Mr. Tom, brave college boy that he was--manly as he coveted to be thought--actually burst into tears. Tears called forth, not by contrition, I fear; but by remembered humiliation, by vexation, by the moment’s passion. Never had Tom cast a reproach openly to Arthur; whatever he may have felt he buried it within himself; but that his opinion vacillated upon the point of Arthur’s guilt, was certain. Constance went up to him and laid her hand gently and soothingly upon his shoulder. “Tom, dear boy, your troubles are making you forget yourself. Do not be unjust to Arthur. He is innocent as you.” “Then if he is innocent, why does he not speak out like a man, and proclaim his innocence?” retorted Tom, sensibly enough, but with rather too much heat. “That’s what the school cast in my teeth, more than anything again. ‘Don’t preach up your brother’s innocence to us!’ they cry; ‘if he did not take it, wouldn’t he say so?’ Look at Arthur now”--and Tom pointed his finger at him--“he does not, even here, to me, assert that he is innocent!” Arthur’s face burnt under the reproach. He turned it upon Hamish, with a gesture almost as fiery, quite as hasty, as any that had been vouchsafed them by Tom. Plainly as look could speak, it said, “Will _you_ suffer this injustice to be heaped upon me?” Constance saw the look, and she left Tom with a faint cry, and bent over Arthur, afraid of what truth he might give utterance to. “Patience yet, Arthur!” she whispered. “Do not let a moment’s anger undo the work of weeks. Remember how bravely you have borne.” “Ay! Heaven forgive my pride, Tom!” Arthur added, turning to him calmly. “I would clear you--or rather clear myself--in the eyes of the school, if I could: but it is impossible. However, you have less to blame me for than you may think.” Hamish advanced. He caught Tom’s arm and drew him to a distant window. “Now, lad,” he said, “let me hear all about this bugbear. I’ll see if it can be in any way lightened for you.” Hamish’s tone was kindly, his manner frank and persuasive, and Tom was won over to speak of his troubles. Hamish listened with an attentive ear. “Will you abide by my advice?” he asked him, when the catalogue of grievances had come to an end. “Perhaps I will,” replied Tom, who was growing cool after his heat. “Then, as I said to you before, so I say now--_Live it down_. It is the best advice I can give you.” “Hamish, you don’t know what it is!” “Yes, I do. I can enter into your trials and annoyances as keenly as if I had to encounter them. I do not affect to disparage them to you: I know that they are real trials, real insults; but if you will only make up your mind to bear them, they will lose half their sharpness. Your interest lies in remaining in the college school; more than that, your duty lies in it. Tom, don’t let it be said that a Channing shrunk from his duty because it brought him difficulties to battle with.”