"In--deed!" exclaimed Mr. Galloway, staring very mach. "Is the lady fixed upon?" "Well, yes; and I don't mind telling you, if you'll keep the secret and not repeat it up and down the town: I don't fancy she'd like it to be talked of yet. It's Annabel." "Annabel Channing!" uttered Mr. Galloway, in dubious surprise. "Has she said she'll have you?" "I am not so sure she has _said_ it. She means it." "Why she--she is one of the best and sweetest girls living; she might marry almost anybody; she might nearly get a lord," burst forth Mr. Galloway, with a touch of his former gossiping propensity. Roland's eyes sparkled. "So she might, sir. But she'll wait for me. And she does not expect riches, either; but will put her shoulder to the wheel with me and be content to work and help until riches come." Mr. Galloway gave a sniff of disbelief. He might be pardoned if he treated this in his own mind as a simple delusion on Roland's part. He liked Annabel nearly as well as he had liked Arthur; and he looked upon Mr. Roland as a wandering knight-errant, not much likely to do any good for himself or others. Roland rose. "I must be off," he said. "I've got my mother to see. Well, this is a pill--to find you've no clue to give me. Hamish said it would be so." "I hear Hamish Channing is ill?" "He is not ill, that I know of. He looks it: a puff of wind you'd say would blow him away." "Disappointed in his book?" "Well, I suppose so. It's an awful sin, though, for it to have been written down--whoever did it." "I should call it a swindle," corrected Mr. Galloway. "A barefaced, swindling injustice. The public ought to be put right, if there were anyway of doing it." "Did you read the book, Mr. Galloway?" "Yes; and then I went forthwith out and bought it. Ana I read Gerald's." "That _was_ a beauty, wasn't it?" cried sarcastic Roland. "Without paint," pursued Mr. Galloway, in the same strain. "It was just worth throwing on the fire leaf by leaf, that's my opinion of Gerald's book. But it got the reviews, Roland." "And be shot to it! We can't understand the riddle up in London, sir." "I'm sure we can't down here," emphatically repeated Mr. Galloway. "Well, good night: I'm not sorry to have seen you. When are you going back?" "Tomorrow. And I'd rather have gone a hundred miles the other way than come near Helstonleigh. I shall take care to go and see nobody here, except Mrs. Channing. If----" "You must not speak of Arthur to Mrs. Channing," interrupted the proctor. "Not speak of him!" "She knows nothing of his loss: it has been kept from her. She thinks he is in Paris with Charles. In her weak state of health she would hardly stand the prolonged suspense." "It's a good thing you told me," said Roland, heartily. "I hope I shan't let it out. Good night, sir. I must not forget this, though!" he added, taking up the parcel. "It has got a clean shirt and collar in it." "Where are you going to sleep?"