roland had pictured to Lady Augusta, + or to which her own imagination had lent its hues, and she stood in + consternation almost equal to Mr. Galloway’s. “What on earth will he do, + then, when he gets there?” ejaculated she. + </p> + <p> + “Find out his mistake, my lady, and come home without a coat to his back, + 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 will teach him + what work is.” + </p> + <p> + “There never was such an unhappy mother as I am!” bewailed my lady. “They + <i>will</i> do just as they like, and always would, from George downwards: + they won’t listen to me. Poor dear boy! reduced, perhaps, to live on brown + bread and pea-soup!” + </p> + <p> + “And lucky to get that!” cried angry Mr. Galloway. “But the present + question, Lady Augusta, is not what he may do when he gets to Port Natal, + but what am I to do without him here. Look at the position it has placed + me in!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta could give neither help nor counsel. In good truth, it was + not her fault. But she saw that Mr. Galloway seemed to think it was hers, + or that it was partially hers. She departed home again, feeling cross with + Roland, feeling damped about his expedition, and beginning to fancy that + Port Natal might not, after all, bring her diamonds to wear, or offer her + streets paved with malachite marble. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway sat down, and reiterated the question in relation to himself, + which Lady Augusta had put regarding Roland when he should arrive at Port + Natal—What on earth was he to do? He could not close his office; he + could not perform its various duties himself; he could not be out of doors + and in, at one and the same time, unless, indeed, he cut himself in two! + What <i>was</i> he to do? + </p> + <p> + It was more than Mr. Galloway could tell. He put his two hands upon his + knees, and stared in consternation, feeling himself grow hot and cold + alternately. Could Roland—then whirling along in the train, + reclining at his ease, his legs up on the opposite cushion as he enjoyed a + luxurious pipe, to the inestimable future benefit of the carriage—have + taken a view of Mr. Galloway and his discomfiture, his delight would have + been unbounded. + </p> + <p> + “Incorrigible as he was, he was better than nobody,” ejaculated Mr. + Galloway, rubbing up his flaxen curls. “He could keep office, if he did + not do much in it; he received and answered callers; he went out on hasty + messages; and, upon a pinch, he did accomplish an hour or so’s copying. I + am down on my beam-ends, and no mistake. What a simpleton the fellow must + be! Port Natal, indeed, for him! If Lord Carrick were not own brother to + my lady, he might have the sense to stop it. Why—” + </p> + <p> + Arrival the first, and no one to answer it but Mr. Galloway! A fly had + driven up and stopped at the door. No one appeared to be getting out of + it, so Mr. Galloway, perforce, proceeded to see what it wanted. It might + contain one of the chapter, or the dean himself! + </p> + <p> + 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 herself out + on the opposite side, and had come round to assist somebody out on this. + Was it a ghost, or was it a man? His cheeks were hollow and hectic, his + eyes were glistening as with fever, his chest heaved. He had a fur boa + wrapped round his neck, and his overcoat hung loosely on his tall, + attenuated form, which seemed too weak to support itself, or to get down + the fly steps without being lifted. + </p> + <p> + “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 my + belief you are wanting to do it. Here, let me get firm hold of you; you + know you are as weak as ever was a rat!” + </p> + <p> + You may recognize the voice as belonging to Mrs. Jenkins, and that poor + shadow could be no one but Jenkins himself, for there certainly was not + another like it in all Helstonleigh. Mr. Galloway stood in astonishment, + wondering what this new move could mean. The descent accomplished, Jenkins + was conducted by his wife through the passage to the office. He went + straight to his old place at his desk, and sat down on his stool, his + chest palpitating, his breath coming in great sighs. Laying his hat beside + him, he turned respectfully to Mr. Galloway, who had followed him in, + speaking with all his native humility: + </p> + <p> + “I have come, sir, to do what I can for you in this emergency.” + </p> + <p> + And there he stopped—coughing, panting, shaking; looking like a man + more 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 that + moment could neither have heard nor answered, and Mrs. Jenkins was out, + paying the driver. + </p> + <p> + The paroxysm was not over when she came in. She approached Jenkins, + slightly shook him—her mode of easing the cough—dived in his + pockets for his silk handkerchief, with which she wiped his brow, took off + the fur from his neck, waited until he was quiet, and began: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are satisfied! If you are not, you ought to be. Who’s to know + whether you’ll get back alive? <i>I</i> don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he come for?” asked Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mrs. Jenkins, “that’s just what I want to know! As if he could + do any good in the state he is! Look at him, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Jenkins, who was indeed a sight to be looked at, turned his wan face + upon Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot do much sir, I know; I wish I could: but I can sit in the office—at + least, I hope I can—just to take care of it while you are out, sir, + until you can find somebody to replace Mr. Roland.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know he was gone off?” demanded Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “It was in this way,” interposed Mrs. Jenkins, ages before poor Jenkins + could gain breath to answer. “I was on my hands and knees, brushing the + fluff off my drawing-room carpet this morning, when I heard 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.’ A minute or two, and down he came + again, gave me a little touch of his impudence, and was gone before I + could answer. Well, sir, I kept on at my room, and when it was done I went + downstairs to see about the breakfast, never suspecting what was going on + with <i>him</i>”—pointing her finger at Jenkins. “I was pouring out + his tea when it was ready to take up to him, and putting a bit of + something on a plate, which I intended to make him eat, when I heard + somebody creeping down the stairs—stumbling, and panting, and + coughing—and out I rushed. There stood he—<i>he</i>, 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, ‘my dear, but I must go to the + office to-day: I can’t help myself. Young Mr. Yorke’s gone away, and + there’ll be nobody.’ ‘And good luck go with him, for all the use he’s of + here, getting you out of your bed,’ said I. If Jenkins were as strong as + he used to be, Mr. Galloway, I should have felt tempted to treat him to a + shaking, and then, perhaps, he’d have remembered it!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roland told me he was going away, sir, and that you had nobody to + replace him; indeed, I gathered that you were ignorant of the step,” + struck in the quiet, meek voice of poor Jenkins. “I could not stay away, + sir, knowing the perplexity you would be put to.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s my belief he could not,” tartly chimed in Jenkins’s lady. “He + would have tantalized himself into a fever. Why, Mr. Galloway, had I + marched him back to his bed and turned the key upon him, he’d have been + capable of letting himself down by a cord from his window, in the face and + eyes of all the street. Now, Jenkins, I’ll have none of your + contradiction! you know you would.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I am not contradicting; I am not well enough to contradict,” + panted poor Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + “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’s unbeknown + 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 some way, he + would! Be quiet, Jenkins! How dare you attempt to interrupt!” + </p> + <p> + Poor Jenkins had not thought to interrupt; he was only making a movement + to pull off his great-coat. Mrs. Jenkins resumed: + </p> + <p> + “‘No,’ said I to him; ‘if you must go, you shall be conveyed there, but + you don’t start without your breakfast.’ So I sat him down in his chair, + Mr. Galloway, and gave him his breakfast—such as it was! If there’s + one thing that Jenkins is obstinate in, above all others, it’s about + eating. Then I sent Lydia for a fly, and wrapped up his throat in my boa—and + that he wanted to fight against!—and here he is!” + </p> + <p> + “I wished to get here, sir, before you did,” cried Jenkins, meekly. “I + knew the exertion would set me coughing at first, but, if I had sat awhile + before you saw me, I should not have seemed so incapable. I shall be + better presently, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you at with that coat?” tartly asked Mrs. Jenkins. “I declare + your hands are never at rest. Your coat’s not to come off, Jenkins. The + office is colder than our parlour, and you’ll keep it on.” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins, humbly obeying, began to turn up the cuffs. “I can do a little + writing, sir,” he said to Mr. Galloway, “Is there anything that is in a + hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins,” said Mr. Galloway, “I could not suffer you to write; I could + not 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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins looked up in triumph. “You hear, Jenkins! What did I tell + you? I said I’d let you have your way for once—‘twas but the cost of + the fly; but that if Mr. Galloway kept you here, once he set eyes on your + poor creachy body, I’d eat him.” + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins, my poor fellow!” said Mr. Galloway, gravely, “you must know that + you are not in a state to exert yourself. I shall not forget your + kindness; but you must go back at once. Why, the very draught from the + frequent opening of the door would do you an injury; the exertion of + speaking to answer callers would be too much for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I tell you so, Jenkins, just in them very words?” interrupted the + lady. + </p> + <p> + “I am aware that I am not strong, sir,” acknowledged Jenkins to Mr. + Galloway, with a deprecatory glance towards his wife to be allowed to + speak. “But it is better I should be put to a trifle of inconvenience than + that you should, sir. I can sit here, sir, while you are obliged to be + out, or occupied in your private room. What could you do, sir, left + entirely alone?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what I can do,” returned Mr. Galloway, with an acidity of + tone equal to that displayed by Mrs. Jenkins, for the question recalled + all the perplexity of his position. “Sacrifice yourself to me, Jenkins, + you shall not. What absurd folly can have taken off Roland Yorke?” he + added. “Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I don’t. When Mr. Roland came in this morning, and said he was + really off, you might have knocked me down with a feather. He would often + get talking about Port Natal, but I never supposed it would come to + anything. Mr. Roland was one given to talk.” + </p> + <p> + “He had some tea at our house the other night, and was talking about it + then,” struck in Mrs. Jenkins. “He said he was worked to death.” + </p> + <p> + “Worked to death!” satirically repeated Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid, sir, that, through my unfortunate absence, he has found the + work heavier, and he grew dissatisfied,” said Jenkins. “It has troubled me + very much.” + </p> + <p> + “You spoilt him, Jenkins; that’s the fact,” observed Mr. Galloway. “You + did his work and your own. Idle young dog! He’ll get a sickener at Port + Natal.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s one thing to be thankful for, sir,” said patient Jenkins, “that + he has his uncle, the earl, to fall back upon.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” she + sharply 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?” + </p> + <p> + But at this moment, before the question could be decided—though you + may rest assured Mrs. Jenkins would only allow it to be decided in her own + way—hasty footsteps were heard in the passage, and the door was + thrown open by Arthur Channing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LII. — A RELIC FROM THE BURIAL-GROUND. + </h2> + <p> + When Hamish Channing joined the breakfast-table at home that morning at + nine o’clock, he mentioned his adventure at the station with Lady Augusta + Yorke. It was the first intimation they had received of Roland’s + departure; indeed, the first that some of them had heard of his intention + to depart. + </p> + <p> + Arthur laid down his knife and fork. To him alone could the full + consequences of the step present themselves, as regarded Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish! he cannot actually have gone?” + </p> + <p> + “That he is actually off by the train to London, I can certify,” was the + reply of Hamish. “Whether he will be off to Port Natal, is another thing. + He desired me to tell you, Arthur, that he should write his adieu to you + from town.” + </p> + <p> + “He might have come to see me,” observed Arthur, a shade of resentment in + his tone. “I never thought he would really go.” + </p> + <p> + “I did,” said Hamish, “funds permitting him. If Lord Carrick will supply + those, he’ll be off by the first comfortable ship that sails. His mind was + so completely bent upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “What can he think of doing at Port Natal?” inquired Constance, + wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “Making his fortune.” But Hamish laughed as he said it. “Wherever I may + have met him latterly, his whole talk has been of Port Natal. Lady Augusta + says he is going to take out frying-pans to begin with.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish!” + </p> + <p> + “She said so, Constance. I have no doubt Roland said so to her. I should + like to see the sort of cargo he will lay in for the start.” + </p> + <p> + “What does Mr. Galloway say to it, I wonder?” exclaimed Arthur, that + gentleman’s perplexities presenting themselves to his mind above + everything else. “I cannot think what he will do.” + </p> + <p> + “I have an idea that Mr. Galloway is as yet unaware of it,” said Hamish. + “Roland assured me that no person whatever knew of his departure, except + Jenkins. He called upon him on his way to the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Unaware of it!” Arthur fell into consternation great as Mr. Galloway’s, + as he repeated the words. Was it possible that Roland had stolen a march + on Mr. Galloway? He relapsed into silence and thought. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you so sad?” Constance asked of Arthur later, when they were + dispersing to their several occupations. + </p> + <p> + “I am not sad, Constance; only thoughtful. I have been carrying on an + inward battle,” he added, half laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “With your conscience?” + </p> + <p> + “With my spirit. It is a proud one yet, in spite of all I have had to tame + it; a great deal more rebellious than I like it to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what is the matter, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “Constance, I think I ought to come forward and help Mr. Galloway out of + this strait. I think my duty lies in doing it.” + </p> + <p> + “To return to his office, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; until he can see his way out of the wood. But it goes against the + grain.” + </p> + <p> + “Arthur dear, I know you will do it,” she gently said. “Were our duty + always pleasant to us, where would be the merit in fulfilling it?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall do it,” he answered. “To that I have made up my mind. The + difficulty is, Constance, to do it with a good grace.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with a loving smile. “Only try. A firm will, Arthur, + will conquer even a rebellious spirit.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur knew it. He knew how to set about it. And a little later, he was on + his way to Close Street, with the best grace in the world. Not only in + appearance, mind you, but inwardly. It is a GREAT thing, reader, to + conquer the risings of a proud spirit! To bring it from its haughty, + rebellious pedestal, down to cordiality and love. Have you learnt the way? + </p> + <p> + Some parchments under his arm, for he had stayed to collect them together, + Arthur bounded in to Mr. Galloway’s. The first object his eyes fell on was + that shadowy form, coughing and panting. “Oh, Jenkins!” he involuntarily + uttered, “what do you do out of your house?” + </p> + <p> + “Anxiety for me has brought him out,” said Mr. Galloway. “How can I scold + him?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not rest, sir, knowing my master was alone in his need,” cried + Jenkins to Arthur. “What is to become of the office, sir, with no one in + it?” + </p> + <p> + “But he is not alone,” said Arthur; and, if he had wanted a reward for + coming forward, that moment would have supplied it, in satisfying poor + Jenkins. “If you will allow me, sir,” Arthur added, turning frankly to Mr. + Galloway, “I will take my place here, until you shall be suited.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” emphatically replied Mr. Galloway. “It will relieve me from a + serious embarrassment.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur went to his old desk, and sat down on his old stool, and began + settling the papers and other things on it, just as though he had not been + 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 my remaining + time. I shall be better for you than no one.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather have you here than any one else, Channing; he”—laying + his hand on Jenkins’s shoulder—“excepted. I offered that you should + return before.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you did, sir,” replied Arthur, in a brief tone—one that + seemed to intimate he would prefer not to pursue the subject. + </p> + <p> + “And now are you satisfied?” struck in Mrs. Jenkins to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “I am more than satisfied,” answered Jenkins, clasping his hands. “With + Mr. Arthur in the office, I shall have no fear of its missing me, and I + can go home in peace, to die.” + </p> + <p> + “Please just to hold your tongue about dying,” reprimanded Mrs. Jenkins. + “Your business is to get well, if you can. And now I am going to see after + a fly. A pretty dance I should have had here, if he had persisted in + stopping, bringing him messes and cordials every half-hour! Which would + have worn out first, I wonder—the pavement or my shoes?” + </p> + <p> + “Channing,” said Mr. Galloway, “let us understand each other. Have you + come here to do anything there may be to do—out of doors as well as + in? In short, to be my clerk as heretofore?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have, sir; until”—Arthur spoke very distinctly—“you + shall be able to suit yourself; not longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take this paper round to Deering’s office, and get it signed. You + will have time to do it before college.” + </p> + <p> + 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 more value to + you than I have ever been!” + </p> + <p> + “That he will not, Jenkins. Nor any one else.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he will, sir! He will be able to replace you in the chapter house + upon any emergency, and I never could do that, you know, sir, not being a + gentleman. When you have him to yourself alone, sir, you will see his + value; and I shall not be missed. He is steady and thoughtful beyond his + years, sir, and every day will make him older.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget the charge against him, Jenkins. Until he shall be cleared of + that—if he can be cleared of it—he will not be of great value + to any one; certainly not to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Jenkins, raising his wan face, its hectic deepening, find his + eye lighting, while his voice sunk to a whisper, so deep as to savour of + solemnity, “that time will come! He never did it, and he will as surely be + cleared, as that I am now saying it! Sir, I have thought much about this + accusation; it has troubled me in sleep; but I know that God will bring + the right to light for those who trust in Him. If any one ever trusted in + God, it is Mr. Arthur Channing. I lie and think of all this, sir. I seem + to be so near God, now,” Jenkins went on dreamily, “that I know the right + must come to light; that it will come in God’s own good time. And I + believe I shall live to see it!” + </p> + <p> + “You have certainly firm faith in his innocence, Jenkins. How then do you + account for his very suspicious manner?” + </p> + <p> + “It does not weigh with me, sir. I could as soon believe a good wholesome + apple-tree would bring forth poison, as that Mr. Arthur would be guilty of + a deliberately bad action. Sometimes I have thought, sir, when puzzling + over it, that he may be screening another. There’s no telling how it was. + I hear, sir, that the money has been returned to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Was it he who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Much his faith goes for!” ejaculated Mr. Galloway, as he came back from + his private room with a letter, which he handed to Jenkins, who was + skilled in caligraphy. “What do you make of it?” he asked. “It is the + letter which came with the returned money.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a disguised hand, sir—there’s no doubt of that,” replied + Jenkins, when he had surveyed it critically. “I do not remember to have + seen any person write like it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway took it back to his room, and presently a fly drove up with + Mrs. Jenkins inside it. Jenkins stood at the office door, hat in hand, his + face turned upon the room. Mrs. Jenkins came up and seized his arm, to + marshal him to the fly. + </p> + <p> + “I was but taking a farewell of things, sir,” he observed to Mr. Galloway. + “I shall never see the old spot again.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur arrived just as Jenkins was safely in. He put his hand over the + door. “Make yourself easy, Jenkins; it will all go on smoothly here. + Good-bye, old fellow! I’ll come and see you very soon.” + </p> + <p> + “How he breaks, does he not, sir?” exclaimed Arthur to Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “Ay! he’s not long for this world!” + </p> + <p> + The fly proceeded on its way; Mrs. Jenkins, with her snappish manner, + though really not unkind heart, lecturing Jenkins on his various + shortcomings until it drew up at their own door. As Jenkins was being + helped down from it, one of the college boys passed at a great speed; a + railroad was nothing to it. It was Stephen Bywater. Something, legitimate + or illegitimate, had detained him, and now the college bell was going. + </p> + <p> + He caught sight of Jenkins, and, hurried as he was, much of punishment as + he was bargaining for, it had such an effect upon him, that he pulled up + short. Was it Jenkins, or his ghost? Bywater had never been so struck with + any sight before. + </p> + <p> + The most appropriate way in which it occurred to him to give vent to his + surprise, was to prop his back against the shop door, and indulge in a + soft, prolonged whistle. He could not take his eyes from Jenkins’s face. + “Is it you, or your shadow, Jenkins?” he asked, making room for the + invalid to pass. + </p> + <p> + “It’s myself, sir, thank you. I hope you are well, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m always jolly,” replied Bywater, and then he began to whistle + again. + </p> + <p> + 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, of + Jenkins’s illness, and had given as much thought to it as he would have + done if told Jenkins had a headache; but to fancy him like <i>this</i> had + never occurred to Bywater. + </p> + <p> + Now somewhere beneath Bywater’s waistcoat, there really was a little bit + of heart; and, as he thus looked, a great fear began to thump against it. + He followed Jenkins into the parlour. Mrs. Jenkins, after divesting + Jenkins of his coat, and her boa, planted him right before the fire in his + easy-chair, with a pillow at his back, and was now whisking down into the + kitchen, regardless of certain customers waiting in the shop to be served. + </p> + <p> + Bywater, unasked, sat himself in a chair near to poor Jenkins and his + panting breath, and indulged in another long stare. “I say, Jenkins,” said + he, “what’s the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + Jenkins took the question literally. “I believe it may be called a sort of + decline, sir. I don’t know any other name for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Shan’t you get well?