Again rose the soft damask blush to the face of Constance. But she answered decisively. “Mr. Huntley, I pray you to allow the subject to cease. Nothing can bring about the renewal of the engagement between myself and Mr. Yorke. It is irrevocably at an end.” “Until Arthur shall be cleared, you mean?” “No,” she answered--a vision of Hamish and _his_ guilt flashing across her--“I mean for good.” “Why does not Arthur assert his innocence to Mr. Yorke? Constance, I am sure you know, as well as I do, that he is not guilty. _Has_ he asserted it?” She made no answer. “As I would have wished to serve you, so will I serve Arthur,” said Mr. Huntley. “I told your father and mother, Constance, that I should make it my business to investigate the charge against him; I shall leave not a stone unturned to bring his innocence to light.” The avowal terrified Constance, and she lost her self-possession. “Oh don’t! don’t!” she uttered. “You must not, indeed! you do not know the mischief it might do.” “Mischief to what?--to whom?” exclaimed Mr. Huntley. Constance buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears. The next moment she had raised it, and taken Mr. Huntley’s hand between hers. “You are papa’s friend! You would do us good and not harm--is it not so?” she beseechingly said. “My dear child,” he exclaimed, quite confounded by her words--her distress: “you know that I would not harm any of you for the world.” “Then _pray_ do not seek to dive into that unhappy story,” she whispered. “It must not be too closely looked into.” And Mr. Huntley quitted Constance, as a man who walks in a dream, so utterly amazed was he. What did it all mean? As he was going through the cloisters--his nearest way to the town--Roland Yorke came flying up. With his usual want of ceremony, he passed his arm within Mr. Huntley’s. “Galloway’s come in now,” he exclaimed, “and I am off to the bank to pay in a bag of money for him. Jenkins told him you had called. Just hark at that clatter!” The clatter, alluded to by Mr. Roland, was occasioned by the tramp of the choristers on the cloister flags. They were coming up behind, full speed, on their way from the schoolroom to enter the cathedral, for the bell had begun for service. “And here comes that beautiful relative of mine,” continued Roland, as he and Mr. Huntley passed the cathedral entrance, and turned into the west quadrangle of the cloisters. “Would you credit it, Mr. Huntley, that he has turned out a sneak? He has. He was to have married Constance Channing, you know, and, for fear Arthur should have touched the note, he has declared off it. If I were Constance, I would never allow the fellow to speak to me again.”