“He has not done so yet. I said, that when a man was wrongly accused, it ought not to be a plea for all the world’s trampling him down. He answered pretty warmly, that of course it ought not; but that, if appearances might be trusted, you were not wrongly accused.” Arthur sat, scoring some music with his pencil. Never had he felt that appearances were against him more plainly than he felt it then. “I thought I would step down and tell you this, Channing,” Mr. Williams observed. “I shall not dismiss you, you may be sure of that; but, if the dean puts forth his veto, I cannot help myself. He is master of the Cathedral, not I. I cannot think what possesses the people to doubt you! They never would, if they had ten grains of sense.” The organist concluded his words as he hurried down the stairs--he was always much pressed for time. Arthur, a cold weight lying at his heart, put the music together, and departed. He traversed the nave, crossed the body, and descended the steps to the cloisters. As he was passing the Chapter House, the doors opened, and Dr. Gardner came out, in his surplice and trencher. He closed the doors after him, but not before Arthur had seen the dean seated alone at the table--a large folio before him. Both of them had just left the Cathedral. Arthur raised his hat to the canon, who acknowledged it, but--Arthur thought--very coldly. To a sore mind, fancy is ever active. A thought flashed over Arthur that he would go, there and then, and speak to the dean. Acting upon the moment’s impulse, without premeditation as to what he should say, he turned back and laid his hand upon the door handle. A passing tremor, as to the result, arose within him; but he had learned where help in need is ever to be obtained, and an earnestly breathed word went up then. The dean looked round, saw that it was Arthur Channing, rose from his seat, and awaited his approach. “Will you pardon my intruding upon you here, Mr. Dean?” he began, in his gentle, courteous manner; and with the urgency of the occasion, all his energy seemed to come to him. Timidity and tremor vanished, and he stood before the dean, a true gentleman and a fearless one. The dean still wore his surplice, and his trencher lay on the table near him. Arthur placed his own hat by its side. “Mr. Williams has just informed me that you cast a doubt as to the propriety of my still taking the organ,” he added. “True,” said the dean. “It is not fitting that one, upon whom so heavy an imputation lies, should be allowed to continue his duty in this Cathedral.” “But, sir--if that imputation be a mistaken one?” “How are we to know that it is a mistaken one?” demanded the dean.