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, sir! I don’t look for that, now.” + </p> + <p> + The fear thumped at Bywater’s heart worse than before. A past vision of + locking up old Ketch in the cloisters, through which pastime Jenkins had + come to a certain fall, was uncomfortably present to Bywater just then. He + had been the ringleader. + </p> + <p> + “What brought it on?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I suppose it was to come,” meekly replied Jenkins. “I have had + a bad cough, spring and autumn, for a long while now, Master Bywater. My + brother went off just the same, sir, and so did my mother.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater pushed his honest, red face, forward; but it did not look quite so + impudent as usual. “Jenkins,” said he, plunging headlong into the fear, + “DID—THAT—FALL—DO—IT?” + </p> + <p> + “Fall, sir! What fall?” + </p> + <p> + “That fall down from the organ loft. Because that was my fault. I had the + most to do with locking up the cloisters, that night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bless you, sir, no! Never think that. Master Bywater”—lowering + his voice till it was as grave as Bywater’s—“that fall did me good—good, + sir, instead of harm.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you make out that?” asked Bywater, drawing his breath a little + easier. + </p> + <p> + “Because, sir, in the few days’ quiet that I had in bed, my thoughts + seemed in an unaccountable manner to be drawn to thinking of heaven. I + can’t rightly describe, sir, how or why it could have been. I remember his + lordship, the bishop, talked to me a little bit in his pleasant, affable + way, about the necessity of always, being prepared; and my wife’s Bible + lay on the drawers by my bed’s head, and I used to pick up that. 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 the fall in His + mercy. After I got up, I seemed to know that I should soon go to Him; and—I + hope it is not wrong to say it—I seemed to wish to go.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater felt somewhat puzzled. “I am not speaking about your heart and + religion, and all that, Jenkins. I want to know if the fall helped to + bring on this illness?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; it had nothing to do with it. The fall hurt my head a little—nothing + more; and I got well from it directly. This illness, which has been taking + me off, must have been born with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoo—” Bywater’s shout, as he tossed up his trencher, was broken in + upon by Mrs. Jenkins. She had been beating up an egg with sugar and wine, + and now brought it in in a tumbler. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Jenkins, “I don’t feel to want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not want it!” said Mrs. Jenkins resolutely. And in two seconds she had + taken hold of him, and it was down his throat. “I can’t stop parleying + here all day, with my shop full of customers.” Bywater laughed, and she + retreated. + </p> + <p> + “If I could eat gold, sir, she’d get it for me,” said Jenkins; “but my + appetite fails. She’s a good wife, Master Bywater.” + </p> + <p> + “Stunning,” acquiesced Bywater. “I wouldn’t mind a wife myself, if she’d + feed me up with eggs and wine.” + </p> + <p> + “But for her care, sir, I should not have lasted so long. She has had + great experience with the sick.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater did not answer. Rising to go, his eyes had fixed themselves upon + some object on the mantelpiece as pertinaciously as they had previously + been fixed upon Jenkins’s face. “I say, Jenkins, where did you get this?” + he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “That, sir? Oh, I remember. My old father brought it in yesterday. He had + cut his hand with it. Where now did he say he found it? In the college + burial-ground, I think, Master Bywater.” + </p> + <p> + It was part of a small broken phial, of a peculiar shape, which had once + apparently contained ink; an elegant shape, it may be said, not unlike a + vase. Bywater began turning it about in his fingers; he was literally + feasting his eyes upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to keep it, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, sir. I wonder my wife did not throw it away before this.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll take it, then,” said Bywater, slipping it into his pocket. “And now + I’m off. Hope you’ll get better, Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that be bothered!” answered Bywater. “Who cares for cut fingers?” + </p> + <p> + He pushed himself through Mrs. Jenkins’s customers, with as little + ceremony as Roland Yorke might have used, and went flying towards the + cathedral. The bell ceased as he entered. The organ pealed forth; and the + dean and chapter, preceded by some of the bedesmen, were entering from the + opposite door. Bywater ensconced himself behind a pillar, until they + should have traversed the body, crossed the nave, and were safe in the + choir. Then he came out, and made his way to old Jenkins the bedesman. + </p> + <p> + The old man, in his black gown, stood near the bell ropes, for he had been + one of the ringers that day. Bywater noticed that his left hand was + partially tied up in a handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Holloa, old Jenkins,” said he, <i>sotte voce</i>, “what have you done + with your hand?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave it a nasty cut yesterday, sir, just in the ball of the thumb. I + wrapped my handkerchief round it just now, for fear of opening it again, + while I was ringing the bell. See,” said he, taking off the handkerchief + and showing the cut to Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “What an old muff you must be, to cut yourself like that!” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t do it on purpose,” returned the old man. “We was ordered + into the burial-ground to put it a bit to rights, and I fell down with my + hand on a broken phial. I ain’t as active as I was. I say, though, sir, do + you know that service has begun?” + </p> + <p> + “Let it begin,” returned careless Bywater. “This was the bottle you fell + over, was it not? I found it on Joe’s mantelpiece, just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, that was it. It must have laid there some time. A good three months, + I know.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater nodded his head. He returned the bottle to his pocket, and went to + the vestry for his surplice. Then he slid into college under the severe + eyes of the Reverend Mr. Pye, which were bent upon him from the + chanting-desk, and ascended, his stall just in time to take his part in + the <i>Venite, exultemus Domino</i>. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIII. — THE RETURN HOME. + </h2> + <p> + It almost seemed, to Mr. Channing’s grateful heart, as if the weather had + prolonged its genial warmth on purpose for him. A more charming autumn 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 a whole, it had + been the same at Helstonleigh. Two or three occasional wet days, two or + three cold and windy ones; but they soon passed over and people remarked + to each other how this fine weather would shorten the winter. + </p> + <p> + Never did November turn out a more lovely day than the one that was to + witness Mr. Channing’s return. The sun shone brightly; the blue sky was + without a cloud. All Nature seemed to have put on a smiling face to give + him welcome. And yet—to what was he returning? + </p> + <p> + For once in his life, Hamish Channing shrank from meeting his father and + mother. How should he break the news to them? They were arriving full of + joy, of thankfulness at the restoration to health of Mr. Channing: how + could Hamish mar it with the news regarding Charles? Told it must be; and + he must be the one to do it. In good truth, Hamish was staggered at the + task. His own hopeful belief that Charley would some day “turn up,” was + beginning to die out; for every hour that dragged by, without bringing + him, certainly gave less and less chance of it. And even if Hamish had + retained hope himself, it was not likely he could impart it to Mr. or Mrs. + Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I shall get leave from school this afternoon,” Tom suddenly exclaimed + that morning at breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “For what purpose?” inquired Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “To go up to the station and meet them.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Tom. You must not go to the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Who says so?” sharply cried Tom. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” replied Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “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 to + deprive me of the same pleasure. Why, I wouldn’t miss being there for + anything! Don’t say, Hamish, that you are never selfish.” + </p> + <p> + 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 and meet + them, instead of myself, and undertake what I shall have to do. I can tell + you I never had a task imposed upon me that I found so uncongenial as the + one I must go through this day.” + </p> + <p> + Tom’s voice dropped a little of its fierce shade. “But, Hamish, there’s no + reason why I should not meet them at the station. That will not make it + the better or the worse for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you why I think you should not,” replied Hamish; “why it will + be better that you should not. It is most desirable that they should be + home, here, in this house, before the tidings are broken to them. I should + not like them to hear of it in the streets, or at the station; especially + my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” assented Tom. + </p> + <p> + “And, were you at the station,” quietly went on Hamish to him, “the first + question would be, ‘Where’s Charley?’ If Tom Channing can get leave of + absence from school, Charley can.” + </p> + <p> + “I could say—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Hamish, for Tom had stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what I could say,” acknowledged Tom. + </p> + <p> + “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 be told + to them, then and there, or else an evasion, bordering upon an untruth. If + they do not see you there, they will not inquire particularly after + Charles; they will suppose you are both in school.” + </p> + <p> + “I declare I never set my mind upon a thing but something starts in to + frustrate it!” cried Tom, in vexation. But he relinquished his intention + from that moment. + </p> + <p> + Chattering Annabel threw up her head. “As soon as papa and mamma come + home, we shall put on mourning, shall we not? Constance was talking about + it with Lady Augusta.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not talk of mourning, child,” returned Hamish. “<i>I</i> can’t give + him up, if you do.” + </p> + <p> + Afternoon came, and Hamish proceeded alone to the station. Tom, listening + to the inward voice of reason, was in school, and Arthur was occupied in + the cathedral; the expected hour of their arrival was towards the close of + afternoon service. Hamish had boasted that he should <i>walk</i> his + father through Helstonleigh for the benefit of beholders, if happily he + came home capable of walking; but, like poor Tom and <i>his</i> plan, that + had to be relinquished. In the first half-dozen paces they would meet half + a dozen gossipers, and the first remark from each, after congratulations, + would be, “What a sad thing this is about your little Charles!” Hamish + lived in doubt whether it might not, by some untoward luck, come out at + the station, in spite of his precaution in keeping away Tom. + </p> + <p> + 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 in possession of + his strength, descending without assistance from the carriage, walking + alone on the platform. Not in the full strength and power of old; that + might never be again. He stooped slightly, and moved slowly, as if his + limbs were yet stiff, limping a little. But that he was 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. + </p> + <p> + “Can you believe that it is myself, Hamish?” asked Mr. Channing, when the + first few words of thankful greeting had passed. + </p> + <p> + “I should hide my head for ever as a false prophet if it could be any one + else,” was the reply of Hamish. “You know I always said you would so + return. I am only in doubt whether it is my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with me, Hamish?” asked Mrs. Channing. “Because you + would make about two of the thin, pale, careworn Mrs. Channing who went + away,” cried he, turning his mother round to look at her, deep love + shining out from his gay blue eyes. “I hope you have not taken to rouge + your cheeks, ma’am, but I am bound to confess they look uncommonly like + it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing laughed merrily. “It has done me untold good, Hamish, as + well as papa; it seems to have set me up for years to come. Seeing him + grow better day by day would have effected it, without any other change.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing had actually gone himself to see after the luggage. How + strange it seemed! Hamish caught him up. “If you can give yourself trouble + now, sir, there’s no reason that you should do so, while you have your + great lazy son at your elbow.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, boy, I am proud of doing it.” + </p> + <p> + It was soon collected. Hamish hastily, if not carelessly, told a porter to + 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 of some + officious friend or other coming up, who might drop a hint of the state of + affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I help you in, father!” + </p> + <p> + “I can help myself now, Hamish. I remember you promised me I should have + no fly on my return. You have thought better of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, wishing to get you home before bed-time, which might not be the + case if you were to show yourself in the town, and stop at all the + interruptions.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing stepped into the fly. Hamish followed, first giving the + driver a nod. “The luggage! The luggage!” exclaimed Mrs. Channing, as they + moved off. + </p> + <p> + “The porter will bring it, mother. He would have been a month putting it + on to the fly.” + </p> + <p> + How could they suppose anything was the matter? Not a suspicion of it ever + crossed them. Never had Hamish appeared more light-hearted. In fact, in + his self-consciousness, Hamish a little overdid it. Let him get them home + before the worst came! + </p> + <p> + “We find you all well, I conclude!” said Mrs. Channing. “None of them came + up with you! Arthur is in college, I suppose, and Tom and Charles are in + school.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Arthur’s hour for college,” remarked Hamish, ignoring the rest of + the sentence. “But he ought to be out now. Arthur is at Galloway’s again,” + he added. “He did not write you word, I believe, as you were so shortly + expected home.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing turned a glance on his son, quick as lightning. “Cleared, + Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion, yes. In the opinion of others, I fear not much more than + he was before.” + </p> + <p> + “And himself?” asked Mr. Channing. “What does he say now?” + </p> + <p> + “He does not speak of it to me.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish put his head out at the window, nodding to some one who was + passing. A question of Mr. Channing’s called it in again. + </p> + <p> + “Why has he gone back to Galloway’s?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish laughed. “Roland Yorke took an impromptu departure one fine + morning, for Port Natal, leaving the office and Mr. Galloway to do the + best they could with each other. Arthur buried his grievances and offered + himself to Mr. Galloway in the emergency. I am not quite sure that I + should have been so forgiving.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish! He has nothing to forgive Mr. Galloway. It is on the other side.” + </p> + <p> + “I am uncharitable, I suppose,” remarked Hamish. “I cannot like Mr. + Galloway’s treatment of Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is it you say about Roland Yorke and Port Natal?” interposed + Mrs. Channing. “I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “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 enchanted land, + converting poor men into rich ones; and he is going to try what it will do + for him, Lord Carrick fitting him out. Poor Jenkins is sinking fast.” + </p> + <p> + “Changes! changes!” remarked Mr. Channing. “Go away only for two or three + months, and you must find them on return. Some gone; some dying; some—” + </p> + <p> + “Some restored, who were looked upon as incurable,” interrupted Hamish. + “My dear father, I will not have you dwell on dark things the very moment + of your arrival; the time for that will come soon enough.” + </p> + <p> + Judy nearly betrayed all; and Constance’s aspect might have betrayed it, + had the travellers been suspicious. She, Constance, came forward in the + hall, white and trembling. When Mrs. Channing shook hands with Judy, she + put an unfortunate question—“Have you taken good care of your boy?” + Judy knew it could only allude to Charles, and for answer there went up a + sound, between a cry and a sob, that might have been heard in the far-off + college schoolroom. Hamish took Judy by the shoulders, bidding her go out + and see whether any rattletraps were left in the fly, and so turned it + off. + </p> + <p> + They were all together in the sitting-room—Mr. and Mrs. Channing, + Hamish, Constance, Arthur, and Annabel; united, happy, as friends are and + must be when meeting after a separation; talking of this and of that, + giving notes of what had occurred on either side. Hamish showed himself as + busy as the rest; but Hamish felt all the while upon a bed of thorns, for + the hands of the timepiece were veering on for five, and he must get the + communication over before Tom came in. At length Mrs. Channing went up to + her room, accompanied by Constance; Annabel followed. And now came + Hamish’s opportunity. Arthur had gone back to Mr. Galloway’s, and he was + alone with his father. He plunged into it at once; indeed, there was no + time for delay. + </p> + <p> + “Father!” he exclaimed, with deep feeling, his careless manner changing as + by magic: “I have very grievous news to impart to you. I would not enter + upon it before my mother: though she must be told of it also, and at + once.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing was surprised; more surprised than alarmed. He never + remembered to have seen Hamish betray so much emotion. A thought crossed + his mind that Arthur’s guilt might have been brought clearly to light. + </p> + <p> + “Not that,” said Hamish. “It concerns—Father, I do not like to enter + upon it! I shrink from my task. It is very bad news indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “You, my children, are all well,” cried Mr. Channing, hastily speaking the + words as a fact, not as a question. “What other ‘very bad’ news can be in + store for me?” + </p> + <p> + “You have not seen us all,” was Hamish’s answer. And Mr. Channing, + alarmed, now looked inquiringly at him. “It concerns Charles. An—an + accident has happened to him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing sat down and shaded his eyes. He was a moment or two before + he spoke. “One word, Hamish; is he dead?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish stood before his father and laid his hand affectionately upon his + shoulder. “Father, I <i>wish</i> I could have prepared you better for it!” + he exclaimed, with emotion. “We do not know whether he is dead or alive.” + </p> + <p> + Then he explained—explained more in summary than in detail—touching + lightly upon the worst features of the case, enlarging upon his own + hopeful view of it. Bad enough it was, at the best, and Mr. Channing found + it so. <i>He</i> could feel no hope. In the revulsion of grief, he turned + almost with resentment upon Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “My son, I did not expect this treatment from you.” + </p> + <p> + “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 have helped + it. Although I was in the room when he ran out of it, I was buried in my + own thoughts, and never observed his going. I had no suspicion anything + was astir that night with the college boys. Father, I would have saved his + life with my own!” + </p> + <p> + “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 out than you + did. But you ought to have informed me of this instantly. A whole month, + and I to be left in ignorance!” + </p> + <p> + “We did it for the best. Father, I assure you that not a stone has been + left unturned to find him; alive, or—or dead. You could not have + done more had you hastened home; and it has been so much suspense and + grief spared to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing relapsed into silence. Hamish glanced uneasily to that + ever-advancing clock. Presently he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “My mother must be told before Tom comes home. It will be better that you + take the task upon yourself, father. Shall I send her in?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing looked at Hamish, as if he scarcely understood the meaning of + the words. From Hamish he looked to the clock. “Ay; go and send her.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish went to his mother’s room, and returned with her. But he did not + enter. He merely opened the door, and shut her in. Constance, with a face + more frightened than ever, came and stood in the hall. Annabel stood there + also. Judy, wringing her hands, and sending off short ejaculations in an + undertone, came to join them, and Sarah stood peeping out from the kitchen + door. They remained gazing at the parlour door, dreading the effect of the + communication that was going on inside. + </p> + <p> + “If it had been that great big Tom, it wouldn’t matter so much,” wailed + Judith, in a tone of resentment. “The missis would know that <i>he’d</i> + be safe to turn up, some time or other; a strong fellow like him!” + </p> + <p> + A sharp cry within the room. The door was flung open, and Mrs. Channing + came forth, her face pale, her hands lifted. “It cannot be true! It cannot + be! Hamish! Judith! Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + Hamish folded her hands in his, and gently drew her in again. They all + followed. No reason why they should not, now that the communication was + made. Almost at the same moment, Mr. Huntley arrived. + </p> + <p> + Of course, the first thought that had occurred to the minds of Mr. and + Mrs. Channing was, that had <i>they</i> been at home to direct affairs in + the search, Charley would have been found. It is the thought that would + occur to us all: we never give others credit for doing as much as we + should have done. “This might have been tried, and the other might have + been tried.” It makes little difference when told that they <i>have</i> + been tried; for then we fall back upon some other suggestion. Mrs. + Channing reproached Hamish with keeping it from them. + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady, you must blame me, not him,” interposed Mr. Huntley. “Left + to himself, Hamish would have started Arthur off to you, post haste. It + was I who suggested the desirability of keeping you in ignorance; it was I + who brought Hamish to see it: and I know that, when the brunt of your + grief shall have passed, you will acknowledge that it was the best, the + wisest, and the kindest course.” + </p> + <p> + “But there are so many things that we could have suggested; that perhaps + none but a father or mother would think of!” urged Mrs. Channing, lifting + her yearning face. They wished they could see her weep. + </p> + <p> + “You could have suggested nothing that has not been done,” returned Mr. + Huntley. “Believe me, dear Mrs. Channing! We have had many good + counsellors. Butterby has conducted the search.