"Well, there's nothing like hope," answered Mr. Ashley, with a laugh. "But I shall wonder if you do keep them. William," he added, after a slight pause, his tone changing to a business one, "I have a few words to say to you. I was about to speak to you in the counting-house this afternoon, but something put it aside. I have changed my plans with respect to this Lyons journey. Instead of despatching you, as I had thought of doing, I believe I shall send Samuel Lynn." Mr. Ashley paused. William did not immediately reply. "Samuel Lynn's experience is greater than yours. It is a new thing, and he will see, better than you could do, what can and what cannot be done." "Very well, sir," at length answered William. "You speak as though you were disappointed," remarked Mr. Ashley. William was disappointed. But his motive for the feeling lay far deeper than Mr. Ashley supposed. "I should like to have gone, sir, very much. But--of course, my liking, or not liking, has nothing to do with it. Perhaps it is as well that I should not go," he resumed, more in soliloquy, as if he were trying to reconcile himself to the disappointment by argument, than in observation to Mr. Ashley. "I do not see how the men would have done without me at East's." "Ay, that's a grave consideration," replied Mr. Ashley jokingly, as he turned to walk to his own door. William stood still, nailed as it were to the spot, looking after his master. A most unwelcome thought had flashed over him; and in the impulse of the moment he followed Mr. Ashley, to speak it out. Even in the night's obscurity, his emotion was perceptible. "Mr. Ashley, the suspicion cast on me, at the time that cheque was lost, has not been the reason--the reason for your declining to intrust me with this commission?" Mr. Ashley looked at him in surprise. But that William's agitation was all too real, he would have laughed at him. "William, I think you are turning silly. No suspicion was cast on you." "You have never stirred in the matter, sir; you have never spoken to me to tell me you were satisfied that I was not in any way guilty," was William's impulsive answer. "Spoken to you! where was the need? Why, William, my whole life, my daily intercourse with you, is only so much proof that _you_ have my full confidence. Should I admit you to my home, to the companionship of my children, if I had no more faith in you than that?" "True," said William, beginning to recover himself. "It was a thought that flashed over me, sir, when you said I was not to be sent on this journey. I should not like you to doubt me; I could not live under it." "William, you reproached me with not having stirred in----" "I beg your pardon, sir. I never thought of such a thing as reproach. I would not presume to do it."