Arthur turned his face away. "Hamish does not make me his confidant."
Constance stole her hand into his. "Arthur, what is the matter with you
this evening? Is it that unpleasant affair at Mr. Galloway's?"
He turned from her. He laid his face upon the table and groaned in
anguish. "Be still, Constance! You can do no good."
"But _what_ is it?" uttered Constance in alarm. "You surely do not fear
that suspicion should be cast on you, or on Hamish--although, as it
appears, you and he were alone in the office with the letter?"
"Be still, I say, Constance," he wailed. "There is nothing for it but
to--to--to bear. You will do well to ask no more about it."
A faint dread began to dawn upon her. "You and Hamish were alone with
the letter!" the echo of the words came thumping against her brain. But
she beat it off. Suspect a Channing! "Arthur, I need not ask if you are
innocent; it would be a gratuitous insult to you."
"No," he quietly said, "you need not ask that."
"And--Hamish?" she would have continued, but the words would not come.
She changed them for others.
"How do you know that he has paid any of his debts, Arthur?"
"I heard it. I--"
At that moment they heard something else--Hamish's voice in the hall.
In the impulse of the moment, in the glad revulsion of feeling--for, if
Hamish were safe in the hall, he could not be in prison--Constance flew
to him, and clasped her hands round his neck.
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