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing turned to them. He was standing at the far window. “I should + like to see Butterby.” + </p> + <p> + “He will be here in an hour’s time,” said Hamish. “I knew you would wish + to see him, and I requested him to come.” + </p> + <p> + “The worst feature of the whole,” put in Judith, with as much acrimony as + ever was displayed by Mr. Ketch, “is that them boys should not have got + their deserts. They have not as much as had a birching; and I say that the + college masters ought to be hooted. I’d ‘ghost’ ‘em!” + </p> + <p> + “The punishment lies in abeyance for the present,” explained Hamish. “A + different punishment from any the head-master could inflict will be + required, should—should—” Hamish stopped. He did not like to + say, in the presence of his mother, “should the body be found.” “Some of + them are suffering pretty well, as it is,” he continued, after a brief + pause. “Master Bill Simms lay in bed for a week with fright, and they were + obliged to have Mr. Hurst to him. Report goes, that Hurst soundly flogged + his son, by way of commencing his share.” + </p> + <p> + A pushing open of the outer door, a bang, and hasty footsteps in the hall. + Tom had arrived. Tom, with his sparkling eyes, his glowing face. They + sparkled for his father only in that first moment; his father, who turned + and <i>walked</i> to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, papa! What baths those must be!” cried honest Tom. “If ever I get + rich, I’ll go over there and make them a present of a thousand pounds. To + think that nothing else should have cured you!” + </p> + <p> + “I think something else must have had a hand in curing me, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + Tom looked up inquiringly. “Ah, papa! You mean God.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my boy. God has cured me. The baths were only instruments in His + hands.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIV. — “THE SHIP’S DROWNED.” + </h2> + <p> + Rejecting all offers of refreshment—the meal which Constance had + planned, and Judith prepared, both with so much loving care—Mr. + Channing resolved to seek out Butterby at once. In his state of suspense, + he could neither wait, nor eat, nor remain still; it would be a + satisfaction only to see Butterby, and hear his opinion. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley accompanied him; scarcely less proud than Hamish would have + been, to walk once more arm in arm with Mr. Channing. But, as there is not + 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 a short visit to + Mr. Stephen Bywater. + </p> + <p> + That gentleman stood in the cloisters, into which he had seduced old + Jenkins, the bedesman, having waited for the twilight hour, that he might + make sure no one else would be there. Ever since the last day you saw old + Jenkins in the cathedral, he had been laid up in his house, with a touch + of what he called his “rheumatiz.” Decrepit old fellows were all the + bedesmen, monopolizing enough “rheumatiz” between them for half the city. + If one was not laid up, another would be, especially in winter. However, + old Jenkins had come out again to-day, to the gratification of Mr. + Bywater, who had been wanting him. The cloisters were all but dark, and + Mr. Ketch must undoubtedly be most agreeably engaged, or he would have + shut up before. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, old Jenkins!” Bywater was saying. “You show me the exact spot, + and I’ll give you sixpence for smoke.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jenkins hobbled to one of the mullioned windows near to the college + entrance, and looked over into the dim graveyard. “‘Twas about four or + five yards off here,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “But I want to know the precise spot,” returned Bywater. “Get over, and + show me!” + </p> + <p> + The words made old Jenkins laugh. “Law, sir! me get over there! You might + as well ask me to get over the college. How am I to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll hoist you up,” said Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” answered the man. “My old bones be past hoisting now. I should + never get back alive, once I were propelled over into that graveyard.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater felt considerably discomfited. “What a weak rat you must be, old + Jenkins! Why, it’s nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it ain’t—for you college gents. ‘Twouldn’t have been much + for me when I was your age. Skin and clothes weren’t of much account to + me, then.” + </p> + <p> + “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 look you out + some of his old ones. I’ll give you sixpence for baccy, I say!” + </p> + <p> + The old bedesman shook his head. “If you give me a waggin load of baccy, I + couldn’t get over there. You might just as good put a babby in arms on the + ground, and tell it to walk!” + </p> + <p> + “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 the + burial-ground. “Now then, old Jenkins, I’ll go about and you call out when + I come to the right spot.” + </p> + <p> + By these means, Bywater arrived at a solution of the question, where the + broken phial was found; old Jenkins pointing out the spot, to the best of + his ability. Bywater then vaulted back again, and alighted safe and sound + in the cloisters. Old Jenkins asked for his sixpence. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you did not earn it!” said Bywater. “You wouldn’t get over!” + </p> + <p> + “A sixpence is always useful to me,” said the old man; “and some of you + gents has ‘em in plenty. I ain’t paid much; and Joe, he don’t give me + much. ‘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, + I know, at that shop of her’n, and keeps Joe like a king. Wine, and all + the rest of it, she’s got for him, since he was ill. ‘There’s a knife and + fork for ye, whenever ye like to come,’ she says to me, in her tart way. + But deuce a bit of money will she give. If it weren’t for one and another + friend giving me an odd sixpence now and then, Master Bywater, I should + never hardly get any baccy!” + </p> + <p> + “There; don’t bother!” said Bywater, dropping the coin into his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless my heart, who’s this, a prowling in the cloisters at this + hour?” exclaimed a well-known cracked voice, advancing upon them with + shuffling footsteps. “What do you do here, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “You would like to know, wouldn’t you, Mr. Calcraft?” said Bywater. + “Studying architecture. There!” + </p> + <p> + Old Ketch gave a yell of impotent rage, and Bywater decamped, as fast as + his legs would carry him, through the west door. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at his home, or rather his uncle’s, where he lived—for + Bywater’s paternal home was in a far-away place, over the sea—he + went straight up to his own room, where he struck a match, and lighted a + candle. Then he unlocked a sort of bureau, and took from it the phial + found by old Jenkins, and a smaller piece which exactly fitted into the + part broken. He had fitted them in ten times before, but it appeared to + afford him satisfaction, and he now sat down and fitted them again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” soliloquized he, as he nursed one of his legs—his favourite + attitude—“it’s as sure as eggs. And I’d have had it out before, if + that helpless old muff of a Jenkins had been forthcoming. I knew it was + safe to be somewhere near the college gates; but it was as well to ask.” + </p> + <p> + He turned the phial over and over between his eye and the candle, and + resumed; + </p> + <p> + “And now I’ll give Mr. Ger a last chance. I told him the other day that if + he’d only speak up like a man to me, and say it was an accident, I’d drop + it for good. But he won’t. And find it out, I will. I have said I would + from the first, just for my own satisfaction: and if I break my word, 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 since Charley + Channing——Oh! bother, though! I don’t want to get thinking of + <i>him</i>!” + </p> + <p> + 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 out of + mischief. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Mr. Channing’s interview with the renowned Mr. Butterby had + brought forth nothing, and he was walking back home with Mr. Huntley. Mr. + Huntley strove to lead his friend’s thoughts into a different channel: it + seemed quite a mockery to endeavour to whisper hope for Charley. + </p> + <p> + “You will resume your own place in Guild Street at once?” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, please God.” + </p> + <p> + They walked a few steps further in silence; and then Mr. Channing entered + upon the very subject which Mr. Huntley was hoping he would not enter + upon. “I remember, you spoke, at Borcette, of having something in view for + Hamish, should I be able to attend to business again. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I did,” said Mr. Huntley; “and I am sorry that I did. I spoke + prematurely.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—no; it is not gone,” replied Mr. Huntley, who was above + equivocation. “I do not think Hamish would suit the place.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing felt a little surprised. There were few places that Hamish + might not suit, if he chose to exercise his talents. “You thought he would + suit then?” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “But circumstances have since induced me to alter my opinion,” said Mr. + Huntley. “My friend,” he more warmly added to Mr. Channing, “you will + oblige me by allowing the subject to drop. I candidly confess to you that + I am not so pleased with Hamish as I once was, and I would rather not + interfere in placing him elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “How has he offended you? What has he done?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, that is all I will say. I could not help giving you a hint, to + account for what you might have thought caprice. Hamish has not pleased + me, and I cannot take him by the hand. There, let it rest.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing was content to let it rest. In his inmost heart he + entertained no doubt that the cause of offence was in some way connected + with Mr. Huntley’s daughter. Hamish was poor: Ellen would be rich; + therefore it was only natural that Mr. Huntley should consider him an + ineligible <i>parti</i> for her. Mr. Channing did not quite see what that + had to do with the present question; but he could not, in delicacy, urge + it further. + </p> + <p> + 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 + the night—and William Yorke. All were anxious to welcome and + congratulate Mr. Channing; and all were willing to tender a word of + sympathy respecting Charles. Possibly Mr. Yorke had also another motive: + if so, we shall come to it in due time. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Pye stayed only a few minutes. He did not say a word about the + seniorship, neither did Mr. Channing to him. What, indeed, could either of + them say? The subject was unpleasant on both sides; therefore it was best + avoided. Tom, however, thought differently. + </p> + <p> + “Papa!” he exclaimed, plunging into it the moment Mr. Pye’s back was + turned, “you might have taken the opportunity to tell him that I shall + leave the school. It is not often he comes here.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are not going to leave the school,” said Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am,” replied Tom, speaking with unmistakable firmness. “Hamish + made me stay on, until you came home; and I don’t know how I have done it. + It is of no use, papa! I cannot put up with the treatment—the + insults I receive. It was bad enough to lose the seniorship, but that is + as nothing to the other. And to what end should I stop, when my chance of + the exhibition is gone?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not gone, Tom. Mr. Huntley—as word was written to me at + Borcette—has declined it for his son.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the less gone for me, papa. Let me merit it as I will, I shall + 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 that means, in a + public school. If you witnessed the way I am served by the boys, you would + be the first to say I must leave.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they do?” asked Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “They do enough to provoke my life out of me,” said Tom, falling into a + little 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 on against + Arthur in a way that would make a saint mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh, pooh!” interposed Mr. Galloway, who was standing by. “If I am + content to accept Arthur’s innocence, surely the college school may be.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing turned to the proctor. “Do you now believe him innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “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 had had + to do so many times before—school his spirit to patience. “Content + to accept,” and open exculpation, were essentially different things. + </p> + <p> + “Let me speak with you a minute, Galloway,” said Mr. Channing, taking the + proctor’s arm and leading him across the hall to the drawing-room. “Tom,” + he added, looking back, “you shall tell me of these grievances another + time.” + </p> + <p> + The drawing-room door closed upon them, and Mr. Channing spoke with + eagerness. “Is it possible that you still suspect Arthur to have been + guilty?” + </p> + <p> + “Channing, I am fairly puzzled,” returned Mr. Galloway, “His own manner, + relating to it, has not changed, and that manner is not compatible with + innocence, You made the same remark yourself, at the time.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have had the money returned to you, I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I know I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that surely is a proof that the thief could not have been Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” replied Mr. Galloway, “It may be a proof as much against him + as for him: it may have come from himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, where was Arthur to find twenty pounds to send to you?” + </p> + <p> + “There are two ways in which he might find it. But”—Mr. Galloway + broke off abruptly—“I do not like to urge these things on you; they + can only inflict pain.” + </p> + <p> + “Not greater pain than I have already undergone,” was Mr. Channing’s + answer. “Tell me, I pray you, all your thoughts—all you suspect: + just as though you were speaking to any indifferent friend. It is right + that I should know it. Yes, come in, Huntley,” Mr. Channing added, for Mr. + Huntley at that moment opened the door, unconscious that any private + conference was going forward. “I have no secrets from you. Come in. We are + talking of Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “I was observing that there are two means by which the money could have + come from Arthur,” resumed Mr. Galloway, when Mr. Huntley had entered. + “The one, by his never having used the note originally taken; the other, + 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 the note, he used + it. I questioned him on the evening of its arrival, and at the first + moment his manner almost convinced me that he was innocent. He appeared to + be genuinely surprised at the return of the money, and ingenuously + confessed that he had not possessed any to send. But his manner veered + again—suddenly, strangely—veered round to all its old + unsatisfactory suspiciousness; and when I hinted that I should recall + Butterby to my counsels, he became agitated, as he had done formerly. My + firm belief,” Mr. Galloway added, laying his hand impressively upon Mr. + Channing—“my firm belief is, that Arthur did get the money sent back + to me through a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “But what friend would be likely to do such a thing for him?” debated Mr. + Channing, not in the least falling in with the argument. “I know of none.” + </p> + <p> + “I think”—and Mr. Galloway dropped his voice—“that it came + from Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “From Hamish!” was Mr. Channing’s echo, in a strong accent of dissent. + “That is nonsense. Hamish would never screen guilt. Hamish has not twenty + pounds to spare.” + </p> + <p> + “He might spare it in the cause of a brother; and for a brother’s sake he + might even screen guilt,” pursued Mr. Galloway. “Honourable and open as + Hamish is, I must still express my belief that the twenty pounds came from + him.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I have never had any other opinion but that the money did come from + Hamish,” drily remarked Mr. Huntley. And Mr. Channing, in his utter + astonishment, could not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish happened to call in at my office the afternoon that the money was + received,” resumed Mr. Galloway. “It was after I had spoken to Arthur. I + had been thinking it over, and came to the conclusion that if it had come + from Arthur, Hamish must have done it for him. In the impulse of the + moment, I put the question to him—Had he done it to screen Arthur? + And Hamish’s answer was a mocking one.” + </p> + <p> + “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 you could have + seen his flush of confusion! and, deny it, he did not. Altogether, my + impression against Arthur was rather confirmed, than the contrary, by the + receipt of the money; though I am truly grieved to have to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “And <i>you</i> think the same!” Mr. Channing exclaimed to Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I think,” was the answer. “Beyond the one opinion I + expressed, I will not be drawn into the discussion. I did not intend to + say so much: it was a slip of the tongue.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley was about to leave the room as he spoke, perhaps lest he + should make other “slips;” but Mr. Channing interposed and drew him back. + “Stay, Huntley,” he said, “we cannot rest in this uncertainty. Oblige me + by remaining one instant, while I call Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish entered in obedience. He appeared somewhat surprised to see them + assembled in conclave, looking so solemn; but he supposed it related to + Charles. Mr. Channing undeceived him. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, we are speaking of Arthur. Both these gentlemen have expressed a + belief—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” interrupted Mr. Huntley. “I said that I should be + obliged if you would leave me out of the discussion.” + </p> + <p> + “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 far + taken part with Arthur in that unhappy affair, as to send back the money + to him.” + </p> + <p> + “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 the same belief, I + remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you send it, Hamish?” asked his father, a severe look crossing his + face. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I did not,” emphatically replied Hamish. And Mr. Huntley turned + and bent his keen eye upon him. In his heart of hearts he believed it to + be a deliberate falsehood. + </p> + <p> + “I did not send the money, and I do not know who did send it,” went on + Hamish. “But, as we are upon the subject, perhaps I may be allowed to + express my opinion that, if there were as much labour taken to establish + Arthur’s innocence, as it seems to me there is to prove him guilty, he + might have been cleared long ago.” + </p> + <p> + That the remark was aimed at Mr. Galloway, there was no doubt. Mr. Huntley + answered it; and, had they been suspicious, they might have detected a + covert meaning in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “You, at any rate, must hold firm faith in his innocence.” + </p> + <p> + “Firm and entire faith,” distinctly assented Hamish. “Father,” he added, + impulsively turning to Mr. Channing, “put all notion of Arthur’s guilt + from you, at once and for ever. I would answer for him with my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he must be screening some one,” cried Mr. Galloway. “It is one thing + or the other. Hamish, it strikes me you know. Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + A red flush mounted to Hamish’s brow, but he lapsed into his former + mocking tone. “Nay,” said he, “I can tell nothing about that.” + </p> + <p> + He left the room as he spoke, and the conference broke up. It appeared + that no satisfactory solution could be come to, if they kept it on till + midnight. Mr. Galloway took leave, and hastened home to dinner. + </p> + <p> + “I must be going also,” remarked Mr. Huntley. Nevertheless, he returned + with Mr. Channing to the other room. + </p> + <p> + “You told me at Borcette that you were fully persuaded of Arthur’s + innocence; 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. + </p> + <p> + “I have never been otherwise than persuaded of it,” said Mr. Huntley. “He + is innocent as you, or as I.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you join Mr. Galloway in assuming that he and Hamish sent back + the money! The one assertion is incompatible with the other.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley laid his hand upon Mr. Channing’s shoulder. “My dear friend, + all that you and I can do, is to let the matter rest. We should only + plunge into shoals and quicksands, and lose our way in them, were we to + pursue it.” + </p> + <p> + They had halted at the parlour door to speak. Judith came bustling up at + that moment from the kitchen, a letter in her hand, looking as if in her + hurry she might have knocked them over, had they not made way for her to + enter. + </p> + <p> + “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 caught + sight of the fly turning the corner with the master and missis. I slipped + it into my pocket, and never thought of it till this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “So! it has come at last, has it?” cried Arthur, recognising Roland + Yorke’s handwriting. + </p> + <p> + “Is he really off?” inquired Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is really off,” replied Arthur, opening the letter and beginning + to glance over the contents. “He has sailed in the ship <i>Africa</i>. + Don’t talk to me, Tom. What a long letter!” + </p> + <p> + They left him to read it in peace. Talking together—Mr. and Mrs. + Channing, Mr. Huntley, William Yorke, Hamish, Constance—all were in + a group round the fire, paying no attention to him. No attention, until an + exclamation caused them to turn. + </p> + <p> + An exclamation half of distress, half of fear. Arthur had risen from his + chair, and stood, the picture of excitement, his face and lips blanching. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” they exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Roland—the ship—Roland”—and there Arthur stopped, + apparently unable to say more. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s drowned! it’s drowned!” cried quick Annabel. “The ship’s + drowned, and Roland with it!” And Arthur sank back in his chair again, and + covered his face with his hands. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LV. — NEWS FROM ROLAND. + </h2> + <p> + You will like to look over Arthur’s shoulder, as he reads the letter just + received from Roland Yorke. + </p> + <h3> + “DEAR OLD CHUM,” + </h3> + <p> + “By the time you get this letter, I shall be ploughing the waves of the + briny deep, in the ship <i>Africa</i>. You will get the letter on + Wednesday night. That is, you ought to get it; for I have desired Carrick + to post it accordingly, and I’m sure he’ll do it if he does not forget. + And old Galloway will get a letter at the same time, and Lady Augusta will + get one. <i>I</i> shall have been off more than twenty-four hours, for we + leave Gravesend on Tuesday at noon. Carrick has behaved like a trump. He + has bought me all the things I asked him, and paid my passage-money, and + given me fifty pounds in my pocket to land with; so I am safe to get on. + The only thing he stood out about was the frying-pans. He couldn’t see of + what use they’d be, he said. So we made a compromise, and I am taking out + only four-and-twenty, instead of the forty dozen that I had thought of. I + could not find Bagshaw’s list, and the frying-pans are about all I am + taking, in the shape of utensils, except a large tool-chest, which they + palmed off upon Carrick, for it was as dear as fire’s hot.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you have been vowing vengeance upon me, for not coming round + to see you before I started; but I stopped away on purpose, for I might + have let out something that I did not care to let out then; and that’s + what I am writing for.” + </p> + <p> + “Old fellow, I have been fit to kill myself. All that bother that they + laid upon you about the bank-note ought to have fallen upon me, for it was + I who took it. There! the confession’s made. And now explode at me for ten + minutes, with all your energy and wrath, before you read on. It will be a + relief to your feelings and to mine. Perhaps if you’d go out of the way to + swear a bit, it mightn’t be amiss.