"You'll just keep your tongue quiet, Arkell. What is it to you? The Carr folks are not your friends or relatives." "If I were to let the trial go against her, for the want of telling the truth, I should have it on my conscience always." "My word!" cried George Prattleton, "a schoolboy with a conscience! I never knew they were troubled with any." "Will you release me from my promise of not speaking?" "Not if you go down on your knees for it. What a green fellow you are!" "Then I shall speak without." "You won't," cried Prattleton. "I will. I gave the promise only conditionally, remember; and, as things are turning out, I am under no obligation to keep it. But I would not speak without asking your consent first, whether I got it or not." "I have a great mind to carry you by force, and fling you into the river," uttered Prattleton, in a savage tone. "You know you couldn't do it," returned Henry, quietly: "if I am not your equal in age and strength, I could call those who are. But there's not a moment to be lost. I am off to Mr. Fauntleroy's." Henry Arkell meant what he said: he was always resolute in _right_: and Prattleton, after a further confabulation, was fain to give in. Indeed he had been expecting nothing less than this for the last hour, and had in a measure prepared himself for it. "I'll tell the news myself," said George Prattleton, "if it must be told: and I'll tell it to Mr. Prattleton, not to Fauntleroy, or any of the law set." "I must go to Mr. Prattleton with you," returned Henry. "You can wait for me out here, then. We are at whist, and my coming out has stopped the game. I shan't be more than five minutes." George Prattleton retreated indoors, and Henry paced about, waiting for him. He crossed over towards the deanery, and came upon Miss Beauclerc. She had been spending an hour at a neighbouring house, and was returning home, attended by an old man-servant. Muffled in a shawl and wearing a pink silk hood, few would have known her, except the college boy. His heart beat as if it would burst its bounds. "Why, it's never you!" she cried. "Thank you, Jacob, that will do," she added to the servant. "Don't stand, or you'll catch your rheumatism; Mr. Arkell will see me indoors." The old man turned away with a bow, and she partially threw back her pink silk hood to talk to Henry, as they moved slowly on to the deanery door. "Were you going to call upon us, Harry?" "No, Miss Beauclerc. I am waiting for George Prattleton. He is at Griffin's." "Miss Beauclerc!" she echoed; "how formal you are to-night. I'd not be as cold as you, Henry Arkell, for the whole world!" "I, cold!" He said no more in refutation. If Georgina could but have known his real feelings! If she could but have divined how his pulses were beating, his veins coursing! Perhaps she did. "Are you better? What a fall you had! And to faint after it!" "Yes, I think I am better, thank you. It hurt my head a little."