“And there’s something which you may help me to clear up, young gentlemen. I have heard a rumour—a very strange rumour, one that it is scarcely possible to credit—that that fellow Staines was hanging about the park yesterday, and had a consultation with Mr. Ewart, who advised him to vote against me. Were you with your tutor at the time?”
“We were with Mr. Ewart all the afternoon,” replied Ernest, his heart throbbing very fast.
“We never left him,” added Charles, as his uncle glanced towards him.
“And do you know nothing of this pretended interview, which may have been—which probably is—nothing but a malicious calumny, a fable? Was there any such conversation held in your presence?—a thing almost impossible to conceive.”
“No, sir; there was none,” replied Ernest, in a low tone.
“None,” repeated Charles, looking down and blushing.
Mr. Hope surveyed them both with a piercing eye. How uneasy they felt under his glance! He questioned them no more, however, but turned round again towards the fire, and was soon engaged once more in animated conversation with his wife.
“Have we done right?” whispered Charles to his brother.
“I don’t exactly know. I hope so, for we acted from a good motive. We could not have spoken out, and ruined our friend. I am sure that God will not severely judge an act of kindness and gratitude.”