“Must I tell you? It is for your ear alone, mind. There’s a certain tradesman’s house down there that I’d rather not pass; he has a habit of coming out and dunning me. Do you remember Mr. Dick Swiveller?” Hamish laughed gaily. He would have laughed on his road to prison: it was in his nature. But Arthur seemed to take a leap from his high ropes. “Is it Simms?” he breathed. “No, it is not Simms. Who has been telling you anything about Simms, Arthur? It is not so very much that I owe Simms. What is this good luck of yours?” Arthur did not immediately reply. A dark shadow had fallen upon his spirit, as a forerunner of evil. CHAPTER IX. -- HAMISH’S CANDLES. Old Judith sat in her kitchen. Her hands were clasped upon her knees, and her head was bent in thought. Rare indeed was it to catch Judith indulging in a moment’s idleness. She appeared to be holding soliloquy with herself. “It’s the most incomprehensible thing in the world! I have heard of ghosts--and, talking about ghosts, that child was in a tremor, last night, again--I’m sure he was. Brave little heart! he goes up to bed in the dark on purpose to break himself of the fear. I went in for them shirts missis told me of, and he started like anything, and his face turned white. He hadn’t heard me till I was in the room; I’d no candle, and ‘twas enough to startle him. ‘Oh, is it you, Judith?’ said he, quietly, making believe to be as indifferent as may be. I struck a light, for I couldn’t find the shirts, and then I saw his white face. He can’t overget the fear: ‘twas implanted in him in babyhood: and I only wish I could get that wicked girl punished as I’d punish her, for it was her work. But about the t’other? I have heard of ghosts walking--though, thank goodness, I’m not frightened at ‘em, like the child is!--but for a young man to go upstairs, night after night, pretending to go to rest, and sitting up till morning light, is what I never did hear on. If it was once in a way, ‘twould be a different thing; but it’s always. I’m sure it’s pretty nigh a year since--” “Why, Judith, you are in a brown study!” The interruption came from Constance, who had entered the kitchen to give an order. Judith looked up. “I’m in a peck of trouble, Miss Constance. And the worst is, I don’t know whether to tell about it, or to keep it in. He’d not like it to get to the missis’s ears, I know: but then, you see, perhaps I ought to tell her--for his sake.” Constance smiled. “Would you like to tell me, instead of mamma? Charley has been at some mischief again, among the saucepans? Burnt out more bottoms, perhaps?” “Not he, the darling!” resentfully rejoined Judith. “The burning out of that one was enough for him. I’m sure he took contrition to himself, as if it had been made of gold.” “What is it, then?”