The policeman spoke up: he meant to be kindly. In all Helstonleigh there was not a family more respected than were the Channings; and the man felt a passing sorrow for his task. “I wouldn’t ask no questions, sir, if I was you. Sometimes it’s best not; they tell against the accused.” “Time’s up,” called out the one who was in the hall, to his fellow. “We can’t stop here all day.” The hint was taken at once, both by Arthur and the man. Constance had kept herself still, throughout, by main force; but Mrs. Channing could not see him go away like this. She rose and threw her arms round him, in a burst of hysterical feeling, sobbing out, “My boy! my boy!” “Don’t, mother! don’t unnerve me,” he whispered. “It is bad enough as it is.” “But you cannot be guilty, Arthur.” For answer he looked into her eyes for a single moment. His habitual expression had come back to them again--the earnest of truth, which she had ever known and trusted. It spoke calm to her heart now. “You are innocent,” she murmured. “Then go in peace.” Annabel broke into a storm of sobs. “Oh, Judith! will they hang him? What has he done?” “I’d hang them two policemen, if I did what I should like to do,” responded Judith. “Yes, you two, I mean,” she added, without ceremony, as the officials turned round at the words. “If I had my will, I’d hang you both up to two of those elm-trees yonder, right in front of one another. Coming to a gentleman’s house on this errand!” “Do not take me publicly through the streets,” said Arthur to his keepers. “I give you my word to make no resistance: I will go to the Guildhall, or anywhere else that you please, as freely as if I were bound thither on my own pleasure. You need not betray that I am in custody.” They saw that they might trust him. One of the policemen went to the opposite side of the way, as if pacing his beat; the other continued by the side of Arthur; not closely enough to give rise to suspicion in those they met. A few paces from the door Tom Channing came pelting up, and put his arm within Arthur’s. “Guilty, or not guilty, it shall never be said that a Channing was deserted by his brothers!” quoth he, “I wish Hamish could have been here.” “Tom, you are thinking me guilty?” Arthur said, in a quiet, tone, which did not reach the ears of his official escort. “Well--I am in a fix,” avowed Tom. “If you are guilty, I shall never believe in anything again. I have always thought that building a cathedral: well and good; but if it turns out to be a myth, I shan’t be surprised, after this. _Are_ you guilty?” “No, lad.” The denial was simple, and calmly expressed; but there was sufficient in its tone to make Tom Channing’s heart give a great leap within him. “Thank God! What a fool I was! But, I say, Arthur, why did you not deny it, out-and-out? Your manner frightened us. I suppose the police scared you?”