Part 9 (1/2)
”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.”
”But, Hamish, how do you spend your time, that you cannot complete your books in the day?”
”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.”
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.
”One last word, Hamish, for I hear Judith calling to you. Are you obliged to do this night-work?”
”I am.”
”Then I will say no more; and things must go on as it seems they have hitherto done.”
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.
”Judy says some young man wants you, Hamis.h.!.+ I fear it may be the fellow to serve the writ. What on earth is to be done?”
”Did Judy say I was at home?”
”Yes; and has handed him into the study, to wait. Did you not hear her calling to you?”
”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.”
”Shall I go down first, and hear what he has to say?”
”Arthur, boy, it would do no good. I have brought this upon myself, and must battle with it. A Channing cannot turn coward!”
”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.”
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.
”A false alarm, Hamis.h.!.+ It's only Martin Pope.”
”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?”
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.
”Oh, Arthur, has it come to this? Is Hamish in that depth of debt!”
”Hus.h.!.+ What brought you here, Constance?”
”What writ is it that he fears? Is there indeed one out against him?”
”I don't know much about it. There may be one.”
She wrung her hands. ”The next thing to a writ is a prison, is it not? If he should be taken, what would become of the office--of papa's position?”
”Do not agitate yourself,” he implored. ”It can do no good.”
”Nothing can do good: nothing, nothing. Oh, what trouble!”
”Constance, in the greatest trouble there is always one Refuge.”
”Yes,” she mentally thought, bursting into tears. ”What, but for that shelter, would become of us in our bitter hours of trial?”
CHAPTER XI.
THE CLOISTER KEYS.
It was the twenty-second day of the month, and nearly a week after 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.
”O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is gracious: and His mercy endureth for ever!”
The boy's whole heart went up with the words. He 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 G.o.d 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 s.h.i.+ps, 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.
”O that men would therefore praise the Lord for His goodness: and declare the wonders that He doeth for the children of men!
”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.
”Whoso is wise will ponder these things: and they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord.”
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.
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, pa.s.sed, coming towards them from the south entrance of the cloisters. He touched his hat in his usual ungracious fas.h.i.+on to the dean and Dr. Gardner, who were turning into the chapter-house, carrying their trenchers, and looked the other way as he pa.s.sed the boys.
Arthur caught hold of Hurst. ”Have you 'served out' old Ketch, as you threatened?” he laughingly asked.
”Hus.h.!.+” 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.”
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, _par parenthese_, 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 pa.s.sion.
”Thomas!” uttered Mr. Channing, in amazed reproof.
”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 pa.s.sed over in the chance for the seniors.h.i.+p, and Yorke is to have it, without reference to merit?”
”No, I do not believe it, Tom,” quietly replied Mr. Channing. ”But, even were it true, it is no reason why you should break out in that unseemly manner. Did you ever know a hot temper do good to its possessor?”
”I know I am hot-tempered,” confessed Tom. ”I cannot help it, papa; it was born with me.”
”Many of our failings were born with us, my boy, as I have always understood. But they are to be subdued; not indulged.”
”Papa, you must acknowledge that it is a shame if Pye has promised the seniors.h.i.+p to Yorke, over my head and Huntley's,” reiterated Tom, who was apt to speak as strongly as he thought. ”If he gets the seniors.h.i.+p, the exhibition will follow; that is an understood thing. Would it be just?”
”Why are you saying this? What have you heard?”
”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.”