“Let the matter drop, sir. Indeed, it will be better. It appears, now, that you have the money back again; and, for the rest, I am willing to take the blame, as I have done.” “If I have the money back again, I have not other things back again,” crossly repeated Mr. Galloway. “There’s the loss of time it has occasioned, the worry, the uncertainty: who is to repay me all that?” “My portion in it has been worse than yours, sir,” said Arthur, in a low, deep tone. “Think of _my_ loss of time; my worry and uncertainty; my waste of character; my anxiety of mind: they can never be repaid to me.” “And whose the fault? If you were truly innocent, you might have cleared yourself with a word.” Arthur knew he might. But that word he had not dared to speak. At this juncture, Roland Yorke appeared. “Here’s Jenner’s old clerk come in, sir,” said he to his master. “He wants to see you, he says.” “He can come in,” replied Mr. Galloway. “Are you getting on with that copying?” he added to Arthur, as the latter was going out. “Yes, sir.” The gentleman, whom Roland Yorke designated as “Jenner’s old clerk,” was shut in with Mr. Galloway; and Roland, who appeared to be on the thorns of curiosity, arrested Arthur. “I say, what is it that’s agate? He has been going into fits, pretty near, over some letter that came, asking me five hundred questions about it. What have you to do with it? What does he want with you?” “Some one has been sending him back the money, Roland. It came in a letter.” Roland opened his eyes. “What money?” “The money that was lost. A twenty-pound note has come. He asked me whether it was the veritable note that was taken.” “A twenty-pound note come!” repeated puzzled Roland. “It’s quite true, Roland. It purports to be sent by the stealer of the money for the purpose of clearing me.” Roland stood for a few moments, profound surprise on his face, and then began to execute a triumphant hornpipe amidst the desks and stools of the office. “I said it would come right some time; over and over again I said it! Give us your hand, old fellow! He’s not such a bad trump after all, that thief!” “Hush, Roland! you’ll be heard. It may not do me much good. Galloway seems to doubt me still.” “Doubt you still!” cried Roland, stopping short in his dance, and speaking in a very explosive tone. “Doubt you _still_! Why, what would he have?” “I don’t know;” sighed Arthur. “I have assured him I did not send it; but he fancies I may have done it to clear myself. He talks of calling in Butterby again.” “My opinion then, is, that he wants to be transported, if he is to turn up such a heathen as that!” stamped Roland. “What would he have, I ask? Another twenty, given him for interest? Arthur, dear old fellow, let’s go off together to Port Natal, and leave him and his office to it! I’ll find the means, if I rob his cash-box to get them!”