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"There is no doubt whatever upon my mind, that the theft was committed by Arthur Channing." Mr. Galloway started up with an exclamation of surprise, mingled with anger. Standing within the room was his nephew Mark. The time had gone on to nine, the hour of release from school; and, on running past Mr. Galloway's with the rest of the boys, Mark had dutifully called in.
Jenkins is all very well for work, but he is nothing but a muff in other things. Arthur's a gentleman, and he'd have served you well. Jenkins himself says so. He is honourable, he is honest, he " "I know enough of your sentiments with respect to his honesty," interrupted Mr. Galloway. "We need not go over that tale again." "I hope every one knows them," rejoined Roland.
There were no sounds but that of the booming wind upon the stretch of tawny herbage around them, the crackling wheels, the tread of the men, and the footsteps of the two shaggy ponies which drew the van. They were small, hardy animals, of a breed between Galloway and Exmoor, and were known as "heath-croppers" here.
His face was stern and very, very grave. Presently, his lowered voice guarded against any chance ears, he continued. "I lay on my bed a week, a long, utterly damnable week. I could do nothing but think. So I thought, as I told you, of everything. Shall I tell you why? No; we'll let that go until we understand each other. I thought of myself, of my life, of my eternal striving with Jim Galloway.
It was the first time I had ever told anyone the exact truth, so far as I understood it, and it did me no end of good, for it straightened out the thing in my own mind. I blinked no detail. He heard all about Scudder, and the milkman, and the note-book, and my doings in Galloway. Presently he got very excited and walked up and down the hearth-rug.
"They were a terrible power in the land, that family, at their greatest, when they lorded it over Galloway and Annandale, and owned Touraine and Longueville in France, and used to ride out with a retinue of a thousand picked horsemen." "That nice soldier yesterday Mr.
James, with her pretty primness. "How the child will love the 'Raiders, and the 'Men of the Moss Hags. Yes, certainly she ought to see 'gray Galloway." "Galloway be it, then," said Sir S., looking pleased. "But it won't be gray at this time of year. It will be purple and gold and emerald, and silvered with rivers running between flowery banks.
You know that deed is being waited for." "So I am early, sir," returned Roland. "Early! for you perhaps," grunted Mr. Galloway. "Get to it at once." Roland Yorke unlocked a drawer, collected sundry parchments together, and sat down to his desk. He and Arthur had their places side by side. Mr. Galloway stood at a table, and began sorting some papers that were upon it. "How is Mr.
I was standing by when you did it: I remained by you after bringing you the note from this room." "I enclosed the note, and fastened down the envelope," said Mr. Galloway, pointing the feather of his quill pen at each proposition. "I did not seal it then, because looking at Mad Nance hindered me, and I went out, leaving the letter on Jenkins's desk, in your charge and Yorke's." "Yes, sir.
Well, both, are good, the streams of north and south, but he who has given his heart to the Tweed, as did Tyro, in Homer, to the Enipeus will never change his love. P.S. That Galloway fly "The Butcher and Lang" has been avenged. A copy of him, on the line of a friend, has proved deadly on the Tweed, killing, among other victims, a sea-trout of thirteen pounds.
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