Roland, his ardour cooled, had likewise been home to exchange his wet things for dry ones. This done, he was flying out again, when he came upon the Reverend William Yorke, who was hastening down to the scene, in some agitation. “Is the boy found, Roland, do you know? How did it happen? Did he fall in?” “Considering the light in which you regard the family, William Yorke, I wonder you should waste your breath to ask about it,” was Roland’s touchy answer, delivered with as much scorn as he could call up. Mr. Yorke said no more, but quickened his pace towards the river. Roland kept up with him and continued talking. “It’s a good thing all the world’s not of your opinion, William Yorke! You thought to put a slight upon Constance Channing, when you told her she might go along, for you. It has turned out just the best luck that could have happened to her.” “Be silent, sir,” said Mr. Yorke, his pale cheek flushing. “I have already told you that I will not permit you to mention Miss Channing’s name to me. You have nothing to do with her or with me.” “_You_ have nothing to do with her, at any rate,” cried aggravating Roland. “She’ll soon belong to your betters, William Yorke.” Mr. Yorke turned his flashing eye upon him, plainly asking the explanation that he would not condescend to ask in words. It gave Roland an advantage, and he went on swimmingly with his mischief. “Lord Carrick has seen the merits of Constance, if you have not; and--I don’t mind telling it you in confidence--has resolved to make her his wife. He says she’s the prettiest girl he has seen for ages.” “It is not true,” said Mr. Yorke, haughtily. “Not true!” returned Roland. “You’ll see whether it’s true or not, when she’s Countess of Carrick. Lady Augusta was present when he made her the offer. He was half afraid to make it for some time, he told us, as he was getting on in years, and had grey hair. Halloa! you are turning pale, William Yorke. She can’t be anything to you! You threw her away, you know.” William Yorke, vouchsafing no reply, broke away from his tormentor. He probably did look pale; certainly he felt so. Roland indulged in a quiet laugh. He had been waiting for this opportunity, ever since he became cognizant of what had taken place between the earl and Constance. The earl had made no secret of his intention and its defeat. “I’ll have some fun over it with Mr. William,” had been Roland’s thought. A sudden noise! Cries and shouts on the banks of the river, and the dense crowd swayed about with excitement. Mr. Yorke and Roland set off at a run, each from his own point, and the cries took a distinct sound as they neared them. “They have found the body!”