"My friend," said Mr. Galloway, bending over the sofa, when they were
alone, "I am more grieved at this than you can be."
Mr. Channing clasped his hand. "Tell me what you think yourself; the
simple truth; I ask it, Galloway, by our long friendship. Do you think
him innocent or guilty?"
There might be no subterfuge in answer to words so earnest, and Mr.
Galloway did not attempt any. He bent lower, and spoke in a whisper. "I
believe him to be guilty."
Mr. Channing closed his eyes, and his lips momentarily moved. A word of
prayer, to be helped _to bear_, was going up to the throne of God.
"But, never think that it was I who instituted these proceedings
against him," resumed Mr. Galloway. "When I called in Butterby to my
aid this morning, I had no more notion that it was Arthur Channing who
was guilty, than I had that it was that sofa of yours. Butterby would
have cast suspicion to him then, but I repelled it. He afterwards acted
upon his own responsibility while my back was turned. It is as I say
often to my office people: I can't stir out for a few hours but
something goes wrong! You know the details of the loss?"
"Ay; by heart," replied Mr. Channing. "They are suspicious against
Arthur only in so far as that he was alone with the letter. Sufficient
time must have been taken, as I conclude, to wet the envelope and
unfasten the gum; and it would appear that he alone had that time.
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