“No, I did not!” fearlessly replied little Channing. “If he doesn’t know, he suspects,” persisted Hurst. “Come, Miss Channing.” “We don’t declare things upon suspicion, do we, Mr. Gaunt?” appealed Charles. “I may suspect one; Hurst may suspect another; Bywater said he suspected two; the whole school may be suspicious, one of another. Where’s the use of that?” “It is of no use,” decided Gaunt. “You say you did not see the surplice damaged?” “I did not; upon my word of honour.” “That’s enough,” said Gaunt. “Depend upon it, the fellow, while he was at it, took precious good precautions against being seen. When he gets found out, he had better not come within reach of the seniors; I warn him of that: they might not leave him a head on his shoulders, or a tooth in his mouth.” “Suppose it should turn out to have been a senior, Mr. Gaunt?” spoke Bywater. “Suppose you should turn out to be an everlasting big donkey?” retorted the senior boy. CHAPTER V. -- ROLAND YORKE. Just without the Boundaries, in a wide, quiet street, called Close Street, was the office of Richard Galloway, Esquire, Proctor, and Steward to the Dean and Chapter. Excepting for this solitary office, the street consisted of private houses, and it was one of the approaches to the cathedral, though not the chief one. Mr. Galloway was a bachelor; a short, stout man, shaped like a cask, with a fat, round face, round, open, grey eyes--that always looked as if their owner was in a state of wonder--and a little round mouth. But he was a shrewd man and a capable; he was also, in his way, a dandy; dressed scrupulously in the fashion, with delicate shirt fronts and snow-white wristbands; and for the last twenty-five years, at least, had been a mark for all the single ladies of Helstonleigh to set their caps at.