The Channings | Page 7

come up to this niche, and fling
away an ink-bottle."
Yorke's face flushed scarlet. He was a tall, strong fellow, with a pale
complexion, thick, projecting lips, and black hair, promising fair to

make a Hercules--but all the Yorkes were finely framed. He gave
young Channing a taste of his strength; the boy, when shaken, was in
his hands as a very reed. "You miserable imp! Do you know who is
said to be the father of lies?"
"Let me alone, sir. It's no lie, and you know it's not. But I promise you
on my honour that I won't split. I'll keep it in close; always, if I can.
The worst of me is, I bring things out sometimes without thought," he
added ingenuously. "I know I do; but I'll try and keep in this. You
needn't be in a passion, Yorke; I couldn't help seeing what I did. It
wasn't my fault."
Yorke's face had grown purple with anger. "Charles Channing, if you
don't: unsay what you have said, I'll beat you to within an inch of your
life."
"I can't unsay it," was the answer.
"You can't!" reiterated Yorke, grasping him as a hawk would a pigeon.
"How dare you brave me to my presence? Unsay the lie you have told."
"I am in God's presence, Yorke, as well as in yours," cried the boy,
reverently; "and I will not tell a lie."
"Then take your whacking! I'll teach you what it is to invent
fabrications! I'll put you up for--"
Yorke's tongue and hands stopped. Turning out of the private
cloister-entrance of the deanery, right upon them, had come Dr.
Gardner, one of the prebendaries. He cast a displeased glance at Yorke,
not speaking; and little Channing, touching his trencher to the doctor,
flew to the place where he had left his books, caught them up, and ran
out of the cloisters towards home.

CHAPTER II
.
BAD NEWS.
The ground near the cathedral, occupied by the deanery and the
prebendal residences, was called the Boundaries. There were a few
other houses in it, chiefly of a moderate size, inhabited by private
families. Across the open gravel walk, in front of the south cloister
entrance, was the house appropriated to the headmaster; and the
Channings lived in a smaller one, nearly on the confines of the

Boundaries. A portico led into it, and there was a sitting-room on either
side the hall. Charley entered; and was going, full dash, across the hall
to a small room where the boys studied, singing at the top of his voice,
when the old servant of the family, Judith, an antiquated body, in a
snow-white mob-cap and check apron, met him, and seized his arm.
"Hush, child! There's ill news in the house."
Charley dropped his voice to an awe-struck whisper. "What is it, Judith?
Is papa worse?"
"Child! there's illness of mind as well as of body. I didn't say sickness; I
said ill news. I don't rightly understand it; the mistress said a word to
me, and I guessed the rest. And it was me that took in the letter! _Me_!
I wish I had put it in my kitchen fire first!"
"Is it--Judith, is it news of the--the cause? Is it over?"
"It's over, as I gathered. 'Twas a London letter, and it came by the
afternoon post. All the poor master's hopes and dependencies for years
have been wrested from him. And if they'd give me my way, I'd
prosecute them postmen for bringing such ill luck to a body's door."
Charles stood something like a statue, the bright, sensitive colour
deserting his cheek. One of those causes, Might versus Right, of which
there are so many in the world, had been pending in the Channing
family for years and years. It included a considerable amount of money,
which ought, long ago, to have devolved peaceably to Mr. Channing;
but Might was against him, and Might threw it into Chancery. The
decision of the Vice-Chancellor had been given for Mr. Channing,
upon which Might, in his overbearing power, carried it to a higher
tribunal. Possibly the final decision, from which there could be no
appeal, had now come.
"Judith," Charles asked, after a pause, "did you hear whether--whether
the letter--I mean the news--had anything to do with the Lord
Chancellor?"
"Oh, bother the Lord Chancellor!" was Judith's response. "It had to do
with somebody that's an enemy to your poor papa. I know that much.
Who's this?"
The hall door had opened, and Judith and Charles turned towards it. A
gay, bright-featured young man of three and twenty entered, tall and
handsome, as it was in the nature of the Channings to be. He was the
eldest son of the family, James; or, as he was invariably