She gazed at him in surprise, her complexion changing, her voice faltering. “Oh, papa! what have they done?”
“Ellen, did I say ‘they!’ The Channings are my dear friends, and I hope ever to call them such. They have done nothing unworthy of my friendship or of yours. I said Hamish.”
Ellen rose from her seat, unable to subdue her emotion, and stood with her hands clasped before Mr. Huntley. Hamish was far dearer to her than the world knew.
“I will leave it to your good sense, my dear,” Mr. Huntley whispered, glancing round, as if not caring that even the walls should hear. “I have liked Hamish very much, or you may be sure he would not have been allowed to come here so frequently. But he has forfeited my regard now, as he must forfeit that of all good men.”
She trembled excessively, almost to impede her utterance, when she would have asked what it was that he had done.
“I scarcely dare breathe it to you,” said Mr. Huntley, “for it is a thing that we must hush up, as the family are hushing it up. When that bank-note was lost, suspicion fell on Arthur.”
“Well, papa?” wonderingly resumed Ellen.
“It was not Arthur who took it. It was Hamish. And Arthur is bearing the stigma of it for his father’s sake.”
Ellen grew pale. “Papa, who says it?”
“No one says it, Ellen. But the facts leave no room for doubt. Hamish’s own manner—I have just left him—leaves no room for it. He is indisputably guilty.”