Annabel broke into a storm of sobs. “Oh, Judith! will they hang him? What has he done?”
“I’d hang them two policemen, if I did what I should like to do,” responded Judith. “Yes, you two, I mean,” she added, without ceremony, as the officials turned round at the words. “If I had my will, I’d 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!”
“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.”
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.
“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.”
“Tom, you are thinking me guilty?” Arthur said, in a quiet, tone, which did not reach the ears of his official escort.
“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. Are you guilty?”
“No, lad.”
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.
“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?”