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this juncture that Arthur had started up so wildly, causing + Annabel to exclaim that the “ship was drowned.” In his access of + bewilderment, the first shadowy thought that overpowered him was a + dreadful feeling of grief, for Roland’s sake. He had liked Roland; with + all his faults, he had liked him much; and it was as if some cherished + statue had fallen, and been dashed to pieces. Wild, joyful beatings of + relief, that Hamish was innocent, were mingling with it, thumping against + 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 to him was—Was + Roland telling truth, or was he only playing a joke upon him? Arthur read + on. + </p> + <p> + “I was awfully hard up for money. I was worse than Hamish, and he was + pretty hard up then; though he seems to have staved off the fellows since—he + best knows how. I told him one day I should like to borrow the receipt, + and he laughed and said he’d give it to me with all the pleasure in life + if it were transferable. Ask him if he remembers saying it. When Galloway + was sending the money that day to the cousin Galloway, I thought what a + shame it was, as I watched him slip the bank-note into the letter. That + cousin Galloway was always having money sent him, and I wished Galloway + would give it me instead. Then came that row with Mad Nance; and as you + and Galloway turned to see what was up, 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 at your back, at the window, leaning out. It did + not take me half a minute; and the money was in my pocket, and the letter + was empty! But now, look here!—I never meant to steal the note. I am + not a Newgate thief, 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 the dickens to pay. So I took the money for <i>that</i> stop-gap, + never intending to do otherwise than replace it in Galloway’s desk as soon + as I could get it. I knew I should be having some from Lord Carrick. It + was all Lady Augusta’s fault. She had turned crusty, and would not help + me. I stopped out all that afternoon with Knivett, if you remember, and + that placed me beyond suspicion when the stir came, though it was not for + that reason I stayed, for I never had a thought that the row would fall + upon us in the office. I supposed the loss would be set down to the + 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, and + sundry qualms coming over me whether I should not put it back again. I + began to wonder how I could get rid of it safely, not knowing but that + Galloway 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 thing that + happened. After I parted with Knivett, I ran home for something I wanted, + 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 the bank; I have + occasion to send one to Ireland.’ Now, Arthur, I ask you, was ever such + encouragement given to a fellow in wrong-doing? Of course, my note, that + is, Galloway’s note, went to Ireland, and a joyful riddance it seemed; as + thoroughly <i>gone</i> as if I had despatched it to the North Pole. Lady + Augusta handed me twenty sovereigns, and I made believe to go to the bank + and exchange them for a note. She put it into a letter, and I took it to + the post-office at once. No wonder you grumbled at my being away so long!” + </p> + <p> + “Next came the row. And when I found that suspicion fell upon <i>you</i>, + I was nearly mad. If I had not parted with the money, I should have gone + straight to Galloway and said, ‘Here it is; I took it.’ Not a soul stood + up for you as they ought! Even Mr. Channing fell into the suspicion, and + Hamish seemed indifferent and cool as a cucumber. I have never liked + Galloway since; and I long, to this day, to give Butterby a ducking. How I + kept my tongue from blurting out the truth, I don’t know: but a gentleman + born does not like to own himself a thief. It was the publicity given to + it that kept me silent; and I hope old Galloway and Butterby will have + horrid dreams for a week to come, now they know the truth! I was boiling + over always. I don’t know how I managed to live through it; and that soft + calf of a Jenkins was always defending Galloway when I flew out about him. + Nobody could do more than I did to throw the blame upon the post-office—and + it was the most likely thing in 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 hope he’ll have horrid dreams for a month to + come! I’d have prosecuted the post-office if I had had the cash to do it + with, and that might have turned him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, old chap, it went on and on—you lying under the cloud, and I + mad with every one. I could do nothing to clear you (unless I had + confessed), except sending back the money to Galloway’s, with a letter to + say you did not do it. It was upon my mind night and day. I was always + planning how to accomplish it; but for some time I could not find 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 of twenty pounds. + And that was true in more senses than one, for I did not know where to + turn to for money for my own uses. At last Carrick gave it me—he had + given me a trifle or two before, of five pounds or so, of no use—and + then I had to wait an opportunity of sending it to London to be posted. + Carrick’s departure afforded that. I wrote the note to Galloway with my <i>left</i> + hand, in print sort of letters, put the money into it, and Carrick + promised to post it in London. I told him it was a <i>Valentine</i> to old + Galloway, flattering him on his youthful curls, and Carrick laughed till + he was hoarse, at the notion. Deuce take his memory! he had been pretty + nearly a week in London before he thought of the letter, and then putting + his hand into his pocket he found it. I had given it up by that time, and + thought no one in the world ever had such luck as I. At last it came; and + all I can say is, I wish the post-office had taken that, before it ever + did come. Of all the crying shames, that was the worst! The old carp got + the money, and <i>yet</i> would not clear you! I shall never forgive + Galloway for that! and when I come back from Port Natal, rolling in + wealth, I’ll not look at him when I pass him in the street, which will + cork him uncommonly, and I don’t care if you tell him so. Had I wavered + about Port Natal before, that would have decided me. Clear you I would, + and I saw there was no way to do it but by telling the truth, which I did + not care to do while I was in Helstonleigh. And now I am off, and you know + the truth, and Galloway knows it, for he’ll have his letter when you have + yours (and I hope it will be a pill for him), and all Helstonleigh will + know it, and you are cleared, dear old Arthur!” + </p> + <p> + “The first person that I shall lavish a little of my wealth upon, when I + return, will be poor Jenkins, if he should be still in the land of the + living. We all know that he has as much in him as a gander, and lets that + adorable Mrs. J. (I wish you could have seen her turban the morning I took + leave!) be mistress and master, but he has done me many a good turn: and, + what’s more, he <i>stood up for you</i>. 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 shall have 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 care for you, and I wish you would have been + persuaded to come out with me and 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.” + </p> + <p> + “And that’s all I have to tell. And now you see why I did not care to say + ‘Good-bye,’ for I don’t think I could have said it without telling 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 the news, mind! If a great wind + blows the cathedral down, or a fire burns the town up, it’s you who must + write it; no one else will. Direct to me—Post-office, Port Natal, + until I send you an address, which I shall do the first thing. Have you + any news of Charley?” + </p> + <p> + “I had almost forgotten that bright kinsman of mine, the chaplain of + Hazledon. Pray present my affectionate compliments to him, and say he has + not the least idea how very much I revere him. I should like to see his + face when he finds it was I who was the delinquent. Constance can turn the + tables on him now. But if she ever forgives him, she’ll deserve to be as + henpecked as Jenkins is; and tell her I say so.” + </p> + <p> + “I meant to have told you about a spree I have had since I came to London, + but there’s no room, so I’ll conclude sentimentally, as a lady does,” + </p> + <p> + “Yours for ever and ever,” + </p> + <h3> + “ROLAND YORKE.” + </h3> + <p> + 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 it + with straining eye and burning brow; taking in its general sense, its + various points; but of its words, none. In his overpowering emotion—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 guilty all this time!” + </p> + <p> + To say that they stared at him—to say that they did not understand + him—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. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish never did it! Constance, we might have known it. Constance, what + could so have blinded our reason? He has been innocent all this time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley was the first to find his tongue. “Innocent of what?” asked + he. “What news have you received there?” pointing to the letter. + </p> + <p> + “It is from Roland Yorke. He says”—Arthur hesitated, and lowered his + voice—“that bank-note lost by Mr. Galloway—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” they uttered, pressing round him. + </p> + <p> + “It was Roland who took it!” + </p> + <p> + Then arose a Babel of voices: questions to Arthur, references to the + letter, and explanations. Mr. Channing, amidst his deep thankfulness, + gathered Arthur to him with a fond gesture. “My boy, there has been + continual conflict waging in my heart,” he said; “appearances <i>versus</i> + my better judgment. But for your own doubtful manner, I should have + spurned the thought that you were guilty. Why did you not speak out + boldly?” + </p> + <p> + “Father, how could I—believing that it was Hamish? Hamish, dear + Hamish, say you forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + Hamish was the only one who had retained calmness. Remarkably cool was he. + He gazed upon them with the most imperturbable self-possession—rather + inclined to be amused than otherwise. “Suspect me!” cried he, raising his + eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “We did, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bien obligé</i>,” responded Mr. Hamish. “Perhaps <i>you</i> shared the + honour of the doubt?” he mockingly added, turning to Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “I did,” replied that gentleman. “Ellen did not,” he added, losing his + seriousness in a half laugh. “Miss Ellen and I have been at daggers-drawn + upon the point.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish actually blushed like a schoolgirl. “Ellen knows me better,” was + all he said, speaking very quietly. “I should have thought some of the + rest of you had known me better, also.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish,” said Mr. Huntley, “I think we were all in for a host of + blunders.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing had listened in surprise, Mrs. Channing in indignation. Her + brave, good Hamish! her best and dearest! + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see how it was possible to suspect Hamish,” observed Mr. + Channing. + </p> + <p> + 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 a man!” he + exclaimed. “I go home, expecting to dine in peace, and I find this pill + upon my plate!” Pill was the very word Roland had used. + </p> + <p> + They understood, naturally, what the pill was. Especially Arthur, who had + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I do see it,” replied Mr. Galloway, laying his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. + “Why could you not speak openly to my face and tell me so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—I am ashamed, sir, now to confess why. We were all at + cross-purposes together, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “He suspected that it was all in the family, Mr. Galloway,” cried Hamish, + in his gay good humour. “It appears that he laid the charge of that little + affair to <i>me</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Mr. Galloway. + </p> + <p> + “We both did,” exclaimed Constance, coming forward with tears in her eyes. + “Do you think that the mere fact of suspicion being cast upon him, + publicly though it was made, could have rendered us as cowardly miserable + as it did? Hamish, how shall we atone to you?” + </p> + <p> + “The question is, how shall I atone to you, my old friend, for the wrong + done your son?” exclaimed Mr. Galloway, seizing Mr. Channing’s hand. + “Arthur, you and I shall have accounts to make up together.” + </p> + <p> + “If reparation for unjust suspicion is to be the order of the day, I think + I ought to have some of it,” said laughing Hamish, with a glance at Mr. + Huntley. + </p> + <p> + A sudden thought seemed to strike Mr. Channing. “Huntley,” he impulsively + cried, “was this the cause of displeasure that you hinted had been given + you by Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “That, and nothing else,” was Mr. Huntley’s answer. “I suppose I must take + him into favour again—‘make reparation,’ as he says.” + </p> + <p> + A saucy smile crossed the lips of Hamish. It as good as said, “I know who + will, if you don’t.” But Mr. Galloway was interrupting. + </p> + <p> + “The most extraordinary thing of the whole is,” he observed, with unwonted + emphasis, “that we never suspected Roland Yorke, knowing him as we did + know him. It will be a caution to me as long as I live, never to go again + by appearances. Careless, thoughtless, impulsive, conscienceless Roland + Yorke! Of course! Who else would have been likely to help themselves to + it? I wonder what scales were before our eyes?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing turned to his son Tom, who had been seated astride on the arm + of a sofa, in a glow of astonishment, now succeeded by satisfaction. “Tom, + my boy! There’ll be no particular hurry for leaving the college school, + will there?” + </p> + <p> + Tom slid off his perch and went straight up to Arthur. “Arthur, I beg your + pardon heartily for the harsh words and thoughts I may have given you. I + was just a fool, or I should have known you could not be guilty. Were you + screening Roland Yorke?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Arthur, “I never suspected him for a moment. As to any one’s + begging <i>my</i> pardon, I have most cause to do that, for suspecting + Hamish. You’ll be all right now, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + But now, in the midst of this demonstration from all sides, I will leave + 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 and congratulate him on his + restoration. Glad, in truth, was he to possess the opportunity to do that; + but Mr. Yorke’s visit also included a purpose less disinterested. Repulsed + by Constance in the two or three appeals he had made to her, he had + impatiently awaited the return of Mr. Channing, to solicit his influence. + Remembering the past, listening to this explanation of the present, you + may imagine, if you can, what his sensations must have been. He, who had + held up his head, in his haughty Yorke spirit, ready to spurn Arthur for + the suspicion cast upon him, 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 in theirs. No wonder that he stood silent, grave, his + lips drawn in to sternness. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Galloway soon departed again. He had left his dinner untouched upon + his table. Mr. Huntley took the occasion to leave with him; and, in the + earnestness 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. + </p> + <p> + “Constance, will it be possible for you to forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + What a fine field it presented for her to play the heroine! To go into + fierce declamations that she never could, and never would forgive him, but + would hold herself aloof from him for ever and a day, condemning him to + bachelorhood! Unfortunately for these pages, Constance Channing had + nothing of the heroine in her composition. She was only one of those + simple, truthful, natural English girls, whom I hope you often meet in + your every-day life. She smiled at William Yorke through her glistening + eye-lashes, and drew closer to him. Did he take the hint? He took <i>her</i>; + took her to that manly breast that would henceforth be her shelter for + ever. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven knows how I will strive to atone to you, my darling.” + </p> + <p> + It was a happy evening, chequered, though it necessarily must be, with + thoughts of Charles. And Mr. Channing, in the midst of his deep grief and + perplexity, thanked God for His great mercy in restoring the suspected to + freedom. “My boy!” he exclaimed to Arthur, “how bravely you have borne it + all!” + </p> + <p> + “Not always very bravely,” said Arthur, shaking his head. “There were + times when I inwardly rebelled.” + </p> + <p> + “It could not have been done without one thing,” resumed Mr. Channing: + “firm trust in God.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s cheek kindled. That had ever been present with him. “When things + would wear their darkest aspect, I used to say to myself, ‘Patience and + hope; and trust in God!’ But I never anticipated this bright ending,” he + added. “I never thought that I and Hamish should both be cleared.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot conceive how you could have suspected Hamish!” Mr. Channing + repeated, after a pause. Of all the wonders, that fact seemed to have + taken most hold of his mind. + </p> + <p> + Arthur made a slight answer, but did not pursue the topic. There were + circumstances connected with it, regarding Hamish, not yet explained. He + could not speak of them to Mr. Channing. + </p> + <p> + 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 just been + thrown upon Arthur. They went up together, and Hamish, instead of turning + into his own room, followed Arthur to his. He set down the candle on the + table, and turned to Arthur with his frank smile. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I did tell you so, Hamish: if my memory serves me rightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am not sure; it may have been so; but in a very undemonstrative + sort of manner, if you did at all. That sort of manner from you, Arthur, + would only create perplexity.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur smiled. “Don’t you see? believing that you had taken it, I thought + you must know whether I was innocent or guilty. And, for your sake, I did + not dare to defend myself to others. Had only a breath of suspicion fallen + upon you, Hamish, it might have cost my father his post.” + </p> + <p> + “What induced you to suspect me? Surely not the simple fact of being alone + for a few minutes with the letter in Galloway’s office?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that. That alone would have been nothing; but, coupled with other + circumstances, it assumed a certain weight. Hamish, I will tell you. Do + you remember the trouble you were in at the time—owing money in the + town?” + </p> + <p> + A smile parted Hamish’s lips; he seemed half inclined to make fun of the + reminiscence. “I remember it well enough. What of that?” + </p> + <p> + “You contrived to pay those debts, or partially pay them, at the exact + time the note was taken; and we knew you had no money of your own to do it + with. We saw you also with gold in your purse—through Annabel’s tricks, do + you remember?—and we knew that it could not be yours—legitimately + yours, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish’s smile turned into a laugh. “Stop a bit, Arthur. The money with + which I paid up, and the gold you saw, <i>was</i> mine; legitimately mine. + Don’t speak so fast, old fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “But where did it come from, Hamish?” + </p> + <p> + “It did not come from Galloway’s office, and it did not drop from the + skies,” laughed Hamish. “Never mind where else it came from. Arthur boy, I + wish you had been candid, and had given me a hint of your suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + “We were at cross purposes, as you observe,” repeated Arthur. “Once plunge + into them, and there’s no knowing when enlightenment will come; perhaps + never. But you were not very open with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I was puzzled,” replied Hamish. “You may remember that my seeing a crowd + round the Guildhall, was the first intimation I received of the matter. + When they told me, in answer to my questions, that my brother, Arthur + Channing, was taken up on suspicion of stealing a bank-note, and was then + under examination, I should have laughed in their faces, but for 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 you as you stood there, and + your gaze met mine. Arthur, what made you look so? I never saw guilt—or + perhaps I would rather say shame, conscious shame—shine out more + palpably from any countenance than it did from yours then. It startled me—it + <i>cowed</i> me; and, in that moment, I did believe you guilty. Why did + you look so?” + </p> + <p> + “I looked so for your sake, Hamish. Your countenance betrayed your dismay, + and I read it for signs of your own guilt and shame. Not until then did I + fully believe you guilty. We were at cross-purposes, you see, throughout + the piece.” + </p> + <p> + “Cross-purposes, indeed!” repeated Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “Have you believed me guilty until now?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Hamish. “After a few days my infatuation wore off. It was an + infatuation, and nothing less, ever to have believed a Channing guilty. I + then took up another notion, and that I have continued to entertain.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” + </p> + <p> + “That you were screening Roland Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur lifted up his eyes to Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “I did indeed. Roland’s excessive championship of you, his impetuous + agitation when others brought it up against you, first aroused my + suspicions that he himself must have been guilty; and I came to the + conclusion that you also had discovered his guilt, and were generously + screening him. I believed that you would not allow a stir be made in it to + clear yourself, lest it should bring it home to him. Cross purposes again, + you will say.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes. Not so much as an idea of suspecting Roland Yorke ever came + across me. All my fear was, that he, or any one, should suspect you.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish laughed as he placed his hands upon Arthur’s shoulders. “The best + plan for the future will be, to have no secrets one from the other; + otherwise, it seems hard to say what labyrinths we may not get into. What + do you say, old fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “You began the secrets first, Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I? Well, let us thank Heaven that the worst are over.” + </p> + <p> + Ay, thank Heaven! Most sincerely was Arthur Channing doing that. The time + to give thanks had come. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Mr. Huntley had proceed home. He found Miss Huntley in the + stiffest 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 off to the town + again, to keep some appointment with the college boys. Miss Huntley now + ate hers in dignified displeasure; but Mr. Huntley, sitting opposite to + her, appeared to be in one of his very happiest moods. Ellen attributed it + to the fact of Mr. Channing’s having returned home well. She asked a + hundred questions about them—of their journey, their arrival—and + Mr. Huntley never seemed tired of answering. + </p> + <p> + Barely was the cloth removed, when Miss Huntley rose. Mr. Huntley crossed + the room to open the door for her, and bow her out. Although he was her + brother, she would never have forgiven him, had he omitted that little + mark of ceremony. Ellen was dutifully following. She could not always + brave her aunt. Mr. Huntley, however, gave Ellen a touch as she was + passing him, drew her back, and closed the door upon his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Ellen, I have been obliged to take Mr. Hamish into favour again.