Another trouble was falling upon her, or seemed to be; one that more immediately concerned herself. Since the disgrace had come to Arthur, Mr. Yorke had been less frequent in his visits. Some days had now elapsed from the time of Arthur’s dismissal from Mr. Galloway’s, and Mr. Yorke had called only once. This might have arisen from accidental circumstances; but Constance felt a different fear in her heart. Hark! that is his ring at the hall-bell. Constance has not listened for, and loved that ring so long, to be mistaken now. Another minute, and she hears those footsteps approaching, warming her life-blood, quickening her pulses: her face deepens to crimson, as she turns it towards him. She knows nothing yet of his appointment to the Hazeldon chaplaincy; Mr. Yorke has not known it himself two hours. He came up and laid his hands upon her shoulders playfully, looking down at her. “What will you give me for some news, by way of greeting, Constance?” “News?” she answered, raising her eyes to his, and scarcely knowing what she did say, in the confusion of meeting him, in her all-conscious love. “Is it good or bad news?” “Helstonleigh will not call it good, I expect. There are those upon whom it will fall as a thunder-clap.” “Tell it me, William; I cannot guess,” she said, somewhat wearily. “I suppose it does not concern me.” “But it does concern you--indirectly.” Poor Constance, timorous and full of dread since this grief had fallen, was too apt to connect everything with that one source. We have done the same in our lives, all of us, when under the consciousness of some secret terror. She appeared to be living upon a mine, which might explode any hour and bring down Hamish in its _débris_. The words bore an ominous sound; and, foolish as it may appear to us, who know the nature of Mr. Yorke’s news, Constance fell into something very like terror, and turned white. “Does--does--it concern Arthur?” she uttered. “No. Constance,” changing his tone, and dropping his hands as he gazed at her, “why should you be so terrified for Arthur? You have been a changed girl since that happened--shrinking, timid, starting at every sound, unable to look people in the face. Why so, if he is innocent?” She shivered inwardly, as was perceptible to the eyes of Mr. Yorke. “Tell me the news,” she answered in a low tone, “if, as you say, it concerns me.” “I hope it will concern you, Constance. At any rate, it concerns me. The news,” he gravely added, “is, that I am appointed to the Hazeldon chaplaincy.” “Oh, William!” The sudden revulsion of feeling from intense, undefined terror to joyful surprise, was too much to bear calmly. Her emotion overpowered her, and she burst into tears. Mr. Yorke compelled her to sit down on the bench, and stood over her--his arm on her shoulder, her hand clasped in his. “Constance, what is the cause of this?” he asked, when her emotion had passed.