“I am not guilty, sir.”
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.
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.
“My friend,” said Mr. Galloway, bending over the sofa, when they were alone, “I am more grieved at this than you can be.”
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?”
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.”
Mr. Channing closed his eyes, and his lips momentarily moved. A word of prayer, to be helped to bear, was going up to the throne of God.
“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?”
“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.”
“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.”