The Channings Part 23

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.

The tears were welling up into the eyes of Constance. "I wish I could speak comfort to you!" she whispered.

"Comfort will come with time, I dare say, darling. Don't stay. I seem quite f.a.gged out to-night, and would be alone."

Ay, alone. Alone with his grief and with G.o.d.

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 antic.i.p.ation; 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.

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.

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 pa.s.sed in uncomfortable silence.

A tremendous peal at the hall bell startled the house, echoing through the Boundaries, astonis.h.i.+ng 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 ap.r.o.n, and stepped across the hall.

Mr. Roland Yorke. No one more formidable. He pa.s.sed Judith with an unceremonious nod, and marched into the breakfast-room.

"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."

He was invited to take a seat, but declined; it was time they were at Galloway's, he said. Arthur hesitated.

"I do not know whether Mr. Galloway will expect me," he observed.

"Not expect you!" flashed Roland, lapsing into his loud, 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?"

"Unjust, if it be unfounded," replied Mr. Channing.

"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 b.u.t.terby! I hope, sir, you'll bring an action against him."

"You feel it strongly, Roland."

"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 n.o.body shall talk me down. I'd rather believe it was Galloway did it than Arthur. I shall tell him so."

"This sympathy shows very kind feeling on your part, Ro--"

"I declare I shall go mad if I hear that again!" interrupted Roland, turning red with pa.s.sion. "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?"

Mr. Channing could not forbear a smile at Roland and his hot champions.h.i.+p. "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."

"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?"

"You cannot do this where gum is used as well: as it was to that letter."

"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 tell how he gets a s.h.i.+lling 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."

Twitching Tom's hair as he pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed his arm within his, and they went towards Close Street.

"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."

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."

"He had better!" flashed Roland. "I'd turn him!"

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."

"Ah, but you see it was that meddling b.u.t.terby, not Galloway," returned Yorke. "As if Galloway did not know us chaps in his office better than to suspect us!"

"I fancy b.u.t.terby 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 b.u.t.terby did not put his nose into it, and worm out all the particulars!"

"That she had not taken it?"

"That she had. But it produced great annoyance; all parties concerned, even those who had lost the ring, would rather have buried it in silence. It was hushed up afterwards. b.u.t.terby ought to understand people's wishes, before he sets to work."

"I wish press-gangs were in fas.h.i.+on!" emphatically uttered Roland. "What a nice prize he'd make!"

"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.

"Yes, I shall be out in time for the examination at the Guildhall. The hour fixed is half-past eleven."

"Old villains the magistrates must have been, to remand it at all!" was the concluding comment of Mr. Roland Yorke.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHECKMATED.

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.

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.

"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."

"It is tiresome to get up early," responded Caroline. "I can't wake when Martha comes."

"Whether Martha goes to you at seven, or at eight, or at nine, she has the same trouble to get you up."

"I don't see any good in getting up early," cried Caroline.

"Do you see any good in acquiring good habits, instead of bad ones?" asked Constance.

"But, Miss Channing, why need we learn to get up early? We are ladies. It's only the poor who need get up at unreasonable hours--those who have their living to earn."

"Is it only the poor who are accountable to G.o.d for waste of time, Caroline?"

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."

"You think 'real ladies' wait until the sun has been up a few hours and warmed the earth for them?"

"Y--es," said Caroline. But it was not spoken very readily, for she had a suspicion that Miss Channing was laughing at her.

"May I ask where you have acquired your notions of 'real ladies,' Caroline?"

Caroline pouted. "Don't you call Colonel Jolliffe's daughters ladies, Miss Channing?"

"Yes--in position."

"That's where we went yesterday, you know. Mary Jolliffe says she never gets up until half-past eight, and that it is not lady-like to get up earlier. Real ladies don't, Miss Channing."

"My dear, shall I relate to you an anecdote that I have heard?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Caroline, her listless mood changing to animation; anecdotes, or anything of that desultory kind, being far more acceptable to the young lady than lessons.

"Before I begin, will you tell me whether you condescend to admit that our good Queen is a 'real lady'?"

"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."

"Very good. When she was a little girl, a child of her own age, the daughter of one of the n.o.bility, 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 d.u.c.h.ess 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."

"Is it a true anecdote, Miss Channing?"

"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'?"

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!"

"You spoke of 'the poor'--those who 'have their living to earn'--as the only cla.s.s 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 G.o.d. He to whom five talents were intrusted, did not make them other five by wasting his days in idleness. Oh, Caroline!--f.a.n.n.y, come closer and listen to me--your time and opportunities for good must be _used_--not abused or wasted."

"I will try and get up," said Caroline, repentantly. "I wish mamma had trained me to it when I was a child, as the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent trained the princess! I might have learned to like it by this time."

"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."

"But I have not been trained to get up, Miss Channing; and it is nothing short of punishment to me to do so."

"The punishment of self-denial we all have to bear, Caroline. But I can tell you what will take away half its sting."

"What?" asked Caroline, eagerly.

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."

"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.

"Miss Channing, what is 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."

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.

"It is true that he was arrested yesterday on suspicion."

"What a shocking thing! Is he in prison?"

"Oh no."

"Did he take the note?"

The question pained Constance worse than all. "He did not take it," she replied, in a clear, soft tone. "To those who know Arthur well, it would be impossible to think so."

"But he was before the magistrates yesterday, I hear, and is going up again to-day."

"Yes, that is so."

"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?"

"It would be far worse, Lady Augusta, if we believed him guilty," she replied from her aching heart.

"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."

"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 companions.h.i.+p of Arthur."

"What does Hamish say?--handsome Hamis.h.!.+ He does not deserve that such a blow should come to him."

Constance felt her colour deepen. She bent her face over the exercise she was correcting.

"Is he likely to be cleared of the charge?" perseveringly resumed Lady Augusta.

"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."

"Well, it is a dreadful thing!" concluded Lady Augusta.

Meanwhile, at the very moment her ladys.h.i.+p 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.

Arthur appeared, escorted by his brother Hamish and by Roland Yorke. Roland was in high feather, throwing his haughty glances everywhere, for he had an inkling of what was to be the termination of the affair, and did not conceal his triumph. Mr. Galloway also was of their party.

Mr. Galloway was the first witness put forth by Mr. b.u.t.terby. 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.

"On the afternoon of the loss, before you closed your letter, who were in your office?"

"My clerks--Roland Yorke and Arthur Channing."

"They saw the letter, I believe?"

"They did."

"And the bank-note?"