“I must be at the college, whatever betide.” This was true: yet neither might the office be left vacant. Arthur grew a little flurried. “Do stay, Hamish: it will not hinder you five minutes, I dare say. Yorke is sure to be in.” Hamish came to the door, halting on its first step, and looking out over Arthur’s shoulder. He drew his head in again with a sudden movement. “Is not that old Hopper down there?” he asked, in a whisper, the tone sounding as one of fear. Arthur turned his eyes on a shabby old man who was crossing the end of the street, and saw Hopper, the sheriff’s officer. “Yes, why?” “It is that old fellow who holds the writ. He may be on the watch for me now. I can’t go out just yet, Arthur; I’ll stay here till Yorke comes back again.” He returned to the office, sat down and leaned his brow upon his hand. A strange brow of care it was just then, according ill with the gay face of Hamish Channing. Arthur, waiting for no second permission, flew towards the cathedral as fast as his long legs would carry him. The dean and chapter were preparing to leave the chapter-house as he tore past it, through the cloisters. Three o’clock was striking. Arthur’s heart and breath were alike panting when he gained the dark stairs. At that moment, to his excessive astonishment, the organ began to peal forth. Seated at it was Mr. Williams; and a few words of explanation ensued. The organist said he should remain for the service, which rendered Arthur at liberty to go back again. He was retracing his steps underneath the elm-trees in the Boundaries at a slower pace than he had recently passed them, when, in turning a corner, he came face to face with the sheriff’s officer. Arthur, whose thoughts were at that moment fixed upon Hamish and his difficulties, started away from the man, with an impulse for which he could not have accounted. “No need for you to be frightened of me, Mr. Arthur,” said the man, who, in his more palmy days, before he had learnt to take more than was good for him, had been a clerk in Mr. Channing’s office. “I have nothing about me that will bite you.” He laid a stress upon the “you” in both cases. Arthur understood only too well what was meant, though he would not appear to do so. “Nor any one else, either, I hope, Hopper. A warm day, is it not!” Hopper drew close to Arthur, not looking at him, apparently examining with hands and eyes the trunk of the elm-tree underneath which they had halted. “You tell your brother not to put himself in my way,” said he, in a low tone, his lips scarcely moving. “He is in a bit of trouble, as I suppose you know.” “Yes,” breathed Arthur.