“He’s a regular trump! I’ll send him half-a-crown in a parcel,” exclaimed Hamish. “I wish you would hear me out. He says a ten-pound note, perhaps a five-pound note, on account, would induce ‘his people’--suppose you understand the phrase--to stay proceedings, and to give you time. He strongly advises it to be done. That’s all.” Not only all Arthur had to say upon the point, but all he had time to say. At that moment, the barouche of Lady Augusta Yorke drove up to the door, and they both went out to it. Lady Augusta, her daughter Fanny, and Constance Channing were in it. She was on her way to attend a missionary meeting at the Guildhall, and had called for Roland, that he might escort her into the room. “Roland is not to be found, Lady Augusta,” said Hamish, raising his hat with one of his sunny smiles. “He darted off, it is impossible to say where, thereby making me a prisoner. My brother had to attend the cathedral, and there was no one to keep office.” “Then I think I must make a prisoner of you in turn, Mr. Hamish Channing,” graciously said Lady Augusta. “Will you accompany us?” Hamish shook his head. “I wish I could; but I have already wasted more time than I ought to have done.” “It will not cost you five minutes more,” urged Lady Augusta. “You shall only just take us into the hall; I will release you then, if you must be released. Three ladies never can go in alone--fancy how we should be stared at!” Constance bent her pretty face forward. “Do, Hamish, if you can!” He suffered himself to be persuaded, stepped into the barouche, and took his seat by Lady Augusta. As they drove away, Arthur thought the greatest ornament the carriage contained had been added to it in handsome Hamish. A full hour Arthur worked on at his deeds and leases, and Roland Yorke never returned. Mr. Galloway came in then. “Where’s Yorke?” was his first question. Arthur replied that he did not know; he had “stepped out” somewhere. Arthur Channing was not one to make mischief, or get another into trouble. Mr. Galloway asked no further; he probably inferred that Yorke had only just gone. He sat down at Jenkins’s desk, and began to read over a lease. “Can I have the stamps, sir, for this deed?” Arthur presently asked. “They are not ready. Have the letters gone to the post?” “Not yet, sir.” “You can take them now, then. And, Arthur, suppose you step in, as you return, and see how Jenkins is.” “Very well, sir.” He went into Mr. Galloway’s room, and brought forth the three letters from the rack. “Is this one not to be sealed?” he inquired of Mr. Galloway, indicating the one directed to Ventnor, for it was Mr. Galloway’s invariable custom to seal letters which contained money, after they had been gummed down. “It is doubly safe,” he would say. “Ay, to be sure,” replied Mr. Galloway. “I went off in a hurry, and did not do it. Bring me the wax.”