Hamish left the room. The hall had not yet been lighted, and Hamish could hardly see the outline of a form, crossing it from the staircase to the drawing-room. He knew whose it was, and he caught it to him.
“Ellen,” he whispered, “what has turned your father against me?”
Of course she could not enlighten him; she could not say to Hamish Channing, “He suspects you of being a thief.” Her whole spirit would have revolted from that, as much as it did from the accusation. The subject was a painful one; she was flurried at the sudden meeting—the stealthy meeting, it may be said; and—she burst into tears.
I am quite afraid to say what Mr. Hamish did, this being a sober story. When he left the hall, Ellen Huntley’s cheeks were glowing, and certain sweet words were ringing changes in her ears.
“Ellen! they shall never take you from me!”
CHAPTER XLVIII. — MUFFINS FOR TEA.
A week or two passed by, and November was rapidly approaching. Things remained precisely as they were at the close of the last chapter: nothing fresh had occurred; no change had taken place. Tom Channing’s remark, though much cannot be said for its elegance, was indisputable in point of truth—that when a fellow was down, he was kept down, and every dog had a fling at him It was being exemplified in the case of Arthur. The money, so mysteriously conveyed to Mr. Galloway, had proved of little service towards clearing him; in fact, it had the contrary effect; and people openly expressed their opinion that it had come from himself or his friends. He was down; and it would take more than that to lift him up again.
Mr. Galloway kept his thoughts to himself, or had put them into his cash-box with the note, for he said nothing.