He proceeded to Lady Augusta’s, and Constance was informed of his visit. She had three pupils at Lady Augusta’s now, for that lady had kindly insisted that Constance should bring Annabel to study with her daughters, during the absence of Mrs. Channing. Constance left them to themselves and entered the drawing-room. Pretty Constance! so fresh, so lovely, in her simple muslin dress, and her braided hair. Mr. Huntley caught her hands, and imprinted a very fatherly kiss upon her fair forehead. “That is from the absentees, Constance. I told them I should give it to you. And I bring you the bravest news, my dear. Mr. Channing was already finding benefit from his change; he was indeed. There is every hope that he will be restored.” Constance was radiant with delight. To see one who had met and stayed with her father and mother at their distant sojourn, was almost like seeing her parents themselves. “And now, my dear, I want a word with you about all those untoward trials and troubles, which appear to have come thickly during my absence,” continued Mr. Huntley. “First of all, as to yourself. What mischief-making wind has been arising between you and William Yorke?” The expression of Constance’s face changed to sadness, and her cheeks grew crimson. “My dear, you will not misunderstand me,” he resumed. “I heard of these things at Borcette, and I said that I should undertake to inquire into them in the place of your father: just as he, health permitting him, would have undertaken for me in my absence, did any trouble arise to Ellen. Is it true that you and Mr. Yorke have parted?” “Yes,” faltered Constance. “And the cause?” Constance strove to suppress her tears. “You can do nothing, Mr. Huntley; nothing whatever. Thank you all the same.” “He has made this accusation upon Arthur the plea for breaking off his engagement?” “I could not marry him with this cloud upon me,” she murmured. “It would not be right.” “Cloud upon _you!_” hastily ejaculated Mr. Huntley. “The accusation against Arthur was the sole cause, then, of your parting?” “Yes; the sole cause which led to it.” Mr. Huntley paused, apparently in thought. “He is presented to Hazeldon Chapel, I hear. Did his rupture with you take place _after_ that occurrence?” “I see what you are thinking,” she impulsively cried, caring too much for Mr. Yorke not to defend him. “The chief fault of the parting was mine. I felt that it would not do to become his wife, being--being--” she hesitated much--“Arthur’s sister. I believe that he also felt it. Indeed, Mr. Huntley, there is no help for it; nothing can be done.” “Knowing what I do of William Yorke, I am sure that the pain of separation must be keen, whatever may be his pride. Constance, unless I am mistaken, it is equally keen to you.”