“I know it,” replied Arthur. “Unless--unless--” he stopped in agitation. “Unless you will interest yourself with Galloway, and induce him to withdraw proceedings. Your friendship with him has been close and long, sir, and I think he would do it for you.” “Would you ask this if you were innocent?” said Mr. Channing. “Arthur, it is not the punishment you ought to dread, but the consciousness of meriting it.” “And of that I am not conscious,” he answered, emphatically, in his bitterness. “Father! I would lay down my life to shield you from care! think of me as favourably as you can.” “You will not make me your full confidant?” “I wish I could! I _wish_ I could!” He wrung his father’s hand, and turned to his mother, halting before her. Would she give him her good-night kiss? Would she? Did a fond mother ever turn against her child? To the prison, to the scaffold, down to the very depths of obloquy and scorn, a loving mother clings to her son. All else may forsake; but she, never, be he what he will. Mrs. Channing drew his face to hers, and burst into sobs as she sheltered it on her bosom. “_You_ will have faith in me, my darling mother!” The words were spoken in the softest whisper. He kissed her tenderly, and hastened from the room, not trusting himself to say good night to Constance. In the hall he was waylaid by Judith. “Master Arthur, it isn’t true?” “Of course it is not true, Judith. Don’t you know me better?” “What an old oaf I am for asking, to be sure! Didn’t I nurse him, and haven’t I watched him grow up, and don’t I know my own boys yet?” she added to herself, but speaking aloud. “To be sure you have, Judy.” “But, Master Arthur, why is the master casting blame to you? And when them insolent police came strutting here to-day, as large as life, in their ugly blue coats and shiny hats, why didn’t you hold the door wide, and show ‘em out again? I’d never have demeaned myself to go with ‘em politely.” “They wanted me at the town-hall, you know, Judith. I suppose you have heard it all?” “Then, want should have been their master, for me,” retorted Judith. “I’d never have gone, unless they had got a cord and drawn me. I shouldn’t wonder but they fingered the money themselves.” Arthur made his escape, and went up to his room. He was scarcely within it when Hamish left his chamber and came in. Arthur’s heart beat quicker. Was he coming to make a clean breast of it? Not he! “Arthur,” Hamish began, speaking in a kindly, but an estranged tone--or else Arthur fancied it--“can I serve you in any way in this business?” “Of course you cannot,” replied Arthur: and he felt vexed with himself that his tone should savour of peevishness. “I am sorry for it, as you may readily believe, old fellow,” resumed Hamish. “When I entered the court to-day, you might have knocked me down with a feather.” “Ay, I should suppose so,” said Arthur. “You did not expect the charge would be brought upon me.”