“When does Mr. Channing return?” he abruptly asked of Hamish.
“We shall be expecting him shortly now.”
Lady Augusta gave the signal for the fly to drive on. William Yorke put his hand over the door, and took hers as the man began to whip up his horse.
“Do not grieve too much after him, Lady Augusta. It may prove to be the best day’s work Roland ever did. God has given him hands, and brains; and a good heart, as I verily believe. If he shall only learn their value out there, let his lines be ever so hard, he may come home a wise and a good man. One of my poor pensioners here said to me, not ten minutes ago, I was brought to know my Saviour, sir, through ‘hard lines.’ Lady Augusta, those ‘hard lines’ are never sent in vain.”
CHAPTER LI. — AN ARRIVAL IN A FLY.
Was any one ever so ill-used as that unfortunate Mr. Galloway? On the morning which witnessed his troublesome clerk’s departure, he set rather longer than usual over his breakfast, never dreaming of the calamity in store for him. That his thoughts were given to business, there was no doubt, for his newspaper lay untouched. In point of fact, his mind was absorbed by the difficulties which had arisen in his office, and the ways and means by which those difficulties might be best remedied.
That it would be impossible to get on with Roland Yorke alone, he had said to himself twenty times; and now he was saying it again, little supposing, poor unconscious man, that even Roland, bad as he was, had taken flight. He had never intended to get along with only Roland, but circumstances had induced him to attempt doing so for a time. In the first place, he had entertained hopes, until very recently, that Jenkins would recover; in the second place, failing Jenkins, there was no one in the wide world he would so soon have in his office as Arthur Channing—provided that Arthur could prove his innocence. With Arthur and Roland, he could go on very well, or with Jenkins and Roland; but poor Jenkins appeared to be passing beyond hope; and Arthur’s innocence was no nearer the light than it had been, in spite of that strange restitution of the money. Moreover, Arthur had declined to return to the office, even to help with the copying, preferring to take it home. All these reflections were pressing upon Mr. Galloway’s mind.
“I’ll wait no longer,” said he, as he brought them to a conclusion. “I’ll go this very day after that young Bartlett. I think he might suit, with some drilling. If he turns out a second Yorke, I shall have a nice pair upon my hands. But he can’t well turn out as bad as Roland: he comes of a more business-like stock.”