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen’s cheeks became glowing. She tried to find an answer, but none came. + </p> + <p> + “I find Hamish had nothing to do with the loss of the bank-note.” + </p> + <p> + Then she found words. “Oh, papa, no! How could you ever have imagined such + a thing? You might have known the Channings better. They are above + suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + “I did know them better at one time, or else you may be sure, young lady, + 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 that I was just a + donkey for my pains.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen shook her head and laughed. She would have liked to ask whether Mr. + 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 her courage. + </p> + <p> + “When I told him this evening that I had suspected him—” + </p> + <p> + She clasped her hands and turned to Mr. Huntley, her rich colour going and + coming. “Papa, you <i>told</i> him?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay. And I was not the only one to suspect him, or to tell him. I can + assure you that, Miss Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say? How did he receive it?” + </p> + <p> + “Told us he was much obliged to us all. I don’t think Hamish <i>could</i> + be put out of temper.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not dislike him now, papa?” she said, timidly. + </p> + <p> + “I never have disliked him. When I believed what I did of him, I could not + dislike him even then, try as I would. There, you may go to your aunt + now.” + </p> + <p> + And Ellen went, feeling that the earth and air around her had suddenly + become as Eden. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVI. — THE BROKEN PHIAL. + </h2> + <p> + That broken phial, you have heard of, was burning a hole in Bywater’s + pocket, as Roland Yorke had said the bank-note did in his. He had been + undecided about complaining to the master; strangely so for Bywater. The + fact was, he had had a strong suspicion, from the very first, that the boy + who did the damage to the surplice was Pierce senior. At least, his + suspicions had been divided between that gentleman and Gerald Yorke. The + cause of suspicion against Pierce need not be entered into, since it was + misplaced. In point of fact, Mr. Pierce was, so far as that feat went, + both innocent and unconscious. But Bywater could not be sure that he was, + and he did not care to bring the accusation publicly against Gerald, + should he be innocent. + </p> + <p> + You saw Bywater, a chapter or two back, fitting the broken pieces together + in his bedroom. On the following morning—it was also the morning + following the arrival of the important letter from Roland Yorke—Bywater + detained Gerald Yorke when the boys tore down the schoolroom steps after + early school. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Yorke, I said I’d give you a last chance, and now I am doing it,” + he began. “If you’ll acknowledge the truth to me about that surplice + affair, I’ll let it drop. I will, upon my honour. I’ll never say another + word about it.” + </p> + <p> + Gerald flew into a rage. “Now look you here, Mr. Bywater,” was his angry + retort. “You bother me again with that stale fish, and I’ll put you up for + punishment. It’s—” + </p> + <p> + Gerald stopped. Tom Channing was passing close to them, and Mr. Gerald had + never cared to be heard, when talking about the surplice. At that moment a + group of boys, who were running out of the cloisters, the opposite road to + Tom Channing, turned round and hissed him, Tod Yorke adding some + complimentary remark about “stolen notes.” As usual, it was a shaft + launched at Arthur. Not as usual did Tom receive it. There was nothing of + fierce defiance now in his demeanour; nothing of half-subdued rage. Tom + halted; took off his trencher with a smile of suavity that might have + adorned Hamish, and thanked them with as much courtesy as if it had been + real, especially Tod. Gerald Yorke and Bywater looked on with surprise. + They little dreamt of the great secret that Tom now carried within him. He + could afford to be calm. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s four months, good, since that surplice was damaged,” resumed + Gerald, in a tone of irritation, to Bywater, as soon as they were alone + again. “One would think it was of rare value, by your keeping up the ball + in this way. Every now and then you break out afresh about that surplice. + Was it made of gold?” + </p> + <p> + “It was made of Irish linen,” returned Bywater, who generally contrived to + retain his coolness, whoever might grow heated. “I tell you that I have a + fresh clue, Yorke; one I have been waiting for. I thought it would turn up + some time. If you say you did it, by accident or how you like, I’ll let it + drop. If you don’t, I’ll bring it before Pye after breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring it,” retorted Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “Mind you, I mean what I say. I shall bring the charge against you, and I + have the proofs.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring it, I say!” fiercely repeated Gerald. “Who cares for your + bringings? Mind your bones afterwards, that’s all!” + </p> + <p> + He pushed Bywater from him with a haughty gesture, and raced home to + breakfast, hoping there would be something good to assuage his hunger. + </p> + <p> + But Bywater was not to be turned from his determination. Never a boy in + the school less likely than he. He went home to <i>his</i> breakfast, and + returned to school to have his name inscribed on the roll, and then went + into college with the other nine choristers, and took his part in the + service. And the bottle, I say, was burning a hole in his pocket. The + Reverend William Yorke was chanting, and Arthur Channing sat at the organ. + Would the Very Reverend the Dean of Helstonleigh, standing in his stall so + serenely placid, his cap resting on the cushion beside him, ever again + intimate a doubt that Arthur was not worthy to take part in the service? + But the dean did not know the news yet. + </p> + <p> + Back in the school-room, Bywater lost no time. He presented himself before + the master, and entered upon his complaint, schoolboy fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I think I have found out who inked my surplice.” + </p> + <p> + The master had allowed the occurrence to slip partially from his memory. + 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 to revolving + the circumstances. “Think you have found out the boy, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; I am pretty sure of it. I think it was Gerald Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “Gerald Yorke! One of the seniors!” repeated the master, casting a + penetrating gaze upon Bywater. + </p> + <p> + The fact was, Mr. Pye, at the time of the occurrence, had been somewhat + inclined to a secret belief that the real culprit was Bywater himself. + Knowing that gentleman’s propensity to mischief, knowing that the + destruction 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 it yourself?” he + now plainly asked of Bywater. + </p> + <p> + 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 have spent + many an hour since, trying to ferret it out, if I had done it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what have you found out?” + </p> + <p> + “On the day it happened, sir, when we were discussing it in the cloisters, + little Channing suddenly started up with a word that caused me to think he + had seen something connected with it, in which Gerald Yorke was mixed up. + But the boy recollected himself before he had said much, and I could get + no more from him. Once afterwards I heard him tell Yorke that he had kept + counsel about the inked surplice.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” asked the master, while the whole school sat with tingling + ears, for Bywater was not making his complaint in private. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite, sir. Please to look at this.” + </p> + <p> + Bywater had whipped the broken phial out of his pocket, and was handing + the smaller piece towards the master. Mr. Pye looked at it curiously. + </p> + <p> + “As I was turning over my surplice, sir, in the vestry, when I found it + that day, I saw this bit of glass lying in the wet ink. I thought it + belonged 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. So I + put the bit of glass into my pocket, thinking the phial would turn up some + day, if it did belong to it. And so it has. You can put the piece into it, + sir, and see whether it fits.” + </p> + <p> + 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 should tell + these lies of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Are they lies?” returned Mr. Pye, who was fitting the piece into the + bottle. + </p> + <p> + “I have told no lies yet,” said Bywater. “And I have not said for certain + you did it. I say I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “You never found that bottle upon the surplice! I don’t believe it!” + foamed Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “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,” added Bywater, + turning out that receptacle for the benefit of Mr. Pye. “It was this same + pair of trousers I had on that day.” + </p> + <p> + “Bywater,” said the master, “why did you not say, at the time, that you + found the piece of glass?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, sir, the bit, by itself, would have told nothing. I thought I’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 to the 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Does this belong to you, Yorke?” inquired the master, scrutinizing that + gentleman’s countenance, as he had previously scrutinized Bywater’s. + </p> + <p> + Gerald Yorke took the phial in his hand and examined it. He knew perfectly + well that it was his, but he was asking himself whether the school, apart + from Bywater, could contradict him, if he said it was not. He feared they + might. + </p> + <p> + “I had a phial very much like this, sir,” turning it over and over in his + hand, apparently for the purpose of a critical inspection. “I am not 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.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you lose it?” demanded Mr. Pye. + </p> + <p> + “About the time that the surplice got inked, sir; a day or two before it.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is telling lies now?” cried bold Bywater. “He had the bottle that + very day, sir, at his desk, here, in this schoolroom. The upper boys know + he had it, and that he was using it. Channing”—turning round and + catching Tom’s eye, the first he did catch—“you can bear witness + that he was using it that morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t call upon me,” replied Tom, stolidly. “I decline to interfere with + Mr. Yorke; for, or against him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is his bottle, and he had it that morning; and I say that I think he + must have broken it over the surplice,” persisted Bywater, with as much + noise as he dared display in the presence of the master. “Otherwise, how + should a piece out of the bottle be lying on the surplice?” + </p> + <p> + The master came to the conclusion that the facts were tolerably + conclusive. He touched Yorke. “Speak the truth, boy,” he said, with a tone + that seemed to imply he rather doubted Gerald’s strict adherence to truth + at all times and seasons. + </p> + <p> + Gerald turned crusty. “I don’t know anything about it, sir. Won’t I pummel + you for this!” he concluded, in an undertone, to Bywater. + </p> + <p> + “Besides that, sir,” went on Bywater, pushing Gerald aside with his elbow, + as if he were nobody: “Charles Channing, I say, saw something that led him + to suspect Gerald Yorke. I am certain he did. I think it likely 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 of this. 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yorke,” said the master, leaning his face forward and speaking in an + undertone, “do you remember what I promised the boy who did this mischief? + Not for the feat itself, but for braving me, when I ordered him to speak + out, and he would not.” + </p> + <p> + Yorke grew angry and desperate. “Let it be proved against me, sir, if you + please, before you punish. I don’t think even Bywater, rancorous as he is, + can prove me guilty.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment, who should walk forward but Mr. Bill Simms, much to the + astonishment of the head-master, and of the school in general. Since Mr. + Simms’s confession to the master, touching the trick played on Charles + Channing, he had not led the most agreeable of lives. Some of the boys + treated him with silent contempt, some worried his life out of him, and + all hated him. He could now enjoy a little bit of retaliation on one of + them, at any rate. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, the day the surplice was inked, I saw Gerald Yorke come out + of the college just before afternoon service, and chuck a broken + ink-bottle over into the burial-ground.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw it!” exclaimed the master, while Gerald turned his livid face, + his flashing eye on the young tell-tale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I was in the cloisters, inside one of the niches, and saw it. + Charley Channing was in the cloisters, too, but he didn’t see me, and I + don’t think Mr. Yorke saw either of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not tell me this at the time?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bill Simms stood on his heels and stood on his toes, and pulled his + lanky straw-coloured hair, and rubbed his face, ere he spoke. “I was + afraid, sir. I knew Mr. Yorke would beat me.” + </p> + <p> + “Cur!” ejaculated Gerald, below his breath. The head-master turned his + eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Yorke, I—” + </p> + <p> + A commotion at the door, and Mr. Pye stopped. There burst in a lady with a + wide extent of crinoline, but that was not the worst of the bustle. Her + cheeks were flushed, her hands lifted, her eyes wild; altogether she was + in a state of the utmost excitement. Gerald stared with all his might, and + the head-master rose to receive her as she sailed down upon him. It was + Lady Augusta Yorke. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVII. — A GHOST AGAIN. + </h2> + <p> + Minds are differently constituted: as was exemplified in the case under + our immediate notice. While one of Mr. Galloway’s first thoughts, on the + receipt of Roland Yorke’s letter, was to rush round to Lady Augusta’s with + the news, half in anger, half in a reproachful humour, Arthur Channing was + deliberating how they could contrive to keep it from her. The one was + actuated by an angry, the other by a generous spirit. + </p> + <p> + 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 Lady Augusta + was not at home. + </p> + <p> + She had gone to dine at Colonel Joliffe’s, a family who lived some + distance from Helstonleigh—necessitating an early departure from + home, if she would be in time for their six o’clock dinner-hour. It had + thus occurred that when the afternoon’s post arrived, Lady Augusta was in + the bustle and hurry of dressing; and Lady Augusta was one of those who + are, and must be, in a bustle, even if they are only going to a friendly + dinner-party. + </p> + <p> + Martha was busily assisting, and the cook brought up two letters. “Both + for my lady,” she said, giving them to Martha. + </p> + <p> + “I have no time for letters now,” called out my lady. “Put them into my + drawer, Martha.” + </p> + <p> + Martha did as she was bid, and Lady Augusta departed. She returned home + pretty late, and the letters remained in their receptacle untouched. + </p> + <p> + Of course, to retire to rest late, necessitated, with Lady Augusta Yorke, + rising late the next morning. About eleven o’clock she came down to + breakfast. A letter on the breakfast-table brought to her remembrance the + letters of the previous night, and she sent Martha for them. Looking at + their addresses, she perceived one of them to be from Roland; the other + from Lord Carrick: and she laid them by her to be opened presently. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Galloway called last night, my lady,” observed Martha. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did he?” said Lady Augusta. + </p> + <p> + “He said he wanted to see your ladyship particularly. But I said you were + gone to Colonel Joliffe’s.” + </p> + <p> + Barely had Lady Augusta tasted her coffee, the letters still lying + unopened at her side, when William Yorke entered, having just left the + cathedral. + </p> + <p> + “This is a terrible blow, Lady Augusta,” he observed, as he sat down. + </p> + <p> + “What’s a blow?” returned Lady Augusta. “Will you take some coffee, + William?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you not heard of it?” he replied, declining the coffee with a + gesture. “I thought it probable that you would have received news from + Roland.” + </p> + <p> + “A letter arrived from Roland last night,” she said, touching the letter + in question. “What is the matter? Is there bad news in it? What! have you + heard anything?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke had not the slightest doubt that the letter before him must + contain the same confession which had been conveyed to Arthur and to Mr. + 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 tone of compassion. + </p> + <p> + “I fear that the letter does contain bad news; very bad news, indeed. Ro—” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! what has happened to him?” she interrupted, falling into + excitement, just as Roland himself might have done. “Is he ill? Has he got + hurt? Is he killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, pray calm yourself, Lady Augusta. Roland is well in health, and has + sailed for Port Natal, under what he considers favourable auspices. He—” + </p> + <p> + “Then why in the world do you come terrifying me out of my wits with your + tales, William Yorke?” she broke forth. “I declare you are no better than + a child!” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Lady Augusta, you terrified yourself, jumping to conclusions. Though + Roland is safe and sound, there is still some very disagreeable news to be + told concerning him. He has been making a confession of bad behaviour.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Lady Augusta, in a tone which seemed to say, “Is that all?” as + if bad behaviour and Roland might have some affinity for each other. + William Yorke bent his head nearer, and dropped his voice lower. + </p> + <p> + “In that mysterious affair of the bank-note, when Arthur Channing was + accused—” + </p> + <p> + “Well? well?” she hastily repeated—for he had made a slight pause—and + a tone of dread, as a shadow of evil, might be detected in her accents. + </p> + <p> + “It was Roland who took the note.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta jumped up. She <i>would</i> not receive it. “It is not true; + it cannot be true!” she reiterated. “How dare you so asperse him, William + Yorke? Thoughtless as Roland is, he would not be guilty of dishonour.” + </p> + <p> + “He has written full particulars both to Arthur Channing and to Mr. + Galloway,” said Mr. Yorke, calmly. “I have no doubt that that letter to + you also relates to it. He confesses that to clear Arthur was a great + motive in taking him from Helstonleigh.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta seized the letter and tore it open. She was too agitated to + read calmly, but she saw enough to convince her that Roland, and no other, + had appropriated the money. This must have been the matter he had + obscurely hinted at in one of his last conversations with her. The letter + was concluded very much after Roland’s own fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Now, mother, if you care that anything in the shape of honour should ever + shine round me again, you’ll go off straight to the college school, and + set Tom Channing right with it and with the masters. And if you don’t, and + I get drowned on my voyage, I’ll not say but my ghost will come again and + haunt every one who has had to do with the injustice.” + </p> + <p> + Ghosts were not agreeable topics to Lady Augusta, and she gave a shriek at + the bare thought. But that was as nothing, compared with her anger. + Honourable in the main—hot, hasty, impulsive, losing all judgment, + all self-control when these fits of excitement came upon her—it is + more than probable that her own course would have been to fly to the + college school, unprompted by Roland. A sense of justice was strong within + her; and in setting Tom right, she would not spare Roland, her own son + though he was. + </p> + <p> + 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 at the door of + the college school. + </p> + <p> + There she broke in upon that interesting investigation, touching the inked + surplice. + </p> + <p> + Bywater, who seemed to think she had arrived for the sole purpose of + setting at rest the question of the phial’s ownership, and not being + troubled with any superfluous ideas of circumlocution, eagerly held out + the pieces to her when she was yards from his desk. “Do you know this, + Lady Augusta? Isn’t it Gerald’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is Gerald’s,” replied she. “He took it out of my desk one day in + the summer, though I told him not, and I never could get it back again. + Have you been denying that it was yours?” she sternly added to Gerald. + “Bad luck to you, then, for a false boy. You are going to take a leaf out + of your brother Roland’s pattern, are you? Haven’t I had enough of you bad + boys on my hands, but there must something fresh come up 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 Channings right with the + school. You took the seniorship from Tom, believing that it was his + brother Arthur who robbed Mr. Galloway. Not but that I thought some one + else would have had that seniorship, you know!” + </p> + <p> + In Lady Augusta’s present mood, had any one of her sons committed a + murder, she must have proclaimed it, though it had been to condemn him to + 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 in Irish + or English. The head-master could only look at her with astonishment. He + also believed her visit must have reference to the matter in hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is true, Lady Augusta. But for the suspicion cast upon his brother, + Channing would not have lost the seniorship,” said the master, ignoring + the hint touching himself. + </p> + <p> + “And all of ye”—turning round to face the wondering school—“have + been ready to fling ye’re stones at Tom Channing, like the badly brought + up boys that ye are. <i>I</i> have heard of it. And my two, Gerald and + Tod, the worst of ye at the game. You may look, Mr. Tod, but I’ll be 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 <i>their</i> brother—Gerald’s + and Tod’s! It was my ill-doing boy, Roland, who took it.” + </p> + <p> + No one knew where to look. Some looked at her ladyship; some at the + head-master; some at the Reverend William Yorke, who stood pale and + haughty; some at Gerald and Tod; some at Tom Channing. Tom did not appear + to regard it as news: he seemed to have known it before: the excessive + astonishment painted upon every other face was absent from his. But, half + the school did not understand Lady Augusta. None understood her fully. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your ladyship’s pardon,” said the head-master. “I do not comprehend + what it is that you are talking about.” + </p> + <p> + “Not comprehend!” repeated her ladyship. “Don’t I speak plainly? My + unhappy son Roland has confessed that it was he who stole the bank-note + that so much fuss has been made about, and that Arthur Channing was taken + up for. You two may look and frown”—nodding to Gerald and Tod—“but + it was your own brother who was the thief; Arthur Channing was innocent. + I’m sure I shan’t look a Channing in the face for months to come! Tell + them about it in a straightforward way, William Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke, thus called upon, stated, in a few concise words, the facts to + the master. His tone was low, but the boys caught the sense, that Arthur + was really innocent, and that poor Tom had been degraded for nothing. The + master beckoned Tom forward. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know of this, Channing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; since the letter came to my brother Arthur last night.