"I cannot believe Arthur guilty," was his reply.
She remembered that Hamish was, though Arthur was not; and in point of
disgrace, it amounted to the same thing. Constance passed her hand over
her perplexed brow. "He is looked upon as guilty by many: that, we
unfortunately know; and it may not be thought well that you should,
under the circumstance, make me your wife. _You_ may not think so."
Mr. Yorke made no reply. He may have been deliberating the question.
"Let us put it in this light, William," she resumed, her tone one of
intense pain. "Suppose, for argument's sake, that Arthur were guilty;
would you marry me, all the same?"
"It is a hard question, Constance," he said, after a pause.
"It must be answered."
"Were Arthur guilty and you cognizant of it--screening him--I should
lose half my confidence in you, Constance."
That was the knell. Her heart and her eyes alike fell, and she knew, in
that one moment, that all hope of marrying William Yorke was at an end.
"You think that, were he guilty--I am speaking only for argument's
sake," she breathed in her emotion,--"you think, were I cognizant of
it, I ought to betray him; to make it known to the world?"
"I do not say that, Constance. No. But you are my affianced wife; and,
whatever cognizance of the matter you might possess, whatever might be
the mystery attending it--and a mystery I believe there is--you should
repose the confidence and the mystery in me.
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