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta rushed up impulsively to Tom. She seized his hands, and shook + them heartily. Tom never afterwards was sure that she didn’t kiss him. + “You’ll live to be an honour to your parents yet, Tom,” she said, “when my + boys are breaking my heart with wilfulness.” + </p> + <p> + Tom’s face flushed with pleasure; not so much at the words as at the + yearning, repentant faces cast at him from all parts of the room. There + was no mistaking that they were eager to offer reparation. Tom Channing + innocent all this time! How should they make it up to him? He turned to + resume his seat, but Huntley slipped out of the place he occupied as the + head of the school, and would have pushed Tom into it. There was some + slight commotion, and the master lifted his spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, there! Huntley, what are you about? Keep your seat.” + </p> + <p> + “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 mine + legally, and I will, with your permission, resign it to its rightful + owner. The place is Channing’s; I have only occupied it for him.” + </p> + <p> + He quietly pushed Tom into it as he spoke, and the school, finding their + voices, and ignoring the presence of the master and of Lady Augusta, + 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!” shouted bold Bywater; and + the boys, thus encouraged, took up the shout, and the old walls echoed it. + “Long live Tom Channing, the senior of Helstonleigh school!” + </p> + <p> + Before the noise had died away, Lady Augusta was gone, and another had + been 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. Knowing how + thoughtless Harry is, I feared he might not recollect to do an act of + justice. That he would be the first to do it if he remembered, I knew.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I should forget that, sir!” responded Mr. Harry. “Why, I could no + more live, with Channing under me now, than I could let any one of the + others be above me. And I am not sorry,” added the young gentleman, <i>sotto + voce</i>. “If the seniorship is a great honour, it is also a great bother. + Here, Channing, take the keys.” + </p> + <p> + He flung them across the desk as he spoke; he was proceeding to fling the + roll also, and two or three other sundries which belong to the charge of + the senior boy, but was stopped by the head-master. + </p> + <p> + “Softly, Huntley! I don’t know that I can allow this wholesale changing of + places and functions.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you can, sir,” said Harry, with a bright look. “If I committed + any unworthy act, I should be degraded from the seniorship, and another + appointed. The same thing can be done now, without the degradation.” + </p> + <p> + “He deserves a recompense,” said Mr. Huntley to the master. “But this will + be no recompense; it is Channing’s due. He will make you a better senior + than Harry, Mr. Pye. And now,” added Mr. Huntley, improving upon the + whole, “there will be no necessity to separate the seniorship from the + Oxford exhibition.” + </p> + <p> + It was rather a free and easy mode of dealing with the master’s + privileges, and Mr. Pye relaxed into a smile. In good truth, his sense of + justice had been inwardly burning since the communication made by Lady + Augusta. Tom, putting aside a little outburst or two of passion, had + behaved admirably throughout the whole season of opprobrium; there was no + denying it. And Mr. Pye felt that he had done so. + </p> + <p> + “Will you do your duty as senior, Channing?” unnecessarily asked the + master. + </p> + <p> + “I will try, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Take your place, then.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley was the first to shake his hand when he was in it. “I told you + to bear up bravely, my boy! I told you better days might be in store. + 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 well leave things in + His hands. God bless you, Tom!” + </p> + <p> + Tom was a little overcome. But Mr. Bywater made a divertisement. He seized + the roll, with which it was no business of his to meddle, and carried it + to Mr. Pye. “The names have to be altered, sir.” In return for which Mr. + Pye sternly motioned him to his seat, and Bywater favoured the school with + a few winks as he lazily obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Who could possibly have suspected Roland Yorke!” exclaimed the master, + talking in an undertone with Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, if we are to compare merits, he was a far more likely subject for + suspicion than Arthur,” was Mr. Huntley’s reply. + </p> + <p> + “He was, taking them comparatively. What I meant to imply was, that one + could not have suspected that Roland, knowing himself guilty, would suffer + another to lie under the stigma. Roland has his good points—if that + may be said of one who helps himself to bank-notes,” concluded the master. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, he is not all bad. Witness sending back the money to Galloway; + witness his persistent championship of Arthur; and going away partly to + clear him, as he no doubt has done! I was as sure from the first that + Arthur Channing was not guilty, as that the sun shines in the heavens.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you suspect Roland?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I had a peculiar theory of my own upon the matter,” said Mr. Huntley, + smiling, and apparently examining closely the grain of the master’s desk. + “A theory, however, which has proved to be worthless; as so many theories + which obtain favour in this world often are. But I will no longer detain + you, Mr. Pye. You must have had enough hindrance from your legitimate + business for one morning.” + </p> + <p> + “The hindrance is not at an end yet,” was the master’s reply, as he shook + hands with Mr. Huntley. “I cannot think what has possessed the school + lately: we are always having some unpleasant business or other to upset + it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta had hastened from the college school as impetuously as she + had entered it. Her errand now was to the Channings. She was eager to show + them her grieved astonishment, her vexation—to make herself the <i>amende</i> + for Roland, so far as she could do so. She found both Mr. and Mrs. + Channing at home. The former had purposed being in Guild Street early that + morning; but so many visitors had flocked in to offer their + congratulations that he had hitherto been unable to get away. Constance + also was at home. Lady Augusta had insisted upon it that she should not + come to the children on that, the first day after her father and mother’s + return. They were alone when Lady Augusta entered. + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta’s first movement was to fling herself into a chair and burst + into tears. “What am I to say to you?” she exclaimed. “What apology can I + urge for my unhappy boy?” + </p> + <p> + “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 has + done, than we were for Arthur, when he was thought guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know,” she sobbed. “Perhaps, if I had been more strict with + him always, he would never have done it. I wish I had made a point of + giving them a whipping every night, all round, from the time they were two + years old!” she continued, emphatically. “Would that have made my children + turn out better, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing could not forbear a smile. “It is not exactly <i>strictness</i> + that answers with children, Lady Augusta.” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me! I don’t know what does answer with them, then! I have been + indulgent enough to mine, as every one else knows; and see how they are + turning out! Roland to go and take a bank-note! And, as if that were not + bad enough, to let the odium rest upon Arthur! You will never forgive him! + I am certain that you never can or will forgive him! And you and all the + town will visit it upon me!” + </p> + <p> + When Lady Augusta fell into this tearful humour of complaint, it was + better to let it run its course; as Mr. and Mrs. Channing knew by past + experience. They both soothed her; telling her that no irreparable wrong + had been done to Arthur; nothing but what would be now made right. + </p> + <p> + “It all turns contrary together!” exclaimed my lady, drying up her tears + over the first grievance, and beginning upon another. “I suppose, + Constance, you and William Yorke will be making it up now.” + </p> + <p> + Constance’s self-conscious smile, and her drooping eyelids might have + told, without words, that that was already done. + </p> + <p> + “And the next thing, of course, will be your getting married!” continued + Lady Augusta. “When is it to be? I suppose you have been settling the + time.” + </p> + <p> + The question was a direct and pointed one, and Lady Augusta waited for an + answer. Mrs. Channing came to the relief of Constance. + </p> + <p> + “It would have been very soon indeed, Lady Augusta, but for this dreadful + uncertainty about Charles. In any case, it will not be delayed beyond + early spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to be sure! I knew that! Everything goes contrary and cross for me! + What am I to do for a governess? I might pay a thousand a year and not + find another like Constance. They are beginning to improve under you: they + are growing more dutiful girls to me; and now it will all be undone again, + and they’ll just be ruined!” + </p> + <p> + Constance looked up with her pretty timid blush. “William and I have been + thinking, Lady Augusta, that, if you approved of it, they had better come + for a few months to Hazledon House. I should then have them constantly + under my own eye, and I think I could effect some good. We used to speak + of this in the summer; and last night we spoke of it again.” + </p> + <p> + 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! and I + know it would be the making of them. I shall thank you and William for + ever, Constance; and I don’t care what I pay you. I’d go without shoes to + pay you liberally.” + </p> + <p> + Constance laughed. “As to payment,” she said, “I shall have nothing to do + with that, on my own score, when once I am at Hazledon. Those things will + lie in William’s department, not in mine. I question if he will allow you + to pay him anything, Lady Augusta. We did not think of it in that light, + but in the hope that it might benefit Caroline and Fanny.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta turned impulsively to Mrs. Channing. “What good children God + has given you!” + </p> + <p> + Tears rushed into Mrs. Channing’s eyes; she felt the remark in all its + grateful truth. She was spared a reply; she did not like to contrast them + with Lady Augusta’s, ever so tacitly, and say they were indeed good; for + Sarah entered, and said another visitor was waiting in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + 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 of your + children gone!” she uttered. “How can you bear it and be calm!” + </p> + <p> + Emotion rose then, and Mrs. Channing battled to keep it down. “The same + God who gave me my children, has taught me how to bear,” she presently + said. “For the moment, yesterday, I really was overwhelmed; but it passed + away after a few hours’ struggle. When I left home, I humbly committed my + child to God’s good care, in perfect trust; and I feel, that whether dead + or alive, that care is still over him.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to goodness one could learn to feel as you do!” uttered Lady + Augusta. “Troubles don’t seem to touch you and Mr. Channing; you rise + superior to them: but they turn me inside out. And now I must go! And I + wish Roland had never been born before he had behaved so! You must try to + forgive him, Mrs. Channing: you must promise to try and welcome him, + should he ever come back again!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” Mrs. Channing answered, with a bright smile. “The one will be as + easy as the other has been. He is already forgiven, Lady Augusta.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done what I could in it. I have been to the college school, and + told 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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, had her head + turned towards the girl as she passed out of it, and thereby nearly fell + over a boy who at the moment was seeking to enter, being led 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 red handkerchief tied over his + head, to hide the deficiency; but a beautiful boy in spite of all, for he + bore a strange resemblance to Charles Channing. + </p> + <p> + 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, and + bringing forth its inmates in consternation. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVIII. — BYWATER’S DANCE. + </h2> + <p> + Not Charley’s shadow—not Charley’s ghost—but Charley himself, + in real flesh and blood. One knew him, if the rest did not; and that was + Judith. She seized upon him with sobs and cries, and sat down on the hall + 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 shelter him, his + warm tears breaking forth. “Mamma! mamma!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing’s tears fell fast as she received him. She strained him to + her bosom, and held him there; and they had to hold <i>her</i>, for her + emotion was great. It is of no use endeavouring to describe this sort of + meeting. When the loved who have been thought dead, are restored to life, + all description must fall short of reality, if it does not utterly fail. + Charley, whom they had mourned as lost, was with them again: traces of + sickness, of suffering were in his face, in his attenuated form; but still + he was in life. You must imagine what it was. Mr. and Mrs. Channing, Lady + Augusta, Constance, the servants, and the Bishop of Helstonleigh: for no + less a personage than that distinguished prelate had been the visitor to + Mr. Channing, come to congratulate him on his cure and his return. + </p> + <p> + The woman who had accompanied Charley stood apart—a hard-featured + woman, in a clean cotton gown, and clean brown apron, whose face + proclaimed that she lived much in the open air. Perhaps she lived so much + in it as to disdain bonnets, for she wore none—a red cotton + handkerchief, fellow to the one on Charley’s head, being pinned over her + white calico cap. + </p> + <p> + Many unexpected meetings take place in this life. A casual acquaintance + whom 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 a boat, as it + glided beneath the old cathedral walls, under the noses of Bywater and a + few more of his tribe, the morning they were throwing away those unlucky + keys, which they fondly thought were never to be fished up again. But here + is that very woman before you now, come to pay these pages as unexpected a + visit as the keys paid to the college boys. Not more unlooked for, and not + more strange than some of our meetings in actual life. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, I have been ill; I have been nearly dying; and she has nursed me + through it, and been kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Channing leaned forward and grasped the woman’s hand, gratitude + shining in her wet eyes. Mr. Channing and Judith had a fight which should + grasp the other. Lady Augusta laid hold of her behind, Sarah assailed her + in front. There appeared to be no room left for Constance and the Bishop, + or they might have assisted at the demonstration—as the French say. + </p> + <p> + It was soon explained. That same barge had been passing down stream again + that night, when Charley fell into the water. The man heard the splash, + called to his horse to stop, leaped overboard, and saved him. A poor + little boy, with a wound in his head, quite senseless, it proved to be, + when they had him on board and laid him on the bench for inspection. + Meanwhile the docile horse went on of its own accord, and before the + knotty question was decided as to whether the man should bring-to, and get + him on shore, and try and discover to whom he belonged, 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, and the splash occurred. The man + thought it as well that it was so; his voyage, this journey, was being + made against time, and he dared not linger. Had the boat-house keeper’s + mother not put her head under the bed-clothes and kept it there, she might + possibly have heard sounds of the rescue. + </p> + <p> + So they kept Charley on board. He had evidently struck his head against + something which had caused the wound, and stunned him. It may have been, + it is just possible that it may have been, against the projecting wall of + the boat-house, as he turned the corner in his fright and hurry. If so, + that, no doubt, caused his fall and his stumble into the water. The woman—she + had children of her own: that great girl whom you saw scraping potatoes + was one, and she had two others still younger—washed the wound, and + tried to bring Charley round. But she could not awaken him to full + consciousness. His mind appeared to be wandering, 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 was attacked with brain fever. The woman nursed + him through it; she applied her own simple remedies. She cut off his hair, + and kept wet linen constantly to his head; and hot bricks, wrapped round + with wet steaming flannels, to his feet; and she gave him a certain herb + tea to drink, which, in her firm belief and experience, had never yet + failed to subdue fever. Perhaps Charley did as well without a doctor as he + would have done with one. By the time they reached their destination the + malady was subsiding; but the young patient was so prostrated and weak + that all he could do was to lie quite still, scarcely opening his eyes, + scarcely moving his hands. + </p> + <p> + When he became able to talk, they were beginning to move up stream again, + as the woman called it. Charley told her all about himself, about his + home, his dear mamma and Judith, his papa’s ill-health, and hopes of + restoration, his college schoolboy life. It was delicious to lie there in + the languor of returning health, and talk of these things. The kindly + woman won his love and confidence; but when she asked him how he came to + fall into the river, he could never remember. In the social atmosphere of + companionship, in the bright sunlight, Charley could look back on the + “ghost” in the cloisters, and draw his own deductions. His good sense told + him it was no ghost; that it was all a trick of Bywater’s and others of + the college boys. The woman’s opinion was, that if they did do such a + thing to frighten him, they ought to be whipped; but she was inclined to + view it as a delusion of Charley’s imagination, a relic left by the fever. + </p> + <p> + “Your folks’ll be fine and pleased to see you again, dear,” she would say + to him. “My master’ll moor the barge to the side when we gets to the + place, and I’ll take ye home to ‘um.” + </p> + <p> + How Charley longed for it, he alone could tell; pleasant as it was, now he + was better, to lie on deck, on a rude bed made of sacks, and glide + peacefully along on the calm river, between the green banks, the blue sky + above, the warm sun shining on him. Had Charley been placed on that barge + in health, he would have thought it the nastiest place he had ever 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 grew reconciled to it. Indeed, + Charley began to like the boat; but he was none the less eager for the day + that would see him leave it. + </p> + <p> + That day came at last. The barge was brought-to; and here you see Charley + and his protector. Charley’s clothes looked a mile too small for 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 of all; and I + say that you must imagine the meeting. You must imagine their heartfelt + thanks to the woman, and their more substantial recompense. + </p> + <p> + “Charley, darling, if you could only have written to us, what dreadful + distress you would have saved!” exclaimed Constance. + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> write, miss!” interposed the woman. “He couldn’t have writ to + save his life! And we was a-moving up stream again before he was well + enough to tell us anything about himself. My husband might have writ a + word else; I ain’t no hand at a pen myself. We have got quite used to the + little gentleman, and shall miss him now.” + </p> + <p> + “Constance, tell her. Is it not true about the ghost? I am sure you must + have heard of it from the boys. She thinks I dreamt it, she says.” + </p> + <p> + Judith broke out volubly before Constance could answer, testifying that it + was true, and relating the ill-doings of the boys that night rather more + at length than she need have done. She and the woman appeared to be in + perfect accord as to the punishment merited by those gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + 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 in future. + There are no other sorts of ghosts, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “I know there are not,” answered Charles. “Indeed, my lord, I do know + there 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 the dark + as in the light.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s my sensible boy!” said the bishop. “For my part, Charley, I rather + like being in the dark. God seems all the nearer to me.” + </p> + <p> + The woman was preparing to leave, declining all offers that she should + rest and take refreshment. “Our turn both down and up was hurried this + time,” she explained, “and I mayna keep the barge and my master a-waiting. + I’ll make bold, when we are past the town again, to step ashore, and see + how the young gentleman gets on.” + </p> + <p> + Charley clung to her. “You shall not go till you promise to stay a whole + day with us!” he cried. “And you must bring the children for mamma to see. + She will be glad to see them.” + </p> + <p> + The woman laughed. “A whole day! a whole day’s pleasure was na for the + likes of them,” she answered; “but she’d try and spare a bit longer to + stop than she could spare now.” + </p> + <p> + With many kisses to Charles, with many hand-shakes from all, she took her + departure. The Bishop of Helstonleigh, high and dignified prelate that he + was, and she a poor, hard-working barge-woman, took her hand into his, and + shook it as heartily as the rest. Mr. Channing went out with her. He was + going to say a word of gratitude to the man. The bishop also went out, but + he turned the other way. + </p> + <p> + As he was entering Close Street, the bishop encountered Arthur. The latter + raised his hat and was passing onwards, but the bishop arrested him. + </p> + <p> + “Channing, I have just heard some news from your father. You are at length + cleared from that charge. You have been innocent all this time.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s lips parted with a smile. “Your lordship may be sure that I am + thankful to be cleared at last. Though I am sorry that it should be at the + expense of my friend Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “Knowing yourself innocent, you might have proclaimed it more decisively. + What could have been your motive for not doing so?” + </p> + <p> + The ingenuous flush flew into Arthur’s cheek. “The truth is, my lord, I + suspected some one else. Not Roland Yorke,” he pointedly added. “But—it + was one against whom I should have been sorry to bring a charge. And so—and + so—I went on bearing the blame.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Channing, I must say, and I shall say to others, that you have + behaved admirably; showing a true Christian spirit. Mr. Channing may well + be happy in his children. What will you give me,” added the bishop, + releasing Arthur’s hand, which he had taken, and relapsing into his free, + pleasant manner, “for some news that I can impart to you?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur wondered much. What news could the bishop have to impart which + concerned him? + </p> + <p> + “The little lost wanderer has come home.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Charles!” uttered Arthur, startled to emotion. “Charles! and not + dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Not dead, certainly,” smiled the bishop, “considering that he can talk + and 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 and + yours.” + </p> + <p> + To leap into Mr. Galloway’s with the tidings, to make but a few bounds + thence home, did not take many minutes for Arthur. He found Charles in + danger of being kissed to death—Mrs. Channing, Lady Augusta, + Constance, and Judith, each taking her turn. I fear Arthur only made + another. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Charley, you have grown out of your clothes!” he exclaimed. “How + thin and white you are!” + </p> + <p> + The remarks did not please Judith. “Thin and white!” she resentfully + repeated. “Did you expect him to come home as red and fat as a + turkey-cock, and him just brought to the edge of the grave with brain + fever? 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 never see him + at all. And what if he have outgrown his clothes? They can be let out, or + replaced with new ones. I have hands, and there’s tailors in the place, I + hope.” + </p> + <p> + The more delighted felt Judith, the more ready was she to take up remarks + and convert them into grievances. Arthur knew her, and only laughed. A day + of rejoicing, indeed, as the bishop had said. A day of praise to God. + </p> + <p> + Charley had been whispering to his mother. He wanted to go to the college + schoolroom and surprise it. He was longing for a sight of his old + companions. That happy moment had been pictured in his thoughts fifty + times, as he lay in the boat; it was almost as much desired as the return + home. Charley bore no malice, and he was prepared to laugh with them at + the ghost. + </p> + <p> + “You do not appear strong enough to walk even so far as that,” said Mrs. + Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Dear mamma, let me go! I could walk it, for that, if it were twice as + far.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let him go,” interposed Arthur, divining the feeling. “I will help + him along.” + </p> + <p> + Charley’s trencher—the very trencher found on the banks—was + brought forth, and he started with Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Mind you bring him back safe this time!” called out Judy in a tone of + command, as she stood at the door to watch them along the Boundaries. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur,” said the boy, “were they punished for playing me that ghost + trick?” + </p> + <p> + “They have not been punished yet; they are to be. The master waited to see + how things would turn out.” + </p> + <p> + You may remember that Diggs, the boat-house keeper, when he took news of + Charles’s supposed fate to the college school, entered it just in time to + interrupt an important ceremony, which was about to be performed on the + back of Pierce senior. In like manner—and the coincidence was + somewhat remarkable—Charles himself now entered it, when that same + ceremony was just brought to a conclusion, only that the back, instead of + being Pierce senior’s, was Gerald Yorke’s. Terrible disgrace for a senior! + and Gerald wished Bywater’s surplice had been at the bottom of the river + before he had meddled with it. He had not done it purposely. He had fallen + in the vestry, ink-bottle in hand, which had broken and spilt its contents + over the surplice. In an unlucky moment, Gerald had determined to deny all + knowledge of the accident, never supposing it would be brought home to + him. + </p> + <p> + Sullen, angry, and resentful, he was taking his seat again, and the + head-master, rather red and hot with exertion, was locking up the great + birch, when the door was opened, and Arthur Channing made his appearance; + a boy, carrying the college cap, with him. + </p> + <p> + The school were struck dumb. The head-master paused, birch in hand. But + that he was taller and thinner, and that the bright colour and auburn + curls were gone, they would have said at once it was Charley Channing. + </p> + <p> + The master let fall the birch and the lid of his desk. “<i>Channing!</i>” + he uttered, as the child walked up to him. “Is it really you? What has + become of you all this time? Where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been a long way in a barge, sir. The barge-man saved me. And I + have had brain fever.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round for Tom; and Tom, in the wild exuberance of his delight, + took Charley in his arms, and tears dropped from his eyes as he kissed him + as warmly as Judith could have done. And then brave Tom could have eaten + himself up, in mortification at having been so demonstrative in sight of + the college school. + </p> + <p> + But the school were not in the humour to be fastidious just then. Some of + them felt more inward relief at sight of Charles than they cared to tell; + they had never experienced anything like it in their lives, and probably + never would again. In the midst of the murmur of heartfelt delight that + was arising, a most startling interruption occurred from Mr. Bywater. That + gentleman sprang from his desk to the middle of the room, turned a + somersault, and began dancing a hornpipe on his head. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bywater</i>!” uttered the astounded master. “Are you mad?” + </p> + <p> + Bywater finished his dance, and then brought himself to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad he has turned up all right, sir. I forgot you were in + school.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you did,” significantly returned the master. But Charles + interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “You will not punish them, sir, now I have come back safe?” he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “But they deserve punishment,” said the master. + </p> + <p> + “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 back again!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you promise never to be frightened at their foolish tricks again?” + said the master. “Not that there is much danger of their playing you any: + this has been too severe a lesson. I am surprised that a boy of your age, + Charles, could allow himself to be alarmed by ‘ghosts.’ You do not suppose + there are such things, surely?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; but somehow, that night I got too frightened to think. You will + forgive them, sir, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! There! Go and shake hands with them,” said Mr. Pye, relaxing his + dignity. “It is worth something, Charley, to see you here again.” + </p> + <p> + The school seemed to think so; and I wish you had heard the shout that + went up from it—the real, true, if somewhat noisy delight, that + greeted Charles. “Charley, we’ll never dress up a ghost again! We’ll never + frighten you in any way!” they cried, pressing affectionately round him. + “Only forgive us!” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you sitting in the senior’s place, Tom?” asked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Because it is his own,” said Harry Huntley, with a smile of satisfaction. + “Lady Augusta came in and set things right for you, and Tom is made senior + at last. Hurrah! Arthur cleared, Tom senior, Charley back, and Gerald + flogged! Hurrah!” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah! If Pye were worth a dump, he’d give us a holiday!” echoed bold + Bywater. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIX. — READY. + </h2> + <p> + The glorious surprise of Charley’s safety greeted Hamish on his return + home to dinner. In fact, he was just in time, having come in somewhat + before one o’clock, to witness Charley’s arrival from the college + schoolroom, escorted by the whole tribe, from the first to the last. Even + Gerald Yorke made one, as did Mr. William Simms. Gerald, the smart over, + thought it best to put a light, careless face upon his punishment, + disgraceful though it was considered to be for a senior. To give Gerald + his due, his own share in the day’s exploits faded into insignificance, + compared with the shock of mortification which shook him, when he heard + the avowal of his mother, respecting Roland. He and Tod had been the most + eager of all the school to cast Arthur’s guilt in Tom Channing’s cheek; + they had proclaimed it as particularly objectionable to their feelings + that the robbery should have taken place in an office where their brother + was a pupil; and now they found that Tom’s brother had been innocent, and + their own brother guilty! It was well that Gerald’s brow should burn. “But + she’d no cause to come here and blurt it out to the lot, right in one’s + face!” soliloquized Gerald, alluding to Lady Augusta. “They’d have heard + it soon enough, without that.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. William Simms, I have said, also attended Charles. Mr. William was + hoping that the return of Charley would put him upon a better footing with + the school. He need not have hoped it: his offence had been one that the + college boys never forgave. Whether Charley returned dead or alive, or had + never returned at all, Simms would always remain a sneak in their + estimation. “Sneak Simms,” he had been called since the occurrence: and he + had come to the resolution, in his own mind, of writing word home to his + friends that the studies in Helstonleigh college school were too much for + him, and asking to be removed to a private one. I think he would have to + do so still. + </p> + <p> + Hamish lifted Charley to him with an eager, fond movement. A weight was + taken from his mind. Although really irresponsible for the disappearance + of Charles, he had always felt that his father and mother might inwardly + attach some blame to him—might think him to have been wanting in + care. Now, all was sunshine. + </p> + <p> + Dinner over, Mr. Channing walked with Hamish to the office. They were some + time in getting there. Every other person they met, stopped Mr. Channing + to congratulate him. It seemed that the congratulations were never to end. + It was not only Mr. Channing’s renewed health that people had to speak of. + Helstonleigh, from one end to the other, was ringing with the news of + Arthur’s innocence; and Charley’s return was getting wind. + </p> + <p> + They reached Guild Street at last. Mr. Channing entered and shook hands + with 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 son with a smile. + “There’s no room for you here. You will not like to take your place with + the clerks again.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I had better follow Roland Yorke’s plan, and emigrate,” replied + Hamish, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “I wish Mr. Huntley—By the way, Hamish, it would only be a mark of + courtesy if you stepped as far as Mr. Huntley’s and told him of Charles’s + return,” broke off Mr. Channing; the idea occurring to him with Mr. + Huntley’s name. “None have shown more sympathy than he, and he will be + rejoiced to hear that the child is safe.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go at once,” said Hamish. Nothing loth was he, on his own part, to + pay a visit to Mr. Huntley’s. + </p> + <p> + Hamish overtook Mr. Huntley close to his own home. He was returning from + the town. Had he been home earlier, he would have heard the news from + Harry. But Harry had now had his dinner and was gone again. He did not + dine at the later hour. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought you some news, sir,” said Hamish, as they entered + together. + </p> + <p> + “News again! It cannot be very great, by the side of what we were favoured + with last night from Mr. Roland,” was the remark of Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “But indeed it is. Greater news even than that. We have found Charley, Mr. + Huntley.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley sprang from the chair he was taking. “Found Charley! Have you + really? Where has he—Hamish, I see by your countenance that the + tidings are good. He must be alive.” + </p> + <p> + “He is alive and well. At least, well, comparatively speaking. A barge was + passing down the river at the time he fell in, and the man leaped + overboard and saved him. Charley has been in the barge ever since, and has + had brain fever.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did he come home?” wondered Mr. Huntley, when he had sufficiently + digested the news. + </p> + <p> + “The barge brought him back. It is on its way up again. Charley arrived + under escort of the barge-woman, a red handkerchief on his head in lieu of + 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 them all + with her cries to that effect, including the bishop, who was with my + father in the drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, it is like a romance!” said Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “Very nearly, taking one circumstance with another. My father’s return, + cured; Roland’s letter; and now Charley’s resuscitation. Their all + happening together renders it the more remarkable. Poor Charley does look + as much like a ghost as anything, and his curls are gone. They had to cut + his hair close in the fever.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley paused. “Do you know, Hamish,” he presently said, “I begin to + think we were all a set of wiseacres. We might have thought of a barge.” + </p> + <p> + “If we had thought of a barge, we should never have thought the barge + would carry him off,” objected Hamish. “However, we have him back now, and + I thank God. I always said he would turn up, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I must come and see him,” said Mr. Huntley. “I was at the college school + this morning, therefore close to your house, but I did not call. I thought + your father would have enough callers, without me.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish laughed. “He has had a great many. The house, I understand, has + been like a fair. He is in Guild Street this afternoon. It looks like the + happy old times, to see him at his post again.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do, now your place is usurped?” asked Mr. Huntley. + “Subside into a clerk again, and discharge the one who was taken on in + your stead, when you were promoted?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the question—what is to be done with me?” returned Hamish, + in his joking manner. “I have been telling my father that I had perhaps + better pay Port Natal a visit, and join Roland Yorke.” + </p> + <p> + “I told your father once, that when this time came, I would help you to a + post.” + </p> + <p> + “I am aware you did, sir. But you told me afterwards that you had altered + your intention—I was not eligible for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Believing you were the culprit at Galloway’s.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish raised his eyebrows. “The extraordinary part of that, sir, is, how + you could have imagined such a thing of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, I shall always think so myself in future. But I have this + justification—that I was not alone in the belief. Some of your + family, who might be supposed to know you better than I, entertained the + same opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Constance and Arthur. But are you sure, sir, that it was not their + conduct that first induced you to suspect me?” + </p> + <p> + “Right, lad. Their conduct—I should rather say their manner—was + inexplicably mysterious, and it induced me to ferret out its cause. That + they were screening some one, was evident, and I could only come to the + conclusion that it was you. But, Master Hamish, there were circumstances + on your own part which tended to strengthen the belief,” added Mr. + Huntley, his tone becoming lighter. “Whence sprang that money wherewith + you satisfied some of your troublesome creditors, just at that same time?” + </p> + <p> + Once more, as when it was alluded to before, a red flush dyed the face of + Hamish. Certainly, it could not be a flush of guilt, while that ingenuous + smile hovered on his lips. But Hamish seemed attacked with sudden shyness. + “Your refusal to satisfy me on this point, when we previously spoke of it, + tended to confirm my suspicions,” continued Mr. Huntley. “I think you + might make a confidant of me, Hamish. That money could not have dropped + from the clouds; and I am sure you possessed no funds of your own just + then.” + </p> + <p> + “But neither did I steal it. Mr. Huntley”—raising his eyes to that + gentleman’s face—“how closely you must have watched me and my + affairs!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley drew in his lips. “Perhaps I had my own motives for doing so, + young sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I earned the money,” said Hamish, who probably penetrated into Mr. + Huntley’s “motives;” at any rate, he hoped he did so. “I earned it fairly + and honourably, by my own private and special industry.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley opened his eyes. “Private and special industry! Have you + turned shoemaker?” + </p> + <p> + “Not shoemaker,” laughed Hamish. “Book-maker. The truth is, Mr. Huntley—But + will you promise to keep my secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay. Honour bright.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want it to be known just yet. The truth is, I have been doing + some literary work. Martin Pope gave me an introduction to one of the + London editors, and I sent him some papers. They were approved of and + inserted: but for the first I received no pay. I threatened to strike, and + then payment was promised. The first instalment, I chiefly used to <i>arrest</i> + my debts; the second and third to liquidate them. That’s where the money + came from.” + </p> + <p> + 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 visit to + Hamish, one summer night, frightening Hamish and Arthur, who dreaded it + might be a less inoffensive visitor; frightening Constance, for that + matter, for she heard more of their dread than was expedient; his errand + was to tell Hamish that in future he was to be paid for his papers: + payment was to commence forthwith. You may remember the evening, though it + is long ago. You may also remember Martin Pope’s coming hurriedly into the + office in Guild Street, telling Hamish some one was starting by the train; + when both hastened to the station, leaving Arthur in wonder. That was the + very London editor himself. He had been into the country, and was taking + Helstonleigh on his way back to town; had stayed in it a day or two for + the purpose of seeing Martin Pope, who was an old friend, and of being + introduced to Hamish Channing. That shy feeling of reticence, which is the + characteristic of most persons whose genius is worth anything, had induced + Hamish to bury all this in silence. + </p> + <p> + “But when have you found time to write?” exclaimed Mr. Huntley, unable to + get over his surprise. “You could not find it during office hours?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. I have written in the evening, and at night. I have been a + great rake, stopping up later than I ought, at this writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they know of it at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them know that I sit up; but they don’t know what I sit up for. + By way of a blind—I suppose it may be called a justifiable deceit,” + said Hamish, gaily—“I have taken care to carry the office books into + my room, that their suspicions may be confined to the accounts. Judy’s + keen eyes detected my candle burning later than she considered it ought to + burn, and her rest has been disturbed with visions of my setting the house + on fire. I have counselled her to keep the water-butt full, under her + window, so that she may be safe from danger.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you earning money now?” + </p> + <p> + “In-one sense, I am: I am writing for it. My former papers were for the + most part miscellaneous—essays, and that sort of thing; but I am + about a longer work now, to be paid for on completion. When it is finished + and appears, I shall startle them at home with the news, and treat them to + a sight of it. When all other trades fail, sir, I can set up my tent as an + author.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley’s feelings glowed within him. None, more than he, knew the + value of silent industry—the worth of those who patiently practise + it. His heart went out to Hamish. “I suppose I must recommend you to + Bartlett’s post, after all,” said he, affecting to speak carelessly, his + eye betraying something very different. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not gone?” asked Hamish. + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not gone. And the appointment rests with me. How would you like + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Hamish, half mockingly: “the question is, should I be honest + enough for it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Huntley shook his fist at him. “If you ever bring that reproach up to + me again, I’ll—I’ll—You had better keep friends with me, you + know, sir, on other scores.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish laughed. “I should like the post very much indeed, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And the house also, I suppose, you would make no objection to?” nodded + Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “None in the world. I must work away, though, if it is ever to be + furnished.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell but that some good spirit might furnish it for you?” + cried Mr. Huntley, quaintly. + </p> + <p> + They were interrupted before anything more was said. Ellen, who had been + out with her aunt, came running in, in excitement. “Oh, papa! such happy + news! Charles Channing is found, and—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped when she saw that she had another auditor. Hamish rose to + greet her. He took her hand, released it, and then returned to the fire to + Mr. Huntley. Ellen stood by the table, and had grown suddenly timid. + </p> + <p> + “You will soon be receiving a visit from my mother and Constance,” + observed Hamish, looking at her. “I heard certain arrangements being + discussed, in which Miss Ellen Huntley’s name bore a part. We are soon to + lose Constance.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen blushed rosy red. Mr. Huntley was the first to speak. “Yorke has + come to his senses, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yorke and Constance between them. In a short time she is to be + transplanted to Hazledon.” + </p> + <p> + “It is more than he deserves,” emphatically declared Mr. Huntley. “I + suppose you will be for getting married next, Mr. Hamish, when you come + into possession of that house we have been speaking of, and are your own + master?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + That same afternoon Arthur Channing was seated at the organ in pursuance + of his duty, when a message came up from the dean. He was desired to + change the selected anthem, taken from the thirty-fifth Psalm, for + another: “O taste, and see, how gracious the Lord is!” + </p> + <p> + It was not an anthem in the cathedral collection, but one recently + composed and presented to it by a private individual. It consisted of a + treble solo and chorus. Why had the dean specially commanded it for that + afternoon? Very rarely indeed did he change the services after they were + put up. Had he had <i>Arthur</i> in his mind when he decided upon it? It + was impossible to say. Be it as it would, the words found a strange echo + in Arthur’s heart, as Bywater’s sweet voice rang through the cathedral. “O + taste, and see, how gracious the Lord is, blessed is the 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 suffer hunger: but they who seek the + Lord shall want no manner of thing that is good. The eyes of the Lord are + over the righteous: and his ears are open unto their prayers. Great are + the troubles of the righteous; but the Lord delivereth him out of all. The + Lord delivereth the souls of his servants: and all they that put their + trust in him shall not be destitute.” + </p> + <p> + Every word told upon Arthur’s heart, sending it up in thankfulness to the + Giver of all good. + </p> + <p> + He found the dean waiting for him in the nave, when he went down at the + conclusion of the service. Dr. Gardner was with him. The dean held out his + hand to Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad you are cleared,” he said. “You have behaved nobly.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur winced. He did not like to take the faintest meed of praise that + was not strictly his due. The dean might have thought he deserved less, + did he know that he had been only screening Hamish; but Arthur could not + avow that tale in public. He glanced at the dean with a frank smile. + </p> + <p> + “You see now, sir, that I only spoke the truth when I assured you of my + innocence.” + </p> + <p> + “I do see it,” said the dean. “I believed you then.” And once more shaking + Arthur’s hand, he turned into the cloisters with Dr. Gardner. + </p> + <p> + “I have already offered my congratulations,” said the canon, good + humouredly, nodding to Arthur. This was correct. He had waylaid Arthur as + he went into college. + </p> + <p> + Arthur suffered them to go on a few steps, and then descended to the + cloisters. Old Ketch was shuffling along. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this I’ve been a hearing, about that there drownded boy having + come back?” asked he of Arthur, in his usual ungracious fashion. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you may have heard, Ketch. He has come back.” + </p> + <p> + “And he ain’t dead nor drownded?” + </p> + <p> + “Neither one nor the other. He is alive and well.” + </p> + <p> + Ketch gave a groan of despair. “And them horrid young wretches’ll escape + the hangman! I’d ha’ walked ten miles to see em—” + </p> + <p> + “Gracious, Sir John, what’s that you are talking about?” interrupted + Bywater, as the choristers trooped up, “Escaped you! so we have, for once. + 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?” + </p> + <p> + Ketch answered by a yell. + </p> + <p> + “Now, don’t excite yourself, I beg,” went on aggravating Bywater. “We are + thinking of getting up a petition to the dean, to console you for your + disappointment, praying that he’ll allow you to wear a cap we have ordered + for you! It’s made of scarlet cloth, with long ears and a set of bells! + Its device is a cross beam and a cord, and we wish you health to wear it + out! I say, let’s wish Mr. Calcraft health! What’s tripe a pound to-day, + Calcraft?” + </p> + <p> + The choristers, in various stages of delight, entered on their aggravating + shouts, their mocking dance. When they had driven Mr. Ketch to the very + verge of insanity, they decamped to the schoolroom. + </p> + <p> + 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 of + Constance; the cloud lifted from Arthur; Tom on the pedestal he thought he + had lost, sure also of the Oxford exhibition; Charley amongst them again! + They could trace the finger of God in all; and were fond of doing it. + </p> + <p> + Soon after tea, Arthur rose. “I must drop in and see Jenkins,” he + observed. “He will have heard the items of news from twenty people, + there’s little doubt; but he will like me to go to him with particulars. + No one in Helstonleigh has been more anxious that things should turn out + happily, than poor Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him he has my best wishes for his recovery, Arthur,” said Mr. + Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell him,” replied Arthur. “But I fear all hope of recovery for + Jenkins is past.” + </p> + <p> + It was more decidedly past than even Arthur suspected when he spoke. A + young woman was attending to Mrs. Jenkins’s shop when Arthur passed + through it. Her face was strange to him; but from a certain peculiarity in + the eyes and mouth, he inferred it to be Mrs. Jenkins’s sister. In point + of fact, that lady, finding that her care of Jenkins and her care of the + shop rather interfered with each other, had sent for her sister from the + country to attend temporarily on the latter. Lydia went up to Jenkins’s + sick-room, and said a gentleman was waiting: and Mrs. Jenkins came down. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s you!” quoth she. “I hope he’ll be at rest now. He has been + bothering his mind over you all day. My opinion is, he’d never have come + to this state if he had taken things easy, like sensible people.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he in his room?” inquired Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “He is in his room, and in his bed. And what’s more, young Mr. Channing, + hell never get out of it alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is worse?” + </p> + <p> + “He has been worse this four days. And I only get him up now to have his + bed made. I said to him yesterday, ‘Jenkins, you may put on your things, + and go down to the office if you like.’ ‘My dear,’ said he, ‘I couldn’t + get up, much less get down to the office;’ which I knew was the case, + before I spoke. I wish I had had my wits about me!” somewhat irascibly + went on Mrs. Jenkins: “I should have had his bed brought down to 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 up them two + pair of stairs for every little thing that’s wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I can go up, Mrs. Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “You can go up,” returned she; “but mind you don’t get worrying him. I + won’t have him worried. He worries himself, without any one else doing it + gratis. If it’s not about one thing, it’s about another. Sometimes it’s + his master and the office, how they’ll get along; sometimes it’s me, what + I shall do without him; sometimes it’s his old father. He don’t need any + outside things to put him up.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry he is so much worse,” remarked Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” said Mrs. Jenkins, tartly. “I have been doing all I could for + him from the first, and it has been like working against hope. If care + could have cured him, or money could have cured him, he’d be well now. I + have a trifle of savings in the bank, young Mr. Channing, and I have not + spared them. If they had ordered him medicine at a guinea a bottle, I’d + have had it for him. If they said he must have wine, or delicacies brought + from the other ends of the earth, they should have been brought. Jenkins + isn’t good for much, in point of spirit, as all the world knows; but he’s + my husband, and I have strove to do my duty by him. Now, if you want to go + up, you can go,” added she, after an imperceptible pause. “There’s a light + on the stairs, and you know his room. I’ll take the opportunity to give an + eye to the kitchen; I don’t care to leave him by himself now. Finely it’s + going on, I know!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jenkins whisked down the kitchen stairs, and Arthur proceeded up. + Jenkins was lying in bed, his head raised by pillows. Whatever may have + been Mrs. Jenkins’s faults of manner, her efficiency as a nurse and + manager could not be called into question. A bright fire burnt in the + well-ventilated though small room, the bed was snowy white, the apartment + altogether thoroughly comfortable. But—Jenkins! + </p> + <p> + Fully occupied with his work for Mr. Galloway, it was several days since + Arthur had called on Jenkins, and the change he now saw in his face struck + him sharply. The skin was drawn, the eyes were unnaturally bright, the + cheeks had fallen in; certainly there could not be very many 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 out his feeble hand. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would be cleared, sir! I knew that God would surely bring the + right to light! I have been humbly thanking Him for you, sir, all day.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur’s eyes glistened also as he bent over him. “You have heard it, + then, Jenkins? I thought you would.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I heard it this morning, when it was getting towards mid-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 little ceremony, as if + he had been a poor body like myself. It was he who first told me, Mr. + Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad he came to see you, Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “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 whether we + take it sooner or later, so that God vouchsafes to us the grace to prepare + for it.’ For affability, sir, it was just as if it had been a brother + talking to me; but he said things different from what any poor brother of + mine could have said, and they gave me comfort. Then he asked me if I had + taken the Sacrament lately; and I thanked him, and said I had taken it on + Sunday last; our clergyman came round to me after service. Mr. Arthur”—and + poor Jenkins’s eyes wore an eager look of gratitude—“I feel sure + that his lordship would have administered it to me with his own hands. I + wonder whether all bishops are like him!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur did not answer. Jenkins resumed, quitting the immediate topic for + another. + </p> + <p> + “And I hear, sir, that Mr. Channing has come home restored, and that the + little boy is found. His lordship was so good as to tell me both. Oh, Mr. + Arthur, how merciful God has been!” + </p> + <p> + “We are finding Him so, just now,” fervently spoke Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “And it is all right again, sir, with you and Mr. Galloway?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right. I am to remain in the office. I am to be in your place, + Jenkins.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll occupy a better position in it, sir, than I ever did. But you will + not be all alone, surely?” + </p> + <p> + “Young Bartlett is coming to be under me. Mr. Galloway has made final + arrangements to-day. We shall go on all right now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Jenkins, folding his thin hands upon the counterpane, and + speaking as in self-commune; “we must live near to God to know His mercy. + It does seem almost as if I had asked a favour of any earthly person, so + exactly has it been granted me! Mr. Arthur, I prayed that I might live to + see you put right with Mr. Galloway and the town, and I felt as sure as I + could feel, by some inward evidence which I cannot describe, but which was + plain to me, that God heard me, and would grant me my wish. It seems, sir, + as if I had been let live for that. I shan’t be long now.” + </p> + <p> + “While there is life there is hope, you know, Jenkins,” replied Arthur, + unable to say anything more cheering in the face of circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arthur, the hope for me now is, to go,” said Jenkins. “I would not be + restored if I could. How can I tell, sir, but I might fall away from God? + 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—of feeling that + they are READY! Ready for the summons, let it come in the second or third + watch!” + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins!” exclaimed Arthur, as the thought struck him: “I have not heard + you cough once since I came in! Is your cough better!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir, there’s another blessing! Now that I have grown so weak that the + cough would shatter me—tear my frame to pieces—it is gone! It + is nearly a week, sir, since I coughed at all. My death-bed has been made + quite pleasant for me. Except for weakness, I am free from pain, and I + have all things comfortable. I am rich in abundance: my wife waits upon me + night and day—she lets me want for nothing; before I can express a + wish, it is done. When I think of all the favours showered down upon me, + and how little I can do, or have ever done, for God, in return, I am + overwhelmed with shame.” + </p> + <p> + “Jenkins, one would almost change places with you, to be in your frame of + mind,” cried Arthur, his tone impassioned. + </p> + <p> + “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 grieved to + hear about Mr. Roland. I could not have thought it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay; it was unwelcome news, for his own sake.” + </p> + <p> + “I never supposed but that the post-office must have been to blame. I + think, Mr. Arthur, he must have done it in a dream; as one, I mean, who + has not his full faculties about him. I hope the Earl of Carrick will take + 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 be better + for him. Little Master Charles has been ill, I hear, sir? I should like to + see him.” + </p> + <p> + “I will bring him to see you,” replied Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Will you, sir?” and Jenkins’s face lighted up. “I should like just to set + eyes on him once again. But—it must be very soon, Mr. Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” murmured Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I know it, sir—I feel it. I do not say it before my wife, sir, for + I don’t think she sees herself that I am so near the end, and it would + only grieve her. It <i>will</i> grieve her, sir, whenever it comes, though + she may not care to show people that it does. I shall see you again, I + hope, Mr. Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “That you shall be sure to do. I will not miss a day now, without coming + in. It will do me good to see you, Jenkins; to hear you tell me, again, of + your happy state of resignation.” + </p> + <p> + “It is better than resignation, Mr. Arthur, it is a state of hope. Not but + that I shall leave some regrets behind me. My wife will be lone and + comfortless, and must trust to her own exertions only. And my poor old + father—” + </p> + <p> + “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 put + myself into my grave at once, if I were you, Jenkins. As good do it that + way, as by slow degrees.” + </p> + <p> + Of course you cannot fail to recognize the voice. She entered at that + unlucky moment when Jenkins was alluding to his father. He attempted a + defence—an explanation. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I was not worrying. I was only telling Mr. Arthur Channing that + there were some things I should regret to leave. My poor old father for + one; he has looked to me, naturally, to help him a little bit in his old + age, and I would rather, so far as that goes, have been spared to do it. + But, neither that nor anything else can worry me now. I am content to + leave all to God.” + </p> + <p> + “Was ever the like heard?” retorted Mrs. Jenkins, “Not worrying! <i>I</i> + know. If you were not worrying, you wouldn’t be talking. Isn’t old Jenkins + your father, and shan’t I take upon myself to see that he does not want? + You know I shall, Jenkins. When do I ever go from my word?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I know you will do what’s right,” returned Jenkins, in his + patient meekness: “but the old man will feel it hard, my departing before + him. Are you going, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” replied Arthur, taking one of the thin hands. “I will bring + Charley in to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + 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 your dying + bed happy, as He has rendered mine!” And Arthur turned away—never + again to see Jenkins in life. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord when He cometh shall find + watching.” + </p> + <p> + As Jenkins was, that night, when the message came for him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LX. — IN WHAT DOES IT LIE? + </h2> + <p> + Had the clerk of the weather been favoured with an express letter + containing a heavy bribe, a more lovely day could not have been secured + than that one in January which witnessed the marriage of Constance + Channing to the Rev. William Yorke. + </p> + <p> + The ceremony was over, and they were home again; seated at breakfast with + their guests. But only a few guests were present, and they for the most + part close friends: the Huntleys; Lady Augusta Yorke, and Gerald; Mr. + Galloway; and the Rev. Mr. Pye, who married them. It has since become the + fashion to have a superfluity of bridesmaids: I am not sure that a young + lady would consider herself legally married unless she enjoyed the + privilege. Constance, though not altogether a slave to fashion, followed + it, not in a very extensive degree. Annabel Channing, Ellen Huntley, and + Caroline and Fanny Yorke, had been the <i>demoiselles d’honneur</i>. + Charley’s auburn curls had grown again, and Charley himself was in better + condition than when he arrived from his impromptu excursion. For grandeur, + no one could approach Miss Huntley; her brocade 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’s christening, with a large white satin bow in front, + almost as large as the cap itself. And that was no despicable size. + </p> + <p> + The only one who did not behave with a due regard to what might be + expected of him, was Hamish—grievous as it is to have to record it. + It had been duly impressed upon Hamish that he was to conduct Miss Huntley + in to breakfast, etiquette and society consigning that lady to his share. + Mr. Hamish, however, chose to misconstrue instructions in the most + deplorable manner. He left Miss Huntley, a prey to whomsoever might pick + her up, and took in Miss Ellen. It might have passed, possibly, but for + Annabel, who appeared as free and unconcerned that important morning as at + other times. + </p> + <p> + “Hamish, that’s wrong! It is Miss Huntley you are to take in; not Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + Hamish had grown suddenly deaf. He walked on with Ellen, leaving confusion + to right itself. Arthur stepped up in the dilemma, and the tips of Miss + Huntley’s white-gloved fingers were laid upon his arm. It would take her + some time to forgive Hamish, favourite though he was. Later on, Hamish + took the opportunity of reading Miss Annabel a private lecture on the + expediency of minding her own business. + </p> + <p> + Hamish was in his new post now, at the bank: thoroughly well-established. + He had not yet taken up his abode in the house. It was too large, he + laughingly said, for a single man. + </p> + <p> + The breakfast came to an end, as other breakfasts do; and next, Constance + came down in her travelling dress. Now that the moment of parting was + come, Constance in her agitation longed for it to be over. She hurriedly + wished them adieu, and lifted her tearful face last to her father. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Channing laid his hands upon her. “May God bless my dear child, and be + her guide and refuge for ever! William Yorke, it is a treasure of great + price that I have given you this day. May she be as good a wife as she has + been a daughter!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Yorke, murmuring a few heartfelt words, put Constance into the + carriage, and they drove away. + </p> + <p> + “It will be your turn next,” whispered Hamish to Ellen Huntley, who stood + watching the departure from one of the windows. + </p> + <p> + What Ellen would have said—whether she would have given any other + answer than that accorded by her blushing cheeks, cannot be told. The + whisper had not been quite so low as Hamish thought it, and it was + overheard by Mr. Huntley. + </p> + <p> + “There may be two words to that bargain, Mr. Hamish.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty, if you like, sir,” responded Hamish, promptly, “so that they be + affirmative ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Ellen,” whispered Mr. Huntley, “would you have him, with all his + gracelessness?” + </p> + <p> + Ellen seemed ready to fall, and her eyes filled. “Do not joke now, papa,” + was all she said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But some one else was bursting into tears: as the sounds testified. It + proved to be Lady Augusta Yorke. A few tears might well be excused to Mrs. + Channing, on the occasion of parting with her ever-loving, ever-dutiful + child, but what could Lady Augusta have to cry about? + </p> + <p> + Lady Augusta was excessively impulsive: as you have long ago learned. The + happiness of the Channing family, in their social relations to each other; + the loving gentleness of Mr. and Mrs. Channing with their children; the + thorough respect, affection, duty, rendered to them by the 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 a condition to + go off, when the parting came with Constance, and the burst took place as + she watched the carriage from the door. Had any one asked Lady Augusta why + she cried, she would have been puzzled to state. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me!” she suddenly uttered, turning and seizing Mrs. Channing’s hands—“what + makes the difference between your children and mine? My children were not + born bad, any more than yours were; and yet, look at the trouble they give + me! In what does it lie?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Mrs. Channing, quietly, and with some hesitation—for + it was not pleasant to say anything which might tacitly reflect on the + Lady Augusta—“that the difference in most children lies in the + bringing up. Children turn out well or ill, as they are trained; and in + accordance with this rule they will become our blessing or our grief.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, that must be it,” acquiesced Lady Augusta. “And yet—I + don’t know,” she rejoined, doubtingly. “Do you believe that so very much + lies in the training?” + </p> + <p> + “It does, indeed, Lady Augusta. God’s laws everywhere proclaim it. Take a + rough diamond from a mine—what is it, unless you polish it, and cut + it, and set it? Do you see its value, its beauty, in its original state? + Look at the trees of our fields, the flowers and fruits of the earth—what + are they, unless they are pruned and cared for? It is by cultivation alone + that they can be brought, to perfection. And, if God so made the + productions of the earth, that it is only by our constant attention 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? <i>They</i> may be trained to perfectness, or they may be allowed + to run to waste from neglect.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear!” sighed Lady Augusta. “But it is a dreadful trouble, always to + be worrying over children.” + </p> + <p> + “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 is not a + mother, really training her children to good, who will not bear me out in + the assertion. It is a pleasure that they would not be without. Take it + from them, and the most delightful occupation of their lives is gone. And + think of the reward! Were there no higher end to be looked for, it would + be found in the loving obedience of the children. You talk of the trouble, + Lady Augusta: those who would escape trouble with their children should be + careful how they train them.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll begin at once with mine,” exclaimed Lady Augusta, + brightening up. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the proctor was holding a conference with Mr. Channing. + “Presents seem to be the order of the day,” he was remarking, in allusion + to sundry pretty offerings which had been made to Constance. “I think I + may as well contribute my mite—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you have done it! You gave her a bracelet, you know,” cried Miss + Annabel. For which abrupt interruption she was forthwith consigned to a + distance; and ran away, to be teased by Tom and Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “I have something in my pocket which I wish to give to Arthur; which I + have been intending for some time to give him,” resumed Mr. Galloway, + taking from his pocket what seemed to be a roll of parchment. “Will you + accept them, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “What, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Your articles.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Mr. Galloway—” + </p> + <p> + “No thanks, my boy. I am in your debt far deeper than I like to be! A + trifling thing such as this”—touching the parchment—“cannot + wipe out the suspicion I cast upon you, the disgrace which followed it. + Perhaps at some future time, I may be better able to atone for it. I hope + we shall be together many years, Arthur. I have no son to succeed to my + business, and it may be—But I will leave that until the future + comes.” + </p> + <p> + It was a valuable present gracefully offered, and Mr. Channing and Arthur + so acknowledged it, passing over the more important hint in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Children,” said Mr. Channing, as, the festivities of the day at an end, + and the guests departed, they were gathered together round their fireside, + bereft of Constance “what a forcible lesson of God’s mercy ought these + last few months to teach us! Six months ago, there came to us news that + our suit was lost; other troubles followed upon it, and things looked dark + and gloomy. But I, for one, never lost my trust in God; it was not for a + moment shaken; and if you are the children I and your mother have striven + to bring up, you did not lose yours. Tom,” turning suddenly upon him, “I + fear you were the only impatient one.” + </p> + <p> + Tom looked contrite. “I fear I was, papa.” + </p> + <p> + “What good did the indulgence of your hasty spirit do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No good, but harm,” frankly confessed Tom. “I hope it has helped me to + some notion of patience, though, for the future, papa.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Mr. Channing. “Hope on, strive on, work on, and trust on! I + believe that you made those your watchwords; as did I. And now, in an + almost unprecedentedly short time, we are brought out of our troubles. + While others, equally deserving, have to struggle on for years before the + cloud is lifted, it has pleased God to bring us wonderfully quickly out of + ours; to heap mercies and blessings, and a hopeful future upon us. I may + truly say, ‘He has brought us to great honour, and comforted us on every + side.’” + </p> + <p> + “I HAVE BEEN YOUNG, AND NOW AM OLD; AND YET SAW I NEVER THE RIGHTEOUS + FORSAKEN, NOR HIS SEED BEGGING THEIR BREAD.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Channings, by Mrs. Henry Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHANNINGS *** + +***** This file should be named 9192-h.htm or 9192-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/9/9192/ + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charlie Kirschner, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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